#and i am anxiously sitting there like 'my son. please be aware of your surroundings'

[theyilinglaozus]

61!!

61 - Best Weapon

Okay so, I really love Chenqing. I do. It’s probably one of my favourite weapons in the entire series, but do I think it’s the best?

... No, because sometimes I would watch an episode and think ‘Wei Wuxian is really focused on playing his music and using the resentful energy but this weapon seems to leave him very defenceless if Wen Ning or Lan Wangji aren’t there to protect him’. I know he relies also on a lot of talismans too - which, thank god, honestly - but Wei Wuxian is really at a disadvantage at times being unable to wield his sword. 

I think having a blend of techniques and weapons is the best, honestly. Which leads me to say that if I had to pick a favourite sword as a weapon, it’s Jiang Cheng’s Sandu hands down. I like the little frog he has on it 😊Zidian is a pretty awesome weapon too, but it seems to be more of a ‘useful in the right situations’ type of thing, like Chenqing. Zidian is a lot more useful in both defence and attack, but there’s something about a good old sword that makes me go ‘hmm yes. Perfect’.

The Untamed / MDZS ask game questions can be found here!

[raineydays411]

Reunions

Bruce Banner x daughter!reader

Summary: You are finally reunited with your father. 

Your heart raced as you waited for Loki to return. 

Apparently, Thor escaped and took Hulk with him. You were happy that they found a way to leave this damn planet. Or at least get out of the vicinity of the Grandmaster. 

But now, the Grandmaster was upset, calling for Loki. Turns out, you’ve come to care for the man, more than you ever thought you would. 

So here you are, outside the Grandmasters throne room, ready to step in if needed. You have no idea what you’d do, but you’d step in. That’s when Loki came out. You jogged up to his side, not realizing that he was with someone else.

“Well? Are you alright? What happened?” You ask, looking at his face for answers.

“Darling I am fine. Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He teases, then he turns his attention to the woman next to you. 

“What have you done?”

“I don’t answer to you, lackey.”

Loki grabs her arm, ���It’s Loki, and you will answer to the Grandmaster.”

“Um hey maybe you shouldn’t” 

Then, she pushed his arm off her, the two of them hitting each other resulting in Loki getting punched in the face. 

‘Hmmph” The woman says smugly. Annoyed, Loki pulls out a dagger. 

“Why would you help my brother escape with that green fool” He asks pointing the blade at her threatingly. She pulls out her own knife.

“I don’t help anyone.” Loki lunges at her, the both of them swiping at each other trying to land a hit. You watch anxiously, debating on whether or not you would step in. That’s when Loki gets her arm pinned, seeing her tattoo.

“You’re a Valkyrie?” he questions, she breaks his hold, but he disarms her. She, however, doesn’t need a weapon as he lands several punches on Loki, managing to throw him to the wall.

“I thought the Valkyrie all dies gruesome deaths.” Loki taunted. It was surprising to hear him speak like this. He has always been so kind to you, you forget how cold his personality could be. He had a way to get under peoples skin, dig into their deepest insecurities. 

The Valkyrie knees him in the chest and hold the daggers to his face. “Choose your next words carefully.” She threatens.

That was enough to get you to jump in. You kick the back of her knee, making her loose her stance. Shocked at the sudden assault, her state allowed Loki to move in.

“I’m terribly sorry. It must be a painful memory.” Then he strikes, placing his hand on her forehead. It looks like she was forced into a memory. He face turning grim as she is forced to remember what, you assume to be an awful memory. 

She falls to the floor, shocked at what she had seen. Then she recovered. Faster than what Loki expected and pinned him on the ground, promptly knocking him out. 

You cringe, that punch looked like it hurt. Suddenly she stands up. Turning her attention on you.

“Hey, I’m no Loki but I’m pretty scrappy.” You say, tense and prepared to fight. She scoffs at your words.

“I’m not going to fight a child. You’ll either come willingly or face the Grandmaster.”

You sigh, gathering your bags. “ Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” 

She drags Loki, who is still knocked out and leads you outside the castle. 

“We have to hurry before the streets get busy. The Grandmaster has already announced the disappearance of his champion.” She says, walking briskly as you follow along.

“So...you helped Thor escape?” You ask trying to keep up with her.

“More like he tricked me. Like I said before, I don’t help.”

“Then why are you taking Loki? You could’ve just left him.” You inquire.

Valkyrie huffs and turns to you, “ You ask a lot of questions, kid.” 

“I’m a curious person.” You respond. You look around, the streets are already filling with people. They all are so diverse. It was different out here, seeing them in green and parading around masks and costumes of the Hulk. On Earth, people feared him. But here, he was...praised. 

“I have a question.” Valkyrie says, “How did a Midgardian child end up all the way out here, with this.” She gestures to Loki.

“I was looking for my father.” You say shortly, “Loki saw me panicking and helped me out. We’ve been together ever since.”

“hmm” she hums, “We’re here.” 

She leads you into a house, it was green and white, kind of like the other room Thor was imprisoned in. 

“You stay here.” She says dropping Loki on a small stool. She tied him with a chain she pulls out from no where. “ I have to go find that idiot.” 

Then she leaves you alone with a passed out Loki. 

You sigh, taking a seat next to a window. You pull out your phone and start listening to music. You don’t feel like writing so you just stare out the window. You start to song to yourself lowly, already bored of just waiting here.

Then you hear a groan. You turn to look at Loki, who was waking up.

“Y/n? What happened” He asks wincing in pain

“You got knocked the fuck out man.” You tease. “ That Valkyrie lady brought us to her house or something.”

“Are you alright? Did she hurt you” He says struggling with the chains.

“No, just threatened me and made me come with her. I would’ve anyway, I wasn’t going to leave you. Besides, she’s kind of hot.” You say, getting up from where you were sat and grabbed a random bottle that looked like a drink.

Loki looks at you weirdly considering what you just said.

‘Here” you said, holding the bottle to his lips, “ You must be thirsty.”

He drinks from the bottle but spits it out, “Ugh that's alcohol”

You look at him and then the bottle. 

“Don’t even think about it.” He warns.

“Aw man.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thor had just made it to the quinjet. He’s relieved to find that the jet still works.

“Welcome, voice activation required.”

He places his hand on the scanner.

“Thor.”

Access denied.

“Thor, Son of Odin.”

Access denied

“God of Thunder’

Access denied

“Strongest Avenger.”

Access denied

“Strongest Avenger” He emphasizes.

Access denied.

Thor grunts in frustration. Trying to rack his brain for any possible passwords or nicknames. He sighs realizing what it must be.

“Damn you Stark. Point Break”

All the lights turn on as the plane is activated. 

“Welcome Point Break.”

Thor rolls his eyes and starts working on starting the quinjet. 

That’s when the Hulk tears the back open.

“FRIEND STAY” He shouts, making his way inside the plane.

“Hulk no!” Thor shouts, trying to get him to stop wrecking the already damaged ship.

“ STAY!” Hulk shouts stubbornly. Thor starts desperately looking for a way to preserve the ship.

He clicks random buttons, in hopes of a miracle. That's when a video pops up.

“Nice work Big guy” Natasha's voice comes through, “ We don’t know where Ultron's headed but you’re going very high, very fast. We can’t track you...”

Hulk freezes. Then jerks around. He bangs his head against the walls, punches himself in the head. 

“NO BANNER.” Hulk shouts. 

Thor presses another button. And another video pops up.

“Hi daddy. It’s me.” Your twelve year old voice rings through the jet, “ Tony doesn’t know I’m in here, but I need you to hear this. Come home. Please, I need you. I don’t care if you’re the hulk or anything. I just want my dad…don’t leave me...” 

Thor can see emotion in Hulks eyes. He roars, desperate to stay as he is. 

“NO BANNER. NO”

He fluctuated between Hulk and Bruce. They both fight to gain control of each other. Till finally he collapses, shrinking down to reveal Bruce Banner, panting in exhaustion.

“Banner?” Thor says carefully, slowly placing a hand on the mans shoulders.

Bruce jumps, not aware of his surroundings. Thor hushes him, attempting to calm him down,

“Shh, shh the suns going down. The suns going down real low”

“Thor?” Bruce says panting.

“Yeah” 

“What happened to your hair?” 

“Oh some creepy old guy cut it off”

“It looks good.”

“Oh thanks” Thor says smiling.

“Where are we? Where’s Nat? How is she?”

Thor frowns, “Um, she’s good. I assume.” 

“What about Sokovia? Did we save the city?” Bruce asks 

“Banner, listen, Sokovia, Ultron. All that was four years ago.”

Bruce's heart dropped, “I’ve been the hulk for four years”

Thor winces, “I’m afraid so..”

Bruce looks down at the beads has wearing and takes them off. Then he freezes, “Thor, my daughter. Y/n..is she okay?”

“Of course, oh Banner she’s wonderful. She... she’s waiting for you.” Thor says, not knowing how to tell him that you were on the same planet. 

“I have to get home... I” Bruce stands up almost toppling over but Thor catches him.

“Banner there's something you should know...”

Bruce gets up and goes to the hand scanner 

“Bruce Banner”

Welcome, Strongest Avenger.

“What?” Thor says offended. 

Him and Bruce watch the footage from when he crashed on Sakaar. 

Thor sighs knowing that this was going to be hard to explain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sigh, after trying the fifth time to free Loki.

“What the hell are these chains made out of?” You grunt

Loki laughs, “Darling don’t stress yourself. We’ll escape in time.” 

You sigh and sit down next to Loki. 

“Was that you I heard singing earlier?” He asks, turning his head to face you. 

“Oh.. yeah, I do that a lot.” You blush, even though you’re a theater kid, you still get shy when singing in front of people.

“It was lovely.” Loki remarks not meeting your eyes. You smile, knowing not to make a big deal. You’re stomach growls. 

“There’s some fruit over there.” Loki says, “ They look about ripe.” 

You stand and walk towards the counter of fruit. It was just beyond the view of the door. You help yourself to the fruit. It was weird, like a mix of cantaloupe and a grape. You were about to offer Loki some when you saw him wipe his face of emotion and into an irritated look. Then the door opened.

“Surprise.” Loki said sarcastically. Then you see a can hit him in the forehead.

“Ow.” He says in a monotone.

“Just making sure.” you hear Thor say, walking into the place.

“Hello Bruce.” Loki says. 

You freeze, hearing your fathers voice for the first time in four years.

“So, last time I saw you, you were trying to kill everybody. Where are you at these days?’

“It varies from moment to moment.” 

You decide to make your presence known. You gulped and over your beating heart said, “ Don’t be such a drama king, you sound like an edgy middle school boy.” 

Loki smirks, looking towards you, but before he can say anything Thor cuts him off.

“Y/n! Thank heavens you’re alright” Thor says patting your shoulder. 

You smile up at him , avoiding your fathers stare, “Yeah I’m good, Lord of Thunder.” 

“Y/n?”

You take a deep breath, the room going quiet.

You slowly turn, facing your father, “Hi daddy...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce can hear his heart beating in his ears. He didn’t recognize you at first. He couldn’t have, the last time he saw you...you were a kid. This tiny little twelve year old that was barely in sixth grade. 

But here you are. His daughter, four years older. A teenager. He...He lost four years with you. He practically missed you growing up. Your first period, first day of high school. Here you were, on an other planet, dressed in some weird suit of armor, conversing with a man who tried to enslave Earth like he was an old friend. 

“Y/n?” He says in disbelief. You turn to him, slowly. Your face...you..you look just like your mother.

“Hi daddy” You say as your eyes start to water.

“Y/n” He says striding towards you and pulling you into a tight hug, “ Wha-what are you doing here? What are you wearing?”

“I came to look for you.” You respond, your face pressed into his chest. He pulls away, grabbing your face in his hands.

“God...look at you, you...you were just a kid..” He whispers tears filling his eyes. You smile sadly and nod. You really don’t know what to say, you’re relieved to finally see your dad but...it’s kind of awkward with all these people around.

“What is going on?” Valkyrie whispers to Thor as they watch the emotional scene play out.

“Oh, Y/n is Bruce’s daughter who hasn’t seen him for four years.” Thor simply says, “ Is that a dragonfang?!”

Valkyrie rolls her eyes at the topic change, “ sure is”

You roll your eyes, overhearing their conversation.

“ So, you were with Thor this whole time?” Bruce asks confused, “ why didn’t I see you?”

“Um actually I was with Loki..” you answer nervously, peaking over at Loki who looked annoyed to still be tied up.

“Did he kidnap you?” Bruce asks, “Thor, you let my daughter run around with your psychotic brother?!”

“ Hey!” Loki said offended. You giggle, always finding him being insulted amusing. You look at Loki's face, seeing an emotion in his eyes that you can’t place.

“Shh Banner stay calm” Thor says soothingly, “ in my defense I was enslaved and forced to fight.” He shoots a glare at Valkyrie who was drinking. She rolls her eyes and picks up another bottle.

“Can we get back to the plan?” Valkyrie, “ Sakaar and Asgard are as far apart as any two known systems. Our best bet, is a wormhole just outside of city limits. If we refuel on Xandar, and we can be back on Asgard in about...18 months.”

“Nope. We’re going through the big one.” Thor says, pointing at the large wormhole in the sky. 

“The Devil’s Anus?” 

You snort at the name as your dad’s attention is caught.

“Anus? wait, wait, wait, whose anus?” Bruce says, letting go of you and walking to the two Asgardians.

“For the record, I didn’t know it was called that when I picked it.”

You walk up to Loki, and sit next to him looking out the window.

“That looks like a collapsing neutron star inside of an Eisen-Rosen Bridge.” Bruce says facing the window. 

“We need another ship, that one would tear mine to pieces.” Valkyrie says drinking from another bottle. 

“She’s right, we’ll need one that can withstand the geodetic strain from the singularity” Thor says.

You make eye contact with Loki, both of you realizing that the Grandmaster has a bunch of ships. You have a silent conversation with him, trying to convince him to do the right thing. Considering that the time you two spent there, he had you steal the access codes to the security systems with his guide.

You look up at the right second to see your dad and Thor fist bump. Kind of awkwardly but its nice to see him get out of his comfort zone. 

“There are one of two ships, one of top of the line models and...”

“I don’t mean to impose..” Loki starts, but Valkyrie throws her bottle at him, nearly hitting him but smashing into the wall instead. Loki slightly turns his body to shield you from the glass, even though you were on the other side. You glare at her from where you are sat.

“The fuck...” You start, but see Loki's face telling you to stay quiet. 

“The Grandmaster has a great many ships. Y/n here, may have stolen the access codes to his security systems,” He says proudly glancing at you. You blush as the three glance at you. Your father looking at you in confusion.

“And suddenly you’re both overcome with the urge to do the right thing?” 

“Heavens no.” “I’m literally just vibing” You both say at the same time.

“We’ve run out of favor with the Grandmaster. In exchange for codes and access to a ship, I’m asking for safe passage, through the Anus. For the both of us.” Loki concludes glaring at you when you laugh at the wording.

“You’re telling us, you can get us a ship without setting the alarms?” Thor asks

“Yes brother, we can.”

“Why don’t we just take the girl? She’s the one who knows  the codes.” Valkyrie asks glaring at the both of you. 

“Y/n is not going back to that retched place.” Loki states, “We both know those codes, and she stays far away, where its safe.” 

“Okay, can we just,” Bruce gestures for the team to meet up, “just a quick fyi. Y/n you too.”

You groan, getting up from your spot as Loki rolls his eyes. You walk over to the 

“ I was just talking to him, and he was totally ready to kill any of us.”

“He did try to kill me.” Valkyrie says. 

“Yes, me too on many, many occasions.” Thor adds, “ There was this one time when we were children, he transformed himself into a snake, and he knows that I love snakes. So I went to pick up the snake to admire it.” “

no” Bruce whispers

 “ And he transformed back into himself and was like ‘blegh its me’ and then he stabbed me. We were eight at the time.”

Bruce looked back at Loki in disbelief, and when you looked at Loki you can see a small smile creep up on his face. 

“Well, he’s never tried to kill me.” You chime in, “ He made me some soup thing when I got sick. “

The three adults looked at you in disbelief. 

“Sweetheart, he’s murdered people.” Bruce said. 

“Okay?? He’s my emotional support murderer. He hugs me when I’m sad.” You say rolling your eyes. 

Thor and Valkyrie look at you in confusion. 

“That doesn’t sound healthy.” Bruce mutters

“Dad, if Bucky can get a second chance then so can Loki” You say stubbornly leaving the group to sit with Loki.

“Who’s Bucky?”

“Guys, if we’re going to boost a ship we have to draw attention away from the palace.”

“Why not set the beast loose?”

“Shut up” “That's a terrible idea.”

“Hey, why don’t you start a revaluation?” You say.

The adults look at you again in surprise. 

“I thought of that “ Thor says.

“Well I said it first.’ You snipe back with a smirk.

“...You’ve spent too much time with Loki.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[avversiera-writes]

‘till death do us part - chapter 5 [tobirama senju/you]

Chapter 5 - Return

Summary: A decision must be made. An old friend returns in a dream. 

Words: 2.7k

A/N: I actually posted this chapter in advance in AO3 lmao. In the notes there I said that this chapter is one of the most important chapters ive written for the whole thing. 

also available on AO3

<< Chapter 1 - Allegiances // Chapter 2 - Union // Chapter 3 - Love Like You // Chapter 4 - Look to the Horizon

Madara has returned to destroy the village. 

Tobirama crumples the note in his hand, and he storms back into the room. His chest is on fire with the wrath he wants to rain down on Uchiha Madara. He lays out his scrolls, its pages flying out and rolling on the floor, revealing compartment seals. He activates them quickly, and the seals produce his armor and his weapons. 

 You wake up to the shuffling noise, and blink blearily. 

“Tobirama?” You call hoarsely. 

 Tobirama quickly wraps his fur collar on his shoulders, and anxiously brushes his hair back from his forehead. 

You try to sit up to see him better, but Tobirama is already pushing you to lie back down. His hands on your shoulders are gentle, and he kneels on one knee beside the bed. 

 “Madara has come to destroy the village,” Tobirama repeats the message coldly. 

You look at his face, and then you feel tears pricking your eyes. Maybe, this was bound to happen. When there is no home to go back to, when you are alienated from what you know and believe in, and when there is no future, perhaps the last thing you do is burn every bridge that you paved. 

 What is Madara thinking? You wish to know. 

“Your arm,” you request. 

 Tobirama looks at you, confused, but he does as you say and you fix the strap on his armor quietly. 

“I have to go,” Tobirama says, because his duty is to the village first. “Let me go with your permission.” 

 You look to the ceiling, wishing that the ache in your heart will leave. You do not know what is worse–not being able to fight with Tobirama or the possibility of Tobirama going up against Madara. If Hashirama has not defeated Madara yet, then everyone after him will lay down their lives for the village. 

 But you do what you think is right. “Then go,” you tell him, mustering up the strength to keep your voice steady. 

 You cannot waver. You have to pick him, and believe in him.

Tobirama leans towards you, and he presses his forehead against yours. His eyes are closed, savoring this moment–saying goodbye in the best way he knows how. Then, he tears himself away and he turns his back. He sweeps his hair back again, and puts on his happuri. 

“I will return to you,” Tobirama promises, and he takes off, not wasting another second away from his brother and the village. 

He leaves you with your aching heart, and your muddled mind, because Madara is right: you can never be impartial to any sides when it comes to your husband. You are now against him. 

You turn your head to the side, and let the tears fall silently. 

//

Sleep comes to you like a fever. You feel yourself sweating, but you are not awake, and you are only half-aware of your surroundings. You start to see things in front of you that appear for one second and then they are gone on the next, and when darkness covers your eyes, you hear a rush of voices, and then an eerie stillness that you want to go away. 

 Somewhere at the back of your mind, you know that you are hallucinating, and that your wound is probably infected.

The world spins, and it disorients you. You try to find your way, but the path folds and falls to pieces. There is nothing to hold on to. 

“Are you happy with him?” Madara taunts beside your ear and far from you at the same time. 

 “Madara please,” you beg. “Please do not hurt him.” 

 You feel like you are swimming in a pool of lead, so you do your best to keep still. “What is this? A hallucination? Genjutsu?” 

Madara chuckles coldly. “It is what you want it to be.” 

The scenery changes, and you view the green fields of a training ground. The sky is blue, and beyond, a river runs peacefully. 

“You are kind and honorable, Madara,” you start. “Why are you doing this?” 

 Madara appears beside you, in full battle gear. His gunbai hangs on his back, and his long, unruly hair sways with the coming breeze. 

Your former friend sneers. “You have become weak.” 

Madara grabs you by the arm, and you see his eyes, red and filled with hatred. “I swore loyalty to your new Senju family. They are Konohagakure. Those two are the same thing. I did everything I could for them, but everything I do apparently dissauges efforts of peace.”

 “Let me go!” You demand to his face. He may have strength, but you are not afraid of him. “If you think me as weak, then kill me.” 

 Madara shakes his head, and for a moment, you see a sliver of the Madara you knew. Then it is wiped away. 

“I had a brother and I wished to honor him throughout all my life. The more I agreed with the Senju, the farther I got from him,” Madara says. “Do you think you will have anything left if you choose to stand with them? They will destroy and bring more war into this world! There can never be peace in the vision that they built!” 

“Madara!” You shout, and he lets go of you. 

“Someday,” Madara begins ominously. “The time will come where you will beg for me to come and take your pain away.”

 “That day will never come,” you spat. “They will stop you.” 

Madara grins wickedly. “They?”

 “Yes. Hashirama. Tobirama. Their sons, and their sons’ sons.” 

Madara looks pleased, because finally, you are telling him that you are picking a side. 

“You are starting to sound like them,” Madara muses. Then, he steps closer to tower over you, meaning to intimidate you. 

 “I believe in them,” you stand your guard and look him into his eyes. 

 “I once believed in them.” Madara’s eyes narrow. “But empires rise and fall. Men rise and fall. In the end, your Senju husband will fail.” 

You raise your chin up. “Then I will make sure that he never does.”

Madara places a hand on your cheek, and once more, your words bring delight to him. “I’m sure you will do everything. He will be king someday, but he is still just a man.” 

His other hand goes up to frame your face, and you note his gentleness. “He will do everything right and what he is supposed to do, but in the grand scheme of things, he is nothing .” 

Your eyelids burn, and you wake up with a gasp. Sweat covers your body, and your wound itches, and it is on fire. You want to scream and tear your heart out but you keep it in. You swallow your fears, because whether Madara’s visit was real or not, you are determined to prove him wrong. When Tobirama will become Hokage, you will back him up and make sure that everything he does will not undo the village. Besides, you trust him and you know well in your heart that he always has the village’s interests placed above his heart. 

//

“Sensei, you have to drink water,” Mieko urges you as Kai and Taiyo sits you up. 

 “Fine,” you rasps out. 

You let Mieko tilt the glass of water to your lips, and you take sips until you empty the glass to satisfy your student. It is early in the morning, and not hearing any news from Konoha makes you anxious. You close your eyes, and press your back against the headboard of the bed, trying to cool yourself. 

 The fever still has not broken, and it seems to increase like a rampage. You are slowly being cooked from the inside out. 

“Find me a map,” you tell your students. “I have something for you three to do.” 

You hear your students shuffle around quickly to follow your directions, and then, doors sliding. You are alone again, and it makes you restless. Madara is probably waging psychological warfare with you, or this is a battle you have made up for yourself over your guilt towards Madara. 

A piece of paper slides on your lap and you look down, finding a map like you requested. 

 “Pencil,” you command, and a pencil is handed to you. 

“I want you three to find those people who have escaped from that town last night,” you explain, holding on to your words. “That town...is around here.”

 You take your hand, and you see double on the map. It takes a while to mark the place of the town, but you successfully get it done. You want to laugh, if the situation wasn’t this serious. 

“I want you three to explore the area around it, and find the people who escaped. There are children, and they will be frightened, so do not attack anybody, not unless it is to defend yourself,” you continue. “Then, I want you to lead them to this place.” 

You mark the place on the map, and you linger at it for a while. That is your family’s land, where you were born. It is still home, even if they have basically banished you for pursuing your career as a shinobi. Your family were good swordsmen and women, and they have practiced the way of the sword for as long as they have existed. When they have allied themselves with Konoha, and set up a trading system with the daimyos of the country, they have given up their practice. There is no need for battles when they can be successful in commerce. 

“I am going to draft a letter, and you will give it to the head of that place,” you tell them. “You will know, because he lives in the most decorated house. You can ask, and they will point you to him.” 

 You give them a look. “You guys have to be careful, alright? Those people that took you might still be looking for you and the people they kidnapped.” 

You take a deep breath. “Stay in that place with the people until I send for you. The people that live there will help you and protect you, as long as you offer your service in return.” 

 “Service?” Kai asks politely and with a lot of hesitation.

 You smile ruefully. “Well, they are mostly swordsmiths. You’re going to have a swell time.” 

//

 After sending your students away, you are alone once again. You know that Tobirama prefers that they stay with you to protect you, but you cannot stand the thought that those people are out there alone and afraid. There were children as young as Tobirama’s small nephews. Those children deserve better, and they need that chance to survive, no matter how small and scarce. 

 Your fever breaks before lunch, and you slowly and painstakingly make your way to the engawa. Every small movement seems to take an hour, and by the time you are sitting down and warily leaning against the posts that hold the roof over your heads, your vision is swimming and your stomach is grumbling for sustenance. 

The grass moves in one sweeping motion away from you, and above, the clouds travel through the infinite spaces of the sky. You flit in between naps and dreams, and in one of them, you are hysterically crying from seeing an older version of Tobirama. Here, he looks battle worn. His happuri is cracked, and his armor is faded and stained with dried blood. He looks so different here. There are lines on his face that were not there when you last saw him, and his temple is bleeding from a head wound. 

 His jaw is set and hard, but his eyes look at you with such longing and desperation that it breaks your heart. It is simply too much. There is something wrong with the situation, and the more you look at it, the more it looks like Tobirama does not belong in that moment. 

He says something that is not audible, and you only make out the word return from his lips, and then he is gone, slipping away from your grasp. The sound of his name tears from your throat with so much pain–a pain so deep as if it has been compounded for so long over time and it still feels fresh like a torn out limb. You have not known enough at that moment, and yet, you know everything already. Like you have spent a lifetime with Tobirama, and this is just one of those splits in time.

When you open your eyes, it is dusk, and still, there is no Tobirama to be found. 

 The world is incredibly still. No birds are flying for their last flight of the day. There is no wind. There is no sound. 

The moment makes you feel small and vulnerable, and you anticipate another hallucination, but it does not come. 

Everything moves again, and the twilight disappears into the night. The last golden light of the sun sinks to the horizon, and the sky turns a darker purple, and then a sea of navy blue. 

 Your heart quivers anxiously for any news, for anything. Even that half-dreamt version of Tobirama who wore many years of hardships. 

“Come to me,” you whisper into the night like prayer. “ Please.” 

You close your eyes, and your forehead wrinkles. You can feel him, somehow. He is alive and well. 

Immediately, the atmosphere changes when he finally appears. A warm wind brushes a few strands of your hair back, and you open your eyes, and Tobirama is there, whole and sturdy. 

You let out a sigh of relief, and you go to him with all of your effort, even if pain pierces up and down your body, and the weakness you feel makes you want to pass out. Tobirama quickly walks up to you and saves you from the arduous distance, and you throw yourself to him, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him close. You hold him tightly, and you bury your face to his chest, unable to control the shaking of your body. You feel Tobirama’s arms surround you, and he clutches you to him, like the way an anchor steels a ship and holds it from floating away. 

His embrace lulls you to a place where you feel the safest. 

“It’s you,” you whisper with wonder. 

Tobirama’s hand comes up to the back of your head, and he presses a lingering kiss on the side of your head. “I have returned to you.” 

 There is tiredness in his voice, but it remains non-hostile towards you. 

 You pull back, and you place a hand on his cheek. Tobirama leans in towards your touch, and quickly kisses the inside of your palm. 

“The village?” You ask, your forehead knitting anxiously. 

 “Whole and safe,” Tobirama replies quietly. 

 “And...Madara?” 

Tobirama meets your eyes, both with regret and the cold-hardness of a warrior. “He is dead.”

You lose feeling in your fingers, and you collapse against Tobirama. The two of you fall to the ground, with Tobirama supporting you and delicately pressing you to him. You sit in between his legs, and your head rests on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama offers stiffly. 

 “He did not hurt you,” you state, but Tobirama takes it like a question. 

 “Elder brother went up against him,” Tobirama replies. Then, after a while, “I do not think he is alright.” 

You study your husband’s face, and note that he is the same as last you saw him. He is not...older, nor hurrying away desperately. Tobirama looks his age, and there are no lines on his face except fatigue. You remember Madara’s words and your heart grows cold. You vow that you will not see your husband fall. Maybe your help to him will be insignificant, but you are here to stand with him. 

“I’m here for you,” you tell your husband. The sentence is so simple, but it encompasses so many things. It allows no borders between you, no matter how many times Tobirama will put them up. 

 “No matter what,” you press a kiss to his jaw, and you swallow your fear that Madara may just be right. 

 He cannot be. You will not allow it.

To be continued...

Chapter 6 - How to Steal a Crown

[the-quiet-winds]

Don’t Look Back at this Crumbling Fool (part one)

did you ask for a sad fic? no. am i giving you one anyway? yes. another co-written piece with the amazing @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts, and this one has a lot of feels in it.

trigger warning for hateful words and self-deprecation

[Part 1: Think of Me in the Depths of Your Despair]

as their band became more and more popular, the demand for some kind of album grew, and eventually their manager got everything in place for each of the queens to record their songs, and then after several months of remastering and audio mixing the album was finally complete. a few days before the physical copy was released, each track was also released on YouTube, a website that katherine had become increasingly familiar with during her time in the 21st century. that morning, katherine loads up youtube and finds one specific song in particular. jane’s angelic voice fills the air as katherine turns up the volume as loud as it’ll go, unable to stop herself from smiling as she hears her mum’s voice.

jane walks past her bedroom and pokes her head around the door. “that loud enough for you?” she teases. katherine smiles honestly.

“i’ve got to make sure everyone hears how amazing my mum is.”

jane laughs at that. she enters the room, taking a moment to admire the instrumentals and harmonies in her song, before plopping a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “i bet you sound even better,” she teases.

only a few short days later, jane’s enthusiasm for the album plummeted.

she is watching a video that katherine had sent her, one of their affectionately called “megasix” at the end of the show, when her own song shows up in the “suggested” bar. unable to resist, she clicks on it, and the recognizable piano starts. transfixed by the voice that somehow was hers, she doesn’t realize she is scrolling down the page. then, she sees it.

some fellow named “jack of none master of all” left a comment:

“worst song on the soundtrack. cheesy, overemotional, really weak compared to the others. guess every album has to have one flop, ain’t it a bit ironic it came from henry’s worst wife? snivelling and weak in this life, cruel and manipulative in the last. surrounded by honest, strong women as she is, it’s too obvious that jane seymour is the worst of the six.”

the words sting, and jane’s eyes widen slightly as she reads the comment. ‘is that really what other people thought of the song?’ she wonders to herself. she tries to forget about it, clicks another video of them all singing together, but she can’t get her mind off the comment. it wasn’t just what they said about the song that hurt her, but what they said about her herself; she’d already been worried about people thinking she was boring, that her story wasn’t exciting enough, and the second part of the comment seems to confirm her fears.

katherine enters the room humming Heart of Stone and jane feels a jolt at the tune, frowning suddenly and looking down at the screen.

“hey mum!” katherine greets chipperly. at seeing her mother’s less-than-enthusiastic response, she mellows. “what’s up?”

jane fights an internal battle in the span of three seconds. she wants to show katherine the comment and ask ‘is this how everyone feels?’ but that just feels shallow somewhere deep down.

“nothing love, just a bit tired, that’s all. two shows yesterday,” she leans back and stretches, “takes a lot out of your ol’ mum.”

“oh yeah,” katherine nods, taking a seat at the other end of the couch. “i get it. it was a really cool crowd last night, though, wasn’t it? i spoke to these two girls after the show and they were telling me all about how much they loved it!”

jane can’t help herself, and she finds herself leaning back and casually asking, “oh, that’s lovely, what did they say?” she tries to tell herself that she’s just making conversation, that she wasn’t trying to fish for information about what people thought of her song, but the anxiousness that filters into her brain while waiting for katherine to reply tells a different story.

“they couldn’t stop talking about me and boleyn, can you believe it?” katherine gushes. “they said that they died laughing during her song and they thought mine was super deep.” she stopped to contemplate. “they loved the last two numbers, and one of them said that parr had such a cool story, while the other said aragon easily would have ‘kicked henry’s arse’,” she quoted with a laugh. she doesn’t notice how none of the commentary pertains to her mum, and the slight fall of the woman’s face upon that realization.

jane can’t help but pick up on the fact that she wasn’t mentioned, and it all adds to her slowly building pile of evidence that maybe she was the worst one, that her song wasn’t as interesting or as good or genuinely emotional as the other queens. after all, after katherine spilling her heart out to the audience and parr offering them a moment of deep reflection, who would even remember a song about jane’s son? her mind whirs with activity, but on the outside she simply offers a slightly strained smile. “how sweet of them to be so kind about the show,” she says.

in hindsight, katherine would pinpoint that exact half-hearted smile as the moment that foresaw every event to follow that evening. in the moment, however, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

their dressing room was a quiet din of activity, one thing that katherine loved. it's just her, her mum, and parr, so there's usually just low conversations and songs to be heard, mixed with the boisterous noise of aragon, boleyn, and cleves across the hall.

"places, queens!" the director calls, and parr makes her way to the hall knowingly. jane, as she does every night, pulls katherine into a tight hug. "mum loves you, kitty-kat," she murmurs the familiar words without a thought, "in this life or any other."

the show starts as it generally would, huge applause after the first number, aragon's song getting everyone dancing in their seats, boleyn's has them in in stitches...then it's jane's turn. she starts to sing the achingly familiar melody, feeling more insecure about herself than ever before. just moments into the second verse, she looks up and sees one audience member yawn dramatically to his date, who chuckles. every previous feeling jane had of inadequacy bubbles to the surface, and she lowers her mic, nods once to the audience, then walks off the stage, leaving five queens and four band members confused. cleves, desperate to not let it stop the show, immediately launches into her monologue, playing off jane's sudden exit with a joke.

katherine watched helplessly as jane leaves the stage, unsure of what to do. if she left the stage with her number coming up then she’d potentially end up messing up the rest of the show, but if she stayed then jane would be backstage by herself. the worst part was that katherine didn’t know what happened to make jane leave the stage. she shoots a glance at the other queens; they were about to leave the stage to get their neon ruffs, and katherine makes up her mind right then that she wouldn’t be coming back on without jane.

as she gets backstage she ignores her ruff and sunglasses, instead slipping past the surprised backstage manager who attempts to stop her. katherine ignores the frantic whisper for her to come back, and she follows the glimpse of a black and white dress disappearing around the doorway to the dressing rooms.

parr presses a few fingers to her forehead as she sees katherine dart off into the dark. this show is going to be one to remember. she hears the manager whisper-shouting to grace, the swing for when any of the women were absent from the show, that she was going on for howard.

"mum!" katherine hisses as she follows her down the corridor. "mum!" either jane doesn't hear or is ignoring her (katherine hopes it is the first one) and closes the door to their dressing room with a surprising amount of force. katherine knocks quietly, yet firmly, and keeps her lips very close to the door. "mum what's going on?"

there’s silence from the other side of the door, before a strained voice on the other side speaks. “kat, get back to the stage,” jane says, voice thick with emotion. “you’re going to miss your song.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” katherine shakes her head. “please, can i come in?”

katherine could be incredibly stubborn when she wanted to be, and jane knows this. she knows that if she refused, kat would just sit outside the door and wait until jane inevitably had to let her and parr back in to change out of their costumes. the sound of a lock clicking fills the air and katherine opens the door, entering the dressing room and closing the door behind her.

her mother looks a mess.

her makeup is smudged, lipstick and mascara creating a horrible caricature, her shoes and mic-pack are discarded, and jane looks some horrid combination of angry and depressed. the monitor on the wall blares to life as haus of holbein starts, and jane immediately goes over and shuts it all the way down, resisting the urge to throw something at it. “you should be on stage,” jane finally says, not meeting katherine’s eyes.

“well, i’m not,” katherine says simply, as if that was the end of it. “you should be onstage too, y’know.”

“i’m aware, katherine,” jane half-huffs, still looking anywhere except katherine’s eyes. kat takes a step towards her, concern filling her features.

“mum, why did you leave like that? did something happen?” her voice is soft and worried.

"i am absolutely fine, katherine," jane hisses. she hates that she's taking out her anger on kat, who dropped the show and is going to get a lot of heat from the director just to be with her. jane feels so incredibly frustrated that she can't even think straight. needing to burn off some of the energy, she picks up one of her shoes and hurls it. it collides with her mirror, sending shattered pieces of glass raining to the ground. jane runs a hand roughly through her hair, knocking off her crown as she digs her nails into her scalp. "everything is perfectly fine."

katherine jumps at the shattering of glass and her eyes widen. “mum-” she starts, before pausing. “it- it doesn’t seem like everything’s fine.” Her voice comes out a lot more timid than she intended, but it scares her, seeing jane like this. she swallows and stands slightly taller, reaching a hand out to gently touch jane’s arm. “please, mum, you can talk to me. i want to help, if I can.”

jane pulls back. she tries to take a calming breath but nothing helps. she just feels so angry and humiliated and is taking it out on her poor daughter who just wants to help. “katherine howard seymour,” she says in a low voice, “i’d recommend you leave before i say something i really, really regret.”

a chill runs down katherine’s spine, her stomach twisting slightly. “i don’t want to go,” she says, and her voice is small and weak, sounding like a lost child. “please, mum.”

she doesn’t know what to do. she’s never seen her mum quite like this before; she’s seen her upset, even angry, but not so irrationally angry that she’d break the things around her.

plus, jane never extended katherine’s name like that. it was always kat, or kitty-kat, or any number of affectionate nicknames, but never her full name. she doesn’t want to go, she wants to stay and make things better, but then jane turns to her, and the look in her eyes terrifies katherine.

jane walks over to the monitor and flips it on, listening for just a moment, before flipping it off again. they were just about to finish haus of holbein. she can’t face katherine like this, anger and jealousy and mountains of insecurity swirling in her stomach, so she faces away, shoulders hunched, voice still dangerously low. “go do your number, we will deal with this later, katherine.”

katherine doesn’t want to go, she really doesn’t, but she doesn’t know what else to do. “okay,” she says quietly, voice cracking slightly. “i- i love you, mum,” she adds as a desperate reassurance. she didn’t want jane to think she was abandoning her or anything, and her heart hurts as she turns around and leaves the dressing room. she tries to blink back the tears as she races back towards the stage, almost bumping into grace in her haste. grace looks relieved and calls the backstage manager over, who shoots katherine a look that’s a cross between thankful and angry before shooing her onto the stage with the others just in time for the intro to Get Down. katherine can’t concentrate during Cleves’ number, feet moving on autopilot, looking less like a video vixen and more like a lost child. her mind is back in the dressing room with jane, regretting giving in and leaving, giving anything to not be so scared and pathetic as to leave her mum alone back there.

jane lets out a shuddering sigh as katherine leaves, waits a second, then bursts into angry and upset tears. she curls up on herself, then ends up in a ball on the floor. the monitor on the wall is still lowly humming, and jane, through her tears, hears the familiar intro to all you wanna do. there’s a pain in katherine’s voice that makes jane hurt worse, a tremble in the high notes that jane knows she is the cause of. all she can do is lay on the floor, dangerously close to the mound of broken glass, and relish in being “the worst of henry’s wives.”

it’s ironic, in a way, how the pain that jane caused her daughter comes through in her voice, makes her song even more intense and emotional, and at the end jane can hear the audience screaming and cheering and applauding louder than ever for katherine. a terrible, bitter jealousy flows through jane at the sound and she hates herself for it, hates that she could ever feel such negativity even momentarily towards sweet, darling kat, who only wanted to help her. jane supposes this is about what she deserves; it’s not even like jane suffered at henry’s hands, at least, not nearly as badly as the others had. why should she get to share in their show at all?

as parr starts telling her story, she  feels that bitter rush again. parr speaks so eloquently, and singing makes it even better and more poignant. they start to talk, grace filling jane’s spot, and her already fragile sense of self crumbles further. she feels absolutely worthless, a story that doesn’t matter, a piece of wood amongst jewelry. it hurts, hurts horribly. she closes her eyes and tries to tune out the chipper ukulele sound as the group number starts.

she lies there for a few more moments, trying to block out the sound, before letting out a sigh. she supposes she should leave before the other queens get offstage; she can’t face them like this, not with the negativity running through her. she finally gets to her feet and changes into her regular clothes, slipping her shoes on and grabbing her bag as she hears the last note of the final song over the monitor. going for a walk to cool off seems like a good idea to her right now. she makes her way to the stage door quickly, slipping out as quietly as possible and setting off down the street.

[hollandandi]

“come on, have a bloody heart.” “i do, i’m holding one.”

———

type - angst

tom or peter?

au? - mobster tom (mob!tom)

word count - 3.4k

warnings - swearing, gore (sorry about it! but he is a mobster.)

w/n - honestly, thanks so much for the positive response i received on my first imagine that wasn’t a chapter to a series yesterday. i am so glad people enjoyed it. if you haven’t seen it, feel free to click here.

————

It was a ordinary, simple-minded Thursday. The trees were hit with bursts of hot wind, knocking dying leaves from the branches onto the pavement throughout the city. You gripped the blush pink strap, attached to your bag, and pulled it closer to your neck from your right shoulder as you slowly breathed in the summer air racing past you. After finishing your shift at the local book store, you decided to take the longer route home due to the warmer weather and clearer skies that blossomed above you - you walked swiftly, but made sure you fully appreciated your calm surroundings during the journey; unknown to you, however, that would be that the last peaceful memory for a while.

Even after a week passed from that journey, all you could remember was the feeling of red once you returned home that day. Red was the best colour to associate to the memory; blood, confusion and danger were the best words to use. As you reached your house, which usually oozed love, tranquility and safety, you realised the front door was unlocked, and gently pushed inwards. Though strange and entirely unusual as it was unlikely this was intentional by your parents, your mood was carefree, quiet and absent-minded, so you proceeded to enter the house that was beginning to no longer feel like home. You took slow, careful steps into the main living room - but even with a newly-hesitant outlook on the situation, you could not escape the picture immediately painted into your mind in seconds.

Bursting your eyes back open with a familiar panic, you sat up immediately from your best friend’s sofa-bed, clutching the grey, fabric duvet that covered you strictly in your hands. It had been a week, but you were still having the recurring, yet simple nightmare. It was a straight-forward, complete re-enactment of the moment you desperately tried not to think about throughout the day - though this was often unsuccessful, one thing that was always guaranteed was this reminder as you attempted to gain at least a few hours of sleep.

Across the city, however, it was also not a calm day for many. As the days grew colder, the area’s crime rate was rising - from dodgy drug deals, to manic murders and sickening sexual assaults, it was proving difficult to escape the increasing fear many people were beginning to feel. Like you, many people were no longer feeling at home; instead, many were anxious to return to their houses and apartments that were supposed to be their comfort spot after a stressful day at work. Of course, the situation was not helped by a certain arrival in the city - known to many, but not all, was a quick, but heavy movement into an incredibly expensive building of offices and work-rooms that had been very recently renovated. Though the move-in was widely noticed, only few were aware of those featured in the arrival.

“Tom, she is a family friend. We knew her parents incredibly well, they were very good to us. Always.” A female voice uttered to her stubborn and cocky son, who was sat comfortably behind a large, glass desk at the very top of the skyscraper.

“Mum, I already told you - I don’t care who she is, she could be the fucking reincarnation of Jesus for all I care - she is not staying at our home. You’ve already mentioned that she is staying at a friend’s house; I am sure she is perfectly fine there.” The suited, straight-faced boy responded abruptly, looking up to make contact with his mother’s eyes. In response, there was a gentle scoff from her, before a hard glare met his face. “I didn’t raise you like this.” She hissed, before turning swiftly on her heels and making her way out of the modernised office, as the mobster, named Tom, shook his head and huffed. He couldn’t believe his own mother wanted to bring a stranger into his home - the home he designed and bought, but most importantly the home he made safe for his family.

To his relief, his thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing sound from the delicate desk in front of him. A text had come through his phone, and as he roughly picked up the device, he began to bite his lip while reading the message. Only three words lay on the screen, but that was all it took for a smirk to emerge on his face, his body to rise from the chair he was originally seated in and his legs to start moving towards the exit of his office. “We got him.”

As you wiped back the loose hairs that had fallen onto your face during your panicked wake up, you took a long, breathy sigh as you glanced down to your hands, now in your lap. Your fingers brushed over each other as you closed your eyes carefully, still sat up - and remembered how much scrubbing you were compelled to do on the day of the accident. There was so much blood you started to think it was seeping through the first few layers of your skin, and you could just not feel clean afterwards. Before hot tears took their opportunity to emerge within your eyes, you quickly shot your head up and made your way from the sofa, pulling down the legs of your pyjama pants softly so they were back in the appropriate place on your hips. Beginning the kettle, you saw a lilac-coloured post-it note on the counter, telling you that your friend was at work and would be back tonight after her shift. You smiled softly, but it was still fairly weak, but grew slightly stronger as you poured the hot-water into your favourite mug. It had been a small Christmas gift from your dad in the past; a huge, cream coloured one with “You’re Brilliant!” enscriped onto it in large, skinny letters. Just the memory made you smile truly, but it was accompanied with a sharp, quick jolt to your heart, so you quickly finished your tea and began to walk to the kitchen table that you kept your laptop on.

However, as you walked, you heard a muted shuffle of feet, before a crisp sound of paper sliding underneath your door frame. Slightly alerted, you froze with the mug within your hands, but as the feet underneath quickly ran away, you began to feel a little more at ease. Placing the heavy cup on a cork coaster, you swiftly walked towards the doorframe and carefully picked up the envelope that was resting on the hard-wood floor. Your hands began to shake a little - you didn’t really know why, but I’m sure no-one would blame you for little bursts of worry every now and then. Your fingers moved swiftly underneath the envelope’s opening, before pulling it upwards and revealing the blank card within it. Once slotted out, you anxiously separated the two sides, before glancing upon a scribbled message on the right-hand side.

“Y/N, it’s Nikki and Dom. We heard. Please come stay with us and the boys - you are family to us and we all want to make sure you are safe.

If you take up my our offer, which we hope you do, come to the fourth office of Holland Incorporated any day of the week.”

Well, to say the least, that was definitely not what you were expecting.

While you were taking a breath of relief in the small apartment across the city, Tom was taking a breath of pride. Sitting in a dark, cherry-red pool of blood was an unlucky traitor, that had posed a threat to the business for several weeks - spooled out along the floor, major organs carefully removed or toyed with, sat a clear example of what would happen to those who chose to disrespect a powerful mobster of England. However, the glory did not last long for Tom, as his powerful glee was interrupted by his Dad, Dominic, trying again to convince the boy of an important decision.

“Right, now that’s over with - you need to listen to me, boy. Like your mother has already told you, she is like family to us. And one thing I am sure I have drilled into that stubborn brain of yours is that you help family - always.” The father spoke harshly, standing at the back of the room with a full view of the events which took place minutes before.

Instead of giving an immediate verbal response, Tom simply scoffed, turning around to look at the man that stood before him with dark, cloudy eyes. “The important word you used right there was ‘like’, she is not my family.” He expressed, using his free hand to point at his chest. “She may be yours, and Mum’s, and the other’s for all I care. But she is not mine - family means more to me than words and titles.”

An eye-roll ensued, followed by a head shaking and a raised voice. “Come on Tom, have a bloody heart.” Dom spat - he was in disbelief that his own son would disrespect his wishes like this - right in-front of his own face.

“I do, I’m holding one.” Tom responded in an equal tempo and tone, before dropping the bloody organ that once was beating, to the concrete, tiled basement floor of the building. “At-least I was.” He chuckled to himself, taking out a handkerchief from his front pocket to attempt to wipe some liquid from his bloody, bruised hands. When he glanced up, however, his father Dom was only a metre or so from his son, his eyes slightly softer as he parted his lips to retaliate. “Well, it’s a shame you don’t agree, but your mother has already invited her. So it’s up to Y/N if she wishes to take up the deal.”

“For fucks sake!” Tom yelled, clenching his fists within the silk handkerchief before passing his father and heading for the steel door that marked the difference between beatings, murder and interrogation, and that of business, meetings and phone-calls. “You’re a bunch of bloody cunts, I fucking swear.” This was all Dom heard before his son stormed out of the room, and towards the elevator which opened almost immediately - almost as if an inanimate object could feel the tension within the air.

“Jesus Christ, it’s not like she’s staying in your bed.” Dom uttered to himself, before shaking his head and choosing the stairs instead.

Days passed by quickly, including the weekend separating July and August, and soon enough, it was Monday again. Four days had passed since you received the letter, and it was only until the morning of August 2nd that you finally made up your mind. The choice was concluded from various factors - one, you were beginning to feel like a true burden to your friend, especially when she began to bring guys home at nine o’ clock, which was unfortunately a peak time for your hot, salty tears to begin flowing down your cheeks. Two, you didn’t think that distancing yourself from everyone else was helping, and although you had received a few texts from friends; curious about your wellbeing, you honestly felt a rush of protection when you re-read the letter. It sounds ridiculous, but even through handwriting, the choice was consistently playing on your mind. Two reasons were enough for you - you had always told yourself that if you only had a single excuse for something, it wouldn’t be strong enough to hold you if it went wrong, and as you learnt that the hard way recently, once natural, easy reasons were flowing off your tongue for running across the city, you wasted no time packing back up your chosen belongings, leaving a lilac-coloured post-it note and making your way from the small apartment block you had stayed for almost two weeks.

After a short walk, a long bus ride, and another short walk, you made it to the fairly intimidating building on the other side of town. It must have been at least twenty floors high, and at certain angles, you couldn’t even see the top of the construction. “I wonder who got that unlucky office.” You laughed lightly to yourself - it was the first one in a short while, and perhaps it was because you were actually in an area, standing in front of a building that didn’t trigger deadly memories for elongated periods, that you could. Seeing other people enter through the main doors, you made your way through the first before seeing at least a hundred different guards standing next to numerous security machines. “Brilliant, fucking brilliant.” You sighed to yourself before beginning what was only going to be a tortuous hour or so.

Twelve security measures, three full-body scans and five bag x-rays later, you were finally allowed access to the sacred building that the family, once like family to you, stayed throughout the days of each week. Pulling your cross-body bag strap closer to you, you stood in front of a marbled desk that spread across the entire room. Behind it was a blonde, fairly young girl wearing a fairly revealing uniform, if you can even call it that.

“Hi, my name is Y/N Y/L/N - I was hoping to see Nikki or Dominic?” You bit your lip after expressing the request, before smiling softly to the receptionist who seemed unamused, glancing you up and down with judging eyes. Your hair was down, and you had dark blue jeans with a black blouse tucked into the top of them. A ring hung securely on your middle finger on your right hand, and blue Converse sat underneath your feet. “They’re busy.” She smiled sarcastically back to you, before looking back down to her computer and beginning to type something into the screen. “Oh, erm, do you know when they will be available?” You asked gently, cocking an eyebrow slightly at the hostility expressed to you so quickly from the woman, but all you got in response was a chuckle and continued obnoxious typing. “Am I missing something here? Aren’t you supposed to be a receptioni-,” you began to retaliate, before being interrupted with a cheery welcome from a familiar female voice behind the counter.

“Y/N! I am so glad you came!” Nikki practically yelled, before nodding towards a final security guard by the entrance to the open space behind the counter, causing the receptionist that had ‘greeted’ you to freeze and begin squirming in her seat. “Nikki, it is so good to see you.” You smiled towards her - which although was still weak, warmed Nikki’s heart as she wrapped you in a tight embrace. “I was actually just leaving, come come! We’ll take you straight home.” Your lips parted in surprise, but relief - this building was incredibly intimidating, and you could not wait to get to a house with a comfortable bed again. “Is anyone else coming with us?” You softly exclaimed, nodding in agreement to her previous idea and beginning to exit to a black car towards the side of the metal building. As you climbed into the seat gestured to you, she shook her head gently before uttering, “Not yet, the boys will meet us later once work is finished.”

Although you smiled towards her and nodded once again, clicking in your seatbelt and sitting back against the head-rest, you couldn’t help but gulp at the thought of Tom, Harry and Sam returning home tonight. You were looking forward to seeing Paddy and Dominic, but the others were a little nerve wracking. It had been years since you last properly encountered with the brothers, almost a decade with Tom specifically, and an adult reunitement was replaced with hushes, dangerous whispers and terrifying stories as the power was passed on through the family. You had no idea what to expect - what he looked like, what he sounded like, but more importantly, what he acted like.

Your thoughts, though, were quickly interrupted with eager chit-chat from Nikki about your life. Hobbies, aspirations and friends were a few of the topics quickly brought up, and soon enough, the car stopped and the car door beside you was being opened. As your shoes hit the pebbled floor, your eyes immediately hit the sight before you. A house, a mansion, laid before you, placed behind an extensive arrangement of flowers, plants and a breath-taking fountain. Before you could even fully capture and grasp the beauty of the exterior, Nikki was eagerly pulling you inside to show you the sights behind the entrance. Just when you thought you could not possibly see something prettier, you did. Firstly, the hallway was bigger than your parent’s home, and the bathroom was bigger than your friend’s apartment. The guest room - which Nikki now insisted was your room - took your breath away for the fourth time since arriving. A king-sized bed stood against the back wall, with oak-wood furniture, designer rugs and a dazzling chandelier surrounding it. You could definitely get used to this.

Tom had finally calmed down at the office, and was somewhat civil with his father after the argument earlier that day. However, Dom was yet to confess the sight he would see in the guest room later tonight, but as the brothers were laughing amongst themselves in the car-ride home, he decided against it. “You should have seen his face, Sam. Practically begging me to kill him quickly - they’re hitting a new low I tell you, they don’t even bother begging for their life anymore.” Tom laughed, before resting his hand behind his head and allowing the journey to return him to his safe space. The windows were heavily tinted, so only people who knew the official address to the residence could find the house, but Tom felt the car begin to drive over pebbles, alerting him he was about to reach home. Once he felt the car stop gently, he opened his door and began making his way to the entrance, his brothers and father following behind him, still smiling and joking amongst themselves over several topics. After greeting his Mum, grabbing something quick to eat and washing his hands briefly afterwards, he expressed he was going to change before making his way up the wooden, oak stairs which led to the variety of bedrooms on the upper floor.

As you used the following hours to slowly un-pack your bag; carefully hanging your clothes on silk-covered hangers and slotting them gently into your one, of many, wardrobes, you set out a pair of pyjamas during the process. After arranging the clothes and other essentials you brought with you, you realised how much everyone else in the house must own if they fill the space provided, before slipping on a pair of blush-pink pyjama shorts and a white t-shirt and brushing multiple knots that had formed in your hair during your arrival to the Holland home. As you sat with quiet music playing out of your phone speakers as you performed your nightly routine for sleep, you faced the wall, miming lyrics of your current favourite song, pulling the brush down in several areas.

Tom’s room was the last of all rooms, against the back wall of the floor. In a swift route towards it, he almost walked directly passed the guest room on the left side of the arrangement, but quiet music hit his left ear for a second. As soon as he heard the sounds, his feet halted, as he turned quickly to face the room that should have been empty. His mind immediately flew to the previous conversations he had uttered with his parents, and as his eyebrows raised and jaw tightened, he stepped closer to the doorway to get a better glimpse of the intruder in his home. As you were so in-touch with the song playing, specifically the lyrics being spoken, you initially overlooked the quiet footsteps that were now making their way into your room, one step at a time. After several steps onto the grey carpet, he could finally see the stranger in his home, and as his lips parted, with his fists clenched, ready to yell and shout, he quickly stopped his actions. His grip loosened, his eyebrows softened and his lips curved into a slow smirk.

“Well, shit, love. If I knew you looked like that, I would have carried you in myself.”

[humblemagic]

a meeting of equals

She had not wanted to come South, to risk enduring more abuses at the whim of another Southron ruler. Since Joffrey had proved himself a monster, she had only ever wanted to go home and remain within the walls of Winterfell. But Jon speaks truth as if everyone surrounding him does the same. He is transparent and unaccustomed to the life at court, and Sansa has been told that the dragon queen is even more beautiful than Cersei.

She arrives at Dragonstone with only her sworn shield and Brienne’s squire, Podrick, despite Jon’s protestations. She is greeted by Missandei, the queen’s most trusted advisor, and her former husband. A smile lightens her grim expression at the sight of him. Tyrion was always kind to her. She feels safer with him here.

“What can one sword do against the Mother of Dragons?” Sansa asks when Missandei bids them to relinquish their weapons.

“Quite right,” her first husband laughs.

The dragons fly overhead, and Sansa cannot help the look of wonder and astonishment that crosses her face. They are majestic. And terrible.

“How have you fared in the years since I’ve seen you, my good wife?”

“As I was married after, I believe you are now set free from your vows, my lord, though I admit I have not been quite as happy in my second marriage as I was when we were wed.I am quite happy to set eyes on you again.” She looks away from the blush reddening his cheeks.

“And I you, though I am surprised Lord Snow did not come himself.”

“Winter is here, and his attentions are better kept North. I hope you do not find me lacking as an emissary.”

“Of course not. You are most welcome at Dragonstone and, I beg you to believe, quite safe. Queen Daenerys values loyalty. If you bend the knee, you will be afforded her protection.”

Sansa gives a noncommittal sound.

Tyrion and Missandei lead them into a great barren hall made of stone.  Across the room, rigidly sat on her throne is a slight girl of no more than nine and ten, Sansa guesses. Her advisors walk to stand to either side of it.

“You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful queen of the Andals and the first men, protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains,” Missandei introduces.

Breaker of Chains, Sansa thinks, and yet you mean to use those dragons to enslave us all.

“I present to you Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard Stark, the Winter Rose, Winterfell’s Reclaimer, Princess of the North, Lady and Blood of Winterfell.”

“Thank you for traveling so far, my lady. I hope the seas weren’t too rough.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Sansa answers. “I have heard of your trials and accomplishments and commend you for returning to your home.”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Thank you, Lady Stark. With that commendation, I must assume you are here to bend the knee like your forefathers before you.”

“I understand the assumption as Your Grace may not be aware of the strife between our families beginning with the kidnapping and rape of my dear Aunt Lyanna Stark by your brother, Prince Rhaegar, and the murders of our liege lord, Rickard, and his son, Brandon Stark, by your father, King Aerys.” She brings her hands together in front of her.

“Lady Stark, I ask your forgiveness for the crimes committed against your family. I am not my brother or my father. I have outlawed raping and reaving in the Iron Islands, and I have no intention of repaying loyalty with the death. I ask you not to judge me by the sins of my family.”

“That is kind. Many women will be spared torment,” Sansa nods.

Queen Daenerys leans back on her throne, her back straightening at the acknowledgment of her benevolence. “Torrhen Stark, the last King in the North, swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. I am the last Targaryen. Honor his vow. Bend the knee.”

“Will you apologize for your family’s crimes in one breath and negate the consequences to them in the next? I mean no disrespect, Your Grace, but you ask House Stark to honor an allegiance to your House that no longer bears weight. We must agree to leave past allegiances and crimes alike behind.”

The corners of her mouth lift in a facsimile of a smile. “If you have only come to break faith with House Targaryen, why are you here?” she demands.

Lord Tyrion’s gaze darts to Sansa anxiously. Those who anger the dragon queen do not survive long.

“To become allies, of course.” She gives the queen a genuine smile, a smile called up from her times with Margaery surrounded by scents of the sea and good humor. “Apart from the North, the kingdoms of Westeros will be yours. I hope that you are open to discussing a trade agreement that will come into effect when you take your throne.”

“We do not know each other, Lady Stark. Allow me to begin remedying that.” The queen stands, walking towards Sansa with slow steps, her hands stiff at her sides. “I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don’t remember all their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I’ve been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years of exile? Faith. Not in any alliances or gods, not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen.

“The world hadn’t seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born.,” she continues. “The Dothraki hadn’t crossed the sea, any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will rule. All of them. By declaring himself King in the North, your bastard brother is in open rebellion. Can you tell me what happens to those who rebel against the crown?”

Will you obey now, or do you need another lesson? Sansa is reminded of forcefully. The last time she was brought before a monarch to answer for her brother’s perceived crimes, she would have knelt and begged for mercy. But there is no mercy in this world, no knights or heroes. She lifts her chin.

In the pause she takes to temper her tone, Lord Tyrion speaks first.

“I believe Lady Stark is quite tired from her journey, my queen,” he says, drawing the queen’s attention. Sansa’s eyes remain on the threat before her. “If it pleases you, we could continue the discussion over supper after she rests.”

“It pleases me to have an answer to my question.” Lord Tyrion retreats. “Lady Stark?”

Sansa clears her throat delicately. “I do not discount your might, and you have my admiration and sympathies for the trials you have overcome as I have said, Your Grace. To answer your question, I must ask one of my own. At one point, there were five kings in Westeros: Kings Joffrey, Renly and Stannis Baratheon, King Robb Stark and King Balon Greyjoy. Now, there are three monarchs. Which crown would you find House Stark in rebellion against?”

“You said this woman was smart.” Queen Daenerys accuses Lord Tyrion.

“One of the most intelligent ladies I have encountered,” he affirms.

“In the time she’s been here, she has admitted that I will take the throne, still refused to bend the knee, and now she means to mock me.”

“Lady Sansa,” Lord Tyrion starts, capturing her gaze. “I once promised that I would never hurt you.” The queen watches curiously. “Though our marriage was in name only, I took that vow very seriously. I still do. Queen Daenerys can be trusted. She will avenge your father. Your brother will be Warden of the North, and you will be as safe there as you were when you were a child.”

“The North will never be safe under a Southron ruler,” she says, her unyielding tone at contrast with the softness of her expression. “She has already threatened the king’s heir.”

Queen Daenerys contradicts, “I threatened your brother who has no right to call himself king.”

“Were your family ties so weak that you don’t know any threat to my brother is a threat against me?” She lets rage color her voice, stepping closer, her chin raising another notch. “The Northern lords and ladies chose to follow Jon and name him their king. You need no rights to what is freely given.”

The woman stares at her stonily as if none of Sansa’s sound words can move her.

Frustrated, Sansa steps closer. “I imagine you think diplomacy is beneath you. You have armies and dragons. What can stand against you?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” she drawls.

“After the Lannisters named my father a traitor, my brother, Robb, was made king and led his armies against them. He won every battle. The people revered him as I am sure yours do you. With dragons and more men than can be counted with the eye, they must think you an insurmountable wall of force. The people called Robb the Young Wolf. They said that he could not be killed. Then, he was. The Boltons and the Freys cut my mother’s throat to the bone, murdered his pregnant wife and took his head. Why?

“He had enough might to rule the North and overthrow the Lannisters,” she adds. She ignores the false glaze of boredom in the queen’s eyes and continues in a bemused tone. “I have the scars to prove it. Yet, fierce as he was in battle, he never was good at diplomacy. He ostracized his bannermen, and,” her pitch falls like a blade, “ they betrayed him.”

“She speaks true. My father orchestrated the attack, but Stark’s own bannermen executed it.”

The queen is no longer feigning disinterest. Her eyes lock on Sansa’s with rapt attention. When Sansa speaks again in a lower tone, the queen’s head leans forward slightly.

“‘What do you want that you do not already have?’ When you sit the Iron Throne, surrounded by subjects who bent the knee only to save their lives and the lives of their people, I do not wonder what your answer will be. I know. You will want to be safe without your dragons or guards close at hand. You will want for true allegiance. Lords who hate you will swear fealty to you to save their lives, but I will not lie to you. I knew that an alliance with the North would not be sufficient to satisfy you. I knew that one sworn shield and her squire could not protect me should you decide to execute me as an example. I answered your summons anyway,” she pauses to give the queen time to decide on the reasons Sansa might have. “The North remembers. We have greater fears than death. My bannermen will not follow someone they do not trust. Will you work to earn it?”

There is nothing in the queen’s expression that belies the answer she will give. Queen Daenerys closes the distance between them, looking at her intently. Sansa forces herself to appear as calm as the first snow. She will die here rather than live the rest of her days in fear of the dragon queen’s wrath.

“The men will follow your brother, and he follows you,” the queen surmises.

Sansa gives no answer. There is none that helps her cause. To rebut it is to deem herself useless. To acknowledge it undermines him.

“And how do I earn your trust, Lady Stark?”

“With patience, Your Grace. With time, King Jon may find that you are worthy to lead the North. If you are not amenable, I must return to my brother with the news that you have refused an alliance with House Stark and our allies, House Arryn and House Tully.”

Instead of flushing with anger at the threat, the queen’s face becomes alight with the first true smile she gives Sansa. “I will not wait forever.”

“No, I would not expect you to. I only ask that you give a House that has been betrayed and nearly ruined time to know you as the queen Lord Tyrion believes you to be.” She lowers her head deferentially.

“In the meantime, you will stay here to get to know me.” She quirks an eyebrow, waiting for Sansa’s nod of agreement. She turns to Missandei. “Please show our guests to their rooms.”

With that, she walks away, and Sansa watches her go.

The tension does not leave her shoulders until she is within her chambers with the door barred. It is only then that she lets the relief she feels make her limbs tremble and her knees weak. She sits on the edge of the bed, hands clutching its sides, exhaling slowly. Her head aches as if she has been sewing intricate designs for hours.

How quickly she turned to threats, Sansa thinks, rubbing her temples.

Despite her willingness to kill, Sansa cannot deny that the queen does impress her. Not many monarchs would have allowed a stranger to convince them to wait for true loyalty. She is different. Cersei would have made an example of Sansa, not seemed genuinely pleased to be threatened. But it is not enough. In the morn, she will offer fleece and wool for the queen’s armies in exchange for dragonglass. She will bide her time, offering glimpses of trust, until Jon has enough to win the war against the dead. She cannot afford to do otherwise.

[thefairefolk-rp]

Welcome, Rachel! Your application for Asa Moon has been accepted!

OOC INFORMATION: Name/Nickname: Rachel, though I often go by Rae Age: 18 Preferred Pronouns: she/her Timezone: CET (I’m in Germany) Activity and Availability: I’d say for sure a solid 7, and possibly an 8. I may not be on at the same time as others due to time zones, but I’ll do my best to respond promptly! Have you read the rules and FAQ? Yes IC INFORMATION: Desired Character: Lady Asa Moon Second Choice Character: Indigo Bell What made you choose this character?: I love the idea of a moral person in a corrupt court, who is standing up against what they know is wrong. Also, the Nighthawks sound totally epic. Are there any changes you would like to make?: If it lines up with what you have already decided and what we talked about, I’d like to add to the last paragraph of her background (though if not it’s totally fine). Something along these lines (this is how I wrote it in my notes, and I added the last sentence afterwards): Only a few members of the Nighthawks know that Asa is the one who founded and is in command of the secret network of rebels. Her identity is a closely guarded secret which is only shared when necessary, as the advantage of having a hand in court can not be overestimated. Even those who know her true identity keep her two lives separate. Their leader is known only to them and the outside world as Lady Nighthawk. And so Lady Moon bides her time, playing the loyal servant and waiting for a time to strike. Questions/Comments: I nearly screamed with excitement when I read about the City in Chains event, so I’m already way too invested in this character. Thank you so much for answering my questions, and I can’t wait to develop her more! Writing Sample: (I kinda got carried away, sorry! Feel free to put this under a read more if you want)

Lady Asa Moon studied her surroundings as she sipped from a crystal chalice. The Full Moon Banquet was in full swing, with Lords and Ladies conversing loudly, minstrels playing jauntily, and food being added to the tables as soon as a plate was emptied. Despite the black stone of the Great Hall being lit only by the candelabras and a few torches, it seemed bright and lively - almost festive, which was something Asa had never thought the Unseelie Court could be.

She was pulled out of her reverie as her neighbor, Lady Amberbelle, turned to face her. “Isn’t it a wonderful party?” She gushed. “King Oberon hosts only the best, of course. But I do think this is one of his finer accomplishments, although I don’t even want to think of the expenses. And the best part of it all is that we get to sit at the table directly left of the King!!”

“His Royal Highness has indeed been most gracious,” Asa replied, nodding at her fellow noblewoman. Although his intentions in having all the unmarried Ladies sit near to him might be less so, she thought wryly. She turned to look at the man they were speaking of, ignoring her fellow guest as the woman prattled on. The King was in fine spirits this evening, seeming almost jovial as he spoke with those around him. Even his Queen looked less bloodthirsty then usual.

Suddenly, the sound of the grand doors opening cut through the hubbub. It silenced all but the most drunken revelers, who were quickly shushed by those around them. A member of the Unseelie Knights entered, followed closely by the King’s Master of Appointments, Lord Tirell, and a fae man who had long before entered his elder years. All eyes followed them as they made their way past the long tables up to the dais where the royal family sat. Lord Tirell bowed quickly, huffing from the effort of moving his considerable girth so quickly, while the knight bowed from the waist for the required five heartbeats and then rose, saying, “My apologies, your Highness, but this man requested to see you. He refused to be deterred.”

“I tried to stop him, your majesty,” Lord Tirell added, sniffing disapprovingly. “The man is persistent. He just kept coming back and demanding that I allow him to take first place on your long line of appointments. But there is only so much I can do.”

King Oberon nodded at the two. “Let this persistent man speak.”

As soon as the two had stepped to the side the old man rushed forward, practically falling into a bow, hands and knees pressed against the black marble floor. “I beg you to forgive my intrusion, your Majesty,” he said, his raspy voice carrying through the room. Asa remained outwardly composed, though she wanted to cringe. No man should ever have to grovel before another. The man continued, ignorant of Asa’s inner discontent. “If it please your highness, I would like to request the release of my son. He was taken by the Unseelie Knights a fortnight ago, and I have been waiting for an audience with your majesty every day hence. His elder mother and I were hoping that we could fall upon your majesty’s generosity and that he might be able to come home and enjoy this feast day with his family.” The man lowered his white head so that it nearly touched the stone beneath him and waited with bated breath - as did the rest of the court.

King Oberon sat in silence for a moment, drumming his long fingers against the table. “What crime was your son arrested for?”

The man gulped audibly. “For publicly agreeing to unspeakable rumors about your majesty.”

The silence was broken by gasps and murmurs, but quickly returned as King Oberon raised a hand. “I think I know the prisoner of whom you speak. What is the lad’s name?”

“Flax Bromwen, my lord,” the man replied, looking up at his King for the first time.

“Yes, that’s the one.” The King snapped his fingers, and a knight was at his side instantly. “Bring this man’s son to me. Now.” The knight bowed and rushed off. Oberon gestured at the man kneeling before him. “You may rise, Sir Bromwen.”

“I’m no sir, your highness, but I thank you all the same.” The old man struggled to his feet, aided by the knight who still stood near him. Lord Tirell was not much help, merely fluttering his pudgy hands anxiously.

The Unseelie court waited for a few - awkward - minutes, in which King Oberon returned to eating his food and the rest of the room stayed silent, all focused on the drama unfolding. The next loud sound was the grand doors opening once again, and the young prisoner’s chained wrists clanking as he was lead forward. When he reached the space before the dais he was pushed into his knees. Father and son shared anxious glances, then turned to wait upon the King.

Oberon finished his mouthful of food and took a long drought of wine before looking at the figures in front of him. “You are very lucky to have such a loving father, Flax Bromwen. Not only has he waited to speak with me on your behalf, he had begged for me to give you mercy. Tell me, what caused you to commit the crime you are accused of?”

The man - barely more then a sapling, Asa guessed - looked at his father, then back at the King. “I was trying to relax after a long day of harvesting, your majesty, and I got carried away with how much I had to drink. I barely remember what I said, honest.”

“He has only just become an Aphen, my lord,” the elder Bromwen interjected, confirming Asa’s suspicions. “He does not know any better yet.”

“I see.” Oberon took another sip of his wine. “You are aware that the standard punishment for your crime is hanging, correct?” The boy nodded, his back stiffening. How small and frail he looks, Asa thought, hoping against hope that perhaps the sentence would be changed. “However, out of consideration to this celebrated feast day, and out of respect for your elder father’s request, I proclaim that your sentence shall be-”

He paused, and it seemed as though the room itself held its breath.

“Your immediate death.” He gestured with a single finger, and before anyone else had time to react, Captain Ryder of the Unseelie Knights had leapt from her place behind the King, stalked over to the young Bromwen, and slit his throat.

A moment passed.

Then a smattering of applause and laughter broke out among the assembled Sidhe. It gradually grew louder until the whole room was applauding the King’s decision. Asa Moon clapped as enthusiastically as those around her, but her face could have been carved from marble as she watched the elder Bromwen sink to his knees, covered by a spray of his own son’s blood. She barely registered when the clapping began to die down as King Oberon spoke again.

“As for you, Sir Bromwen,” he said, a cruel smile growing. “You will go to my dungeons. I am sure you will get as warm a welcome there as you did here.” He waited until two knights had grabbed the now limp man, then added, “While you’re at it, take those who brought the old fellow in, your fellow knight and Lord Tirell, and have them hung at the earliest possible convenience.”

“But - your majesty!” The guard pushed past his comrades who had attempted to grab him. Lord Tirell merely stood there in shock, gaping like an oversized fish. “I have only ever been a loyal servant of the Unseelie Crown! What is the charge against me, and against your Master of Appointments?”

King Oberon lowered the chalice he had been about to drink from. “Interrupting my feast, of course.”

There was a split second of silence as the man was seized and the King drunk his wine, until Lord Caraway rose from his seat near the King and lifted his own chalice. “To our King, and his gracious and merciful judgement! Long may he reign!”

The entire room resounded with the cry, and after the toast, a roar of approval. Lords and Ladies cheered loudly and continued toasting their King as the three men were dragged from the hall - one because he was too weak to stand, one because he was too bewildered, and the third because he fought the entire way.

Lady Asa Moon applauded loudly, but only took her eyes off them after the doors had slammed shut, sealing their doom. A strange buzzing filled her ears, blocking out all of the noise around her. She was only able to focus on the King, who leaned over and murmured to his captain, “Find the rest of the family Bromwen, and kill them as well.” Without waiting for the confirmation that was inevitably given, he turned back to his cheering court, accepting their adoration with a regal nod and a smile.

Asa continue to clap, though her mind was racing. This is what is considered - even condoned - as justice?! What kind of world have we created that we applaud the death of innocents? She gazed around the room again, observing the laughter and enjoyment that was evident on each face. It has not even crossed their minds that this might be wrong. Lady Moon quickly broke off her applause so she could raise her chalice to her lips to hide the anger that was forming. She alone stood against the overwhelming approval of the twisted politics of the Unseelie Court. Something must be done, she thought. Wrong does not cease to be wrong because the majority believe it to be right. And if no one else is willing to rise up against them and right the wrongs they have chosen to blindly applaud, then it seems I must.