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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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By the king’s hand 🐍 XIII

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence, trauma, allusions to torture, mentions of suicide.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You struggle with the past, present, and future.

Note: So now that the holiday rush is over and my province is in lockdown, I can write so yay? But also, stress anew hahaha. Anyways, I’m enjoying it so it’s not too bad. :D

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your stomach curdled as you walked between the guards. For whatever foolish reason, you’d assumed Loki would accompany you. And even more foolish, you were disappointed when he did not. He was king and had much more pressing matters; his usual excuse. As true as it was, you were still irked by your task.

Your thick winter wool had been replaced by your former satin. The gown was not so sultry as before but it offered little protection against the chill of the palace corridors. You were allowed a cape woven in the king’s green, though the hood was to be kept up until you reached your destination. As before, you were the royal shame.

The further you descended, the more your nerves stormed. You remembered your first journey to the dungeons; the night felt long ago. Like many of your memories, it had faded since your time with the prince and his heartless accomplice. It was fragments but still sent a shiver through you. You could, at least, recall, the fear, the anger, the helplessness of your time in the capital.

Your slippers whispered over the stone floor as the gaoler showed you past the cell doors. The stink of unwashed bodies mingled with that of stale blood. There were coughs, some murmuring, and the occasional maddened shout from down the row. The cell you’d been left to was empty and open as you strode by and you refused to look within. It was at the next, that you were stopped and the thick key was shoved in the slot.

You touched your stomach, a thoughtless habit forming as each day saw you a little rounder. Your middle could still be hidden beneath loose fabric. Birger said not yet halfway through your time; maybe for months and with over a month of deprivation, you weren’t so big as you could be.

The door opened and the shriek of the hinges made you tremor. One prison to the next. You were no different than those locked behind these doors. You were kept and controlled. You had no voice, no will, no wants. You only did what was needed to survive.

One of the guards entered first as the gaoler stood with arms crossed beside the door. You heard a scramble within and you were ushered through by the other armored man. He grabbed a stool from against the far wall before he followed. You pushed your hood down and closed the cloak around your body as the frigid air nipped at your gown.

Gilla was dragged away from the wall where she huddled. She didn’t struggle as the guard brought her to sit at the center of the cell and the other planted the stool behind you. You sat and your hand dropped away from your stomach. Her hair was dirty and her face smeared with tears and grime. She was terrified and sniffled quietly as she blinked away the fog of her imprisonment. Your name on her brittle lips made your heart knot.

You recalled what Loki said and cleared your throat. This girl was not your friend.

“Gilla,” you said flatly.

“Have you come to save me?” She clutched her hands. “They found you! Oh, I’m so happy you’re safe--”

“And do you know who took me away?” You challenged. She shook her head in confusion. “So the man you sold yourself to never mentioned me. You never spoke in those times he came to you? Were you so easy to roll over to him?”

“The prince? Oh, if you send for him, surely he can get me out--”

“Do you have no idea why you’re here?” You sneered, “Even if the prince could, do you think he would save a peasant?”

“The king… the king took you from the dungeons…” she batted her lashes.

“He did and what did he make of me but a prisoner elsewhere,” you looked away from her.

“I don’t… understand,” she lowered her chin. “I don’t know why they’ve brought me here.”

“Well, you best think on it and figure it out. The prince cannot help you for he is a criminal himself.” You looked down at her. How had that little girl you’d grown up with become this? How had you come to this point? “He plotted against the king, surely you must’ve known.”

“How could I?” She babbled as her tears began to fall. “He never spoke to me of such things. He only wanted… love.”

“Love?” You scoffed and stopped yourself from laughing at her naivety. “Do you truly believe these noble men could feel anything for us but the basest desires? That their favour is little more than fodder for their egos? That they delight in our degradation rather than our pleasure?”

“Thor was always kind--”

“Thor used you.” You insisted. A lump rose in your throat. “As he did me. He… as he gave you jewels you have no use for, he got his use off me. He would have worn me until I was dead.” You inhaled and quelled the flurry of emotion inside. “But you never truly cared for more than your own self, eh?”

“What? I… we’re friends.”

“Are we?” You bit down. “I remember my time down here.” You looked around. “I remember how I was even dumber than you. To have begged the king to spare me. You left me behind that night and I was locked up like some animal. Whipped like some braying donkey.” Your mouth was bitter as you spoke, “Bred like a mutt. And when you saw me, still alive, what could think of but the silks and the gold and the crown?”

“I didn’t--”

“You must’ve been so worried for me to have fallen into the prince’s arm’s so easily,” You snorted.

“We all thought you’d run.” She squeaked.

“Oh? Yes then, I suppose it was easy to forget about me.”

“I never did. I…”

“This is the last favour you will have from me, Gilla.” You declared. “And I pray you are smart enough to accept it.”

She blinked, confused, and quivered as she stared back at you.

“Do not lean on your ignorance. The prince is a traitor and you laid with him. Who would believe that in all your time together, he never mentioned his intent against his brother?”

“He didn’t--”

“Listen to me.” You hissed. “The prince will be brought to trial for his crimes, but a whore like you can be cast away and forgotten by all. If you did abet him in his offenses, you will be dealt a cold steely justice. You will not be afforded the same hearing or the same grace as his highness. You are just another commoner fed to the jaws of the rich and their squabbles.”

“But I don’t know anything.”

“Think. Hard.” You stood as you snarled, “And perhaps by the time the inquisitors come to you, you will recall.”

“But--But I--”

“If it had been you that night, I wouldn’t have left you behind. Even if it was your stupidity which led us to trespass. I would have stuck by you.” Your chest tightened as you spoke, “I wouldn’t have abandoned you but I realise now, Gilla, that you never did care for anybody but you.”

“I love you, I do.” She pleaded.

“No,” you uttered, “I don’t think you do, but I did love you, my friend.”

“Please…” She sobbed.

“I will not see you again, I expect,” you said as the guard retrieved the stool, “So let us part without hatred. Take this last generosity from me and save yourself. Perhaps you might live to learn from it.”

“I didn’t know he… I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you,” you backed away. “You’re not sorry for me, only sorry for yourself.” You turned and bent your head. “Goodbye, Gilla.”

You strode through the door and the guards followed, signaling the gaoler to lock up behind them. You raised your hand and bit into your knuckle as you were overcome with despair. Your old life was over. The last remnant of your former existence was extinguished.

It was your final surrender. You belonged to the king completely. Your body, your mind, your child; every part of you was his.

🐍

You returned to the chambers exhausted. Those days, you were always tired. You hung your cloak and stood by the fire to warm your numb fingertips. You undressed quietly and retired to the bedchamber. You sat in your shift before the hearth and watched the embers beneath the tent of logs.

You thought of the baker’s daughter and that first day you’d met her. She had been sweet, once. When had she grown so… greedy? How could one raised in simplicity come to want what she had never known? You closed your eyes and refused to cry. She would not break you; if nothing else had, she could not.

You floated in a haze as the orange glow of the fire shone against your eyelids. There was much yet to worry for. Would the king’s men arrest the prince before he could evade them? Would the kingdom overcome the rent caused by the royal siblings? Would your child survive the months before you?

Hours passed and you did not move. You stayed as you were, held by the moment. A taste of solace you hadn’t known in ages. No anxiety of your tormentors’ return, no fear of what was to happen in the next instant. It was just you and the hearth; you and your child in what could be the only peace you had together.

When at last you were disturbed by the gentle open and close of the door in the next chamber, you still remained. You listened to the king as he moved around and sensed his shadow as he appeared in the door frame behind you. He was quiet as he neared.

He said nothing, as if he believed you were asleep. You knew he didn’t but he let you think so. You listened to the rustle of his clothing as he shed each layer. As stubborn as he was, as much as he insisted nothing had changed, something had. You were both afraid of it but would not admit it.

You felt a tug at the bottom of the blanket spread over your legs. You tried to ignore it, thinking perhaps he had passed too closely. A rush of air flew up below the wool Loki’s fingertips tickled your ankle. You opened your eyes and looked down at him as he reached below your shift.

“Your majesty,” you yawned and shifted but he caught your knees and kept them apart. “What--”

He hushed you with a soft his and dipped his head below the blanket. You braced the arms of the chair as your body went rigid. He wore only his undershorts as he bent and plied kisses to your thighs in a torturous trail towards your pelvis. You grasped his head as he rolled your shift higher and higher and his breath grazed your cunt.

“My king,” you begged. You were trembling. You knew you could not stop him.

He ignored you still and kneaded your thighs as he pushed closer. His hands slid up your sides as he nuzzled the patch of hair between your legs and you gasped. You weren’t ready. You never truly were. His tongue surprised you as it flicked along your folds and he purred. He cupped your tender breasts as he delved into you, your core alight at his command.

He dragged his tongue along your bud and lingered on it, teasing it with small swirls and hungry suckles. Your arms flew back to grip the back of the chair and he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples as they stood out beneath your shift. He groaned as he lapped you up. His gentleness was disarming though he remained as adamant as ever.

“Please,” you begged as your body responded against your want. “Please…”

He purred and kept on, his head moving against your bunched up skirt and bobbing beneath the blanket. You arched in your seat, unable to resist the bloom deep inside. You felt the release and suddenly you needed it. All your stress, all your fear, anger, and hurt, bundled up and brewed inside you as ecstasy muted them.

You cried out as every muscle in your body tensed and eased in a split second. You moved your pelvis against Loki’s mouth as you rode out your climax and he didn’t relent until you were limp and breathless. He sat back on his heels and let the blanket drop to your feet. His hair was tangled and askew, his lips glistening as he grinned at you.

He rested his hands on your thighs and came closer so that he leaned against the front of the chair.

“My brother has been arrested,” he said.

Your lashes fluttered and you nodded, speechless. He bent and the tip of his long nose met your stomach. He slid his arms to hug you as he turned and pressed his ear to your middle. You froze as you watched him, as if he was listening for the stirring of his child. You were startled by his tameness. He kissed your stomach as he drew back to look at you again.

“I need you.” He murmured, “I ache. Badly.”

You felt the stone set in your skull. Ever as you were, his plaything. You knew his meaning; it never differed. And he never asked, only demanded,

He took your hand and stood. He pulled you up and you let him. You hadn’t the strength to deny him. There was no denying him. You didn’t want that Loki; cold and callous. So you would cede to his needs and hope they were met quickly.

He let you go as you neared the bed. He rolled down his shorts and his desire stood up before him. He lowered himself across the mattress and beckoned to you. You lowered your eyes and chewed your lip to keep from showing the turmoil raging inside you. You lifted your shift over your head and dropped it.

He guided you over him and stroked his cock as he did. He pressed his tip along your folds, his hand on your hip as he urged you down. You sank to his hilt and he sighed. He stilled you and looked at the joining of your bodies. The silence enshrined you and you closed your eyes. He took your hands and placed them on his chest.

He gripped your waist and moved you atop him. Slowly so that your clit rubbed against him. You hated how good it felt, hated that you couldn’t stop, hated that he was being so… nice. You dug your nails into his flesh and sped up. He held you tighter and forced you to slow. You grunted and opened your eyes, frowning down at him.

“No,” he spoke at last, “Not like that.”

You shook your head. When had he ever wanted anything but hard, fast pleasure. You pulled your hands from him and he forced them back as they were. You struggled with him for only a moment as he squeezed your wrists in warning.

“Slow,” he bid as he stared into your eyes.

His hands returned to your sides and he rocked you again. You shuttered as the tide began to roll inside of you, swelling as it grew. You moaned as you began to quake. Loki’s deliberate stride had you confused. His pace matched your pleasure, quickening only as your voice rose louder.

You came again. You twitched atop him and he moved you as your wits left you entirely. His own voice filled your ears and his thick breaths intermingled with his lurid groans. His hand snaked around to your back and the other spread over your stomach. He stilled you and tilted his hips into you over and over from below.

He exclaimed as his orgasm struck him and impaled you entirely. He slowed and eased you down against him. He embraced you as he laid you over his chest and cradled your head as his chin rested against your head.

What was that? You wondered as your heart raced with his. His petered out but you couldn’t help as your mind struggled against your body.

When you calmed enough to move. His arms fell away and you parted from him, his seed spilling down your thighs. You fell back on the mattress, your flesh still buzzing. You couldn’t look at him. Why would he do that? Like that?

You were his whore, he’d told you time and again. You rolled onto your side, your back to him and crossed your arms. He ran his fingers along your spine.

“Are you unwell?” He asked.

You didn’t answer. Why would he even ask that? Your eyes tingled and you fought to hold back your tears. He was just torturing you. That’s all this was.

“Speak to me, mouse,” he grabbed your shoulder and forced you flat on your back.

You gritted your teeth and stared at the ceiling. “Why?”

“I was gentle…” He said, his voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes, why?” You repeated.

“I…” He paused and the silence was thick as it choked you.

“When your wife arrives, what will she think of me, your whore, and the bastard inside of me?” You spat.

He sat up and leaned on his arm as he watched you. You refused to look at him.

“I’ll deal with my wife.” He said, “And I’ll deal with you. Don’t forget yourself, mouse.”

You scoffed and tried to turn away from him again. He held you down and let out a long breath. His hand came up to frame your face. “I am heartened, mouse, that you do remain so stubborn.”

🐍

Sleep did not come easy that night. Not to you. Loki was hardly bothered as he snored beside you. His arm was across you as if to remind you of his power over you. Your thoughts strayed back to all your worries. Gilla, Thor, the man beside you, the child in your stomach.

Your life was not your own. It had never been. As you thought, you realised you had only ever been used by others. You had only ever been a footnote to someone else’s will. You had nothing, not even your own body, your own mind.

You slowly slipped from beneath Loki’s arm. Your thighs were sticky still with his cum and you were sickened by the sensation. You stood and went to the bath chamber and cleaned yourself with the cold water of the basin. You saw yourself in the looking glass. You looked hollow; you felt it.

You went back to the bedroom and covered yourself with the silken robe allotted you. You bent, awkwardly, to feed a log to the ashes and stirred it until you found ember. As the flame began to lick at the pale bark, you stood with a groan and passed into the front chamber.

You wandered around the space; it was smaller than the king’s former residence. You neared the table placed against the wall and stared at the peculiar object left atop it. Careless, you thought as you pulled the leather-sheathed dagger towards you. Or deliberate?

Loki had a wife coming and brother to be tried. You were trouble for both. He was ever a trickster, ever deceptive, and perhaps, you had been dumb enough to believe him. Again. He didn’t want you back, didn’t want a bastard to muddy his inheritance; he’d only wanted a reason to be rid of Thor. Surely, he was so intent on keeping you hidden so that none would notice if you were gone.

Had you been foolish enough to think he felt anything towards you but the need to sate his own lust? That he had any loyalty to you beyond a warm cunt? That you had any place here once he married? That your child would be welcomed as anything but a nuisance?

You sat and freed the dagger from its cover. You held the blade up in the dim and felt its sharp edge with your fingertip. It sliced easily into your flesh. You turned it in your hand and thought of bringing it to your throat or plunging it deep in your chest. Your eyes welled and at last, the dam was broken.

You cried into your palm as your other hand gripped the dagger. You trembled and peered down at your stomach. Would he care? If he found you in a river of your own blood? It would be a favour to all.

You wept until your eyes were swollen and your throat was hoarse. You were a coward. Why couldn’t you just do it? What did you have to live for?

“Mouse,” Loki’s voice was cautious. “What are you… give me the knife, mouse.”

You dropped the blade and flinched as it bounced between your feet. You shook your head and mopped up the last of your tears from your cheeks. Loki neared slowly and bent to lift the dagger. He took the sheath and replaced it on the silver. His jaw squared as you avoided his gaze.

“What were you thinking to do with this?” He growled.

“Nothing,” you croaked. “I was only curious.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He hissed. “Whatever you were thinking, I don’t want it to ever cross your mind again. Understood?”

You nodded and hung your head. He moved away from you and opened the chest atop the side table. He tossed the dagger within and locked it.

“I told you. It is treason to spill king’s blood.” He stomped back to you. “Death cannot save you from my wrath.”

“I didn’t--”

“You thought to.” He snarled. “Get up.”

“Your majesty--”

“I will not tell you twice.” He barked.

You stood and he seized your arm. He turned you and marched you back into the bedchamber. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and you expected him to tear open the robe. You expected the same as he had been. You were certain he would be atop you in an instant.

But he passed you and went to the cloak hung beside your own. He fished around the pocket sewn into the lining and took out a bundle. He returned to you and held out the folded linen, bound with a length of hide lace. You frowned and he dropped it into your lap.

“Go on,” he loomed over you.

Your hands shook and you pulled free the bow looped atop the bundle. You unfolded the linen and revealed a pair of green booties, winding snakes sewn into the soles and golden ribbons woven along the top. They were small, meant for an infant. You cradled them in your hands as your throat tightened.

“My mother sewed them,” he said. “I found them after she died. I had almost forgotten them before I moved from my own chambers.” He sat beside you heavily. “I don’t know what else to do with them.”

You peeked over at him. You lowered them back to the linen and set them aside. “They’re meant for a prince.” You muttered.

“No, only for my child,” he said, “Prince or no.” His cheek twitched and he stared at the carpet, “Don’t make me hide them again. I couldn’t bear it.”

You were quiet. You’d never seen him so vulnerable. Angry, annoyed, longing… but never so solemn. Despite all your loathing for him, your heart squeezed. You took his hand, he winced, but let you move it. You put it to your stomach.

“It is my child, too,” you said softly. “I couldn’t…”

He nodded and pressed his palm firmly to your midriff. You sat, silently, the crackle of the fire the only noise. Loki did not move, nor did you. A wordless pact forged between you. The child would live. It had to.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #fic #dark fic #loki x reader #dark!fic #series #thor #au #medieval au #mcu #marvel #by the king's hand #king!loki

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janiedean · 3 years

Note

10 year prompts: FAIRY TALE AU FOR STANNIS E DAVOS <3 If any of your other OTPs acts as a background/helpers "because they have been there" it would be lovely, especially since they are all different takes on the Beauty and the Beast story. But also because it would be really fun to see idk, Sandor trying to give Davos dating advice "as someone who was in Stannis position before". Thank you so much for accepting prompts!

HELLO ANON have uh... the pseudo cinderella reverse au of doom that I don't know where it's from, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT pls presume every westeros kingdom is separated for this and same sex marriage is allowed

buy me a coffee | commissions open

"Well, it seems like we are at an impasse, and I need you to fucking compromise," Robert says, and Stannis has to stop himself from gritting his teeth loudly.

"I am not," Stannis replies, "compromising on this."

"You do realize," Robert says, "that -"

"That according to whichever stupid law your precious Westeros council still hasn't managed to change when they have damned well should -"

"You know it's not a priority -"

"Of course for the seven of you it's not a priority," Stannis groans, "but I do know that if I don't get married Renly can't marry his precious Loras Tyrell either, and for the umpteenth time, as I did compromise years ago and I had to marry someone I didn't even like and who didn't like me and we all know how it ended up, you can forget I will compromise on marrying the first person you find suitable especially when I'm not sure they would be kind to my daughter, and I'm not making that mistake again."

"Oh, come on, you're being unreasonable -"

"Robert, no woman in Westeros actually wants someone with my background and I'm not subjecting my daughter to someone who hates her, and I'm not backing down on that."

"And what if I found some woman who did?"

"I am not marrying anyone I don't like. Not anymore." He's going to stand his ground on that. He hasn't done that for his entire life and both his brothers always ended up ahead of him and he didn't even complain because it was his duty, but -

But now he's not doing that.

Robert sighs. "Do you hate your brother that much?"

"I accepted someone I didn't like once, Robert. And it's not just me anymore now."

Robert sighs louder. "All right, all right. Let's say I strike a deal with bloody Rhaegar Targaryen and he lends me the ballroom in King's Landing, I throw a ball for your hand and you choose whoever you want?"

"No one is going to show up at a ball for me," Stannis grits out. "Do you really want to humiliate me that much?"

"You can choose," Robert says, "as long as you fucking get married. Take it or leave it or I choose someone for you. I'm not letting a Tyrell alliance go to waste because you're too stubborn."

Stannis really doesn't want to agree with this, but.

But if he doesn't agree it's just going to be worse after, and at this point he might as well try to make the best out of it.

"Whatever," he says, "fine."

Out of whoever goes to this fucking ball, maybe there will be someone halfway decent.

Maybe.

Well, Davos thinks, couldn't be faulted for trying, even if he hadn't exactly predicted dying in an execution on the damned public square because fucking Randyll Tarly decided that since some fucking stupid royal ball is happening each single criminal has to be dealt with swiftly.

Also, he was an idiot to get caught, but then again, it's not like he was given a trial or anything and him asking for one had made the arse laugh and say to not waste his precious time, so he supposes he is going to get hanged on the public square.

To think that he's managed to be a smuggler without getting caught for years and now he's here because -

"Lord Tarly," someone says just as Davos gets dragged in front of the noose, "what is this about now?"

"My lord," Tarly says with... somewhat distaste. Davos dares looking ahead. The other guy is... definitely a lord, dressed finely in black and just a smish of gold embroidered in his clothing, but at least it's sober. Definitely a few years younger than Davos, has to be around thirty at most, and while he's not what you'd call astonishing in a man, Davos can't help noticing that he has a nice pair of blue eyes, though they're steely as they look at Tarly as if he's nowhere near pleased with any of this circus. Certainly Davos is not, either. "This man was caught committing a foul deed and I don't want criminals running around with the occasion you know of is looming, so if you'd let me do your job -"

"And what was this foul deed we're talking about?"

"I do not see why we have to discuss -"

"Because," the other lord replies, "the occasion that is looming is supposedly for my own benefit and I would like to know and I do not like to see people killed for something potentially useless. So?"

Tarly shrugs. "Very well. He got caught stealing food, a lot of it, and then it turned out he was a notorious smuggler we have been looking for for a long time, so -"

"So he only ever smuggled goods and stole food? And why did you steal that food?"

It takes Davos one second to realize that the lord is talking to him.

He clears his throat.

"There's a family living next door to me in Flea Bottom," Davos says. "I was friends with the father. He - died recently. Couldn't make enough gold to feed all of them so he gave up on his own food, he worked at the port and died helping unloading a ship." That was bringing Dornish wine for whichever feast they're holding at the palace. "His wife didn't have anything to eat, either. I stole some bread from a bakery near the castle and they caught me."

"I imagine these neighbors of yours haven't eaten that bread now, did they?" The lord asks.

"My lord, you aren't believing him, are -"

"Lord Tarly, kindly let him talk."

Davos shakes his head. "No."

"How many children are you talking about?"

"Five," Davos sighs, wondering how bad they're having it right now.

"I think we should see if he's telling the truth," the lord says.

"Lord Stannis, this is nonsense -"

"I wish to see if he is," the man goes on, "and I would like to remind you, Lord Tarly, that my brother is your sovereign, so how about we do that and see if he's lying or not?"

If anything, I'll get to live a little longer.

Davos leads the way and throughout the entire trip, Lord Stannis does not talk or say anything, just looks ahead with gritting teeth, and when he sees that Davos was, in fact, not lying, he shakes his head, mutters something about Robert and everyone else not having their priorities straight and then shakes his head again.

"Lord Tarly," he says, "get someone to give these people some food. They're bloody starving. And he wasn't lying - that woman kept on singing his praises and honestly, again, he's a criminal but he's never killed anyone, or has he?"

"Not that we know of," Tarly says.

"What's your name?" Lord Stannis asks, and wait, is he talking directly to him for the second time, this is just - no single lord in existence ever looks at commoners this way, as far as he knows -

"Davos Seaworth," he says, "my lord."

"Well, as far as I can see here, you only ever stole and you were trying to do something decent and - never quite mind that. I think," he goes on, "that no one should hang and he swears to not commit crimes anymore and since he still should be punished, he loses the joints in his left hand for that and that's all there is to it."

"But -" Lord Tarly tries to object.

"What do you say?" Lord Stannis asks.

"That I would take that one deal in a heartbeat," Davos replies.

"Well then," Lord Stannis says, "I proposed it, I will do it myself so that no golden cloak of Lord Tarly's gets ideas about taking your whole hand."

Davos decides that it's wildly beyond his expectations, and nods.

He asks to keep the bones.

Lord Stannis looks at him as if he doesn't know why he would but he can, for all he cares, and Tarly's sour face is enough to make Davos forget the pain he feels when the sharp knife goes down almost instantly.

Lord Stannis tells him to try and behave properly from now and leaves muttering something about just wanting to go back to Storm's End, and -

Davos needs to know more.

The moment his fingertips don't bleed anymore and he has the bones safely stored in a pouch, he grabs his old cloak and heads for the tavern where everyone from the golden cloaks and the court hangs out.

Maybe he can find out more about who that one lord is, because sure as the Seven Hells he never ran into one like that.

The last thing he expects to find when he starts asking around the inn is that Sandor Clegane sits down in front of him.

If anything because the man shouldn't even hang around here - last he checked, he hasn't since he stopped going by that Hound nickname and ended up married to the Warden of the North's daughter somehow, and he doesn't even live in King's Landing anymore, but apparently he is, and - well. Davos had seen him around, back in the day. Now he looks... happier, he thinks. Not as angry. And those scars on his face haven't changed but his face looks somehow softer than before.

"I heard," he says, "you're askin' around about bloody Stannis Baratheon."

Oh, Davos thinks, so that was why Lord Tarly was that deferring to him. He could have gotten there when Stannis told him his brother was Lord Tarly's king, but - well. He hadn't been paying that much attention.

"Well," Davos says, "he made sure I didn't end up hanged and he just - I never knew any lord like that."

"Believe me, not many lords are like that one." Clegane takes a sip of ale, then shrugs. "Well, what did you need to know?"

"Just, shouldn't he be in the Stormlands? And what's this occasion thing that was for him that Lord Tarly was ranting about?"

"... You don't know, but of fucking course you wouldn't," Sandor shrugs, "it's not like they'd announce shit in Flea Bottom. Well, you know the royal ball they're holding at the Red Keep tomorrow?"

"Yes?"

"That's for him to pick someone he wants to marry," Clegane shrugs, "and he hates every second of it, not that anyone could blame his sorry ass."

"... Explain," Davos says. That just doesn't fucking make sense.

"I'll make it short," Clegane shrugs, "but he married this... lady Florent something some ten years ago 'cause his brother picked her for him and apparently he's the only one in that family who gets the short straw about everyfuckingthing. And when they went for the bedding they found Robert in bed with some other woman."

"His marriage bed?"

"Well, yeah," Clegane goes on, "and then they had a daughter but she was born with grayscale so half of her face is scarred, her mother fell in with some witch from Asshai and decided that her daughter was an abomination and turned out she wanted to burn her alive, long story short when it happened of course he broke off the marriage and I have no idea where the fuck she ended, but since then he hasn't had anyone offer their daughter's hand. Because everyone thinks he's dull and he said that even if he had a son with another woman he'd consider his daughter his heir or anyway he wouldn't let her get the fucking short straw, too, and like, while a second Baratheon son is not fucking little, he has no offers. But now it looks like he has to get fucking married or his younger brother can't marry bloody Loras Tyrell, either, and they came to that ball compromise. If you wonder how I know all of this, my lady wife spent the entire trip to King's Landing from Winterfell sharing about that and saying that it was a pity poor Stannis never got his good love story, so there's fucking that."

"And the ball's point is...?"

"That if he likes anyone he meets he gets to pick his bride. Or whatever the fuck else."

Davos nods. "I see," he says. "And you're saying people think he's dull?"

Clegane shrugs again. "I mean, I don't personally give a fuck and I think he's all right, but his brothers are both... more suited for fucking court, I guess. And he obviously hates court. And he says he won't have anyone who won't accept his daughter, which means whoever shows up will be really desperate daughters of minor lords. Does this satisfy your questions?"

"It does," Davos says, looking down at his hand.

"Wait," Clegane says, "he did that?"

"The alternative was Lord Tarly hanging me, Ser," Davos replies.

"I'm not one and good fucking riddance to me. Huh." He looks at Davos, and Davos holds the stare, wishing he knew what the man was thinking, and then -

"You want to go to that ball, don't you."

It's not posed as a question.

Davos swallows. "I mean," he says, "I - if he had been some knight or not a fucking lord I'd have... tried to talk to him, I guess. I just - he didn't seem stuck-up like the others. And he did save my life. But please, and how would I even get in there? I'm a fucking smuggler and I was born and bred in Flea Bottom of all places, certainly I am not invited."

"No," Sandor replies, "but - ah, fucking bugger it to the seven hells and back, I've been in his place."

"Lord Stannis's?"

"Yes," he says, "as in, I thought no one would ever look at me like that, except that it happened and you are sort of having that look while thinking about him, and I highly doubt he wants a fucking princess or whatever."

What in the Seven Hells - Davos thinks, but then Clegane half-smiles, the scarred side of his mouth curling up in what looks a damned genuine grin, and -

"You're a smuggler, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes?" Davos replies. "Even if I guess I shouldn't risk it anymore, should -"

"Think you can be at that small bay near the kitchens tomorrow at this hour?"

"I - I could?"

"Be there," Clegane says, "I absolutely want to see the fucking faces of all those arses after."

"After what?"

"You'll find out," the man says, and then stands up and leaves.

He looks cheerful.

What the fucking fuck, Davos thinks, and then decides that he has nothing to lose. He can be there tomorrow.

He expects Clegane to be there.

Instead -

"Davos Seaworth?" A tall, blonde woman with very pretty blue eyes, a nose that was broken twice and shoulders worthy of a knight tells him - she's dressed in good male garb, and she has a knife at her hip, but she doesn't sound hostile.

"Uh, yes," he says, "lady...?"

"Brienne of Tarth," she introduces herself and wait -

"Aren't you - Ser Jaime Lannister's -"

"Yes," she interrupts him, "and Sandor told me to come get you and believe me, I was much glad to because that ball is a stupid farce and I get why Stannis would hate it and I have my reasons to want to have a laugh at everyone else's antics. Do follow me," she says, and leads him through some tunnel going inside the castle from the small cave nearby.

Davos tries to remember how the hell she got married to Lannister - it was pretty talked about in the city, back in the day. He still was in the Kingsguard and she had been in Renly Baratheon's following and they ended up fighting in some tourney and they tied and two weeks later he had resigned from the Kingsguard somehow - his sister, the Queen regent, hadn't apparently been happy but Rhaegar Targaryen agreed to it, so Davos supposes he had some leverage - and they eloped on Tarth and he's halfway sure Tywin Lannister still has his son disowned for that, or half-disowned, but he still obviously is invited to courtly events. Davos has no fucking clue how nobles do this, but he follows Brienne thought a few more tunnels until she leads him out and into a corridor and into a small but richly furnished room.

"Right," she says, "just... wait a bit here. And - well. I, uh, didn't know your Lord Stannis much before we... ended up talking to each other a while ago, and - I get where he's been and no one wants to be the center of a feast where they know they're going to be laughed at. So, I'm pretty sure he will be relieved."

"Of what?"

"You'll know shortly," she half-smiles, and then closes the door.

What the fuck, Davos thinks for the umpteenth time, and a few moments later the door opens.

Now.

Davos has heard of Jaime Lannister enough to know on sight that the blonde man coming through the door is him, and the younger girl on the side with bright auburn hair and blue eyes - oh. She has a Stark sigil on her dress. Is she -

"Lady Sansa," Lannister says, "your husband wasn't lying, was he?"

"No," she smiles back, "but this is going to be good."

"My lord," Davos stammers, "my lady. Uh, what is this about?"

"Oh," Sansa replies, grinning, "it's about getting you to that ball. Ser," she tells Lannister, "mind instructing him while I find him the right clothing?"

"Absolutely," Lannister smiles wider.

Seven fucking hells, Davos thinks, I'm never going to survive this.

"See," Lannister goes on, "when Clegane told me that he thought you might want to go to the ball because you actually did like Stannis we about all fainted in our little corner of no one thoughts we should have married the way we did so we'll leave you alone, but honestly, the guy pretty much does his brother's job because Robert doesn't really give a damn about being a decent ruler, then he pretty much gave up everything he wanted for either of his brothers and they never said thanks and he was one of the few idiots who when I, uh, resigned, said I should be able to." He shrugs. "Also, he was nicer to Brienne than his actual brother that she wanted to swear herself to, so. I kind of owe him and his daughter is a nice girl. She doesn't deserve a shit stepmother."

"And you all decided that I am the solution to the problem?" Davos asks from behind a screen where he's trying on the clothes Sansa brought him after she got a bath brought over to the room and he had to hear Lannister giving him tips to get through the ball while he was washing.

"You're here and you're thanking the guy for having cut off your finger joints, please. And no one cares where you come from - at least the four of us - and he certainly won't. Come on, out of that screen."

Davos sighs and does, and Sansa does whistle a bit. "Told you," she says, "they'd fit."

"Oh, they do," Lannister replies, and tells Davos to go look at himself in the mirror near the window.

Davos does, and -

Well. He felt out of place dressed in fine dark green silks with golden embroideries and a velvet brown coat, but it does fit him, and the black new leather boots Sansa got him are the best shoes he's ever worn, and now that he could get a good cleaning - well. He's still himself, but he's pretty sure half of his friends wouldn't recognize him.

"Take this," Lannister says, handing him a sword. "Now, what could the story be - oh, he's some hedge knight I met while killing bandits with Brienne and we thought to invite him?"

"Sounds good," Sansa nods, "and you could invite him. He probably shouldn't say he's from King's Landing, though."

"Absolutely not," Lannister agrees. "Hm. How about Cape Wrath?"

"Better," she nods, "though I suppose his real name shouldn't come out."

"No," Lannister shakes his head. "Ser, choose one. Oh, should he be a bastard? Imagine their faces."

"I think we should absolutely go for that," she grins back. "So, a name?"

"Uh, Allard?" Davos blurts his father's name, may his soul rest in peace.

"Allard Storm, sounds good," Lannister grins. "Well, you're a hedge knight, you met me and my lady wife while chasing bandits and we invited you because why the hell not," he says. "I hope you can dance, Seaworth."

"... I don't think so," Davos replies. "I mean, I never did."

Maybe he should have lied.

Maybe he'd have spared himself those two actually teaching him on the spot.

When he's pushed out of the room a while later, he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing here, but -

But he still doesn't want to run away.

Fuck, what did I get myself into? He asks himself, and then walks on anyway.

“I should have never agreed to this farce,” Stannis whispers as he sloshes wine he knows he won’t drink in his glass.

Good thing he’s telling Brienne of Tarth that and not anyone else, because he thinks no one else in this room would understand how it feels - she nods, and thankfully she doesn’t argue about it.

But what should she argue? Each single lady who came looked at him like her father forced her here, it’s a ball in his name and he’s technically not danced with anyone yet, not that he would want to, Renly and Loras meanwhile are doing it and everyone is looking at them anyway, which... is exactly what he knew was going to happen. Never mind his daughter who asked him fifteen times if they really had to participate and he thinks wasn’t openly laughed at yet just because anyone who might has been properly scolded by their lordly parents on that one topic, but the last time he saw her she was standing miserably to the side.

“I’ve been there,” she says, “and I wouldn’t want to be in your position ever again anyway. But -” She clears her throat, “I think that you might change your mind.”

“Oh, and how?”

“Jaime, uh, he made a friend the other day. While we were out checking the woods.”

“And?”

“And he invited him along. I think that you might... well. Like him. Or at least not be thoroughly bored.”

“At least,” Stannis sighs, and really, he doesn’t begrudge her for having found better than his damned brother, because she did deserve it as much as he’d have never bet a coin on Jaime Lannister of everyone being anyone’s ideal partner, but still, this entire exercise is just reminding him of how much no one actually would want him even for... companionship, if nothing else, and -

Why did he even agree to this bloody farce, he really wishes -

“Oh, here they are,” she says, and yes, Lannister is apparently arguing with - Lord Varys, seven hells, of course he was in charge of vetoing who was allowed in, and there’s a man next to him, indeed, but he has a hood over his head - a nice velvet coat without too many pretenses, so he can’t see his face, but then it seems like Lannister has his way and manages to get the man in, and then he whispers something his way and - comes over to the both of them?

“Stannis,” he smiles, entirely too gloating about it, “it’s your event and you let your brother steal the spotlight?”

“What do you think even happened?” Stannis sighs back - he’s not even going to antagonize him.

“I see I have to do everything tonight. Brienne, fancy making sure that people stop only having eyes for Renly while he mingles?”

“I fancy,” she grins, and of course she does, the room usually starts whispering the moment they dance together since she’s never not led and it’s apparently worth whispering about, and so when they’re off, Stannis sighs and walks to the side, figuring he will try to make an effort and talk to anyone who will -

And then he sees that Lannister’s mysterious friend is talking to his daughter and she’s smiling at him before running off somewhere - oh, where Tyrion Lannister is lounging, Stannis notices, and what -

“Ser,” he clears his throat, moving closer, “would it be too much if I asked you how you got my daughter to - do that?” He blurts, hating how awkward he sounds -

“I told her,” the man replies, and wait, isn’t the voice familiar, “that she looked very lonely, she explained me how she loathed this feast and I suggested her that she might want to talk to someone who likes what she does, and Ser Jaime has told me enough about his brother to know they might have something to discuss. But I am hardly a ser, my lord.”

Stannis glances down at the man’s left hand while the man pulls down the hood.

Oh.

He’s - he doesn’t have the finger joints on his left hand.

He’s -

“I see you understood,” the man - what was his name, Davos Seaworth - says.

“I might,” Stannis replies, “and may I inquire how you’re here?”

He’ll be thrice fucked if Davos didn’t... sort of flush under his beard. Which... looks a lot better now that it’s well-groomed, and then a pair of warm brown eyes meets his own, and -

“I asked around who you might be, since no one else in your place would have actually insisted to save the life of... well. A common criminal, let’s put it like that. And I met someone who decided that I sounded entirely too interested and I should attend the ball and they helped me sneak in, and I never felt like it was a mistake, so... sounds like I am here. But if you don’t wish me to -”

“Please,” Stannis shakes his head, feeling slightly dizzy, “no one until now made me feel like they actually weren’t forced to be here and... you went through all that effort to just... talk to me peer to peer? Or, well. The closest one might get to it.”

“I thought I’d just want to thank you in person,” Davos replies, “but now that I’m here, I think I’d like to stay a while, and not just for the good food. Fancy taking a stroll out, my lord? Unless you’d rather watch your brother seethe.”

“Renly is doing what,” Stannis replies, and turns to look at the scene -

Well.

Renly is seething because everyone is whispering about Brienne twirling Jaime Lannister around the floor like she was born to do that. He shouldn’t be smiling. But maybe he is, a tiny bit.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t, but - well.”

“I won’t judge people for being petty,” Davos replies, “but - is there a reason why?”

Stannis shrugs. “Well, he kind of hates that he hasn’t managed to... be officially with his intended because of me, and he never fails to remind me that everyone thinks me dull in comparison to him, and I never quite forgot that he once said it would be a miracle if I’d find anyone who’d take my daughter because of her face, so. Well. If Brienne is upstaging him, I’ll live with it.”

Davos looks at him, then at the rest of the room.

“I see,” he says, “and I can’t blame you. She was perfectly nice with me.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Stannis says, “but - maybe I would like that stroll.” What is he even saying -

“Then we should,” Davos replies, half-smiling, and he looks so damned kind -

What the hell is happening?

The hell, Stannis realizes, is that he actually does like this man.

They just - they just talked while music came faintly from the outside, and it’s probably sad that it’s novel experience to talk to someone who actually seems to give a damn about what he has to say and listens to him except Davos actually does, and when Davos talks about how he ended up becoming a criminal and almost hanged he kind of can’t help feeling guilty when he looks down at the man’s left hand.

Fucking Seven Hells, he might be a smuggler, but when someone tells you well where I came from it was a struggle to put any food on the table at all and with my first smuggling job when I was fourteen I could pay for it for a month can you even blame them for not having looked back and found an honest job?

He thinks about how he never had to worry about his next meal.

“I think I have to apologize to you,” he says quietly when Davos finishes telling him about how he couldn’t sleep at night hearing those starving children wail.

“... You don’t,” Davos replies, shaking his head.

“I do,” Stannis goes on. “I mean... I still think stealing is a crime and crimes should be punished or - or what else makes sense, but when one hears your circumstances... I feel like I should have just have you swear you wouldn’t live that life anymore. I could. And instead -”

“Oh, you made sure I didn’t lose an entire hand or hang, and we both know Lord Tarly wouldn’t have been happy with just letting me go. I can appreciate fair play, my lord, and I mean, I did commit crimes. I did keep the bones, anyway.”

“You - did?”

Davos nods towards... oh. A small pouch that he has hanging around his neck. Stannis hadn’t noticed it before, but -

“I decided I’d keep them in memory of the one time one lord was actually fair to me, but then - then I met Clegane and he told me to show up here. Also... shouldn’t someone have looked for us by now?”

It’s been a while. The music is still playing. No one did.

He shakes his head. “As if they’d care,” he says, “most likely they were just waiting for me to leave so they could stop pretending to be nice.”

Davos just looks at him, and then he swallows, and -

“Beg your pardon if this is too forward,” he asks, “but maybe my lord fancies dancing somewhere not in front of all those people?”

“I - I don’t generally do that,” Stannis replies. Why is his heart beating faster?

“Oh, I don’t dance to that kind of music either, but who is going to see us?”

Stannis has slipped his hand into Davos’s before he can think on it.

What am I even doing, he thinks, noticing how the other man’s hands are roughened - he took away the gloves and he can feel how the right one is all clean but calloused skin and the left has fresh scarring on the joints, but they hold his own so very gently, and -

And neither of them is really good at this, because he hasn’t danced in years and Davos is obviously winging it based on what he saw in the hall, but it’s nice, and twirling around the garden without anyone staring at him feels nice, and when he looks at Davos’s kind, warm brown eyes his stomach flips over again, and -

“This - this is nice,” he finally admits.

“It... it is,” Davos says back, and he’s half-smiling and - “If this is the first and last time I get to be at a royal ball, I’m not going to think it wasted time at all.”

Gods, gods, why the idea that he wouldn’t see him again is making him feel like the ground will fall open under his feet and swallow him whole?

“What if I don’t want it to be?” He finds himself saying, and Davos gasps at it.

“... Really?”

“Really,” he says, feeling like his head is spinning and he can’t stop talking, “never mind that - no one I know managed to make my daughter happy like that talking to her once. And - that was one of the conditions I had for Robert. That I wouldn’t... be with anyone who’d treat her poorly.”

“Why would anyone? She’s a lovely girl,” Davos replies, and oh, if he knew.

“You saw her. And her mother wanted to burn her alive. Not many people agree with you.”

“Then most people are idiots,” Davos replies, “if I may be so bold.”

“You may,” Stannis replies, and they’re still swinging, and - “You may be as bold as you like.”

He doesn’t know how he said that. He doesn’t even know where that comes from.

What he knows is that Davos’s mouth is on his the moment after and -

And he’s fucking kissing back the moment it happens and had he been hoping for it? Gods maybe he had, and the few times he kissed Selyse were nothing like this, she never - it never felt like she wanted to actually do it and Davos does, there is no fucking way he doesn’t, and his tongue is slipping into Stannis’s mouth and he groaned into it, oh fuck -

“Stannis, where the fuck did you end up?”

Oh, damn it, that was Robert -

They break apart and Stannis is about to tell Davos to just stay and that he’ll deal with it, but then other people talk and -

“Damn,” Davos says, “that’s Lord Tarly, and he will recognize me.”

... He would, Stannis realizes, and -

“Oh, fuck,” Davos says, and then he takes the pouch with the bones from his neck and slams it into Stannis’s palm and -

“If you want me to come back,” Davos replies, half-smiling, “you just have to bring them back to me. You know where I live, my lord.”

“I - I do,” Stannis whispers.

“Then - then I hope to see you soon, my lord. If not... I’m not regretting that you’ll get to keep that.”

And then he’s gone and Robert and his fucking search group have shown up a moment later.

“What were you even doing out here?” Robert asks. “You know that you have to choose a wife before the feast is over?”

Oh, fuck him and fuck them all, Stannis thinks.

“About that,” he says, “I think I know. But I can tell you when we go back in.”

It’s going to be a goddamned problem, he knows, but -

But.

He’s almost never trusted his gut his entire life and it only ever brought him trouble, and now he wants to, and -

And.

And he knows.

“You’re not marrying a criminal!” Robert explodes later, when the hall has been emptied except for them, Renly, his daughter, Lord Tarly, the present Tyrells, Starks and Lannisters and of course Rhaegar Targaryen and the members of the small council, but he seems to be uninterested in how this ends one way or the other.

“I said I could choose whoever I wanted, didn’t you?” He stares back.

“I didn’t mean a damned criminal, Stannis! And how did a commoner even get in here? Lannister, what were you thinking?”

Jaime Lannister merely shrugs, half-grinning while his father looks at him like he’s a lost cause. His sister... Stannis isn’t even going to think about that. “That he looked and sounded like someone he’d like and so I invited him. Sure, we did tell him to not introduce himself with his real name, for obvious reasons, but -”

“A bloody commoner, Lannister!”

“Oh,” Lannister shrugs, “and so what? He stole some things. He never harmed anyone as far as we knew. You could have worse brothers in law.”

“Are you bloody serious - Stannis, please, no way -”

“And why?” He counteracts. “I am not interested in having any more children,” he goes on, “I do have an heir, and he would certainly not try to make sure she stops being that, and I wanted someone she’d like too, and I think she did, or -”

“I did,” she replies quietly, and Robert rolls his eyes.

“Shireen, this man is a smuggler, your father isn’t reasoning -”

“Well,” she says, “I have talked to him once and he was nicer than just about anyone else at the feast. Or - well. I don’t think I should say.”

“Shireen, you can.”

“I don’t think I can tell you. It wouldn’t be polite. And you would be sad.”

“Let’s say,” Lannister says, “that she can tell me in all confidence outside the room and I can come back with the answer if it’s something that could be shared?”

Stannis should be worried that Shireen seems fine with that, but then again he’s the brother of the guy who entertained her for half of the feast, right? And why would she think he would be sad?

Anyway. Lannister brings her out of the room, and then comes back and -

“I told her she could go find my brother,” he says, and oh, the youngest Lannister did flee the premises while they were arguing, “and - well. Renly,” he says, “honestly, she said that the criminal commoner was nicer to her in five minutes than you’ve ever been your entire life, maybe you should think about that sometimes.”

Of course -

At least Renly has the grace to look ashamed, and Robert groans again, and -

Ah, seven hells.

“Robert,” he says, “this entire farce was to make sure I would find anyone suitable so Renly could have his lavish wedding and whatnot. You said I could choose anyone. I happen to have chosen. If my daughter likes him, too, even better, and honestly, you are the king, Renly will have the Tyrell alliance and certainly my daughter won’t be your heir, so what do you care? People will talk and decide I lost my wits, and would that be any news? Just stop being unreasonable.”

Robert stares at him, and then -

“Seven hells,” he sighs, “you never stood up that much for anything in your life as much as - whatever this is. Fucking - ah, well, I suppose I can just find some way to make sure the three of you aren’t around court too much.”

“Believe me, both Shireen and I would be thoroughly pleased,” Stannis says, and then Robert raises his hands to the ceiling.

“Whatever. Go ahead, find this guy, as long as I can move forward with the other damned wedding.”

“Why, thank you, extremely kind of you, Your Grace,” he says, and then he turns on his heel and gets out of the room.

He’s not surprised when Lannister follows him. “Should I tell my brother to keep your daughter entertained for a while longer?”

“Please,” he says, “and I don’t know how much I have to thank you, but -”

“Just go get the guy and remember that Brienne’s father is only too glad to host her friends on Tarth. He’s exceedingly glad she has some,” he winks, and then goes to - find his brother and Shireen, he supposes, and -

“My lord,” Sandor Clegane says, appearing suddenly at his right as he gets out of the castle, “you need an escort to Flea Bottom, mayhaps?”

“I don’t even want to know how you knew,” he sighs, and stops asking himself why apparently is there some kind of conspiracy to help him out with - whatever this is.

He also doesn’t want to know how Clegane says he knows the way when Stannis asks him if he remembers how to get to the house he visited a few days ago.

Davos had half expected the knock on the door.

He hadn’t been sure it would happen, but -

He’s nowhere near surprised when he opens it and Stannis is there with Sandor Clegane in the background winking at him and then making himself scarce.

“This place is a lot fouler by night than by day, if possible,” Stannis says, walking into Davos’s one-room shack, not that he could afford any better.

“But you knew that already, my lord, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Stannis whispers, and his eyes look so blue in the candlelight, and then he’s handing Davos back the pouch with the bones -

“Is it.. I thought it was heavier,” Davos says, taking it.

Stannis shrugs, lifting up his cloak. He has a similar pouch tied to his waist.

What -

“I took the liberty to split it,” he whispers, “if - if it’s not a problem.”

“It’s not,” Davos says, “but does it mean that -”

“My brother has agreed to... my choice, if we lay low. But I think that it woudn’t be a problem. And - I never do things not overthinking them. But - my daughter likes you, and I like you, and honestly, no one would have gone through the effort you did just to... talk to me or whatever, and - this is, if -”

“Yes,” Davos interrupts.

“Wait, yes?”

“I can’t believe I actually am saying it myself, but of course. I do.. quite like you, my lord.”

“Well, if we are to be... to be, maybe you can do away with that?”

“I could be persuaded,” Davos says, and he leans in and they’re kissing again and this time is slower and Stannis’s hand is slightly trembling as he touches the back of his hair and he’s not even wearing his fine clothes now, he put them away before but Stannis doesn’t seem to care an inch and when he groans into Davos’s mouth again he grasps at the back of his head and -

Well.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to navigate things considering that he can’t even bloody damn well read, but who cares. He’ll learn. He just -

He likes Stannis, damn it, and he wants to see it through, and if it means they’ll have to lay low because other lords are damned stupid, who cares.

10.

“Well,” Jaime says, “we can expect a lot of gossip.”

“In what sense?” Brienne replies, wishing she didn’t have to reply to ravens when they’re on Tarth, but his father insists that she does because she’ll take his place one day.

“My brother writes me that Shireen Baratheon writes him that she’s never been happier now that they’re at that castle in Cape Wrath, that she’s taught Seaworth to read admirably well and she has a lot of fun with that and that she’s delighted because he is actually a thoroughly nice guy and her father is happy and she’s never seen him happy before, they didn’t go to Renly’s wedding and they didn’t miss it at all and apparently everyone in town is happy they’re there because they don’t have to go to Robert for inquiries or asking anything and Sannis is a lot fairer than Robert was anyway, and no one is actually dying of hunger in there anymore, so I guess that they’re doing well - oh, this is golden.”

“What is golden?”

“That Robert is of course not taking a wife until Lyanna Stark capitulates to his courting but he’s certainly having children here and there, so he’s sending some of them to their place and I think they have what, two of them there, and Shireen is delighted because she finally has some company, and imagine that, Sansa Stark came visiting there with her husband and sister once because I suppose she wanted to see how well her matchmaking had worked and her sister is smitten with one of said bastard sons. And they had to lay low, imagine that,” he laughs. “Well, when were they supposed to visit?”

“A month from now?”

“There’s going to be so much gossip,” he keeps on muttering, and she lets him - he has all the reasons to gloat about it.

She smiles to herself as she takes another raven and starts penning it - she might as well send them some more congratulations before they come visit.

After all, after they became friendly, she did hope that he’d find someone he would be happy with same as she did instead of always staying in Renly’s shadow, which she’d have been happy with herself... before realizing she deserved better.

She’s really glad he did.

And she can’t wait to host them too - if they got the happy ending, no point in not celebrating it, isn’t it?

#stavos #stannis baratheon #davos seaworth #jaime x brienne #sandor x sansa #my fic #ten years anniversary promptfest #anonymous #ask post #ANON THIS WAS A LABOR OF LOVE IDK HOW LONG IT WAS BUT #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #*drops*#FROM TOMORROW I'M TRYING TO ACTUALLY FILL MORE THAN ONE #this is so long #i hope it doesn't break your dashes #my stuff

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berah-ronah · 2 years

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fwiw while im a moash stan and i dont particularly like elhokar and think he did a lot of harm, I dont particularly hate him either? like he was a shit king but he got dealt one of the weirdest hands in stormlight:

probably the most mediocre person in his family: his parents and wife are sharp politicians, his sister’s a genius researcher, his uncle’s a fearsome warrior, his cousin is a fantastic duelist AND an eligible bachelor, and even his weird cousin has some kind of knack for scholarship he refuses to indulge; hes literally Just A Guy whose dad happened to forge a kingdom for him

while nominally king, his princes only stick around because A: he’s too weak to make them actually DO things they dont want to do, and B: his uncle is a fearsome warrior

speaking of, his only real job as king is “be a malleable puppet so that your war criminal uncle can assuage his guilty conscience while still ruling through you”, which means that not only do you not have royal authority, you ALSO dont have the private lands and wealth from your house’s holdings

as such, basically the only people who will listen to you are people who want to manipulate you to their own ends; basically all you do is go on hunts and hold feasts because your uncle (who you theoretically have royal authority over) doesnt trust you to rule

oh also youre starting to see things and nobody seems to give a shit about whether you get assassinated or not. when you stage one to force the issue, you almost die from an unrelated sabotage, and thats followed by multiple REAL attempts. you still see mysterious figures out of the corner of your eyes that nobody else can see

one of your bodyguards brings assassins into your palace and almost kills you, and is only stopped by another one of your bodyguards who literally says “im protecting you despite the fact that I hate your fucking incompetent guts”

when you get tired of being the resident political punching bag and resign, your war criminal uncle INSISTS you stay on as king because the optics of him ruling directly would be bad. they dont want you to actually DO things because you suck so much shit at ruling, they just want your warlord uncle’s image to stay intact

You barely persuade your uncle (who, again, you theoretically have royal power over) that you should be part of a mission to infiltrate your former capital and find out that your wife’s been possessed; you’re about to finally grasp the truth that you’ve been so close to understanding and start self-actualizing, but the bodyguard who tried to kill you before comes out of NOWHERE with a steel chair spear and kills you before you get the chance.

#like i said i dont like the guy #but what a fucking hand to be dealt lmao #stormlight archive #stormlight spoilers

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some-lists · 4 years

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More Shows that Should Be Added to Disney Plus

I after I completed my last list, which consisted mainly Disney Channel shows, a few more shows popped into my head. I also remembered that Disney now owns Fox as well as ABC, so even more great shows popped into my head.

Some of these might not be on Disney Plus because of certain rights issues. I don’t know anything about those types of matters. I just think these are great shows that would make Disney Plus even better.

(Thankfully, some of these shows can be found on YouTube, thanks to some awesome people with VCRs. Of course, having them stream on Disney Plus with good quality would be even better!)

10. PB&J Otter

PB&J Otter was a cartoon about three otter siblings named Peanut, Butter, and Jelly. They lived a cute little fishing town inhabited by other cute little animals. It was created by the same makers of Doug and Allegra’s Window (anybody remember that one?). This show ran on Disney Playhouse and Disney Junior for quite some time. I think it’s only natural to include it on Disney Plus as well.

9. Braceface

Braceface initially aired on Fox Family, which later became ABC Family, and then aired on the Disney Channel. It’s about a teen girl whose braces somehow have an electric charge and constantly interfere with her life. It was executive produced and voiced by Alicia Silverstone. Other voice talents included Michael Cera and Kathy Griffin.

8. Second Noah

Second Noah was a great family drama about a married couple who took in stray animals and orphan children. Imagine if The Fosters lived in a zoo. The cast included a young James Marsden as the oldest adopted son. He sings in every single episode. That alone is worth the watch. Even though this was a great show, I doubt we’ll ever see it again. It was filmed at Busch Gardens in Florida before The Animal Kingdom had opened. Disney probably doesn’t want to promote its competition on its own streaming service. But one can dream... of James Marsden’s perfect singing voice.

7. The Koala Brothers

I am a grown adult but I will watch The Koala Brothers any day of the week. This claymation series takes place in the Australian outback, where two koala brothers fly their airplane to assist anyone in need of help. It features an adorable little community made up of a turtle postman, a storekeeper echidna, an ice cream truck driving emu, a forgetful cafe owner platypus, and more lovable creatures. It’s just a really adorable show that even adults can enjoy.

6. Brotherly Love

Brotherly Love originally aired on The WB and its reruns was aired on The Disney Channel for several years. Just like two other popular shows, Smart Guy (which is currently on Disney Plus) and Sister Sister. It featured Joey Lawrence has the oldest and estranged brother, who returns to help his two younger brothers (Matthew, Andy) and their auto mechanic business survive. The three brothers were played by real brothers in real life. It was a wholesome family show, with a cute Lawrence brother for every age group to crush on.

5. Higher Ground

This show. This show was amazing. It aired on the Fox Family channel for one year, then disappeared forever. But man, it was so good. It was set at a boarding school for at-risk teens in the mountains — like camping but with actual licensed counselors. It focused on a couple of counselors and their troubled teen students. It dealt with some very real issues, like sexual abuse, drug and alcohol abuse, narcissistic/emotional abuse, neglect, self-harm, eating disorders, homelessness, gang violence, and prostitution. It never used these issues for shock value or preachy, saccharine plot lines. It never judged the teens for their hard lives, but portrayed them honestly. Anyone who’s lived through a difficult childhood will find themselves relating to these teenagers. The cast included a pre-Anakin Hayden Christensen (he’s seriously really good in this!), a pre-Criminal Minds AJ Cook, and a pre-Once Upon a Time Meghan Ory. It might be a little heavy for Disney Plus, so a disclaimer would be needed, just like when it originally aired on Fox Family.

4. Young Hercules

Following the success of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys and Xena: Warrior Princess, Young Hercules was developed for a younger audience. Much of the crew went on to work on The Lord of the Rings trilogy either during or shortly after this series. It debuted on Fox Kids in the late 90’s and starred a teenage Ryan Gosling as young Hercules. It was super cheesy, which makes it even better. Who doesn’t want to watch a spray tanned, bleached blond, eyelined Ryan Gosling slay imaginary beasts?

3. Bear in the Big Blue House

Bear in the Big Blue House was a really great show for preschoolers. It ranks up there with Sesame Street and Blue’s Clues. It featured a big bear welcoming you into his big blue house. There you sing and play with his puppet friends and roommates. At the end of each episode, there’s a lovely goodbye song with the moon (yes, the moon sings). It’s a wonderful, entertaining show for little ones. Parents won’t mind watching it for the millionth time either. If Disney Plus is including Out of the Box, they should definitely include this one too.

2. Movie Surfers

Movie Surfers is basically a behind-the-scenes preview of soon to be released Disney movies. It includes footage of the making process, cast interviews, and occasionally performances from the soundtrack. The original cast included Christina Milian, who then went by Tina. It’s still going on today as minis during commercial breaks. Some very classic movies have been featured, including Mulan, The Princess Diaries, and Finding Nemo. More recent films have also been featured, such as as the live action Beauty and the Beast, The Muppets, and Moana. This would be a great addition to Disney Plus as it would get viewers interested in other movies available on the streaming service.

1. Disney Channel in Concert

This Disney Channel Special series started in 1997 and ran until 2001. It featured a live concert, behind the scenes footage, and interviews with the musical guest and family members. After their 1998 performance, *NSYNC’s debut album immediately skyrocketed to No. 1 on the Billboard charts. After their tremendous success, many other young acts were quick to follow, including Britney Spears, LeeAnn Rimes, Jessica Simpson, 98 Degrees, and the Backstreet Boys.

#disney #disney plus #pb&j otter #braceface #second noah #the koala brothers #brotherly love #higher ground #bear in the big blue house #movie surfers #Disney channel in concert #disney channel #90s nostalgia #90s #2000s cartoons #young hercules

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keeperofhounds · 4 years

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Lost & Found (Chapter Ten)

Special thanks to my beta reader @rachelbethhines and special thanks to Varian66 on Discord for their part in developing this story

Eugene gripped Maximus’ reins silently urging the horse to run faster. How could things have gone so wrong? Last night had been perfect, like none he ever had before. It was a silly question in hindsight, he got himself in this mess, so focused on how he realized a new dream that he forgot that not everyone wanted to let bygones be bygones.

They had spent the day exploring the capital, absorbing the sights. Varian had convinced Eugene to show Rapunzel the local library, as it was his brother's favorite destination when he visited. To be fair it had been a while since Eugene had last been to the capital, last time didn’t afford him the chance to appreciate how much it changed. Neither of them had seen Varian in all the time they spent in the library, but they assumed he was keeping Maximus company as horses weren’t allowed into the building.

Hiding from the guard had a new charm the more time he spent with Rapunzel. It had become a sort of a game to them, laughing as they hid in alleyways, noses almost touching. They shared cupcakes bought from the local food stands.

Rapunzel shared her artistic talents with the kingdom, chalking a mural on the cobblestones. They danced and danced with the locals breathing new life into the older residents. No doubt the ones who remembered the events of that awful day. The duo was even able to dance together after several failed attempts.

Imagine the duo’s surprise when Varian led them to the docks, throwing his hands towards the gondola. Turns out he was getting one for them when he ran off stating something sciency. Something about water, illumination, and mirrors. Eugene had just been glad the kid didn’t make any adjustments to the gondola, didn’t need anything blowing up today. After the fact though Eugene could safely say that it was the most magical boat ride in his entire life.

Now Eugene was riding for his life, towards the girl of his dreams. To think that such a manipulative woman would go so far to hide her daughter. It’s even possible that Rapunzel was in danger, no one went up to seasoned criminals like the Stabbingtons and string them along to her plans. Eugene had no illusions that it was all for Rapunzel because if it was then her daughter wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to leave.

In hindsight, the signs were all there in plain view. The distorted worldview, the anxiety of the unknown. Even the silent desperation as the poor girl talked about realizing her dream. Eugene wanted to keep all that alive.

It was just his luck too that, that same girl would be the one who saved him from an untimely fate at the gallows. After he was able to get the information by intimidating the Stabbington brothers Eugene was dragged by the captain of the guard towards his execution. His thoughts were so consumed that he found himself being distracted by a ceramic unicorn, which was the strangest thing, especially in a prison.

What happens next he can only best describe as jaw-dropping death-defying and unbelievable, as the people who tried to hurt him the day before actually helped him escape. Everyone was there the Mime, the old guy who was probably drunk and even Hook Hand. It was another shock to discover that Maximus, the horse who hunted him down like a dog was the one who brought the thugs into this rescue mission.

Imagine that, an officer of the law, helping a known criminal. What’s next? A criminal becoming part of the royal guard. That’s just crazy.

Help Maximus did though, he ran from his comrades, jumping roofs and racing over the bridge connecting the island to the mainland. All the time with Eugene encouraging him to run faster. By the time the other royal guards were able to apprehend the pub thugs the man known to them as Flynn Rider was long gone.

Unknown to the fact that it wasn’t about the dumb crown anymore, it wasn’t about Eugene either, it was about the person who he thinks could be the one. The pub thugs, even Maximus were risking everything for him, a thief to succeed. He wasn’t about to let them down, let Rapunzel down.

Finally, he led Maximus through the hidden entrance which Eugene had used to escape all that time ago. Wasting no time he jumped off the horses back running towards the tower. It looked just as gloomy and lonely the first time he had arrived there.

“Rapunzel,” Eugene called, hoping for any sign that she was okay. Hearing no response he cupped his hands over his mouth calling to her, “Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

Still nothing. Panicking Eugene ran closer to the tower, planning on climbing it as he did the first time. He stopped at the sound of wood opening, looking up he saw the golden locks thrown towards him. Eugene gave little thought as he grabbed on and climbed.

Reaching the top, Eugene dragged himself through the window and into the tower, “Rapunzel, I thought I’d never see you again.”

He had been so relieved, only to be met with the sight of her gagged and chained. Rapunzel was struggling, trying to reach him, to communicate the danger that he was in. Eugene had no time to react to the sudden burst of intense pain flaring up through his side. He had been stabbed.

The thief clutched his side, falling to the ground where he was met with the sight of a woman, holding a bloodstained knife. Rapunzel’s infamous mother, Mother Gothel.

“Now look at what you’ve done Rapunzel,” She said, staring coldly down at the man. “Don’t worry dear, our secret will die with him.”

The pain was unbearable, leaving Eugene weak and at the mercy of that woman. Rapunzel struggled to reach him in an attempt to help him. She had the power to heal, she could save him, she could fix him.

Mother Gothel was having none of that, grabbing the chains pulling her daughter towards a hidden passage. “And as for us, we are going where no one will ever find you again.”

Pascal tried to stop her, biting at the helm of her dress. To her, he was nothing more than an annoyance. An annoyance she dealt with a single kick.

“Rapunzel really,” Gothel cried, with each pull of the chain, “enough already, stop fighting me.” “No,” Rapunzel cried, falling to the ground, her gag had slipped off letting her speak, “I won’t stop, for every minute, of the rest of my life I will fight, I will never stop trying to get away from you.” She took a breath, “But if you let me save him, I will go with you.”

“No, no Rapunzel.” Eugene struggled, not for him, never for him. He didn’t want to be saved if it meant Rapunzel could never be free.

“I’ll never run. I’ll never try to escape, just let me heal him, and you and I can be together, forever, just like you want. Everything will be the way it was… I promise. Just like you want… just… let… me… heal him.”

Gothel stared coldly at Rapunzel, a girl who she had stolen eighteen years ago. She always knew that the little thing would be the cause of so much trouble one day. Always asking questions, being defiant never just listening to what she was told. The woman had just hoped that she would be able to control her until that day came. It looked like that day had come all too soon.

It’s the only reason why she agreed to allow her flower to heal the thieving little pest. Rapunzel’s naive nature would never think of lying to her or breaking a promise. It’s how she was able to keep her obedient for all these years.

Gothel shackled the thief, “In case you get any ideas about following.”

She walked away giving the two fools the space they needed to say their goodbyes. Mother Gothel rolled her eyes at their touching display, she only had to be patient and everything would be behind her. A nobody, such as a thief couldn’t possibly do what the royal family couldn’t do.

The witch, so consumed by her vain, the witch didn’t notice her fatal mistake before it was too late. Gothel had gotten away with too much in all the time she had been alive. Kidnapping the princess and getting away with it only made the woman vainer.

Neither she or Rapunzel saw Eugene grab the broken piece of glass. Neither saw him slice the hair severing its magical connection.

Gothel could only scream, desperately gathering the fallen hair. As if her begging would bring back the draining magic. The same magic which kept her young for years. She screamed and screamed as the illusion of beauty she worked so hard to maintain faded, matching that of her heart.

Engulfed in her fear and hideousness, Gothel made her last and most fatal mistake. She pulled her cloak over herself to hide her shame, the truth of herself. She didn’t notice herself staggering so close to the open window. She didn’t notice Pascal holding the cut hair, tripping her.

All that anyone could hear were the screams, the screams of a woman who had run from death, finally being claimed by death.

#varian #Tangled the movie #tts varian #tts Rapunzel #Eugene Fitzherbert

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theonceoverthinker · 4 years

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When Will My Life Begin (Fair Game 8/?)

Tumblr: (1) (2) (B1) (3) (4) (B2) (5) (6) (7)

Summary: Tangled AU. Clover Callows has been confined to a tower for all of his life, and given the threat that his Uncle Tyrian says his semblance poses to his safety, he accepts that fate. It’s the only life he’s ever known, after all. But when he’s offered the opportunity to fulfill his greatest dream after a chance encounter with a thief -- or bandit, as Qrow Branwen insists there’s a difference between the two -- both Clover and Qrow will discover joys that they never knew life could offer them before. AO3

A/N: THEY’RE FINALLY GONNA TALK!!!!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Unorthodox situations were anything but unorthodox to Qrow Branwen.

Being a bandit meant thinking on one’s feet, but the world, especially the world’s criminal underbelly, was a strange place to live in, one that moved in perpetuity. So in the scuffles of his day-to-day goings on, Qrow got used to inserting, disguising, and adapting himself into some bizarre situations, and some of those situations extended between one day and the next.

Qrow had woken up to shrieking sounds before.

Qrow had woken up to the sounds of birds before.

But he’d never woken up to the sound of both at the same time, much less both of them right in his damn ear!

To say it was an unorthodox way of waking up was to say the least -- absolutely a top contender, though not necessarily the strangest.

Qrow’s eyes snapped open upon hearing the screeching noise.

Even though he was awake, his mind took its time catching up with his still groggy self.

He shook his head, eager to get the very bird that had awoken him so rudely out of his ear. Judging by the small pitter pattering sensations in his shoulders that felt like solid rain drops jumping across his clothes as well as the less beaky feeling he had in his ears following the action -- Gods, there were plenty of things he expected to happen today, but to describe anything that touched his ear as ‘beaky’ was not one of them -- it seemed like he was successful.

That was good, at least.

Once the primary source of his annoyance was gone, Qrow continued to look around the room. The view he had access to was limited and mostly covered in shadows, though judging by his posture, he could tell he was in some kind of chair.

Where was he?

What happened to him?

And why did he have such a headache?

Qrow moved his arm so that his hand could massage his head, but much to his surprise, it couldn’t move.

He looked down towards his body to investigate, and he couldn’t believe what he saw when he did.

A life of banditry meant that he’d been tied up more than his fair share of times -- an effort on the parts of his targets or random bystanders to subdue him that was valiant as it was pointless. Qrow was fine with rope and even better with knots.

However, what he was tied in right now was nothing like the ropes he’d dealt with before.

What he was trapped in was some sort of metallic rope -- thin, but tight, bendable, but only to a point. The rope was crudely made aesthetically -- and honestly looked like it was in need of a good polishing -- but as Qrow attempted and failed to pull himself free from its confines, he realized its substance absolutely made up for any style it was lacking. Whoever made this knew what he was doing, and even though he prided himself on being pretty tough, Qrow was well aware no amount of raw strength was going to cut through what he was tied in.

It was also long, even stretching beyond the various loops it managed to make around his limbs, stretching out in front of him and into the shadows.

“What the hell is this?” he muttered as he tried to make sense of his situation.

Qrow had woken up in strange ways before, but compared to waking up to the sound of a screeching bird whilst bound to a chair by a long stretch of metallic string, none of those instances could hold so much as a candle to a strangeness of this magnitude.

...Well, maybe that wasn’t completely true, but it was still strange nonetheless.

With his eyes, Qrow followed the rope from its last point of contact with the chair’s base into the darkness.

The string was quite long, but it did indeed have an end, and its end landed at something that the tiniest glimmer of sunlight made look like a pair of feet.

Qrow figured it was safe to presume that that was his captor.

His captor clearly noticed that he was not only awake, but had a visual -- however obstructed -- of his form.

“I wouldn’t bother struggling if I were you.” It was a man’s voice that came out of the figure, a voice with an exaggeratedly cocky tone. However, even though he must have been over ten feet away, Qrow could feel a tenseness from him as if they were right beside each other that betrayed that tone.

He could hear his captor take a deep breath.

“I know why you’re here, you know,” the man continued, that abrasive cockiness still in his tone, but now more clearly faltering under the stress of that dominating tenseness, “b-but be warned that I’m not afraid of you.”

“Huh?” It was all Qrow could think to say -- not the most eloquent of sentiments, but it was at least a sentiment that was both accurate and honest.

Qrow could hear soft, but firm steps coming from his captor as he stepped closer to the outskirts of the shadows.

“Now, who are you,” the man continued, abandoning his cockiness for a more adamant tone, “and how did you find me?”

“What?”

For the next few seconds, another deep breath from his captor was all that Qrow was seemingly rewarded with for his question.

Then, he heard more steps, steps that stopped just as soon as they started.

There was a pause, as if his captor had arrived at some kind of threshold he had to dare himself to cross.

Then, he stepped fully into the light.

“I said,” the man carried on, “‘who are you and how did you find me?’”

At the sight of the man’s full form, all Qrow found that he could do was stammer both without aim or words as he took the man in from his head to his literal toes.

This man...everything about him was unorthodox.

The first things that stuck out to Qrow were his captor’s bare feet. Of course, not everyone wore shoes all the time, especially in the privacy of their own home, but especially for a situation like this, a lack of shoes stood out like two sore thumbs with five sore thumbs of their own each.

Frankly, it almost felt uncivilized for such an occasion.

Also standing out to Qrow were the man’s white clothes, or rather, how pristinely white they were. The man clearly wasn’t royalty -- Qrow at least hoped he wasn’t because any members of the monarchy should have had better things to do than capture mostly petty bandits like himself -- and while regular people of the kingdom like himself did wear white, apart from people of royal standings, those who wore white tended to really be wearing off-white after he first few times sporting them.

Was this guy just a neat freak?

Well, he was a freak, alright -- that was for sure, neat or otherwise.

Additionally, his shirt lacked sleeves entirely, exposing strong looking, muscle-packed arms, one of which housed a red armband. In his line of work, Qrow came across plenty of strong people, both allies and enemies. Those who had particularly large amounts of muscles often had ones that looked overblown, as if it almost was more of a hindrance to have them than a help, but compared to them, the ones this man had were more balanced between toned and versatile. They weren’t too much, and they weren’t too little.

That all having been said, large muscles or not, few that he encountered, unless they had tattoos to show off, lacked sleeves like this man did.

His hair was odd, too -- short and straight in the back, but messy and almost spiked in the front, resting just above his teal eyes.

Qrow didn’t even know what to think about that, apart from the fact that this man clearly had a lot of free time.

The man coughed, taking Qrow out of his thoughts.

“Who are you, and how did you find me?” he repeated, this time putting emphasis on every one of his question’s words.

Qrow took a deep breath.

Clearly, despite the fancy metallic string he was using, what Qrow was dealing with was an amateur at this whole capturing business.

Perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing for him.

Qrow felt he was a charming man…

Granted almost no one ever agreed with that sentiment, but hey, those charms -- either in abundance or absence -- got him this far.

Maybe they’d do the trick now and help get him free.

At the very least, Qrow felt it was worth a shot.

Luckily for him, unlike many instances of this situation in the past, the target of his charms this time was pretty handsome, and that always made this scheme in particular easier to pull off.

“I can’t say that I do know who you are,” Qrow said, throwing on his most vulnerable, awestruck-looking expression, “nor do I know how it was that our fates were intertwined, but, if you’ll allow me the pleasure, I must say...hi.” Qrow then put on the most outwardly flirty face he’d ever put on before in his life -- a raised brow, a toothy smirk, narrowed eyes, and a clicked tongue. “Qrow Branwen’s what they call me, but you can just call me a bandit after your own heart. But enough about me,” Qrow continued, letting his eyes drift to his knuckles as he casually admired his hands before drawing them back to the man. “Tell me about you.”

The man’s eyes grew -- startled.

That was a good first step.

However, it didn’t last before his captor strengthened his resolve, gripping the weapon in his hand tighter as he took a step back. Qrow tried to get a look at what the weapon was, but the man was at the ready to distract him with another question.

“Who else knows my location, Qrow Branwen?” he asked, placing a strong emphasis on his name.

Well, so much for charming his way out of this...at least, for now.

“All right, muscles,” he said, abandoning his act and returning his face and tone to normal, albeit not enough that he couldn’t return to it later if he wanted to.

“Clover.”

“Eh, ‘muscles’ works better, don’t you think?” The man glared at Qrow, but he ignored him. “Look, here’s what happened,” he carried on. “I was in the forest, there was a little...let’s say altercation, and I came across your tower.”

Suddenly, a memory jumped at him -- a memory of the very subject of that altercation that brought him to this tower in the first place.

Qrow looked all throughout his bound body as well as the visible floor of the tower, hoping against hope that this man -- Clover -- had neglected to take notice of his satchel.

He had no such luck.

“Where’s my satchel?” Qrow demanded, further dropping any and all charming pretenses he still had up.

Clover looked at him, openly smirking.

“Somewhere you won’t be able to find it.”

Panicked, Qrow’s eyes raced across the room.

Then, as his eyes met a certain location, the panic stopped.

Amateur.

“It’s in that pot over there,” he said, now matching Clover’s smirk with one of his own, “isn’t it?”

There were probably more unorthodox responses to having a bluff be called out, but as Qrow once more succumbed to the darkness of unconsciousness, he had trouble coming up with a list that was all that long.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Uncle Tyrian was right about a lot of things.

If not for his opinions on the species that his best friend came from or his feelings on a quick field trip to see some lights, Clover probably would’ve said he was right about everything.

But in the moment he knocked out Qrow after Qrow successfully called out his bluff, he wagered that his uncle’s assertion that Clover was perhaps a little too sensitive for his own good was so right that it hurt.

Well, it at least hurt Qrow.

Qrow Branwen…

Clover didn’t know what he expected to happen when conversing with someone from the outside world that wasn’t his uncle, but whatever it was, it wasn’t that.

Qrow was by all means indescribable.

Weird.

That’s it -- Qrow was weird.

He wasn’t mean, he wasn’t nice, he wasn’t gracious, he wasn’t malicious, or anything in between -- he was just weird.

But just because he was weird didn’t mean he couldn’t help Clover.

After hiding the satchel again, Clover and Raven exchanged a single glance at each other before executing the same plan that brought he and Qrow to speaking terms in the first place.

Qrow yelped as he came back to the conscious world. His shoulder jumped and the impact made Raven fall to the floor.

“Would you stop that?” he yelled at her.

Clover turned to Raven.

“Are you okay, Raven?” Raven looked a little dizzy, but gave an affirmative squawk nonetheless before turning her gaze back to Qrow.

Qrow shot Clover a look, one incredulous, semi-confused, and almost pitying in nature.

“You named your pet raven Raven?” he asked. “Not exactly the most creative of names, you’ve got to admit.”

Clover casually brandished Kingfisher. “I will knock you out again,” he threatened, though only semi-seriously. After all, while those outside the tower weren’t monsters, he wasn’t, and it was important to show that, even when making himself seem tough.

Thankfully, Qrow seemed to get that, sporting a deadpan expression before, during, and after the threat.

“No need,” he said, raising his hands as much as he could given his bound state in a surrendering nature.

Then, he did something curious.

Qrow leaned himself toward Clover and started studying Kingfisher closely.

“What is that weapon?” he asked. “Some kind of fishing rod?”

He seemed genuinely curious, and even a little fascinated.

Clover hadn’t expected curious and fascinated of all things to be the elicited reactions.

Immediately, he fought off the heat he began feeling in his cheeks, his brow furrowing as he glared.

“What it is is none of your business,” he said firmly. “What is your business is that I’ve hidden that satchel of yours again, and this time, I know it’s somewhere you’ll never find it.”

Qrow’s eyes narrowed and he scoffed. “You sure about that?”

“Yes, I’ll admit that I may have underestimated you earlier, but I didn’t let that happen again.” Clover was proud of himself. Of all of his tower’s hiding spots, he picked a real winner this time. “Now, let’s get back to business,” he said as he approached Qrow once more, brandishing his weapon as he circled him. “What do you plan to do to me? Keep me for yourself?”

Qrow looked at him, confused.

“What?”

“Sell me?”

“No!” he shouted, gesturing his hands in a way that pleaded with Clover to settle down. Clover obliged. “Listen, muscles, the only thing I want to do with you is to get as far away from you as humanly possible.”

Well, that was good to hear...sort of...

“A little rude,” Clover muttered.

Clover swore Qrow’s eyes tripled in size at that comment.

“I’m trapped in your fishing rod!” he shot back, now shouting even louder as he pulled against his restraints. “We’re well past ‘a little rude,’ and newsflash -- I’m not the one who got us there!”

Another retort was just about to come out, but upon realizing something, Clover stopped it.

“So wait,” he said, loosening his grip on Kingfisher ever so slightly, “you’re not here for me?”

“You’re not bad at capturing people for an obvious beginner, but no -- I’m not here for you. Look, what happened was that I was being chased, I saw a tower, and I climbed it. That’s all.”

Raven squawked, and Clover turned to her. She was glaring at Qrow, scrutinizing him for lies. She then sent a resigned look Clover’s way. Clover had no idea how to take that, but upon receiving another nod from her, an ‘o’ shape formed in his mouth as he finally put the pieces of his friend’s reluctant message together.

Qrow was telling the truth.

He was just a man who -- for whatever reason -- wanted his satchel, some privacy, and nothing more.

There was still a question of why he was chased in the first place and why he needed that satchel so badly -- questions Clover had at least a guess as to what the answers to them were -- but Clover’s secret was still a secret as far as it related to this man.

His plan could work.

For a few moments, he and Raven communicated with each other through a series of squawks and exchanged glances, and all the while, Qrow was trying to helplessly scooch his chair away, no doubt to see if he could find the satchel’s hiding spot.

Even with his semblance always at play for both of their benefits, Clover knew that wasn’t about to happen.

Satisfied with his and Raven’s resolution, Clover turned back to Qrow.

“Okay, Qrow Branwen,” Clover said. “I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”

“Deal?” Qrow cried, incredulously.

“Look over here,” Clover demanded. He couldn’t believe he was showing off his painting to a second person today when up until today, only he and Raven had ever laid eyes on it before, but today was one that promised change, and Clover was intent on embracing that if it meant fulfilling his dream.

Without giving Qrow much of a chance to properly orient himself, Clover tugged Kingfisher so that his sight would align with the painting Clover wanted him to see. Unfortunately for Qrow, the pull wasn’t balanced, and while he landed basically where Clover needed him to, it was on the ground, face first. It wasn’t the kindest of moves, Clover would admit, but in this rare situation, he’d throw kindness to the wind to keep himself looking intimidating...or at least as intimidating as Qrow probably believed him to be.

“What can you tell me about these?” Clover said, pointing with Kingfisher to one of the painting’s green lights.

Clover almost felt his heart burst as he saw a flicker of recognition in Qrow’s eyes.

“What? The lantern thing they do for the General’s son?” he clarified, unaware of what truth he had just informed Clover of.

“Lanterns?” Clover gasped.

So Uncle Tyrian was wrong about them!

“Lanterns! I knew they weren’t stars!” The celebration was cut short as Clover remembered what he was trying to accomplish during this encounter. He coughed, regaining his composure. “Yes, as I’m sure you know, tomorrow night, those lanterns will light up the night’s sky.” He then pointed Kingfisher at Qrow. “You will guide me to the lanterns, and ensure I get safely there and then home. Once I’ve returned, then, and only then, will I return your satchel to you. That is my deal.”

Clover felt pretty confident about the arrangement he set up. It was fair, got both himself and Qrow everything they wanted, and would ensure Clover’s safety and timely return back to the tower before Uncle Tyrian even knew he was gone.

It was perfect.

“Can’t do it,” Qrow said.

Apparently, it was only almost perfect, but not quite.

Seriously?!

“Look, the kingdom and I aren’t on the friendliest of terms right now, so no, I won’t be taking you there.” Qrow gave him a deadpan look, but there was a certain element to how he spoke, one that reminded Clover of how he felt whenever Uncle Tyrian beat him at chess.

It was a lowkey smugness.

Clover could appreciate a lowkey smugness -- it seemed like part of that ‘outside-the-tower’ brand of humor that he’d love to one day understand -- but he wasn’t willing to put up with it, let alone settle for it where it concerned the difference between him seeing the lights and not seeing the lights.

No, Qrow wasn’t getting out of this that easily.

“Something brought you here, Qrow Branwen,” Clover said, pulling Qrow back upright and then closer to him with well-angled tugs on the fishing rod’s line. “Call it what you will -- fate, destiny-”

“A string of terrible life choices.”

“I’ve made the decision to trust you.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

“But trust me when I say this,” Clover insisted. His tugs had finally pulled Qrow close enough for him to be right in Clover’s face, albeit with Clover at a height advantage.

It was an advantage Clover was excited to have for what he planned to say next.

“You can do whatever you’d like to with this tower -- tear it up, tear it down, destroy it to the point where no one ever would believe that there was ever a tower here at all -- but without my help, you’ll never get that satchel of yours back.”

Qrow now seemed to come to terms with his situation.

“So I take you to see the lanterns, bring you back home, then you give me my satchel,” he paraphrased. “That’s the deal?”

“Exactly. I promise.” At Qrow’s look of disbelief, Clover strengthened his resolve even further. “And if there’s one thing I don’t break, it’s promises.” Raven gave Qrow an affirmative squawk that backed him up. Clover wasn’t sure if he’d get that, but either way, hurt.

Qrow took a deep breath.

That was a good sign.

“Look, muscles,” he commiserated, “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.”

Clover was tempted to step back, but ultimately stood his ground.

So much for that good sign.

Qrow couldn’t hurt him, right?

He would’ve by now if he could’ve, right?

Without being given time to ask for an explanation, Qrow continued.

“Here comes the Smoulder.”

That was all he said before it happened -- the Smoulder.

Qrow pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes so that they formed crescent-like shapes in one way while his brows did the same in the opposite way.

...This man -- Qrow Branwen -- he was weird.

The Smoulder -- is that what he called it?

To say Clover wasn’t exactly amazed would be an understatement, and he made sure his expression communicated that without a shred of doubt.

Thankfully, Qrow seemed to get that message pretty quickly. “Today is just not my day, is it?” he said.

“Nope,” Clover smirked. “It’s mine. So, do we have a deal?”

“Fine!” Qrow at last relented, dropping the Smoulder entirely. “I’ll take you to see the lanterns.”

“Great!” Clover said, unable to keep how impressed he was with himself out of his voice.

“You broke my Smoulder,” Qrow grunted, though Clover could tell he was just a little impressed, too. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

“Well, as you now know, I’m full of surprises.”

“Can’t say I could ever forget that...no matter how much I try,” Qrow mumbled. “Now, let me out of here so we can get out of here and get this over with.”

“You got it!” Clover couldn’t help but jump with excitement.

There were a lot of things Uncle Tyrian was right about.

Perhaps he was right about what would happen during a trip to see the lights, too.

However, this was for once going to be a matter where Clover decided he’d figure out what was right or wrong for himself with his own eyes, and nothing was going to stop him now.

#fair game #qrow branwen #clover ebi #rwby #tangled au #raven branwen #fairgame #lucky charms

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somedayonbroadway · 4 years

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Wow alright I found out how to do the whole ask thing, sorry about that! I was wondering if you could expand on the Outsiders, Tangled, and Aladdin AU? Again, if that’s too much you don’t have to do them all. Love your writing by the way you’re fantastic!

So, the only AU I currently do not have another ask for is Tangled. So...

Tangled AU

Katherine Plumber is a curious young woman. She’s almost eighteen. An adult. And she believes she can take care of herself.

Her father believes otherwise.

Her whole life, her overprotective father has raised her alone in an old cottage, just outside a small kingdom. A kingdom she can hear music from and see just across the river. Every year, exactly on her birthday, there is a trail of floating lights that’s passes just over her.

She wants nothing more than to follow the floating lights back to wherever they’re coming from. But her father refuses, even after she begs him to take her on her eighteenth birthday.

So she lets it go.

Jack Kelly is a wanted thief in five different kingdoms. He’s an escaped convict of three of those five kingdoms and works with many different crews. The most frequent of all would be two brothers. The Delancey brothers.

In an attempt to steal the lost princesses crown, Jack leaves behind his friends in order to get the crown, tricking them into helping him escape before running off and letting them take the fall for him.

But one palace guard is still hot on his trail while he tries to make a run for it. It’s a rookie. Someone who got lucky.

Jack leads the guard down to a part of the forest that hasn’t been explored in decades and tries to lose him, stumbling across an old abandoned cottage himself and sneaking inside, hiding away while the guard gets lost and eventually loses track of him.

Just when Jack believes he can breathe again, he turns around to see what he can find in this old, worn looking cottage, only to find a girl looking back at him, just staring, as if she’d never seen another human being before.

Jack freezes and clutches onto his bag (the one with the crown) and is about to explain before another door opens up and a man is stepping into the room. The girl motions for him to stay hidden and quiet. He does, not having much of a choice.

Eventually, the girl gets rid of her father, Joseph Plumber, by sending him off for her own birthday present. She wants books. Books by a specific author (female author) that it will take her father a couple days to get.

Jack would thank her. And he’d go to leave. But Katherine grabs a knife and block his exit. She’d take his bag from him. Now Jack, being the tough, intimidating guy he is, would be a little impressed. I mean, c’mon... but Katherine would make him leave the house without it and hide it, making him a deal. If he took her to the kingdom to see the floating lights (which Jack describes as “the lantern thing they do for the princess”) he can have his bag back and be on his merry way.

Without much of a choice, Jack agrees. (Katherine is much more serious about things than Rapunzel, if that makes. Jack is a little intimidated).

With that, Katherine steps out of her cottage for the first time and is terrified as she does so, even though Jack is staring at her the whole time. Before she steps out he says something like “what? Ya waitin’ f’r lightin’ ta come down n’ strike me r’ somethin’? Let’s go, Red!”

In which she promptly reminds him that her name is “*Katherine*”. Jack gives her a million little nicknames throughout the story just to avoid calling her by her full name.

As they begin their journey, Jack tells Katherine that he has some business to take care of and asks her if she’d like to stop for a bite to eat while he dealt with it. She agrees and he takes her to small tavern, still outside the kingdom.

She’s kind and nice about the stop, believing they would just be set back a few minutes and be on their way. But the moment they step inside, the noise that had been heard about a half mile away stops in its tracks and everyone is staring at Jack who suddenly looks nervous for the first time since they’d met. Katherine goes to ask him what’s wrong but he shakes his head.

Meanwhile, Joseph is making his trek through the woods and stumbles upon a young palace guard who has gotten himself lost. The young man does not see Joseph and continues on his hunt for the escaped criminal that he lost.

Joseph knows that palace guards typically travel in groups and immediately panics, rushing back to his cottage to find that Katherine is not there. However, he does find a bag with a crown in it. So he takes it with him and sets off to find his daughter.

Back at the tavern, Jack tells Katherine to stay near the door as he walked through the crowd of big, strong boys who were staring at Jack like they hated him. He’d go over and find the boy that seemed to be the leader of the gang and tell him something about almost having it. But Katherine does not know what he’s talking about. Jack tells the leader, “Spot” he calls him, that he’ll have “it” within the next two days.

Spot tells him that that’s not good enough. That Jack owes him now and that he was going to get the money one way or another. Jack tries time argue, but one of the other boys holds up a “wanted” picture. It’s of Jack. And Spot nods to his boys.

They grab Jack, telling him that they’re gonna claim the offer and turn him in. Someone runs out to get the guards while Katherine tries to figure out what’s going on. She grabs a hot pan from the kitchen and threatens Spot with it. He laughs, but asks her why it’s so important that Jack don’t go to jail.

She explains to him the situation and Spot goes a little soft. He tells her that it’s admirable that she got Jack to show her around. That he had a dream of studying music, but his criminal record prevented that. Eventually, she wins the boys over and they tell her they’ll help her too.

That’s about when the boy comes back with the palace guards. Spot hells Jack and Katherine hide immediately, despite Jack’s attempts to run towards the cellar. Spot grabs him by the collar and drags him down behind a counter, revealing a trap door to them. He tells Katherine he’s got her back and he tells Jack something that Kath doesn’t understand. Something like “he’s okay, Jackie... playin’ cards with Hot Shot in the basement... now git!”

Reluctantly, Jack goes, only quietly apologizing to Spot about taking off with his life savings before he leads Katherine down a hidden tunnel.

In the tavern, David Jacobs is determined to prove himself by snuffing out the escaped convict who’d gotten away from him. Spot gives them no useful information whatsoever, but eventually David stumbles upon the trap door and follows Jack down.

The guards that are left, the ones that have the Delancey brothers as their prisoners, turn away for a second only to get overpowered by the two who immediately make a run for the tunnel as well.

Hearing them coming, Jack and Katherine run down the tunnel only to be let out at the end of a dam, hardly holding up. The guards would catch up to them. Jack would steal on of their swords, somehow getting the upper hand as Katherine did as much damage as she could with a frying pan.

Eventually, the fight escalates and the dam begins to break as things hit it. The guards retreat back into the tunnel but Jack and Katherine are forced to run forward where they get stuck in a cave where they believe they’ll probably die, after Jack fights to break through rocks and ends up cutting his hand. Jack admits his real name isn’t Jack Kelly and that he got the name from a story he used to tell his little brother when they were growing up in the orphanage. His real name is Francis Sullivan. A name he truly despises.

Katherine then admits that she has magic powers that can make her hands glow. He thinks she’s crazy. But then she sings her song, realizing she might find a way out, which she does.

Then barely survive the cave through a small river and end up closer to the kingdom where Jack believes he’s dreaming and Katherine is just happy to be alive. Eventually, Katherine heals his hand tells him that she is scared one day someone will come after her for her power and that’s why she’d never been outside before. But Jack promises, without hardly thinking, that he’d protect her. That’s when he tells her about his life. He’s an orphan who has a little brother. He grew up a thief, stealing to provide for the only family he had, eventually stealing from an associate of his to get enough money for his brother to be able to eat. That’s what the crown was for. They’d come back for him and taken his brother, demanding payment in exchange for him.

Shocked at himself, Jack excuses himself to go get some wood for the fire. That’s when her father finds her.

See, Joseph had just come from a neck of the woods where two other escaped convicts had popped up, catching sight of him with a very familiar looking crown. They pull a knife on him and demand it, cursing the name Jack Kelly as they did. And Joseph’s brilliant mind works fast. He offers them a deal. Their help in exchange for the crown and Jack Kelly and something that would make them rich beyond belief. His own stolen daughter.

And now he finds himself here, with a chance to just bring her home. And she refuses. But Joe tries to convince her that Jack couldn’t care less what happened to her as long as he got his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Joe leaves after Katherine takes the crown, telling him she’d give Jack the crown early to prove he’d still help her, after all they’d been through.

When Jack comes back, he’s followed back by a lone guard. Persistent as hell, David Jacobs, who puts a knife to his back tells him he’s under arrest. Jack almost surrenders but turns to fight the other man instead, tackling him to the ground and causing Katherine to have to break up their fight. She tells David that he can chase Jack all he wanted to after Jack took her to see the floating lights because they’d had a deal.

After a lot of arguing and insults, David (now called “Davey” by Jack) finally agrees, on the condition that they let him come along to keep an eye on Jack.

The set off for the kingdom, stopping to rest for a few hours before heading into the kingdom where Jack and Katherine explored a bit, hiding from guards and letting David into their odd sort of friendship. Katherine accidentally starts a dance party in the middle of the street and everyone immediately falls in love with her. She gets Jack to dance with her which is when Jack begins to realize he falling for her and that scares him.

Katherine discovers the story of the lost princess by a few locals, mainly a young boy with a crutch and a bum leg who recognizes Jack as the boy who steals for the kids in The Refuge, an orphanage in the old town. Jack gets embarrassed, but buys the kid a cupcake and send him on his way.

That night, after Jack and David talk for a second to each other, revealing the fact that they both have little brothers and their top priorities are to provide and look out for them, Jack takes Katherine out on the water to watch the lanterns take flight. Katherine takes a chance and returns the crown to him.

Jack turns it down and places the crown on the floor of the small canoe he got. He tells Katherine he hasn’t completed his end of the deal yet and he intended to. To keep her safe. That’s when Katherine tells him she doesn’t wanna go home. That’s when she tells him this is the most alive and free and content she’d ever felt and she would kiss him on impulse and get really nervous about it but he’d kiss her back immediately.

They’d finish watching all of the lanterns fade from view. And Jack would row them back to shore when he’d move to kiss Katherine again, only to catch a glimpse of the Delancey brothers lurking around the bend. He’d immediately get nervous and tell Katherine that there was something he had to do. He’d take the crown, remembering his promise to protect her, and tell her he’d be right back.

Jack tries to offer a truce. He tries to give the Delanceys the crown and go on his way. But they don’t accept. They tell Jack they heard he found something much more valuable. And before Jack can run back to warn Katherine, they knock him out with the back end of a sword. They take him and put it in a boat headed straight towards the castle with the crown and head towards Kath to take her instead of the crown.

Katherine runs but is ultimately “saved” by her father who takes out the Delanceys and tricks Kath into coming home with him.

Davey is waiting on another side of he river when he hears a bit of the commotion and catches sight of a boat headed towards the castle and Katherine going back into the woods with a stranger. After seeing Jack get hauled out of a boat by palace guards and immediately get arrested, David backtracks to the tavern where Jack seemed to have some friends to enlist some help.

Once back at the cottage, Katherine is sad and reserved as her father tries to cheer her up with her favorite desert. It wouldn’t work. And Katherine would come to the realization that she was the lost princess and try to confront her father and insist that she was leaving. But Joseph wouldn’t let her go. And Katherine would ask what her father did with Jack and he’d tell her that Jack was scheduled for a hanging for his crimes.

Jack would wake up to guards pulling him out of a cell. He’d ask where they were taking him and they wouldn’t speak. Jack would understand. He’d almost give up and just let them. But when he saw the Delanceys locked up in another cell, he’d get angry and he’d shove away from the guards and grab at Morris who would immediately get scared. Jack would demand that Morris tell him how they knew about Katherine’s powers and they’d tell him that some old man told them.

And Jack would figure it all out. The guards would grab him again and he’d struggle hard.

He’d beg them to just listen to him, but they wouldn’t. Eventually another guard would come in to take Jack to the noose. And they’d lead him outside only to pause right by the door, removing their helmet. And Jack would cry out in relief and hug the person who was none other than his baby brother, Ty Sullivan, known as Racetrack to most.

Race would hug him back so tight. He’d tell Jack he didn’t have time to explain but he was gonna get him out of there. And Jack would laugh and say he was supposed to be the one doing the protecting. But Race would just tell him to shut up and call for someone. Spot would rush around the corner, dressed as a guard, along with some others from the Tavern. They’d break him out and lead him to David who would get him a horse and tell him to get to Katherine. Jack would be shocked that David was the one who’d planned the rescue, but he’d take off, telling him he’d thank him later.

Once he makes it to he cottage he runs inside, crying out fo Katherine and telling her that she had to come back with him and that there was something she needed to know. That’s when he’d feel a knife pierce through his side.

When he falls he sees Katherine screaming for him, tied down to a chair and gagged. He knows he dying and he can’t move to get to her.

Joe tells them his story. That he was a founder of the kingdom they adored and was never made king. In fact, he was banished from the kingdom entirely after getting too “power hungry” as they called it. He reveals that his name is actually Joseph Pulitzer and that he’d kept himself alive for centuries with the power of a magic flower grown by the sun.

Jack has to watch as Joseph tries to drag her from the cottage, but she gets loose, telling him that if he lets her heal Jack that she’ll just go with him without a fight.

Jack begs her not to. He tells her to run but she won’t. She tries to heal him but he stops her, telling her he can’t let her do it. He’s lived his life. He dies in her arms, his last word being “Katherine” as he says her name for the first time. Joseph still tries to drag Katherine away even though she refuses to let go of Jack. Eventually, she gets so angry and she blasts him with her magic. Unsure of what she’d done, she backs up and watches her father turn to dust before her.

She realizes that she has taken the magic from him, back from all the years she’d given it to him. With a sudden strength she turns back to Jack and heals him, waking him up and rejoicing in the fact that she’s free.

Jack takes her back to the kingdom and tries to leave her at the castle, not wanting to show his face around the guards. But Katherine defends him and meets her parents with him for the first time.

The celebration lasts for an entire week. Jack is reunited with his brother, who Spot has warmed up to, and the orphanage that they grew up in his put in his own care and funded heavily by the king and Queen themselves.

And they all live happily ever after...

Wow. That was a lot. Any questions?

For more AU’s, click here

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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Saw a response in your notes about how it's their job to kill grimm and criminals in general. People like Adam. So why would they talk about it? When is it ever stated huntsmen jobs are to kill people? No it's not their job to do that. If Blake was ok with murder then why leave the white fang at all? It was self defense, but if you shoot a intruder in your house it will still effect you. Justified self defense murder still effects you.

Yeah, I saw that response too. Definitely don’t buy this, ‘The group is used to killing things why would it effect them?’ argument. And I’ve been hearing it a lot around the fandom. I mean:

The group is trained to kill literal monsters that conveniently turn to dust when you do them in. Not other humans/faunus where they bleed all over you before toppling off a cliff. These are radically different situations and nothing in their training has prepared them for the emotional devastation of taking another equal, intelligent life. Up until Salem complicated things, a huntsmen’s job was to kill grimm and subdue criminals for arrest. Even if they’d had training and preparation to kill other people---which they haven’t---that still messes you up. All the preparation in the world can’t make stabbing your abuser through the chest an everyday action.

This is Adam we’re talking about. A guy who has already screwed with their mental health a crazy amount. Three volumes for Yang and the entire series for Blake. Killing him doesn’t erase all that. It complicates it in the form of “I’m so relieved he’s gone but also haunted by the act of killing him, especially when we wanted him to walk away from that fight” and “He’s gone so why am I still having nightmares about him and thinking I see him in the distance...”

There are potential world-wide repercussions of this. Adam was far from a nobody and though he might not have had the power he once did, he was still a focal point of the White Fang’s terrorist side. Is anyone looking for him? Does anyone realize he’s gone?

More importantly, there are internal, team repercussion of this. Blake and Yang got a good look at that brand and heard Adam using it as an excuse. Are they ever going to mention that to Weiss? Especially now that they’re in the heart of the Schnee domain? Adam was wrong to think that his torture justified any of his actions, but he was right that the torture’s existence is horrifying and needs to be dealt with. In addition, what does this mean for future interactions with baddies? I 100% agree that this was a case of self-defense, but it also raises questions of when the group is now willing to kill bad guys instead of just subduing. If given the choice to arrest someone or stab them, do they now feel entitled to just go for the jugular? They’ve now done it before and we’ve seen lately how little they care for the laws of the kingdom they’re staying in. If their mission supposedly entitles them to steal your property and sneak across boarders, they might think it entitles them to kill someone they deem dangerous enough too. I bring this up less because I think the majority of RWBYJNR is interested in killing anyone unless they absolutely have to and more because this has been a (non-discussed) issue since Volume 4 with Jaune. He’s gunning for Cinder. He wants to kill her and so far none of his friends have tackled whether that’s a healthy or morally sound thing to do. Now that Blake and Yang have taken a life, that should be a catalyst for the show to start tackling these other questions and issues.

In short, you don’t just kill someone like Adam and then walk it off.

#rwby #rwby volume 7 #rwby volume 7 spoilers #mymetas #Anonymous

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peakysabrina · 4 years

Text

Dark Horse

You guys, OMG, thank you for the support. I’m finna post here the first chapter of the fic I asked y’all’s opinion on. It’s also finna be on AO3 ‘cause I’m trying to test out how many fics I can post there before it kicks me the f out (that’s a joke). Here it be, loves. Here it be.

Warning: long af; violent as f y’all

The start is the same that I posted before, but I did add quite a bit to finish the first paragraph.

Surely the nazis were the only issue that needed dealing with, right? There wouldn't be anyone else: no Billy Boys, no Italians, no Jews, no nothing. Everything would be perfect, if only Mosley fucked right off and did not insist that fascism was the only way forward. The United Kingdom could not descend into the kind of chaos that warranted ghettos, mass murder, and work camps. No one in their right mind could vote for something like that, no one in their right mind could support something like that. That would be the worst possible mindset for the aftermath of the New York crash, and even someone who was borderline illiterate could see that. Besides, Tommy said so, and despite their grievances, Tommy was still the smartest of them.

Well, the answer was no: the nazis were not the only issue that needed dealing with. In fact, they weren't even the most pressing issue for the Shelbies and their personal safety. That award would go to Georgia Gold, better known as Gigi. She was made even more terrifying by the fact that no one had ever seen the youngest of the Gold clan, although they'd heard bits of information here and then. This time, though, they'd been told that Gigi, along with a group of five people, was making her way to Birmingham. An eighteen-year-old girl coming to a city was normal, as was bringing some friends along was.

Only Gigi Gold was not interested in partying. What she wanted was her father's corpse, and revenge. Revenge against the nazis? No. Revenge against whoever killed her father? Maybe. Revenge against the Billy Boys? No, that was dealt with. Revenge against the family which had gotten her father killed? Yes. That logic was probably flawed, but she obviously did not give half a shit. In her head, Aberama had been hired by the Shelbies, had even gotten engaged to one of them, and then had gotten killed while at their service. Same went for Bonnie, her only brother. Now, the average eighteen-year-old traveller woman knew her way around horses, but her main skill had to be pushing out healthy children. That being said, was this an impending threat? A serious threat on their lives? Well, yes, yes it was. Because Georgia Gold was classed as a psychopath by the good people of Swansea, where she used to camp out. The newspapers were obsessed with the creature, selling copy after copy with rumours and even with some truth, when something of the criminal sort happened.

Knowing the girl was on her way caused for a rush toward Shelby Manor: Finn ran, Arthur took his son Billy by car, and even Ada and Karl decided to come up from London.

"Why would she do this?" Ada asked, pacing around the living room, honestly thinking that it was all a bit too much. She'd read the news, and thought that it was hilarious that a person named Gigi caused such panic.

"She's daddy's girl" Arthur joked, choking on the ice on his whisky. "She is rotten on the inside. Far more rotten than her dad"

"Rotten?" Finn asked, clutching his gun to his chest, looking at the windows as if Gigi Gold herself was going to come in through there and kill them all on sight. "What do you mean, she's rotten on the inside?"

"He means she goes on killing sprees when she's bored, and bathes in childrens' blood" Arthur replied, sitting on an armchair, with his son on his lap. Only then did the oldest Shelby realise his own son, and other three of those present, were children. "It's a rumour, it's not true"

"Fucks sake, Arthur..." Ada sighed, head on her hands. "Of course she doesn't do that" she added to Karl, who looked like he was about to cry. As for Ruby and Charlie, they seemed to be numb, probably a bit too used to their father being threatened.

“She does though” Tommy muttered, so quietly only Arthur heard him. “Not children’s blood, but she does bathe in the bloody of people who’ve wronged her. And that would be us”

“I’ll take the children upstairs” Lizzie exploded, barely believing the depth of shit they were now in. If some crazy bitch laid one single nail on her children, Lizzie would be the one bathing in the blood of her enemies, and that was a fucking promise.

“What can we do?” Finn asked, clenching his hands into tight fists, as to not let anyone else see he was shaking. “Anything? Will she get us, no matter what we do?”

“No, no. We’re ready for her, and Johnny Dogs managed to get a message to her. Gigi will parlay, we’ll have a chance to remind her that we too suffered great loss, and that…”

Tommy didn’t get the chance to finish what he was saying: the sound of horses arrived to the Shelby Manor library, and every single one of them rose from their seats, but remained paralyzed, frozen in their place, not knowing what to do.

“Sir, there’s a… a… a young lady at the door. She says you’re expecting her” Frances informed. She had been told there was a group of people expected to arrive soon, but didn’t know anything else. Perhaps the only piece of information she possessed that none of the Shelbies did was the appearance of the visitor, which had made her hesitate before letting the shockingly young woman enter the manor.

“I am. Please, send her in” Tommy responded, smoothing his shirt over his chest, and giving his family a final look before Frances returned. Their hearts beat in synch, in a rapid pace, their palms wet with sweat. Even Tom, the confident head of the business, and of their family too, seemed nervous. She would’ve been searched at the door, there was no idea she could bring weapons to the inside of his home, she had said she would parlay; but what if it all went to shit? What if… what if one of them didn’t leave that library? What if Gigi Gold was every bit the monster she was made out to be, and what if she decided to make an example out of them, out of the children? It had been so stupid to keep the kids at the manor, they should’ve gone to Finn’s, to Arthur’s, to the betting shop, to Johnny Dogs’ camp, to Charlie, anywhere but under the same roof as Georgia…

“You must be the Shelby family. It is an honour to meet you in person, thank you for welcoming me into your home” Gigi Gold said, entering the room and stealing the oxygen from everyone’s lungs. She was young, had dirty blonde hair, that became bright red near the tips. Her limbs were slim, like she didn’t eat enough, and never had; she had eyes the colour of the sky on a sunny day, and lips the colour of blood. Whether it was makeup or not, it wasn’t important: she looked like she wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone do things that warranted protection.

“Georgia… or is it Gigi? Which one would you prefer?” Tommy asked, the only one capable of functioning normally, and of walking up to the visitor and shake her hand.

“Whichever you prefer, mister Shelby” Gigi replied, looking around with a mildly interested look on her face. Her eyes lingered on Ada, and then on Finn, who had never been more uncomfortable in the days of his life. Not only was the way she looked at him enough to instil pure fear in his heart, but she looked at his face first, only to move on to his neck next, probably plotting to bite him and suck his blood. “Are these your siblings?”

“Yes, yes they are. This is Ada, that’s Arthur, and here’s Finn” Tom explained, signalling each of them. “We had another brother, named John, but he passed away”

“My condolences” the young girl said, shifting her attention from Arthur to Tommy. He offered her a chair, and she took it, soothing her dress over her thighs. The garment was black, a bit worn down in some places, but well made, nonetheless.

“We extend the condolences to you, Georgia. For your brother Bonnie, and your father. He meant a great deal to us, and to my aunt Polly in particular. He was a true friend of this family, and he is greatly missed” Ada decided to go ahead and get it out of the way.

“Thank you” the visitor said, bowing her head slightly. Whether she wore heavy black because she was in mourning, or it was just her colour of choice, none of them knew; what was for certain was that, upon further inspection, it was slightly stained near the hem. “I came to your home to discuss the matter of my father’s corpse. I understand he’s been buried in Birmingham cemetery”

“He has” Tom nodded, convinced that the lavish tombstone would appease the man’s family. “I can take you to see his resting place, if you’d like”

“Yes, I would appreciate it, thank you. But Thomas, you understand that I didn’t come all the way from Wales to see my father’s tomb. I can see that you do, and your siblings too” Gigi warned, crossing her legs at the ankle, and looking down at her riding boots, before looking at each of the Shelbies, one by one, again.

“I understand that, and that’s why I asked you here, so we could talk, before any rash decisions are made”

“It took me well over a week to get here, Thomas; my decision has been pondered, and thoroughly discussed” she countered, hands on her lap. The two of them looked like they were discussing a business deal, and not whether or not Gigi could go ahead and butcher every single member of that family, men, women, and children.

“And what is your decision, may I ask?” Arthur interrupted, unwilling to be left out of that conversation. How was it possible that Tommy hadn’t killed Georgia the moment she had crossed his property line? Why were they still talking, instead of shooting her?

“Who murdered my father, Arthur Shelby?” Gigi asked, shifting her attention to the oldest Shelby, and silencing him with the look she shot him. He no longer wanted to talk, he no longer even wanted to be where he was; he wanted to pick up Linda and Billy, and run to the furthest possible place from Birmingham.

“We don’t know that, Georgia, but we are working on finding out who it was” Tommy informed, clutching his glass of whisky. “All we ask is for some patience, some collaboration even; once we find who it was who betrayed us and killed Aberama, we will hand him, or her, or them, to you”

“Mister Shelby, I don’t think you understand: don’t you think I’ve waited long enough? Haven’t I got enough questions? My sisters are broken, mister Shelby. My sister Esmeralda cannot get out of bed, such is her grief. Bonnie was a sweet boy, and my father may have had his flaws, but he gave us life, and brought us up. We had already lost our saint of a mother, and now we lost a brother and a father. How do you think I feel, to know I lost two family members the second they started working for you?” Gigi asked, not blinking one single time.

“Will killing us solve anything? Will killing us bring them back?” Ada responded, desperate to know whether she would have to live in fear for the rest of her life, or even if she would make it through the night.

“No, I don’t believe it will, Ada Shelby. But wouldn’t you want revenge against the people who put your family in harm’s way?”

“Oh, please! Your father was a killer for hire, little girl. He would’ve ended up dead whether he worked for us or not” Ada dismissed, waving her hand to emphasize her words. “And your brother, Bonnie? With the fights and all that? We didn’t force him into any of that, and he would’ve been gone sooner or later”

“We would rather it be later, than at twenty-two years of age. How old is your kid brother? That one there, with the gun. How old is he?” Gigi enquired, signalling Finn with her head.

“I’m twenty-one” the boy ended up responding, his voice hardly noticeable at all, such was the fear running through him. Finn wasn’t exactly the bravest of the Shelbies, nor was he the sharpest; but one thing he knew for sure: he had a gun, and if his life was in any type of danger, he would have to gather his strength and so something against that demon.

“How would you feel if I shot him dead, right now? Wouldn’t you want me dead, Ada? Wouldn’t it be lush to see me bleeding out on the floor? Wouldn’t you want to rip my heart out and eat it raw for dinner?” Gigi hissed, getting closer and closer to Ada, who couldn’t help but to notice that what seemed to be a red hair tint was actually a liquid, something sticking to the other woman’s hair, making it that colour. And there was really only one thing which smelled like that, that looked like that.

“Yes, I would. And it’s still not too late for me to see it, if you do as much as lift a finger to any of my family, I will have it done and dusted before the day ends” Ada threatened, crossing her arms in front of her chest and looking Gigi Gold right in the eyes.

“Oh, I would love to see that” Gigi herself uttered, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Why are you the only one with a pair of balls, eh?”

“Don’t parlay with a man if you want effectiveness, darling. Come to me, and we’ll find a way to get this over with, in a manner that serves the both of us”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #lmao I suck #fanfic #fanfiction

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 5 years

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Persephone | John Wick x Reader (Ten)

Words: 2427

A/N: How do I do this again? Sorry for the long wait, guys, and thank you for being patient with me. I wanted to finish the rest of the series before posting them and it took longer than I liked it to be. But it’s here. I hope you guys are still with me and I hope that the rest of the chapters were worth the wait.

Previously: Allies are reunited and new enemies are formed as you meet up with the Romanovas, an old ally from your past that wish to aid you, and discover a threat that had been brewing for some time. Gavriil Sokolov, a crime boss that had no involvement in the Underworld until he took over the syndicate from his father, sought to change the system in his favor by influencing other factions and turning on those who hold authority in the Underworld.

Persephone Series Masterlist

It had been months and John Wick was yet to be found. Winston was allowed to keep his post as the manager of New York’s Continental, but he was hiding something. The Adjudicator knew all too well that he and Wick go way back. But, that was an ongoing problem that they must deal with.

As they stare up at the charred remains of a tall building, owned by the Italian crime syndicate, Brunellos, that were led by a prime candidate for a seat at the Table, they had their resources scouring the area for evidence. Wars between houses and syndicates were a regular occurrence, something that must be dealt with swiftly along with the affiliated members of the High Table. This, however, had gone beyond the rules of the Underworld. This had killed innocent lives that were protected within the walls of this syndicate.

The people of the Underworld knew better than to use such methods that could involve civilians into their affairs. There was a line that separated the Underworld and the civilian world that must not be crossed in order to contain the violence and complex system under the Table and protect those that have no business in that system.

There were cases where civilians had been drawn into the Underworld, making deals with small factions, whether it was for money, power, or protection. There is no issue, unless it involved harming innocents or contracts were broken. The Adjudicator was reluctant to admit that that aspect was not as well monitored as they would like.

With criminals, there were the usual contracts and the Markers that meticulously logged in. With civilians making deals with criminals, it’s another thing. Criminals were all profiled, each official assassin accounted for in their database. Civilians were not. That means that there would rarely be any proof that the deals existed.

The faction that the Adjudicator hired to help them with the investigation and tracking down the perpetrator had found nothing but a single object from the wreckage that could give any leads.

A vorpal blade.

There were many assassins that preferred using blades like these, but this particular design could be none other than Persephone. Persephone who had gone silent for almost five years. Right now, the Adjudicator was leaving their options open, wanting to look into your whereabouts. While you were a knives kind of person, you were also known for gadgets and your involvement in this case were not as far fetch as far as evidence goes.

“Sokolov that bastard!” Rozaliya spat as she watched the news reporting the fire that went off, killing many of its residence.

Nastya sighed into her tea as her daughter began her pacing again. You were at a nearby table, sketching out new ideas for weapons while John had gone back to the Bowery King for further news of her contacts. Nastya had warned them about trusting the king, admitting that Caius is well known for keeping his word and is more trustworthy. The Bowery King, due to building his own kingdom from the ground up, still had the mentality of being outside of the regular Underworld system. A self-made man within a world filled with conglomerate heirs, as he would say.

Due to the Bowery King being your first source of regaining your footing, there were loose ends to be taken care of before you could distance yourself from him. His reasoning of helping you and John was so you could take down the High Table with him. It was an old system that needed reforming, and while he would nod to any plans that you could think of, he felt that your approach were slightly too passive for his liking.

“Yevgeni, could you send a message to the Instructor for me?” you asked the guard.

Yevgeni nodded. “What will it be?”

“Caius knows my former allies and had sent people to round them up. I want an update from them, but make sure that they steer clear from the Bowery as much as possible and also keep their eyes open for any houses making any contact with Sokolov.”

“I’ll be right on it,” he said, looking towards Rozaliya and Nastya to be dismissed.

Rozaliya was too fixated on the TV to notice, so Nastya gave a nod to Yevgeni. “Thank you, Yevgeni,” she said. Once her guard left, she placed her tea cup down and turned to you. “Will you be coming back even after this, or will you leave?”

You thought for a moment. “I’ve thought about it a couple of times and I still don’t exactly know. Travel? Live a simple life with a large greenhouse in the back? But I doubt that it’ll last. I mean, look at what happened to John. Have you two ever stop and wonder what life would be like outside of the Underworld?”

Rozaliya pulled her eyes away from the news and sat next to you. “I’ve come to believe that it’s something that’s crossed most people’s minds here in the Underworld,” she said, “For me, I was born in it, but I often wondered what it would have been like to live… normally. I always had men guarding me and learned how to hold a gun when I was young. The people I meet would be in danger if I were to get close to them, so I wasn’t allowed to make friends outside of this criminal world. It gets lonely being the daughter of a High Table member. Everybody tried to find ways to use me for their advantage.”

You could only imagine what it was like for her growing up. You had a relatively normal childhood until you were brought into the Underworld. From the first week under the Instructor, you learned not to trust everyone and keep your head low. You weren’t allowed to contact your parents or have any attachments to your previous life. Living under the Instructor was suffocating, the only sense of freedom were after you had finished a mission. Then you would have to go back to the theater and start it all over again.

“It was harder when my mother died,” Rozaliya continued, “My father didn’t know what to do and just focused on running the syndicate. When Nastya came around, I hated her, of course. This strange woman comes into our home and tries to take my mother’s place.”

Nastya snorted at the memory, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. “She did a background check on me and everything,” she said, almost fondly. “If you do decide to leave the criminal world, we’ll help you, no strings attached.”

“Thank you, but I don’t want to ask too much from you,” you said, looking down at your lap. “Do you think Ophelia killed my parents because I tried to leave?”

“Ophelia was an ambitious and stubborn woman, but she was also impulsive. As soon as she found out that you were breaking away from her control, she did what she thought would hurt you the most… (Y/n), are you trying to say that if you had remained compliant, your parents would still be alive?”

“I know it’s ridiculous. I should know better, yet my mind kept drifting back to it. I just… never mind.” You shake your head, wanting to change the subject. “When should we set up the meeting?”

“As soon as we know Sokolov’s next move and we know where your contacts stand.”

“What are the chances of the High Table working with us on this?”

Nastya sighed. “I’m sure they’re looking into the incident right now. If they call in a meeting with the other members of the Table, I’ll try to mention it, but they will want Rozaliya to answer for agreeing to help Sokolov in the first place.”

“Understandable. We just need our case to be strong.”

“Having John Wick with us would make it harder though,” Rozaliya said.

“Then we don’t tell them about John,” you countered with a shrug.

Rozaliya grimaced, looking towards Nastya for her input. Nastya folded her hands on her lap and let out a long breath. “It’s not going to be easy. We’re already risking it by speaking with him. Associating with an excommunicated assassin isn’t going to help our case,” she said.

“So what you’re saying is to leave him out of this,” you said, frowning.

“I appreciate that after coming back that you’d help with this Sokolov problem and want the High Table rules to be amended,” Nastya said slowly, “but what are you gaining in taking revenge on the High Table with John Wick?”

“I…,” you trailed off.

John was the one that brought you out of the Instructor’s hold, helping you remember and retraining your brain to be even better than its original condition. John and the Bowery King approached you with the idea of helping them and you had no personal qualms with the Table until the problem presented itself to you. After John tried to confront Caius on his own, the both of you agreed to communicate any future plans of that nature. To suddenly exclude John from your plans…

“I’ll let you think about it,” Nastya said, standing up, “I think you should take a step back and think of what you want, disregarding where we and John stand. You’ve had people telling you what to do and watching your every move for most of your life. Think about yourself and for yourself this time. Now, I should go and wait for news from the High Table.”

She walked towards the door, smoothing the back of Rozaliya’s head as she passed. Rozaliya briefly leaned into her touch and gave her a small smile. Once Nastya left, she turned the TV off and turned back to you.

“I know that you and John had grown attached, but I really want you to think about it, okay?” she said.

You nodded.

“I’m sorry, my friend. I wished we had reunited in better circumstances and I would have liked to see you safe and happy.”

“Maybe safe and happy doesn’t exist for people like us.”

Rozaliya gave a tight smile, wanting to disagree, but thought better of it. She had no proof that it did unless you played the game of power and deceit, which would only give you a shield, but not true happiness or protection. Instead, she pulled you in for a hug, resting her chin on your shoulder. In this world of criminals and assassins, friendship is one of the most valuable things a person could have and the both of you need it right now.

Things became more complicated with the reveal of Sokolov’s plans. The mission was no longer attacking the High Table, but stopping Sokolov from crumbling the Underworld to the ground. John was tempted to shoot Sokolov when he had the chance, but knowing that there were other syndicates allying themselves with him and would surely hunt him down. As much as John was good at hunting, he barely made it out alive the moment he was excommunicado.

The Soup Kitchen where the Bowery King and his people hid never felt like a safe haven, but coming back to it now made John’s nerves on edge. The Bowery King was particular about who he associated with and prideful for what he had single handedly accomplished. If things don’t go his way, he’ll shift his alliance and he would have no further use for you or John.

The vans outside of the Soup Kitchen already rings alarm bells. In the eyes of a casual bystander, they could be anything from maintenance or shipping supplies at an old building in the bowery district, but for those who knew better, it meant that the Bowery King was up to something. Whoever parked those vans in front either wants to stir up trouble or they have no idea what they’re dealing with. Possibly both.

He double checked the straps of his hidden blade before proceeding with caution. Approaching the entrance, two Bowery Boys were guarding the area, leaning against the cold brick walls and holding out empty mugs. They looked up and nodded at John, using their eyes to permit him entrance. The deeper he went, the more people he saw, going about their routines and making do with what the Adjudicator had not taken away from them. An errand boy of sorts, one that had frequently helped you in rounding up the correspondents of your allies, walked up to John.

“There’s something in the workshop that you should see first, Mr. Wick,” he said, turning without checking if he’d follow.

They made their way towards your makeshift workshop, the young man being the only one that you trusted to the keys and code of the door. He opened the door for John and held it for him to go in. John nodded, trudging in before turning back to him. He gestured to the desk before closing the door behind him. The young man positioned himself in front of the door, a gun tucked away beneath his tattered trench coat.

John heard a rustle from the corner, his hands reaching out for the desk lamp to reveal Cerberus waiting for him. The pitbull whined, bounding towards him with his tail wagging. John crouched down to pet him, wondering why Cerberus was locked in here.

He straightened out and searched your desk for anything out of the ordinary, using his blade to unlock the only sealed drawer, your blueprints and ideas tucked away. Underneath those, were a small stack of paper, all with different handwriting, and a scrawled note that said “Fridge Vault”.

John pulled everything out and skimmed through the papers, finding that they were responses from your contacts. Why were they kept here and you weren’t notified? He rifled through the scraps lying around and found a small bag for the papers.

There was a series of knocks, a tap code. Someone was coming. John quickly tucked the bag in his jacket and fitted Cerberus with the utility vest. He scanned the desk for anything else useful and found a wristwatch similar to your own. He put it on and led Cerberus to the door.

“About time I heard from you, John Wick,” the Bowery King said.

“There’s been a few complications,” John replied.

Four men in black suits walked up from behind and pointed their guns at him. Gavriil Sokolov strutted forward with a smirk, standing next to the Bowery King.

“And things are about to get even more complicated.”

Taglist: @venusgothic @weappreciatepower @anita-e-taylor @mikaneonox @sparrowsparrow @introvertedmegalomaniac @tomhardy41 @xmisssnowwhitex @red-pill-blue-pill

#John Wick #John Wick x Reader #John wick imagines #Persephone #Persephone P10 #keanu reeves imagines #Keanu Reeves #Im actually nervous posting again guys #I don't have the same energy as I had when I first started this series #But I hope that I was able to do it justice #I wanted to balance it in a way that when they gain an ally new conflict emerges

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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By the king’s hand 🐍 XV

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence, trauma, allusions to torture.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The trial begins and takes it toll on those involved.

Note: Chapter fifteen already?! I dunno what I’m doing but it’s happening. Everyone it’s happening! Hahah. I’m having too much fun. Also call out to @lokislastlove because you know she fuels the fire too much.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your days formed a pattern. You woke as the king readied for the day ahead. When he left, Hal remained and kept you company. He helped you with your letters or read from you from his code of honour. You sewed or reclined on the chaise as you listened. Sometimes, you spoke of yourselves; the boy hadn’t the sense to be secretive but he was young and had little intricacy to his character.

When the king returned, he dismissed the boy. Often, he took his pleasure. You could do little but let him in hopes of keeping him pleasant; of avoiding a fight you couldn’t win. Other nights, he merely sat and thought, a few words offered on his inner turmoil. It was a peculiar, if not absurd, routine; the two of you in denial of the past as the present bore down on you.

A week passed. It felt longer and shorter all at once. Time seemed warped in your mind since your return to the palace. But you felt the changes inside of you. Your hunger grew insatiable and the nausea more persistent. Your emotions swelled and swayed between despair and anger; between buoyancy and blight. And as you were kept in better condition, your flesh began to soften and even after a few days, you noticed how you began to grow.

That day, you felt unready. You’d been awake for much of the night after a knock came at the door. Loki went to attend to his visitor and returned with jarring news. Thor had arrived in the capital and had been secured in his royal prison. His trial would commence within days.

Loki was restless too though he would not admit it. He lay beside you and feigned sleep. You stared up at the top of the bedpost and found it difficult to get comfortable. To think that Thor was just across the green in Boulder Tower. It was a trap meant for noble criminals, a historic landmark that had held traitors since the early days of the kingdom. You just didn’t believe it could hold Thor. Nothing could. In your mind, he was unstoppable.

You said little to the king before he left you that morning. His mind was on his brother, as yours was. Even Hal could not lift the gloom from you as he appeared with his usual smile. You ate with the boy and he helped you to the chaise as you grew weary from your fitful night. He sat at your feet and listened as you recited your letters.

“You remembered them all,” he beamed.

You smiled. It felt ridiculous but you were just as proud of yourself. You went through your letters every night after Loki was done with you. You repeated the sounds in your head as Hal had shown you and though your progress was slow, it was better than none.

You were silent as you struggled to keep your mind on the lessons. You hadn’t the energy to take up your needle and you found yourself fidgeting until Hal touched your ankle. You yawned and propped yourself up on your elbows.

“My lady, I can tell you are distracted,” he prodded.

“I am,” you dropped back and sighed. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t sleep and I cannot stop thinking of…” You couldn’t say the words and so you only shook your head.

“The prince?” He ventured. “I did see them escort him to the tower last night. They had him chained and… I never saw him look so worn.” Hal almost whispered, “And angry. I admit I did not sleep much, either.”

Your lip trembled and you covered your face with your arm. You might start sobbing if you thought of the prince too long. You could not do so without feeling his cold grip on your body, feeling his intrusions over and over, hearing his raw voice as he mocked you.

“Do you believe they can bring him to justice?” You asked. “That the king could ever rein in his own brother?”

“I know that the king is clever and that he would not proceed if he did not have some plan,” Hal said, “And I pray that Prince Thor is dealt with swiftly and rightly.”

You sniffed and flung your arm away from your head. You sat up and frowned. “Hal,” you said softly, “I wouldn’t think that the king feels much more for me than shallow want but… he might resent me for whatever becomes of his brother. Might resent the child inside of me.” You lowered your head, “I feel awfully alone and frightfully lost.”

“The king… no, it isn’t your fault,” Hal said. “You couldn’t--”

“Promise me,” you breathed and looked up meekly, “If this child is born and I am not kept around to see it grow, that you will look in on it. For me.”

“What do-- You are its mother, you will be there.”

“I am a peasant. I am a bed warmer, not a wife. I haven’t rights, even though I bear the seed myself.” You blinked away the tears, “I have no one else. You must see that in my absence, that this child is well.”

Hal gulped and nodded. His youth struck you and made you feel terribly for what you asked of him. You drew your legs down and sidled over to him. You touched his slender hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry, Hal.”

“No, I think I am sorry.” He replied. “I haven’t listened to you. I forget…” He chewed his words, “I… sometimes, I find myself believing that you and the king, that you are his wife and that he is happy with you.” He inhaled deeply, “It is unfair of me to think of it as such because I know of all he’s done. It is only that I cannot understand it. I love the king but I do not love what he does.”

“I don’t understand it either,” you muttered, “I don’t think I can.”

He looked at you and his boyish cheeks paled. “How can you not? You are the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

You laughed, grimly. You touched his shoulder and retracted your hand as you stood. “Then, if you think me wise, listen to me. Do not try to understand the king or the prince or men like them. Only learn from them. Do not become them. Hal,” you turned back to him and clutched your hands, “Don’t let them take your decency.”

His eyes rounded and he rubbed his hands together as he thought. He hung his head. “My mother…” he spoke so quietly you could barely hear him, “She died birthing me. I never knew her and my father wanted me away so bad. The king, he has been the only constant in my life and I never questioned him before.”

“And you shouldn’t. There are things he can teach you. For all his cruelty, you can learn to be kind. For all his trickiness, you can learn to be honest. For all his sins, you can learn good deeds.” You swayed on your feet and hugged yourself, “And maybe one day, he will have the grace to learn from you.”

Hal’s eyes were glossy. He stood so quickly you hadn’t time to react before his arms were around you and his face was buried in your shoulder. Stunned, you slowly untwined your arms and hugged him in turn. You held him until he drew back, his face rosy with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accost you.” He rubbed his cheek.

“No, you didn’t,” you found it hard not to weep at the realisation that this boy had likely never been embraced thus. “Don’t apologise.” You drew him back and rocked him in your arms. “You’re a good boy, Hal, and you will be a great man.”

🐍

The prince’s trial commenced three days after his arrival in Boulder Tower. Loki didn’t touch you the night before and left without disturbing you. You woke, confused and alone. You spent much of your day over a basin, spilling your guts as the anxiety added to your sickness.

That night, the king remained silent. You caught him staring at you but he looked away quickly each time you did. You sat and sewed the hem of the nightshirt meant for your child. The tail was closed to keep the child’s legs warm and the collar was to be embroidered as a final touch.

You laid down but Loki did not. You fell asleep after some time but did not sink far into slumber. You awoke as a log clacked into the hearth and the king’s shadow retreated into the front chamber again. You rolled over and slept some more. You woke and rose to relieve yourself before peeking in on the king.

Loki had the nightshirt in his hands and traced the stitches with his thumbs. He grumbled to himself and replaced it where you’d left it hanging from a hook. He rubbed his eyes and sat heavily at the table. His hand balled into a fist and he hit the wood. You backed away before he could see you and hid yourself in the bed once more.

When the morning came, Loki still wasn’t abed. You heard the door and Hal’s voice permeated the early lull. “Your majesty,” he whispered and the king grunted, “It is time.”

You listened to the movement in the next chamber and the boy came to retrieve clean attire for the king. You pretended to doze as he did, your ears pricked as you tucked your chin down beneath the covers. The rustle of cloth and tinkle of metal followed.

“Weeks. It will be weeks.” Loki uttered. “Will I ever be done with my fool brother?”

Hal said nothing. He wasn’t expected to. He listened to the king’s qualms and went about his duty.

“Distract the woman,” he slithered, “Let her not think of Thor or the rest of my troubles. Birger will be at hand if you require him.”

The door opened and closed not long after. You realised that Hal was more than a placeholder, he was to keep you from asking questions. You didn’t want to dwell on Thor and all he’d done to you, but you hated to feel as if you knew nothing. Did you not deserve to hear of the fate of your worst tormentor?

You sat up and dressed in a dark blue gown. You washed your face from the basin and pulled on fur-lined slippers before you strode through to the front room. Hal read, a covered plate awaited you on the table. He bid you good morning and you sat and ate the hearty breakfast. It did little too soothe the ache of your stomach.

As the morning turned to noon, you took out the papers from the desk drawer and practiced your writing. Hal watched and helped you spell out simple words; table, chair, desk, your name, and his. When it came to Loki’s name, you dropped the pen and turned to glare at the boy.

“Tell me what you know of the trial.” You insisted.

“The trial?” He repeated, “Well, not much, I’ve been here with you, my lady.”

“Yes, but you’ve time without. You have friends in the palace. You are close to the king.” You tapped your fingers impatiently, “So tell me what keeps him so quiet.”

“I…” Hal sputtered and wrung his hands. “I don’t know if I should--”

“What do you think I’ll do? Surely I won’t say it to him. But… I am bored in here and kept ignorant. I deserve to know, for my peace of mind. Don’t you think?”

Hal huffed and fidgeted as he tried to come up with some argument. “Promise you won’t say a word.”

“I haven’t a particular urge to face the king’s wrath,” you said, “So?”

“The trial’s only just open,” he straightened the stack of parchment as he spoke, “Witnesses will not be heard for at least another week. As of now, they’ve only sworn in the prince and begun to review the evidence.” Hal poked his cheek with his tongue, “I had it from one of the servants in attendance that the prince threatened to choke each judge with his bare hands and lastly, the king.”

“He threatened them? At his own trial?” You gasped.

“He is angered that they took his wife and child. He swears he is framed and that the people will not let him be convicted on false charges.” Hal looked at you, “And as they began to present the evidence, he grew angrier. He attacked a guard and the session was ended early.”

You gaped at him. “Do you think he is right? That the people will harry behind him?”

“Who knows? He was king once but the council wasn’t entirely distraught to hear of his resignation. And King Loki has since tidied up much of the mess he left.” Hal scratched his chin, “There will be some loyalists but enough to save him? I hope and think not.”

You mulled over the revelations. Loki’s detached manner made more sense, and you admitted, was a blessing. You could not handle both the stress of the prince’s proximity and the king’s unyielding desire.

“I hope not, as well,” you said at last. “I won’t mention any of it to the king.”

🐍

Loki said less and less as the days passed. Some nights, he slept beside you, others you found him snoring in the chair as the fire dwindled. Aside from Hal, you felt terribly alone. It was as if you were living with a ghost. You might not long for his attentions but you were troubled by his silence.

A week after the trial began, you were woken by a sudden yank on the blanket. Loki stood by the bed and stared down at you. He lifted a brow and beckoned you with two fingers. He turned as you sat up and retrieved a stack of clothing from the low bench. He dropped it beside you and crossed his arms.

“Get dressed. You will break your fast and come with me,” he ordered.

You lifted the tunic, a dull grey embroidered with silver. The trousers were black and thick, and the boots were too big for you. “And covered your head,” he tossed a cap at you, “Try not to sway as a lady would.”

“What? I don’t--”

“Do as I say, mouse, all will make sense soon,” he backed away and left you in the flickered of a single lamp.

You pulled on the tunic, loose enough for your stomach and tied up the breeches as well as you could. You slid into the boots and tucked the cap into your pocket. You found the king chewing on a rasher and sat to eat with him. His long fingers were restless between bites and his forehead wrinkled in thought.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth and hands and took the cap from your pocket. He pulled it over your hair and gave you a dark cloak. “Keep your head down,” he led you to the door and you found Hal waiting in the corridor. “Go with the boy.”

“I don’t--”

He shushed you and pointed a single finger at you. “Wait. We will discuss after.” He snipped. “Keep quiet and don’t make a scene.”

Confused and too tired to resist much more, you followed Hal away from the king. You were nervous that you might not return to the chamber. That perhaps you might be taken some place where you would see only your own shadow. Had the king finally decided to be rid of you? The thought was not entirely dreaded but you would hate to be confined further.

As you were led out into the snowy yards, you were further disoriented. Hal helped you up into a carriage and sat across from you silently. You asked where you were going and he only shook your head as he gave a helpless look.

You pulled up outside a pillared facade with ancient statues. You hesitated as you descended the step onto the ground. It was the theatre. The trial was being held there, as Loki said, and you realised what was happening.

“What?” You grasped Hal’s wrist. “No, I can’t-- the prince--”

“Is restrained. By chain and by guard.” Hal assured. “He won’t even know you’re here, my lady.”

You shuddered and clung to Hal. “Why am I here?”

“To see. To listen.” He said cryptically. “I won’t leave you, alright?”

You nodded and braced yourself. You let go of him and followed him through the wide doors. You were guided up a flight of narrow stairs and into a balcony meant for the aristocratic patrons of the stage. You sat beside hall on the fine bench and peered out between the curtains.

The council members streamed in and filled the seats along a dais and the judges sat on the stage, a single stool at the centre for the witness. The doors opened to let in the audience, both common and noble, and they filled the benches meant for purveyors of a much less grave show.

The jury entered next, followed by the king, and order was called by the judge who sat at the center of the triarch. A hush went over the buzzing crowd and a staunch and dire tension filled the air.

Finally, the prince himself was shown in with chains at his hands and throat. He was sat in the box before the rows of benches to face his crimes. He was seething though his appearance bore evidence of his exhaustion. You reached to hall and squeezed his hand.

Loki sat with his head high as the judge began the proceedings and handed it over Lord Mariton, who was chosen to prosecute the case.

You weren’t entirely certain of what was going on and you leaned forward as you listened. Commoners were seen in the lower courts and often the disputes were over property and swiftly cycled through. You had never seen anything so… big. The scene could not be anything less than historic.

“The court will proceed from the last day’s activity. We continue down our list of witnesses and having heard from servants and lesser, we would call on our more reliable voices this day. We would call to the stand a conspirer in the prince’s plot.” Mariton strode along the edge of the stage, “One Magnus Dorson. The king’s former guard.”

Your breath caught deep in your chest and your head swam. You gripped Hal’s entire arm and let out a pathetic whimper. The boy touched your hand. “My lady, I’m here.”

“How-- When?” You gasped, “He--”

You gaped down from the balcony as the doors beside the stage opened and a silhouette appeared. The former guard entered with his head down between two others. His broad shoulders slumped like a beaten dog and he limped heavily as he was shoved up the steps of the stage. He was forced into the witness box and sat in the chair with a thump.

Even from a distance, you could see all that had been done to Magnus. His eye was swollen, his lip split, and half his face was off-kilter. You barely recognized him but it could be no other. You brought your hand to your mouth as tears trickled from your eyes.

You couldn’t focus as Mariton swore in Magnus and you shook your head as you felt it hard to breathe. Your eyes kept bouncing between Magnus and Thor. The prince was visibly shocked at the site of his accomplice as the other man seemed barely able to see through his swollen eye.

“You served the king for how long?” Mariton began lightly.

You stared at Magnus. Waited for that voice, the one that haunted you, and when it came, it was brittle and broken. You looked at the king. He turned and met your gaze, though likely he could not see you past the shadows. He nodded and for an instant, his lips curved.

“Since his father’s reign. Almost five years.” Magnus hissed and shifted in pain.

“And when, in those five years, did you decide to betray him?”

Magnus sniffed and choked. He cough and a splotch of red spattered across his hand. He shook his head and swallowed.

“I never wanted-- The prince came to me. He said that he required an ear in the king’s presence. He said he was kept from courtly business though he only gave up the crown, not his nobility. I thought it harmless--”

“But you divulged royal business to the prince? The king’s business.” Mariton insisted.

“I… I did but--”

“And when the prince used this information and decided that he would reclaim the throne he willingly gave up on admittance of his own incompetence, you did not warn the king?”

Magnus coughed again. “No.”

“In fact, you left the palace on the Prince’s orders to carry out his will? His conspiracy?”

“Y-yes,” Magnus answered and kept his head down.

“So you admit your treason.”

“I-- I do,” Magnus’ voice crackled and he winced as he raised his shackled hands to touch his face. “I did it. I betrayed the king. I intended on handing over his throne to his brother. And the prince…” He shuddered, “The prince wanted a war.”

The audience broke out in a chatter. The king sat stoically and the jury huddled to whisper. The judges looked to each other and shouts echoed off the high ceilings.

“Traitor!” A shoe flew from the rabble and hit the prince. “Cunt!”

“Order!” A judge cried out and hit the floor with his staff. “Order!”

You covered your face at the chaos. Your mind erupted as you rocked and tried not to think of those dark days. Thor roared back at the maddened audience and you sobbed. Your entire body was racked with your dismay as you leaned against Hal.

“They can’t-- They can’t know I’m here! They’ll hurt me!” You whined into his tunic, “They’ll hurt me. Hurt me. Hurt…”

Hal rubbed your back and hushed you and he cooed in your ear. “My lady, they cannot. They will not. They are chained. They are caught.” He whispered. “Please, my lady, breathe.”

“Take me away,” you begged. “Take me away now.”

The boy held you and carefully helped you to your feet. You clutched his arm as you feared you would stumble and he took you back down the stairs. He ushered you to the carriage and you stumbled inside. He shut the door behind him and sat with you on the bench as you covered your face and continued to weep.

He hit the ceiling of the carriage and it jerked as the wheels groaned and churned through the slush. Hal touched your shoulder and rubbed your arm as you continued to blubber. You barely noticed the city as it passed you by. You weren’t there; you were in that room below the butcher’s shop, waiting for them.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #by the king's hand #mcu #marvel #au #medieval au #king!loki #thor #oc #magnus #dark thor #dark!thor

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dndplus · 6 years

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In-Depth: Villains, Part 2

Again, if you’re hear to learn about making a villain for your adventure/campaign and you’re a newer, less experienced DM, I highly recommend you look at my posts titled ‘Getting Started’ first, specifically the ones about making an adventure.

They can be found here:

Getting Started: Making An Adventure, Part 1 Getting Started: Making An Adventure, Part 2

If you’re here and have not looked into Part 1 of my In-Depth on Villains, it can be found here:

In-Depth: Villains, Part 1

Hello again!

We’re picking up right where we left off with the steps I laid out in Part 1. They are:

Motive, Station, Mentality, Ability (Essentially, all of Part 1)

Introducing the Villain to Your Party (We’ll start here)

The Villain’s Lackeys

Evolution

The Hill They Die On

Most of the actual “Creating” happened in part 1 with identifying a villain’s MSMA. This is only a small part of a villain, though. Having a good one made does little if they way they’re presented and used isn’t also done appropriately. For some, simply being a menacing figure is at the end of your dungeon is enough. That said, you can’t simply having one basic, menacing figure after the next over a twenty level campaign, can you?

Introducing the Villain to Your Party

This is important, make no mistake. When the party first meets the villain is just as important as when they kill it (assuming the villain doesn’t win, of course).

There are several things to consider when you introduce the villain, but the MSMA of that villain go a long way in helping you determine the details. Here’s a few basic introductions to start:

1. The Guy At the End

This is the most basic of all introductions. Essentially, an NPC in need of help will describe the villain to the players, and the players will run into them at the end of their dungeon and fight to the death. Believe it or not, as basic as this is, it can be compelling even for a campaign’s BBEG.

I recall a specific example here of an Aboleth who worked so secretly that discovering his name was an event of enormous importance in the campaign. He was never seen (or interacted with) until the very final confrontation. Rather, the players dealt with a legion of spies (in the form of Deep Scions) that acted as the main source of their player-to-villain interaction.

For simpler villains, you really can just stick them at the end of the dungeon and call it a day. The scale may go up as your players increase in level, such as in who gives them the task, and what they’re there to accomplish, but at the end of the day there’s always room for a simple “they’re the guy at the end” situation.

2. The Power That Be

A powerful politician. A corrupt member of the military or guard. The ruler of an evil kingdom. This villain is best introduced to the players through their importance to the region, without any mention to the fact that they’re to be an enemy in the future. This builds precedence, and creates drama when their involvement becomes that revelation to really kick things off down the line. It fits will with the noble-as-a-thief trope I went into detail on in Part 1.

In some cases, this villain meets with the players directly before the two groups turn adversarial. They could be someone the players report their heroic deeds to, and are thus congratulated and even rewarded. They could be a person of importance they bump elbows with while at a gathering for the rich and powerful, whether it be for something completely unrelated or not. Regardless of what you do, when this chance meeting happens, I advise finding a way to show the villain isn’t entirely genuine. This could be as blunt as them being mean to a servant, or dismissive of plights of people they think of as ‘beneath them’, but it can also be more subtle than them. The villain could be trying too hard to appear kind to the players, such as by offering favors and help should the players ever need this. This approach is particularly devious, as your players will never turn down a favor from someone who seems powerful (especially if it seems like going to them is what you intend for them to do in teh future). In this way, you create a situation where the players learn of a plot by the villain without knowing who it is yet, and thus delivering their involvement directly to the villain themselves.

3. The Old Evil

Some villains have a history of being a villain. They enact schemes meant to disrupt life for good folk and cause disorder wherever they go. They may also be a great, roaming beast that’s awoken from a thousand year slumber that the players will need to assemble help against. Regardless of your particular brand of ‘ancient, terrible evil’, you can be certain to evoke an entirely different atmosphere when you introduce this villain through a story reminiscent of the Boogey Man.

Of course, how you reach the ‘ghost story introduction’ of your villain is important as well. Show the players the effects of the villain first, such as a village in ruins at the hands of their methods, or if the villain isn’t meant to pay off until much later, put the players IN the event that terrorizes a village/city/kingdom.

In Conclusion...

Regardless of how you choose to introduce the villain, and there are obviously more than the three I gave you to get started with, remember that your villain is unique. Two different villains with the same introduction should play out differently, sometimes even drastically so. A cocky, arrogant noble is going to be blithely charismatic, whereas a cold, uncaring sociopath who cares nothing for his people will likewise be a stalwart and serious individual.

The Villain’s Lackeys

This applies to every villain, even ones without ‘actual’ lackeys. I know that may seem strange, but we’ll get that particular type of villain in a moment...

For starters, consult your villain’s MSMA. Their station as a crime lord is going to put the criminal element front and center as far as lackeys is concerned. In contrast, a warlock may have deep sea monstrosities, wicked fae, or terrible fiends at their disposal. A crime lord who’s also a warlock might have both.

How do you handle that situation, though? Typically, the beings of a patron’s background (in the case of a warlock) are of a higher power level than commonplace thugs. In this scenario, your crime boss might employ a wide variety of thugs, bandits, and the like, and have a single, somewhat powerful fiend/fey/eldritch horror as a sort of ‘mid-boss’ to the adventure.

Some villains don’t really have minions, but may live in places that are simply fraught with danger. A Behir lives in a secluded cave, one that’s particularly hard to reach, and could have any arrangement mountain monsters between the players and itself. This could be a contingent of trolls, or a group of stone giants. It’s important to understand these aren’t true lackeys, of course. In the instance of a villain like this, the players will be able to sneak by whatever stands between them and their intended target, which can drastically alter the course and pacing of an adventure.

More significant villains are going to employ a greater variety of minions, including other villains! Keep this in mind when you have two greater villains operating in a similar realm, as a ‘mid-boss’ type, lesser villain can be the thread that ties the two together.

Other villains have far less complicated lackey situations, but ones that should still be heavily considered. Liches and necromancers, for instance, will employ the undead. It’s important to know a lot about undead minions when you select what they command, though. Some liches may have apprentices who weren’t quite up to the task of achieving lichdom themselves, which would create a Boneclaw. Other liches might have a Cadaver Collector employed, which suggests that they are mechanically inclined, a fact that can be reflected in their lair and the traps they employ later. Finally, a particularly sadistic and wicked lich may be host to a Devourer, suggesting a connection to the Demon Lord of Undeath Orcus himself!

A villain’s lackeys tell a story about the villain themselves, as well as what they do and what they might become. In that vein, we move on to...

Evolution

This section will be short, but it’s important. It does not apply to minor villains, as they are meant to come and go in a short period of time. Moderate and major villains, however, can be the focus of multiple adventures. Their schemes, as well as their defeats, can shape how they present in the later segments of an adventure.

A villain who succeeds in stealing a powerful object may acquire new abilities, or perhaps that same villain kidnaps a renowned tinker and adds mechanical wonders to its list of lackeys.

On the contrary, a villain who is defeated may set itself up to better counter the players’ own abilities, or retreat to a place where it is more powerful.

This can happen in reverse, as well. Players may simply find a villain becomes more nuanced and dangerous as they grow closer. The tactics used to achieve victory may prove less effective as time goes on, or they could reach a point where they need to evolve by finding outside help.

Whatever the case, always be mindful of how the successes and failures of your villain are going to shape their actions. It keeps things from becoming stale, and empowers the notion that the players are fighting a specific character, and not just ‘whatever the DM throws at them that session’.

The Hill They Die On

Another short section, and the one we’ll conclude on. There are scenarios where your players will kill a villain before you planned to have them die, and that’s fine.

Applaud your players for pulling something like that off, whether it be because they were exceptionally clever, or your own inexperience made it possible. It’s at this moment I’ll say something I may not have said yet: always be ready for the next adventure. If your players pull off a surprise victory ahead of schedule, knowing what their next adventure is to be and letting them find their way to it will allow you time to finish the session without canceling too early. This will then give you time to prepare assets and properly build the entirety of that next adventure.

Unexpected scenarios aside, your villain has a limit. There is both a point in time when the villain must truly ‘lose’, and when your players will yearn for something new. There are a few ways to do this, but what’s most important is to understand their motives.

A necromancer looking to learn about the undead will die on the hill of ‘backed into a corner with nowhere to go’. It’s not significant, but a necromancer of that sort is not a significant villain. A necromancer working tirelessly, maybe even selflessly, to use profane magics to resurrect a loved one will sooner die before let the players foil their plot, and that is the hill they die on.

Some villains will still try to escape after their plot is foiled, only to find they have nothing once truly beaten. This villain may fade into obscurity, beaten but not dead, or that villain may develop a personal vendetta against the players. That adventure finds the players as targets, with the villain pushed to their absolute limit as they attempt to assassinate the players in a murderous rage with no regard for their own well being.

Villains have an expiration date; a period of time where their involvement as the players’ main antagonist is interesting. You can save them if you want, keep them alive to be used as a lackey to a greater villain, perhaps purely to strike at the players out of spite, but they are still no longer the main antagonist in that scenario.

I end this post here, on this somewhat dour note, because you may feel particularly proud of a villain. That’s great, be proud, and even keep that villain for later. A villain in one campaign can come back in another as an undead, or a devil, or after some other grisly transformation, and when they do they’ll be interesting again. What’s most important for now is that you say goodbye and congratulate your players when they triumph, and then get excited as you start the MSMA for the next villain they’ll love to hate.

#D&D #D&D 5e #D&D&EE #Dungeons and Dragons #Dungeon Master #Dungeon Master Tutorial #Dungeon Master Guide #Villains #DM #GM #BBEG #DM Tutorial #Campaign #Campaigns #Adventures

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abreedoftheirown · 5 years

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@wholesome-smut liked for a thing from Gar.

New house different city, but same old bad guys mucking up the streets. Striking out on his own had been a difficult choice for Gar. Don’t get him wrong, he loved his team, but it was about time he’d struck out on his own. Of course his team hadn't been happy about it either however is mind had been made up. It was simply something beast boy felt like he needed to do. Green fathered wings flapped as he soared over large skyscrapers, Gar taking the form of one of the fastest birds in the animal kingdom; the paragon falcon. Scouting and getting to know the area was one of the first tasks he’d set for himself once moving to the city a week ago. Just when he was about to head back home though, something caught his eye below. Wait, was that who he thought it was? Red and blue tights? Spider symbol? It had to be. Not to mention it totally looked like they were kicking some serious bad guy ass. Diving down with alarming speed, a loud screech tore out of his bird form, Gar landing on one of the enemies eyes and clawing at their face, ultimately making him stumble and knock himself out. Talk about a stream of good luck. Noticing that all the criminals were dealt with, he quickly shifted to his human form. A huge excited grin spreading across his face as he practically beamed. “You’re that spiderdude! Sick suit man. Where can I get me one of those?”

#gar once again forgetting he is completely naked #wholesome-smut #q

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diddykongfan · 6 years

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(my heart is a kaleidoscope)

arc one, dark kingdom/dark curse, 3/?

in which Emma’s pursuit of staying in Storybrooke (and her search for information on the other Guardians) begins in earnest, David is not in a coma, and we get our first glimpse at one of the other Guardians - Aurora, as it happens. Also, Graham POV and a Tuxedo Mask appearance, and a second battle that proves I can’t, as yet, write action sequences.

With Henry at school, her mind made up to stay in town, and the knowledge that attacks are more likely to happen at night – yesterday’s mid-afternoon attack being the rare exception rather than the rule, at least according to the kid who is her only source of information in all of this – there’s not much that Emma can actually do other than peruse the classifieds in the paper for items number one and two on her list of priorities; a place to stay other than Granny’s, someplace where she can come and go from, both to fight monsters and to find the other girls out of town, without raising too many suspicions, and a part-time job while she’s in town. Again, something that she can come and go from without raising too many questions.

She does this seated once more at the counter of the diner, nursing a mug of hot cocoa with cinnamon; places like this are the best places to get to know a small town. Her position allows her to observe the people that come and go, to see Storybrooke and get a feel for the town and its residents, without raising undue suspicion or drawing too much attention to herself.

She is, for all intents and purposes, a tourist, until it’s known that she’s staying. A tourist in the diner? Even if tourists are as rare as it has been suggested, in Storybrooke, a tourist in the diner is practically normal. At least as far as most small-tourism-towns are concerned, and Storybrooke certainly seems to believe it’s a small tourism town – if the picturesque-but-outdated atmosphere and lack of major industry are anything to go by, anyway.

And while she could just as easily browse the paper in the privacy of her rented room, well… It’s a nerve center. Possibly the nerve center of the town.

Everybody needs to eat. Cooking for themselves? Optional, especially when there’s a so much easier alternative available.

It’s basic human nature, because people get busy, or lazy, or bored, or lonely, and they go out to eat instead of staying home and cooking, and, yes, she might be exploiting it a little. But there’s not a better way to get the lay of the land around here, even if Henry is right and most of the town is clueless about the way things truly are – and she needs to start getting a feel for the routine of this place if she’s going to stay.

It’s not a good sign that within an hour, she’s discovered that, in the morning edition at the very least, there are no jobs, apartments, or other rentals in the classifieds of the paper.

None. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Zero.

That was the most obvious place to start that part of her search, and the lack of anything is… Not encouraging. To put it mildly.

“You’re not going to find whatever it is you’re looking for in the Mirror,” the waitress, Ruby, speaks, clearly addressing Emma – as there’s no one else around with the paper – pausing as she works on brewing a fresh pot of coffee. Yes, she’d come to that conclusion herself. “It’s just a biased trash rag.”

That was not a conclusion she’d come to – though, admittedly, aside from the article on the attack, she’s only read the sparse classifieds. Half a dozen times, to confirm she hadn’t missed a listing that would happen to be exactly what she’s looking for.

“How so?” The article on the attack had been as factual as it probably could be, given the circumstances. Most of the witnesses had still been unconscious when Emma left, and a kid crying monster is easy to dismiss as traumatized, however truthful their story might be, mysterious heroes captured on film and all.

“The editor, Sydney. He’s completely in the mayor’s pocket. If she wants mud slung, he’s the one that does it. And come on, you can’t have missed the puff piece about her under the fold. Hate to call the robbery a good thing, but if it hadn’t come along then Regina would have been the headline. Just like every day.”

Ah. That kind of biased trash rag. And if Regina holds the paper, she probably has more sway than she should over other departments of the town as well. Seeing how the investigation of the “robbery” goes will be a clue as to her hold on the local law enforcement.

Though – it could always be worse. The kid’s testimony about Sailor Moon could have been brushed aside in its entirety to paint her as the attacker instead of the one to fight the attacker back, making her into public enemy number one.

“I wouldn’t expect that level of corruption to reach the classifieds?” Honestly, she can’t quite see how the mayor controlling the news – or at least having a sycophant in charge of the news outlet, because if she fully controlled it letting the article calling Sailor Moon a hero run wouldn’t make any sense – relates to that part of the paper at all. But there’s no way Ruby didn’t notice where in the paper her attention was focused – and she still brought it up.

“That’s not corruption. I’m not sure any of it is, precisely. Still, whether Sydney’s actually corrupt or just eager to please his crush, the classifieds is just… Storybrooke. There’s nothing here. This place is nothing. Nobody’s gonna move or anything. Why bother?” And the woman shakes her head, looking entirely disgusted with the situation. Even with the forewarning from Henry that everyone is miserable here, she hadn’t quite expected that sort of open bitterness, not really.

But that’s what she’s here to fix, right? The reason that she can transform, the reason that Henry even bothered coming to find her. That bitterness, that misery and unhappiness, Sailor Moon is supposed to be able to do something about it.

Which is a pressure that she didn’t want or need in her life, but by now she’s somewhat used to the fact that things don’t go the way that would be most convenient for her. She can deal with this, just like she’s dealt with everything else she’s been handed – and at least this time, there’s the promise of finding out where she comes from at the end of it all.

“And if I was interested in finding a place to stay of my own here in town?”

“Like… Staying for the kid?” Ruby raises an eyebrow in her direction, her tone barely masking her bafflement at the idea of someone wanting to stay in Storybrooke. “You could just extend your stay at Granny’s indefinitely. You’re not gonna find a house. There’s a couple apartment buildings in town, but if they have anywhere for rent… Well, you’d actually have to go down there to find out. They know they’re not getting anyone by putting it in the paper. No one comes here. Let alone moves here.”

There’s a thinly-veiled run while you have the chance in that sentence, but Emma ignores it. The chance pretty much left her the moment she took the bait and tried to transform to prove that she couldn’t – and was wrong.

“Yeah, for the kid,” she agrees, even though that’s only part of it. It’s the path of least resistance, in getting people to stop questioning why she’d be willing to come to Storybrooke. It’s convenient, and there is truth to it – no matter how much else is at play. “And if you have any tips about jobs, those would be appreciated.”

“The arcade,” Ruby answers her, not even pausing to think. “It’s on Park, a couple blocks north. David needs help there, even if he doesn’t know how to ask for it.”

…

“Crescent Beam!”

The shouted attack catches its unsuspecting target off-guard, giving their unseen assailant the upper hand – foe blinded by the flash of light that her magic created, the urban legend known as Sailor V manages to get close enough to her target to actually physically knock them out.

Legally speaking, she’s a vigilante, but, then again, legally speaking her targets don’t actually exist. It’s a funny little gray area, that.

The Evil Queen probably hadn’t known exactly what she was doing, taking such a long time to unleash her Curse after announcing, very publicly, that she was going to cast it, and ruin everyone’s lives except her own. Ways between worlds were rare, true, but if she had thought that the worst of the worst wouldn’t find a way to save their own skin rather than let her trap them in time and make them permanently miserable, boy, had she been delusional. Or, if not the worst of the worst exactly, those with the means to find a way across and the selfishness (or self-preservation instincts?) to get out and save their own skin.

This guy, he hadn’t even had magic back home, hadn’t been anyone even particularly notorious. A footnote in their land’s history, if that. But he’d been rich, which is probably how he managed to make his way across realms before the curse hit. In this world, he’d adapted his criminal activities and built a new empire.

The cops already had a warrant for his current false identity. She was just knocking him out before he could run and set himself up another new life. Honest. He already had a bag and new fake I.D.s packed when she showed up and everything. Okay, and maybe she was also rummaging through his things for evidence of the Enchanted Forest to remove from the premises before some cop found it and possibly activated a terrible magical artifact leaving them with some ancient curse on their head on account of not knowing what they had on their hands.

Sleeping curses and their ilk weren’t exactly easily identified or countered in the Enchanted Forest, after all, and cops seemingly dropping dead after touching a sharp but otherwise unremarkable antique would be the kind of thing that would be almost impossible to fix here.

August insists that only she and the others will have magic here, in the Land Without, and no matter how cursed an artifact is there is no way it could hurt someone as long as it wasn’t anywhere near the Evil Queen’s playground, but, better safe than sorry, if you ask her.

She doesn’t find much, this time – a few baubles and jewels, glittering with fairy dust diamonds – but she takes it anyway, just to be sure – because who hasn’t heard stories about cursed rings or necklaces? – before returning to her motel room as discreetly as possible and dropping her transformation, letting Sailor V fade back into the deepest parts of Aurora.

She hates the way de-transforming feels. Like being sapped of all her strength, her magic so far out of her grasp as to be untouchable. Her talisman still gives her the ability to channel her transformation, yes. But it’s different in this place than it was back home – when they were training, the magic was always there, in the very air, at their beck and call transformed or not.

They had more power and precision transformed. But they always had magic. It was a benefit of the blessing that made them Guardians – back home, it was a benefit. Here, not feeling that when she isn’t fighting is like losing one of her senses, as overdramatic as that sounds.

A glance around the room confirms exactly what she suspected she would find on her return, when she left: August is there, waiting, like he always does when she’s out fighting, and she rolls her eyes at the way he stares at the diamonds when she sets them on the nightstand. She’ll have to find somewhere much, much safer for them, soon, but for the moment there isn’t anything else to be done.

“You did good out there tonight,” he praises, like he always does, and she wonders if he actually expects her to act like nothing had changed the last time she had actually gone out, three months ago, when she had come up against Maleficent and her memories had broken through the haze of her mind.

The Dark Fairy couldn’t shift into her dragon form here, fortunately, had no spells or minions or tricks to give her the upper hand, was just as subject to being in the Land Without Magic as anyone could be – but childhood fear of falling victim to the same sleeping curse as her mother had very nearly lost Sailor V the battle.

“Emma’s birthday was days ago,” she reminds, and she doubts he didn’t know it himself. “When are we going to find the others and do what we came here to do, Pinocchio?”

“Things are in motion.” He’s frowning, probably because she used his real name, and, well, good. When they were young and in training, he had been like an older brother to them – to Emma, especially. But she knows that there’s something he’s not telling her, because he had come through to this world too, somehow, and he had done it with his memories intact, unlike the rest of them, and he had told her she had power and given her back her talisman and molded her into Sailor V, knowing all the while everything that she had forgotten. Everything that she truly was.

V. He hadn’t even bothered to tell her that she was, properly, Sailor Venus. Had only recruited her, once time was almost up, to be V.

Would he have ever told her, if she hadn’t remembered?

She doesn’t like what her gut tells her about that any more than she likes his constant stalling about getting the others now that she does remember. They were supposed to start unravelling the Dark Curse on Emma’s 28th birthday – two days ago. The twenty-third day of the tenth month.

We still have work to do out here, away from the town the Curse created, he’d said first, when it had devolved into a shouting match about a week after she knew who she was. Lately, when he bothers showing up at all, it’s just things are in motion.

Not from her perspective, they’re not.

…

The arcade actually pleasantly surprises her, when she finds it.

It’s clean, well-lit, clearly stocked full of games with titles… Actually pretty recent, and even the ones that aren’t brand-new are big names. Aside from the games, there’s an entire area of booths on the same side of the room as the counter, and there are quite a few college-aged kids sitting at said booths, or the counter, drinking milkshakes or coffee, with maybe a burger and fries, as they type away at laptops.

The place even has a sticker on the door proclaiming there’s free Wi-Fi, the only such sticker she’s seen in town.

All of which makes for a good first impression, especially with Ruby’s claims that it’s all run by one man.

Never actually having been to an arcade before – with foster families uninterested in letting the kids that were little more than a paycheck to them go somewhere that would cost them money like that, and a lack of time, reason, or interest once she was on her own – she’s not actually sure what she expected.

It wasn’t this, though.

She makes her way to the counter, sitting at the first open seat she finds; while they aren’t hard to come by, exactly, the crowd already gathered has taken everything close to the doors.

There, she waits for a few minutes before noticing when a man, probably around the same age as Mary Margaret, stands from behind one of the machines, which plays a little tune like it’s turning on, and makes his way behind the counter, toolbox in hand. Though he wears no nametag, he must be the David that Ruby spoke of – it’s the obvious conclusion.

He is just as strangely familiar to her as Mary Margaret, and for a moment she doubts that she should go through with this course of action. Only for a moment; there is no reason that this sort of almost-recognition should dissuade her. Rather, she should take it as a good thing – Henry’s theory is that if she gathers the others and breaks the curse, anyone in this town will regain their memories. He’s not as sure about her own memories, since she wasn’t cursed, but even if they don’t come back, people that she almost-remembers should remember her.

Logically speaking, anyway.

So when he arrives in front of her, asking if he can get her anything, she has thoroughly pushed that glimmer of doubt aside.

“Ruby at Granny’s said you might be looking to hire some help.”

…

Find me, find the Silver Crystal and find me. Help me. I need you.

He doesn’t usually sleep in the middle of the day, but that he dreams of the girl, shrouded in darkness and yet radiating light, is no surprise. She haunts him, always.

This time, though, was different. Just before he woke, there was another image – a white wolf, bi-colored eyes, a forest that was neither Storybrooke’s nor the one in which he first remembers waking. While his dreams of the girl are always tinged with a need to help her, the other image, the wolf, fills him with a sort of melancholic nostalgia, like it’s somehow a memory of something he had held dear and lost.

But he doesn’t know for certain. Just as he doesn’t know how he’ll find the girl or the crystal that she asks for.

“Someone didn’t get enough sleep last night, then.”

And no, he hadn’t, though he cannot account for the why or the how of it. He does not recall tossing and turning, lying awake. And yet, put simply – when he awoke, it was as though he had not slept at all. As such, he does not bother to correct the observation, for even as the unsubtle attempt at conversation is unwelcome— it is true.

And a response is what the observer expects, most likely, so it is best not to rise to the bait. He has maintained careful distance from others since arriving in this place; to change that course now, simply because he’s tired, would make no sense.

Though he stays, he remains apart.

No amount of prodding on Granny’s part, no matter how well intentioned, can do anything about the fact that most people make him uncomfortable and always have. It may be a lonely existence, but it works for him— and most days he isn’t falling asleep in the middle of the diner, anyway.

Though he is persistent in his silence, coffee is placed in front of him, unasked for, already in a to-go cup.

“That should at least get you home for a rest, child. Don’t know what you’re doing here in the first place, tired as you are.”

He doesn’t know either, not really. It’s something of a habit – as much of a loner as he is, he still has lunch at the diner daily, a routine he doesn’t stray from. Get up, go to the shelter and do what he can for the animals there, have lunch at the diner, spend his afternoons doing the volunteer work that Mary Margaret conned him into, teaching the kids about the woods around their town – go back to his small apartment, have dinner alone, fall asleep and have that same dream.

None of it is exactly glamourous, but it’s a life. His life.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he breaks his silence in the objection, but… He doesn’t like the attention. The act of care throws him; it always has, from the very first time he actually remembers even the slightest hint of concern being directed at him.

Neither care nor concern has been in abundance, the past fourteen years, but every instance has left him off-balance – like he’s waiting for something worse to balance it out.

Trust issues, the social worker had said about his wary nature when it came to having care or concern directed at him, gone on about how it was common in abandoned children. He hadn’t asked if the girls with names had exhibited similar degrees of mistrust in others; he wasn’t supposed to know about them in the first place. He suspected he wouldn’t have gotten a straight answer about it, anyway.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Bad for business to have you asleep in the middle of the diner.”

He attempts a grateful smile, wrapping his hands around the warm cup. “Then I suppose I should thank you and get out of your hair.” Takes a sip, letting the coffee start to do its job.

Even as he walks from the diner to his apartment, he tries to keep an eye out for more changes, more evidence that things are different. He’s not the only one that noticed the clock tower, and that makes him more certain than earlier that there must be something going on.

And then for the first time all day, he sees the picture and headline splashed across the front of the Mirror, on a copy that someone had left on the bench just outside his building. It’s the picture that draws his attention – the woman.

Sailor Moon.

That is a change.

…

David seems nice, Emma has decided. A little harried, but willing both to hire her and let her set her own hours, no questions asked. Maybe it’s a little too convenient, but it works. For the moment, anyway.

And that marks one item off her to-do list, leaving “find a place other than Granny’s” and “start looking for Belle” as priorities one and two. She may wait to confer with Henry on ideas to find Belle; he had, after all, both found her and been the one to suggest Belle should be their next recruit. Finding people may normally be her livelihood, and she might be a loner. But she has help – even if he is ten – and she doesn’t want to face this whole Guardian thing alone. It’s too much, and she’ll admit that it will be a relief to have a team.

But for now, she does have Granny’s, and she does have the contact information for the office of her former social worker. And while she doesn’t expect trying to call the woman who put her in a system she ran away from will yield much information about the other girls that were found with her – well, it’s the only potential lead that she has.

She just… Well. Has to figure out the best angle to come at a conversation from to get information. Somehow, just telling the woman that she thinks she’s found a link to the origins of the five of them that were found that day, and that she’s looking to contact the others in order to look into it together, doesn’t seem like it will go over believably enough to work. Particularly not coming from a place of being the one that ran away.

What she needs is her laptop – securely in her apartment in Boston. With it, and the arcade’s Wi-Fi, she could probably get in some decent research of the public records that would have surrounded the five of them, possibly come up with a plan for the phone call that, at this point, she may have to make. If the town’s library wasn’t closed, she would check there for a public computer with internet access.

As it is, she knows she’s low on options. Call without a plan. Wait and hope Henry has an idea.

Drive to Boston and back, today, to pick up her things. Not the worst idea – she didn’t exactly pack a bag, having intended to drive as long as it took and be back in Boston, never to see Storybrooke again, more than a full day ago.

Not the best idea either. Her leaving town when she has a room for a week would be noticed by Granny and Ruby, at least, and it’s getting close to noon— At four hours there and four hours back, that will mean Henry doesn’t get to have the Operation Rabbit meeting he’d thought they should have once he got out of school, possibly thinks she’s changed her mind about staying. It also doesn’t take into account potential traffic – potentially rush hour traffic – or the time it would take to pack up what clothes and things she needs and load it into the car. Or stopping to eat.

Tack on an hour for a rushed lunch and fast-food dinner, and an hour to pack, and she doesn’t get back to Storybrooke, if she leaves now, until near ten at night, at the soonest – when there’s potential for a monster to strike at literally any moment, especially once the sun goes down.

No. Not the best idea. Better saved for when she has a better idea where she’ll be making her base of operations.

…

When Henry walks out of school, his plan is to try and find Emma. She knows when the school day ends; making his way through town to find her should be easy enough. If all else had failed, the backup plan of waiting at the castle had to work. They need to discuss Operation Rabbit, and make a plan!

But when he gets out of school, his grandpa is waiting at the gates.

He likes Grandpa Henry. He does. Even if he doesn’t believe his mom loves him, he believes Grandpa Henry does.

But Grandpa picking him up greatly reduces his chances of meeting Emma without his mom finding out – and she will freak if she finds out about Emma being Sailor Moon, about the fact that they’re working to break the curse. She already confiscated his book and found the missing pages about the Guardians. Well, not the actual pages. Those are stashed in his backpack, to give to Emma later. But she found that pages were missing and demanded to know where they got to – and she must want those pages because she knows what she’ll find on them: the identity of the five girls who can and will break the curse.

So. He just has to get Grandpa to let down his guard and let him out of sight… Or get Grandpa in on Operation Rabbit. From the book, he knows Grandpa didn’t think the curse should be cast, though with it in place, convincing him that it’s real and should be broken is probably more trouble than it’s worth.

Leaving him with Plan A: gain Grandpa’s unquestioning trust.

“Is something wrong, Grandpa?” The question makes sense – rarely does someone collect him from school. His mom can’t be bothered, and Grandpa is usually something of a shut-in, staying in the house because it’s more comfortable than running around town and he’s not in perfect health.

“You’ve run off two days in a row, now. Your mother didn’t think you should be left to walk home without escort.”

Yeah. He thought it was something like that. Including the unspoken bit where “she’s a very busy woman who couldn’t possibly spare the time to deal with him herself.”

“I wasn’t gonna run off again.” Emma is still in town, after all. He doesn’t have to go and bring her back. Not like he’d thought he might yesterday, when it’d seemed like all she wanted to do was drop him off and then go back to Boston and never look back.

Has to sneak around town and meet up with her, yes, but he’s perfectly capable of doing that without pulling a vanishing act.

“And she didn’t insist anyone get me to school.”

“Yes, well, the school would have called her if you didn’t show up today, after what’s happened of late. Once school was out would be the greater chance for you to disappear. Shall we head home?”

He doesn’t have much choice in the matter, he knows, and he nods, falling silent because gain Grandpa’s trust means he can’t fight this. He thinks about asking if they can stop at Granny’s for hot cocoa – maybe Emma’s there and he can slip her a message – but decides against it. This is punishment for running, clearly, and while Grandpa is usually a pushover when it comes to getting things he wants, asking for a treat during a punishment is more than a little obviously a bad idea.

He’s not stupid. He’ll be on his best behavior, and find another way to get to Emma. Because he has to – because nothing will get better if he doesn’t. Storybrooke depends on Emma. On Sailor Moon and the Guardians.

He needs to help— He must. The book appeared to him. That has to count for something, right?

After a block or two, he attempts to divert attention away from himself.

“Paige said that she saw a monster at the jewelry store last night.”

“Paige was exaggerating, most likely.” Grandpa Henry… Didn’t have his answer at the ready. He hesitated. Does he know something more than what the Curse should mean he knows? Probably not – but it’s a thought that requires further investigation.

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she witnessed an attack. One which was, if the report in the Mirror is anything to go by, violent enough that your friend was the only witness left conscious – and only because someone else interfered and put a stop to things. Seeing something that violent can do funny things to memory.”

“But how could a normal thief take down that many adults before Sailor Moon showed up?”

He should leave it alone. He knows that he shouldn’t have kept talking the moment he starts to speak; pressing his luck with Grandpa, pressing the idea of the Curse on Grandpa – it’ll just make it back to his mom, that he’s doing it, at this point. Still, he asks. A normal thief doesn’t make as much sense as a monster – the fact that he knows the truth aside.

“They’re still investigating that, Henry. But there will be an answer – one that doesn’t involve a monster. You’ll see.”

…

When the sun sets, she’s made no further progress on any of her tasks. When she had headed in the general direction of the school, assuming Henry was out and they could have a meeting about strategy, however quickly, she had seen he was with the older gentleman the mayor had introduced as her father, when Emma had first gotten Henry home.

She makes a decision, as the sun dips below the horizon.

She puts the “do not disturb” sign on her door, holds the brooch tightly, and transforms, using the window as an exit to head to higher ground and keep an eye- or ear- out for monsters.

The rooftops of Storybrooke don’t exactly provide excellent cover, or much at all, but they’re something. And not many of the people she sees are bothering to look up in the first place – meaning that she’s not likely to be spotted unless she actively tries to draw attention to herself.

The first hour of her patrol, she sticks close to the main roads. Greater population means more effective place to attack, if the monsters are trying to gather energy, like Henry suggested before her fight with Morga. More people means more energy, it’s simple logic.

The second hour, she widens her circuit around town, just in case. The third, she begins to wonder if, on other nights to come, she’ll be able to find and prevent attacks without an all-night patrol to maybe stumble across them as they happen. If there will be a way to predict them – or at least to reach them sooner, before any civilians get knocked out.

As the town clock tower strikes midnight, her transformation-enhanced-hearing picks up something that sounds more like breaking glass than anything else. It’s followed by indistinct swearing and a hiss that definitely doesn’t come from a human being.

So she, again, follows the sound, being lead to a bar with signage proclaiming it The Rabbit Hole. One of the front windows has been smashed from the inside, and through it she can see a snake-like green creature, its tongue flickering as it takes in the scene before it.

She can’t, through the window, see any of the bar’s patrons.

She doesn’t make the same sort of entrance this time, doesn’t kick down the door. Walks through like it’s a normal night and she’s come in for a drink or two.

The thing looks like a giant cobra, except for in coloration, a dark but vibrant emerald green – and in the fact that it has a pair of arms on what would be the upper body, were it a more humanoid creature. Despite the noise of the door being opened, it doesn’t look up at her right away, instead grabbing one of its victims off the floor, dragging the man up towards its fanged face. Pays no attention as the door swings shut behind her, as her heeled boots click across the floor closer to it. The tiara is a ranged weapon – though she doesn’t know if it will be as effective against whatever this thing is as it was on Morga. Still, she’d rather the creature’s attention was on her than on the innocent.

“I guess you monsters didn’t get the memo, then.”

The thing pauses. Drops the man from its hands, twisting to see her. Flicks its tongue again.

“One Guardian might get lucky against Morga,” it states, voice rasping, “But Morga was weak and thought too highly of herself. There is only one of you. You cannot keep on indefinitely. Even if I fall, another will take my place. And another. And another. You will fail. Alone.”

The tail is longer, faster, and more easily maneuvered than she would have guessed, whipping out and catching her behind the legs, causing her to lose her footing. She rolls out of the way when it turns back to attempt to crush her, scrambling to her feet again. It becomes a matter of dodging – just like it was with Morga – until she scrambles behind the bar, where there’s no room to be knocked off her feet again.

The tail slams down on the counter, repeatedly, either attempting to hit her or throwing some kind of tantrum because she’s just out of reach no matter how the thing moves around the room, but with all the flailing she’s not sure that she can get a good shot in with the tiara. Could the tail deflect her weapon away? She doesn’t know – and she doesn’t want the answer to be yes. So she remains in position, her tiara at the ready in her hand, waiting for her chance—

Until something whistles through the air, and, with a series of thuds, the tail is pinned to the bar counter by five roses, identical to the ones that the mystery man in full formalwear threw yesterday. Her eyes follow what must have been their trajectory to see him by the broken window, a smirk on his face.

So. He’s going to keep showing up to these things, then? Fine by her, as long as he keeps helping. She acknowledges his help with a nod – and then she turns her eyes away from him, releases the tiara towards the monster, which, like Morga, turns to dust in a flash of light on contact.

When she looks back to where he was, he’s gone, his roses still in the counter the only proof he was ever there. Then again, his job here is done – and so is hers.

She leaves the way she came, out the front door and back up to the rooftops – and doesn’t notice any of the unfriendly eyes that watched the confrontation from the shadows.

#gremma #reluctant magical princess #(my heart is a kaleidoscope)#dark kingdom/dark curse

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