#shrewd negotiator

[nepalcamel]

William of Sandholt

William of Sandholt was a prominent merchant who lived in the village of Sandholt in the 16th century. He was born into a family of wealthy traders, and he quickly rose to prominence in the world of commerce due to his exceptional business acumen and tireless work ethic.

William was a shrewd negotiator and a savvy businessman, and he soon became one of the most successful traders in the region. He dealt in a variety of goods, including wool, leather, and spices, and he was known for his fair prices and his commitment to quality.

Despite his wealth and success, William was also known for his generosity and his philanthropic spirit. He was a regular patron of the arts and a strong supporter of local charities and community organizations, and he was widely respected and admired for his kind and giving nature.

In addition to his business ventures, William was also an active member of the local government, serving on the village council and helping to shape the policies and practices of the community. He was known for his wise counsel and his commitment to the common good, and his influence was felt throughout the village and the surrounding region.

William's legacy lives on to this day, and his name is still remembered with great respect and admiration by the people of Sandholt. He was a true leader and a true gentleman, a shining example of what can be achieved through hard work, determination, and a commitment to excellence in all things.

[harmonysanreads]

You think there are three words that should never be put beside each other in this world : Aventurine, couch and you.

Not that you've never tried to save yourself from these occasions and you lament, when said couch was at least fitting to be put in Aventurine's extravagant abode — that is, spacious enough to even be called a couch — your attempts had been successful. But he, the shrewd man that he is, noticed the leeway he'd previously forsaken on the second time you dared to move away from his person.

Thus entered your jeweled prison the abomination that calls itself a couch, capable of fitting but one person and specifically curated for your captor's schemes. Aventurine likes to play many exciting games, one of them is called patience. You'd consider yourself to be under luck's shadow if it's your composure he's testing. At least, your ticks, when and how you'll wear down are no mystery to either one of you. Guessing Aventurine's mood on the other hand, is mental anguish.

So, in moments where he invites you beside him, legs spread in that manner that makes the nearby wall appealing enough to crush your head and leaving but an arm's space — your best course of action is to do as he says. You'd rather be intrepid than brazen in these scenarios, regardless of how inviting the prospect of defying Aventurine is, and swallow the itchy emotions that surface when his arm wraps around your waist.

Of course, he's selfish and trying to negotiate any extra inch of space will leave you enervated too quickly. If Aventurine wills, he could do much worse than hold you captive in his embrace and that reminder continues to be your solace in every instance where you wish that Aventurine, You and Couch should stay light-years away.

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2

Behind him, Eddie hears the others beginning to stir. The illusion, the foolish hope that he could just keep driving alone with Steve, that he could have all the time in the world to fix this shatters in a matter of seconds: Nancy’s light tread approaches and, as he reaches an intersection, it’s like he can already hear a clock beginning to tick.

“Why… why are we going this way?”

And, God, Eddie is so damn grateful for Nancy Wheeler: she’s tactful, keeps her voice down, as if she already suspects something. Hell, she must do; if Eddie can recall directions to Steve’s house, she’ll definitely sense where they’re heading.

Another stop light. Straight ahead after this, then…

Eddie glances to the side, just in time to see Nancy’s eyes widen as she looks at Steve.

She whispers his name.

Steve gives the subtlest shake of his head.

Eddie has to look away—it’s an intimate exchange, yes, but it’s not romantic, that’s not why he can’t bear it. It’s the fact that they’re so clearly sharing last-minute signals, silent communication only created by going through hell over and over again, and it makes him feel sick that he now knows what their expressions mean. Their doomsday looks.

When he pulls up to Steve’s driveway, he hears various murmurs of confusion—Dustin is the loudest.

Steve claps his hands and everyone falls abruptly silent.

“Okay!” he says, rising from his seat, and he sounds determined, almost up-beat; Christ, Eddie doesn’t know how he manages it. “Sinclairs, Mayfield, Henderson, you’re all with me. We’ll be in and out, got it?”

He heads out of the RV with purpose. Save for Eddie and Nancy, everyone is looking at each other with wide eyes and furrowed brows. Robin opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Steve calls from outside, “Hello? Come on, let’s go!” and it sounds so normal, like they’re just running late for school or something.

I might not have known, Eddie thinks, with a creeping horror. If I had slept instead… fuck, why are you such a good actor, Steve?

Erica leads the way out, prompting the others to follow; Eddie hears frantic whispers that he can’t decipher, Max lifting up one side of her headphones so she can hear as Dustin and Lucas crowd close to her, hopping outside and heading to the house.

Robin moves to the RV door, but Nancy stops her.

“Robin, stay here. I need to talk to you,” she says firmly, and it sounds like Code Red. She fixes Eddie with a pointed look and nods towards the house, like it’s not even a question that Eddie should go after Steve.

So, he does. Of course he does.

He finds them all in the kitchen, voices echoing, rebounding off the high ceiling.

“What are we doing?” Lucas says.

The kids have formed a little group by the counter, staring as Steve opens cupboards, his back to them.

“Want some back-up alcohol for Operation Flambé,” Steve says easily, “just in case.”

It could almost work, Eddie thinks. He can hear the clinking of glass as Steve methodically pulls bottles off the shelves—that is what he’s doing, so it’s not exactly a lie. Not yet. But he looks at the growing frowns of shrewd kids that are too used to waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Steve must sense it, too, because he stops collecting bottles, turns round to face them. He gets closer, rests his hands on the counter. The pretense drops.

“...Steve?” Erica says.

“You guys trust me, right?”

Eddie doesn't answer; he knows it's not directed towards him. He watches as the rest nod as one. Steve takes a deep breath.

“This is the deal, non-negotiable, okay? I don’t ask much from you, so, y’know. Figure you owe me one.” He’s smiling again, his tone flippant; he’s trying so hard to make it easy for them. Eddie digs his fingernails into his palms. “Here’s your jobs for tonight: you stay right here. Eat some food, put on a movie, I don't care. Just no moving.” He points at Max. “You keep that Walkman on. I've got... see that cabinet, by the T.V? Got some tapes in there, Hounds of Love is on the... third row, I think? Yeah, see the purple? If your one wears out, you've got a back-up.”

They just stare at him. Relief sweeps through Lucas’s and Max’s shoulders, even as they stand rigid with tension, like they’re at war with themselves. Like they feel ashamed at the instinct to stay safe. Christ, they’re all just too young, far too young for any of this.

And so are you, Eddie thinks fiercely, as he watches Steve sweep past them, going up the stairs two at a time. So are you.

Dustin snaps out of it first. He moves forward, voice sharp and urgent, “Steve? Steve!” He barges past Eddie like he isn't even there, then thunders up the stairs.

Eddie follows.

He hears the tail-end of Max saying, “Lucas, he's... I can't feel him anymore. Why can't I—?” Then, he reaches the top of the stairs, heads to what must be Steve’s bedroom. He hovers in the doorway.

“—not even going to look at me?” Dustin is asking.

Steve doesn't answer. He's rooting around one of his drawers, distractedly pulls out a cassette, puts it into his jeans pocket. Eddie sees the horrible moment where it clicks for Dustin—of course, it barely takes half a second, kid's as smart as a whip. All the colour drains from his face.

“Steve,” he says. “You can't just—this isn't how we do things.”

“I'm older than you,” Steve returns. “I'm pulling rank for once, Henderson.” He's pinching the bridge of his nose harshly, still not looking at Dustin.

Dustin laughs. It’s an awful sound, his voice cracking with vulnerability. “Seriously? Fuck you.”

Eddie can’t stand it, feels like he’s intruding on something deeply private.

Steve sniffs, starts to head for the door.

“If—if you leave, I’m never speaking to you again,” Dustin says.

“Okay,” Steve says gently.

Dustin reels from the word as if struck. His eyes fill with furious tears. “I hate you.”

“Dustin,” Eddie says quietly, even though he knows that Dustin doesn’t mean it; it’s obvious that he doesn't mean it. It’s a tactic Eddie is all too familiar with: to say the most hurtful thing you can think of, just to make the other person lash out—because even if they’re angry with you, at least they’ve stayed.

Make sure Dustin doesn’t see, Steve had said. The reason is clear. Because Dustin’s eyes are full of something wild and desperate, like he would follow Steve anywhere.

I can't let that happen, Eddie realises. Steve’s almost at the doorway, and from here Eddie can see him angrily swipe a tear off his cheek, out of Dustin’s view. It would break him.

Steve turns, finally looks back. “It’s okay, Dustin,” he says, soft and kind. Kind until the end. “It's okay.”

And then he leaves.

“Eddie,” Dustin whispers. “Please.”

“I'm sorry,” Eddie says. It's all he can say. “Dustin, I’m so fucking sorry.”

It's torture, seeing the flash of hurt and betrayal across Dustin’s face. He storms out, catches Eddie's chest with his elbow.

Make sure Dustin doesn’t see.

Dustin might be fast, but Eddie is faster; at the foot of the stairs, he easily darts in front. With long, quick strides, he reaches the RV, sees that Nancy, Robin and Steve are already inside, and he locks the door, runs to the driver’s seat. Dustin is a second too late, pounding on the glass. Eddie has never heard someone scream like that before.

He glances behind as he reverses. Steve sits directly on the floor, his head in his hands; Robin is rubbing his back, murmuring something to him.

Eddie speeds away. His last sight of Dustin is in the wing mirror, trying to run after them, only stopping when it’s clearly hopeless.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers, and then he dry heaves.

“I've got water,” Robin says frantically. “Here, here, slow sips.”

There's a gentle hand on Eddie's shoulder. Nancy.

“Where...” Eddie clears his throat. “Where to, Wheeler?”

“Your trailer,” she says, and it sounds like something else again, like thank you and I'm sorry all at once.

He doesn’t talk for the whole drive there. The others keep up the conversation, Eddie straining to hear every noise Steve makes, inwardly pleading that he never falls silent. The plan is hastily amended: the extra alcohol Steve has brought means that they can split their supplies, leaving some for Vecna and some for deterring the bats and vines. He nods when Robin asks if there’s a tape deck in his room, which settles it: he will stay with Steve in the trailer, and… wait.

They don’t mention the word bait, but Eddie can hear it anyway.

Once he’s parked, Robin and Nancy get out first, carrying the drinks and weapons. When he gets out of his seat, he finds that Steve is still halfway to standing, swaying slightly, as if sea-sick.

“Woah, woah, hey,” Eddie says quickly, and he carefully pulls Steve up with one hand. Steve’s palm is damp with cold sweat, his pulse jumping rapidly in his neck, feverish. “Still with me?”

Steve’s eyes dart around before settling on Eddie.

What are you seeing? Eddie thinks, his own heart beating faster at the unknown he isn’t privy to. Let me in. Let me help.

But all Steve says is, “Get ready to duck out the way, man, feel like m’gonna throw up.”

Eddie squeezes his hand. “You’re good, I was kinda thinking my shirt should be a different colour.”

Steve wrinkles his nose, chuckles weakly. “Gross.”

He drops Eddie’s hand and climbs out of the RV. Eddie stays close, ready to catch him if he so much as stumbles.

In the trailer, Robin and Nancy wait by the makeshift rope. Steve’s posture straightens as they look at him, as if to say, See? Don’t worry about me.

“Give him hell, Nance,” he says.

Nancy nods. “See you when we get back,” she says, her tone firm. She catches Eddie’s eye, and the intent is clear: Look after him.

Eddie nods back. Always.

Robin’s lips are trembling; she’s trying to fight it, but it’s there all the same.

“Come on, Rob,” Steve says, through another one of his smiles, but his voice tightens, like he might break down if he’s shown an ounce of sympathy. And when he gives her a little wave, it’s like Eddie can see the routine of it, like Steve is simply bidding Robin goodbye after dropping her off somewhere. “See you soon.”

Robin doesn’t hug him, even though she’s clearly desperate to; must have noticed, just as Eddie did, that it would make this even harder still for Steve. Instead, she gives a joking little salute, like a sailor, and there must be something in that, because Steve lets out a choked laugh, and they all pretend that it doesn’t resemble a sob.

The girls climb the rope quickly, and by the time Eddie has turned back after having watched them leave, Steve has already headed for Eddie’s room, presumably looking for the tape deck.

But when Eddie hurriedly follows him, there’s no music playing, and Steve is sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Don’t you want your music on for a bit?”

Steve shakes his head, then nods in the direction of the gate. “Wanna start the distraction as soon as possible,” he says, “give them the best shot.”

The distraction. Like he isn’t risking everything, like he’s just feigning a move on the goddamn basketball court.

“Okay,” Eddie says placatingly. He sits down opposite Steve, close enough that their knees bump. “Sorry, I should’ve vacuumed.”

Steve laughs, but it breaks off at the end. “Y-yeah, where’s the welcoming…” His voice fails and he sighs shakily. “Sorry, Eddie, I—I’m just. I’m really fucking scared.”

He sounds embarrassed. Eddie reaches for his hand, and Steve clings on in a tight grip, like he’s drowning.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, don’t be sorry. Don’t you dare.”

“That a threat, Munson?”

“You know what? Sure. Thought you could do with some more pressure.”

Steve gives a lovely, tender little smile. “Hey. Thanks. For… everything.”

Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. “Are you kidding? I haven’t fucking done anything. This is all you, Harrington.”

And Steve is laughing softly, really laughing, and he says, “Don’t bullshit—”

And his eyes roll back, the irises suddenly clouded over, and his hand becomes slack in Eddie’s grip.

Eddie has to force himself not to scream, not to jolt back; he thinks he might be sick, and the only thing stopping that outcome is the fact that Steve needs him. He barely counts to three inside his head, remembering Chrissy, how quick it all was, and he’s standing, tripping over his own feet.

“Right, I’m calling it,” he says, his chest tight, “long enough fucking distraction, they’ll already be at the—”

And he stops.

Because the tape deck doesn’t have anything inside. Because, next to it, is the plastic cassette case that was once in Steve’s pocket.

And it’s empty.

He pictures Steve back at his house, distractedly picking it up, focused on reassuring Dustin; Steve not realising his mistake until he had walked into Eddie’s bedroom and gone to put the tape in. Steve going ahead with it anyway, all while knowing…

“No,” Eddie breathes, “no, no, no.” He dives for the case, but the paper sleeve inside is worn beyond all recognition; he has no idea what the song could have been, even what album it came from. He grabs the closest tape he can find, ramming it in, and suddenly thinks Robin’s assessment of his music was more than accurate. Seriously, what is all this shit?

“Come on!” he shouts, and cranks the volume up as far as it will go.

When he turns back around, Steve is already floating.

Eddie can hardly hear over the roar of the music, but he feels the scream tear at his throat; he’s useless, he’s fucking useless, it’s Chrissy all over again—

One leg snaps. He screams again, screams Steve’s name. Then an arm begins to shake, to twist unnaturally at the elbow, and—

And Steve falls. Eddie lunges to catch him, and his heart both leaps and breaks at Steve’s cry of pain. You’re here, you’re here, you’re here.

“Steve, Steve, hey, hey, hey, try not to move,” he says, “you’re okay, you’re okay.”

Steve jerks, then vomits, the bile black with blood.

“All right, that’s fine,” Eddie babbles. “Just a little blood, you’re doing good, you’re—”

His hand brushes Steve’s side, comes away wet. The wounds on his stomach have reopened, as if something else has clawed at them.

“I can’t,” Steve gasps, “I can’t feel you.”

“I’m right here! Hey, Steve? Steve, look at me, I’m right—stop, stop, don’t move, you’re gonna be—”

“Eddie, I don’t want to go,” Steve says, and he’s sobbing, “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to—”

“You’re not dying. You’re not—Steve, Steve, just look at me, stay with me—”

But Steve just shakes in Eddie’s arms, and he throws up again, each breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps.

Fuck, he can’t breathe.

And then, it’s very quiet.

“Steve? Steve.”

Eddie looks down. Steve’s eyes are fixed, glassy. His chest is still.

The trailer splits. Jagged lines in both directions, one from the gate, one from Eddie’s room, burning red. Eddie runs out without consciously thinking about it, holding onto Steve, cradling his head.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” The words are ripped out of his chest, his voice turned into something unrecognisable, so pained that it’s almost rendered inhuman.

He’s gone, Eddie thinks numbly.

His grip on the world fades, awareness only breaking through in fleeting impressions. Nancy and Robin’s faces. Screaming. Nancy saying, “Eddie, you have to let him go—”

He’s gone.

He comes back to himself in a crowded hospital corridor. Robin is reaching for him, and she’s crying, saying his name, but he moves away before she can touch him. He doesn’t deserve her kindness; Steve should be standing here, should be falling into her embrace—

He’s gone.

And then, he’s in a bathroom, thrusting his hands under scorching water. Red and black stains the sink. Blood. Steve’s blood.

The door bangs open. Dustin is standing before him. There are several cuts on his face, and he’s gasping and clutching his side like he ran all the way here. Maybe he did.

“Eddie,” he says, and it’s in that tone, the one Eddie heard when he was trembling in the boathouse, the one that shocked him to his core. Because it sounded like, Yeah, I’m the younger one, so what? I’m still going to protect you.

In hearing that, Eddie knows that he has already been forgiven. Because Dustin’s love is like what Steve’s had been: fierce and unconditional.

Eddie tries to take a breath—it comes out in a ragged, wet exhale. “I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t—I tried—”

And then words fail him completely. He can’t stop the tears once they’ve started; and there, chest heaving with grief, he falls apart in Dustin Henderson’s arms.

[novankenn]

Can do... with "I DO"

Unlike what many think... Jaune Arc's father, Nathaniel, was not a huntsman. No he was an average, but shrewd business man, who loved his wife Jasmine, and all his children more than anything. So he often took them all with him when he was required to make business trips...

Jaune (Age 4 - Argus)

Jaune: MOMMY!

Jasmine: Jaune! There you are I've been...

Jasmine notices that Jaune is holding the hand of an adorable young red-haired girl about his age. Her cheeks were bright red, and her emerald eyes just radiated adoration for Jaune.

Jasmine: Who is this. sweetie?

Jaune: This is my wife.

Jasmine: I see. What is your name dear?

Pyrrha: My name is Pyrrha... Pyrrha Arc.

Jasmine's heart wanted to burst from the over load of pure adorableness...

Jasmine: So how did Pyrrha, become your wife, Jaune?

Jaune: I asked her if she wanted to hold hands while we played on the swings, and she said "I do"... and I said "I do" when she asked me. It's just like what you and dad said that when you held hands last year.

Jasmine: Yes, yes we did. Pyrrha, honey where's your mom and dad?

Pyrrha: I don't have a daddy... but mommy is by the fountain.

Jasmine: Well Jaune take my hand, and Pyrrha you take my other hand. Let's go meet your mother.

Jaune / Pyrrha : Yes Mommy / Yes Mommy

Jaune (Age 5 - Atlas)

Jasmine was not enjoying her time at the Schnee Mansion. She was tired, and trying to wrangle all her children while her husband finished negotiating an import/export contract was taxing. Yet when she saw Jaune approaching her in his little suit, holding the hand of a darling white haired girl, her heart skipped a beat.

Jasmine: Jaune, who is your little friend?

Jaune: This is Weiss.

Weiss: Mama Arc. I am Weiss Arc, Jaune's wife.

Jasmine's heart skipped another beat.

Jasmine: Jaune. Weiss, how did you become husband and wife?

Weiss: Jaune saw I wasn't happy and asked me to if I like to dance. I said "I do".

Jaune: Then I held her hand and said "I do" like to dance as well. Then we had a dance.

Weiss: It was very exciting, and it made me very happy.

Jasmine: I see. Jaune you take my hand. Weiss honey take my other hand. Let's go find you mother, shall we?

Jaune / Weiss: Yes Mommy / Yes Mama

Jaune (Age 6 - Menagerie)

Jasmine's heart was skipping beats as she watched her only son Jaune walking up to her, holding the hand of a young faunus girl his age. She bit her lip, just hoping he wouldn't say what she knew he was going to say.

Jasmine: Jaune, who is this little angel?

Jaune: This is Blake, my wife.

Jasmine: Is that true... Blake?

Blake: Yes. I am Blake Arc now.

Jasmine: And can I ask... how you became husband and wife?

Blake: I found him wandering on beach, and asked if he wanted to play. He said yes, so we played for a bit, and then he asked if I liked Ice-cream.

Jaune: We were holding hands and she said "I do", and then she asked me and I said "I do"... then she kissed me and gave me cooties!

Blake: You can't get cooties from your wife.

Jasmine rolled her eyes, and prayed to the brother gods that she would be strong enough.

Jasmine: She is right Jaune.

Jaune: Okay.

Jasmine: Blake, where's your mom and dad?

Blake: They work in the big building, near the center of town.

Jasmine: Jaune take my hand. Blake take my other hand, we're going to go see your mom.

Jaune (Age 17 Beacon)

Jaune was feeling slightly better, after emptying what little was left in his stomach into the trash. Sighing, he took a minute and a deep breath. He was here. He was at Beacon. This was his chance to become a hero. To make his parents proud.

????: Jaune is that you?

Jaune: Huh?

????: Jaune? I didn't know you would be here, too!

Jaune: What?

????: Jaune! I missed you!

Jaune: I'm confused. Do I know...

Pyrrha / Weiss / Blake: I'M YOUR WIFE!

Jaune: Uhhh...

Pyrrha / Weiss / Blake: NO YOU'RE NOT! I'M HIS WIFE!

Jaune: Wait... mom told me something about this...

Pyrrha / Weiss / Blake: Pyrrha Arc! / Weiss Arc! / Blake Arc!

????: Ah here you all are.

Jaune: Aunt Glynda? I forgot you worked here!

Glynda: Yes I work, here. Now if you will all come with me, I will escort your accommodations, and I Jaune I suggest you call your mother.

Jaune: Yes, Auntie.

Glynda: And to your three...

Pyrrha / Weiss / Blake: Yes Auntie?

Glynda: You will all be on your best behavior, am I understood? There will be no "grand-babies" until AFTER you graduate.

Pyrrha / Weiss / Blake: Yes, Auntie.

[nayziiz]

Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

CHAPTER 1

Adam Norris, a man of unwavering intelligence and foresight, possessed a keen mind that proved to be the foundation of his family's success. Drawing wisdom from the teachings of his own father, he meticulously gathered knowledge that transcended generations. Adam's commitment to passing down this invaluable wealth of experience became evident as he shared it with his two sons, Oliver and Lando.

Oliver, the elder of the two brothers, entertained dreams beyond the confines of the family business. His aspirations leaned towards exploration and the creation of a family of his own, seeking a life that danced with the rhythm of distant lands and untold adventures. The allure of faraway places called out to him, shaping his aspirations far differently from the path his father had paved.

On the contrary, Lando demonstrated an early affinity for the intricacies of his father's business. From the tender age of thirteen, he became a silent observer in the boardroom, soaking in the nuances of negotiations and the delicate dance of corporate strategy. Lando's curiosity and natural acumen propelled him to actively engage in the family affairs, gradually transforming him into Adam's confidant and, eventually, his right-hand man.

As Lando navigated through the diverse facets of his father's enterprises, he embraced each challenge with determination and an appetite for learning. The evolution from a teenager attending meetings to a key player in his father's business empire was a testament to Lando's commitment and his father's trust in his capabilities.

The Norris legacy, steeped in generational wisdom and Lando's unwavering dedication, flourished under the guidance of a shrewd patriarch. The father-son duo forged a formidable partnership, where the torch of knowledge burned bright, illuminating the path for the next generation of Norris leaders.

Despite being a pivotal figure in the family business, Lando Norris's impulsive spending habits were a source of concern and consternation. His father, while recognizing the undeniable value Lando brought to the business, couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the financial whirlwind his son often found himself in.

Adam, pragmatic and stoic, seldom approved of Lando's extravagant expenditures. Yet, a nuanced understanding of his son's behaviour allowed Adam to chalk it up to Lando's yearning for the childhood he never fully embraced. The rationale was a blend of parental leniency and a desire for Lando to experience the joy and spontaneity that he might have missed in his earlier years.

However, the Norris family's financial stability faced a significant setback following a rocky investment. The losses were unforeseeable, and the blame could not be squarely placed on any one individual. The family found themselves at a crossroads, and it became clear that swift and decisive action was required to navigate the tumultuous financial waters.

Adam, burdened by the weight of the situation, turned to Lando, his son with the untamed spirit. Recognizing the need for Lando to step up and take charge, Adam appealed to his son's sense of responsibility and loyalty to the family. The family business, weathering the storm of financial hardship, required a leader capable of navigating through the tumultuous seas and steering it back towards prosperity.

In the hushed atmosphere of Adam's lavishly appointed office, Lando found himself summoned to a covert meeting, the dim lighting casting shadows that danced across the luxurious furnishings. The air was heavy with unspoken tension as Lando took his seat in front of his father's imposing desk.

Adam, a cunning and resolute businessman with a no-nonsense attitude, sat behind the desk, his expression betraying the gravity of the situation. The room, adorned with mahogany accents and opulent artwork, served as the backdrop for an exchange that held the fate of the Norris family legacy in its balance.

In a voice that brooked no argument, Adam presented Lando with a stark ultimatum. The family, once stable and prosperous, now faced the looming spectre of financial turmoil. The weight of responsibility bore down heavily on Adam's shoulders, and with a sense of urgency, he articulated the dire straits they found themselves in.

“The Norris family needs a fresh and lucrative income stream," Adam declared, cutting through the air with precision. "Our legacy is at stake, Lando, and I need you to step up to the plate. If we don't secure our position, we risk our place in society altogether. And, if that happens, you will be exiled from this family.”

Lando, feeling the gravity of his father's words, absorbed the weight of the ultimatum. The notion of being cut off from the family legacy, a legacy he had been groomed to uphold, added an unexpected layer of urgency to the situation. Adam's eyes, seasoned with the trials of the business world, revealed the desperation and determination that drove him to make the demand.

As the conversation unfolded, Lando grappled with the realisation that the Norris family, for all its prestige and outward success, was never above delving into murky waters when it came to ensuring their stability. The unspoken understanding that resonated between father and son transcended ethical boundaries, and Lando became acutely aware of the lengths to which the Norris patriarchs have gone to safeguard their family's prosperity.

In the dimly lit corner of the opulent office, a pact is silently forged. The Norris family's survival hinged on their ability to navigate the shadows, to engage in business practices that might raise eyebrows but were deemed necessary for the preservation of their legacy. The goals, always centred around stability and prosperity, now took on a new dimension as the Norris family braced itself for the challenges that lay ahead.

In the heart of the city's underbelly, hidden behind unmarked doors and guarded secrets, Lando found solace in the dimly lit sanctuary of his secret speakeasy. The air was charged with an aura of secrecy, and the distant hum of jazz music created a backdrop for contemplation as he navigated the labyrinth of decisions laid before him.

Seated in a secluded corner, Lando immersed himself in the speakeasy’s ambiance, surrounded by an eclectic mix of patrons engaged in hushed conversations and conspiratorial exchanges. The flickering candlelight casted dancing shadows on the exposed brick walls, mirroring the intricate thoughts that swirled within Lando's mind.

As he contemplated various ventures that could potentially salvage his family's fortunes, the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders. The gravity of his father's ultimatum lingered in the air like an unspoken challenge, demanding a resolution that aligned with the legacy of the Norris family. The choices before him, however, seemed to form an intricate puzzle with no clear solution in sight.

The scent of cigar smoke mingled with the fragrance of aged whiskey, creating an atmosphere that mirrored the complexity of Lando's predicament. The clandestine dealings and veiled conversations around him served as a constant reminder of the high-stakes game he found himself entangled in.

Unable to escape the palpable tension, Lando raised a whiskey glass to his lips, drowning his worries in the amber liquid. Each sip seemed to carry the weight of his familial obligations, momentarily providing a respite from the tumult of conflicting thoughts. The jazz melodies, with their soulful undertones, offered a bittersweet soundtrack to his contemplation, resonating with the complexities of the choices before him.

As Amelia Rossi gracefully drifted through the smoky atmosphere of the speakeasy, the ambient jazz music and muted conversations provide a backdrop to her entrance. Dressed in her business casual attire from work, her clipped hair was loosened, cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of chestnut silk. In the dingy ambiance, she became a vision, an ethereal figure transcending the gritty reality of the exclusive establishment.

Lando, ensconced in his thoughts and surrounded by the clandestine energy of the speakeasy, noticed Amelia's arrival. Her presence stood out amidst the shadows and swirling emotions, like a beacon in the midst of obscurity. In that moment, he decided to confide in her, recognizing a familiar face and an old connection that ran deep.

Amelia and Lando shared more than just a friendship; their bond was a testament to a lifelong companionship forged in the crucible of childhood. Born mere months apart, they practically grew up side by side, the echoes of their laughter intermingling with the spirited conversations of their fathers on the golf course. The connection between the Norris and Rossi families transcended mere camaraderie; it was a tapestry woven with shared moments, unspoken understandings, and the promise that their destinies were intertwined.

Amelia's gaze met Lando's in the smoky haze of the speakeasy, and there was a flicker of recognition, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared. In her eyes, Lando found a unique comfort that transcended the chaos of the private world he navigated. As the jazz music weaved its spell, Amelia sank into the seat beside him and Lando opened up to her, sharing the weight of his father's ultimatum and the desperate need for a solution to salvage the family legacy.

“I want to export... things.” Lando confessed to Amelia, choosing his words carefully, his gaze intense and laden with the gravity of the proposition. Amelia listened attentively, as she sipped on her gin and tonic, her presence offering a calmness he needed to gather his thoughts and plans.

“Things?” Amelia raised an eyebrow, seeking clarification. Lando leaned in, lowering his voice to match the discreet ambiance of the speakeasy.

“Drugs, or contraband. Stuff people can't get just anywhere.” He clarified.

Amelia's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and concern. The daring proposition hung in the air, the weight of its implications reverberating between them. Lando, propelled by a sense of urgency, continued to lay out his plan.

“With your help.” He added, his tone a blend of desperation and determination. “Your beautiful cars need owners. And, the owners need what we're offering. We strip the interiors, pack it with whatever substance they require, tidy it all up, and ship the car to them. With your last name, no one will ever think of checking anything except the exterior.”

Amelia absorbed the audacity of the proposal, her mind racing to comprehend the risks and potential rewards. Lando, eyes fixed on hers, did not shy away from the harsh reality of the suggestion. He laid out the intricate web of their venture, weaving a narrative that spoke to the urgency of his situation.

“What's in it for me?” Amelia finally questioned, her business acumen kicking in.

“You'll still make your usual profit by selling the car, and you'll get a 40% cut on whatever we're hiding. Think about the expansion you always dreamt of. Now is your chance to make good on it.” Lando attempted to persuade her.

Amelia, hailing from a well-respected family in London, initially hesitated at the risky proposition. The weight of societal expectations and the scrutiny that would undoubtedly accompany her involvement in such a venture loomed large. However, as Lando painted a vivid picture of the potential rewards and the adrenaline of expanding her luxury car dealership, Amelia found herself intrigued by the allure of the unknown.

“I'll do it.” Amelia finally conceded, her voice a mixture of determination and apprehension. 

She understood the enormity of the decision she was making, aware that the venture could lead them into murky territory. Yet, her loyalty to Lando and the unspoken promise of their shared history weighed heavily on her conscience.

Amelia knew that her connection to the prestigious Rossi family held a unique value. It added a layer of legitimacy to their dealings, creating a shield from prying eyes and potential scrutiny. The Rossi name, synonymous with respect and affluence, transformed into a strategic advantage in a venture fraught with risks.

With the decision sealed and a sense of inevitability hanging in the air, Lando, feeling a mix of relief and determination, decided to mark the beginning of their risky venture with a celebratory gesture. He motioned to one of the waitrons in the speakeasy, instructing them to bring a bottle of champagne to their secluded corner.

As the bottle arrived, its cork popped with a celebratory resonance, Lando took charge. He poured a generous serving of the effervescent liquid into two crystal glasses, the golden bubbles catching the dim light of the speakeasy. Lando extended a glass towards Amelia, a symbolic toast to the alliance they had formed.

“To new beginnings.” Lando raised his glass, his eyes meeting Amelia's.

“To new beginnings.” Amelia, still reserved, reciprocated the gesture as she tapped her glass against Lando's in a shared moment of acknowledgement.

As they savoured the crisp taste of the champagne, the speakeasy seemed to hold its breath, the ambient jazz music providing a subtle soundtrack to their clandestine celebration. The air was thick with the weight of their decisions, but for a fleeting moment, the bubbly elixir created a sense of levity, a respite from the complexities of the venture they were to embark upon.

“Finally, I get to work with you.” Lando remarked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Don't get too excited.” She responded, a reminder of the challenges that lay ahead and the gravity of the path they've chosen.

As the conversation shifted away from the formality of their risky venture, Amelia, wanting to inject a touch of casualness, playfully leaned against Lando. The dimly lit speakeasy seemed to embrace the casual moment amidst the weighty discussions that preceded.

“How's Zara?” Amelia inquired, steering the conversation towards more personal territory. “Flo told me you brought her home for dinner last week.”

“She's great. She's nice.” Lando's demeanour softened at the mention of Zara.

“Wow, tone down the enthusiasm.” Amelia teased.

“No, she's lovely, but she's just like everyone else - they just want money and status.” A wry smile tugged at Lando's lips.

“Yet you keep her around?” Amelia raised an eyebrow, challenging him with a playful smirk. 

“She's a welcome distraction at times.” Lando's response carried a note of self-awareness.

“I see. Why aren't you with her now then, distracting yourself?” Amelia, ever perceptive, didn’t miss a beat.

“Because someone else had what I needed tonight.” Lando's gaze shifted, meeting Amelia's eyes with a hint of vulnerability. “How’s Daniel?”

“Ah, Daniel.” Amelia sighed with a hint of amusement. “That ended a few weeks ago, already. He has too much energy for me to keep up with.”

“Strange for someone who's literally ten years older than you.” Lando chuckled, echoing the sentiment.

“I don’t mind it, but he’s the literal embodiment of a golden retriever. He never stops and sits still.” Amelia grinned, acknowledging the age difference with a playful shrug.

“You love dogs, though.” Lando observed.

“I do. I really do. But when it comes to relationships, I need someone a bit more on the fierce side of things, a bit more-”

“Like you.” Lando interjected, finishing her sentence with a knowing smile.

“Exactly. Someone who can match my pace, challenge me, keep up with the twists and turns. Daniel's great, but in matters of the heart, I need a different kind of energy.” Amelia nodded, a playful glint in her eyes.

Amelia, sat beside Lando in the dimly lit speakeasy, refrained from divulging a recent rendezvous with Charles Leclerc. It was an unusual occurrence for her to keep things from her best friend and closest confidant, but it felt different. She needed to be sure before sharing the details. As Lando continued the conversation, Amelia wrestled with the complexities of her recent experiences.

It wasn't just a casual affair with Charles. Amelia had always been meticulous about keeping her relationships light and transient. However, Charles offered a breath of fresh air after her complete separation from Daniel. Their connection was intense, fueled by a mutual passion for success. Charles, despite the demands of his job, reciprocated Amelia's energy, aligning with her ambitions.

He allowed her to take control, especially in the bedroom, an aspect of intimacy she had always wanted to explore. Charles became a juxtaposition to Daniel's perpetual energy, providing a different kind of excitement that drew Amelia in. Their encounters were more than just physical; they were charged with a shared fervour for life and success.

Despite the allure of her rendezvous with Charles, Amelia refrained from sharing the new chapter of her life with Lando. It was less about hiding, but rather about understanding the dynamics at play. Daniel, a once constant in her life, carried a different weight and expectation. With Charles, it was all about the divergence from her usual patterns, an exploration into uncharted territory.

Despite the excitement that Charles brought into Amelia's life, a lingering sense of unease persisted beneath the surface. As she navigated the nuances of their relationship, an elusive element remained that seemed to elude definition, something amiss that she never could quite put her finger on.

Amelia, a discerning and perceptive individual, grappled with the unspoken doubts that flickered in the corners of her mind. The connection with Charles, though passionate and invigorating, carried a subtle undercurrent of uncertainty. There was no lack of chemistry or shared interests; rather, an intangible aspect that evaded explanation.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Fort Dix to Memphis

Summary: Having traveled for 24 hours, hopped two continents and crossed an ocean, little baby Rosalee has no more patience for the endless homecoming interviews and pageantry required of her Daddy’s precious time, time that should be her’s in this strange, loud, American new world. What’s a new father to do when his baby “Schnucki” won’t stop wailing when he leaves her? Why, do the interviews with her in his coat, of course!

Warnings: Fluffy and wholesome as can be, PG, only small upsets may include a woman nursing, a father helping a baby latch while nursing, colonel parker not minding his business and trying to shove Elaine out of the public eye, Journalists being passive aggressive, little children in some distress

Word count: 4k

Requested: yes

Masterlist

Circa: Early Spring, 1960

“I don’t think she’ll settle without nursing.” Elaine really tried to keep the emphaticism out of her voice as she reclined into the rather luxurious bed the sleeper car was furnished with, watching as Elvis paced in the tiny walk between the window and bed, cradling a fussing Rosalee, lights turned down to nearly nothing and her baby cheek pressed to his just like she liked it. She wouldn’t fully go under though, and Elvis was certain she suspected his motive of making her sleep to then slip out and speak to the journalists waiting outside, while Elaine surmised it was an empty belly keeping the sweet dreams away.

Dark Cherry wood paneling and padded headboards that made it easy to lean against and nurse, low lighting that made it feel like something out of the old Hollywood movies, the train car was coziness personified -and of course Elaine had her exhausted children all in a tidy row between her and the vibrating train wall. All but Rosalee.

Colonel Parker had balked at the expense of such a luxury car, an en-suite bathroom, two beds making an L in the room and a little sitting room adjacent through a door, perfect for press and visitors -and play space- on the long trip. Elvis thought it was perfect for his family, and that’s where he and his manager differed. Colonel Parker had been very eager and very full of plans upon meeting the freshly stateside Presley’s. He’d come aboard the plane as soon as it touched down at Fort Dix and stressed the importance of Elvis going off solo.

“Colonel, I’ve got four children outta the womb, and my wife’s only got two hands.” Elvis had pointed out the obvious and that logic had won over the Snow Job’s dream of reintroducing a rehabilitated and unencumbered Memphis Flash back to the American public.

Colonel Parker then had some ideas about various ways to ship Elaine back to the backwater by cattlecar while Elvis did press in the north -alright he didn’t put it like that but it was the essence of his intent, according to Elaine’s shrewd perception, so much so even her father, Mr. Phipps had balked in offense at the obvious intention of shoving Elaine and her growing belly away from public view.

If Elvis Presley wanted to be so besotted with her that he’d give her five children in less than four years, he could damn well walk down a jetway with her. A sentiment her Mopey agreed with, of course he did.

And before much more fuss could be made, Charlie Hodge and good ole Rex Harrison had spent their newly demobilized time procuring the best train car on the line, and they spent a great deal of Elvis’ money to incentivize that train car to go to Memphis instead of Baltimore.

Those were the sorts of logistics, haggling and arrangements that Elaine usually took great interest and responsibility for negotiating, but freshly arrived from a transatlantic flight, three press conferences deep, decently pregnant and toting four children and a jumpy husband, she found herself ceding such tactical responsibilities for the seemingly endless amount of breast-feeding and lullaby singing her jet-lagged infants needed.

To be honest she was exhausted. As was Elvis. And their children. So much traveling and so much interacting and never a quiet moment. If one pair of twins was down the other roused and neither parent had gotten a full hour of uninterrupted sleep in two days. But still, Elaine felt happy with the warmth finally soaking into her as she snuggled beneath down covers with three little heaters tucked beside her, Daisy Mae dozing at her breast.

And she got to watch Elvis pace and coo and take the responsibility of soothing Rosalee very seriously, he always did.

“C’mon Schnucki, daddy ain’t goin’ nowhere far, hims right here, you jus’ lay your pretty lil head down and close those pretty yittle eyes, alright? You just close them eyes and picture a pretty green lawn with lil blankets on it and wildflowers we can pick and I’ll even get you little lambs to jump around and -that’s home Schnuki, we’re gonna be home tomorrow baby. I know, I know s’been so long for daddy too, hims could cry to, I could, I swear I could but it’s happier to think ‘bout bein’ there soon, and if you close your yittle eyes and dream bout them pretty clover flowers, you’ll get there even sooner. Did ya know that, Schnucki? Sleep makes ya time travel, it does, honest, baby. It does. So you just close those lil eyes-“

His low, murmuring babble was so soothing Elaine felt her arm holding Daisy go limp and she nodded off for a breed second before a resumption of Rosalee’s pitiful fussing jarred her again.

“Elvis baby, let’s try nursing.” she whispered gently, snagging his blazer hem on one of his turns along the little path he’d made and keeping him close.

He pulled Rosalee off his shoulder and held her little onesie clad form at arms length, surveying his inconsolable little one. “I dunno, ya look pretty fat Rosy, but I reckon there’s always room for more, hmm? Hmm baby? You wanna snuggle with mama’s titties, hmm? Get you all nice and warm and full of milk.” he stepped closer to the bed and Elaine scooted aside, with some fear of crushing her other children, to give him room to sit beside her, “C’mon Schnucki, go to mama, baby girl, get your tummy full so those rumbly tumbly feelin’s don’t wake ya up.”

Elvis’ large hands laid his little bundle on the breast that Daisy had not just supped from and helped Elaine position Rosalee in the crook of her mama’s elbow. He helped straighten her legs and tipped her on her side and when she kept turning her little head to watch him instead of focusing on the task in hand, Elvis even fed her little mouth the nipple like feeding a dog a treat. He squished her cheeks closed and tugged at Elaine’s bud until the milk came out and at it sprayed on Rosalee’s palette the baby’s eyes finally lit up.

“There we go,” Elvis laughed quietly, “don’t know what’s good for ya yet. Shouldn't doubt me Schnucki, I knows what’s best for hers, yes I do, and I always wants what’s best and I know, I know that look, good ain’t it? S’warm and sweet and so soft for your cheek, mhmm, nothin’ to fight.” he crouched over her for a minute as she latched and vigorously began to suck, much to Elaine’s relief, and he ran his fingers across her poofy baby cheek.

Elvis and Elaine watched her, too tired to make conversation or wish to break the hypnotically cozy spell Elvis’ cajoling nursery talk had lulled them all into. Jesse stretched in his sleep beside Elaine and cracked open an eye, smiling a silly, happy, lax mouthed smile at seeing his daddy still there. Elvis laid his hand on his boy’s chest and the the little guy turned on his side, rolling his body around it for a moment before falling back to sleep.

“God, y'all look so cozy, could break my heart.” Elvis mumbled as he took his hand back from Jesse’s lax hold, his other still supporting Rosalee’s bum as the baby girl would unlatch and search frantically for him whenever his touch left.

“You could stay.” Elaine pointed out the obvious, reaching her hand to swoop up the glorious flip of hair he had grown out. In the dim light, and even the bright sunshine, now that he’d grown out his army cut, it was more obvious than ever where Rosalee got her chestnut locks. “Don’t have to do press tonight.” she thumbed at his under eyes, marveling how a man could look so beautiful and so exhausted all at once.

“Naw naw, they’re waiting.” he jerked his head back at the sitting room and the low hum of the waiting reporter’s voices through the door, “If I do it tonight, won’t have to do it tomorrow and with any luck they’ll hop off on some northerly station and we’ll have a spot of peace ‘fore Memphis.”

“Alright.” she murmured, holding very still as Rosalee had come unlatched, cheek squished to Elaine’s large breast and her breath coming out in steady little puffs. “Do you think she’s gone?” she asked the man who knew her best after a bit of study.

“I-I think, I think so.” he hesitated, peering at her pink eyelids and the lax set of her mouth.

“She’s gone very limp.” Elaine remarked.

“Here I’ll try takin’ my hand back a-and if that works I’ll wait a minute and get up.” he suggested, slowly pulling his hand away from his infant's body with all the slow precision of a man dismantling a bomb.

Both hands clutched to his chest, Elvis and Elaine watched to see if baby so much as twitched but 48 hours of traveling seemed to catch up with their Rosalee and she didn’t move a muscle. Elvis carefully snagged a pillow and brought it under Elaine’s arm now she was holding all the weight and she carefully snuggled into a position she could maintain without moving for however long the press conference took.

“You alright mamas?” he asked her as he gravely reviewed his precautions for her comfort.

“I’m perfect.” she whispered, pursing her lips and he leaned over her gently, pressing his forehead to her mouth as he knew she wanted. “Oh I’ve stained you.” she lamented, the faded remnants of her lipstick having transferred to his golden face.

He snickered softly and rose from the bed with as little motion as he could, using those strong thighs of his to leverage straight up without a bounce and when he was successful in not waking the Schnucki Monster he went into the en-suite bathroom and reviewed the pale kiss mark above his brow. It was barely noticeable and rather affectingly situated, like a pretty stamp above his more mobile eyebrow.

As Elvis stared at it his heart twisted with a burning loyalty for the woman in bed with his five children while the Colonel’s words ricocheted in his mind until he found himself emphatically redoing his lashes with more than a moderate coat of mascara and after a moment's hesitation, he opened Elaine’s matching toilette bag and took from it today’s shade of coral. Unscrewing the gold cap he pondered it for a moment before leaning into the mirror and gently dabbing it onto the places where her kiss mark failed to make an outline. He was cautious not to overdo it, pulling back to review his entire face and take in the effect.

He had no desire to make her favor look garish, but neither did he want it unnoticed. He looked rather like one of last war’s recruiting posters, white smile, long hair, fresh face with a big smooch printed thereon.

He knew all these press conferences weren’t just about his career. They were according to his manager but for Elvis, he knew he was coming back to a rather different place than he left, social change and an upcoming election had galvanized folks into a sorta mood Elvis hadn’t had the chance to gauge for himself. And in it he wanted to find his footing again, not just as a star but as somebody who could do good. And he couldn’t do nothing without Laney, whatever Parker said, and poor Laney had suffered enough, been put through the American press for her pretty figure and affectionate ways.

And for daring to love him so well.

It wasn’t just his image. It was hers too, that he was re-introducing, and as such he was introducing the parents of his children, going out there to talk about movies was only the side issue, he had the Presley reputation to establish. Tired as he was, Elvis didn’t feel daunted by it, he felt energized and revved up at the prospect of such momentous responsibilities and he snapped the lid on Laney’s lipstick with an emphatic snap of his thumb.

Elvis liked the ‘loved on’ look. He’d never pretended he didn’t with his fan’s love and he wouldn’t with his wife’s.

He exited the bathroom and upon seeing Elaine as dead asleep sitting up in bed as the rest of the babies, he tiptoed out of the cozy space and cracked open the door, squeezing out and shutting it gently, much to the amusement and chuckling cooperation of the reporters waiting outside.

“Whole crew’s sleepin’ in there, gotta stay quiet, man. How’re y’all doing?” he asked them, basking in the colder air that whistled through the cracked window and took his seat on one of the benches, splitting a smile as a camera flash whited out his vision.

It had been near twenty minutes when Elaine was roused from the dead and dreamless sleep she’d fallen into by the shift of Rosalee’s sweaty little head on her chest. She increased the calming pressure of her hand on the little girl’s back and held very still, hoping it was a gesture in sleep. It wasn’t. Soon after she began to root around and whimper, upon waking up enough to notice soft feminine flesh beneath her cheek she began to fully cry, endangering the rest of the others. Elaine promptly untangled herself and stood up, walking away from the others, pacing by the door, trying to hush her poor infant.

“-besides those three films lined up I-I-I really d-don’t have plans, no, I-I-“ Elvis paused in his answer as the sound of crying came from the inner room. He knew which baby it was and his heart clenched.

“Oops!” one of the reporters snickered, a sympathetic father who knew how annoying it could be to have a baby crying all night, keeping a guy up and the wife not able to make it hush.

“I-I uh…” Elvis tried to go on but the cries increased and while it wouldn’t disturb the journalists or even be perceptible on the recordings, he couldn’t bear it. “If you’ll excuse me, gentleman.” he apologized as he rose, determined and unabashed as he crossed across the train car and wove through the pack of reporters back to the suite door.

“Oh darling I’m sorry.” Laney gushed as he slipped in and cast a wary glance at the stirring children left in the bed.

“Don’t be.” he told her sharply and didn’t even ask for the baby, just took her out of Elaine’s arms with surety and sushed her with his familiar hums. “Ain’t no reason to be apart, we’ll just buddy up for this, huh Schnucki?” he murmured and Elaine’s eyes went wide.

“You’re going to do press with -a child?” It wasn’t an image anyone in Hollywood or even politics really tried to create, the family man leading man wasn’t really a seller at the box office or in the gossip column. Not unless he had affairs and regularly got redeemed by famous children, she supposed the Fairbanks might yet prove role models.

“I’m gonna hold my baby while they ask me questions.” he framed it with a pointed look and placed a kiss of his own on Elaine's forehead, “Now I can’t keep ‘em waiting. Go get warm, go, move that cute lil butt, go, shoo!” he swatted her nighty clad backside until she had the covers up to her chin again and Ella tucked into her side. It wasn’t till he had turned back and headed out the door that Elaine gasped in recognition of the kiss mark.

The chattering greetings of the journalists upon his re-emergence quieted as soon as they noticed the bundle in his arms as he stepped back through their ranks to his seat. Sitting with all the nonchalant confidence of a king as he tucked his pacified child into the crook of his elbow and patted her bottom rhythmically with a bejeweled hand. Those who had once lingered around him on tour, chasing him down backstage to snatch sound bites and headliner quotes over the scream of women and the edgy young performers' preoccupation with kissing and winking at every passing female were astounded by the change.

Bob Gary, one of the reporters who had covered his stardom since the hayride and had the pleasure of meeting Miss Gladys, god rest her, was a little less astounded than others that her wild boy had in him the makings of a lovely young man. Bob always thought Elvis was respectful and always got a sense of goodness when around Elvis. It made sense Elvis would set his mind to good fatherhood and perform its functions with as little shame as he felt when moving to his music. “Now who do we have here?” Bob asked kindly after the quiet room got a little too absurd even by journalistic standards.

“We’ve got a pretty little lady joining us, gentleman, this is Rosalee Presley, prefers to be called Schnuki but maybe not by you strange men. Heh.” Elvis proclaimed his sniveling baby’s chosen name proudly and jostled her mopey self a little, only succeeding in making her pout further into his jacket but the tears had ceased. “All this travelin’ has been doin’ their heads in, man, my poor babies. So, you mustn’t mistake her whinin’ as personality, ya see she’s been a very stable baby, hasn’t ever been outside Germany, ‘cept for a trip to Paris, and now she’s across the whole ocean. That’s a heap of miles for a yittle itty-bitty thang like her, you understand gentleman? So as I was sayin’, my lil daughter’s most congenial, most nights, gonna have to forgive her tonight*

Bob Gary laughed as did a few of the press who were equally lost on the topic but eager to return to their questions. “Why can’t her mother calm her?” one fellow asked benignly and Elvis squinted at him, jaw tickling before he smoothed his face and shrugged:

“My wife’s jugglin’ four kids in there, includin’ the one cookin and she does a remarkable job.'' Perhaps Elvis said it sharper than he meant to, but Bob Gary licked his pencil stub and got to writing, paper didn’t convey tone unless the writer mentioned it. “A-a-and see, me and my Rosalee,” the young father went on, “we’re the same, two peas in a pod. I’m the same when she ain’t around, get all mopey and the like. I do man, I do. Got my own lil wooby here, uhuh. What? Oh ha! Sure sure, call it that. Emotional crutch, whatever man I-I-I -all I know is I-I need her, man. What? You ain’t ever wanted to hang out with your kid? They’re a heap of fun man, don’t talk over ya neither.”

“Can we see her face, Elvis?” Asked one hopeful with his camera at the ready.

Elvis thoughtfully prodded Rosalee’s pink cheek but the little girl was always shy of crowds, worse yet when they were masculine ones and despite Elvis’ little pokes his baby only burrowed deeper, as if aware of his query and answering it with a wriggle that buried her face beneath his jacket’s lapel.

“Aww man, I think she’s too shy for that.” Elvis decided, carefully tucking her further in, her chubby little legs, two dangling feet and the back of her reddish head the only visible parts of her. “Now I don’t want y’all thinkin’ this is her usual personality, -all the travellin’s been rough on her.”

“I bet it’s hard on all the kids.”

“I-i-it’s challenging, sure.” Elvis nodded, running a soothing hand up her sweaty back, “But we’re headed home. Gonna be right as rain, soon as we get to Memphis, I just know it. Ya know these last two, they were born in Germany! Ain’t ever been home yet, they’re restless for it.”

That seemed a bit improbable for a bunch of city slickers who considered home to be a vague notion of rented flats and let rooms and so one asked:

“__Mr. Presley, you’ve quite the large family now, uh, how old is your daughter? Hard to keep up.“

“She’s not yet one.”

“—And your wife’s already expecting again, correct?“

“Yessir she is.” Elvis nodded soberly and he felt little Rosalee begin to forget her bashfulness and twist herself a little so she could play with the rings on his left hand.

“Does the growth of your family surprise you? It certainly surprised the rest of the nation. Do you have any regrets?“

Elvis thought about the adoring bundle in his arms who gave him all the terrifyingly unconditional trust he always wanted to be saddled with and stuttered out a reply after clearing his throat, “Well uh, no sir, not really. My wife she -she was on me like a duck on a junebug, sir, right away like. And uh, I saw it as my peace keepin’ duty to keep her peaceful, ya see? Heh. So, so anyways, we’ve got all these kids now and I find them mighty precious. They’re the most special things I’ve ever had. I-I- didn’t-what we had gentleman, when we married -it weren’t no great romance, see, it were rather like the reasons our parents married. Course I love her now but we’re intentional and this is what we wanted. She’s made what coulda been some of the darkest years of my life, well she -she’s made them the best. Awww yeah you too Schnucki, yesss, of course hers too.” he trailed off with a coo as Rosalee raised her face to watch him, learning by his tone that he was talking about mama.

“—What do you expect for your little family, what with you gone to work on the movie contracts Colonel Parker has lined up for you?“

“Oh well, they’re comin’ with me, ain’t no question of that. Whole family I-I-I gotta have ‘em. They’re not a favorite pillowcase you can leave behind. Colonel Parker says the trailer ain’t big enough but he forgets they’re lil still, we all fit in a single bed. Sleep that way most nights, they’re all yittle still. And I need ‘em. They’ll be with me.”

“What’s Miss Rosalee think about seeing palm trees, huh?” the same hopeful as before, this time with his damn camera lowered, took the liberty of grabbing at one of her little feet, intending to wag it playfully but Miss Rosalee let out a wounded cry of disbelief and climbed up her father’s chest with the alacrity of a hunted koala.

Elvis tried to moderate his voice when he cautioned the young journalist, “She don’t wanna be touched, man, please don’t.” but nothing could temper the cool blue flame of his eyes at the guy’s presumption. “Hey, hey hers ok, yes hers is.” he whispered to his baby and slowly brought her down into his lap, a curled little dough ball in a soft pink onesie. “Here Schnucki, curl in baby, have at it.”

He opened his jacket wide and exposed a soft sweater beneath his blazer, dark red and with a deep neckline, he’d bought it for the cowl neck he liked for shielding from the wintry gusts and hiding his chicken neck from photographers. Rosalee likes the way it warms her up and tickles her nose, she burrows her face into his chest so fast it’s comical and the guys laughed as did Elvis gently, all while he closed his blazer back around her little body and gathered up her one vulnerable outlier in his large hands - her little footsies.

“I dunno what y’all are laughin’ at.” Elvis pretended ignorance, crooked grin about ready to split his face, “There ain’t nothin’ here, man, nothin’!” he protested as the guys wheezed in amusement over the tiny, frizzy shock of chestnut hair sticking out the top of his buttoned coat. “Now’re you fools gonna ask me about formula brands or hollywood, hmm?”

The next thirty minutes passed uneventfully, for Rosalee at least. It was warm and damp in daddy’s jacket, against his chest and she could feel the thoughtful rumble of his answers buzzing her right cheek. When he was done she felt a little whoosh of flight as he stood up but she was safe, his arm kept her anchored to him and the buttons cocooning her near his chest held up. She had been oblivious to the nervous way her daddy sweated when he dodged answering about who he’d vote for in the coming election but she had felt when he had tensed at a question about her parents’ taped phone call. She raised a clammy hand out the top of his jacket and patted his jaw till he had laughed. The press laughed too. He never answered that question after all. Rosalee smiled a proud baby smile against his sweater.

All Miss Rosalee knew was daddy laughed and then he calmed and his chest rumbled some more then there was a whoosh and the jostling of him shaking hands and soon he was walking, she could feel the bounce of his gait. “We fooled them, didn’t we Schnucki.” she heard him whisper down into the jacket.

The soft click of the door. Mama was near.

And soon, Rosalee felt a chilly little gust as the inferno was opened and the faint lights of the bedroom suite crept in as daddy unbuttoned his jacket and gently laid her down next to mama on the bed before stripping out of his clothes. Mama lay on her side in the bed and deftly slipped the lacy strap of her nighty off her shoulder, gently cupping Rosalee’s head to her breast, hoping for cooperation.

Without preamble or hesitation the little girl latched on for her midnight snack.

Elvis was slipping in beside them, tucked in with Rosalee between himself and Elaine, when his pretty wife chuckled in disbelief.

“What is it baby?” he asked, whopped from all the diplomacy and melting like butter on pancakes at the mere proximity to his little tribe.

“You smart little lady,” Elaine murmursd to Rosalee in admiration, “you know your daddy isn’t leaving anymore and now you want to eat, huh?”

Elvis grinned with half his pretty face smashed into the pillow, trying in vain to stay awake to watch one of his favorite activities under the sun -his wife feeding his babies from her own body. His eyes began to droop anyway and he found himself jolting periodically, having drifted off.

The third time he awoke like this he felt Laney’s cool fingers gently tugging his eyelids down, smudging the mascara but soothing him, “Night, night mopey, you can go now, she’s gone, too.”

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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@powerofelvis

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

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@thatbanditqueen

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@that-hotdog

[sebnameyourcar]

the coming days will reveal whether mark webber is the cleverest, most shrewd negotiator in the sport’s history or whether he fucked up piastri’s career so badly that no one will want to touch him in f1 with a ten foot pole because of 26 lawsuits

[intplayboy]

WITCH'S REFUGE - ROYAL SOLDIERS! BTS OT7 X WITCH! READER [ PART 1 ]

if you wish to be part of the tag list, complete the form.

summary: in an era where the royal family denounces all magic, as one of the few remaining witches, you hide your powers. though you try to lead a normal life, only the seven accepting men make you feel truly understood. yet, what destiny awaits when you must reveal your true identity?

genre: supernatural/magic au | medieval-modern fusion fantasy au | F2L (more like idiots to lovers, honestly) | moderate? angst | action | romance | fluff | hint of crack

pairing: royal soldiers bts ot7 x female witch reader (high royal commander!kim namjoon, high royal soldier!kim namjoon, high royal soldier!min yoongi, royal assassin!jung hoseok, royal assassin!park jimin, elite warrior!kim taehyung, elite warrior!jeon jungkook)

warnings: mentions of violence, blood, death, slight mentions of SA, disgusting misogyny, witchcraft, slight gore, and swearing.

permanent tag list: @taolucha, @exfolitae, @namjoonswaifu, @rinkud, @queenlouie18, @btsgangleader @m0v3m3ntsblog, @nicholedobre-blog, @bjoriis, @princess-sunshyn, @han-aaaaa, @ejspencer14, @skyys-universe, @thvslvt, @dustyinkpages, @savagemickey03, @aynbookworm, @loveforred, @jwonz, @ghostlyworld, @wagtte, @louisaqueen, @meepsters-world, @carolina-thiell, @svnbangtansworld, @deepestfacedevil

(the tags that are strikethrough could not be tagged)

word count: 19,398

drabble masterpost | masterlist | character boards | prologue | part 1 | part 2 [finale] | alternate ending

Present day...

In the narrow, cobblestone-laden alleyways of the bustling city, the rhythmic echo of boots pounding against the ground resonates. "Stop, right there!" A man, accompanied by a cadre of others, bellows, their pursuit propelled by an intensity matched only by the pulsing rhythm of your heart. The reminiscence of childhood escapades emerges, an unexpected thrill as you find yourself once more in the precarious position of the pursued, the very spirit of adventure coursing through your veins.

The impetus for this impromptu race stems from the audacious act of liberating an artifact from the clutches of a pledgemart—an establishment known for its shrewd dealings. Your attempt to negotiate a fair price met with obstinacy from the working men within, who sought to exploit you. Frustration simmered, and in a feigned surrender, you declared your departure. Unbeknownst to them, the pilfered artifact nestled discreetly within your sleeve.

As you strolled away with feigned nonchalance, a sudden shout marked their discovery of the missing item. The chase unfolded with a symphony of footsteps and frantic exclamations, your nimble form weaving through the labyrinthine alleyways, adeptly evading both pursuers and obstacles. Yet, as the village streets blurred around you, the relentless pursuit eventually cornered you in a dimly lit cul-de-sac.

"If I didn't know better, I'd reckon you for the famed Mystrogue that's been the talk of our beloved city—renowned seeker and pilferer, and quite proficient at it, if I may add. But I beg to differ, considering you're but a young lass, and such feats would seem nigh impossible for someone of your ilk," one of the men quipped, suspicion and amusement intertwining in his words.

Breathless, you retort, "Your presumptions matter not. I suggest you release me if you value your well-being."

Laughter erupts among the men, a cacophony of disbelief reverberating through the alley. Unfazed, you tighten your grip on the concealed artifact, bracing yourself for the impending confrontation.

As the men lunge forward with an unexpected assault, your nimble reflexes engage. Swiftly eluding the initial blow, you counter with a series of well-aimed strikes, showcasing your prowess in hand-to-hand combat. The alley transforms into a makeshift battleground—a dance between evasion and retaliation.

Despite your impressive display, the sheer numbers eventually overwhelm you. A firm grip seizes you from behind, restraining your movements. The leader, a grizzled man with a scarred visage, steps forward, his voice dripping with menace. "For your audacious theft, girl, we'll have no choice but to sever your thieving hands. A fitting punishment for those who dare defy the order of this city."

The threat hangs in the air, heavy and ominous. A sense of desperation creeps in as you struggle against your captors, but their hold remains unyielding. The narrow alley now feels like a prison, the walls closing in as the leader pronounces your dire fate.

"You're naught but a common thief, and this city won't abide such defiance. Ready yourself for the consequences of your actions," he declares, his words resonating with finality.

As the blade descends towards your restrained hands, a commanding voice resonates through the alley. "Enough!"

The men freeze, turning to the source of the interruption. The figure emerging from the shadows is none other than Namjoon, his presence demanding attention. His eyes bore into the leader, a silent warning. Soon, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jin appear alongside Namjoon in this narrow alleyway bathed in the sunny glow of mid-morning.

Your brow furrows slightly. Where are the other three? You wondered.

Namjoon's gaze remains locked with the defiant leader of the men. "Release her, and you may yet escape unscathed."

The men exchange glances, their hesitation evident, but their pride and greed prevail. With a signal from their leader, they tighten their grip on you, defiance etched on their faces.

"We don't answer to the likes of you," the leader spits, a malevolent grin stretching across his face. "She stole from us, and we'll be the ones to dispense justice."

Namjoon's hand twitches, signaling the others to prepare for what seems inevitable. The air grows thick with tension as the two factions face off, each refusing to yield.

Meanwhile, your mind races, desperately seeking an escape from this perilous situation. The cold steel of the blade hovers menacingly close to your hands, restrained and vulnerable. The men surrounding you exchange menacing glances, relishing the impending punishment they intend to deliver.

Suddenly, Hoseok steps forward. His eyes, sharp and calculating, survey the alley with a hint of disdain. "Do you truly believe you can challenge us, you fools? Do you even know who we are?"

The men scoff, dismissing Hoseok's words as mere bravado. The atmosphere crackles with anticipation as the standoff reaches its climax.

Namjoon's patience wears thin. "Last chance. Release her, or face the consequences."

The men hesitate, realizing the gravity of the situation. Yet, the leader, fueled by arrogance, signals for the attack. But Namjoon and the others remain still and calm, for the anticipated assault never comes. Perplexed, the leader turns around to be met with Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin holding their respective blade weapons at the necks of the erstwhile captors.

"As you were saying," Taehyung muses, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Now, before I was rudely interrupted, you shall desist from troubling this young woman. Do you understand?" Namjoon's eyes darken, fixing upon all four men.

"How dare—" The leader begins to retort defiantly, but Yoongi's swift and undetected actions interrupt him with a sword blade against his neck.

"You wish to defy the orders of the royal family's protectors?" Yoongi intones with a menacing glare.

The man gulps and shakes his head, his bravado replaced by a flicker of fear. "N-no, of course not."

He shifts his gaze back to Namjoon. "Pray accept my humble apologies, my lords. I was unaware this woman was in association with you."

Namjoon approaches, his expression unwavering. "Leave. Consider yourselves fortunate that you still draw breath. Speak not a word of this woman or this encounter, lest you wish dire consequences."

The men, recognizing the futility of further resistance, slink away, leaving behind the echoes of their defeated pride.

With Jimin and Jungkook the ones closest to you, Jimin turns to you, concern etching his features. "Are you hurt, Y/N?"

Your hands throbbed from the ordeal, but you managed a nod of assurance. "I'm fine. Thanks to all of you."

"Then what's this, beneath your shoulder?" Jungkook's brow arches in suspicion, pointing at a bloody cut on your upper arm, presumably from the knife one of the men used on you during the brief skirmish.

You chuckle sheepishly. "Oh, it's nothing... I insist..."

"It's not nothing if you're bleeding, Y/N," Jimin insists. "Come, let's find a place where we can tend to that wound."

With your arm gently supported by Jimin, the group maneuvers through the winding alleyways. The village hums with life around you as the bright hues of the sunlight filter through the labyrinthine streets.

Namjoon's voice resonates, breaking the silence enveloping the group. "This isn't the first instance we've found ourselves intervening on your behalf, Y/N."

A glance of gratitude is cast toward him. "I appreciate your assistance, truly. How did you come upon me, may I inquire?"

Hoseok chuckles. "Perchance because we followed the trail of trouble that seemed to linger on our path leading to you, whether it be your penchant for adventure or your knack for stumbling upon turmoil."

You playfully roll your eyes. "Har har, very humorous, Hoseok."

As the group emerges onto a broader thoroughfare, Taehyung points toward a discreet apothecary nestled between two grander establishments. "That should be a suitable place to address your wound."

The bell above the apothecary's door chimes as you enter, greeted by the scent of various herbs and medicinal potions. The shopkeeper, a wizened figure with spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, looks up from his work. "How may I assist you?"

"We need something to clean and dress this wound," Jimin explains, revealing the extent of the injury.

The apothecary, noticing the wounded state, gestures for you to sit at a small wooden table. "Please, have a seat, young miss. I'll prepare a salve for that cut."

As you settle, Seokjin says. "No, but in all earnestness, Y/N. This has occurred far too frequently. Why do you consistently find yourself embroiled in such trivial affairs? If you find yourself in need of aid or finances, you are well aware that you can turn to us, are you not?"

Your gaze averts. "Well, there is a valid reason for this particular escapade."

Taehyung who is leaning against a nearby shelf, adopting an air of nonchalance. "So, what was the object of this daring escapade, anyway?"

You hesitate for a moment, retrieving the invaluable artifact, revealing it to be a delicate piece of parchment. But this seemingly, "ordinary paper" is none other than a secondary copy of the Kingdom's map, stretching far beyond the borders of your realm into neighboring lands and forbidden mountains rumored to be teeming with magical creatures. The mere existence of such beings has become the stuff of myth since the banishment of magic and its practitioners. How this hidden treasure found its way into the hands of the pledgemarts remains a mystery.

"So, are you insinuating that you risked life and limb for this antiquated map?" Jungkook's brow arched skeptically as he surveyed the document in your hands.

"And pray tell, what makes it so significant, Y/N, that you'd stake your well-being for it?" Jin's tone was dry, though lacking any true malice.

With a measured exhale, you prepared to justify your actions, "It's not merely an old map, if you must know, Jungkook. Do you wonder why it fetched such a high price? Because the original resides within the palace, accessible only to the royal family. Its value lies not only in its rarity but in the history it encapsulates, a history tied to these lands and the events of ages past."

"And what need have you for such a rare relic?" Namjoon inquires, his gaze piercing.

Your gaze shifted momentarily in contemplation before fixing back on him, voice lowered, "May we discuss this elsewhere, please?"

Namjoon nodded, and amidst exchanged glances among your friends, the apothecary completed the mending of your wound, securing a bandage. "Take heed, and tread carefully. Mishaps have a way of finding those who seek them," he advised, sliding a jar of salve towards you. "This should aid in the healing, young miss. Apply it generously."

"Thank you," you murmur gratefully, accepting the remedies.

Jimin, ever the considerate one, inquires about payment, but the apothecary waves it off with a dismissive gesture. "Consider it a token of gratitude for safeguarding our city. The Royal Protectors are always welcome here."

As your group emerges back into the sunlight, Namjoon's gaze settles upon you with a mix of concern and admonishment. "Y/N, you must grasp the consequences of your actions. We cannot always be there to extricate you from every predicament."

"I understand, Namjoon. Truly, I do," you respond earnestly, the weight of your choices settling upon your shoulders.

Hoseok interjects, his tone lightening the mood with a touch of levity. "Nevertheless, trouble seems to have a knack for finding you, or perhaps it's the other way around."

You shoot him a playful glare, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Is that your professional opinion, Doctor Hoseok?"

Taehyung, ever the embodiment of carefree spirit, suggests a reprieve. "Shall we indulge in some refreshments? It seems an opportune moment for respite."

"An excellent suggestion. Let us adjourn to my humble abode; I have procured a new selection of teas and treats to share," you offer with a smile.

Jungkook, always quick with a jest, couldn't resist a tease. "New, you say? One must wonder if you've liberated these goods as well..."

You narrow your gaze at him, playfully threatening pursuit as he dodges away. "Come back here, you scamp!"

"Not this time. I used my own funds!" You protest.

"Ah, you say 'this time'? It implies a previous act of pilfering," he counters, evading your lighthearted chase.

"Did not!" You argue.

"Did too." He laughs.

The older six of your group watched fondly as you engaged in playful banter. Despite the drastic difference in social status—your commoner background juxtaposed with their high royal standing—the dynamics of your group remained unchanged. Grateful for the enduring camaraderie, you all continued to revel in the playful interactions that had characterized your friendship.

Back at your cottage, you promptly prepared tea, unveiling your new collection bought with hard-earned money, refuting Jungkook's absurd accusation.

As the fragrant steam rises from the teapot, Hoseok leans forward, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. "Now that we're away from prying ears, Y/N, do tell us why you risked life and limb for that ancient map?"

A weighty sigh escapes your lips; this day, you knew, would inevitably arrive. For the better part of six auroas, you've meticulously laid the groundwork for the moment when you'd disclose your clandestine plans. However, the apprehension gnaws at you, as you grapple with the delicate task of revealing your intentions without causing undue distress to your closest companions.

You understand the impracticality of divulging the whole truth, the veritable reason behind your meticulous planning and subsequent departure from the kingdom. Since the prohibition of magic and the persecution of its wielders, you've been forced to exist in the shadows, concealing your abilities beneath the guise of a commoner.

Your sorcery, a gift passed down through generations, necessitates discretion, especially given the escalating civil unrest in the villages. The imminent arrival of the royal military elite for inquisitions looms over your head like a guillotine. Your nascent mastery of magic is fragile, and an encounter with the inquisitors could shatter the fragile control you've gained.

Recollections of your mother's tales, of covens of witches secluded in the northern realms, lingered in your mind. Legends spoke of their veiled existence, untouched by the meddling hands of humans for lumiras. Your intent was not only a self-indulgent quest for heritage and mastery of your magic but also a calculated move to shield your companions from the impending storm. The military elite, unrelenting in their pursuit, would not hesitate to accuse your friends of collusion, painting them as conspirators in your occult escapades.

"I have intentions of departing the kingdom," you proclaimed, your words resolute, yet tinged with a palpable sorrow. The die was cast, and there could be no retracing of steps.

The room held its breath in suspended animation. Seven pairs of eyes, frozen in astonishment, betrayed the collective disbelief at your revelation. A dissonant shatter punctuated the silence, and your gaze snapped to the fallen tea cup near Jimin, the first to react to your momentous disclosure.

"Oh no! Are you unharmed, Jimin? Allow me to clean this up for you." Hastily procuring a cloth and a dustpan, you endeavored to remedy the scattered shards.

"No, don't, Y/N. You might injure yourself," Jimin implored, breaking through the haze of shock.

A nervous smile adorned your countenance. "It is quite alright, Jimin. I—" A sudden pang interrupted your words, a small cut on your index finger oozing droplets of crimson.

Jimin, ever the caring soul, intervenes, "Y/N, let me tend to your wound."

Yet, it is not Jimin's hands that cradle yours; it is Yoongi's firm grip that takes hold. "Why subject yourself to needless harm when assistance is readily available?" he admonishes, attending to your minor injury with practiced efficiency.

Jin interjects, "Now, kindly resume elucidating the rationale behind this momentous decision of yours."

Resuming your seat at the table, a sigh escapes your lips, laden with the weight of impending revelation. "The kingdom has been steeped in turmoil since the prohibition of magic. I find myself no longer desirous of confining my existence within these walls."

Your utterance reverberates in the hallowed silence, and the gravity of your decision begins to unfurl. However, the disclosure is only partially accurate; the depths of your motivation remain veiled, a necessary smoke screen to shield your dear friends from the harsh reality of your supernatural lineage.

"And how long has this plan been festering in the recesses of your mind?" Jimin questioned, concern etched upon his face.

Shame colors you as you avert your gaze. "Several auroas, I believe."

"Several auroas?! And you saw fit to withhold such momentous plans from us?" Jimin's incredulity is mirrored on the faces of the others, a collective expression of dismay.

"I assure you, my departure is not imminent," you assert in an attempt to assuage their apprehension. "I am still in the contemplative stage."

"In the contemplative stage?" Jimin echoes with palpable frustration. "Pray, how is it that you arrived at such a life-altering decision without deigning to inform us?"

The room simmers with a tension borne of unspoken emotions and uncharted territories. The burden of deception weighs heavily on your shoulders, but the alternative—laying bare the intricate web of magical intrigue and peril—seems too great a cost to impose upon your friends.

Attempting to quell the rising tension, Hoseok intervenes. "Let us temper our emotions. Y/N may have more to expound upon. Is that not so?"

Nodding hesitantly, you affirm, "Indeed, I do. My desire extends beyond the simplicity of a commoner's life within these walls. I yearn to explore, to contribute in ways that transcend the mundane. To achieve this, I must venture beyond our borders."

Jimin's incredulous gaze narrows. "Embarking on such a perilous expedition is no trifling matter. Why, then, did you not summon us to accompany you?"

"Because precisely that — it is perilous. I harbor no desire to subject you to the dangers beyond our borders. It would be unjust to sacrifice your cherished positions for the uncertainties that lie ahead," you explain, your eyes pleading for their understanding.

Jin wears a sorrowful expression. "You underestimate the strength of our bonds, Y/N. To think we would prioritize our positions over your well-being wounds me deeply."

The room falls into a somber silence, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging heavily.

Jimin leans back, "While your intentions may be noble, it remains a considerable deviation from our collective path. Decisions of such magnitude necessitate collective contemplation."

Taehyung, who has been pensively silent, finally speaks, "But what of the dangers you might face alone? Surely, we could lend our strength, provide a united front against the perils that await beyond our borders."

Your heart swells with gratitude for their concern, yet the specter of potential consequences restrains you. "I appreciate your offer, Taehyung, but the dangers I face are mine to endure. To embroil you in these uncertainties is a burden I cannot bear."

Hoseok suggests, "Before definitive decisions are made, let us collectively explore the details of your plan. Knowledge dispels fear, and perhaps together, we can devise a strategy that mitigates the dangers you envision."

"Perhaps we can delve into that matter at a later time. As I mentioned earlier, I don't intend to depart any time soon," you declare.

A hushed silence ensues before you continue, your eyes flitting between each concerned face. "However, there's something else I must impart—a reminder of sorts. I am to return to Valoris once more, and I shall be absent for two duskars." Your words captured by their ears, inciting incredulity once more, eliciting groans and sighs from the group.

(Duskar: a combination of "Dusk" and "Star," Duskar represents both day and night. It acknowledges the importance of celestial transitions and the balance between light and darkness.)

"Pray, tell me you jest, Y/N," Jin articulates with a mixture of incredulity and exasperation, his demeanor embodying the very essence of patience tried. "What compels you to return there yet again?"

"You know well the reason. There is a family in dire need of aid. They teeter on the brink of survival—had I not stumbled upon them, who knows what fate would have befallen them," you protest, a pout forming on your lips.

"Y/N, whilst your benevolence knows no bounds—a trait most admirable, I must urge caution. One cannot ascertain if their plight is as dire as you perceive it to be," Jin responds.

"Do you not find it rather suspicious that after years of barrenness, a family suddenly emerges in such desolate environs?" He counters.

Your eyes sweep over the assembly, prompting a sheepish smile from you as you rub your neck. "I understand it may seem peculiar, but circumstances unravel in curious ways. And I've pledged to aid them, I cannot turn my back on that commitment."

Taehyung, his brow furrowed, interjects, "Y/N, it's been a while since you started assisting this family. May I inquire about the nature of their situation? How did you chance upon them in such desolate surroundings?"

A nostalgic smile graces your lips as you recount the serendipitous encounter. "Whilst exploring the outskirts of Valoris, I happened upon a decrepit cottage. Within its dilapidated walls dwelled a family—a mother, a father, and a young girl. Their existence was a struggle against the elements, barely sustaining themselves. It tugged at my heart, and I couldn't stand idly by."

Jungkook, leaning on his hand, adds, "As Jin has pointed out—not to dispute your compassion, Y/N, but these are challenging times. We must be cautious of unforeseen consequences."

You nod appreciatively at Jungkook's counsel. "I acknowledge the risks, Jungkook. Yet, my conscience compels me to aid those in need."

Namjoon, tilting his head in amusement, chimes in, "Then you wouldn't mind if one of us accompanies you on this mission of mercy?"

"No—! I mean, they're not fond of strangers," you hastily reason.

Namjoon raised his brow skeptically. "They welcomed you warmly, it seems."

"I'm but a small woman; they assumed I posed no threat. Yet, it still required effort to convince them of my harmlessness to them. I just don't want to frighten them off, and if they learn that I've divulged their existence to you all, they'll be afraid," you explain.

Jimin, dryly, responds, "That doesn't ease our concerns, Y/N."

"Listen—" you begin, exhaling softly. "As you rightly pointed out, I have undertaken this task for some time now. I am well-versed in such matters. Trust me, I shall be fine. I give you my word."

The room remains enveloped in contemplative silence before Yoongi, who had been quietly observing, finally speaks up. "If you're so resolute, Y/N, why not let one of us accompany you? It'd ease our minds, and we could lend a hand if need be."

You consider his suggestion, realizing the merit in his words. "I appreciate the concern, but I fear introducing others might disturb the delicate balance I've established with the family. They're wary, and I don't wish to jeopardize the trust I've built."

Seokjin, arms crossed, raises an eyebrow. "Trust, Y/N? How can you trust a family you just stumbled upon in the desolation of Valoris?"

A solemn expression crosses your face as you respond, "Trust is earned, Jin. And over time, they've come to trust me. I've proven my sincerity through actions, not just words."

Jin sighs in reluctant understanding, "Very well, Y/N. But you must promise to exercise caution. Valoris is not a place to be taken lightly."

Your gaze meets each of theirs, a vow implicit in your eyes. "I promise, Jin. I'll tread carefully, and I'll be back before you know it."

With a collective exhale, the tension in the room eases slightly, though an undercurrent of concern lingers. Your friends exchanging glances that spoke volumes of their internal debates. It was clear they harbored reservations, yet your determination seemed to quell the immediate protests.

Namjoon, assuming the role of the tacit leader amongst your circle, spoke with a measured tone, “Like Jin has said, we implore you to remain vigilant and communicate with us at the first sign of distress."

"Your safety is paramount, not just to us, but to those you seek to aid. An unforeseen mishap would not only imperil you but potentially them as well," Jimin adds, the weight of his gaze impressing upon you the gravity of his words.

You nod, the warmth of their concern enveloping you like a comforting embrace. "I am truly blessed to have such steadfast companions. I shall endeavor to proceed with the utmost caution and keep you apprised of my whereabouts and well-being."

A sudden burst of joviality erupts as Hoseok, with a spirited clap of his hands, attempts to dispel the tension. "By the way, whilst we're gathered, might we engage in discourse concerning the choice of furnishings that adorn your abode in recent days?"

The unexpected comment elicits snickers and playful smiles, particularly from the younger three among your seven male friends. Your countenance scrunches as you defend your taste, "Hey—what's amiss with it? I find that it imparts character to my humble abode."

"Oh, character she says..." Taehyung playfully rolls his eyes, accompanying his expression with a hearty snicker.

"Yes," you protest with a spirited defense. "There is merit in uniqueness."

"Is there, though?" Jungkook chimes in with a teasing smirk.

You playfully brandish your teaspoon at Jungkook. "Do not reckon I've forgotten the earlier banter."

Jungkook raises his hands in mock surrender, "Merely suggesting that Hoseok may have a point."

You huff, "I believe the issue lies not in my embellishments, but rather in the judgment of you four."

Abruptly, you turn your gaze to Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi. "What's your stance on my domicile embellishments? Do you deem them peculiar?"

Namjoon and Jin avert their gazes expeditiously. "Not peculiar, per se, but room for improvement, mayhaps."

Your mouth agape in incredulity, you shift your eyes to Yoongi, who, in nonchalance, utters, "I would counsel against seeking my perspective."

"You gentlemen are unkind; my choice of furnishings are perfectly adequate." You cross your arms with a defeated pout.

Amidst the snickers and amusement of the others, Yoongi breaks the sounds of teasing with unexpected words, "I find your choice of furnishings quite acceptable. They mirror the essence of your beautiful personality, a sentiment often overlooked. It reflects your warm perspective on the external world despite the adversities it has thrust upon you."

A moment of frozen silence follows Yoongi's unexpected words. His usual reserve, both in language and demeanor, makes such an expression of sentiment all the more noteworthy. Your eyes shimmer with appreciation, acknowledging his unusual display of affection.

"Oh, thank you, Yoongi. I had faith in your understanding." Moved by gratitude, you rise from your seat, traversing the table to where Yoongi sits, offering him an embrace.

The others observe this scene with amusement, witnessing Yoongi's stoic countenance in the face of your affectionate display. Yet, beneath the facade, there's an undeniable enjoyment that the astute onlookers can discern.

A twinge of envy courses through the younger trio. "Had it been one of us embracing you, you'd have protested vehemently," Jimin declares, crossing his arms with a playful smirk.

Taehyung joins in, grinning, "Shall we test this theory with our own embraces?"

"Do not test my patience." Yoongi warns, maintaining his composure even as you continue to hug him with unwavering enthusiasm.

"Oh, tread carefully, Y/N; you may inadvertently become the thief of our affections, and then we'll be seven lovers no more," Jin jests, playing along.

"Rest assured, my dear friends," you assure with a laugh, relinquishing Yoongi from your hold and retaking your seat opposite him. "I harbor no intentions of dismantling your polyamorous entanglements. Your relationships with one another are almost as precious to me as my individual friendships with each of you."

"Yet," you muse, "I cannot deny a flicker of envy."

Curiosity dances in Jin's eyes as he tilts his head. "For what reason, may I ask?"

"You all share a love so profound, a bond so unbreakable. I, on the contrary, find myself lacking in that department. I often ponder when the fates shall decree it my turn to discover someone who will cherish me as deeply as you all cherish one another."

Hoseok smiles, his gaze gentle. "Do not lose hope, dear Y/N. In due time, you shall encounter someone worthy of your affection, and they of yours."

"Thank you, Hobi," you respond gratefully. "Until then, I shall cherish the love and friendship we share."

As you approach the outskirts of Valoris, the quaint cottage comes into view, nestled amidst a thicket of gnarled trees and overgrown foliage. The air is thick with the scent of earth and wildflowers, a serene tranquility enveloping the surroundings. With each step, anticipation swells within you, mingled with a sense of familiarity and warmth at the thought of reuniting with the family you've come to know.

Pushing open the creaking gate, you make your way down the winding path, the crunch of gravel beneath your boots a comforting rhythm. The cottage stands before you, its timeworn facade bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the worn wooden porch.

With a soft knock, you announce your arrival, the sound echoing through the quietude of the evening. Moments pass before the door creaks open, revealing the figure of the mother, Esmae is her name, her weary eyes brightening at the sight of you.

"Y/N, you've returned," she murmurs, a smile dancing upon her lips as she steps aside, bidding you entry into the cozy embrace of their abode.

Within, the hearth crackles cheerfully, casting a soft radiance upon the modest surroundings. Jakub, the father, sits by the fire, his calloused hands cradling a steaming cup of tea, while a young girl occupies herself with a worn-out doll in the corner, her laughter a melody that fills the room.

"Yes, and I've brought provisions," you announce, brandishing a basket brimming with necessities.

"Y/N, it's a pleasure to see you once more. Thank you kindly for returning," Jakub greets, his voice laced with warmth as he gestures for you to join them.

The little one, Talia, clutching her tattered companion, peeks out from behind her father's chair, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Y/N, you've come back," she exclaims, a glimmer of delight piercing through the solemnity of their surroundings.

"I made a promise, did I not?" you respond, lowering yourself to meet the child's gaze. "And who might this be?" you inquire, motioning to the doll.

The girl beamed, holding the doll up for inspection. "This is Bonnie. She's my friend."

You couldn't help but smile at the simplicity of the bond between the girl and her tattered companion. "Bonnie is a lovely name for a lovely friend," you remarked.

Seated around the hearth, you regale the family with tales of your adventures since your last visit, their rapt attention hanging on your every word. Particularly Talia, who captivates you with her innocent musings and boundless curiosity.

She listens eagerly as you recount stories from distant lands, dreams that stretch beyond the confines of Valoris. Her eyes shimmer with wonder, momentarily eclipsing the harsh realities of their existence.

Over the past two days, you seamlessly integrate into their daily rhythm. The modest cottage, though weathered by time, brims with love and mirth.

At the first morning, you join the family in their chores, and tending to the modest garden that sustains them. Come afternoon, you explore the surrounding countryside together, wandering along meandering paths and discovering hidden glens, nature's beauty a constant wellspring of marvel and solace.

As night descends, you gather once more around the hearth, the flames casting dancing shadows upon the walls as you share stories and dreams beneath the canopy of stars.

With each passing moment, you find yourself further entwined in the fabric of their lives. Jin's cautionary words linger in the recesses of your mind, yet the genuine warmth of Esmae, Jakub, and Talia dispels any lingering doubts. The simplicity of their existence, juxtaposed against the enigmatic backdrop of Valoris, weaves a tapestry of contrasts that ensnares your soul.

As the sun paints the sky in hues of rose and gold on the second morning, you find yourself engaged in makeshift breakfast preparations with Esmae.

The aroma of a humble yet heartfelt meal permeates the air. "Thank you, Y/N, for bringing brightness into our humble dwelling," Esmae expresses, her eyes shimmering with a blend of gratitude and weariness.

"It's the least I can do," you reply, flipping a slice of bread on the makeshift griddle. "You've welcomed me into your fold, and I am grateful for the chance to be of service."

Throughout the ensuing hours, you assist Jakub in fortifying the cottage, bolstering its timeworn structure against the relentless march of time. Each nail driven into place feels like a vow, a pledge to shore up the foundation upon which this family's aspirations rest.

Later in the day, Talia extends an invitation to explore the outskirts of Valoris. "Mother, father, may Y/N accompany us as we frolic amidst the woods?" she asks with innocent exuberance.

"I see no reason why not," Esmae smiles down at Talia.

"Please, Y/N, ensure her safety," Jakub instructs you, to which you readily assent.

With her tiny hand clasped in yours, you embark on an adventure, uncovering hidden nooks and crannies as Talia regales you with tales of imaginary exploits. You play along, transforming mundane rocks into treasures and the rustling leaves into whispers of ancient lore.

Suddenly struck by inspiration, you yearn to reveal to Talia the enchanting wonders of the world, the magic that lies beyond the confines of Valoris. "Would you care to witness something truly enchanting?" you propose.

"Enchanting? Like magic?" Talia's eyes sparkle with anticipation.

You nod, a smile playing upon your lips. "Precisely so. But we must exercise discretion—recall what I've mentioned earlier."

She nods eagerly, awaiting the magical spectacle you promise. "What sort of enchantment do you possess, Y/N?"

Surveying your surroundings, your gaze alights upon a bedraggled bush of withering white flowers amidst the barren landscape. Therein lies your canvas for displaying your magical prowess.

"Come, follow me right here. You see these withering flowers," you point, and Talia gazes at them with curiosity. "What about it?"

"Watch—" With a flourish, you draw a deep breath and extend your hands over the bush, a glowing aura of dark blue magical energy emanating from the palms of your hands. You perform a cupping motion, turning your palms up and pushing your hands upward.

Through these motions, you coax the wilting flowers to life, their petals unfurling and blossoming into resplendent bloom under your arcane influence.

At the magical transformation, Talia's eyes brighten in amazement. "Wow! That was amazing!"

"Does that mean you're a witch, Miss Y/N?" she curiously wonders aloud.

You chuckle softly, nodding with pride. "Indeed, it does."

"Now, would you like a flower of your own?" you ask.

She nods with enthusiasm. "Yes, please!"

With a graceful gesture, you pluck a flower from the bush, cradling it delicately between your thumb and forefinger. Once again, you motion cast your magic, hand hovering over the white flower. "Here, I've enchanted the flower only for you, so that it may never wither away and may serve as a token of protection for you as long as you wear it."

With a radiant smile, you tuck the flower behind her ear, eliciting a giggle of delight from the child. "Thank you, miss Y/N!"

"Of course, little one." You smiled. "Now, let us return to the cottage; your parents must be awaiting our return. The dusk is upon us."

As the final night of your sojourn unfolded, the glow of the hearth waned, casting a flickering dance upon the walls of the cottage. Jakub, his countenance tinged with gravity, began to speak, "Y/N, Valoris has a knack for ensnaring those who dwell within its confines. Your benevolence, however, has been a guiding light, yet we must impress upon you the importance of discretion. Valoris harbors a history shrouded in shadows. Our family has found refuge here, shielded from prying eyes. The consequences would be dire if our existence were laid bare."

Meeting his gaze, an unspoken understanding passed between you. "I hold in high regard the sanctity of your privacy, Jakub. Your secret remains safe with me."

Esmae, her eyes reflecting a blend of relief and trepidation, nodded in gratitude. "Y/N, you've ushered a glimmer of hope into our lives. We are forever indebted to you."

In humility, you shook your head, but a moment of pause followed. Just as you had disclosed your plans to Jin, Jungkook, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Namjoon, you felt compelled to share it with Esmae and Jakub, as well.

Ensuring Talia lay in peaceful slumber, you returned your attention to the couple. "There is something I must share with you both."

Regret tinged your words as you confessed, "I harbor intentions of departing this kingdom, venturing beyond our borders."

To your surprise, instead of immediate reservations similar to your seven companions, their countenances displayed understanding and acceptance. "We understand," they echoed in unison.

"Pentaraegis is becoming increasingly perilous for you," Esmae sighed. "Though we reside on the outskirts, we are aware of the unrest brewing in the capital villages, and the royal family's eagerness to deploy their elite military unit for impending inquisitions. They merely await the faintest pretext to dispatch them."

A solemn nod conveyed your acknowledgment. "However, my departure is not imminent. I do not plan on it being permanent; Though, I am uncertain of the duration I will be absent..."

Jakub's calloused hand gently alighted upon your shoulder, halting your words. "Do not worry, Y/N. We understand, truly."

His kind eyes shifted to Esmae, who offered a content nod, and then returned to you. "You have bestowed upon us more than words can convey. In times of adversity, remember our home is always open to you."

Moved by their sincerity, you managed a teary smile. "It has been an honor to be acquainted with your family. I shall carry the tales of Valoris with me, returning whenever the opportunity arises."

As the conversation lingered in the twilight hours, Jakub's demeanor softened further. "Y/N, you carry a uniqueness that transcends the bounds of this realm. Your departure, whenever it may be, is a testament to your adventurous spirit. May the winds of fate guide you, and may the memories here remain etched in your heart."

On the following morning your preparations to depart drew the family to the entrance of their quaint cottage. Talia clutched your hand, her eyes reflecting unspoken sentiments. "Will you return, Y/N?" she inquired, her voice carrying a delicate vulnerability that tugged at your heart.

Bending at the knee to level with her, you replied, "I promise, Talia. I'll return whenever I can."

Standing, you exchanged glances with Esmae and Jakub. "Thank you for allowing me to form such bonds with you."

With a gentle upturn of their lips, they responded, "No, thank you, for your persistent kindness, Y/N."

Before your departure, Esmae presented a gift, aware of your loss and the absence of tangible memories of your parents. "I may not stand in your mother's stead, nor can I supplant her memory, but as one mother to another, accept this handmade garment. May it bring warmth on chilly nights."

With eyes filled with emotion, you received the blue cloth garment with delicate care. "It may not be perfection, but—" Esmae began, only to be interrupted by your heartfelt interjection. "It is absolute perfection."

"Thank you," you uttered, your vision blurred by tears of joy, as you enveloped her in an embrace, met with equal fervor. In a whisper, she conveyed her parting wish. "May your travels be marked by safety."

As you retraced your steps through the makeshift cobblestone pathway of Valoris, a profound sense of fulfillment and connection accompanied you. The bonds formed over those two duskars surpassed mere acts of kindness; they transcended the boundaries of secrecy and solitude.

As you approached the entrance of the capital village, a congregation of your companions awaited your return, their countenances a medley of curiosity and concern. A mirthful grin adorned your lips as you beheld their gathering.

Taehyung, with alacrity, snapped his head up upon noticing your approach. "Y/N—! Our princess has graced us with her presence!" His stride towards you mirrored that of a child rushing into the embrace of a long-lost parent.

A melodious giggle escaped your lips as you welcomed his theatrics, allowing him to enfold you in a lavish hug, twirling you about as his arms encircled you.

"Greetings, Taehyung." Laughter lingered as he gently set you down.

The others promptly joined the reunion, hastening toward you. Jimin was the first by your side. "You cannot fathom how preoccupied my mind was with your well-being, though your absence was but brief."

You chuckled, "You need not have worried, Jimin. I have returned unharmed."

He playfully rolled his eyes. "Indeed, we are indebted to the heavens for that."

"I suspect Jimin may suffer from separation anxiety during your impromptu sojourns," Jungkook jestingly interjected.

Jimin feigned a frowning glare. "That is an unfounded accusation!"

Jin, joining the playful banter, added with a smile, "If memory serves me right, Jimin, you were so consumed with worry over Y/N that you sought solace on her couch, claiming it to be the 'closest' you could feel to her in her absence."

A warm blush tinged Jimin's cheeks at the revelation of his clandestine actions during your absence. You shared a laugh over the unexpected disclosure. "Pay no mind to them, Y/N. They simply fail to value you as much as I do."

Taehyung scoffs in mock offense. "Absurd! We cherish Y/N as deeply as you do."

"Indeed, for instance—" Jungkook declared, seizing you suddenly and hoisting you onto his shoulder. You emitted a squeal in response to the abrupt maneuver. With effortless strength and athleticism, he sprinted away.

"Hey—!" Jimin and Taehyung exclaimed in unison, wearing matching pouts.

"Jungkook—! Exercise caution with her!" Jin admonished, giving chase along with the others, his worry akin to a parent scolding their wayward progeny.

As the impromptu race unfolded, the quaint charm of the capital village painted a picturesque scene. Cobblestone streets served as the stage for your lively pursuit, resonating with laughter and jests that danced through the air.

Jungkook's agile strides effortlessly carried you along, his grasp firm yet gentle. The verdant surroundings blurred as he skillfully navigated the thoroughfare, the sun casting a warm, golden hue upon your spirited procession.

"Jungkook, you impetuous scoundrel! Release our friend this instant!" Jin's voice rang out, a mix of concern and amusement evident in his tone.

Jungkook's laughter echoed as he expertly weaved through the labyrinthine alleys. Before long, you all found yourselves in a bustling market square, where stalls overflowed with an assortment of wares. The townsfolk watched with bemusement, their daily routines momentarily interrupted by the eccentricity of your reunion.

Jin, panting slightly as he caught up, spoke between breaths, "You rascal certainly know how to stir up a commotion."

"Well, pardon the commotion, good sir," Jungkook quipped, his grin mischievous as ever. "We merely seek to enliven these dreary streets."

Hoseok, now catching up, adds with a smile. "Ah, the mirth of our reunion! It rivals the finest tales spun by bards in the village square!"

Hoseok, catching up, joined in with a smile. "Ah, the joy of our reunion! It rivals the most captivating tales spun by village bards!"

As the excitement settled, you all found respite in a charming courtyard adorned with vibrant flora and aged benches. Seated amidst this tranquil setting, Jin playfully chided Jungkook, his words tinged with affectionate reproach. "A lively reunion indeed, my dear Jungkook, but let us not forget propriety.”

Jungkook bowed in jest. "My apologies, Jin. The fervor of the moment overcame me."

Amidst the bustle, a quaint tavern caught our eye, its warm glow and enticing aroma beckoning like a siren's song. With enthusiasm, Hoseok proposed a venture into this inviting establishment, a suggestion met with unanimous agreement.

The rustic charm of the tavern enveloped you all, as the eight of you settled at a sturdy wooden table. Jin, ever the gentleman, pulled out your seat with gallant courtesy, earning a nod of gratitude as you took your place.

"Welcome, how may I serve you all?" inquired the server as she approached your table.

Jin turned to the server with a courteous smile. "For our party, might we partake in your specialty, the main dish of the emberis? And as we are humbly celebrating our friend's return," he gestured towards you, "perhaps a pint of cider for the lady, and only for her." A playful wink accompanied his words, causing your face to drop in shock.

(Emberis symbolizes the sparks of activity and intensity within a week. It reflects the dynamic nature of each seven-day period.)

Your expression falters in surprise. "Jin—such extravagance is unwarranted. I've only been away for two duskars. And what about the rest of you? Surely you have as much right to partake in libations."

Hoseok shakes his head with a smile, interjecting, "You forget, dear Y/N, that we are sworn to protect. Though off duty now, we must remain vigilant, especially in the company of our lady."

You concede with a playful huff. "If you all insist..." Then, a sudden realization strikes you. "But what of the expense? It could prove quite burdensome."

Jin places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his smile gentle. "Do not fret, Y/N. We shall cover the cost. To us, the price is naught compared to the joyous occasion we share together."

At last, the server returns, presenting your cider beside you and placing a plate of food before the party of eight. "Thank you," Jin acknowledges with a slight bow.

"So, Y/N—how fared your time with the kin in Valoris?" Jin inquires as he serves himself a portion.

"It was truly sentimental," you begin, recounting simple yet bonding activities with Esmae, Jakub, and Talia. You omitted the part where you demonstrated your magical abilities to Talia but conveyed that your stay was a joyous time well spent.

"That's heartening to hear, Y/N," Namjoon remarked. "It appears you forged a beautiful bond with this small family."

A small, appreciative smile graced your face. "Indeed, and I'm grateful. They've taught me the beauty of simplicity, despite my yearning for more spontaneous and adventurous pursuits."

"I'm pleased they treated you well," Jimin added, smiling.

"Yes, and I must—" Before you can continue, a morsel of food is swiftly deposited into your mouth. Your eyes widen slightly in response to the unexpected gesture, darting from the hand that fed you to the composed countenance of Yoongi.

"You mustn't neglect sustenance," Yoongi stated matter-of-factly, his actions eliciting laughter from the others gathered around the table.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Valoris, young Talia stumbles upon a small note near her makeshift bed, left there in secret by you. With curiosity piqued, she unfolds the paper, reading your handwriting: "To my dear Talia, in my absence, should you find yourself missing me, I've left something to remind you of our bond. Guard it closely and share our secret with no one. Return to the spot where I bestowed upon you your special flower. There, you'll witness a wondrous sight that will always be there."

With excitement dancing in her eyes, Talia tucks the note away and hurries on her tiny feet to the place where you displayed your magical abilities. And there, she discovers a marvel. What was once a barren expanse now blooms with vibrant wildflowers. She gasps in wonder, her wide eyes drinking in the enchanting scene.

Back in the capital village, surrounded by your seven male companions. In all candor, your spirits, elevated beyond the ordinary by the liberal consumption of fermented libations, have led you to a state of inebriation. This amusing spectacle, much to the delight and mild concern of your companions, finds you atop a tavern table, engaging in a spirited dance amidst the company of four gentlemen seated below.

"By the heavens, Y/N, have a care!" Jin exclaims, his voice a harmonious blend of amusement and apprehension. "You'll topple over if you're not mindful."

You wave off his concern with a drunken grin, swaying precariously on the table. "Nonsense, Jin! I'm as steady as a ship in harbor." The tavern's patrons find themselves captivated, drawn to the infectious mirth of your spontaneous performance.

Namjoon, with a bemused shake of his head, counters, "You seem more akin to a ship ensnared by the fury of a storm, if I may be so bold."

Hoseok leaned in, a smile playing on his lips. "It seems our dear Y/N has become the centerpiece of the duskar's entertainment."

Jimin, unable to contain his laughter, adds, "Who could have anticipated such a delightful twist to our celebration?"

Yoongi, the embodiment of composure, observes with a raised brow. "Well, I must confess, this is not the typical mid-duskar I envisioned."

Taehyung, playing along with the revelry, clapped his hands, urging you on. "Encore, Y/N! Let the spirit of festivity direct your movements!"

Jin, with a broad grin, concurs, "Indeed, she has wholeheartedly surrendered to the spirits of the occasion."

Your laughter cascades through the tavern as you daringly attempt a spin, nearly losing your footing. Jungkook extends a hand to steady you, a grin adorning his features. "Careful now, Y/N. A tumble at this juncture would certainly stir quite the commotion."

Yet, their words of caution fall on deaf ears, your heart and soul enraptured by the euphoria of the moment. Intoxicated by both companionship and cider, your impromptu dance continues, filling the midday air with laughter and cheer.

Jungkook, turning his attention back to his six lovers, a smirk playing on his lips at your antics, suggests, "Perchance we ought to ensure she partakes of some sustenance, alongside copious amounts of water to mitigate the effects of her indulgence."

Jimin, catching the sentiment with a nod and a smile, adds. "Indeed, for her diminutive stature seems overly susceptible to the intoxicating effects."

"Yet one cannot deny the entertainment derived from the spectacle," Taehyung remarks with a nonchalant shrug.

A pause ensues before Hoseok ventures, "Pardon my interruption, but may I pose a query?"

"What is it, my love?" Jin responds.

"It has just occurred to me, have we neglected to inform Y/N about the masquerade ball set to occur in two duskars hence? Or has that detail escaped our collective remembrance?"

(duskar represents both day and night. It acknowledges the importance of celestial transitions and the balance between light and darkness.)

A series of awkward exchanges followed, confirming Hoseok's suspicion—that indeed, the event had slipped their minds. A collective sigh of mild frustration escaped him.

Jungkook playfully admonishes Jimin with a swat. "I was under the impression you had already informed her!"

Jimin, momentarily taken aback, retorts with a pout, "Indeed not! The responsibility was Taehyung's, as he was the most vocally enthusiastic about her attendance."

Taehyung, caught off guard, protests, "I beg your pardon! Namjoon advised it was premature for such disclosures, fearing it might dismay her."

All eyes then pivot to Namjoon, who, caught in the crossfire, adopts a stance of mock surrender. "Well—that was a concern of emberises past. I had assumed the matter would have been addressed by now."

Amidst this exchange, Yoongi, whose observance often goes unnoticed, glances towards the table, only to find your absence—and the departure of the four gentlemen as well. His protective instincts trigger, eyes slightly widening, for that could only mean one thing, and it's not a favorable one.

While the others continued their debate, oblivious to your absence, Yoongi attempted to interject. "Gentlemen..."

"Gentlemen..." His efforts to capture their attention were drowned out by the cacophony of their discussion.

Driven by a growing sense of urgency, Yoongi's patience waned, and he raised his voice, "Gentlemen! If you would but notice, our lady is conspicuously absent, and conveniently, so are the four gentlemen!"

The sudden revelation forces the boisterous banter to a halt as the six other men turn their attention to the now vacant table where you once danced. Panic seizes their expressions.

"Where is she?" Jin's voice betrays a mix of concern and urgency.

"She was right there a moment ago!" Hoseok scans the surroundings, his eyes widening with realization.

Jungkook, still attempting to locate you, mumbles, "This is why we shouldn't have let her drink so much."

Jimin looks around frantically, "She can't have gone far. Let's split up and find her."

The seven men scatter in different directions, anxiety clutching at them like an invisible vice. They interrogate patrons and innkeepers, desperately seeking clues about your whereabouts.

Meanwhile, you find yourself in a secluded alley, guided by four gentlemen who lured you away from the revelry. The initial thrill of the impromptu dance fades into confusion as you grapple to comprehend the situation.

"Where are you leading me?" you inquire, a blend of curiosity and unease in your voice.

The lead gentleman, adorned in a fine waistcoat and top hat, smirks. "To a realm where merriment and revelry know no bounds, my dear. A concealed treasure for the privileged few."

The others exchange sly glances, and a sinking feeling settles in as the desolate alley grows more ominous.

Back with your companions, the search intensifies. Jungkook's voice pierces through the tension. "Over here! I found something."

The group converges on Jungkook, who points to a discarded ribbon, a familiar one that once adorned your hair. Anxiety deepens as the realization of potential harm sets in.

"We must find her," Namjoon declares with determination. "Split up and scour every nook and cranny. She can't be far."

The group disperses once more, urgency and concern now replacing the initial joyous atmosphere.

In the hidden gem the gentlemen led you to, a dimly lit haven unfolds with plush furnishings and an air of opulence. The four men encircle you, their intentions growing increasingly apparent.

"Welcome to the Fable Flame," the lead gentleman declares, his smirk widening. "A sanctuary for those seeking pleasures beyond the ordinary."

Your eyes widen with realization, fear and defiance flickering in your gaze. "I did not choose this. Release me!"

The other three men exchange predatory glances, and your attempts to retreat prove futile within the confines of the room.

Back in the bustling capital village, the seven men comb through the streets, their worry escalating. Yoongi, with determination etched on his face, spots a torn piece of fabric on a nearby fence—an unmistakable fragment of your dress.

His heart races as he follows the trail, the search taking a dark turn, the situation growing more dire.

Within the dimly lit chamber, the four men forcefully press you against an ornate bed. The lead gentleman, a sinister smirk etched on his face, handles you with a roughness that sends shivers down your spine. "Resist as you may, my dear, but soon, you'll find solace in surrender."

"P-Please, no—" Your plea barely escapes your lips, swallowed by the heavy air of despair.

Driven by urgency, your companions scour the area fervently, the tattered fabric guiding them to a dilapidated structure.

Yoongi, a resolute figure at the forefront, senses impending danger. "This way," he murmurs, his voice a whisper against the backdrop of doom.

Cautiously, the group ventures into the building, senses alert to the ominous silence. Each creak of the floorboards, each rustle of fabric, echoes with foreboding. As they navigate labyrinthine corridors, a distant door groans open, revealing a chamber steeped in darkness.

Pushing the door ajar, Yoongi's eyes widen—a macabre tableau unfolds within. You, pinned like a sacrificial lamb, beneath the sinister gaze of the lead gentleman and his cohorts. Tension crackles in the air, thick with the scent of fear and defiance.

A moment of silence ensues as the captors take stock of the intruders. The lead gentleman's smirk widens, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Ah, latecomers to the party. How quaint."

Yoongi's gaze hardens, his resolve unyielding. "Release her. Now."

The lead gentleman's grip tightens on your chin, his touch invasive and possessive. "And why would I do that? She's rather enjoying herself, wouldn't you agree?"

Your glassy eyes, wide with terror. "I beg of you, help me..."

Yoongi, accompanied by Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook, refrained from uttering a single word. An unbridled rage burned within them, propelling them forward into an imminent clash with the three assailants.

Simultaneously, as the skirmish erupted, the chief antagonist, maintaining his grip on you, surveyed the unfolding brawl with malevolent intent. His eyes gleamed with malice, and then, shifting his gaze toward you, he declared, "Do you reckon you can elude me with ease? I beg to differ."

With a sudden flourish, he extracted a gleaming blade from his boot, discreetly seizing you by the hair and hauling you off the bed, dragging you into the center of the room. "That's enough!"

Seizing the moment, he pressed the knife against your neck, eliciting a collective pause from your seven companions and the three adversaries. "Any further trouble, and I'll slit her throat without a second thought."

Jungkook moved to intervene, but Namjoon swiftly halted him. "Hold."

"But Namjoon—" Jungkook protested, only to be silenced by a raised hand, signifying a steadfast refusal.

"Listen to him," the captor jeered, grinning spitefully.

"Release her, and there will be no further altercation," Namjoon asserted.

The captor chuckled darkly. "Can't a man enjoy himself a bit first? You lot are men, too, aren't you? Surely, you understand the value of personal pleasures."

"There's a disparity between being merely a man and a true gentleman. The former lacks honor, much like yourself. As gentlemen, we comprehend the significance of consent, a virtue conspicuously absent in your demeanor," Hoseok retorted with a seething tone.

The captor's eyes narrowed at Hoseok's words before abruptly turning his attention back to you. "Come now, my dear, prove to these 'gentlemen' that you welcomed this."

Your silence seemed to irritate him further. The blade traced a perilous path from your neck downward, nearing the delicate contours of your breasts.

Yet, before he could proceed further, a cry of pain erupted as he fell to the ground, a double-ended knife embedded in his shoulder. Your gaze shifted to Jimin, his hand still outstretched from the throw, his eyes ablaze with fury.

Turning toward the remaining captors, Jimin questioned, "Who among you wishes to follow suit?"

Fear flickered across the faces of the trio, their heads shaking vehemently. "Leave, or I'll kill you myself," Jimin commanded, prompting the men to hastily flee.

Empowered by the turn of events, you found strength in your legs, hastening towards your seven guardians. Jimin extended his arms, enveloping you protectively. His nose nestled atop your head, a palpable sigh of relief escaping him.

Yoongi advanced towards the wounded miscreant with a demeanor that brooked no argument. "Should you ever lay a hand on a woman in such a manner again, I shall personally hunt you down and dismantle you limb from limb. Understand?" 

The captor nodded fervently, his attempts to suppress his whimpers of pain were futile, as his quivering lip gave away his torment.

Without a flicker of emotion, Yoongi then seized the hilt of the double-ended blade, a cruel reminder of the violence just passed.

With a swift, unyielding yank, he liberated the weapon from flesh, crimson torrents cascading from the gaping wound, staining his hands and the ground beneath him. His face remained a mask of impassive justice, marred only by the flecks of blood that adorned his features like macabre war paint.

Posthaste, Yoongi returned to where you stood, with a gentleness that belied the stern resolve of his previous actions, he divested himself of his royal soldier's coat and placed it upon your shoulders, a protective mantle to shield you from the unusual chill of atmosphere and the ordeal you had endured.

He then turned to Jimin, extending the reclaimed weapon with a nod, "Let us return home." Yoongi declared, his tone now softened.

Back at your humble abode, your companions gallantly escorted you home, forming a protective cocoon around you even upon crossing the threshold. Jimin's strong arms encircled you, a fortress of reassurance.

Not a single word needed to be uttered, for the unspoken understanding prevailed amongst your close-knit group. Jungkook, swift and decisive, took the lead, his movements within your sanctuary as natural as if he were navigating his own domain, seeking flint and steel to kindle a warming blaze in the hearth.

Hoseok hastened to your kitchen, concocting a soothing blend of chamomile and peppermint for a rejuvenating tea. Jin, his hands deftly moving in the manner of an experienced caretaker, joined Hoseok in preparing a basin of cool water, a washcloth, and a small bar of soap, ready to tenderly cleanse away the remnants of the late afternoon’s turmoil. Following suit, Yoongi ventured into the kitchen, presumably to whip up a modest repast that would serve to counteract the intoxicating remnants coursing through you.

As for Taehyung, he proceeded into your bedroom, searching for fresh attire and, albeit awkwardly, extracting your more intimate garments. Their intent on ministering to your well-being, they choreographed their efforts with finesse.

Jimin and Namjoon, however, maintained their steadfast vigil by your side, their protective presence lingering even in the absence of immediate peril. Presently, Taehyung emerged from the sanctity of your bedchamber, announcing with a gentle timbre, “I have your attire prepared for you, Y/N.”

Gazing up at him, a weariness from spirits evident in your eyes, you expressed gratitude, "Thank you, Tae."

Acknowledging your thanks with a nod and a smile, he beckoned, “Come along, now.”

Jimin effortlessly lifted you in his arms, carrying you with bridal grace towards the sanctuary of your bedchamber, with Jin trailing close behind, the basin and its accouterments in hand.

“Before we proceed to clothe you anew, let us first tend to cleansing, shall we?” Jin suggested, his tone one of gentle insistence.

Your response was a weary nod, an assent given as Jimin tenderly deposited you upon your bed. Jin, with delicate precision, moved a portion of your clothing aside to begin the cleansing process. Yet, in an unforeseen twist, you impulsively divested yourself of the garment entirely, sending a ripple of astonishment through Jimin, Taehyung, and Jin, their eyes widening in unison.

Jimin and Taehyung, in a chivalrous retreat, averted their gaze, while Jin, startled, lifted his eyes heavenward, engendering a collective symphony of awkward coughs. A warm flush brushed their cheeks as they realized you had inadvertently exposed yourself. Perhaps, in the closeness of your bond, you had grown accustomed to their presence, regardless of your activities or location.

Namjoon entered the room at that moment, intending to convey updates. However, his eyes widened as he grasped the awkward tableau before him. "Oh—!" Hastily, he turned away, a mirrored action of respect.

Your reaction time, slowed by alcohol, eventually processed their collective retreat. "Why? Is there something amiss with my appearance?" you queried with a subtle pout, oblivious to your own actions.

Jin cleared his throat, attempting to dispel the awkwardness. “N-no! Far from it...” He continued his ministrations without letting his gaze stray to more intimate areas.

Your gaze lifted abruptly, questioning Jin directly, "Am I not beautiful?"

Without premeditation, Jin met your gaze, sincerity softening his features. “No, you are the most enchanting woman my eyes have beheld. No other can compare."

"He speaks true," Taehyung and Jimin murmured in agreement.

Interrupting the moment, Namjoon interjected, “Indeed—apologies for my intrusion. I merely wished to inform you that Jungkook has kindled the fire, Hoseok has concocted the tea, and Yoongi is nearly done preparing a modest yet nourishing repast for you. Freshen up at your pace; we'll be waiting outside."

Namjoon directed a pointed gaze at Jimin and Taehyung, a silent command hanging in the air. “I said, we shall all convene outside. Shall we, gentlemen?” Namjoon emphasized, his message finally registering with the duo.

“Awh, do we truly have to—” Taehyung began to whine, cut short by Namjoon seizing him by the collar and dragging him outside, while Jimin followed without protest. And with a closing door, a semblance of privacy returned.

In the wake of those moments, Jin gracefully exited your chamber, allowing you the privacy to don your fresh attire. The burly gentleman then reentered the kitchen, deftly disposing of the soiled water, and briefly refreshing the washcloth before reinstating the small basin and soap to their rightful places.

Just then, Jin catches a redolence wafting from the viands that Yoongi is diligently culminating, adroitly depositing the contents into an intricately carved wooden bowl. "Oooh, that aroma is quite delightful..."

"Is that pottage you've concocted, Yoongi dear?" Jin inquires, casting a discerning glance as Yoongi continues to ladle the savory mixture into the receptacle, to which Yoongi grunts affirmatively in response.

"How did you acquire the meat for it?" Jin asks, a tad taken aback by the presence of poultry within.

"Leftovers from her pots," Yoongi tersely responds, prompting Jin to nod in comprehension with a soft 'ah' escaping his lips.

Subsequently, the gathering reconvened in the living room, ensconced by the warmth of your fireplace. Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin repose upon the floor adjacent to the central coffee table, while Hoseok and Namjoon grace the solitary sofa chairs flanking the table. Jin settled on one end of the three-seater couch, and Yoongi adorns the tray on the table, featuring the potation prepared by Hoseok and the delectable pottage.

Moments later, you emerged from your quarters, resplendent in the attire previously selected by Taehyung. Jungkook, ever the gallant escort, offered his arm, guiding you towards the couch where the tea and Yoongi's culinary creation awaited.

Observing the tray's contents, your eyes traverse the assembly—Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook, Hoseok, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jin. "Thank you for attending to my well-being."

Warm smiles were exchanged. "Anything for you," they chorused.

Leaning forward, Jin extended an offer, "Would you care for some pottage? You needn't consume it all, but it might aid your recovery, along with the tea."

"Absolutely, I could never decline sustenance crafted by Lord Yoongi," you chuckled, injecting a touch of levity into the atmosphere despite the recent perilous events.

Jin commences assisting you, offering spoonfuls of pottage and elevating the teacup to your lips with finesse. Meanwhile, the others lounge, engaged in casual conversations as if the now early evening were ordinary.

You lapse into momentary silence, contemplative of recent occurrences. Without premeditation, you articulate your ruminations aloud. "We must put an end to such establishments. None should endure such cruelty."

A collective pause ensued, truth be told, they anticipate such sentiments from you, cognizant of your altruistic nature despite enduring adversity. Jin, wearing a serene smile, interjected, "We shall address that in due course. For now, our primary concern is your well-being."

As Jin brought the spoon to your lips, you swallowed the contents, falling momentarily silent before another thought found its voice. "I just remembered something I forgot to inquire about."

All eyes turned toward you. "What is it, Y/N?"

After a momentary hesitation, you muster the courage to voice your inquiry. "Um... I happened upon a handbill in the capital village mentioning a masquerade ball scheduled in two duskars… I am intrigued and wondered if you all are aware of it."

A measure of astonishment registers on their visages, realizing they had intended to extend an invitation emberises ago but had inadvertently overlooked it, fearing you might eschew the prospect. Now, with your inquiry, a sense of relief washes over them, empowering them to broach the subject.

Hoseok's eyes illuminate with enthusiasm. "That sounds like an excellent proposition!"

"Truly?" You sheepishly smiled, Hoseok nodding enthusiastically. However, your countenance shifted, "Yet, I lack an appropriate gown for such an occasion."

Jin dismisses the concern with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense, Y/N. Have you forgotten the company you keep?" A trace of playful arrogance graces his countenance. "I shall summon the finest tailors to craft a gown that befits your beauty."

"Would you truly do that, Jinnie?" you asked, your eyes alight with gratitude.

"Of course!" he affirmed, as Jimin added, "And fear not, Y/N. Your beauty transcends attire; you shall outshine every woman present at the ball."

"Thank you, Jimin," you murmured shyly. "So, would you all be willing to accompany me?"

Collective nods affirm your query, prompting a grateful smile from you. "I am filled with anticipation! It shall be my first ball. Thank you!"

Fatigue abruptly descends upon you, manifesting in a yawn. The attentive septet takes notice, Jin, seated beside you, gently placing the bowl and spoon aside. "Are you weary?"

You nod in acknowledgment. Hoseok rises. "I shall stow away the dishes."

Jin inquires, "Would you prefer to retire to your chamber for repose, Y/N?" You wearily shake your head. "No, I would rather remain here. Sleep among you all, if that's acceptable."

Jin smiles warmly. "More than acceptable. Come, recline upon me." He nudges you gently, prompting you to rest your head upon his lap, your feet propped upon the couch.

Unseen by you, Jungkook promptly fetched a blanket, draping it over you with care. You adjust yourself for comfort. "Apologies, I realize it is still early evening—"

"It understandable. The exertions from your journey on foot from Valoris earlier this morn, coupled with the spirited dancing at the tavern until the, shall we say, 'mishap' we encountered, surely have wearied you," Taehyung interjects with a chuckle.

"Rest, Y/N. You are deserving of it," Namjoon advises.

Before long, you succumbed to slumber, a serene quietude enveloped the chamber, broken only by the gentle cadence of your breathing, a testament to the peaceful slumber you had found.

"So, are we to dismiss Yoongi's earlier allusion to Y/N as 'our lady'?" Taehyung pondered aloud, his posture relaxed, hands clasped behind his head in a gesture of casual reflection.

The inquiry lingered, casting a shared exchange of glances among the septet, each harboring individual musings on the matter. Yoongi, a man of sparse words, appeared unperturbed by the collective gaze. Yet, a faint amusement flickered across his visage, betraying his stoic exterior.

A playful smirk danced upon Jungkook's lips. "Indeed, we all took note. Might this signify an evolving affection for our esteemed Y/N, dear Yoongi?"

A momentary tension draped the room, only to be dispelled by Yoongi's scoff. "Absurdity. I merely acknowledged her rightful standing among us."

Jungkook's brows arched mischievously. "'Rightful standing,' you say? Be cautious, Yoongi, your words reveal more than you may intend."

"It seems to me," Namjoon interjected with a sly grin, "that we've all discerned a certain... tenderness in Yoongi's address. A sentiment perhaps deeper than he admits."

Jimin, unable to resist joining the banter, shared his insight with a cunning smile. "It is a rare occasion indeed for Yoongi to bestow such a title upon anyone. It does carry a significance, does it not?"

Attempting to steer the conversation away from the burgeoning speculation, Yoongi retorted, "Your interpretations far exceed the bounds of reason. Let us rather concentrate on her welfare and the impending masquerade."

Taehyung leaned in, his expression one of impish delight. "Yet, 'our lady' carries a resonance, does it not? A phrase befitting someone of special regard, not merely a companion."

Jungkook rejoined the conversation with a gleam of mischief, "Mayhap Yoongi's affections have indeed been kindled by our fair Y/N."

Jimin added with a grin, "Well, she is quite captivating. Who wouldn't be enchanted by her?" His gaze then tenderly fell upon you, a warmth evident in his eyes.

This display of affection did not escape the notice of the others. Despite the complex web of their polyamory relationship, no shadow of envy or malcontent marred their feelings towards each other's evident fondness for you, a phenomenon that baffled them yet remained unquestioned.

Hoseok voiced his reflections, his gaze affectionate as he watched you. "Indeed... Our companionship with her, spanning from the innocence of childhood to the cusp of adulthood, has always been a wellspring of mutual care and affection."

Jin, with a gentle demeanor, softly brushed away the errant strands of hair veiling your face, tucking them behind your ear with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "If only she comprehended the depth of her significance to us,” he whispered, more to himself than to the others.

Namjoon, less obvious but still captivated, stared at you. "I believe she perceives it, on some level... she must."

"And I am certain she reciprocates the sentiment," he added.

Two duskars had elapsed, and at last, the eve of the grand ball had arrived. Jin, true to his word, had summoned one of the most esteemed tailors in the kingdom to create a gown for you, meticulously taking your measurements and ensuring the attire aligned with your desires. A bespoke mask was also crafted, intended to complement the elegance of your gown for the impending masquerade.

Admittedly, the experience of being measured was a novel one, with an array of hands adjusting and clothing pins perilously close to your skin. Despite the initial discomfort, the attention bestowed upon you instilled a sense of importance, marking your initiation into the realm of pampering. Jin and, unsurprisingly, Hoseok collaborated to orchestrate a comprehensive makeover. In the fleeting hours leading up to the ball, skilled artisans in makeup and hairdressing dedicated themselves to enhancing your allure. Finally, adorned in your custom gown, the transformation was complete.

The transformation was, without a shadow of a doubt, breathtaking. Though you remained unaware of the extent of your beauty, the moment of reveal was imminent. Descending the staircase of Jin's opulent abode, where preparations for the masquerade had been made, you were about to present yourself to the collective gaze of Jungkook, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi. They awaited at the foot of the stairs, each garbed in suits of exquisite craftsmanship, their attire reflecting their noble status within the kingdom yet tailored for this special occasion.

The moment your presence graced the final steps, their faces mirrored an awe that rendered them momentarily speechless.

Dressed in a dark blue ball gown, its sleeves adorned with delicate lace and gems that sparkled like stars, you became the focal point of their admiration. The atmosphere hung thick with admiration as your eyes met theirs, and a subtle nervousness crept in, amplified by their prolonged silence. "Is something amiss?" you nervously inquired.

"Do I not appear well in this attire?" you added.

"No!" they exclaimed in unison, their initial shock breaking into a cacophony of reassurances.

Taehyung cleared his throat awkwardly. "Certainly not, Lady Y/N. You're resplendent."

"Arguably the most stunning vision to grace our lives," Jungkook gently interjected.

You looked away, bashfully dismissing their compliments. "Oh, you're all merely attempting to flatter me. I can't possibly—"

"No flattery intended, Y/N," Jin interjected. "You truly are beautiful."

"In any attire, you radiate beauty, but tonight, it's truly exceptional," Jimin stumbled over his words, his gaze unwavering. Enchanted by your presence, all seven pairs of eyes remained fixated on you.

Namjoon took a decisive step forward, capturing your attention as he extended his hand, a silent request for your company. "Shall we make our way to the ball? A full night awaits us."

With a smile, you acquiesced, "We shall."

The grand ballroom, adorned in lavish splendor, embraced the seven of you as you entered. The melodic strains of a waltz commenced, enticing you into the dance with Namjoon. His authoritative yet gentle demeanor guided your steps, immersing you in the graceful whirl of the ballroom. Amidst the elegant rotations, conversation flowed effortlessly like a gentle stream.

"Your gown exudes the regal elegance of a bygone era," Namjoon remarked, his charming smile captivating your gaze.

"You're too gracious," you replied, returning his smile. "It seems I owe you all my deepest gratitude for this enchanting evening."

Namjoon's laughter resonated through the dance, "The pleasure is ours, fair Y/N. Your radiance illuminates this soirée."

As the waltz concluded, Hoseok approached, eager to share a dance. His movements exuded buoyancy, mirroring his exuberant spirit. "May I say, you're a vision, Y/N. A testament to tonight's splendors."

Chuckling, you responded, "I owe this transformation to the skilled hands of many, including yours and Jin’s, Hoseok."

His grin widened. "A collaborative effort to enhance the innate beauty you possess, my lady."

Following suit was Jungkook, his dance exuding youthful vitality. "You resemble a character from a fairy tale, Y/N. A modern-day Cinderella."

"Such flattering comparisons," you chuckled, "but this fairy tale boasts seven charming princes."

Jungkook's laughter echoed. "I am honored to be counted among them, fair maiden."

As the dance with Jungkook concluded, Taehyung approached with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I must confess, Y/N, your beauty leaves us speechless. A rare occurrence, I assure you."

You grinned. "I suppose I should consider it a triumph, then."

Taehyung twirled you in an elaborate spin. "Indeed. A triumph of grace and beauty."

Yoongi then led the subsequent dance with effortless elegance. "You've added an enchanting touch to this gathering, Y/N. A night that shall be etched in memory."

"I am honored to be part of such a memorable occasion," you replied, matching his graceful movements.

Jimin, the final dance partner, led with a flair for the dramatic, whisking you into an energetic dance. "You've captivated us all, Y/N. A true siren amidst this sea of revelry."

Blushing, you playfully retorted, "You exaggerate, Jimin. The enchantment is mutual, I assure you."

A brief breathy chuckle escaped Jimin's lips as he gently swayed you to the music, letting a comfortable silence envelop both of you for a moment. Then, his eyes met yours, a hint of solemnity in his gaze. "Y/N, there's something I wish to express."

You hummed softly, directing your attention to him. "What is it, Jimin?"

He held your gaze, his expression earnest. "I wish to offer my gratitude."

Perplexed, you tilted your head slightly. "Gratitude? For what?"

"At that lake, in our youth, when we casted our wishes," he explained, a fond smile playing on his lips.

You chuckled softly, recalling the memory. "You mean the 'magical' lake escapade?"

Jimin nodded, his smile widening. "Indeed. Your wish, amidst our materialistic desires, was simple yet profound. It shaped our journey in ways we hadn't realized until now."

"You hesitated to voice it initially, but I'm glad you found the courage to do so because it's likely the reason I find myself content where I am now. And it's because we're all together... And I like to think you played a significant role in making that happen. That's why I want to express my gratitude."

You smiled at his sentiment, gently releasing your hand from his to tenderly cup his cheek. "There's no need to thank me, Jimin. It wasn't solely my doing, but the collective effort of all of us. It's a great blessing that our friendship has endured through the years until now. And I hope fervently that it continues indefinitely, just as I wished."

Jimin leaned into your touch. "Well, considering how the wishes of myself and the other gentlemen seem to have come to fruition, I have no doubt yours will remain steadfast."

Returning to your dance position, you closed the distance between you and Jimin, resting your head against his shoulder as you swayed to the music. "Thank you, Jimin. And thank you for remaining my friend despite the disparity in our social standings."

"Nonsense. Our social status shouldn't dictate our friendship nor divide us," he insisted.

As the night progressed, the ballroom was filled with laughter, music, and the rustle of elegant gowns, enveloping the atmosphere. Eventually, you excused yourself to refresh, your throat parched from the laughter and conversation. Approaching the refreshment table, your hand hovered over a glass when a smooth yet unfamiliar voice interrupted.

"Such beauty should never be left unattended, even in a room filled with admirers," the stranger remarked, his tone laden with compliments as his eyes appraised you.

You offered a polite smile, unsure of his intentions. "Thank you, sir. The evening has been most enjoyable," you replied, trying to maintain the courteous yet distant demeanor taught to you for such encounters.

"But surely, it could be improved with the right company," he persisted, stepping closer in a manner that reduced the distance between you. His words were designed to charm, yet they began to weave a web of discomfort around you.

"The company I keep is of my choosing, and it has been most delightful thus far," you countered, your tone firm yet polite, hoping to convey your lack of interest in prolonging this interaction.

Undeterred, the stranger continued, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Alan, and I must say, your beauty has captivated my every sense."

You nodded in acknowledgment. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Alan. I am Y/N."

He extended a gloved hand, adorned with rings that caught the light. "Might I have the honor of this dance, dear Lady? The night is young, and a moment with you is a treasure."

Politely declining, you explained, "I appreciate the offer, sir, but I must return to the festivities."

Undeterred, he insisted, "Just one dance, my lady. I promise it will be a memory to cherish."

Reluctantly, you acquiesced, allowing yourself to be led back onto the dance floor. As the music enveloped you, the stranger's conversation veered toward increasingly personal topics. His compliments escalated, each word designed to captivate and charm. Sir Alan skillfully prolonged the conversation, feeling uncomfortable, you attempted to gracefully disengage, only to find yourself guided toward the secluded gardens, away from prying eyes.

Amidst the moonlit flora, the stranger's intentions became clearer. "Lady Y/N, a night like this deserves to be savored in private. Away from the prying eyes of the crowd, don't you think?"

Your stomach twisted with unease as you struggled to maintain composure. "I am grateful for your company, sir, but I must return to my friends."

A grin adorned his face, concealing a more sinister motive. "Why hasten, my lady? The night is yet youthful, and so are we. Let us venture further into the gardens together, free from the shackles of society."

A sense of alarm tingled at the edges of your consciousness. Politely but firmly, you asserted, "I appreciate your company, but I must insist on returning to the ballroom. My absence may arouse suspicion, and I would not wish to cause any distress."

Undeterred, the stranger persisted, "Why subject yourself to the mundane when an adventure beckons? A stroll amidst the moonlit gardens, a dance beneath the stars—does that not sound infinitely more alluring?"

Struggling against the mounting unease, you firmly declared, "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline. My place is with my companions."

His demeanor shifted, revealing a more assertive side. "My lady, do not be hasty in dismissing the potential for a night of unparalleled delight. Embrace the possibilities, for in the gardens, secrets unfold, and desires are realized."

A chill ran down your spine as his words hung in the air. Determined to extricate yourself from this unsettling encounter, you mustered the strength to firmly assert, "I thank you for the dance, Sir, but I must return to the ballroom."

As you turned to leave, the stranger's grip tightened, his tone taking on a darker hue. "Lady Y/N, the night is full of mysteries, and in the gardens, secrets are shared. Would you not yearn for a tale untold, a moment unrestrained?"

Alarmed, you managed to free yourself from his grasp, hastily retreating back to the ballroom. The warmth and familiarity of the dance floor welcomed you, a stark contrast to the disconcerting encounter in the moonlit gardens.

Unbeknownst to you, the night held further surprises, and the echoes of that encounter lingered, casting a shadow over the revelry. Stepping back into the ballroom, the familiar countenances of Jin, Jungkook, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Yoongi greeted you. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to concern, noting your brief absence.

Namjoon, ever astute, observed your return. "Lady Y/N, you have returned! How fared your brief respite?"

Smiling, you replied, "It was an intriguing interlude, to say the least. Sir Alan proves to be quite the charismatic conversationalist."

Jin raised an eyebrow, his noble bearing intact. "Sir Alan, you say? I trust his charm did not overstep its bounds."

You assured them, "Nothing of the sort, Jin. Merely persistent, but I managed to gracefully extricate myself.”

The assembly of gentlemen before you shared a look amongst themselves, a silent pact forming to address any untoward advances. "He has not brought harm to you in any way, has he?" the collective concern in their voices was palpable.

You shook your head, mustering a small smile. “Thankfully, no. I am unharmed.”

Hoseok interjected, seeking to dispel any lingering unease within you. “Well, it gladdens me to hear of your well-being. Now, might we turn our attention to Jungkook's lamentable inability to engage in the simplest of social exchanges without resorting to awkwardness?""

Jungkook, mortified at being the subject of jest, protested in a tone laden with embarrassment. "Must you fault me for my reticence in the company of others beyond our intimate circle?" His words, though tinged with self-deprecation, only served to endear him further to the group, inciting a chorus of snickers and teasing smiles.

As the night waned, the gentlemen gathered around, exchanging words of encouragement, reminiscing about childhood memories, and relishing each other’s company.

As the final notes of the music wafted through the air and the ballroom began to empty, you found yourself waiting outside the grand entrance staircase alone, while Namjoon and Jin went to fetch the quadravicar, Jungkook and Taehyung piled plates with leftovers despite Jin’s reprimands, and Yoongi, Jimin, and Hoseok excused themselves to the bathroom.

It was then, amidst the solitude, that you felt a gentle tap, a discreet summons that turned you to face the ever-persistent Sir Alan. His approach was measured, his gaze alight with an unmistakable admiration.

"Lady Y/N, the evening's end could not pass without me bestowing upon you the accolades your magnificent aura so rightly deserves. Might I have the honor of accompanying you to your quadravicar?" he proposed, his bow imbued with a blend of earnestness and anticipation.

While gratitude tinged your response, caution tempered your words. "Your offer is received with gratitude, Sir Alan, however, my companions have already made provisions for my departure."

His gaze briefly flitted about, seeking, perhaps, confirmation of your words before returning to meet your own. "But as I observe, your companions seem momentarily absent. Pray, allow me the privilege of extending my company a while longer.”

His sudden grasp upon your wrist, though not forceful, was unexpected, prompting a startled response from you. "Sir Alan—"

Before you could articulate your refusal, a familiar presence interposed itself between you and potential impropriety. "And to what destination do you presume to escort my lady?" Hoseok's voice, firm and unyielding, forced Sir Alan's hand to release its hold.

Taken aback, Sir Alan stammered, his composure momentarily faltering in the face of Hoseok's authoritative stance. "O-Oh! Lord Hoseok, I—"

Yet, it was not Hoseok alone who stood in defense; Yoongi and Jimin too had materialized, forming a united front. Jimin, his tone laden with an earnest gravity, pressed for an answer. "We would be most obliged if you would enlighten us, Sir Alan. Your persistence is unwelcome, and it is evident that she has declined your company."

Sir Alan, sensing the gravity of the situation and the unyielded gaze of your companions, chose his words with a care previously unexercised. "Gentlemen, my intentions were naught but to offer the lady a courteous companionship in the absence of her party.”

Hoseok, unwavering, retorted, "Courtesy does not involve disregarding a lady's wishes. Lady Y/N has made her intentions clear, and your company is not desired. Now, I suggest you depart before matters escalate."

Sir Alan chuckles, trying to defend himself. “It seems, however, that my actions were misjudged, and for that, I tender my sincerest apologies."

It was then, amidst the burgeoning tension, that Namjoon and Jin returned, their timely arrival adding to the formidable presence of your companions. With the quadravicar ready and your friends united in their defense, Sir Alan's intentions, however benign he claimed, were deemed unsuitable.

Namjoon, with a diplomatic grace, addressed Sir Alan, "Your intentions, while perhaps noble in your eyes, have trespassed the boundaries of decorum. We thank you for your interest, but Lady Y/N is well accounted for."

Sir Alan, sensing the seriousness of the situation, released a conciliatory sigh. "Apologies, Lady Y/N, Lords Hoseok, Jimin, Yoongi, Jin and Namjoon. I meant no harm. If my presence is unwanted, I shall take my leave." With that, he withdrew, leaving you in the comforting circle of your friends.

The tension that had momentarily clouded the evening dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a sense of unity and protectiveness among you and your companions. Hoseok, breaking the silence, offered a light-hearted quip to restore the evening's jovial atmosphere. "Well, I dare say we've navigated that encounter with the poise of seasoned diplomats. Shall we consider it an adventure to regale in future gatherings?"

Laughter, light and unburdened, filled the air, reaffirming the bonds that tethered your spirits together. Jimin, with a smirk playing on his lips, added, "Indeed, it appears our little assembly can handle more than just casual soirees and diplomatic parleys. We're quite the formidable cohort when the occasion demands."

With spirits buoyed and hearts alight, you made your passage to the quadravicar. The episode with Sir Alan had not tainted the evening's festivity; rather, it had underscored the profound depth of allegiance and affection that defined your relationship with your companions.

Jungkook and Taehyung, the mischievous duo, were the last to clamber into the quadravicar, burdened with an assortment of laden boxes. All eyes turned to them, bemused by their conspicuous cargo.

Jin's gaze flickered between the boxes and the pair before he seized their ears with a swift pinch. "You scoundrels! Did I not explicitly instruct you against overindulgence? Have you no shame?"

The two offenders, wearing expressions of mock innocence, pout in response to Jin's reproach. "But Jin, the offerings were too delectable to resist! Surely even you would have succumbed to temptation!"

"And need I remind you, it was Taehyung's idea in the first place!" Jungkook interjected, attempting to wriggle free from Jin's grasp.

"Outrageous! Yes, I proposed the notion, but didn't you conveniently omitted the fact that you were the one weary of our customary fare back home?" Taehyung defended himself, a hint of indignation in his tone.

"Excuse me?!" Jin exclaimed, aghast. "Ingrates, the pair of you!"

As the quadravicar ambled away from the venue, the celestial canopy above seemed to sparkle with added brilliance, mirroring the mirth that filled the quadravicar as it resounded with laughter and good-natured banter.

"Say, Y/N," Jimin's voice breaks through the jovial atmosphere, his gaze warm and imploring, “would you mind if we all spent the night at your abode? It's been an age since we had a slumber party like in our youth," Jimin chimed in, his eyes sparkling with youthful enthusiasm.

"Of course, you are all welcome under my roof," you replied warmly.

And so, as the quadravicar grinds to a halt outside your humble abode, the final act of the evening unfolds. Stepping out into the crisp night air, the echoes of laughter linger like a sweet refrain, a testament to the enduring bonds that unite your circle of friends.

Entering your quaint abode, the warmth enveloped you like a comforting embrace. You busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing for the morning's repast, ensuring that all would be ready when dawn broke.

Meanwhile, your companions, weary from the night's revelry, began their preparations for slumber. Each found a spot to lay their heads, the weariness of the day gradually giving way to the embrace of sleep. Blankets are unfurled, pillows fluffed, and whispered conversations drift lazily through the air.

As the hour grows late and the weariness of the duskar begins to take its toll, your companions one by one succumb to the embrace of sleep. Soon, the room is filled with the soft symphony of gentle snores, a harmonious testament to the peace that reigns within.

Yet, as the night wears on and the world outside slumbers, you find yourself restless, your mind abuzz with thoughts of the duskar's events. Unable to quiet your thoughts, you rise from your bed and slip silently into the kitchen, intent on preparing a pot of tea to greet the dawn.

The soft clink of china and the faint rustle of linens filled the quietude as you busied yourself in the kitchen, ensuring that everything would be in order for the forthcoming day. Lost in thought, you scarcely noticed the passage of time until a sudden rap at the front door shattered the stillness, jolting you from your reverie.

With a furrowed brow, you approached the door, curiosity mingling with a hint of trepidation as you peered through the peephole, then cautiously opening your door ajar. "Who goes there?" you called out, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night.

"Miss Y/N..." comes a timid yet recognizable voice, causing you to lower your gaze, finally laying eyes on the familiar figure standing outside your threshold.

Your eyes widen in recognition as you realize it's the young Thalia from the outskirts of Valoris. "Thalia! Heavens, what brings you here at such a late hour?"

"More importantly, how did you come here unaccompanied?" you query with urgency.

"I cannot rightly say, Miss. It's as though my feet had a will of their own, leading me to your abode," Thalia responds, her tearful gaze meeting yours, giving you pause as you sense all is not well.

You swing the door open wider, dropping to one knee to meet her eye level. "What’s the matter, little one?"

"It's my mother and father— they're in trouble," Thalia blurts out between hiccups.

Your brows furrow with concern and confusion. "Explain, Thalia. What do you mean they’re in trouble?”

The little girl breaks into fresh tears. “It's all my doing-!”

Thalia recounts the events leading to her arrival at your doorstep. She had been playing near the glade where you performed your magic of the wildflowers, when she caught sight of the approaching guards. Instinctively, she hid, but it seemed her presence had already drawn their attention to the area.

Your face softened into one of sadness and concern for Thalia; you knew precisely why those scavenger guards were now scouring the vicinity. The wildflowers in bloom, coaxed forth by your supernatural abilities, undoubtedly aroused deep suspicion—wildflowers in the waning days of autumn were anything but ordinary... Unless magic was at play.

Indeed, those scavenger guards weren't after this small family; they were after you, the witch, although none of them knew it. In all honesty, it wasn't Thalia's fault; the blame lay squarely with you.

You had brought this calamity upon them, and now you had to make it right. It was unjust that they should suffer for your actions. Foolish of you; you should have known that wildflowers at this time of year would raise eyebrows. Yet, what gnawed at your mind was the presence of scavenger guards in that area to begin with. The royal family typically cared little for the outlying dwellings of the kingdom.

But regardless, that was immaterial now. What mattered was helping Thalia and her parents, whatever the cost. You met Thalia's gaze once more. "It’s okay Thalia. Come, we must hasten to your parents."

Together, you and Thalia set forth into the night, the weight of responsibility heavy upon your shoulders.

As you traverse the moonlit streets, Thalia explains, "It was as if they sensed something amiss," her voice quivering with anxiety. "They spoke of reporting their findings to higher authorities, and I knew then that trouble loomed."

Your heart sinks at her words. You had hoped to keep your abilities concealed, to avoid drawing unwanted attention from the authorities. Yet, here you are, thrust into a situation where secrecy is no longer an option.

As you near the outskirts of Valoris, a sense of foreboding settles over you. The air is thick with tension, and the distant sounds of commotion send a shiver down your spine. Thalia clutches your hand tightly, her eyes wide with fear. Finally, you reach the outskirts, where Thalia's family resides in a modest cottage nestled amidst the trees.

"We must tread carefully," you murmur, casting a wary glance around.

Together, you both drew closer to the source of the disturbance. The scene that greets you is one of chaos and despair. Thalia's parents stand outside their home, surrounded by a group of menacing guards clad in scavenger attire. Their expressions are grim, and you can sense the fear radiating from them.

"We are not the ones you seek, and there are no wielders of magic among us!" Jakub protests, shielding his wife with his own frame. Esmae peers cautiously from behind Jakub, her eyes darting warily over the group of scavengers.

"Then, mayhaps a demonstration would be in order to test the veracity of your claim?" a scavenger guard sneers, a sinister grin stretching across his face. He gestures to one of his comrades, who produces a gleaming metal implement, sharpened to a deadly point.

The guard brandishes the weapon, its surface glinting ominously. "This, my friends, is pure iron. For ages, we've used such tools to unearth those who would dare to consort with the dark arts," he declares, advancing menacingly towards the couple. "And if your words hold true, you'd have no objections to a simple test with the lady beside you, hmm?"

Without hesitation, you step forward, Thalia at your side. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?" you demand, your voice a steady beacon amidst the swirling tempest within.

The leader of the guards fixes you with a steely gaze. "By orders of the Crown, we're here to investigate reports of illicit sorcery in this vicinity," he explains, his tone brooking no dissent.

You swallow hard, the weight of their accusation heavy upon you. Yet, you refuse to be cowed by fear. "And what evidence have you to support such allegations?" you challenge, your voice ringing with defiance.

"We've received credible witness of a sorcery skulking about these parts," he retorts. "Wildflowers blooming in the dead of winter near your dwelling—a curious coincidence, don't you think?"

You scoff at the notion. "The presence of wildflowers proves nothing. How does it incriminate any of us?"

"Are you jesting, miss?" He lets out a derisive chuckle. "Wildflowers during the inaugurate of winter—a clear sign of unnatural meddling."

You glare back, your resolve unyielding. "Your ignorance is matched only by your arrogance."

His gaze shifts to Thalia, who trembles behind you. "I remember you, child," he says, his eyes boring into hers.

You instinctively draw Thalia closer, shielding her from his invasive scrutiny. "Leave her be. She's but a child, innocent in all this."

The situation echoes with eerie familiarity, a haunting reminder of events long past. Memories of a darker time flood your mind, your fists clenching involuntarily at your sides. Yet, before the past can fully consume you, a sudden movement jolts you back to the present.

The scavenger guards seize Thalia, wrenching her from your protective embrace. Her cry of protest pierces the air, a stark reminder of the innocence threatened by their accusations. "No—!"

"This child, seen near the enchanted glade, her presence far too convenient. It lends credence to the suspicion that she and the rest of you harbor secrets—perhaps even the girl herself," the leader asserts, his grip on Thalia tightening as he brandishes the iron implement.

As Thalia struggles against his grasp, her tearful pleas tug at your heartstrings. "Mama, Papa—!"

The guards' harsh grip restrains both Jakub and Esmae, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and desperation. You too find yourself held back, unnoticed amidst the chaos unfolding before you. Anguish wells within you as Thalia's cries echo in the air, the weight of injustice bearing down upon you like a suffocating shroud.

In the face of such injustice, you refuse to remain passive. With a surge of determination, you confront the leader of the guards, your voice ringing with conviction. "Release her this instant. You have no right to subject her to such cruelty!”

The leader meets your gaze, his expression unyielding. "She is a potential threat, as are all who consort with forbidden arts. Our duty is to safeguard the realm from such dangers."

You shake your head, incredulous at his callous disregard for innocence. "You mistake innocence for guilt, blinded by your own paranoia. That girl is no sorceress, nor are any of us."

The guard's grip tightens on Thalia's arm, a grim determination etched upon his features. “We shall see.” Witnessing Thalia’s distress, a surge of emotion welled within you, a turbulent mix of fear and sorrow igniting flashes behind your eyes.

“Mother!” you wail, your eyes welling up with tears as you approach, desperate to render aid, though the gravity of the situation seems beyond your young capabilities.

With a weakening hand, she touched your cheek. “You are strong, my love. The power within you, it will guide you. Embrace it, and remember, I will always be a part of you.” Her voice wavered but held an underlying strength.

"No—!" you cry out, a surge of strength welling up within you. With a sudden burst of power, a telekinetic wave emanates from you, propelling the men restraining you, Jakub and Esmae backward, caught off guard by your unexpected display of magic.

Turning your attention to the man still clutching Thalia, you demand, "Release the girl, and perhaps I shall spare you."

Though a flicker of fear dances in his eyes, the man's pride wins out as he presses the sharp iron weapon against Thalia's delicate neck, causing you to falter momentarily. "Take another step, and this child's life is forfeit…”

Your jaw tightens as you lock gazes with him, taking in the tears glistening in Thalia's eyes. "You would spill innocent blood for what? Recognition? Power?"

"Think yourself righteous, do you?" You challenged, goading him further. His response was swift and violent, the blade biting into Thalia's flesh, drawing forth a crimson stain.

With a pained whimper, Thalia's cry pierces the air, prompting you to act swiftly. "I said, release her!" In a moment of desperation, another telekinetic force, resembling a transparent blade, hurtles toward the man, slicing through flesh and bone with a sickening squelch. Blood sprays in a gruesome arc as his head is violently wrenched from his shoulders.

The scene freezes in horror as the man's severed head tumbles to the ground, blood gushing from the stump of his neck. His lifeless body collapses in a heap, limbs twitching involuntarily. Thalia, freed from his grasp, rushes into her parents' embrace with a relieved cry, their arms wrapping around her protectively amidst the carnage.

Yet, as the realization of your actions sinks in, a sense of dread washes over you. You have taken a life—a man with ties to the royal family. Panic grips you as you comprehend the magnitude of your deed; you are now a fugitive, hunted by those in power.

A gentle hand upon your shoulder shattered the silence, drawing you from your reverie. "You must flee," Jakub's voice, steady and resolute, cut through the turmoil of your thoughts.

"J-Jakub—" Your words stumbled forth, eyes wide with uncertainty. "This is my doing, my fault."

With a reassuring touch, Jakub met your gaze. "No, child, you acted to protect us, to shield us from harm," he reassured you, though his expression betrayed a deeper concern. "Yet now, you are imperiled. Once these men awaken, they will summon the might of the royal court to hunt you down."

"Jakub speaks the truth," Esmae interjected, her voice tinged with urgency. "As a witch revealed, you are no longer safe within these walls. You must flee, and swiftly."

"But what of you?" Worry creased your brow as you considered their fate.

"Fret not for us," Esmae replied, her tone firm yet gentle. "We possess little to bind us here, and Jakub has devised a plan for just such an eventuality. It is time for you to enact your own escape, to leave Pentaraegis behind."

You nod, the urgency of the situation dawning upon you. "I have the map," you confirm, prompting Esmae to continue. "Then make haste. The dawn approaches, and time grows short."

As you prepare to depart, a pang of sorrow grips your heart, and you turn to embrace Jakub, Esmae, and Thalia. "I am grateful, and deeply sorry," you murmur.

Jakub offered a reassuring smile. "There is no need for apologies, child. It is time you prioritized your own well-being."

"How will I find you?” you ask, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

"If the fates be kind," Esmae replies with a chuckle, "our paths shall cross once more."

With a final embrace, you bid them farewell, tears glistening in your eyes as you turn and hasten back to the capital village.

Now returned to the capital village, you dash through its narrow streets with head bowed, the first light of dawn peeking over the horizon, a reminder that time is now of the essence. Navigating with practiced ease, you finally reach your modest home, your pulse racing with anticipation and anxiety.

Upon entering, the door slams shut behind you with an unintended force, startling your seven companions from their slumber. Yet, you pay it no heed, urgency propelling you to your chamber to pack essentials for your impending flight from the kingdom walls, now that the royal court will soon be in pursuit.

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jin, sprawled out on the floor under a blanket before the fireplace, are the first to awaken, their expressions a mix of surprise and confusion at the abrupt noise. Taehyung and Jimin, nestled on the living room couch, soon follow suit, while Jungkook and Yoongi, curled up in adjacent chairs, groggily come to attention.

"What in blazes..." Jungkook mutters, his voice thick with sleep.

Taehyung stretches with a groan and a yawn. "Goodness, what hour is it?"

"An early one, evidently," Jimin mumbles, still half-asleep as the group begins to stir.

After gathering meager provisions, you hasten to the kitchen, your mind consumed with urgency, disregarding your companions' awakening.

Jungkook's weary eyes catch your passage from room to kitchen. "Y/N, what a sight to behold, you being the first to rise."

Jin perks up. "What's this? Y/N up before us? Could it be you're preparing breakfast, dear Y/N?" He jests, still half-asleep.

Your friends' banter falls on deaf ears as you continue your frenzied movements around the kitchen. However, their curiosity is piqued when you suddenly retrieve something from beneath the couch—a worn map you had secreted away days earlier, signaling to them that something is amiss.

"Hey, what's the rush?" Jin questions, rising from his seat as you dart past him.

"And at such an ungodly hour," Yoongi grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You pay their inquiries no heed, unfurling the map upon the table with trembling hands, your focus unwavering, you mutter to yourself, searching for your intended destination. Jin and Jungkook approach, Jin seizing your shoulders.

"Y/N, talk to us," Jin implores, his grip gentle yet firm. "What's going on?"

Your gaze meets Jin's, momentarily clouded with distraction before refocusing. "I must depart the kingdom at once."

Jin's hands fell from your shoulders like startled birds taking flight, the air thick with tension as you made your startling revelation. Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin, and Taehyung sprang up from their seats, while Yoongi's eyes snapped open, his expression a blend of disbelief and concern.

"I...I'm sorry," you stumbled over the words, the weight of their collective gaze pressing down on you. "But it's imperative."

Hoseok advanced, his voice tinged with incredulity and urgency. "This is abrupt, Y/N. Just days ago, you spoke of leaving, but now, you're insisting on immediate departure? What on earth is happening?"

Regret tugged at your conscience as you attempted to dismiss Hoseok's query, reaching to roll up the map. But before you could stow it away, a firm grip seized your wrist, arresting your movements. Jungkook's voice sliced through the air, unexpectedly grave. "No, you cannot simply brush us aside, Y/N. We are your closest confidants, and your actions are deeply concerning. Please, elucidate."

With a hesitant glance at Jungkook's earnest countenance, you relented, turning back to face your companions. "I have committed...an unspeakable act. The royal court will pursue me for it, and I cannot afford to linger."

Jin's voice was measured as he pressed for clarity. "What have you done?"

A lump formed in your throat as you swallowed hard. "I… I intervened in a skirmish involving the small family in Valoris and scavengers' guards. They were ambushed, and I had to step in."

Namjoon's voice, steady yet tinged with worry, drew closer as he took a step forward. "And how did you intervene?"

"It was a dire moment," you confessed, a shiver rippling down your spine. "A man threatened the life of the young girl, and I had no choice but to stop him... permanently."

A heavy silence hung in the air as you continued, the gravity of your admission sinking in. "I took a life... And now, I must flee."

With a determined tug and eyes brimming with unshed tears, you freed your wrist from Jungkook's grasp, packing away the map. Jimin's voice pierced the silence, his concern palpable in his tone. "But where will you go?"

A bittersweet smile played at the corners of your lips as you met Jimin's gaze. "I cannot disclose it. I fear if I do, you will follow, and I cannot bear to see you imperiled on my behalf. Please, trust me when I say it is for the best."

"Best for whom, precisely?" Jungkook's voice cut through, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"For all of you!" you exclaimed, your voice quivering with emotion. "If you accompany me, you will be endangered as well."

Jin exhaled heavily, disbelief etched on his features. "Surely there must be another solution, Y/N. We cannot fathom your departure."

Jimin's frustration bubbled over, his voice rising slightly. "Is it truly beyond comprehension that we harbor deep care for you? We have stood by your side for years, and now, you expect us to let you face this alone?"

Meeting his gaze, you feel the weight of his words pressing down on you. "I know, and I'm sorry. But I can't involve any of you."

"But we're already involved," Namjoon interjects, his voice calm but resolute. "We refuse to let you face it unaccompanied."

"But this is different," you argue, your voice pleading. "I can't risk your safety and positions for my sake."

"Damn it Y/N, why must you be so obstinate?" Taehyung burst forth, his frustration evident. "You incessantly speak of our standings within the royal court. Have you not comprehended a word Jimin has uttered? You are cherished amongst us, and we would go to great lengths for you. Why must you continually bring up such arguments? It vexes me beyond measure."

"Because-! Look at me, look at all of you—" Your voice wavers as you pause, sweeping your gaze across your seven companions. "It's not just your positions I'm concerned about, but your lives. I am but a common lady, and all of you... you all have futures, bright and promising, with or without me."

Hoseok's typically sunny demeanor darkens, a glint of frustration in his eyes. "Mind your words, Y/N."

You whirl toward him, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "Am I mistaken?! You have each other! I cannot impose upon you to forsake such opulence and happiness because of my errors. It would be unjust."

"No, what's unfair is you leaving!" Yoongi's voice slices through the tension, catching you off guard.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I'm trying to protect you!"

"You're tearing us apart!" Hoseok's voice rings out, laden with anguish.

"Consider your actions, Y/N," Taehyung advances towards you, his voice tinged with urgency.

"No— you must all think. Reason with yourselves, what do you believe the royal court will decree when they discover their most esteemed and valiant soldiers, their staunch defenders, have turned their backs on them for the sake of a mere commoner like myself—especially one guilty of such a grievous offense! Let me tell you, they shall come for you all, branding you criminals for aiding me or simply for being my friends! Thus, I am performing a service by departing and severing all ties with you!"

"I can't bear to watch you make such a reckless decision!" Taehyung’s voice cracked with emotion.

"You are being selfish, Y/N!" Jungkook's words pierce through the chaos.

"Selfish? Look at yourselves! You are blinded by your loyalty!" you retort, your voice shaking with emotion. "I am doing what is best for all of us!"

Namjoon steps forward, his expression a mixture of determination and concern. "But what about what we want? We want you safe, Y/N. We want you here with us."

"And I want the same for you!" you cried out, your heart heavy with the weight of your decision. "But I can't risk your lives for mine. I will not."

"But we're not cowards, Y/N!" Jungkook's voice resonated with indignation. "We've fought battles together, faced adversity. Do you truly think we'd abandon you now?"

"You misunderstand," you whispered, anguish lacing your words. "This isn't cowardice, it's prudence. I cannot drag you into this turmoil."

"Turmoil or not, we stand with you," Jin asserts, his voice unwavering.

"But at what cost?" you whispered, tears now freely streaming down your cheeks. "I can't bear to see you suffer for my mistakes."

"Your mistakes are our mistakes," Hoseok interjects, his voice tinged with sorrow. "We share in your burdens, Y/N. That is what friendship entails."

You shook your head, their loyalty almost unbearable. "But you have futures, dreams. I can't be the anchor that weighs you down."

"Anchor or not, we refuse to let you drown," Namjoon stated firmly, his gaze unwavering. "You're a part of us, Y/N. We won't abandon you."

"Yet by staying, you risk everything," you argued, desperation seeping into your voice. "Your reputations, your safety—all for a mere commoner like me."

"We're not swayed by titles or status," Hoseok declared, determination echoing in his voice. "We stand by those we love, societal constraints be damned."

Taehyung scoffed, frustration evident. "You spoke as though we're pawns in your game. But we're comrades, bound by loyalty and friendship."

"And yet, you would cast us aside like worn-out garments," Jin added, his voice tinged with hurt.

A flicker of anguish danced in your eyes as you surveyed your friends, the weight of your decision heavy upon your shoulders. "I'm not casting you aside. I'm trying to protect you."

"By abandoning us?!" Jimin's voice cracked, pleading for understanding.

"By preventing you from sharing my fate," you countered, your voice trembling with emotion.

"But we are willing to face whatever comes our way," Jin interjected.

"And what about us?" Taehyung's voice wavered, searching for solace.

"You'll continue without me," you whispered, resignation heavy in your words.

"Without our friend? Our confidante?" Yoongi's voice was disbelieving.

"You're more than a friend," Taehyung's gazes at you. "You're family."

In the midst of the turmoil, Jimin clenches his fists at his sides, anguish wrapped in his cry. "I can't lose you, Y/N!"

Frozen, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, his sob broke through your defenses. In that instant, arguments melted away, replaced by the ache of love and loss.

Without a word, Jimin rushed forward, enveloping you in a tight embrace. His tears mingled with yours, a silent testament to the depth of your bond. Amidst the chaos and uncertainty, you found solace in the arms of your dearest friend.

Silence descended, heavy with tension, as Jin stepped forward, joining the embrace. "We may not understand your reasons," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion, "but we'll stand by you, no matter what."

"And family stands together, no matter the odds," Hoseok added, his tone resolute.

"But what if standing together only leads to ruin?" you countered, your voice choked with emotion.

"Then we shall face that ruin together," Namjoon affirms.

A/N: heyy <3333, you've finally reached the end. i apologize for its unnecessary length. this part aimed to spotlight the friendship between Y/N (you, the reader) and the boys, from childhood (as in the intro) to adulthood. and wanted to included minor intimate scenes to lay the groundwork for the slow-burn trope and scenes leading up to Y/N's departure from the kingdom. i hope you enjoyed it and can follow the plot thus far. have a good night/day wherever you are! <3333

part 2 will be coming soon!!

drabble masterpost | masterlist | character boards | prologue | part 1 | part 2 [finale] | alternate ending

[perfinn]

the heat that drives the light

aemond targaryen x tyrell!oc - part ii

wc: 4.4k

summary: aemond confronts his mother about his betrothed, but the wedding goes ahead, leaving the prince to grapple with his complicated feelings toward the tyrell girl

cw: NSFW, blind character, period typical ableism, ableism in general, for prosperity dubcon (because aemond is (allegedly) not into cecily but he still feels like he has to do his duty. but both parties consent), period typical misogyny, aegon being a creep, allusions to aemond's 13th name day

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

Cecily Tyrell had not yet reached her seventh name day when she fell ill. A visit to the Arbour struck the young Lady down with an illness that not even the finest of the citadel’s archmaesters could name. It was believed she contracted it from a passing sailor on the docks of the Arbour, explaining away the mysterious nature of the sickness. Some maesters, younger and full of ideas, suggested it had come from Qarth, the work of some warlock testing the potential of pestilence as a form of warfare in enemy lands. Others, more experienced and grounded, were sure it was only some disease that the Essosi had grown strong against, that had gone from Essos so long ago no one had thought to mention it to Westerosi sailors on their shores. It had only struck Cecily because she was so young, they had supposed. 

But, regardless of anyone’s theories, there was no real answer. It was a mystery to all but the gods, Cecily’s mother had once said. Despite that no one had any real knowledge of the illness Lady Cecily’s father, Lord Martyn Tyrell, did not rest in having her treated. Cecily was his only child, and her birth had near killed his wife. He had no other heir, yes, but his determination was born from far more than the issue of succession. To lose his Cecily would be to lose half his heart. 

Cecily survived, of course, and thankfully did not infect another. However, despite all the treatment her little body could handle, her vision had been taken from her. She could not see a thing but for a blur of colours, and even then only in the bright sunlight. 

“I’ve come to see my mother.”

Criston Cole looks the young prince over with a carefully neutral gaze. Aemond is certain Cole knows how to read him, certain he sees the tension lacing his shoulders almost up to his ears. He does not care, though, what the knight sees. 

“Cole.”

Cole appears to contemplate another moment before he nods and opens the door to the queen’s solar, announcing Aemond’s arrival. 

Alicent stands to greet him, eyes following him as he stalks into the room, standing across from her. Her face, which had been a smile to greet her son, falls to a confused frown. 

“Something is the matter,” she says, tone lowered inquisitively. She broaches the topic with a statement, not a question. She knows Aemond better than she knows her other children, can read him like a book at the worst of times. They’re alike, perhaps too alike. 

“I’ve seen the Tyrell girl.”

Alicent closes her mouth, exhaling deeply through her nose and lowering herself to sit again. She pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a moment before looking back at her son. “You weren’t supposed to see her until the wedding.”

“I’m aware,” says Aemond, voice clipped. “And I can see why. I won’t wed her.”

“This is not up for negotiation, Aemond.”

“I’m not going to suffer this humiliation just for political gain,” he says sharply. “Just because I’ve lost half my sight-”

“I did not pick her for you because of her blindness,” Alicent says, standing back up and approaching the tense prince. “How could I do that to you? When have you known me to have anything but your best interests at heart? I chose her for you because I believe she is a fine match. She is as shrewd as she is pretty, she has a sense of humour, she has a political mind, and someday she will be the Wardeness of the South. A fine one, at that. If I had wanted an easy political alliance, I would have offered her Daeron’s hand. It would have been a lot quicker. They could have wed in Highgarden and it could be done by now. But I want for my children to be happy, Aemond.”

Aemond hums and bites back a remark about Helaena and Aegon, but he’s just rational enough to hear his mother out. It will do little good to hear her reasoning, though. Her good intentions cannot dull the blow of his embarrassment. 

“I believe that the two of you can build something wonderful together,” Alicent says, taking Aemond’s arms. Her touch is gentle, a comfort, but not one Aemond wants to be given now. 

Aemond can hardly unclench his jaw enough to speak in clear sentences. “Then why was she to be kept from me?” 

“The decision was not mine. Lord Martyn wished for her to be kept separate from you until you meet her at the ceremony.”

Aemond shifts, an odd swell of defensiveness building in his chest. Not for her, he tells himself. For me. “He is ashamed of her?”

“Quite the opposite. He loves that girl more than anything, he is just worried. He fears there is an issue of succession, he is paranoid Cecily’s claim will be threatened.”

Sounds like someone else I know, thinks Aemond bitterly. 

“He doesn't want anything to jeopardise this union, including you.”

“He was right to worry, mother,” he snaps, pulling away from her. “I will not be forced into this union. I am owed more than an invalid!”

“Aemond,” hisses Alicent. “You can hate this until the day you die, but it is happening, and you will try to be a good husband to her. We must make sacrifices for the sake of our family.”

She thinks he is being irrational, and perhaps she’s right. But he has earned the right to irrationality, has he not? He was robbed of his eye, he received no retribution, and now it is all anyone ever sees. His mother can speak all she wishes of Cecily’s attributes, it is all overshadowed by her weakness. A weakness he does not share, no matter what anyone would whisper. How much more must he sacrifice for the sake of this family?

He clenches his jaw, turning away from his mother and moving to leave the room. “You do not know me as well as you thought you did. You should have saved everyone the time and married her to Daeron.”

Despite Aemond’s week of staunch refusal and threats to fly off on dragonback and never return, the wedding goes ahead. Somehow, he’s wrestled into the Red Keep’s sept and made to await his bride. 

Instead of his preferred dark green clothing, he’s been forced into a black doublet with a dark red undershirt. It makes him uncomfortable not for the feel of it – the fabric is luscious and comfortable and it fits him perfectly – but for what the colours represent. That he is a prince of House Targaryen. This he knows, of course, but it feels nothing more than a name to him. He feels that Hightower blood flows far stronger through him than any other, though he would never dare admit it aloud. 

No one would understand him. No one ever has. 

He fiddles with the dark red silk poking out of his sleeve, expression turned down in the scowl that’s made itself quite at home on his face, loathing the thing. He does not make a habit of fidgeting with his clothes, but his hatred for the fabric overpowers his usual composure. 

(Why do you bother, Aemond? he thinks. She will not even see it.)

If his father had any say in it Aemond would surely have the Three Headed Dragon emblazoned across his damned eyepatch, just to drive the message home. Maybe his betrothed’s blindness has spared him of that, for she’d never be able to appreciate it anyway. He’s certain that this tiny mercy is all her disability will ever do for him. 

When the murmuring sept falls quiet, Aemond clenches his fists by his side. He remains facing the statues of the Mother and the Father, watching the way the sun filters through stained glass and lights up the visage of the gods as his betrothed approaches him. He only turns when she is behind him, prepared to take her hand from her father.

Aemond expects to see what he’s come to expect of House Tyrell; opulence and shining silk inlaid with gems, disgusting shows of wealth for the sake of maintaining their status. He hates it, most ardently, but he finds he does not see it reflected in Cecily. 

Cecily’s face is hidden by a gauzy ivory veil, embroidered with pale pink roses. Her dress is creamy white, similarly embroidered with all manner of flowers the names of which Aemond could not hope to recall. It is well made and no doubt expensive, but it is not so far into the realm of ostentation that he wishes to turn away in disgust, he would go so far as to call it… pretty. 

She looks pretty, in ivory lace and the fern green maiden’s cloak that lays over her shoulders. He almost dreads to lift her veil and be so harshly reminded of the cloud over her eyes. He takes her hand, gently guiding her up the steps. 

“Last one,” he murmurs, instantly cursing himself for his kindness to her when she murmurs her thanks. He does not understand himself. He understands himself even less when he hesitates before he reaches for her veil. “Your veil. May I?”

(He does not like her but he will not be a cruel husband. He will not delight in frightening her, he will take whatever care he must to be better than the husbands in his family. She is a rose most delicate, more so than any other. No matter his resentment, she will be his wife and hence shall be handled with care.)

He sees that shrewd smile behind her veil, and sees her nod. “Of course.”

Gods, her voice is sweeter than he remembers. The memories of it which have echoed in his head each night since they met do it no justice. 

He takes her veil between his gloved fingers, lifting it up over her face and settling it over the crown of flowers that secure it to her hair. Her eyes are turned up to him, even if she does not see. He sees the greyish film over them and the gentle feelings are frozen, replaced once more with resentment. 

If he were to turn and run now, would anyone dare to stop him?

Alas, he stays where he is and goes through the proceedings of the union as he’s expected to. Despite his ample protests, there is still a large part of him that longs to be his mother’s dutiful son. 

He reaches to remove the green cloak from her shoulders, running his thumb gently over the embroidered gold trim, and replaces it with one of red and black. Black dragons dance across the fabric, and a smile dances across Cecily’s face. 

With the septon’s blessing and declaration of their union, Aemond takes both her hands. He hesitates a moment as he sees Cecily close her eyes, wondering what’s going on in her head. Is she afraid? Excited? He finds her impossible to read, and he finds it’s driving him mad. Still, he leans down and presses his lips gently to hers. They’re petal soft against his but he does not let it linger. 

He fears if he does he will get lost in it, in the smell of flowers on her skin and the softness of her pink lips. He will not fall to the weak man’s game of lust, no matter if she is his wife under the Seven’s eye. The sept erupts into cheers for the new couple, and Aemond does not miss the way Cecily flinches at the sudden barrage of noise. 

He finds himself cursing their guests for frightening his wife, and he does not know why. 

Aemond is not granted a moment to speak with Cecily until the two of them are sitting beside one another at their wedding banquet, his new wife placed on the side of his good eye. 

The food is placed before them, and the first words his bride speaks to him in near-privacy are, “What have they prepared?”

Aemond taps his finger against the arm of his chair, looking between Cecily and the meal before him. “You seemed to have a keen sense of smell when last we met.”

Cecily chuckles, nodding slowly as she feels across the table for her fork. “As far as anyone but you, Flora, and myself is concerned, that meeting did not happen. But yes, I can smell things better than most, though it may only take me so far. I can smell, hm… fowl, and vegetables, and I can smell spiced honey, and of course the wine that flows from our cups.”

Aemond looks down at his plate, scowling at the sheer aptitude of her nose’s instinct. “It is honey glazed duck with stewed vegetables.”

“Ah!” Cecily delights, brightening with a smile. “It has been some time since my nose has served me this well. The Gods must smile on us today.”

Aemond scoffs. “The Gods have more important matters to tend to than what a blind girl smells for her dinner.”

“The Seven looks upon us always, lord husband, always,” she says as she begins to eat her food. Aemond scowls. She seems pious, even if she does not act as demure as a woman should. He supposes that very few women he knows do, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Cecily does not bother him while they eat, but he watches her and sees she has not switched off. She is listening to the conversations around her, brow turned down in focus. Aemond looks away from her and to the wine in his cup, finding himself trying to do the same. He does not tune into much except half a hushed conversation between his mother and his older brother. 

He hears the words “abhorrent” and “heretical” hissed from his mother, and decides the conversation is not one worth hearing. It does not surprise him to hear that said to Aegon.

When dinner is finished and their empty plates carried away, Cecily leans toward Aemond again. 

“I am sorry we cannot share a dance,” she says. 

Aemond looks over at her, seeing her hands are tracing once more over the embroidery of her dress. She had been doing the same when he barged into her chambers last week. Perhaps it’s a comfort for her. “I hate dancing.”

Cecily smiles at him. “I see. Lucky for us both then. Dancing with a partner is an impossibility with no vision, I can imagine halved vision only makes it an ordeal.”

“Mmm,” hums Aemond, feeling that he should be upset by her words. He hates for it to be brought up, but she’s correct. The lack of vision on one side makes dancing a near impossible task. Maybe he was wrong about her blindness offering him only one mercy. But he cannot imagine any more. “Quite.” 

Her smile stays on her face, radiant despite Aemond’s cold and dismissive tone. There is a hidden, traitorous part of him that wishes to get to know her. She’s his wife, after all. Maybe it would be beneficial to them both if he made some effort to know the woman he’s supposed to love under the Gods’ doctrine. The woman he’s meant to bed. But he strikes that traitorous urge down and shoves it back into the recesses of his mind. He does not need to know a woman to perform his duty. If nothing else, Aegon is evidence of that fact. 

After another moment of stubborn silence Cecily leans away, calling for her cousin Flora. “I shall go speak to our guests, lord husband. Would you like to join me?”

“No,” he says, waving his hand before remembering she can’t see it and hurriedly lowering it, as though embarrassed. “Go.”

He finally sees a hint of her enthusiasm leeched by his dismissive words, and cannot help but be satisfied by it as she stands and offers him a curtsey before turning to Flora and making her way toward where his mother and father – barely conscious of his surroundings – sit. He scowls, thinking of how strongly Cecily will smell Viserys’ rotting body. 

He stiffens when another stench places itself beside him, the familiar scent of Arbour red that always seems to hang off his brother. He does not acknowledge him at first, keeping his eye on his own cup – Arbour gold, as is his own preference on the rare days he sullies himself with drink – in the hope that Aegon will see he is not interested in speaking to him. 

He has, as ever, no such luck.

“Brother,” says Aegon, words slightly slurred. “You will be most happy with me today.”

“Will I?” says Aemond, setting his cup down but still not looking at him.

“Indeed. I have convinced our mother to forgo the bedding ceremony.”

This gives Aemond pause, and finally convinces him to turn his gaze to Aegon. Aegon grins. 

“I knew you’d like that. You’ll still need to consummate, but I’ve done the kindness of letting you do it in private.”

“How did you manage that?”

He shrugs. “A few well placed words about the Seven and decency. Appealing to mother’s faith will get you far, you know. Do not say I’ve never done anything for you. But listen–” Aemond should have known he would want something out of this. “– I can see you do not like her. You will not wish to lay with her, and I understand. But I do not give a fuck if she’s blind, in fact–”

“Do not dare suggest what you have in mind, brother–”

“Come now! I am just being the caring big brother I have always been, Aemond. If you cannot complete the act and you wish to call me in, she’ll be none the wiser. Even if you can, I would still appreciate a turn.”

“Hold your tongue,” Aemond hisses, reaching out and grabbing Aegon by the front of his wine-stained shirt. “You dishonour my wife and your own. Does your debauchery never cease?”

“Gods, brother!” Aegon huffs, clumsily trying to smack Aemond’s hand away. “Twas only a suggestion!”

“Cecily is my wife, and if I hear you’ve touched her you will no longer have a cock to shove in whichever serving girl next takes your fancy.” His voice is low, dangerous. Aegon, though, only seems amused as he holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Forgive me, I only hoped to save you from a girl you’re so clearly repulsed by,” he says, as though his intentions had been purely selfless and full of care for his brother. He is so drunk he does not realise that Aemond has never been more serious. “By all means, have the girl. But do tell me if her cunt really smells of roses.”

Aemond releases him roughly, sending the man tumbling off his chair, and stands with the intent to find his wife. He’s thankful to see her still standing before the queen and king with Flora.

He makes his way over, making his presence known to Cecily with a clearing of his throat. 

“Your husband,” Flora murmurs to Cecily, and the two of them offer curtsies to the prince. 

Aemond watches them for a moment before turning to his mother. “Aegon tells me you have decided there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Alicent offers her son a smile and nods. “Yes, we both agreed it was an affront to the Seven. And I am certain there will be proof enough of your consummation come the morning, won’t there?”

“With any luck, your grace,” says Cecily. 

“Good,” says Aemond, not acknowledging Cecily. “Then I wish to retire with my lady wife now. It will serve as a good excuse for father to go rest as well.”

“Right,” says Alicent, moving to stand with the intent to announce their departure, no doubt. 

“No need for an announcement,” he says, gesturing for her to sit back down. “We will go quietly. Lady Cecily, come.”

He holds out his arm and Flora carefully guides Cecily to take it, bidding her cousin good night and good luck.

Aemond leads Cecily up to his chambers, hesitating at the door. She has not said a word the whole way. Is she afraid, as he is? Nervous? It would be only logical. Even without the worry of lords of the realm witnessing their coupling, it is daunting for Aemond. He cannot imagine the fear it would cause in someone who has not done it before. 

He opens the door, gently leading her inside by a hand on the small of her back. “I will help you find your way around until you learn it,” he tells her. 

“Thank you, my lord,” she says, fiddling again with her dress. “Do you know why we’ve been allowed to do this without spectators?”

“A kindness brokered by my brother,” says Aemond, closing the door and looking to her as she stands in the middle of the room, aimless. A sting of repulsion twists in his chest. It feels all too similar to self-loathing, though he cannot know why. “I’m sure it is all we will get in lieu of a wedding gift.”

“Ah, then I must make certain to thank him,” she says, reaching back to begin undoing the lacing of her gown.

“You should not trouble yourself with Aegon’s company,” he says firmly, looking away from her as though trying not to dishonour her in a state of undress. 

“Oh,” she murmurs, slipping off the dress so it pools around her ankles. She stands there in only her smallclothes. He glances up, catching sight of her as she slips her chemise from her shoulders and his breath catches in his throat. Her body, svelte but soft with a life of good food and comfort, is near bare before him. She smiles, evidently hoping he’s looking as she plays with her hands. “I hope I am pleasing to you. Will you help me to the bed?”

He watches her in silence for a moment, as though stunned by the sight of his wife almost naked. In a sense, he is. He had not expected Cecily to act quite so boldly. She is a confident woman and not demure as he is aware, but somehow he thought her nerves would get the better of her. Perhaps not being able to see his reactions helps.

Could she see, she would see a man stunned and frightened, and he finds himself thankful yet again for her blindness. He does not answer her but begins to slowly undress, first removing his gloves, then his boots, then he undoes the lacing of his doublet. As he does, he moves toward her. She perks, then stiffens, as though realising what those footsteps mean. 

He shrugs the doublet off, and reaches to take her hand. The touch of her bare skin against his, for the first time, burns hotter than dragonfire. 

He forces himself to lead her to the bed and watches as she sits down, shimmying up to lean against the pillows, hands settled in her lap as Aemond moves to sit down beside her. It feels wrong to be in a state of undress around a woman, even one who cannot see him. He hasn't allowed himself to be intimate with a woman since…

He pushes that thought from his mind. Hate Cecily as he does, she seems kind enough. Innocent, as he had once been. She will not laugh at him as those women did. 

(Gods, he hopes she is truly as kind as she makes out to be.)

Cecily shifts closer to him, gently feeling across the soft sheets for Aemond’s hand. She turns to face him, offering him a timid smile. “I am a maiden,” she tells him. “But I will try not to be boring for you.”

“You do not have to,” Aemond mumbles, watching her hand slide over his arm and onto his chest, then down. He feels his pulse quicken, but does not stop her. 

“I wish to,” she promises in a whisper. Her hand trails further down, to the waist of his trousers. 

Aemond clenches his jaw and reaches for her wrist as gently as he can manage, though he’s certain she feels the slight tremble in his grip. He moves her hand away, not meeting her eyes to avoid the look on her face– she must be mocking him. She must think him a fool, a boy, an invalid, just like she is. “Let us not make this more complicated than it ought to be.”

“But, I-”

“Lay back. I will do my best to be gentle.”

He finally looks up at her and what he sees is not a mocking sneer, but only confusion. Still, she obliges him and shifts to lay down on the bed, hands folded over her stomach. Aemond’s heart pangs with something he cannot hope to understand, but he ignores it. He undoes his pants, crawling over her and not wasting any further time. 

He goes as slow as he can manage to ease her into the feeling, but once he has broken her maidenhead he forces himself away from all sentimentality and care, moving instead with cold, hard duty. He does not let himself think about how she feels wrapped around his cock, soft and wet and warm and tight. He especially does not dare let himself look at her, does not dare see the expression of disappointment and upset that no doubt takes residence on her face. He cannot. 

After some time he comes with a grunt, taking a few steadying breaths to keep himself under control. To lose any part of his inhibitions now would be weakness. 

I am not weak, he thinks, not doing well to convince himself. Aemond Targaryen is not weak. 

He pulls out after a moment and rolls over to lay beside her. Cecily says nothing, but he sees her press her palms to her eyes and take a deep inhale. She’s trying not to cry. A better husband might comfort her, but Aemond cannot bring himself to do so when he cannot even comfort himself. So Aemond rolls over and listens to his wife try to keep her breathing even, feeling weaker than he has in many years.

[scaranation]

Hey! Can I request something about Zhongli refusing to find a partner for himself due to him being an ex archon and a literal dragon (though only half of it) found reader who just landed in liyue in a quest to expand the business reader started in their very own nation, but zhongli found out that reader was also a dragon in living among humans and took interest upon them cuz apart from dvalin, he hasn't encounter another dragon for millennia

That's all ♥️

Thank you for this I had so much fun writing! Sorry this took so long I completely forgot what an inbox was 🥲🥲 (i’m not sorry abt the title tho)

༊*·˚ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘

Pairing: Zhongli x GN!reader

Content: fluff, broke Zhongli

After ages of being amongst the only dragons he knew of, Zhongli finally finds another like him - a person he begins to hope he can pursue more than the trivialities of mortal love with.

“Hm.” Zhongli leaned back in his seat as he stared at the paperwork in front of him. A new business had recently entered the Liyuen market, specialising in gifts. It was an admirable scheme - the enterprise had taken over many small souvenir businesses, rendering it a prominent influence in Inazuma, the region from which it’d been started. Furthermore, the business was also listed as being part of the gift giving and floral arrangement markets, allowing it to merge multiple companies whilst still abiding by competition laws. Zhongli nodded to himself. Truly, the one who’d headed this ludicrous venture would’ve had to have possessed great ambition.

It reminded the man of his days as a young archon - the youthful drive and greed spurred on by his draconic traits.

“Zhongli! Are you ready? We’re going to meet them now.” Hu Tao’s chipper tone jerked Zhongli out of his thoughts.

“Ah, yes.” He gathered the files on his desk, checking the time. They were supposed to have left ten minutes ago for a meeting with the aforementioned business in hopes of forming a partnership - after all, a floral arrangement specialist was undeniably beneficial to a funeral parlour.

“My bad, I appear to have lost track of the time. Hopefully our soon to be partners aren’t too phased.” Zhongli opened the door, before stepping out after Hu Tao. She only laughed, waving her hand nonchalantly as the two proceeded to the arranged location.

-

“Nice to meet you, Director Hu.” You stood up once your guests finally arrived, grasping the funeral director’s hand to shake it.

“It’s a pleasure. This is our consultant, Zhongli.”

You glanced at the man standing behind the director. A piercing amber gaze, glinting like ancient cor lapis. Despite his shrewd gaze and the way he carried himself - as though he’d been here for millenia - he looked to be a youthful young man, with a pleasantly defined face. You shook away the thought. You hadn’t met another dragon in thousands of years, and of all professions, why would a dragon resort to working as a consultant?

“So, about our potential partnership.” You broke the eye contact you realised you’d been holding with Zhongli, beckoning him and his boss to sit at the table.

“Ah, yes.” Zhongli opened a folder as Hu Tao began to talk, and so the meeting finally started. Between Hu Tao's thinly veiled business ambitions and Zhongli's shrewd remarks, you found yourself preferring the latter. His voice possessed a certain soothing quality, almost making you lose your edge. He talked as if he'd experienced the same meeting countless times before, making suggestions you would've never thought of. With Hu Tao's negotiating and Zhongli's articulate guidance, the exchange flew by. With another firm handshake, you parted ways with Hu Tao and Zhongli, your assistant leaving work early. Both the funeral parlour director and consultant certainly had an interesting character, and the negotiations had gone amicably beyond your expectations.

Similarly, Zhongli also left the meeting in a good mood. He was almost certain you were also a dragon, which piqued his interest greatly. The calculating gaze you'd levelled at him, and the quick-witted contributions you'd made to the meeting. You couldn't possibly be as old as him, but you had clearly experienced much of Teyvat.

Zhongli sighed contentedly. To meet another one like him... Would be an honour indeed.

-

“What do you mean? These antiques have been professionally verified!” Zhongli sighed as the store owner in front of him spluttered in defence.

“Ah, if you say so.” Zhongli only turned away, unbothered with involving himself in such mundane conflict. He'd decided to take a walk through the harbour and indulge a little in the frivolous joys of mortality, and wanted to preserve his high spirits for longer.

“Wait, young man! What about this necklace? I’ll sell to you for half price, I’m sure your partner would love it.” The store owner made one last attempt at landing a sale.

Zhongli chuckled to himself. He hadn’t taken another lover for ages. Somehow, it simply wasn’t the same to commit himself to a mortal, despite the vessel he’d taken on. Something about the way humans loved was inherently fleeting, unlike the millennia-long romances common amongst dragons. The ex-archon couldn’t bring himself to be interested in a short, fiery burst of superficial passion, and he hadn’t met another dragon - aside from Barbartos’s friend - in ages.

Before Zhongli could retort to the store owner however, a new voice cut through the air.

“Even at half price, that necklace is nowhere near worth how much you’re demanding for it.” You stepped forward, tutting.

“What? This necklace was taken straight from a chest buried in Guili, and polished into this state. The fine embossing proves it. Clearly, you have no eye for quality.” The vendor was turning red. Zhongli turned his gaze to you, amused.

“The embossing work on this is indicative of a technique used long after the Guili area was inhabited in its prime. Furthermore, this material appears to be the smelted remains of lower quality ore - hence the dull gleam. If you wish to swindle customers, at least do it more convincingly.” You ran an unappreciative finger over the necklace, flipping it over in your palm. The store owner snatched it back, seething.

“Well, if you don’t believe in our authenticity, you may as well leave.”

“Of course.” Zhongli, sensing the vendor was becoming exponentially more irate, quickly grabbed your arm and led you away. His grip was firm, yet undemanding. A strange warmth emanated from his touch, prompting you to glance up at him in surprise.

“That was some keen observation. Are you perhaps interested in the history of Liyue?” Zhongli asked, releasing you.

“No, it was merely some… general knowledge from my first hand experiences.”

“You were alive back then?”

“And I’m assuming you were, too.”

“Hm, you would be the first dragon other than myself and Dvalin that I’ve met in quite some time.” Zhongli’s eyes gleamed. You cocked your head, until you found the consultant’s hand enveloping yours in a heat that was almost familiar - like the broad warmth of a sun baked stone.

“Come on, it'd be a shame if someone who'd come all the way from Inazuma didn't have the luxury of seeing Liyue's more authentic stalls."

You nodded, slowly curling your fingers around the man's hand, or at least as much as you could - his hands were quite a lot larger than yours. The contact was nice and unforced, unlike the awkward times you'd had to touch humans. It simply wasn't the same, as with them, it was more like holding a delicate glass. Mortals were so fleeting, their lives so precarious.

After winding through the bustling streets of the harbour, the two of you arrived at another stall selling ores.

“Which one would you like? They seem to be of high quality. I’ll purchase one for you, as a gift.” Zhongli glanced over the assortment of brightly coloured jewels.

“Oh, you really don’t have to.”

“I insist. It’s only proper for me, seeing as you’re a fellow dragon.”

“Alright then, I’ll take the one on the far left.” You gestures towards a lump of noctilucous jade. The lustre suggested it was relatively valuable, but not expensive enough to make you appear impolite.

“That’ll be four hundred mora.” The vendor smiled.

Zhongli slipped a gloved hand into his pockets, fumbling for a while - but not in the way a broke person would. Rather, he did it with a practiced grace, leading you to doubt he had any financial troubles at all. Given their long lifespans, dragons usually amassed much wealth.

“Ah, it appears that I’ve forgotten my wallet. How improper of me.” Zhongli chuckled lightly. You blinked a few times, exchanging a shocked look with the vendor, before reaching for your own wallet.

“I’ll take all the items on display.” You said. The vendor hurried to wrap up all the stones, handing you a relatively heavy bag.

“My apologies, it seems I’m still not accustomed to the mortal way of life. Using mora… What a difficult thing to get used to.” Zhongli mused, although he didn’t appear to be embarrassed at all.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly questioning the man. Dragon or not, most had to be well-acquainted with the currency, especially if they were a citizen of Liyue.

“I believe I forgot to mention, I created mora. Hence, actually using it in practice is quite foreign.”

You spluttered in shock. How could someone admit that they’d founded Teyvat’s primary currency so easily? Zhongli’s orange eyes gleamed in mirth at your surprise.

“Y-you’re… Morax?” You stood stiffly for a moment. You were standing and talking casually to an archon. You briefly wondered if you should bow, and began to kneel - before a firm hand came under your arm to hoist you back up.

“No need, I’ve given up that role. Not many know I was Rex Lapis. I guess by admitting that, I’m placing my trust in you.” You could only continue staring as you processed the information, unaware of the way his touch still lingered at your elbow.

“I…” You were certain there was some form of etiquette you were missing. How did people address deities? Lord? Your highness? Your area of expertise was that of commerce, not honourifics.

Zhongli laughed - the sound deep and comforting - gently closing your open jaw with his finger.

“I was going to gift the ores to you, but I’m scared that’d come off as more of an insult to the Lord of Geo…” You trailed off.

“I’d be more than happy to accept. You and I, we’re much more similar than you think. So don’t feel too pressured around me, alright?” His smile was heavenly. For a moment, you pondered the possibility that people had worshipped him for his handsome features, defined as if from stone itself. A heartbeat later, and you realised that much of the distance between your face and his had vanished. Panicking, you shoved the bag of goods into his chest and scurried away.

“It was nice talking with you! I’ll see you at the next meeting.” You blurted.

“I hope we’ll see each other before then.” Zhongli called as he watched your disappearing figure. He shook his head fondly, holding the bag in one hand and resting the other on his chin. You were so reminiscent of his younger, more draconic self. He could only attribute it to you and him being one and the same species - however rare it was.

Zhongli was simply happy to have found someone like himself - a person that shared the memory.

[unabashegirl]

Vicious 3 || Harry Styles x Mafia

Summary: Harry Styles, the cold and calculating son of a powerful mafia don, must consolidate power after his father's passing. He faces challenges from his unpredictable younger brother, Silas, and navigates a complex world of alliances, ruthless decisions, and family loyalty. Amidst the intrigue, the elegant and alluring Y/N Castellano, the daughter of an Italian mafia boss, attends the funeral and finds herself drawn to Harry. As power dynamics shift and the future remains uncertain, the story explores the dark and dangerous allure of the mafia, the weight of family legacies, and the potential for unexpected connections in a world defined by secrecy and ruthlessness.

masterlist

word count: 2.7K

The room buzzed with a low hum of whispered conversations as the weight of Arthur's will settled upon the gathered assembly. Harry, typically composed, found himself grappling with a surge of emotions that threatened to breach the surface. Outrage smoldered beneath his stoic exterior, fueled by the unexpected clause that dictated his marital fate.

"Enough!" Harry's voice sliced through the room, a thunderous command that silenced the discussions like a sudden clap of thunder. His eyes blazed with an intensity that mirrored the storm within him. "Everyone, leave. Except Mr. Reynolds."

The men, sensing the gravity of the situation, filed out of the room with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. As the door closed behind them, leaving only Harry's most trusted friends and the family attorney, a charged silence hung in the air.

Harry paced the room, his frustration palpable. He turned to Mr. Reynolds, his jaw clenched. "Is there any way around this, any loophole we can exploit? There has to be something."

Mr. Reynolds, a seasoned attorney who had navigated the intricate legalities of the family for decades, met Harry's gaze with a mix of empathy and realism. "I've reviewed the will thoroughly, Harry. Your father's conditions are explicit. To inherit the leadership of the English Mafia, you must fulfill the marriage clause."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, his desperation bubbling to the surface. "There has to be another way. I can't just accept this. Why would he had wanted to force me into an arrange marriage? "

His closest men exchanged uneasy glances, aware of the weight of their boss's predicament. The air in the room grew heavy with the burden of tradition, obligation, and the tangled legacies that bound the family.

Mr. Reynolds spoke carefully, "I understand your frustration, Harry, but the legal avenues are limited. Your father's will is a binding document, and to contest it would invite unnecessary complications."

Harry, his frustration unabated, slammed his fist onto the desk. "I won’t marry. There has to be a way to negotiate”.

The room, bathed in the warm glow of dim lighting, served as an impromptu council chamber. Lex and Charlie, flanking Harry's side, exchanged glances laden with a shared history of camaraderie. The atmosphere was charged with an air of urgency as Harry, seated behind the mahogany desk, contemplated the weight of his father's will.

Alexander Turner or Lex, an imposing figure with an aura of controlled intensity, stood tall beside Harry. His sharp features and piercing green eyes bore witness to the challenges he had weathered over the years in the service of the Styles’ family. Born into a legacy of organized crime, Lex's loyalty was forged through shared experiences and a sense of duty that transcended familial ties.

On the other side of the desk, Charlie exuded a quiet confidence befitting his role as the financial mind of the English Mafia. Dressed in a meticulously tailored suit, he carried an air of sophistication that belied the shrewd calculations beneath the surface.

All three were young, but they were the new generations of the family. Alexander and Charles fathers had served Arthur until their last day. They had diligently trained their sons just like Arthur had shaped Harry into the man that he was.

The door closed behind Mr. Reynolds, leaving the trio alone in the room. Lex broke the tense silence, his voice a low rumble. "Harry, negotiating with Federico Castellano is a dangerous game. The man is not known for compromise, especially when it comes to matters of family and honor.”

Charlie, his gaze fixed on Harry, added, "And marrying Y/N Castellano might be the most pragmatic solution. It not only secures the alliance but also ensures a smoother transition of power. Your father knew the importance of alliances in our world.”

Harry, frustrated and conflicted, leaned back in his father's chair. "I won't be forced into a marriage, especially one that feels like a strategic move. I need a way out of this without sacrificing my autonomy."

Lex, his loyalty unwavering, stepped forward. "Harry, sometimes sacrifice is necessary. This whole shit thrives on alliances, and Castellano is not someone you want as an adversary."

Charlie nodded in agreement. "Your father foresaw the challenges ahead. Perhaps this marriage is a way to strengthen the bonds that hold the English Mafia together. It's about survival, Harry. The last thing you want is the Italian’s bagging on your door within the first month as the boss”.

Lex began, his eyes locking with Harry's. "Marrying Y/N doesn't mean you have to let it affect your personal life. You can keep that separate. It's just a strategic alliance on paper.”

Harry regarded Lex with a furrowed brow, unsure of the path his closest friend was suggesting.

Lex continued, "Think about it, Harry. Marrying Y/N is a small price to pay for securing the future of the English Mafia. It doesn't mean you have to care for her or be faithful. It's just a marriage on paper, a symbol of unity."

Charlie, though quieter by nature, nodded in agreement. "He's right, Harry. It's about securing your positions and ensuring stability”.

Harry, caught between the legacy he inherited and the desire for autonomy, rubbed his temples. "It's not that simple. Marrying on paper might be one thing, but it's not just about appearances. It's about what that marriage represents, the expectations it carries."

Lex placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. “We're suggesting you play the game strategically, like your father did."

Harry, grappling with conflicting emotions, took a deep breath. Sacrifices had to be made.

The grandeur of the manor loomed ahead, its imposing facade a testament to the legacy of power that resided within its walls. The air was thick with anticipation as Y/N Castellano, accompanied by her father, Federico Castellano, approached the entrance. It had been five days since Arthur’s funeral. Harry had taken five days to digest the news before calling the Italians.

Y/N, a vision of sophistication and poise, carried herself with an air of quiet strength. Her hair cascaded in elegant waves around her shoulders, framing a face adorned with striking features. Her eyes, a deep shade, held a gaze that betrayed both intelligence and resilience. Dressed in a tasteful ensemble that accentuated her grace, she exuded a timeless beauty that mirrored the allure of the English aristocracy.

Federico, a seasoned figure in the world of organized crime, stood by his daughter's side with an air of stoicism. His graying hair and sharp features spoke of years spent navigating the intricate web of alliances and conflicts. The Castellano patriarch, clad in a tailored suit, bore the weight of responsibility with a demeanor that mirrored the unyielding nature of the Italian Mafia.

"Y/N," Federico's voice cut through the silence, cold and devoid of warmth. "This union is not a matter to be taken lightly. You will behave precisely as I expect, and failure is not an option."

Y/N, her eyes meeting her father's, felt a chill in the air as he continued, "You are a Castellano, and our reputation is paramount. If you fuck that reputation in any way, I will ensure the consequences are severe."

Federico's gaze bore into hers with an intensity that made her shudder. "Do you comprehend the gravity of this, Y/N? The Styles may seem like allies, but make no mistake, they will exploit any weakness."

He took a step closer, his tone lowering to a threatening whisper. "Should you embarrass the Castellano name, I won't hesitate to make an example of you. There are ways to deal with those who fail to uphold the family honor."

Y/N, her composure wavering under the weight of her father's words, managed a nod. Federico, unsatisfied with the gesture, continued with a more sinister edge to his voice, "I have spent a lifetime building our family's power. I will not tolerate your incompetence jeopardizing everything we've achieved."

He leaned in, his breath chilling against Y/N's ear as he uttered words that sent a shiver down her spine. "Remember, blood ties can be severed. Fail me, and you'll find out just how disposable family can be."

“Yes father” She simply responded, too scared to object.

As they were escorted into the manor, Harry awaited in a room adorned with opulent furnishings and subdued lighting. The air, charged with a delicate tension, carried the weight of unspoken expectations.

"Y/N, Mr. Castellano, welcome," Harry greeted with a nod, gesturing for them to take a seat.

Y/N's eyes flickered with a blend of curiosity and reserve as she took in the surroundings. Her father, a man of few words, inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Thank you for having us, Styles," Federico replied, his voice carrying the authority of a seasoned leader.

Seated across from each other, the conversation turned to the logistics of the impending union. The delicate dance of negotiations unfolded, each party navigating the intricacies of a strategic alliance.

“I think it’s best to get this wedding out of the way. Don’t you think, Styles?” Federico asked as he reached out for the whiskey that he had been served. “I am sure that you want to claim your rightful place as the new boss”.

Harry found himself caught in a web of conflicting desires. On one hand, the prospect of the approaching wedding loomed, a duty to fulfill for the sake of family alliances. Yet, the allure of remaining single a bit longer tugged at him, whispering promises of freedom and unbridled pursuits.

There were things on his agenda, a few weeks of bachelorhood he wished to savor, experiences he yearned to indulge in before the weight of matrimony settled upon him. Harry knew well that once he tied the knot with Y/N, the whispers within the family would be relentless. The constraints of a committed relationship, especially with a woman like Y/N, hinted at the end of his carefree liaisons.

Observing her since her arrival, Harry noted a certain submissive demeanor in Y/N. Whenever her father intervened, her voice would fall silent, a quiet agreement to authority. In some strange way, Harry found himself drawn to this quality. The idea of having a partner who willingly yielded to his control aligned with his inclination for dominance.

"In a month," Harry finally responded, his eyes briefly glancing down at his watch. "It would give everyone enough time to prepare."

"I agree," Federico replied tersely, "If you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom."

As Federico left the room, Y/N felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Her father's threats lingered in the air, but for the moment, she could breathe a bit more freely. She was acutely aware of his penchant for action, and the gravity of his warnings weighed heavily on her.

"I'm sorry about all of this," Y/N finally spoke, breaking the silence. "I'm sure the last thing you want is to get married to a complete stranger."

"Don't," Harry raised his hand, cutting her off before she could say anything more. "Let's get this straight from the beginning. We aren't friends, and we will never be. Let alone have any kind of relationship.”

Y/N, though taken aback, maintained a composed exterior. Although after she had processed the words that had just come out of his mouth, she was ready to speak.

“Wow! You really are what they say.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"A selfless asshole with no heart."

“Precisely” Harry's gaze hardened as he delivered a cold response, his tone devoid of emotion. “The only connection I'm open to having with you is purely for pleasure.”

"Pleasure?" Y/N giggled, a condescending smile playing on her lips. "You are more pathetic than I thought if you believe that I would just jump in bed with you.”

Harry was surprised. She wasn't as submissive as he had assumed; her demeanor was simply a façade, a reflection of her fear of her father. A flicker of intrigue crossed his eyes — a challenge that piqued his interest. It wasn't merely about breaking her; it was about unraveling the layers that shielded her true nature.

"Everyone breaks. It's just a matter of time, pet," he said confidently, a sinister edge to his words. "Once we are married, you are all mine, and I'll be able to do whatever I want with you." His voice carried a dark certainty, a proclamation of dominance that echoed in the tense space between them.

Federico eventually returned, and Y/N fell into a silent watchfulness. Her eyes, however, never left Harry's, a determination burning within them. She was resolute in her commitment to prove him wrong. Despite her willingness to be friends and genuinely get to know him, Harry's overwhelming ego had created an impenetrable barrier, leaving her disappointed.

Y/N had approached this arrangement with hope and openness, praying that her husband would be different from her father, that she could finally break free from the suffocating constraints of her family's expectations. She had wished for a chance at freedom, a life unburdened by the shadows of her past. However, Harry's demeanor shattered those hopes, leaving her grappling with the harsh reality of her circumstances. The prospect of marriage now loomed as a prison rather than a pathway to the liberation she had yearned for.

The sudden intrusion of the door swinging open shattered the fragile peace. A figure, disheveled and agitated, burst into the room, his eyes wide with urgency. The men gathered around the desk turned their attention to the unexpected visitor.

"Harry," the man stammered, breathless from the urgency of his news.

Harry's brows furrowed as he rose from his chair. "What's going on?"

The man took a moment to catch his breath and approached him before delivering the unsettling revelation in a hushed tone. "Someone's took your father’s body out of the grave. We caught the bastard before he could do anything to the body, and he's in the back room. You need to see this."

“I must take care of this” Harry, his jaw tight with restrained anger, nodded sharply. "Take me to him." Harry wasn’t going to apologize to the family. He had priorities and discussing where is wedding was going to take place wasn't one of them. Harry left Federico and Y/N to fend for themselves.

The group hurried through the corridors of the manor, the sense of foreboding growing with each step. The back room, usually reserved for private meetings, now harbored an unexpected intruder.

As they reached the room, the door swung open to reveal a figure, bound and battered. The man, with fear in his eyes, glanced up as Harry entered.

"What the hell is this?" Harry demanded, his voice a low growl.

The informant stepped forward, explaining, "We found him defacing the grave. Seems he's got some personal grudge against your father."

Harry's gaze bore into the intruder. "Who are you, and who sent you?”

The man, battered and broken, spat out a defiant response. "Fuck off”.

Harry smiled, savoring the reaction he had just elicited from the man. The flicker of fear in his eyes only fueled Harry's determination, validating his next course of action. In his mind, the man's response justified what he was about to do next. He wasn't merely seeking compliance; he intended to break him, to reduce him to a point where he would beg for the mercy of a swift end.

"Take him to the dungeon," Harry commanded, the words carrying an air of cold authority. The ominous directive hung in the air, a prelude to the torment that awaited the unfortunate man. As the guards moved forward to carry out the order, Harry's smile widened, fueled by the anticipation of the power he held over those who dared to challenge him.

click here to read chapter 4

[thewidowsledger]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 1: Our Dreams

© thewidowsledger 2023 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairings: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Reader

Warnings: Cursing, slight-ish torture

⧗

It was a disastrous night for Natasha, having to deal with men in general.

When Natasha received an invitation to a meeting with other mob bosses in the city, she saw it as an opportunity to strengthen alliances, forge new connections, and solidify her influence. However, as she stepped into the dimly lit room filled with cigar smoke and the unmistakable air of debauchery, she quickly realized that this gathering was far from what she had anticipated.

Natasha was a formidable woman, known to many as the notorious mob boss of the city. Her reputation preceded her, and her name struck fear into the hearts of those who dared to cross her path. A master of strategy and a shrewd negotiator, she had built her empire through sheer determination and a relentless pursuit of power.

To her dismay, she found most of the mob bosses indulging in their vices, surrounded by scantily clad women sitting on their laps, reveling in their momentary pleasures. The amount of mess in the room disgusts Natasha. But what would she expect? She was aware that the meeting would be held in a bar anyway.

"Natalia! Come on, let's just play around. You're drowning with your work, have some fun!" Rumlow playfully whined, he signaled a girl beside him to go to Natasha, "This one's for you."

The girl smirked and stood obeying Rumlow. But before the girl could come near Natasha, the redhead took a step back and glared at the girl, "I have no time for this Rum, I am not going to play your games."

Natasha left the room immediately, she could still smell the disgust clinging on her body.

"What happened? Done already? Haven't had my fun here yet." Bucky tried to keep his pace with Natasha.

"I just wasted my time here, let's go now." Natasha commanded.

"What?! Hey, you told me we'll have fun after your meeting." Bucky whined, "Damn, you have small legs but you surely walk fast. Slowdown Nat."

Natasha scoffed, "Fuck it Barnes. You go have fun alone, but make sure you drop that paper tomorrow morning."

"Yes!" Bucky exclaimed with victory. "And yes I promise that will be the first thing I am going to do tomorrow."

Natasha turned and pointed a finger on him, "But if I ever see a woman leaving your office tomorrow, I am going to kill you." Bucky would always bring girls to his office for a quick fuck and Natasha is getting tired of it. One time she entered his floor with a woman coming at the elevator in a rush with only half of clothes covering her body.

"Oh…that I can't promise." Bucky playfully smirks, but it soonly faded as Natasha took a punch on his arm. "Damn, your surely is small but you punch—"

"Have fun Barnes." Natasha turned her back at him and started walking away.

"Oh, I will!" Bucky shouted, he watched her figure disappear from the halls of the club.

⧗

Natasha finally made her way out, she stood calmly breathing some fresh air. But her peace was again ruined when she heard some commotion in the corner of the bar.

"You left us behind, baby."

"You don't know the things you do to us…"

"How about we go back inside again and show me the moves you did to the other man—"

"Oh, company wouldn't be a problem," someone said, the others started laughing. A man held your right arm and whispered enough for everyone to hear, "Look, this girl didn't entertain us inside, we just wanted some of her attention."

"Do we have a problem here?" Natasha met your gaze and turned to look at those disgusting men harassing you.

You coughed and couldn't bear to breathe properly with the smell of the man, a lot of smoke and beer mixing together. You always hated smoke and people who smoke and Natasha could see how disgusted you were, she caressed your other arm and quickly grabbed you. The man was stunned with Natasha's boldness, but their initial surprise quickly gave way to arrogance, they turned their attention towards Natasha, thinking they could scare her just as they had with you.

Natasha held you behind her, your grip on her suit suddenly loosened as her fist flew towards the man. You flinch at what she did, it happened too fast. Now, you're looking at the man who was harassing you earlier lying unconscious on the floor. The other two men knew better than to approach Natasha so they held their hands in the air in defeat.

"Kneel," Natasha commanded, and they did what she said, still holding their hands up. You were stunned by her command, they knelt in front of Natasha and she turned on you taking your hands delicately. She brought you beside her. "Apologize to her." Natasha started circling around them like a shark.

"I-uh we're sorry, we're sorry, please we're sorry, Miss."

"Miss, sorry, I apologize. Please…"

They seemed to be having a competition of who would apologize better. They were babbling, scared, the other man was crying already. You could swear they almost peed on their pants.

Natasha made her way to the unconscious body laying, she stepped on his face squeezing it to the ground. "Tell this moron that we'll come back for his apology."

Her gazed suddenly softened when they met yours. "Let's go." She told you.

You obeyed, keeping your pace with her. Damn, this woman surely do walk fast and she's something, you told yourself. The clothes, the fabric of it, the details of her leather shoes. Her actions, how she made those men kneel. What? Is she a mafia or something? You laughed in your head but quickly disregarded it.

"Thank you," you broke the silence between you and Natasha. You're not scared of those morons that harassed you. You're not new to it, getting harassed, propositioned in and outside the clubs…and especially in the line of your work, you're not new to it. You can handle it whenever you find yourself in the situation. But it made you realize that Natasha's actions earlier made you somehow scared, but again you shook away the thoughts and still thanked her. "I'm going now. Again, thank you."

"Wait, let me give you a lift. It's almost 2:00 AM, it's dangerous to walk alone." Natasha insisted.

"Oh, no need. I just live a few blocks away." You lied, you actually live halfway across the city. She's still a stranger after all. But you know to yourself, you could feel it that there is something about her that makes you feel comfortable, safe.

"Then let me walk you home if you only live a few blocks away. C'mon my conscience won't let me sleep." Natasha wanted to get some air, she could do it alone. It's much more peaceful she thinks, but at the same time she was suddenly all over you.

Under the moonlit sky, you and Natasha found yourselves strolling through the quiet city streets. The air was cool, carrying a whisper of mystery as you both walked.

You gasped when a shooting star passed in the dark sky and Natasha was startled and took a glance at you. You closed your eyes and whispered your wish to yourself, "I wanted to be rich."

Natasha was mesmerized by you, it seems like the whole world stopped when you closed your eyes. But she suddenly giggled when she heard your wish, "You wanted to be rich? Why?"

"Because I wanted to," You shot back, rolling your eyes to her. "That's everybody's dream, to be rich you know. C'mon I know you wanted to be rich too…" You looked at her again, scanning her outfit that screams 'privileged brat' or 'sugar mommy' and whatever her cologne is it reminded you that she's probably a rich woman," Or maybe you already are… but you sure do hunger for more."

She hummed with a smirk in her face, but her eyes were glassy as if some tears would race down in any second.

"Other than being rich, do you have any other dreams?" She suddenly asked, you were once again stunned.

"I just said what my dream is and yes I have other dreams. But you, what's your dream?" You childishly asked her.

Natasha laughed at your question and reaction to her, but then she smiled and looked at you. "I want to have a normal life and... a dog? Maybe?"

Normal life? Why would she dream of a normal life? Is her life not normal? You asked yourself, you were intrigued by her answer; her dreams.

"And someone to be with for the rest of my life, without getting scared of what I am…" She whispered to herself.

You didn't quite catch on to what she just said, you were about to ask for her to repeat when she stopped you with her question earlier again, "Now tell me what your other dream is."

"I-uh, well. Uhh…well I am a dancer but... " you were stuttering, no proper words coming out of your mouth at the moment. "I-uhh, I want-I want to be a ballerina." You felt your cheeks heat up.

If she's a dancer she could easily transition to ballerina, what's stopping her? Natasha questioned herself.

You suddenly babbled everything about your dream being a ballerina, bringing Natasha back to reality. Your words wove a captivating spell around her. She found herself utterly mesmerized, you were cute, she thinks. Natasha's attention solely fixed on you as you both walked through the quiet streets.

Natasha's eyes were drawn to your graceful gestures, "This is a basic step," you tiptoed and posed a ballerina posture. She watched your every movement, a mixture of awe and admiration reflected in her gaze. The streetlights bathed you in a soft glow, illuminating your face, which seemed to radiate with the passion you held for your dream.

"Wow, you sure do know a lot about ballet." You blushed at Natasha's comment. You once again beamed, it's your first time someone is genuine to hear about your dreams. "Well I know a few more basics." You stumbled while doing it but Natasha was quick to catch you. She looked deeply in your eyes, she could feel her cheeks burning.

You quickly stood to release her hold on you, "I'm going now, this is my block." You totally forgot that you lied about where you live.

"Well, uhh. Okay, are you sure you don't wan—"

"No need, I got this from here. Thanks." You stopped her and scanned the area before walking away.

"My name's Natasha!" She shouted, you turned to look at her and smiled, "Thank you, Natasha!"

"What's yours!" She shouted, asking your name, but you forgot to respond as you tried to stop the blush forming in your cheeks.

Secrets Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist

[whencyclopedia]

Sioux Chief Spotted Tail (Eastman's Biography)

Spotted Tail (Sinte Galeska, l. 1823-1881) was a Brule Lakota Sioux chief best known for choosing diplomacy over military conflict in dealing with the US government's policy of expansion in the 19th century. Although he became a respected warrior in his youth, he came to see military resistance to Euro-American expansion across Native lands as futile.

He was the uncle of Crazy Horse (l. c. 1840-1877) and contemporary of Red Cloud (l. 1822-1909) and Sitting Bull (l. c. 1837-1890) and, like Red Cloud, signed the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868 ending Red Cloud's War (1866-1868), although he had not taken part in it. Spotted Tail and Red Cloud then pursued diplomatic means of dealing with the US government, while Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull continued armed resistance up through the Great Sioux War of 1876.

Spotted Tail (so named for the raccoon tail he wore in his war bonnet) surrendered himself to authorities in 1854 after the Grattan Fight (Grattan Massacre) to spare his people any further casualties and, after two years in prison, returned to them as a hero and was made a chief. While imprisoned, he learned to speak and write English, making him, later, a significant emissary to the US government. After his release, he was made a chief and helped to negotiate terms for the future of his people.

His role in the surrender of Crazy Horse in 1877, which resulted in the latter's murder that same year by US authorities, turned some of his people against him, although many already distrusted him because of his apparently friendly relations with the white authorities. He was murdered by the Lakota warrior Crow Dog (l. 1833-1912) in 1881, possibly over a woman, but more likely because of the policies he had encouraged of cooperation with Euro-American authorities.

Text

The Sioux physician and author Charles A. Eastman (also known as Ohiyesa, l. 1858-1939) includes Spotted Tail in his Indian Heroes and Great Chieftains (1916), considered an accurate biography of the Sioux chief. The following version comes from the 1939 edition, republished in 2016, and is edited for space. The unabridged version will be found in the External Links section below.

Among the Sioux chiefs of the "transition period" only one was shrewd enough to read coming events in their true light…Spotted Tail was an orphan, reared by his grandparents, and at an early age compelled to shift for himself. Thus he was somewhat at a disadvantage among the other boys; yet even this fact may have helped to develop in him courage and ingenuity…Upon the whole, his boyhood is not so well remembered as is that of most of his leading contemporaries, probably because he had no parents to bring him frequently before the people, as was the custom with the wellborn, whose every step in their progress toward manhood was publicly announced at a feast given in their honor.

It is known, however, that he began at an early age to carve out a position for himself. It is personal qualities alone that tell among our people, and the youthful Spotted Tail gained at every turn. At the age of seventeen, he had become a sure shot and a clever hunter; but, above all, he had already shown that he possessed a superior mind. He had come into contact with white people at the various trading posts and, according to his own story, had made a careful study of the white man's habits and modes of thought, especially of his peculiar trait of economy and intense desire to accumulate property. He was accustomed to watch closely and listen attentively whenever any of this strange race had dealings with his people. When a council was held, and the other young men stood at a distance with their robes over their faces so as to avoid recognition, Spotted Tail always put himself in a position to hear all that was said on either side, and weighed all the arguments in his mind.

When he first went upon the warpath, it appears that he was, if anything, overzealous to establish himself in the eye of his people; and as a matter of fact, it was especially hard for him to gain an assured position among the Brule, with whom he lived, both because he was an orphan, and because his father had been of another band. Yet it was not long before he had achieved his ambition, though in doing so he received several ugly wounds. It was in a battle with the Utes that he first notably served his people and their cause.

The Utes were the attacking party and far outnumbered the Sioux on this occasion. Many of their bravest young men had fallen, and the Brule were face to face with utter annihilation, when Spotted Tail, with a handful of daring horsemen, dodged around the enemy's flank and fell upon them from the rear with so much spirit that they supposed that strong reinforcements had arrived, and retreated in confusion. The Sioux pursued on horseback; and it was in this pursuit that the noted chief Two Strike gained his historical name. But the chief honors of the fight belonged to Spotted Tail. The old chiefs, Conquering Bear and the rest, thanked him and at once made him a war chief.

It had been the firm belief of Spotted Tail that it was unwise to allow the white man so much freedom in our country, long before the older chiefs saw any harm in it. After the opening of the Oregon Trail he, above all the others, was watchful of the conduct of the Americans as they journeyed toward the setting sun, and more than once he remarked in council that these white men were not like the French and the Spanish, with whom our old chiefs had been used to deal. He was not fully satisfied with the agreement with General Harney; but as a young warrior who had only just gained his position in the council, he could not force his views upon the older men.

No sooner had the Oregon Trail been secured from the Sioux than Fort Laramie and other frontier posts were strengthened, and the soldiers became more insolent and overbearing than ever. It was soon discovered that the whites were prepared to violate most of the articles of their treaty as the Indians understood it…

By , Spotted Tail had proved his courage both abroad and at home. He had fought a duel with one of the lesser chiefs, by whom he was attacked. He killed his opponent with an arrow, but himself received upon his head a blow from a battle-axe which brought him senseless to the ground. He was left for dead, but fortunately revived just as the men were preparing his body for burial.

The Brule sustained him in this quarrel, as he had acted in self-defense; and for a few years he led them in bloody raids against the whites along the historic trail. He ambushed many stagecoaches and emigrant trains and was responsible for waylaying the Kincaid coach with twenty thousand dollars. This relentless harrying of travelers soon brought General Harney to the Brule Sioux to demand explanations and reparation.

The old chiefs of the Brule now appealed to Spotted Tail and his young warriors not to bring any general calamity upon the tribe. To the surprise of all, Spotted Tail declared that he would give himself up. He said that he had defended the rights of his people to the best of his ability, that he had avenged the blood of their chief, Conquering Bear, and that he was not afraid to accept the consequences. He therefore voluntarily surrendered to General Harney, and two of his lieutenants, Red Leaf and Old Woman, followed his example…

Thus, suddenly he found himself in prison, a hostage for the good behavior of his followers. There were many rumors as to the punishment reserved for him; but luckily for Spotted Tail, the promises of General Harney to the Brule chiefs in respect to him were faithfully kept. One of his fellow-prisoners committed suicide, but the other held out bravely for the two-year term of his imprisonment. During the second year, it was well understood that neither of the men sought to escape, and they were given much freedom. It was fine schooling for Spotted Tail, that tireless observer of the ways of the white man! It is a fact that his engaging personal qualities won for him kindness and sympathy at the fort before the time came for his release…

Soon after this, he was returned to his own people, who honored him by making him the successor of the old chief, Conquering Bear, whose blood he had avenged, for which act he had taken upon himself the full responsibility. He had made good use of his two years at the fort and completed his studies of civilization to his own satisfaction. From this time on he was desirous of reconciling the Indian and the white man, thoroughly understanding the uselessness of opposition…

In 1860-1864 the Southern Cheyenne and Comanches were at war with the whites, and some of the Brule and Ogallala, who were their neighbors and intimates, were suspected of complicity with the hostiles. Doubtless a few of their young men may have been involved; at any rate, Thunder Bear and Two Face, together with a few others who were roving with the warring tribes, purchased two captive white women and brought them to Fort Laramie. It was, however, reported at the post that these two men had maltreated the women while under their care.

Of course, the commander demanded of Spotted Tail, then head chief, that he give up the guilty ones, and accordingly he had the two men arrested and delivered at the fort. At this there was an outcry among his own people; but he argued that if the charges were true, the men deserved punishment, and if false, they should be tried and cleared by process of law. The Indians never quite knew what evidence was produced at the court-martial, but at all events the two men were hanged, and as they had many influential connections, their relatives lost no time in fomenting trouble. The Sioux were then camping close by the fort, and it was midwinter, which facts held them in check for a month or two; but as soon as spring came, they removed their camp across the river and rose in rebellion. A pitched battle was fought, in which the soldiers got the worst of it. Even the associate chief, Big Mouth, was against Spotted Tail, who was practically forced against his will and judgment to take up arms once more.

At this juncture came the sudden and bloody uprising in the east among the Minnesota Sioux and Sitting Bull's campaign in the north had begun in earnest; while to the south the Southern Cheyenne, Comanches, and Kiowas were all upon the warpath. Spotted Tail at about this time seems to have conceived the idea of uniting all the Rocky Mountain Indians in a great confederacy. He once said: "Our cause is as a child's cause, in comparison with the power of the white man, unless we can stop quarreling among ourselves and unite our energies for the common good." But old-time antagonisms were too strong; and he was probably held back also by his consciousness of the fact that the Indians called him "the white man's friend", while the military still had some faith in him which he did not care to lose. He was undoubtedly one of the brainiest and most brilliant Sioux who ever lived; and while he could not help being, to a large extent, in sympathy with the feeling of his race against the invader, yet he alone foresaw the inevitable outcome, and the problem as it presented itself to him was simply this: "What is the best policy to pursue in the existing situation?"

Here is his speech as it has been given to me, delivered at the great council on the Powder River, just before the attack on Fort Phil Kearny. We can imagine that he threw all his wonderful tact and personal magnetism into this last effort at conciliation.

"'Hay, hay, hay! Alas, alas!' Thus speaks the old man, when he knows that his former vigor and freedom is gone from him forever. So we may exclaim to-day, Alas! There is a time appointed to all things. Think for a moment how many multitudes of the animal tribes we ourselves have destroyed! Look upon the snow that appears to-day—to-morrow it is water! Listen to the dirge of the dry leaves, that were green and vigorous but a few moons before! We are a part of this life and it seems that our time is come.

"Yet note how the decay of one nation invigorates another. This strange white man—consider him, his gifts are manifold! His tireless brain, his busy hand, do wonders for his race. Those things which we despise he holds as treasures; yet he is so great and so flourishing that there must be some virtue and truth in his philosophy. I wish to say to you, my friends: Be not moved alone by heated arguments and thoughts of revenge! These are for the young. We are young no longer; let us think well and give counsel as old men!"

These words were greeted with an ominous silence. Not even the customary "How!" of assent followed the speech, and Sitting Bull immediately got up and replied in the celebrated harangue which will be introduced under his own name in another chapter. The situation was critical for Spotted Tail—the only man present to advocate submission to the stronger race whose ultimate supremacy he recognized as certain. The decision to attack Fort Phil Kearny was unanimous without him, and in order to hold his position among his tribesmen he joined in the charge. Several bullets passed through his war bonnet, and he was slightly wounded.

When the commission of 1867-1868 was sent out to negotiate with the Sioux, Spotted Tail was ready to meet them, and eager to obtain for his people the very best terms that he could. He often puzzled and embarrassed them by his remarkable speeches, the pointed questions that he put, and his telling allusions to former negotiations. Meanwhile Red Cloud would not come into the council until after several deputations of Indians had been sent to him, and Sitting Bull did not come at all.

The famous treaty was signed, and from this time on Spotted Tail never again took up arms against the whites. On the contrary, it was mainly attributed to his influence that the hostiles were subdued much sooner than might have been expected. He came into the reservation with his band, urged his young men to enlist as government scouts, and assisted materially in all negotiations. The hostile chiefs no longer influenced his action, and as soon as they had all been brought under military control, General Crook named Spotted Tail head chief of the Sioux, thus humiliating Red Cloud and arousing jealousy and ill-feeling among the Ogallala. In order to avoid trouble, he prudently separated himself from the other bands, and moved to the new agency on Beaver Creek (Fort Sheridan, Nebraska), which was called "Spotted Tail Agency."

Just before the daring war leader, Crazy Horse, surrendered to the military, he went down to the agency and roundly rebuked Spotted Tail for signing away the freedom of his people. From the point of view of the irreconcilables, the diplomatic chief was a "trimmer" and a traitor; and many of the Sioux have tried to implicate him in the conspiracy against Crazy Horse which led to his assassination, but I hold that the facts do not bear out this charge.

The name of Spotted Tail was prominently before the people during the rest of his life. An obscure orphan, he had achieved distinction by his bravery and sagacity; but he copied the white politician too closely after he entered the reservation. He became a good manipulator and was made conceited and overbearing by the attentions of the military and of the general public. Furthermore, there was an old feud in his immediate band which affected him closely. Against him for many years were the followers of Big Mouth, whom he had killed in a duel; and also a party led by a son and a nephew of the old chief, Conquering Bear, whom Spotted Tail had succeeded at his death. These two men had hoped that one or the other of them might obtain the succession.

Crow Dog, the nephew of Conquering Bear, more than once taunted Spotted Tail with the fact that he was chief not by the will of the tribe, but by the help of the white soldiers, and told him that he would "keep a bullet for him" in case he ever disgraced his high position. Thus, retribution lay in wait for him while at the height of his fame. Several high-handed actions of his at this time, including his elopement with another man's wife, increased his unpopularity with a large element of his own tribe. On the eve of the chief's departure for Washington, to negotiate (or so they suspected) for the sale of more of their land, Crow Dog took up his gun and fulfilled his threat, regarding himself, and regarded by his supporters, not as a murderer, but as an executioner.

Such was the end of the man who may justly be called the Pontiac of the west. He possessed a remarkable mind and extraordinary foresight for an untutored savage; and yet he is the only one of our great men to be remembered with more honor by the white man, perhaps, than by his own people.

Continue reading...

[13lunarstar]

Uttara Phalguni

The twelfth nakshatra

Degrees: from 26°40' Leo zodiac to 10 °00' of Virgo zodiac

The ruler of nakshatra: Sun (sans. Surya)

Nakshatra's guna: rajas (human)

Uttara Phalguni keywords: leadership, creativity, responsibility, sociability, nurturing, ambition, contracts, comfort-seeking, social responsibility, diplomacy, artistic flair, generosity, warm-heartedness, harmonious partnerships, critical thinking, realistic life approach (Virgo's influence)

Symbol: a bed ( especially rear marriage bed and bed legs) or a hammock, representing relaxation, enjoyment, and union

Uttara Phalguni's deity is Aryaman, one of the Adityas*, associated with contracts, unions, and agreements. Aryaman signifies the bond between people and the responsibilities in relationships.

(*In the Hindu pantheon, the Adityas are a group of deities, often depicted as the sons of the solar goddess Aditi. They are divine creatures associated with various aspects of nature and celestial phenomena. Among the most notable Adityas there are Surya (the Sun god), Varuna (the god of water and oceans), Mitra (the god of friendship and contracts), Aryaman (the god of contracts and unions), and others)).

Uttara Phalguni in various planets

Sun in Uttara Phalguni: brings strong leadership qualities, creativity, and warmth, making individuals suitable for roles that require authority and inspiration. They excel in leadership positions, such as CEOs or team leaders, where they can confidently lead others towards success. Their natural talents fit in fields like art, design, or entertainment, where they can express themselves with originality and flair. However, they may need to guard against tendencies towards dominance or ego issues, ensuring they maintain humility and openness to feedback and criticism. their warmth and generosity, impatience and need for recognition can sometimes pose challenges, requiring them to cultivate patience and inner security. Education, event planning, or hospitality professions align well with their nurturing and supportive nature, allowing them to create welcoming environments and inspire others.

Moon in Uttara Phalguni: Following a Moon in Magha's royal placement and a Moon in Purva Phalguni's creative mindset, Moon in Uttara Phalguni indicates a tendency towards diligence and executing plans. With its span extending into Virgo, this Moon is known for analysis and perfectionism, and individuals may display analytical prowess and a penchant for precision. Proficiency in negotiations and deals is likely, with potential career paths in finance or law, albeit requiring substantial effort to ascend. They exhibit a pragmatic outlook on life, possibly perceived as astute or shrewd by others. While those on the Leo side may aspire for authority through diligent effort, those on the Virgo side are driven solely by the pursuit of perfection. However, the Virgo influence may also foster a sense of facing more challenges compared to others. This diligent and perfectionist streak is often inherited from the mother.

Mars in Uttara Phalguni: infuses individuals with passionate energy, drive, and a strong sense of duty. They possess a competitive spirit and are determined to achieve their goals through hard work and perseverance. Their leadership qualities shine through as they take charge and inspire others with their enthusiasm and charisma. With a focus on creative expression and innovation, they excel in fields that require dynamic problem-solving and strategic thinking, such as entrepreneurship, engineering, or sports management. However, they may need to temper their assertiveness and impatience at times, learning to channel their energy constructively and collaborate effectively with others.

Mercury in Uttara Phalguni: imbues individuals with strong communication skills, a sharp intellect, and a nurturing disposition. They excel in negotiating and mediating conflicts, often finding balanced solutions that benefit all parties involved. With a creative flair and a love for beauty, they may pursue careers in fields such as writing, design, or the arts, where they can express themselves effectively. Their warm-hearted nature and diplomatic approach make them valuable team members and mentors, fostering supportive and harmonious relationships in their personal and professional lives. However, they may need to guard against being overly critical or perfectionistic, learning to balance their analytical abilities with empathy and understanding.

Jupiter in Uttara Phalguni: bestows individuals with a generous spirit, wisdom, and a sense of justice. They possess a natural inclination towards supporting and uplifting others, often taking on roles as mentors, teachers, or counsellors where they can share their knowledge and guidance. Their expansive vision and optimism drive them to pursue noble causes and humanitarian efforts, seeking to create positive change in their communities. With a strong moral compass, they uphold principles of fairness and integrity in all their endeavours. Jupiter's influence here also enhances their leadership abilities, as they inspire trust and confidence in others through their benevolent and inclusive approach. However, they may need to guard against becoming overly idealistic or self-righteous, remembering to stay grounded and practical in their pursuits.

Venus in Uttara Phalguni: signifies a fusion of commitment, generosity, and a sense of responsibility especially within relationships (including spousal). Individuals are passionate about socializing, unions, friendships and relationships. With a magnetic charisma and a knack for diplomacy, they excel in roles that require interpersonal skills, such as counselling, event planning, or customer service. However, they may need to guard against tendencies towards indulgence or superficiality, ensuring that they maintain balance and discernment in their pursuits of pleasure and comfort. Venus in Uttara Phalguni individuals generally radiate grace and elegance, bringing harmony and joy to both their personal and professional lives.

Saturn in Uttara Phalguni: grants individuals a strong sense of responsibility, discipline, and practicality. They approach life with a structured mindset, preferring order and stability in their endeavours. Patient and persevering, they are willing to invest the necessary time and effort to achieve their goals. Their diligent work ethic and attention to detail make them reliable and dependable, often excelling in roles that require precision and methodical planning. However, they may need to guard against tendencies towards rigidity or pessimism (the nature of nakshatra's ruler Sun is opposite to the nature of Saturn), learning to embrace flexibility and adaptability when faced with change or uncertainty.

Rahu in Uttara Phalguni: brings a unique blend of energies, often associated with desires for recognition, ambition, and creativity. Individuals with this placement may possess a strong drive to achieve success and attain status in their chosen endeavours. They may be drawn to roles that allow them to shine in the spotlight, such as performing arts, politics, or leadership positions. However, there can also be a tendency towards self-centeredness or manipulation in the pursuit of their goals. They need to cultivate humility and integrity, balancing their ambition with consideration for others. Rahu's influence here can enhance their creative talents and innovative thinking, but they may need to guard against impulsiveness or overindulgence.

Ketu in Uttara Phalguni: indicates an individual with a strong sense of duty and responsibility, often drawn towards serving others or contributing to the community. These individuals may have a deep inner wisdom and a spiritual outlook on life, seeking to find meaning and purpose beyond material pursuits. They may struggle with feelings of isolation or a sense of being misunderstood by others. It's important for them to cultivate self-awareness and inner peace, embracing their unique perspective while also remaining open to connecting with others on a deeper level. Good placement for scholars, occult science, astrology, and astronomy. An individual might become a clerk, stenographer, typist, computer operator or governmental servant.

[lavishlyleo]

Tropical vs Sidereal Signs : How They Tie Into The Stereotypes

Hey guys! I've noticed that each zodiac sign has traits relating to the sign before it and I think this is what ties the two together and why our sidereal signs can feel so relatable/make more sense, and more importantly, why all of the zodiac signs have the stereotypes that they do.

If you really look at it, it feels like the signs are a lot like the signs before it but learning the core lessons of the sign before it.

Also if you're wondering, this applies to all your placements, but especially your top 3, mainly your Sun and Moon sign.

Aries (Pisces)

Aries has a lot of energy and many goals they plan to accomplish because Pisces is a dreamer and has many hopes and wishes, but rarely acts on them.

Taurus (Aries)

Taurus is very grounded, sure of themselves, and takes their time because Aries is direct and knows what they want, but rushes too quickly to complete things without a foolproof plan.

Gemini (Taurus)

Gemini is very flighty, cunning, and flexible because Taurus is rational and wants the best, but isn't willing to step out their comfort zone.

Cancer (Gemini)

Cancer is sympathetic and emotionally intelligent because Gemini is communicative, experimental and clever when in regards to other people but is too quick to move on.

Leo (Cancer)

Leo is charismatic, reactive, and bold because Cancer is sensitive and reads between the lines, but is burdened with their and others emotions, leading them to shelter their hearts.

Virgo (Leo)

Virgo is prestine, self preservative, and expects nothing short of perfection because Leo is lavish and expects the best but only when it relates to them personally.

Libra (Virgo)

Libra is diplomatic, charming and negotiable because Virgo is modest, down to earth and systematic but can be picky about other's methods or ideas.

Scorpio (Libra)

Scorpio is inquisitive and secretive yet persistant in their affairs because Libra is a chaser and likes to indulge in their desires but may lessen their resolve at the slighest inconvenience.

Sagittarius (Scorpio)

Sagittarius is open minded, adventurous and enterprising because Scorpio is punctual, intuitive and likes to investigate but holds on to negative feelings for a very long time.

Capricorn (Sagittarius)

Capricorn is ambitious and tactical in their work because Sagittarius is genuine and enterprising in their endeavors but doesn't usually finish what they start.

Aquarius (Capricorn)

Aquarius is a visionary and eccentric because Capricorn is a planner and completes their tasks with vigor but rarely thinks outside of the box.

Pisces (Aquarius)

Pisces is shrewd and serene, going with the flow of everything because Aquarius is a humanitarian and wants what's best for the people, but can be self righteous and bias in how they achieve this.

Heyy, I'M SORRYYY, I know I know, I was gone like forever! I've just been on a haitus for awhile because I just had burnout, I didn't have a lot of motivation but I'm coming back!

I'm taking it slow as I come back. I already have a couple drafts. I think you guys will really like what I have in store! :D

More art of my OC/Persona! Man, we need a new word for that 😭😭 Maybeeee, Ocsona? I dunno but he's literally both for me.

Check out @indorphyyn for more of my art

Anyways, stay tuned for my next post! If you guys have any ideas or anything you'd like to see more of in the future, let me know in the comments or asks. I'd love to hear your guys' ideas!

[captainjacklyn]

Twisted Wonderland & Captain Jack Sparrow!Reader, PART 1 :

A/N : Just wanted to do something special for my 1000+ followers, it feels like I should've done better, I gotta be more present with my community and blog. Just so you know- even if I don't post, it doesn't mean I am not there. Love you all <3

This is Part 1 with Heartslabyul & Savannaclaw, Part 2 will contain Octavinelle and Scarabia, Part 3 will be with Pomefiore and Ignihyde, Part 4 is Diasomnia

Personality : According to screenwriters Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio, Sparrow is a trickster who uses wit and deceit to attain his goals, preferring to end disputes verbally instead of by force. He walks with a slightly drunken swagger and has slurred speech and flailing hand gestures. Sparrow is shrewd, calculating, and eccentric.

Warning(s) : the reader is gender neutral, just wanted to give our favourite pirate some appreciation so the reader has his personality, skills & background, pronouns are you cause...it's literally just you. mentions of drinking habits, I've seen teenagers drink their heart out but the age of the reader isn't mentioned so make up your mind, killing, thieving cause its a pirate what did you expect ?

All characters with a Jack Sparrow!Reader :

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle ♡ - He doesn't like you, not in the slightest. You violate the rules, you get into trouble and proceed to bail your friends by placing the fault on them. "I can name fingers and point names." Really ?! His bitterness turned into pure irritation the moment you admitted to have been a pirate. Riddle knows about those type of sea criminals, historically at least. Not in any sort of fantasy like ways because he says they are just children false imagination. There was this one time where Grim called for you during an unbirthday party, you kicked a buffet table to make one of the pastries fly into the air, jumped over the table, caught it, bit a piece out of it and complimented trey's cooking to finally excuse yourself. It wasn't against the rules but he wished it was because you KICKED THE TABLE WHERE HE WAS SITTING-

Ace ♡ - He finds you funny, I mean come on. You speak like a drunk person and you can copy/understand his little card tricks in a few seconds. You can't tell me the two of you don't gamble, betting your lunch and money, to the point where no one gets to eat. He will ask you about your pirate life because he thinks its rad, you get to set out to sea without a care in the world just looking for ways to make yourself rich. Sounds like new dream job for Ace ! You are pretty much the same when you get in trouble, "He did it ! ....I didn't ! No you did !" both of you are trying to stab each other in the front and not in the back cause you are very open about it.

Deuce ♤ - "Why fight when you can negotiate ?" was the first thing you said the moment he was about to hit the student you broke the eggs during your shopping for Ace's tart. He appreciates your patience, you usually try to end disputes verbally instead of swinging a punch the moment you get irritated. Admires your courage as well, even when riddle over blotted you partly stood your ground (partly because you tried to run away at first but then Ace stopped you). Got hit more than once because you flail your hands around when you speak, he reminds you when you're done but please stop cause his nose is turning into a weird color.

Cater ♢ - He finds you funny, especially with the way you talk and run away from his house warden. You get along well even if he has trouble understanding your logic at times. Definitely takes funny pictures with you even if you don't get why he does it. "did everyone see that cause I will not be doing it again." he saw it and he snapped pictures of you fighting a group of flamingos while saying that you know you're attractive but this is a little much ladies. Boy is laughing at your shenanigans, always.

Trey ♧ - He just laughs whenever you act a little weird, you're eccentric and similarly to cater, he finds it hilarious. When he made the joke about adding oyster sauce into the batter for the tarts, you just looked at him and said : "You're basically saying that you want to put me in the tart ? Because that's what it sounds like." You do smell like fish because of your adventures in the ocean, he sometimes eavesdrops whenever you visit the adeuce duo to talk about your accomplishments. Trey finds your demeanor a little charming and he may or may not be charmed himself, statement is based off of a time where you tried to play smooth in order to get a tart.

SAVANNACLAW

Leona 𓃬 - You're too energetic, stop it, stop moving. You definitely tested his patience during chapter 2 because he tried to kill you more than once (he calls you a fish smelling bastard, of course you don't care but you won't accept an insult without the 'captain' part). Because of your shrewd and calculating prowess, you were able to figure out his schemes very easily. A couple years of pirating comes in handy when your life depends on deceit and wit. He smelled your presence after he had that conversation with Jack, you're pretty loud too, stealth is definitely not you're strong point. "Alright you caught me I was spying on your little chit chat with the big dog. And honestly, I don't care what you do as long as you don't drag me into it. But unfortunately you did drag me into it...now we're both angry." "What do you want, mister/misses/mixes pirate ? A gold coin ? Take your pick because I got many." "A tempting offer which I will address later, but I came here with a word of advice mate- the problem isn't the problem. The problem is your attitude about the problem." "...what." "In stupid people language it means stop whatever the hell you're doing cause it's not gonna work out. I've seen better plans than this like I've seen prettier krakens then this designer wallet." "HEY-"

Ruggie 🐾 - He's a little intimidated by you, you figured things out quicker than he would expect a drunk type of person to. Don't judge a book by its cover, got it. He was especially freaked out when he sensed your presence, even more when you came in through the window right after Jack left. You were also one of the first people to sympathize with him when Leona betrayed his own vice dorm leader, saying that if he wanted to be a pirate, he was already on the right track. You bond over the fact that the both of you are good thieves, you teach him a few tricks and he'll teach you a couple as well. Like Ace, he finds your job fun, at least it looks like it. You're more similar to him than you think, I genuinely feel like if he could, he would run away from society to find his own place and maybe a couple of treasures along the way.

Jack 𓃥 - He is confused, you have a sense of justice...but you're someone who gets hunted down by the government. And you steal too...why did headmaster ask you to solve the case again ? He's on good terms with you but you're not exactly friends either, he just finds you strange yet surprisingly smart despite your background. The way you run away is weird though, why are your legs running faster than your upper body ? Brushes it off later, he is impressed by your way of thinking, it may come off as insane but there is actually knowledge. When you came up with a plan to stop Leona he said it could be the most mad thing they ever did or the most brilliant thing ever. "it's remarkable how often those two traits connect." He admires you, you're still weird but..you're cool..even though you're weird.

It's a little long on Leona's part but I feel like they would be a pretty funny frenemy duo.