#it just shows how worthy he is to be king and have two iron fists

[i-have-one-braincell]

As someone whose mother travelled nearly 13 hours to go to Cuba with plane (3h to Madrid and from there to Cuba), those two were definitely gone for over a day. The show makes it seem like everything was done in a flash, but I like to think that Danny and Peter stayed the night there and left the next morning.

Oh most definitely.

K’un L’un resides in Tibet and the flight hours from New York to Tibet is an approximate 26 hours, so they were in the plane for over a day. Then the race happened for the crown that would’ve been the span of half the day for preparations and Danny and Peter to train a bit, including the making of Peter’s armour for the race.

I like the idea that they stayed the night and left the next morning (could add a cute spideyfist moment😜). And also just Peter being a bit clueless of how long the flight really is since I like to imagine that he slept in the plane the entire first flight to Tibet cuz of how tired he is from fighting crime. The idea of him panicking in the plane towards Danny about what he’ll say to Aunt May when they return back home would’ve been a cute moment between him and Danny.😭😭

[deathmetalunicorn1]

( Romantic ) Yandere Buddha, Posiden, Thor, and Shiva that's in love with a goddess darling that's their polar opposite. Plus the darling already has a husband, who they love very much.

Buddha- He couldn’t stand to see you with another man, even though you had been married to him longer than you have known and befriended Buddha. The two of you bonded over snacks and your relationship was platonic, at least on your side, your soft voice and affections, making him treats as surprises, quickly had this man wrapped around your finger. He was willing to do anything for you, whenever you asked, but he just wanted that in return, but he knew that you were fiercely loyal to your husband, one Buddha deemed not worthy of you. Buddha had to tread carefully, not wanting you to hate him, as his affections grew for you, gifting you small things, flowers, hair pins, little trinkets that you didn’t seem as anything bad and his heart soared when you would smile at him, thanking him for the gifts. Buddha was a very patient man, taking any chance when your husband slipped up, forgetting your birthday, going days without giving you any affection, and in turn giving you so much, showing you how much better he was, gently putting seeds of doubt in your mind. He could slowly start seeing the change in your demeanor around him, the soft smiles, just for him, the lingering glances; it was just a matter of time.

Poseidon- He was a proud man, one who didn’t voice ‘weak’ feelings like this, at least in his eyes, but he couldn’t lie to himself, that whenever he saw you, your smiling face, he felt himself calm. He felt so at ease, like everything problematic in his world was just melting away, leaving just you and him. There was just one little issue with him acting on these feelings of his, wanting you by his side, you were married, and had been for centuries. Your husband was the opposite of Poseidon, he was open with his feelings, gentle and kind with others, and preferred to hear others out when something went wrong, rather than immediately damning the offender and punishing them without any evidence. Poseidon was unable to see why you were so attracted and loyal to such a weakling, kings need to show why they are kings, proving their power and ruling with an iron fist, that was Poseidon’s ideology. He grew angry whenever your husband was around, the opposite of when he looked at you, he wanted you to look at him with soft smiles and kind eyes, wanting it all for himself. He needed to get your husband out of the way, but in a way where he wasn’t a suspect, so you wouldn’t hate him and be so cold to him.

Thor- This man is emotionally constipated with everything except when it came to fighting. When he saw you, a lovely and delicate flower goddess, his opposite, he didn’t know how to really react. Your smile lit up everything around you and he felt a strange pull in his heart, he wanted to see more. You always spoke kindly to him whenever he came around, not afraid of him at all, something he wasn’t used to, as there were gods as strong as him that were afraid of his power, but here you were, making him a flower crown and talking to him like he was a normal man. Thor wanted you to stay by his side, always, so when he found that you were married, he felt his heart shatter, feeling lost. Thor’s affections for you didn’t wane, but when he saw your husband, one who was afraid to even look Thor in the eye, he immediately deemed your husband unworthy of you, someone as wonderful as you didn’t deserve to have a coward for a husband. Your husband confided in you, wondering how you befriended such a monster of a god, as Thor had been glaring at him for most of the day, but he and Thor both were surprised when you defended him, saying that he was nice, and not scary at all around you. Thor saw this as a chance to drive a wedge between you and your husband and drive you into his arms. He needed to have a private word with your husband after this, a smile appearing on his lips.

Shiva- When Shiva and his lovely wives first saw you, a flower goddess, they all fell in love with your bright and warm nature, you were so tiny and delicate that they all wanted you. Shiva’s heart swelled, knowing that his wives like you as well, that they would welcome you as the fourth wife. Kali, Durga, and Parvati were the first to approach you, befriending you and they found you so pure and so full of life, telling Shiva that your name was Y/N, when they returned to him that evening, after spending hours with you. Shiva joined them the next time and you were so kind and sweet to him, making him a flower crown as well, which made his wives jealous, wanting one too which quickly made you giggle. Their plan on having you join their family was shattered when they found out that you were married and had been for many years. Durga and Shiva threw a temper tantrum, but Kali and Parvati did a bit more digging, trying to find out more information about your husband whom you cared so fondly about. Your marriage originally was just for political reasons, but the two of you fell in love, but there had been problems, after so many centuries together, there were no children. Parvati introduced you to Ganesha who immediately liked you, diving into your arms, hugging you, which you cooed at, cuddling the child fondly, and she slyly asked if you had your own children, so they and Ganesha could play together. Your sad look broke all five of their hearts before you managed a small smile, saying your husband didn’t want children. They were quickly angry, as they could see your longing for one, pushing a bit more, finding out that whenever you brought up having a child, your husband would refuse, not wanting to have a child with you, the only thing he refused you. It was careful planning, taking more than a year, drawing you over to their side, step by step, as the five of them made you so happy, they felt like a family, something you always wanted. Now they were in the final step of their long process, getting your husband out of the picture, which Shiva was going to handle himself, without you knowing of course, as he couldn’t stand the idea of you hating him.

[newtie-patootie-bootie]

Masquerade (Prologue)

Summary: This is your third season and your aspirations on finding love are dwindling but news on Lady Whistledown’s society pages say that there is to be a foreign royal in attendance to the season. Could this royal dignitary be the one you’ve been waiting for, or could there be a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows, waiting to pluck your heart for his?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bridgerton nor The Mandalorian- all rights go to the owners and creators of their separate stories.

Warnings: None just yet, enjoy my writing as I lead up to the story!!

|| Please do not repost or plagiarise my work ||

| Chapter 1 |

“Dearest, have you read the newest Lady Whistledown?” Your mother burst into the drawing room with a flurry of her skirts, clutching the article in her fist as you, your brother and your father took in her frazzled form. 

Her eyes were alight with excitement and she was nearly vibrating with delight, “no, Mama. I haven’t.” You answered her, eyebrows pulling together gently and she barrelled forward, slapping the scandal sheet in your hand. 

You abandoned your needlepoint on your lap and opened the reports gingerly, perusing the freshly printed words with increasing distress:

‘In related news to this year’s promising season, my dearest reader- my sources say that a discreet candidate was called on by the Queen herself!

In a show of good faith and generosity to the newly signed trade agreements between the Crown and the elusive, yet breathtaking realm of Mandalore; it seems that this mysterious suitor has touched foot on our verdant lands in search of one of this season’s blossomed flowers to pluck for his own. 

I have heard that this particular aspirant is eager to secure an acceptable match, perhaps with the season’s named Incomparable? 

Or, perhaps there will be a sweet winter blossom that bloomed so richly as she was presented to Her Majesty, the Queen for her third season. Could the magnificent daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Wintere snatch such a lucrative title from Miss Daphne Bridgerton?

I so do adore a good rivalry between two influential families and as such, I would like to express my most exuberant notions of good fortunes to each family and may the best woman win.

This intrepid author would also like to disclose that there should be a number of severe competitors at the Danbury Ball this evening- and even worse, bloodthirsty mama’s charging forward with energetic hopes to secure the prospects of such an exceptional suitor.

After all, it is not everyday you are offered the chance to become a Queen.’

“She has named our dearest daughter a ‘winter blossom’, no doubt in reference to our family crest, darling!” Thomas’ eyebrows lifted at the high praise and yes, it was true. The family crest consisted of blooming hellebores and a snowy owl taking flight. “She also named our daughter to be a worthy adversary of the season’s Incomparable, Daphne Bridgerton!” Elaine gushed, taking a seat beside her husband and her skirts pooled with the air trapped but she seemed nonplussed as did Thomas who watched her with an adoring smile. “Isn’t that wonderful, darling?” 

“I’d consider that a high honour indeed!” Thomas boasted proudly, raising his teacup to you and a sigh left your lips, ever world-weary. 

“Looks more like a wilted weed to me.” Your brother teased and earned a reproachful stare from your parents, Ryder shrugged off the blistering glare from your mother before turning back to his book. 

“Mama,” you implored, the paper crinkling in your tight grip, “do not put any stock into Whistledown’s scribblings- she has a tendency to exaggerate and her words incite challenge when there is no need for it.” You scoffed, tossing the offending scrap on the plush cushion beside you, “she has surely just made Daphne and I targets for the 200 other girls for the entire season!” 

Ryder stood from his place across the room and moved closer, snatching the crinkled sheet from the pillow and plopped himself down, taking in its contents for himself, “Cressida Cowper is going to eat you alive, dearest sister.”

“Please do not remind me of Cressida Cowper, do I not appear distressed enough for you to cease your mistimed jibes, brother?” Your tone heightened, echoing somewhat in the drawing room.

Ryder’s smirk softened into a worried frown and took your hand in his in a soothing fashion, soft thumb massaging the space between your knuckles, “apologies, sweet sister. I only wished to make light of your situation for your own piece of mind.” 

Sighing, you whispered your own apology at your sudden snap and you hummed softly in thought before a mischievous grin curled against your lips, “if anyone should feel concerned about Cressida Cowper’s intentions, I would think you to be more perturbed than I, older brother. The heir to the Duke of Wintere, a monumental promise of success to any willing debutante, I’m certain.” Ryder shuddered at the thought of the ill-mannered girl setting gladiatorial eyes on him and the notion of the high prospects he would bring to the mart. Immediately abandoning your hand, he burrowed himself deeper into the seat beside you and flicked the sheet out dramatically.

It was an indiscreet attempt to occupy his mind elsewhere as he kept his eyes firmly on the black print, yet he took not one word of the information in.

“Darling, this is good.” Your mother’s voice gently eased you from you and your brother’s banter as she reached forward and took your hand in hers, “this means that suitors will now take notice of you, and if this king hears word of your beauty in Whistledown’s musings, then I believe we should all be thankful to the woman, do you not agree?”

Your fingers curled around hers but your eyes remained downcast at your half-sewn needlepoint and you sighed softly, “I don’t see the need for such articles to be published. There will be enough dramatics to satisfy the weak-minded all season.” 

“Your mother and I only want what is best for you, little owlet.” Your eyes raised to meet Thomas’, his gaze warm, tone loving as he levelled you with an adoring smile, “if it eases your mind, I have come across some news of this new ruler during my time at the club. I have heard he is just and fair. An honourable gentleman if somewhat mysterious as Lady Whistledown reports. You have nothing to lose by dazzling him with your grace and charm- but you have everything to gain if you succeed in wooing him. You have no need for tricks or deception to win the attention of any suitor, for you are perfect just the way you are.” Tears blurred your vision, threatening to slip down your cheeks. Your frown turned into a watery smile as your father placed his warm, large hand over you and your mothers, “and I shall be there to protect you and only agree to a match deserving of a jewel such as yourself.” 

You sniffled back the forming tears before smiling warmly, “thank you, Papa.” 

“There is no need for gratitude, dearest. This is a father’s duty; one I aim to fulfill to the highest regard-” Your father’s words were cut short as one of the servants walked into the drawing room.

“Your dresses have arrived, Your Grace, my Lady.”

“Ooh!” Elaine shot up from her seat, clapping in excitement before grabbing your hand and hauling you upstairs to your room, “we must find the perfect gown for tonight’s fete!” 

Your sputtering and half formed protests carried down the hallway as Thomas opened the newspaper that had been sitting untouched in his lap, chuckling indulgently, “ever the child, your mother.” 

Ryder shook his head in amusement, a smile curling his lips.

"Have you read the newest Whistledown? Foreign royalty searching for a suitable bride? I suspect this season will turn out to be exemplary.” 

"I heard that this King's treasury is one to rival the Crown itself."

"I heard he has a son, yet there is no mother that has come forward to claim the child. A most scandalous affair, indeed!"

"I heard that their land is rich in minerals. Some type of iron that is nigh indestructible! I'd wager it'd fetch a high price."

"Daphne Bridgerton locked in a violent competition with the Duke and Duchess of Wintere’s daughter? How delicious."

"I have never heard of this Mandalore, is it near Scotland?"

You were barely able to contain your ire for the gossiping hounds polluting the air of the ballroom. 

Your jaw ticked imperceptibly and you fought the urge to roll your eyes so hard you would be able to see the back of your head.

Their whispers were anything but that as you walked past each intrusive mama and daughter as they revelled in the rumors etched in the latest scandal sheet authored by Lady Whistledown, containing information of a supposed king attending the ball. 

Your eyes scanned the ballroom and made contact with the youngest Featherington- carving a path for her, her rounded figure swathed in a bright, eye-catching yellow gown that suited her complexion and figure little, yellow beads and jewels glittering in the lights overhead.

You caught her eye and her shy demeanor slipped somewhat as she smiled, excited to see a familiar face and you curled your arm through hers and locked them together, “why have I not seen you on the dance floor, Miss Featherington?” You asked and Penelope sighed. 

“I am just admiring the view, Lady Dalton,” you raise one brow at the title and her tiny frown curled into an indulgent smile as she corrected herself and called you by your given name, “you seem to have taken the room by storm when you joined the dance floor, every bachelor here has his eyes on you and Daphne tonight. I would think many of the suitors here are bursting at the seams for your hand- and it is your third season as well.” 

“No doubt to Lady Whistledown’s meddling, I’d wager. I have already entertained enough male suitors tonight. I shall take my leave of them for the time being,” your tone changed to a slight whine which served to incite Penelope’s rich giggles, “have you taken your turn about the room?” 

“I’m afraid I am not as carefully provided for as you, my Lady. Father has decided to forego these events and my mama is not quite so attuned to my aspirations to ensure a well-rounded tour.” 

“Well, then, allow me, Miss Featherington.” You hummed politely, smiling brilliantly at the shy girl who returned the gesture just as brightly and you led the way about the hall. Nodding your head politely to every suitor that greeted you, you curled closer to Penelope, “I see your mother is surveying the hall with Lady Cowper and Lady Edgecomb.” Penelope’s world-weary exhale betrayed her true thoughts and you ran a soothing line along the back of her hand with your thumb, “the determination of rumormongers is indeed boundless, are they not? Perhaps, we shall next be blessed with the sight of them suspended from the rafters with ear trumpets to survey even the most meagre pieces of gossip.” Penelope giggled, covering her mouth with her hand daintily as she did so, bowing her head. 

“Ah,” Anthony Bridgerton exclaimed, his arm encircled with Daphne’s as they stepped in front of you, “Miss Featherington, Lady Dalton.” 

“Penelope,” Daphne spoke your names warmly, her bright smile widening as she curtseyed perfectly.

“Lord Bridgerton, Daphne.” You and Penelope greeted in unison, curtseying elegantly though you felt your arm tense as Penelope teetered on her feet in an attempt to keep her balance. You rose rather quickly to save her any embarrassment, “how fares the hunt, Daphne? Many of the most eligible suitors have presented themselves at this fete, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes, my Lady.” Anthony spoke over his sister, answering for her. “Quite a well-rounded affair. Why, I can count every worthy bachelor on each finger of my left hand.” Daphne stared at her brother, aghast but your tinkling laughter could not be hidden with a well-placed hand over your mouth.

“I could only hope that you could spare a finger for my own brother, my Lord? Is he not worthy of your high praise? I would hate to inform my father of this scandalous news!” You teased slyly, a sparkle of mischief in your eyes as Anthony chuckled.

“Of course, my lady. Ryder Dalton, heir to the title Duke of Wintere is honest and true. A man worthy of the title he will one day inherit.” You bowed your head gracefully at the praise.

“Did you read the latest entry of Lady Whistledown’s scandal sheet?” Daphne asked, head inclined slightly in question and your lip curled in irritation, earlier humor forgotten.

“Unfortunately, dearest Daphne. What does this author hope to accomplish by sowing dissension among peers? It is only going to be harder for us if we are to be locked in this invented rivalry until the season ends. Not to mention that all other 200 fine young women will see us as common adversaries to quarrel for a desirable bachelor.” You shook your head and sighed wistfully.

“Perhaps, Lady Whistledown’s sources were incorrect in their counsel. I have yet to see a comely King from a foreign land in our midst.” Daphne teased and you chuckled, nodding as you looked about the room but gazed over no fanfare nor buzzing enthusiasm.

“Nor a royal guard. What do you think, Penelope?” You hummed and the young woman beside you almost wiggled with excitement to be counted.

“I believe that Lady Whistledown is breeding a development early in the season to incite challenge.” You voiced a wordless agreement and Penelope continued, her fingers still clinging to yours, “Her Majesty is one to be enthralled and I would think that the public invitation to this monarch of Mandalore is an attempt to bring about said excitement.” Penelope’s curls bounced around her rounded face as she spoke and you took her words in with great thought. 

“A compelling view, if I ever heard!” Anthony complimented and Penelope bowed at Anthony’s flattery, “if you ladies will excuse us, we still must take our view of the room.” 

“Ah, we shall keep you no longer! Happy hunting, my Lord. Good luck, Daphne.” You sympathised genuinely and Daphne huffed in agreement as her brother pulled her away. “That was excellent, Penelope. Sharp wit, indeed!” 

Your words were met with sweet giggles from your friend as you continued your turn about the room, dance cards dangling delicately from your gloved wrists in and quizzed Penelope on the memory of her miniatures, impressed with her skill to point out each suitor with ease.

Once Penelope tired of walking, she took her rest by the edge of the dance floor and you bid her luck before striding to the refreshments table in search of a beverage to quench your thirst.

Your eyes remained locked on the small glasses of lemonade, unbothered with taking care in your surroundings- you were shocked to feel someone knock into you rather forcefully. You stumbled, unable to right yourself and you could feel your traitorous feet tangle around each other. 

Time seemed to slow to a complete stop, though your mind ran freely and aware. A frisson of fear crackled down your spine at the premature embarrassment of the predicament you were just about to drop yourself in just as you felt strong hands slip against your back, righting you almost as quickly as your legs betrayed you. 

“Oh, goodness, please do excuse my-” your apology trailed off into stunned silence as you took in the unfamiliar man you could call your savior. This stranger that had his arms around you in a most improper fashion and you know you should untangle yourself from his touch immediately but the heat of his large, ungloved hands bled into the exquisite material of your gown, through your corset and seared directly into the flesh of your arched back.

His clothing was much the same of every suitor attending, nothing unique or flamboyant to stand out amongst the countless other candidates. The slight crinkles in his suit brought an air of indifference- as if he cared little for the state of his dress. What persuaded you to fully take in his form, was his sun kissed, bronze skin that shone deep in the synthetic light of the chandelier accompanied by the ornate lights mounted on the wall; so striking and different from the many men that boasted pale complexions and youth.

You could see the ruggedness in the etchings in his skin, the lines that betrayed his advanced age compared to the others in attendance. The hair atop his head was rich and dark with slight streaks of gray, airy soft curls that adorned his head like a crown, wild and untamed. The same dark hair that graced his head, also carved around his jawline and upper lip, small patches of hair scarce in some places- so unlike the pronounced fashions in high society and you found yourself preferring the unkemptness. His eyes were a harsh change from the softness of his hair, striking and bold. They glittered like dark gems in the gentle lights as he perused your features, intelligent yet curious as he took you in with a cool countenance and thick brows pulled together in an expression of concern.

A prominent nose curved down with a hooked slope, rather large but it suited him and you fought the urge to caress the curved bridge with your fingertip. Pink lips parted, thin but pillowy as the tip of a red tongue slipped between to hydrate the slightly chapped flesh. 

It set him apart from the rest, a beauty you so desperately wished to explore.

Just as you studied this unfamiliar man, he also took your form in. 

His gaze was not leering like many of the bachelors loitering about the room- nor a lecherous grin curved those sinfully soft lips as he drank in your appearance with ease, noting every detail and micro expression with rapid ease and forced himself to cease the ever growing notion to tighten his arms around you, drag you closer to his chest when he felt the way your body curled into his touch, seeking the warmth he provided on a subconscious level. 

Clearing his throat softly, he righted you on your feet and took a step back, bowing at the waist and a soft curl slipped in front of his handsome features, concealing his left eye, “forgive my impropriety, my Lady,” his voice was deep, rasped and foreign and those same lips curled around each word with an elegance none of the men here could hope to match, “my intentions were pure, I assure you. I did not mean-” 

“-t-the apologies are mine, my Lord. I did not see you.” You cut off his apology, your usual confidence abandoning you and curtseyed softly before you both straightened in tandem, “please accept my most sincere apologies.” 

“Only if you accept mine, my Lady, as I was the one to knock you.” This man raised his eyes to meet yours, a small smile playing on his lips at your stunned expression. 

Realising how unladylike you seemed, you quickly smoothed your expression into a serene smile and bowed your head gently, “well then, I accept your apology, my Lord.” 

“And now, I shall receive yours.” He bowed once again, though his eyes never once strayed from yours, his hand coming to brush back the curl that slipped in front of his face, freeing his eye from the obstacle. “Quite an affair, is it not?”

You turned to look upon the room and the dozens of bodies packed in the lavish ball and the bodies moving in rhythmic synchronisation as they flounced around the dancefloor, skirts billowing and waistcoats whipping. “Yes, my Lord. It is certainly a promising fete.” You ripped your gaze from the dancers and you looked back to the mysterious suitor that you know for a fact his profile has never graced your miniatures. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure, my Lord.” You introduced yourself and he bowed his head in a nod to your status. 

“Din Djarin, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lady.”

You did not miss the way he left out his title, not many men did. It was refreshing to meet someone unbothered by status and titles. You smiled brilliantly and for a moment, he had trouble remembering how to breathe. 

How did people do this?

“What brings you to London, Lord Djarin? I do not believe I have seen you here.” You certainly couldn’t recall seeing those mesmerizing, yet prominent features etched in your miniatures.

“I’m in town for business, mostly- but I thought I would attempt to join the fray of finding a beautiful woman to make my bride.” Din’s eyes found yours when his lips curved out the word ‘beautiful’. You could feel your cheeks heat and quickly brought the tiny glass to your lips and took a long draught- almost emptying the glass entirely. It was unseemly on your part but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care, you needed to soothe your drying throat and tame the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“And what better place to be than a cotillion for ambitious debutants who are searching for the perfect match?” Betraying your inner emotions, you struck up kind conversation, performing an air of confidence and strengthened your resolve. A wide smile stretched his lips, revealing perfect, straight teeth and the act of a simple smile brightened his features. Your heart slammed against your ribcage in response, your steely courage cracking in half with little to no effort.

He took a sip of his own lemonade just as a pair of gossiping mama’s walked past you both, talking loud enough for you to overhear their conversation with minimal exertion- if any, “and where, pray tell, is this so-called king?"

"Perhaps, Whistledown's sources were wrong. You can never trust a scandal sheet these days, I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to be a charlatan." 

You swallowed the sigh you desperately craved to release and inwardly shook yourself free from the coils of irritation that started to constrict around you before turning your attention back to the mysterious lord, only to notice his eyes were following the rumormongers and you helped yourself to a portioned sip of lemonade in an endeavor to quell the heat burning within you. A certain dark fire heated his gaze, stoking a reaction in you. Something deep and primal you had never experienced before and you suppressed a shudder at the ferocity clearly displayed in those deep, dark eyes.

“What are your thoughts on this foreign monarch, my Lord?” You barely managed to choke out, Din’s eyes snapped back to you as your question hung in the air and you swallowed subtly as his piercing gaze burned through yours.

“My thoughts?” He rasped, shifting on his feet in a show of subtle anxiousness. His earlier fire dissipating and awkward trepidation took the forefront.

“What do you make of the rumors surrounding the arrival of a ruler of a distant land coming to London to participate in the season?” You tilted your head in innocent curiosity, “surely, you have heard of this mysterious King hailing from his distant realm?”

“Rumor articles and gossip do not interest me, but yes, I am familiar with the topic you wish to discuss.” His smile twisted his lips into a forced stretch- barely passing for genuine and you weren’t sure as to why he seemed so uncomfortable when just moments earlier he was quite at ease conversing with you.

“And what do you make of his scarcity when his arrival was rumored to be a most certain guarantee? I should think the King would be thankful for not attending. Overbearing mothers and their equally simpering daughters have proven to be nuisances at the best of times.”

“Is that so?” Din looked at you, surprise colouring his pleasing features at your unfiltered response, “are you not disappointed that you may not meet this ruler and further your prospects on the mart?” His hand gestured subtly at his side, the barely touched lemonade sloshing dangerously close to the rim, “it would be a high honour to catch the eye of a king, now would it not?”

You chuckled, ducking your head for a moment, reflecting on your answer before opening your lips, “as silly as it may sound, I wish to marry for love.” You raised your hand, noncommittal waving it about, “I realise it will never happen, you do not endure two seasons with silly notions of love intact. I must maintain a status beholden of my title and secure a proper, advantageous match. But I can operate under the illusion of hope, can I not?” Din’s eyes cast down in thought, your words were soft, spoken quietly as if you were afraid another may overhear- whether by accident or on purpose, he could not say.

But the sincerity in your eyes could not be overlooked, the innocent yearning for a future that could very well be out of your reach sparkled against the hues of your irises. 

“Perhaps your aspirations will be met, my Lady.” Din smiled kindly and you hummed in thought, but your brilliant smile was dim. Working up his courage, he set the small glass of his barely touched lemonade on the refreshment table and vaguely gestured to the dancefloor, anxiousness twisting his features almost comically, “w-would you care to dance?”

His hand was large, rough with thick fingers. They were working hands, familiar with hard labour and you shivered imperceptibly at the thought of those hands running down the expanse of your naked flesh. 

You took a few steps forward, maintaining a respectable distance for propriety’s sake. With a smooth movement, you gently leant around him- his eyes never left yours as you placed your glass on the refreshment table beside his.

A gentle scent curled into your nose, blessing your senses with the subtle hints of sweet spices, oak and . . . a touch of gunpowder.

A heady, peculiar scent and it suited its wearer perfectly.

You slid your gloved hand into his, fingers slipping against his palm. The gossamer material caught on the rough skin of his palm and his lips upturned into a grin. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Djarin.” He grinned and you helped him by pointing to the card around your wrist and he made a soft ‘oh’ sound before taking hold of it and let go of your hand to grip the tiny pencil- thick fingers swallowing the dainty stationary and you smiled as he filled the Canon Galop Quadrille with his name in sharp, messy strokes.

“Shall we?” He let the card and pencil drop as his fingers snaked up your wrist slowly, feeling every dip and hollow before clasping your hand gently and leading you to the dance floor. “I must confess, I’m not accustomed to dancing all that much. I pray you forgive me if I fumble.”

You chuckled softly as you joined the other couples on the dancefloor and took your places. You smiled at Din who shuffled in place subtly, waves of anxiety pouring out of him, “I will not judge you, Lord Djarin. You have my most sincere promise and if you have any issues with the steps, I shall guide you. Do not worry.” He looked at you, your soothing tone calming the raging storm of distress inside him and he reciprocated with a smile of his own. 

The music began to play as you curtseyed to the other couples and took your place in front of Din, your hand slipping into his and a strong muscular arm wrapped around your back, large hand splayed across the expanse of your skin and you suppressed another shudder at the addicting heat he emitted. With a gentle nod, the tempo in the set increased and you began to skip about the room with practiced ease.

You gently tilted in a different direction, silently alluding to the next movement and he carried you effortlessly through the throngs of couples, winding around the dancefloor perfectly.

Giggles erupted from your throat, this particular dance always brought out the child within you and Din smiled at the sound, finding that he wished to hear it more often. “I dare say, my Lord, that you move quite well for not being accustomed to this particular dance.”

“I’m rather accustomed to a life outdoors, perhaps it has aided me well.” Din murmured, tightening his hold against your back.

You twisted and twirled around the dancefloor, weaving around bodies and as you separated to complete the next act of the dance, your eyes never left his and the mysterious man seemed more than content to hold your gaze and then you were back in each other’s arms.

“Perhaps, we could discuss the matter of dancing etiquette further, at a more. . private venue?” You asked quietly, alluding for him to call on your home. 

Before he could open his mouth to reply, a loud thump hit the ground and the music paused abruptly and you both stopped, all the guests' gazes swivelled to the ballroom doors as they were thrust open violently.

Gasps and shrieks rippled across the room as two armoured warriors marched forward, spears in hand and their features concealed by unusual helmets, stark colours streaked across the material in a wash of deep reds, browns, yellows and teals along with similarly handprints. A dark- completely opaque visor stretched across their helmets before spanning down, splintering the armour in half.

The curve of their coloured breastplates indicated their feminine physiques, pieces of vibrant painted plates clung to the thick, almost tribal clothing they wore beneath- sharp hues of red and brown adorned their bodies, hems tied tight with pieces of dark leather around their wrists and calves. Fur lined the capes around their shoulders as the thick material flowed to their booted feet, the leather scuffed and worn- creased from years of dedication and physical labor. 

Yet your eyes remained trained on the pure silver spears they held at the sides, pointed ends lifted straight in the air as they slammed the butts of the weapons down against the polished floors in tandem. 

A loud metallic ringing filled the ballroom and harsh bootfalls began to echo. 

Din stiffened in your arms before gently extricating you from his hold, the both of you turning to face the open entrance.

You swallowed harshly as a hulking figure took the space of the doorway, silver armour gleamed in the lights above, clearly displaying the pure gold accents weaved through the chest plate and accompanying pieces- dark clothes thick and concealing any form of skin to be shown, brown gloves worn, flaxen tips stark against the deep colours.

Just like his guards, he was not unarmed. But unlike carrying a spear of his own- you did not miss the pure obsidian claymore sheathed around his back. The hilt was brilliant against the darkness of the blade- made up of what seemed to be the same material that adorned his body. 

His helmet was simple- unlike the tribal colourings of his people, his was silver- notes of gold bled through the seams of the visor, framing it with its simplistic beauty and fur lined his shoulders, gold chain clinking against the silver metal and the crimson cape billowed behind him as he continued with his heavy gait. 

“Is it him? Surely not!”

“I expected a fanfare- yet this is not what I had imagined.”

“Do they dress like this in Mandalore? Will I have to?!”

“Look at them, so primal!”

“Why do they carry weapons? So uncivilised.” 

Whispers filled the hall as the foreign stranger stopped, his helmet scanning the room.

“The twenty-fourth monarch of our sovereign land,” The guards called, demanding silence from all in attendance, “The First of Clan Mudhorn and sole ruler of Manda’yaim. We present our king, the Manda’lor.” Their fists beat against their breastplates as they turned and faced their leader and bent their knee to the floor, heads bowed in respect. “This is the Way.”

The dark visor continued to survey the hall until it stopped-

-directly onto you.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes caught your reflection staring back at you from across the room, you could no longer feel Din’s presence beside you. A quiet, rasping voice rang true from beneath the ornate silver helm, so familiar and yet completely unplaceable.

“This is the Way.”

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 3

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated. 

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  

Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.

The mad Prince of Notaleveale.

Remus was coming here. Remus was coming to Steveange and if Romulus saw him-

Roman had to leave.

Which was easier said than done; when the streets were crowded with hoards of shoppers and revellers all pressing against him, blocking his path, stealing the air out of his lungs-

“Roman!”

He needed to go. He need to find Virgil and Patton in whatever rooms they’d managed to find, collect his belongings and-

No. That would take too long – he could replace the clothes and books, he already had his sword-

“Roman, what’re you-”

- but he needed his lute. To make any kind of living he had to be able to perform. It was the only thing he was good at and once he’d got away he’d be -

He could do it. He’d run away before. He survived alone, without anyone, he could do it again and-

“Roman! Stop!”

He stopped.

Logan. Heading towards him. But he hadn’t given a time frame and if Roman grit his teeth and pushed past the spike of pain he could start to move again in just a second-

“Wait!”

Dammit.

Roman waited. Fists clenched by his side, until Logan was next to him.

“Roman.”

His chest was tight. His brain wasn’t -wasn’t working right and Logan looked so odd, with his glasses askew and his face flushed – had he been running?

“I thought I saw Patton.” Roman blurted.

It was the first excuse that popped into his head and it was clearly not – not good enough. Logan was frowning at him, a pinched expression, studying him like an experiment and-

Roman hated him, suddenly.

Logan was an upstart swot with ideas above his station and a chip on his shoulder. He poked and prodded and lost them jobs with his terse words and his better than you attitude. He reminded Roman of the tutors who snap at him for his lack of understanding and bark orders for him to recite, repeat, remember, to be better, smarter, stronger: someone worthy of his title.

He reminded him most of all of Julius. His fathers closest advisor, who had been charged with unravelling the Princes’ curses. He was the one who had helped Romulus learn how to push against his curse. He would give him orders that were almost impossible to follow and watch with cold eyes as Romulus struggled to disobey. Together they’d categorised how much pain he could withstand, what orders could be navigated and misinterpreted and which ones he was truly helpless against.

Once, he’d bid Romulus to stand on one leg. And left him there until his muscles started to cramp and shake, waiting to see if gravity or the curse was stronger. Romulus had been in tears by the end. Had even wondered, briefly, about complaining to his parents. But is was such a silly, innocuous order compared to other experiments. What had truly upset him was how Julian had just stood there, not speaking, his eyes distant and cold and calculating as he noted down every twitch and whimper from the boy. Even when he circled him, Romulus could feel those eyes boring into the back of his neck like a-

“Princey.”

Roman blinked. Julius’ practice room disappeared, replaced with the sights and sound of the Steveange street. Logan was in front of him and his eyes were far from cold. When he spoke it was with the same gentle tone that Roman had heard him use when Virgil’s worries overwhelmed him or when Patton woke from a nightmare and didn’t know where he was.

“Did the cro- the woman. Did she say something to you?” Logan was holding his hand. Gently but firmly, he tugged at Romans tightly clenched fingers, encouraging them to unfurl. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at the deep crescent marks he’d made in his palm.

Slowly, Logan released his right hand and reached for his left, repeating the process.

Roman felt shame ripple through him.

Logan wasn’t Julius. Logan would never push him so far he broke.

Logan was his friend and Roman has made him worry with his silly behaviour and his slapdash lie. But he could fix it.

He forced a smiled. Flexed his fingers and straightened up his full height. Made a show of looking around him.

“I swear I saw him. Big man, big sword, big smile – he’s hard to mistake!”

Hesitantly, Logan glanced around too before quickly refocusing on Roman.

“Are you sure you –“

“Ah well, the mind plays trick I suppose – must be hunger getting to me, speaking of which…”

Roman reached forward and deftly snatched the bag from Logan's grasp, reaching in blindly and shoving the first pastry he found into his mouth.

“Mmmm so good!” He beamed at Logan with berry stained teeth, flakes of pastry flying through the air. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

Logan stared at him. Roman kept his smile sweet and his eyes clear. He held up the bag and wiggled it enticingly.

Hesitantly, Logan took the bag and selected a tart. Keeping his eyes on the bard the entire time, he ate his treat with much more refinement then Roman had shown. “Holding back?” Roman asked, teasing, “I’ve seen you eat jam before, there’s no point pretending to have table manners now.”

Logan just hmphed but his shoulders relaxed slightly and Roman decided to take that as a victory. “We should get going” Roman said and started walking, Logan easily falling into step beside him.

The streets were crowded enough that none of the sellers seemed to feel the need to call to Roman specifically, and so this time he was free to investigate the stalls he was actually interested in.

But instead he stayed by Logan's side

Logan was a good friend. For all he claimed to lack an understating of emotional nuances he was letting Roman have his space. He’d even distracted him earlier, when his biggest concern had been the a spike of homesickness after meeting their northern customer.

He was nothing like Julius.

Roman was going to miss him so much.

***

Roman kept up his performance of normality all the way back to the main square, where they had agreed to meet the others once their mission was done. The sky was beginning to turn dark by the time they got there, though it was easy enough to navigate from the sheer number of stalls still in operation, each one boasting its own selection of colourful lanterns.

“This is fantastic!” Roman gasped theoretically, spinning on one foot to take in the whole spectacle.

“It’s a fire hazard.” Logan muttered with a frown.

They found Virgil waiting for them by the central fountain. He had manged to find a seat on the fountains edge but was wedged between two young couples who had clearly taken the romantic festival atmosphere to heart. The healer’s shoulders were up by his ears and his cloak was wrapped so tightly around himself it looked constricting. When he saw them he sprang to his feet so quickly he almost knocked one of the young ladies into the water.

“Took you two long enough.”

Roman and Logan glanced at each other.

“Logan got lost-”

“Roman kept wandering off.”

“-We brought you baked goods!”

Virgil took one of the two remaining pastries with minimal grumbling and led them out of the square. They took the north east road, a path that curved its wary upwards into the higher levels of the city. Here the buildings were all built of a blush-pink marble that sparkled in the evening twilight. The streets were wide, with neatly arranged flowerbeds and street lights which had the steady glow of Arkazeii glow lamps rather than the flicker of oil. There were certainly no traders spread out on blankets. Logan looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Was this inn you found an…economical choice?”

“It was a ‘the whole town’s rammed and this was the only place with a room left’ choice.” Virgil snarked “and don’t worry – its one room for all four of us with no breakfast included, if you were worried about getting too… bourgeoisie…or whatever."

Logan raised his hands for peace.

“I’m sure you did the best you could.”

“Well …we were lucky.” Virgil told him, and then glanced over at Roman, his lip twitching.

“Apparently they give discounts to performers.”

***

The inn was certainly a cut above their normal haunts. With brightly painted walls almost obscured by well pruned climbing plants, outdoor seating, and a wrought iron gate leading to spacious stables behind the building.  Even the doors were of better quality then your typical village tavern – made of wood heavy enough to make a satisfying crash when Roman stormed in.

The room was crowded, but Patton really was hard to miss. Roman shoved his way through to the back table where the big man sat waiting. Leaving other customers cursing in his wake.

‘Hey kiddo!’ Patton greeted him with a wide smile “Did you-“

“Key.” Roman snarled.

Patron blinked and him, shock writ large on his face. “Sorry?”

“The key. To my room.  Give it.” Roman snapped. “It is mine right? Since you seem happy to pimp me out in exchange for-“

“Hey!” That would be Virgil. Roman half thought he had left both men behind in his rage after Virgil’s little announcement, but the elf at least seemed to have kept up. He’d reached the table just in time to hear the start of Roman’s rant. “What the hell is your problem Princey?”

“My problem? Oh I’m sorry, I’M not the one signing other people up to sing for their supper without permission Virgil.”

“You like singing for your – we thought you’d want to!”

“Well it would have been nice to have a choice!”

“Virgil. Roman.” That was Logan, it had taken longer for the shorter man to force his way through the crowd but he wasted no time now in inserting himself into Romans business. “whatever this is… it’s not about putting on a show.”

He turned to the other two. Virgil scowling, Patton wide eyed.

“He had an…episode in the market.”

“Excuse me?” Roman shouted.

“Roman, whatever disturbed you, you practically ran away.”

“Well perhaps I had simple grown tired of looking at your face? Had you considered that?”

He turned his back to Logan, rounding on Patton again: “Now, give me the-“

Patton already had his hand out, wrought iron key resting loosely in his palm.

“We’re on the fourth floor.” he said calmly as Roman snatched it from him. “First door once you get up the stairs.” Roman spun on his heel only to find Virgil blocking his path.

“Move.” Roman hissed.

“What is wrong with you?” Roman narrowed his eyes. Virgil looked angry. Looked one second away from telling him to sit down, shut up, stop causing a fuss. He wondered if he could get past him without using his sword.

“I’ll bring you up some food in a bit,” Roman blinked glancing back at Patton, startled. The warrior still hadn’t moved from the table - admittedly no easy task in the cramped corner- and was looking at him calmly.

“I don’t want anything” Roman muttered, sullen.

“But you might later.” Patton smiled at him. Not knowing how to respond Roman turned back to Virgil. The elf glanced between the two, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before sighing and stepping to the side. Not fast enough to prevent Roman from knocking his shoulder with his own as he pushed past however.

It wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped.

**

At a guess, the room was normally meant for storage not guests. Two rickety looking beds had been shoved in, so close together they might as well have been one. There was one small table forced between the end of one bed and the wall, with a basin of water perched on top. Someone,  presumably Patton, had organised their bags neatly at the end of the beds. Roman’s was at the far end, closest to the window. Then Patton, then Virgil with Logan closest to the door, next to the only built in shelf where a candle had been left for the night. Roman would be able to wake with the dawn, as he liked to do, and Logan would have light for the longest to stay up and read.

Romans lute was not on the floor with his pack.  Instead he found in had been placed on the bed itself, propped up on his pillow, away from any potential harm.

Whatever righteous anger he had been able to hang on too as he stomped upstairs dropped out of him now like a stone from a cliff. Without it, the despair he had felt in the market came rushing back. He sank down right there by the door, bringing his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the forest. As he used to do in Julius’ room.

He almost wished Julius was here – at least he would tell him not to cry.

The through was so absurd he let out a weak snotty laugh and buried his head in his arms.

He needed to leave Steveange.

He didn’t want to leave them.

But they had planned to stay for a week at least, hopefully longer.

Convince them to leave early? Except he couldn’t explain why. Find them a job out of the city? How? When the coronation and accompanying celebrations were over it would be easy enough to find a traveling group in need of a little extra protection, but for now no one was leaving.

They’d been excited to come. Virgil want to try the city baths, famed for their heated pools and soothing water. Logan had been talking about the library for half the trip. Patton was just excited to explore the city itself, meet the people and try the food. He loved when they stopped in busier towns but it was a rarity.

There was no way Roman would be able to convince them to leave just because he wanted to.

Roman did what other people wanted. It was all he knew how to do.

And even if he had a convincing reason…well, they probably didn’t want him around anymore anyway.

He scrambled up, grabbed the first pillow he could reach and buried his face in it to muffle a scream of frustration which turned into more sobs.

He was so pathetic.

Since he’d left home, he’d kept his memories, kept Romulus, buried as deep as he could. But now it was like Romulus was just under his skin. Ready to jump out If he let himself slip. With all his anger and hurt and fear.

Romulus was a liability.

Romulus was a murder. Or would be. If Roman couldn’t think.

He stepped over to his pack, still hugging the pillow to him like a teddy bear, and started to review the contents. He didn’t need to take all of this with him, surely? Half of it wasn’t even his, their belongings having become more and more intertwined the longer they travelled.

The healing salve was rightfully Virgil’s, the soft shirt he wrapped himself in during cold nights was actually Patton’s, at least one of the notebooks belonged to Logan.

He opened the nearest book to check, but instead of Logan's neat lists his own sloppy scrawl stared back at him. Song lyrics and passing thoughts and, on the next page, an unfinished sketch. It was of Virgil, hand covering his mouth but eyes betraying his laughter. The other pages, he knew contained scribbles of all three of them. He flicked back and found his favourite, the page marked with a yellowed leaf he couldn’t remember picking up.

It showed all three in one sketch. Logan, sleeping and so looking years younger, head pillowed on Virgil’s thigh. Virgil was turned towards Patton, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘can you believe this?’ but making no move to actually shift scholar off him. Patton was laughing, he was the most well rendered of the three figures, you could almost see his shoulders shaking.

Roman looked at it for a moment. Then slowly replaced the book mark and closed it. This would have to come with him.

A knock at the door startled him so badly he dropped the book, which bounced under the bed.

“Kiddo? Can I come it?”

Fuck.

Patton. He had -he had been so, so unbelievably rude to Patton.

His first instinct, which was admittedly not a good one, was to jump out of the window.

Roman took a deep breath. Focusing on the mundane task of sorting items had cleared his head somewhat. He was still a little shaky but his eyes were dry. He knew what would be expected of him now - Romulus had spent most of his life apologising.

“Come in.” he croaked and stood, squaring his shoulders.

Patton entered alone, two bowls of something that smelled delicious cradled in his arms.

Roman ignored the sudden spike of hunger – the fruit tart seemed a long time ago now- and bowed from the waist. He kept his back ramrod straight and bent low enough that it quickly became uncomfortable. It was the kind of bow Romulus would only have given his father or elder brother.

“Patton, I owe you my most humble apology I-“

“Roman I am so sorry.”

“The way I spoke to you was the height of disrespect and unprin- ungentlemanly behaviour I – wait, what?”

He straightened up and looked at Patton, confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“Roman, I – wait hold on.” Patton handed him one of the bowls and turned to close the door. “Do you mind if we sit?” he asked and Roman nodded, smiling despite himself. Patton was the politest person he had ever met.

Once they were both seated, Patton’s bad leg stretched out in front of him, Patton looked at him seriously.

“Roman you were right downstairs. We should never have promised you’d perform without asking you first - no it's true!”

But Roman was already shaking his head. “Patton you were fine, you know I love singing! I was the one acting like, like some sort of beast I-“

“I know you love singing but that doesn’t mean we get to pick and choose when-“

“But I wanted to perform as much as possible whilst we were here- I’d told you that!”

“-especially after travelling all week. We were, er, presumptuous.”

Roman stared at him.

“Unlike this soup, which is pre – scrumptious.”

Patton beamed at him. Roman groaned.

“Anyway I’m sorry for letting you stew-“ he held up the bowl again waggling his eyebrows “- up here for so long, but we needed to make things right with the landlord.”

Roman, who had been starting to relax under the force of two puns in a row, tensed again. “What things?”

Patton smiled. “We paid the difference – you don’t have to perform! Uhh unless you want to of course, but it’s your choice.” He nodded decisively whilst Roman gaped.

“b-but isn’t it expensive?”

Patton just shrugged, “Well, the last job paid well didn’t it?”

“Not that well!”

“Aw c’mon kiddo, what’s the point of having money if we don’t spend it? Right?”

Not knowing what to say. Roman shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth without tasting it. Guilt turning the meal to ash.

“Patton…how many days did you pay for?”

“The rest of the week! And there’s still enough to have some fun at the markets, don’t worry, we can all have a – hey!” Patton put his bowl down, shuffling closer to put one warm hand on Roman’s knee.” Roman, hey kiddo, buddy what’s wrong?”

Roman found, quite to his surprise, that he was trembling. He followed Patton's example and put the bowl carefully on the floor before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I…can’t Pat. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“Go?” Patton looked at him with confusion clear in his big brown eyes, “But why kiddo? You don’t like the inn?”

Roman groaned shaking his head “not the inn. The city. I’m not – I can’t – if ‘m here it- “ he let out a whine of frustration, hating his curse heavy tongue.

Never tell anyone about our conversation.

“I just-“ My brother is coming and if I see him I-

“If – “ my brother is coming and he won’t be alone. There are people who know who I really am and I –

“Okay.”

Romans head snapped up.

Patton still had a frown on his face but when he looked at Roman his eyes were as serious as Roman had ever seen them. “If you can’t tell me the details it’s fine but-“ he lent forward, “Roman, are you safe here?”

Without breathing, Roman shook his head. No.

Patton nodded and squeezed his knee. “Well then of course we’re not staying.” Hesitantly, he lifted his arm and rested one large hand on the back of Romans neck. Forcing their eyes to meet. “Whatever it is – we will help you. You know that don’t you?”

Embarrassingly, Roman felt his eyes filling with tears.

“We’ll leave in the morning.” Patton told him. Patton stood up, taking Romans congealing stew and his own empty bowl and headed to the door. He paused, one hand on the door handle. “Everything’s going to be okay kiddo.” he smiled, “We love you.”

And he was gone.

For a long moment Roman sat frozen, staring at the closed door.

“Yeah.” He agreed, eventually. “Right.”

Except. They didn’t. Not really.

They loved Roman.

Roman had screamed and insulted them and instead of kicking him out of their group like they had every right to do, they had given up what little money they had just to make Roman feel better.

And Roman was a lie.

Roman was Romulus with a bad haircut. And Romulus was everything they weren’t’ – a stupid, pampered, prince with no power or pride.

Patton might be willing to upheaval their lives just on Roman's say so, But Logan and Virgil were more practically minded. They would want explanations. Might even demand them.

Never tell anyone about your curse. Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about it and put as much distance between you as you can.

Romulus was a liability.

One they shouldn’t have to deal with.

He strapped his lute to his back and secured his dagger in a hidden pocket that Virgil had taught him how to sow.  Everything else he left, including, after a moments hesitation, his sword. He had been training Logan to use it, on and off, and whilst the scholar was no solider he was improving. At the very least, it would be some source of protection until they could hire another swordhand for their travels.

The climbing plants he had noticed on the way in made getting down from the window much easier than he had originally anticipated. Dusting off his hands he skirted the building, taking care to avoid the large windows of the main hall, until he found the entrance to the the stables.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had stolen before when he first left home. He would have to again now in order to put some distance between the city and himself.

It wasn’t his worst plan.

And it might even have worked, had they not already been waiting for him.

When Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy. Even now, under the weak light of a covered lantern and with almost fifteen years distance from the memories, he still recognised him instantly.

“Good evening, your highness.” The Marquis smile was as dazzling as he remembered, although his eyes were colder.

He had no army with him, and no weapon that Roman could see. But then, why would he need one?

“Come with me.”

Roman went.

part 4

[fa-headhoncho]

Untitled TFATWS Fic: Part 4

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt: You raid the Flag Smasher's base with Walker and Hoskins, bringing back unwanted memories.

Word Count: 2701 (sorry lol)

Reader: Female

Warning: non-con kissing, nudity, blood

Author's Note: lmk for taglist

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

=====

“Ich habe keine Ahnug, wovon du sprichst.” The man sternly says, taking a step to size up Hoskins. “Ihr Amerikaner seid brutal geworden.” He insults causing you to tense, but in a way you knew he was right and it frustrated you. The GRC had good intentions but they didn’t understand what these people were going through.

Hell, you didn’t understand what they were going through. When Steve and the Avengers took you in, it wasn’t exactly a bad situation compared to what others had to deal with during the Blip. Especially with the ones who came back to nothing to their name anymore. The volunteer work made you realize that and it conflicted you. The Flag Smashers had a worthy cause and they were banding together in the wrong way.

“Bullshit. That’s bullshit!” Walker whines out causing you to tense. The tone wasn’t nice and you knew the three of you didn’t come all the way to Germany for nothing. He was getting angry, there was something here and something he had to prove. “We know she came through here. Now, where’d she go?” He demands, his voice threatening.

The man directs his attention to the Captain and looks him up and down. Walker’s stance straightens and you can see his fist balled at his sides. Over the short time of getting to know the new Captain America, you could tell he was falling apart a bit in this situation. Honestly, he wasn’t the worse guy when it came down to the bare bones of things but power can do wonders to a corrupt mind.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise when the German fellow spits on America’s new golden boy. The blonde lets out a sigh, showing he was physically restraining himself to jump on the guy. He looks over his shoulder at you, his eyes narrowing and his head tilted towards the target. The look was the familiar that made your mind flashback to the countless times a Hydra official gave the same look.

Mind going into autopilot, the boys separate like they’ve done these a million times. You stalk forward and brace your forearm, shoving the man back and holding him against the pillar behind him.

“Do you know who I am?” Walker screams out from behind you making you snap back to reality. You immediately release him and step back, the blonde taking your spot in front of him with a threatening gaze.

“Yes I do, and I don’t care.” The man spits back and you see a shift in Walker’s eyes. There was a flash of hurt then it switched to frustration, quickly regaining his facade, blocking out any emotion in his eyes. He leans forward slightly and you think he’s about to punch the guy but he steps back.

The officers start to cuff the man while Walker whispers something to Hoskins and then walks away. You watched with a dazed expression on your face, not believing you fell back into your old ways so quickly with just one gaze. There was a part of you still stuck in your past that you didn’t know about until Walker had you join him in this assignment. It frightened you.

A gentle hand rests on your shoulder bringing you out of your negative thoughts. Looking up, you see Hoskin’s kind eyes. “You okay?” He asks in a sincere tone which slightly surprises you. The little voice in the back of your head told you that it was just him trying to manipulate you like they used to and that it was their fault that you were back into all this however a much louder one says otherwise.

You shake your head, forcing a tight-lipped smile to appear on your face. “Yea,” You breathe out and slowly repeat the mantra your therapist had taught you years ago. He stands there for a moment, the internal battle in his mind playing in his eyes.

“I know this isn’t the ideal situation for you but we really do appreciate your help.” His grip on your shoulder tightens in a comforting manner. “I understand Walker hasn’t been the… kindest to you and I can’t apologize for him. He’s still figuring this stuff out, I promise he isn’t always this much of an asshole.”

You nod, letting his words sink in. You never thought how much stress this could be on him. He went from a normal life to being thrown into this hero thing with the title and responsibility Steve took years to build up. It was a lot for him and he didn’t need you reminding him of what he wasn’t.

Hoskins notices your demeanor change and releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He takes his hand off of you and takes a glance toward the hallway where his best friend left then to his left where all the Flag Smashers computers laid out unattended. “I heard you’re pretty good with intel.”

You let out an ironic chuckle, of course, he chose his moment to bring that up. “You had to ruin it.” An apologetic look comes across his face and you wave it off, knowing that it’s time to get back to the task at hand. “Go after your boyfriend, I’ll see what I can do.”

He rolls his eyes at your comment before jogging off to follow Walker. A small smile sneaks its way onto your lips as you watch him leave. It was nice to get an insight on Walker and have a little banter with Hoskins. It made you relax, feeling that you were no longer a hostage in a pretend game of hero.

The police officers around you start collecting what minimal things were in the Flag Smasher’s base. They grab the files in the cabinets, the food they have in the other room, and they even grab the goddamn chairs. They weren’t leaving any stone unturned when it came to this and you understood why... this was Walker’s first mission leading as Captain America and he wasn’t going to mess it up. Your heart goes out to him but that didn’t mean you liked him.

You hold up a hand to the man in uniform as he goes to take the laptop, signaing that you wanted to use it. He nods in understanding and moves to collect other objects. Plopping down on the metal chair, you turn and start typing away.

=====

The room was luxurious like the rest of the mansion. The walls were high, windows extending from the floor to ceiling, giving a breathtaking view of the landscape behind the home. It was a bedroom, a large California king against the wall opposite of the windows. A large desk with a dramatic-looking chair sat near the bathroom causes an evil smile to appear.

“Here it is.” The American turns around while holding his arms out.

“Wunderschön.” You respond, forcing an astonished look on your face. The dark-haired man furrows his eyebrows in response. “Uh… very pretty.” You pretend to struggle with your English to keep up the persona your file had described. He gleams at the compliment and moves to close the distance between the two of you.

He slips his hand around your waist, pressing his body against your scantily clad one. You wanted nothing more than to push him off and slit his throat but your bosses would be punish you for not following the mission orders. Especially when he starts trailing kisses down your neck.

You throw your head back and allow him access though. The kisses and nips were numb on your skin as you lazily trail your eyes around the room. The black dress left no room to hide anything so that meant anything pointy had to be disgusted in your purse… which was left on the dresser next to the closed door. You inwardly cringe at your mistake, saving it in the back of your head for future undercover missions.

There was no chance to lead him back to the entrance so you had to think fast. Gently pushing the man away, he doesn’t take the hint to get off of you and attaches his lips to yours. Your eyes widen in surprise but you quickly recover.

He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes and it made your stomach turn. Finally, he pulls away and you take the opportunity to look up at him through your lashes. That was enough for him to start fiddling with the zipper on your back. You let out an airy giggle at the way he struggles with it.

“Here.” You turn around and pull your long hair over your shoulder to give him better access. He hums out and starts to pull the metal tag down. Mind trailing off again, your eyes land on the laptop on his desk. The object of the whole reason why you were here.

The mission assigned was simple since it was your first undercover mission for Hydra. They thought you would be a good candidate considering you were young and “perky” in their words. Having no other choice than to compromise, they dressed you up and gave an identity to play as to get close enough to take the information off the computer.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you see a glimmer of light bounce off something in the corner of the room. The man paid no mind to it as it was a coincidence to your dress hitting the floor and the cold A/C of the room hitting your skin. You squint your eyes and try to make out the figure but it’s interrupted by the man spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed.

You stare wide eyed up at the man while he stands above you. A feeling of fear courses through your body at the thought of what’s about to come. The original plan was to sneak off with the target and tranq him but you fucked it up. The boss was going to have your ass if you didn’t figure out a way to get to that laptop.

You didn’t want to do anything further with this sleazeball but you also didn’t want to starve for the next few days. Closing your eyes, you wait for it all the happen. You’ve endured worse at the hands of Hydra so this would sadly come easy for you to block out.

A loud gunshot rings through the room and you feel something warm splatter across your body. Your eyes snap open in a panic to figure out what just happened. The man who was once hovering over you is now lying on the floor with a bullet in his head, blood pooling underneath him. Slowly, your gaze trails up to your own body causing your breath the hitch in your throat once again. Dots of blood litter your skin and undergarments which only meant--

“Are you okay?” A raspy voice calls out, one that you’ve never heard before. A piece of cloth comes into view, the metal hand attached to it surprises you. The Soldier has never shown this type of kindness to you, well anyone, before and it made you nervous. You hesitantly grab the wet cloth from him and start wiping the blood off of your body.

His stare was directed on the floor to give you some type of privacy. It was weird that the Soldier was showing you such care that you didn’t even think could be possible. You knew of his story, a brainwashed POW victim that was programmed to kill. But here he was, waiting patiently for you with your dress in his hand.

Once cleaned up, you stand up and bump into him. His head turns to you causing you to melt instead of flinching away like you usually would. His piercing blue eyes send a shiver down your spine. There was emotion in them. Concern.

Carefully, you reach out and place a hand on the metal appendage. The Soldier’s body immediately relaxes under the foreign soft touch. “Thank you, Soldat.” You whisper out, fearing that any hostility would send him back to his murderous state. Something flashes behind his eyes as he nods in response.

You wake up with a gasp, blankets are long forgotten on the floor. Your chest was heaving up and down as you try to compose yourself from the memory that forced itself into your dream. It’s been a while since you had a nightmare and you were confused. Maybe going back into the field wasn’t good for you. It was bringing back the part of you that you worked so hard to get past.

The abrupt sound of a phone ringing makes you flinch. You reach around blindly until your hand feels the cool touch of your phone laying on the bed next to you. Not even looking at the screen, you slide the green bubble and bring it up to your cheek.

“Hello?” You answer, cringing at how weak you sound.

“(Y/N).”

You close your eyes and release a deep breath, your body physically relaxing at the familiar voice. “Yea, what’s up, Buck?”

“We haven’t heard from you all day, we were wondering how this morning went. Did you find anything?” His tone was soft and steady in contrast to the bustling of the environment behind him.

You shake your head and bring your hand up to run it through your messy hair, “No, not of importance. I went through their laptop but most of the significant information was remotely deleted or something… Found the files but not the documents.” You shrug and fall back onto the pillows behind you. His hum is followed by comfortable silence… until you hear someone whine in the background.

“Are you gonna talk to her or are you gonna sit there like lovesick teen-- Hey, not with the metal arm!” Sam is cut off with what you assume is Bucky slapping him. You giggle at the sound of metal hitting concrete. “Jesus, man, you’re crazy.”

“I won’t miss next time.” Bucky threatens with his teeth clenched, you can imagine him pointing his finger at him with a scowl on his face. The silence resumes while you stare at the lamp on the bedside table. “Are you okay? You’re oddly quiet.”

You hesitate for a moment, your dream flashing in your head. “Yea.” You softly confess, “Just had a weird dream.”

He waits for you to elaborate, knowing you would do the same for him.

“Hydra.”

“Oh,” He lets out a breath and takes a few moments before continuing, “I’ve been having some of those too.” He admits, “More than usual, I guess. Being back out here is triggering some memories and not the normal ones.”

A sense of relief washes over you at his confession. Knowing he was going through the same thing sends a pang to your heart but it was a good thing to know you weren’t alone.

“Well, I have to head out. We have a possible led and we need to check it out before it’s too late.” Bucky announces, you frown. It was nice to be able to talk over the phone with him even though you saw him recently and you didn’t want it to end. “Text me if you need anything, doll, I’m only a message away.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his nickname for you. “Same for you, Buck… Be careful.”

“When am I not careful?” He chuckles out, you can hear Sam snort and mumble something in the background. “I didn’t ask you, Wilson.”

“Just, please, be safe.” You beg, you knew the two didn’t have any restraints and would do whatever it took to get the information they needed. Sam has broken the law for him once and you’re sure he would do it again for a good cause. “I…” You hesitate for a second, the words you wanted to say didn’t come out. “I don’t know what I would do if something bad happened to you…”

“Don’t worry about me, doll.” He tries to calm your nerves but there’s a twinge of nervousness in his tone that makes you uneasy. “I promise.”

_____

taglist: @crowleysqueenofhell @mischiefmanaged71 @thewinterrbucky @lizajane3 @ahahafudge @spookycereal-s @a-girl-who-loves-disney @kittengirl998 @ sebby-staan @felicityofbakerstreet @sltwins @tanyaherondale

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

So I'm a Pikachu, So What?

Leaf and Terry were busy watching a Pokken tournament match on the flatscreen television when Kazuya walked by.

Terry: Hey, Kazuya.

Kazuya: What're you two watching?

Leaf: A Pokken Tournament battle. It's the championship, and my cousin is up against the current champion who has a Garchomp.

Kazuya: Pokken?

Leaf: It's kinda like What you do, but not as much, and with Pokemon.

Kazuya: I...see.

While his face didn't show it, Kazuya became interested in the match. Such fighting prowess being displayed by magical beasts was certainly something to take notice of. On the champion's side was a some blue dragon like creature, presumably a Garchomp. On the other side was a yellow creature being led by a young woman. He's seen that creature before in the Mansion. It was a Pikachu. 

Despite the clear size difference, the Pikachu was definitely giving the Garchomp a tough time. It was as if it had been fighting for decades. Though as the battle continued on, Kazuya noticed something about the Pikachu's fighting style. One of the combos it did reminded him of an old man he thought was long dead. He figured it was just a coincidence.

However, the Pikachu began hitting the Garchomp with a certain string of blows that Kazuya could never forget. It wasn't just mere imitation, it was a perfect match down to the smallest detail. Could it be...?

Kazuya: Impossible...

Terry: What's up, Kazuya?

Kazuya: Where did your cousin find that Pikachu?

Leaf: Um, in the forest while it was still a Pichu. She said it was weird, because it was sparring with an Teddiursa using something called the Mishima fighting style. I'm not a fighting expert.

Terry: Oh yeah! That's why i felt like I've seen those moves before.

Kazuya clenched his fists. There was only one person who could fight the way that Pikachu was fighting. He knew those fist combinations all too well. Replicating them was neigh impossible for a mere person.

Kazuya: I finally get rid of you, only for you to return in the body of a rodent? Damn you, you senile old bastard...!

Leaf: Oh, my cousin and her Pikachu won! 

....

......

After being crowned the Champions of the fighting tournament, the lone fighting Pikachu took a moment on his own to reflect. He crossed his arms and looked out at the distance.

Pikachu(?): It's been weeks ever since I had awoken. I recall Kazuya landing a fatal blow upon me and blacking out. I was certain he had killed me, and I suppose he did. However, when I awoke, I appeared to have emerged from an egg...

The Pikachu paced around.

Pikachu(?): I was much smaller once. I learned soon after I had become a creature capable of storing and releasing electricity. Other creatures around me kept saying Pichu, so I assumed that was what I was. At that stat, the other creatures couldn't handle it, but I quickly solved the puzzle. If I couldn't hold it in one area, I'll just allow it to flow throughout my entire body! It wasn't an easy adjustment. I had to learn how to merge my fighting style with this new, small body. But after two weeks, I managed to get somewhat close. None of those other Pichu would train with me. Perhaps they were too frightened. After all, I did punch a whole tree down.

The Pikachu chuckled a bit, rubbing his chin.

Pikachu(?): Searching for a worthy opponent, I ran into some bear like creatures. They reminded me of my dear friend Kuma. Seeing me as an intruder, they began the attack. Despite their numbers, my small size and speed allowed me to dodge their blows and land my own. I supposed they only reminded me of Kuma in looks, as most of them ran off. All except one. This one was a bear cub that seemed to be interested by my fighting. Ah, he would thence forth be called Kuma III!

The Pikachu crossed his arms and laughed.

Pikachu(?): I trained the young cub as if it was it was Kuma. Day in and day out, we sparred together, hunted, and sparred some more until it was time to rest. However, I felt that someone was watching the two of us. To my surprise, a young woman was watching us from the bushes. I demanded her to show herself and tell us what business she had with us. Though, it appears that she was too focused on how I had looked, because she simply called me cute.

The Pikachu shook his head.

Pikachu(?): Before I knew it, she summoned a creature called Machamp to attack me, and a Weavile to handle Kuma III. Despite the blows we traded, this tiny body couldn't defeat the four armed brute, nor could it withstand the blows it was met with. The woman was impressed with how such a tiny creature managed to push back so much agaisnt one, though. Suddenly, she threw an orb at me. It was black and yellow in color. It hit my head and I was sucked inside. I had assumed the worst.

The Pikachu sat down and placed a hand on his cheek.

Pikachu(?): Eventually, I woke up in some sort of hospital along with Kuma III. The young woman apparently similar to me in a way, except there was less training and more...pampering. Everyday had an abundance of sweets...

The Pikachu shuddered. Perhaps too many sweets.

Pikachu(?): I eventually transformed into what I am today through a process called evolution. Kuma III soon evolved into a much larger bear. Apparently, there were conditions that were met to meet this requirement. I'm not interested in figuring it out. All that matters is that I was stronger. The young woman came to me with a poster, a fighting tournament. Hm, it seemed similar to what I used to participate in. I saw no qualms with entering the ring once again. This would be a good test to my skill to see if I haven't gone rusty yet. 

The Pikachu rose to his feet.

Pikachu(?): And here I am, standing as the champion of this battle tournament. I, Heihachi Mishima, am still alive! I, Heihachi Mishima, am still a warrior! And I, Heihachi Mishima, am-

Leaf's Cousin: Heihachu!

Heihachu: Pika?

Heihachi in the body of Pikachu, Heihachu for short, turned and looked at Leaf's cousin. She was holding a small robe. It appears that she couldn't understand what he was actually saying.

Leaf's Cousin: You forgot to wear your king robe. And why are you saying Pika a lot?

Heihachu: Pika Pi.

Leaf's Cousin: Huh? You wanna wear the black open vest with that Mishima logo on it?

Heihachu: Pikachu.

Leaf's Cousin: Well, if you say so. 

Leaf's Cousin hands him the vest and leaves. Heihachu puts it on.

Heihachu, narrating with an evil smirk: I, Heihachi Mishima, am still the King of the Iron Fist. So I am a Pikachu, what of it? Be it as a human or this, I shall make sure my name is known, and be remembered as the strongest warrior. 

[galaxythreads]

Should I continue fic???

I wrote up these five pages to a possible Porcelain/Append merge (kinda) and was wondering if anyone would be interested/read it if I continued on with it?

What do I mean by merge? I mean, it would be like a re-written version of Append with Hela’s background in Porcelain put in, and the entire story overall would be much darker. Just. To clarify that. XD

*Also note of warning, all my italics were removed, and I am too exhausted to and put them back in. Just...imagine it. 

Five Pages: 

“No!” The sound is a hoarse screech, tearing itself out of her throat and refusing to be ignored. 

Hela scrambles to get her feet beneath herself, dragging her heels into the snow, leaving a long blood trail smeared in the white, crystalized snow behind her. It’s not enough. He’s taking her. She’s not going to be able to stop him. 

Oh, Allfathers. 

A desperate, panicked sob begins to build in her chest, applying pressure until it feels like her ribs will burst from the effort of keeping it contained. She can’t breathe. Every inhale draws the sharp, painful air of Jotunheim into her lungs, searing them as it settles into her chest. It’s so cold that it feels like her tongue is beginning to go stiff in her mouth. 

She struggles in the grasp, trying to get some sort of leverage so she can fight her way out of the grip and draw a weapon, but there’s nothing she can do. With her hair wrapped firmly in the fist as well as her arm, her neck is pinned into place and leaves little room to wiggle. 

Desperate, she scrambles to find some sort of way to deal with the situation. She stops trying to claw off the fingers with her left hand and starts to flex out her fingers, feeling the familiar discomforting wedge as the dwarf metal implants in her arms start to form the weapon. She’s not entirely sure what she’s planning, anything sharp and easily maneuverable, but it doesn’t matter as Odin releases her abruptly, shoving her into the hard snow. 

Hela smacks against it, feeling the sensation rattle up her face, but no pain. Never any pain. She hasn’t been worthy of it since early adolescence. 

“By the gods, you insufferable child!” Odin exclaims, turning around to face her. His expression is twisted into familiar incense. Well, what’s left of it. Hela’s eyes snap up toward the unfamiliar sight of hasty field bandages wrapped around Odin’s head, covering his left eye. There’s still blood on his face from where it smeared down his cheek after the attack. 

It looks painful. 

Good. 

“How can you be so ungrateful?” Odin demands harshly. He takes a step toward her, and Hela feels herself draw back from him, fresh tears spilling down her face to trace down to her chin. Her eyes itch from how much she’s been crying, and she hates herself for showing this frailty in front of him. There are no weaknesses in front of Odin Allfather. 

Hela sits up slowly, her dark hair falling over her shoulders to spill across her chest. There’s wet blood on her fingers from the earlier battle, and it leaves ugly, morbid stains on the white snow. Something’s wrong with her arm, she notes distantly, it’s barely supporting her weight. She must have broken something. 

 She swallows thickly, wishing her voice didn’t sound so clogged. “What do I have to be grateful for?”

Odin snarls. “I saved you.”

“Saved me?” She hasn’t found much reason to laugh since Asgard invaded Jotunheim, but this--this arouses something. Not happiness, but a bitter sort of disbelief. Anger, perhaps. 

Hela laughs sharply until he strikes her. It doesn’t hurt, it never does, but a harsh feeling of shame washes over her. Her head turns with the force of the blow, and she looks toward the snow, hiding behind a curtain of long hair. She tastes blood in her mouth and feels absently for the cut on her tongue with her teeth. 

“You insolent wretch. I could have damned you by leaving you.” Odin hisses, and he waits for a second, as if expectant. He’s waiting, Hela realizes, for her to come to her senses and thank him. He hasn’t changed since she saw him last. Not in the slightest. 

She isn’t surprised by this, though she thinks she should be. 

“I would rather that you did,” Hela murmurs, and then looks up toward her father between her hair. He stands over her, imposing as always, tressed up in armor that adds to bulk she knows he doesn’t have. He looks every inch a king at this moment. A powerful enemy. Her enemy. 

She deserted. She committed treason. He has every reason to execute her at this point. She’d deserve it. She’s deserved nothing less since she was a child. 

Odin’s nostrils flare and he reaches out, grabbing her arm again despite Hela’s desperate scramble to back away. His fingers are iron against her clothing, a noose to choke her with. He hauls her to her feet, yanking her forward. In the far distance, Hela can see the remains of where she knows Asgard’s camp was set up. It’s gone now, which is to be expected, the war is over. 

Jotunheim lost. 

Asgard won. And now she’s being returned home. She’s saved. 

Norns. 

Hela starts to fight him again. “I won’t go with you,” she protests, “I’d rather be damned.” 

“I wouldn’t stop you,” Odin says heatedly, and the words hurt somewhere deep and quiet inside of her. “But your death would serve me nothing.”

Ah. So that’s what this is. Of course. It’s not fatherly concern, or even a base parental instinct suddenly aroused to save her from a beheading. She has not served all her use to him yet, so he will keep her. Because she’s a tool. A weapon. She’s so far from a living creature it’s a wonder that she breathes at all now. 

Maybe that’s what he’ll take next. 

Oh, Norns, Hela curses wildly. She can’t go back. She can’t. She can’t. She won’t survive that. Her struggles begin to grow more frantic, and Odin doesn’t let her go, because she’s not allowed anything. Not what she wants. The decade she spent as a war captive was a reperivie that’s over. He’s taking her back, and the sedirmasters will have more to do, and he’ll have more for her to kill, more for her to turn into, and--

Of course. Why is she protesting this? She’s a weapon. She’s his weapon. 

Weapons have no regrets. No remorse. No emotions. No desires, or wants, or needs. 

Norns. 

Hela’s stomach twists, and she staggers to her knees and vomits. It’s bloody and thin, but her tongue feels swollen and her neck feels tight. Her free hand’s fingers scramble to dig into her ribs, as if they can simply remove the vile substance by clawing it out of her chest. 

I can’t do this again. 

The thought is a distinct contrast of sudden, deep despair to her previous frantic scrambles. Her fight has lost, because there is no escape. Norns. She closes her eyes tightly, squishing tears out onto her face in the process, and breathes out sharply. 

Odin’s fingers tighten on her arm, she’s sure, to the point of bruising. It might have been more effective at intimidation if she felt it. As it is, the pressure becomes almost unbearable, and she bites on her tongue sharply. 

“How weak you have become,” Odin says. His voice is toneless. But the disappointment is obvious. 

And it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. She knows that she has changed. But it does matter. A part of her, she thinks, will always belong to her father. If not in body, then in mind. She wants this. His approval. She craves it. 

She slaughtered cities for it. 

“Go to helheim.” She whispers, trying to be snide, but bordering on desperate. 

Look at you, a voice purrs in the back of her mind, dark and laughing, the goddess of death, weeping at her father’s feet, trying to be intimidating. You have become a weak creature, haven't you? 

Odin sneers at her statement, but draws her back to her feet with force. Hela steps over the bloody bile, and the two of them carry forward. She seems to have vomited out her fight, because, though she stumbles on uneven footing, she doesn’t fight her father. There’s nothing she can do. If she ran from here, where would she go?

She doesn’t know if Laufey is dead, but she saw the corpse of his wife. 

They draw closer to the Asgardian camp, and every footfall sends a rattle of dread up her stomach. She’s still crying, and feels like a child for it. She hasn’t cried this much since she was a child, and even then, very little. Her father never believed in tears. 

“What will you do with me?” Hela whispers. She should fight, but she’s not even sure she could support her own weight without her father forcing her to move forward. “Public execution?”

“No.” Odin says derisively, as if this should have been rather obvious. 

“Then what?” 

“What do you think?” Odin snaps, “Your place is beside me. You are my executioner.” 

But not, Hela notes with a familiar ache, your daughter. He calls her his child when it suits him, but it’s a formality. They both know what she is to him. Their relationship has never been one of warmth. If they’ve ever had a relationship to begin with. 

“You will return to Asgard with me, and resume your duties. I will see to it that your recent...actions do not become public knowledge.” Odin says without looking at her. “That is what will happen to you. I do not intend to kill you, daughter.” 

Hela smiles at that, knowing otherwise. Not physically, no. Perhaps not. 

But he’s killed her so many times already. 

Her smile drops. 

Oh, gods. 

This can’t be happening again. She thought she was out. Laufey promised that it was over. Norns, he was helping her. He cared. She thinks he cared. But no one she knows has ever cared for her. Maybe it, like it has been with everyone else, has been some sort of facade to beat her into submission. 

It felt real.

It wasn’t.

It felt safe.

It wasn’t.

Hela sees the blood smears across the snow, the hard ice bearing the scars of war beneath thick sheets. The camp is empty, the tents set and the fires put out. The only remains that Asgard was ever here in the first place is the blood and the miscellaneous scattered around. It’s the first time she’s seen it, and she would have spit on it if she had the strength. 

Hela ducks her head, breathing in the familiar frigid air. It feels sharp against her throat and lungs, but she would breathe it in forever if it meant she could stay here. Asgard has nothing for her but pain. But maybe Jotunheim had nothing for her, either. She doesn’t know. She can’t keep the lies straight in her head anymore. 

Odin comes to a sudden stop, and Hela nearly stumbles over herself. The scorch of burned snow leaves a wet trail of slippery ice, but it takes her less than a second to recognize the markings. The Bifrost. It’s here. Again. This is really happening. Hela closes her eyes and feels fresh tears warm her cheeks. 

I’d rather die than go back, she thinks again. 

Odin turns his head up toward the sky, and Hela feels her gut tightening in apprehension. If her father notices, he doesn’t care. But he’s never cared about her before, he wouldn’t start now. “Heimdall--open the Bifrost!”

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 13)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! I am so excited to be back with this story after the month I spent away, and I find it so wild that in that past month so much happened with royals in the actual world. I wouldn’t say it inspired this chapter at all, but it was cathartic to write a story where the Prince and Princess get a much healthier, more healing reception. I know how many of you love this fic, and it definitely has a special place in my heart as well. It’s been so important to me that I do the ending of this story justice, and so it took a bit of time to get my thoughts organized. This is one of the final chapters, and I only anticipate one more actual story installment and then maybe, someday far off in the future, an epilogue or two. That being said, this is a long-awaited milestone for CS and I have attempted to infuse all of my usual cuteness and romance. I hope that you all enjoy, I would love to hear what you think, and thank you all so much for reading!

Gazing out upon the overlook as the sun rose over the tree line in the Montenarran morning, Killian was comforted once more by the vastness of the world and the beauty that danced before him. The light shone with a color and vibrancy he’d come to know and love, but this morning the air hummed with languid layers of anticipation. Maybe it was Killian’s excitement and nerves, but he didn’t think so. No, if anything the world seemed to shimmer today, a sign from above that the timing was right and that he was ready to take this next big step.

The next time I visit this place, I’ll have Emma by my side, he thought to himself, soaking in the comfort of such a plan. 

This was on his list of places to share with his Swan, but he reasoned that he had all the time in the world for such gifts. Today, though, he was planning to make that assumption a reality. For finally, after nearly three days of being parted from his love, he was planning to propose, in a way befitting a woman of Emma’s caliber.

Instinctively, Killian’s hand moved to his pocket, drawing out a small black box which held a ring inside. The ring was beautiful and ornate, an overt and ostentatious display of love, but one with inherent meaning. This was the ring his grandfather had given his Gran, a ring forged for the purpose of real and lasting love. It was not exchanged at their wedding, but instead in a private ceremony the two of them shared some weeks later. Their wedding had been arranged, but still they’d found real love. This ring was a gift, however, given at the turning point where Killian’s grandfather knew that his love for his new Queen was more than mere arrangement – it was true and totally transformative.

“Your brother, as reigning monarch, has full claim to your grandfather and my wedding bands, and he will make good use of them with his Elsa, I am utterly assured,” Gran had claimed some weeks back when she stole Killian for a private moment. On that night, she was serious and sincere, most of her deeply playful nature tucked aside for a brief window of time. She glanced at her the matrimonial ring she still wore, years after the death of her dearly departed husband before looking back to Killian with conviction and calm. “The love between them grows each day, and is befitting of what me and your grandfather shared. But this ring I’m giving you, Killy… this ring is something else altogether. This is magic made metal. This is perfectly genuine affection forged into precious gems.”

“It is gorgeous, Gran,” Killian agreed when she presented the ring to him. “But I can’t take something like this from you. Not when it means so much.”

“That’s why you must have it, Killy. If your Grandfather were here, he would say the same. This ring bound us in life, but now we are bound through so much more.”

For the first time in years, likely since the death of his grandfather himself, Killian watched as tears trickled down his Gran’s face. It instantly pierced his heart, for this was a woman who always showed strength. Even when he was on deployment and gone for years on end, his Gran persevered. She may grow misty eyed or get choked up, but tears were a whole different story. Only the memory of her husband could prompt them, and Killian thought to himself not for the first time that she had been so strong for so long, going on without him.

“Our love is forever, living, thriving, singing its song for now and for always. I miss him, every day, every moment, I wish that he was here, but someday we will have each other again. And in the meantime, this ring deserves another union. It was made to be passed through generations. I will confess that I wondered if anyone should ever be worthy of it, if love like ours would find its way here again. But I needn’t have doubted. You and Emma are made for each other, and it would be my honor for Emma to wear this.”

Killian agreed whole heartedly with his Grandmother’s explanation, and he knew no more beautiful stone could be found the world over. This ring bore a remarkable yellow diamond, encircled with smaller stones of the same rare hue. The exact shade sparkled in the sunlight, but almost seemed dipped in the golden glow of a summer’s afternoon. It was pristine and poetic, warm and well beyond the pale, reminding Killian of the highlights in Emma’s hair and the lilt of her laughter. Her joy was precious, more precious than any stone, but as he gazed upon the rock, it felt quintessentially designed for his Swan. It was happy and bright, bold and beautiful, and he knew, despite its flair and size, that Emma would love it.

The only thing left to do is ask her.

The thought breathed new life into Killian, even more so than the Montenarran morning, and he walked back through the forest paths towards the palace once more, energized and ready for the day ahead. He had everything planned and had been working on this for some time. There were many moving pieces, but he’d squared them all away. In the end he would see to it that this was perfect, for that was exactly what his Swan deserved.

Arriving at the palace just after the sunrise, Killian moved with purpose and precision. He had only a little bit of time, and much to accomplish.

“The last of the parcels have been delivered, Your Grace,” one attendant announced as Killian walked through the palace doors. “The bulk of them are here, as you see, though some are in the green house for obvious reasons.”

“Excellent, Jacque. Thank you.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir, it’s just… are you certain you don’t need help arranging things? It’s a significant amount of work here. The staff is happy to assist.”

“I appreciate that offer, Jacque, but I’ve got things well in hand. I’ve been planning this for some time.”

A thoughtful smile appeared at the older man’s face, one that broke the traditional polite protocol and spoke to how long he had known Killian and the royal family. “Of course, Sir. Well, in that case, best of luck.”

Killian took the well wishes to heart, knowing he had a massive task before him. Perhaps he could have given himself more time to bring all of these pieces together, but to him, it already felt like too much time had been wasted. He was more than ready for this next step with Emma, and after three days spent apart, not seeing each other in person, or sharing much more than a few texts and facetimes, he was particularly desirous to see this through. He had been strategizing on how to get this right for quite a while, and by now he knew each assignment down to the letter.

“I assume that your dismissal of Jacques offer goes for us as well?”

Killian glanced up, finding his mother on the stairwell. From here she was stately and elegant, a poised dowager Queen with refinement and grace, but as she descended, she became more herself, and by the time she was in front of Killian, taking his hand in hers, she was no more and no less than a wonderful mother. His greatest support for many years, and someone who he knew would give anything she could to make this moment special.

“It does, at least for this. But with the children arriving in a few hours’ time -,”

“Not to worry on that front,” his mother said cheerily, her own happiness at the thought of all the Institute’s residents coming to the palace for a special premiere outing. “Your Grandmother and I have all in hand, and Liam and Elsa are set to help us. It’ll be a day to remember.”

“Good,” Killian said, looking around and finding his Gran already in full form, instructing the staff as to the desires she had for the outdoor space. Through the glass of the palace’s wall of windows, her words were muddled, but the humor was clear as day. This woman, frail and aged from outward appearance, was a firecracker, ruling over the days designs with an iron fist. “Surprising that Liam is giving Gran such a wide berth.”

“Well how could he not? He’s yet to come down for the day. Hard to give orders from a distance.”

Killian let out a whistle, and laughed as his mother swatted his arm and ‘tutted’ his boyish actions. Knowing when enough was enough, he left unsaid the clear reason that his brother would choose to stay abed so late in the morning. Killian would stake his life on the fact that a certain guest was here within the palace, and that she likely made a visit of the overnight variety.

“What are the chances that Gran doesn’t know?” Killian asked and his mother shook her head.

“Zero.”

“And the likelihood that she will say something?”

“That’s still to be determined.” Killian was shocked at his mother’s genuine opinion. He, for one, thought it undoubtable that Gran would make mention of this moment, gleefully commenting on the need for royal heirs or some such outlandish claim. “Eleanor is direct and prone to speaking her mind, but she is also strategic. If the calculated risk of such a comment is too high, she will deny herself. She would never do anything to jeopardize your brother’s prospects.”

“You really think a smart comment from an old woman is enough to keep them apart?” Killian asked, thinking back on the few weeks that Liam and Elsa had shared since finding each other again. They had been as close to inseparable as the schedule of a King would allow. It was clear that they were both entirely invested, so much so that a royal announcement would be made in the coming days announcing their relationship.

“Not for a second.”

“So, if you know that, and I know that… surely Gran must know that.”

At that exact moment a maid was walking back into the house, opening the glass doors. From the outside they could hear his grandmother calling out to Liam and to Elsa, who had been discovered somewhere in the backyard. They no doubt were trying to be more discrete, but Gran seemed to have no interest in allowing them that privacy.

“Oh Lord, it’s time,” Meera said with a mix of worry and also amusement. Her eyes were alight with the humor of the moment, but also the very real awkwardness that may soon transpire. “I best get out there and spare them from what I can.”

Killian nodded, but wasn’t ready for the impact of his mother’s arms around him squeezing tight. It was not in any way part of the royal protocol, but his family never paid much mind to that. Still, this was a big hug, one that was obviously filled with tremendous meaning.

“I’m so proud of you, my darling. You’ll give her everything she deserves, and the two of you will be happy. So wonderfully, beautifully happy.”

“Thanks, Mum. Love you,” he whispered, accepting her soft kiss on his cheek and her shared words of love in kind before she dashed off to help his elder brother. A Queen should never move so quickly, but then again, Gran could do quite a bit of damage in the seconds it would take to get from here to there. For his part, Killian only chuckled to himself before heading to the side of the palace towards the gardens for the day.

The next few hours were defined by attention to detail and purposeful precision. Before meeting Emma, Killian could safely say he never imagined the lengths and planning required for a proper proposal. The idea was so intangible, so unnecessary in his estimations, that he never dwelled on even the possibility. It seemed unlikely that his heart would ever be touched in that way. He assumed he’d go through life a bachelor, or worse yet, that he’d cave to eventual pressure and say yes to something arranged and designed without feeling or passion. Luckily for him he had escaped such a fate, and instead had been steered through the grace of all things good towards a woman who was far and away the most remarkable he’d ever met.

Emma was rare and extraordinary. He had known it from their first meeting, and he continued to hold onto this truth every day they were together. There was never a moment when he didn’t realize his good fortune, or when he took her presence in his life for granted. Emma had revived him. She anchored him into the goodness of the world, and she showed him what could be. She expanded his horizons, even brought with her a son, another key part of a growing family, and by her side, Killian felt like he was capable of anything.

He only hoped that the elements he’d gathered today would translate as he imagined they could. This was a memory in the making that could only be shared once. Killian wanted to be sure that it was what Emma wanted and deserved. Luckily, he’d had help and more than a little bit of intel, mostly provided by Henry and from a few other insiders who knew Emma best of all.

“Are all systems a go, Captain?”

As if he’d conjured Henry with the grateful thought of all the boy had done for him, he turned now to find Emma’s son in the garden. Killian watched as the lad took in their surroundings, his eyes growing wide, and his whispered ‘this is so cool’ a welcome sign that Killian’s efforts had not been for nothing. He stood from where he’d been bent down, tidying up the last of his efforts, and when he gazed upon it himself, he had to say he was happy with the outcome.

“Aye, Lieutenant. All the necessary components are accounted for.”

“Good. She’s going to lose it. In a good way though,” Henry said with a smile which burned bright.

“Is everyone arrived then?” Killian asked and Henry shook his head.

“Soon, but not just yet. Anna and I have been here for a while now. Gran needed help with the game set up, but I asked if I could see you first.”

The look of wonder and happiness that had clung to Henry since arriving colored to something a bit more pensive. The shift gave Killian some pause for the first time all day. “Everything all right, lad?”

“Everything’s great, I just – well I was wondering – I mean if Mom says yes – or rather when she says yes, because she’ll totally say yes, it’s just that, well I – I was wondering…”

“No need to be worried, Henry,” Killian said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Whatever you have to ask me, I’m here to help. You have my word I will make it right.”

“I know. And you’ll love Mom forever, right?”

“Aye, lad. Forever and then some.”

“And you love me too,” Killian’s heart clenched as he automatically nodded.

“Yes, Henry. I love you both, undoubtedly.”

“And we’re going to be a family.”

Killian didn’t know what to say. Down to his bones he knew that they would be. He was confident in this union between him and Emma. They had made promises already, declarations of love. He would give anything to be her husband, and he knew that someday he would be, but to say it aloud to her son when Emma herself hadn’t had a chance to even be asked was something else entirely.  In the end, he decided to just go with his gut.

“In my heart, we already are.” Henry beamed up at him, the worry of the moment melting away. Still, Killian never imagined what he’d say next.

“Well then I was hoping that maybe, when you and Mom are married, maybe I could call you Dad?”

Killian was overwhelmed with the request. It was something he had wished for, but didn’t want to press. He knew Henry had no memories of his biological father, but he never wanted to assume. It was a massive move for a young man to ask such a question, but Killian’s answer to the query was instant and heartfelt.

“I would be honored, lad.”

“Cool,” Henry said happily, brimming with the excitement he’d had since Killian first told him about his plan to propose to Emma.

Henry moved forward, hugging Killian with the affection of an earnest hearted ten-year-old, and Killian savored it, knowing he would always see Henry as his son. He may not be his blood, but he lay claim to a large piece of Killian’s heart. He silently swore to always do right by Henry. To protect him and to teach him what he could. But mostly he would support him, and show love to Henry and his mother all the days of his life. Before Killian could speak to more of that, the sound of busses pulling up, and happy children streaming onto palace grounds wafted through the air. The time had come. This was the moment.

“You know the plan, son?” Killian asked, the word slipping off his tongue so easily, and bringing real joy to Henry’s eyes.

“Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll have Mom to you in five minutes. You can time me.”

Killian might have laughed at the fervor and excitement Henry shared, but unfortunately, five minutes waiting in a moment like this felt like a lifetime away. The only thing that got him through were the last-minute adjustments, and the journey that was needed from where he was, to where they’d start their memorable afternoon. Finally, the moment came where Killian was waiting at the start of the hedgerow, even further from the festivities and he could hear the woman he loved, unaware of his being here.

“Henry, seriously, what’s going on? The party’s only just starting. We have time for a tour later. We can go with the others.”

“Trust me Mom, this can’t wait.”

“What is it Henwy?” a tiny voice Killian would know anywhere asked. Cecelia was with them, another sign from above that his plans were moving the way he wanted.

“Something magical,” Henry said and Killian could hear the sharp trill of an excited little girl.

“Like fairies?”

“Just wait, you’ll see.”

“Something magical, huh?”  Emma parroted, but at that moment they all stepped into view.

Three days may be but a blip in time to some, but to Killian it had felt like an eternity. The peace he now experienced at seeing his Swan again was profound, and somehow she was even more stunning than when he’d left her. The day’s light shone in her hair and in her smile. She was gorgeous and relaxed, dressed in a delicate pink sun dress designed to tease and torment. Her radiance outshone every flower in this garden, and in the moments before she saw him, he soaked in the sight of her. God she was beautiful, too beautiful to properly behold. His heart skipped and his muscles tightened, and then her eyes landed on him and he was whole.  The world was righted once more, and all because Emma saw him and felt the same pull he felt emanating from his chest. The surprise in her eyes was evident, followed immediately by relief, and joy, and love, and all of it was too sweet a call to resist. He moved towards her and the children, sending up one last prayer in this critical moment.

Please let her be mine. I swear I’ll deserve her. Whatever it takes.  For I am hers, body and soul, and I always will be.

………………

God he’s gorgeous, Emma thought instinctively upon finding Killian at the far end of the garden hedge. That thought was followed closely by, Wait, what is he doing here?

“Killy!” Cecelia cried out happily, letting go of Emma and Henry’s hands and sprinting towards him. Emma watched as Killian crouched down, accepting the hug from the little girl who effortlessly stole their hearts. He closed his eyes momentarily, soaking in the moment, and then he pulled back and pushed some of her wayward curls from Cecelia’s eyes, smiling at her with genuine affection.

“Good morning, little love. How are you finding the palace?” Emma’s heart clenched in her chest in the best way. He was just so sweet with her. He always had been.

“It’s so so good,” Cecelia replied, bringing a laugh out of all of them.

At the little girl’s enthusiastic endorsement, Killian thanked Cecelia and then stood once more, looking at Emma with those captivating blue eyes and that charming smile that always took her breath away. She was still trying to fathom his presence here. They had spent the last few days apart, days she found so much more difficult to manage than she expected, but he wasn’t set to return for a few more days. Liam had sent him on state business. She didn’t press for details, assuming it was confidential, but now, she was curious as to this wonderful turn of events. Before she could ask though, he walked over to her, taking her into his arms and kissing her surely. She leaned into this embrace, loathed to let him go, but he seemed to remember they were in the presence of little eyes. It was a fleeting kiss, but still invigorating all the same.

“I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be away the rest of the week.”

“I hope you’ll forgive my brother for that white lie,” Killian said, his hand coming up to scratch at his ear in that subtle show of bashfulness she’d witnessed a time or two. “If you’ll recall I never actually confirmed an itinerary, having sworn never to lie to you again.”

“So, you weren’t on a… huh, let’s see, how did Liam put it? A ‘mission for the future of the nation’ then?” 

“Not exactly. But then again, in some ways, that’s exactly where I was. Do you trust me, love?”

Emma nodded, and watched as his smile grew warmer. She knew that it meant to him to have her trust, but in her eyes, he had earned it ten times over. Killian was a good man – the best man she knew – and he made her feel safe. Of course she trusted him. She had never trusted anyone this much before.

“In that case, I’ve some things to show you. Henry, you’ll be sure to hold down the fort in the meantime?”

Emma looked over to her son, and only now realized that this was all planned somehow. Her boy looked pleased as punch, and even sent a salute Killian’s way. “Yes sir. And Cecelia will help, wont’ you Ceci?” The little girl nodded, joyously, thrilled at the prospect of helping. “We’ll see you both soon.”

Killian nodded, leading Emma in the direction of the garden. The further they moved into the hedgerow, the quieter it became, until the only songs around them were those of birds and breeze. Emma was amazed at all of this, but she was also still wrapped up in his return. It felt so good to be back with her hand in his, the glow of his presence enveloping her. She’d never missed someone like she had the past few days, never ached this way to be reunited with someone. It was a testament to all she felt for him and how much she’d come to love him. Quietly she stopped walking, pulling Killian’s attention. With a quick glance behind them, she saw no one had followed. They were totally alone and so she made her move. Pulling him down for another kiss, she said a proper hello, and shivered in delight at his reaction.

His hands were on her, seemingly everywhere, holding her close as they tasted each other. She felt his soft dark hair between her fingers, where she ran them through by the nape of his neck. She arched in closer, feeling the friction of their bodies together, and sighing in pleasure when they pulled apart. It couldn’t go further than that, but Emma felt more secure having shown him even in a small way how happy she was to see him.

“Hell of a welcome home, love,” he growled out, words low and throaty from his own swirling emotion. “If leaving wasn’t torture in itself, I’d consider more trips just for this.”

“No need to leave for these,” she whispered to him, leaning in for another kiss but then nipping him gently instead and stepping back out of his grasp. She smiled at his evident frustration, and laughed when he groaned in defeat. He knew he was had, but from the way he pulled her back into his arms, running his hand along the small of her back and looking at her adoringly, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You are a marvel, love. Have I mentioned that yet?”

“Maybe once or twice,” she teased, looking back to where they’d been walking and giving him silent permission to lead to their destination once more. “It’s beautiful out here.”

Beautiful was an understatement. In truth, Emma had never seen such intricate floral designs or such an array of colors and flower species. She had to imagine it was more than a palace garden. This had to be one of the most beautiful botanical spaces in all of Europe.

“Much of that is my mother’s doing. Her passion project, so to speak. She brought us out here when we were boys. Showed us bits and bobs. But this has always been hallowed grounds. Special, and perhaps, as Henry hinted, a little magical as well.”

Emma was poised to reply, but at that moment they turned a corner and things changed. They were still in a garden, but this time – oh lord it was difficult to describe. Magnificent was the first word that came to mind, and ethereal came soon after. For where there were blossoms and buds before, now there even more, hanging from pergolas above and winding through ivy vines on every hedge. Some were clearly naturally placed, but Emma noticed pieces woven into this area that she’d seen before, half a world away.

“Windchimes,” she murmured, looking at the gorgeous displays that reminded her of home.

There was a storefront, totally discrete from the street view and far off of the beaten path, deep in the heart of Chinatown, that she and Henry had found when he was younger. It was filled with artisan chimes and motifs and mobiles made from natural items and glass and more. The owners were amazing and known in crafting circles around the globe. The first day Emma and Henry visited taking refuge from a sudden winter chill, the couple who owned the store had taken the time to walk her son through their work. They’d then spent hours in the studio, and though Emma had very little by way of money for a purchase, they’d showed her and Henry nothing but the utmost kindness. She’d always found the pieces beautiful, comprised of shells and flecks of crystal or silver and gold, swirled into constellations that evoked a night sky or sense of wonder. 

Over the years she and Henry returned to the studio many times, and even bought a few pieces when she could save enough to treat herself to something precious. There was so much beauty crafted in each piece. Emma always found herself wanting more, and she loved their trips back over and over again. The style  of this artwork was one of a kind. Emma had never seen other pieces like these, but here, in this patch of the garden, there had to be a hundred intricate, delicate, interrelated art pieces dancing in the wind.

“How is this possible?”

“Henry may have mentioned something. Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous. God, the time it must have taken to put this all together…”

“Was time well spent, believe me, love.” Emma looked to him and she could have sworn from the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice that he was the one who had done this. But that was crazy. How could he have possibly had time for all this?

“But how did it all even get here?”

“I brought it.”

“You brought it?” Emma asked, stunned, her fingertips grazing the smoothed lines of one art piece dripping in sea glass. “You were in New York.”

“Aye.”

“But why?”

“Patience, love. There’s more to see.”

Emma had no idea how there could possibly be more, but she tucked her arm through Killian’s and walked with him to the next section of gardens. Here there was a sudden burst of purples and whites, and a scent she’d been missing without even realizing it. Lilacs, but none of them in season. Oh God, look at all of them.

“Killian,” she whispered, looking at what must have been thousands of bouquets of her favorite flower. It was unbelievable, but it was real, and she moved forward, seeing them all set up and displayed prominently in the midst of a garden with white roses. It was gorgeous and surreal. And now she was utterly dazed and more than a little confused.

“You and Henry are well known at the Brooklyn gardens love, as I’m sure you are well aware. I had it on good authority from a woman named Ella that lilacs are your particular favorite.”

“These can’t all be from there,” Emma said and Killian shook his head.

“No, these are admittedly sourced from a few specialty purveyors across the continent. But this,” he pulled out a polaroid of a small lilac tree that was recently planted. Looking at the surroundings, Emma realized that was outside Killian’s home here in Montenarro. “This is directly from the gardens. The same family and strain, all the way from New York.”

Emma was too shocked to speak, and felt the tears welling in her eyes. He had done so much for her, and she knew it was for one reason. He wanted to bring part of her home, part of a place that meant so much to Henry and her, here to his home. It was so thoughtful she felt tongue tied. What could she say? This was all so much.

Unbelievably there was even more, and over the next few minutes he took her through three more break away gardens, each filled with other staples of her one-time home. Food and culture and memories and more. This man had managed to find all of the best parts of her time in New York and he had brought them here. Some of them were things completely out of the realm of possibility.

“I can’t believe you found this,” Emma said, holding onto a years-old piece of construction paper that had been forgotten to time.

This picture was one of so many projects that her son had made in life, but Emma cherished the memories that went with it. Another example of the city’s serendipity, this painting chronicled a day of adventure for Emma and Henry. They’d wandered all through the city, and ended up in Queens for a special summer program for kids. She was always looking for magic moments for Henry, especially ones designed for a budgeting single Mom, and this one had delivered. There were story times and games, crafts and activities, and Henry had been thrilled. He made this picture of the two of them, and though it looked nothing like Emma, it had captured her heart. It also caught the eye of the librarians working that day and they’d selected it to put on the wall in the Children’s wing. Henry was oh so proud, his four-year-old heart filled with joy at getting to hang his art somewhere aside from their refrigerator door. It meant something to Emma, another example of her doing her best by her boy, and giving him all that she’d never had.

“There was a picture of you and Henry and this particular masterpiece in the Saturday Times.”

“Okay now how could you possibly know that?”

“Your neighbor, Mrs. Hubbard. She was very forthcoming, and she’d saved the article. Has it framed and everything.”

“You spoke to Mrs. H?” Emma asked completely bewildered, and Killian nodded. “And the library had it all this time?”

“Aye. In the archives. Nothing a few strategically planned favors couldn’t procure.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Emma said, letting the tears finally fall. This was all too much, but she was immediately comforted by the feel of Killian’s strong arms. His hand came to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping some of the tears as he shook his head, his eyes full of earnest feeling and emotion.

“That’s where you’re wrong, love. You deserve every good thing the world over. I know it’s presumptuous for a man like me to ask for such a treasure, but I swear to you I’ll spend my life giving everything I can.”

“I already have everything. I have you, and Henry,” Emma said. “This is beautiful, but it’s nothing to you.”

Killian hummed out a sigh of contentment, but where Emma expected a kiss, she watched instead as he pulled back, reaching for something in his pocket. “I was hoping you’d feel this way. Makes this next part a bit less nerve wracking.”

In a smooth gesture, he pulled out a small black box and lowered to the ground. Watching Killian drop down to one knee here in the gardens, Emma felt totally adrift from all cares of the world. She was stunned and yet deeply aware that this had all been a long time coming. There was no doubt in her heart that she loved Killian, and she held no fear over taking this next step. This man had shown her for months that he genuinely cared for her and her son. He would move mountains for them, if only for a possibility of their happiness. He was selfless and loyal and true, and he made her brave, emboldening her to believe that the risk was worth it. Love was worth it. Still, it was shocking, to be adored so deeply, and to know that someone truly felt the world began and ended with her.

“Emma, I realize that this is perhaps soon by some standards, but believe me when I say that I have been aching to ask you this question since the moment we met.”  

More tears formed in her eyes, thinking back on that day. Her world had truly shifted in the span of one morning. There was a time before Killian, before romantic love that ever made her hopeful, and then there was more. It all started at the center, but it built well beyond those four walls. Knowing what she did now, she had to call their encounter what it had been – love at first sight. Maybe she hadn’t admitted it then, and surely she hadn’t said it aloud, but that is what transpired. She took one look at this man, this extraordinary, incredible man, and she was hooked, plain and simple.

“You amazed me then, that first day at the Institute. I didn’t realize anyone like you could truly be real, or that I was capable of forming an attachment with such strength. I had seen too much, I reasoned, knew the darkness of the world in ways that may leave me lacking for the rest of my days. I thought such chances at something halfway near normal were beyond me, but those first sparks between us proved me wrong. I was totally ensnared, caught in a web you couldn’t help for making, and still, that immediate response can’t compare to all I feel now. Knowing you – loving you – I am more certain each and every day that you hold my heart in your hand. I am yours, Emma. I have been yours, and I will remain yours all the days of my life.”

There was absolutely no chance at stopping from crying now, but the sensation was one of happiness. She was actually living a fairytale. Her, the once lost girl who never had a nickel to her name, or a friend to keep her going. She had survived the cruelest affairs of the heart. She had been so terribly and tragically alone, but she persisted, and she learned, through the grace of her son, and the courage of her convictions, to live. Now with Killian she was starting anew, building up the small life she’d shared with Henry into something much bigger. To say she was exited at the prospect was an understatement.

“Emma Swan, will you -,”

“I want to adopt Cecelia!” Emma said abruptly, blurting out a seemingly unrelated fact in the middle of what had been the most beautiful proposal. She was mortified, but only for a moment. Because the smile on Killian’s face calmed the storm inside her.

“Ah, right. You see, I had anticipated that, though in the interest of full disclosure I envisioned this part of the conversation after your reply to the proposal. Regardless, I offer you this, love.”

Emma watched as he juggled the ring and instinctively she took it, holding the box and sparing another glance at the absolutely beautiful band. Her fingers itched to put it on now, but she knew it would be so much better to let Killian do the honors. She then watched in amazement as he pulled out a series of papers from inside his jacket. He opened the file containing them all and showed her an application for adoption. The child in question was Cecelia, and the forms listed both Emma and Killian as petitioning guardians. Now she was completely overwhelmed. He knew every single part of her. Every hope. Every dream. He was perfect.

“Family is so much more than blood, Swan, as we both know, and I think we’ve known for sometimes that Cecelia will always be our princess.”

“Yes,” Emma whispered. Yes to everything, yes to all of it.

“I’ve also spoken to Henry, not intentionally per se, wanting to speak with you first, but it would mean the world to adopt him as well. I don’t know how you’d feel about that, but I-,”

“Yes,” she said again, this time with even more conviction.

“Yes?” he asked with a hopeful grin and she nodded. “Well in that case. May I, love?”

She handed him the papers which he put down beside them with care. Emma watched as he took the ring box back from her other hand. He settled down on bended knee again, preparing himself for another attempt at asking her to marry him. It took everything in her to bite her tongue and let him actually get the request out.

“Emma Swan, love of my life, light of my spirit, and queen of my heart, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

“Yes.”

Everything from there went quickly as he slipped the ring on her finger, tossing the box without care to the group. Killian was up at full height in mere moments, pulling her in for a scorching kiss and Emma was complete. It may not have been a totally according to plan proposal, but Emma believed what they had was even better, because it was real and true and filled with so much love. She could think of no better way to start a beautiful forever, and when they pulled back, resting their foreheads against each other and soaking in the moment, Emma let out a sigh of sheer relief. This was what they meant when they said happily ever after, and it was so very worth the wait.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,” Emma murmured aloud.

“Neither have I,” an emotional voice said – only it wasn’t Killian. The voice continued. “Truly beautiful.”

“Gran,” Killian muttered shaking his head. Emma bit her lip and covered her mouth. They had absolutely just been caught out here, but when they both turned to see their unexpected audience, consisting of Killian’s family, Elsa and Anna, and Henry and Cecelia, a different person outside of all the rest, was revealed to be the culprit.

“You take that back, Killian, for you know better than that,” Gran said, standing beside a dressed up and dazzling looking Mrs. Hubbard. Mr. Hubbard was there too, his hand on Henry’s shoulder and his leg being held onto by a very friendly Cecelia. Emma never expected to see her dear, sweet neighbors. Their appearance here in Montenarro left her floored.

“My new friends are a treat, believe me,” Gran continued, walking forward, and seemingly giving everyone else the silent permission to do the same. “But their spying skills need work. I would never speak through such a moment, nor rustle these hedges with quite so much gusto. Not to worry though, they’ll learn.”

Everyone descended in that moment to wish them all well, but the most important reactions came from Henry and from Cecelia. The happiness of both of these kids – their kids – gave Emma tremendous joy and satisfaction. She was also thrilled to share this with their blended family, and with the friends who had become such strong bonds in her new life. After much congratulations, everyone returned to the party, and an announcement was made. If Emma believed the reaction to be enthusiastic from her loved ones, it was even bolder from all of the children at the center. Indeed, the happiness and infectious sense of hope made for the best party any of them had ever been to, and created an afternoon like none she’d ever experienced.

Hours later, Emma was still reeling from the high, and loving the fact that she and Killian had stayed together all day. He’d never let her go after her saying yes, always beside her, supporting her, adoring her, and loving her endlessly. She was so happy with him, but as the day drew to a close, her spirits dampened slightly. In his usual form, Killian caught on immediately.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked, sure that no one else was listening, even though they were still amidst the party.

“Nothing,” Emma said automatically, though that was only half true. “This is one of the best days of my life. It’s just… the waiting…”

“Aye, I’ve considered that too. But I think I’ve arrived at a workable solution.” Emma looked at him curiously. “I will submit for a special license from the crown. The King and I are on decent terms you see.”

“Decent, huh?” Emma teased, looking over at Liam and finding him swaying with Elsa on a makeshift dance floor. There wasn’t even any music playing, but to this happy couple, and to the children dancing nearby, that didn’t matter in the slightest.

“He’s been in better spirits of late, as you might imagine.”

“Seems to be going around.”

“Mmm,” Killian hummed out, running his hand along her cheek and looking at her with sincerity and bliss. “We can have everything arranged in a week. It’ll be quite the undertaking, but the staff is up to the challenge.”

“A week?” Emma said, not believing it. Surely it must take longer than that, but she loved the idea. In truth, she’d marry him right now if she could. “Can we really do that?”

“Just say the word, Emma.”

“Yes,” she said nodding. “It’s crazy. Actually it’s totally insane, but yes, please, yes.”

“As you wish,” he replied kissing her again under the party lights and lighting her aflame once more. “In the meantime, I’ve no wish to be apart. We should be together, love, as long as that’s what you want.”

“I do.”

“Everything’s ready. I’ve been working for weeks on it. The rooms for Henry, for Cecelia, all of it. It’s merely a matter of moving your things in, all of which can be done tonight.”

“You’re serious?” Emma asked and he nodded.

“A magistrate’s already granted temporary custody for Cecelia. You can take her home now while the process continues. Please, love, say you’ll all come home to me.”

Emma looked over to Henry and to Cecelia, who were dancing together on the floor. Emma watched as her son already took so well to his new sister, and as if she’d conjured his attention, Henry glanced her way. He waved, a sign that Emma returned. Drawing attention to them set Cecelia in motion, and soon the little girl was dragging Henry across the party. Soon enough they were back together, the four of them a new but undoubtedly permanent unit. Cecelia jumped into Killian’s arms, and Henry came to Emma’s side looking up with his knowing expression.

“What’s up, Mom?” he asked and Emma smiled, unable to resist pulling him and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“How would you feel about moving to Killian’s house -,”

“Our house,” Killian stressed and Emma chuckled.

“Sorry, our house, tonight?”

“That would be awesome!” Henry said excitedly. “Can we do that?”

“Aye.”

“And me too?” Cecelia asked hopefully.

“Yes, honey, you too,” Emma said, brushing a stray curl from Cecelia’s face. The kids made their feelings known. They were in, totally and completely. “Well I guess we have our answer then.”

“Aye, love. The best of answers, all around.”

And so, later that night, when the festivities of the day had ended, and the children all departed, Emma and Killian, Henry and Cecelia all headed home together, enjoying their first night in a place that would always be theirs. And though Emma knew they were in for a crazy week of planning and party design, and wedding wildness, she was truly joyful. For this was a life beyond her wildest dreams, and she knew, deep down to her core, that it was going to be breathtaking.

Post-Note: So… what did you think? Personally, I found it SO cathartic to write this scene. It’s been such a long time coming and I have pictured this outcome for Emma and for Killian even before writing the first word of this story. Almost a year ago to the day this story came to me, and my hope is to write out the final chapter by the one year anniversary in early May. Hopefully it won’t take quite so long, but please know that it has been a joy to write this and share with all of you. I hope this chapter and this fic have brought some brightness to your world and some magic to your moment. This has been an insane time, but I’ve been grateful to share it with all of you. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed, and I’d love to hear what your hopes for the end of this story are. Until next time, wishing you all well and healthy and safe! xE.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

I liked your ava post, do you have more aboout usm. The WHOle usm team?

I can’t say I have many many hcs but I’ll give you where I think they might end up after SHIELD, and two songs that fit them if that works. 

Peter: I don't know why but I feel like Peter would want to look for his parents once he leaves SHIELD and while doing so, he ends up in a lot of team ups and building up more of his rogues gallery. Basically I imagine stuff from the comic with spider clones, dating MJ, briefly rejoins the Avengers then leaves. Yeah I don't have much for him since comic history leaves people to choose what they want. Imagine Dragon's Beliver because he does have such a heavy pain inside, but that's the thing, he keeps it inside until he snaps them into his fight for justice. "First things first, I'ma say all the words inside my head. I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been, The way that things have been.Second thing second, Don't you tell me what you think that I could be. I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea...Taking my message from the veins. Speaking my lesson from the brain. Seeing the beauty through the pain!"

Danny: I'd like to think that he stays in NY to start Heroes for Hire with Luke as soon as they leave SHIELD. They're bros, and he justifies the absence that New York needs Iron Fist more than K'Lun for the moment. He also tries his hand at getting Rand Industries back on track. I also think he does return to K'Lun eventually as King and mystical head. After his work at Rand Industries, he feels more confident as a leader and is willing to stand up to the monks when it comes with changing some of the old ways. Allowing him to travel back to NY to see his friends while keeping the mystical origins of K'Lun sacred. I think Nature Boy rather fits him, soft and melodious and Danny learning he is not alone sort of. "There was a boy. A very strange enchanted boyThey say he wandered very far..Very far over land and sea. A little shy and sad of eye. But very wise, was he."  Les Miserables’ Who am I mainly because I imagine Danny has some identity issues between feeling worthy of the Iron Fist, feeling torn between the US and K'Lun. Ideally, he would end up learning being one does not give up the other part of himself. As one would say they can coexist in a balance. "Who am I? Can I conceal myself forever more.. Pretend I’m not the man I was before?....How can I ever face my fellow men? How can I ever face myself again?"

Luke: As said above, with Danny, when they leave SHIELD, they create Heroes for Hire, they ride or die forever.  Together they clean up their part of New York and Luke comes to terms with some of his past and the people he dealt with in jail. He also meets Jessica Jones during this time and she becomes his new partner (in more ways than one) when Danny leaves for K'Lun. He sometimes does freelance work for SHIELD, mainly at the behest of his parents, sometimes as a favor to Fury. He also sometimes comes by the Helicarrier to be a surprise mentor to whatever new hero they pick up. He is the main instigator of team reunions.

Adam Levine’s If I got locked away totally fits him after the time he spent in jail and scared of being seen as weak, it really fits him and his insecurities. "If I got locked away And we lost it all today. Tell me honestly, would you still love me the same? If I showed you my flaws. If I couldn't be strong. Tell me honestly, would you still love me the same?" One call away also fits him simply for his caring nature and how he'll do anything for his friends, "I'm only one call away. I'll be there to save the daySuperman got nothing on me. I'm only one call away/ Call me, baby, if you need a friend. I just wanna give you love...No matter where you go, know you're not alone. I'm only one call away."

Ava: I think once Ava leaves SHIElD, she has some trouble with the amulet whether form being on her own, knowing SHIELD isn't there watching her every move or just cockiness that she can handle it now. Either way, I see her as  taking a break from the amulet. Reasoning her father wanted her to keep it safe, it didn't mean she had to put it on and be a hero. Ideally, she goes to therapy to work through all these issues before ever putting it on again. I imagine she goes home to PR too. I think she could go into bounty hunting, it's more freelance, she helps put baddies away and she can put her investigative skills to good use. Eventually she'd be White Tiger again but for more superpowered threats than every day patrolling. Just breathe from In the Heights not only for the spanish influences but also the utter fear of returning a failure, "Straighten the spine. Smile for the neighbors. Everything's fine, everything's cool. The standard reply: Lots of tests, lots of papers. Smile, wave goodbye and pray to the sky, "Oh God!" And what will my parents say? Can I go in there and say, "I know I'm letting you down..."  Alyssa Greene from The Prom. The lyrics speak for themselves of the utter perfectionism and drive, "The hair has to be perfect. The As have to be straight...Trophies have to be first place. Ribbons have to be blue. There's always some competition or hoops for jumping through. Just have everything perfected by the time you reach eighteen" 

Sam: Admittedly I don't know much about Nova lore or backstory as the others but I think he'll go back to space. Not necessarily as part of the Guardians because honestly I think they had enough members without him. Maybe as a solo act before he finds the other Nova Corps. I definitely see him as becoming a trainer there, finally being the leader he always wanted to be. I also want him to reconnect with his family so he does travel back to Earth to visit them and then swoops by NY for some reunion with his old team before heading back to space. 

Bieber’s Lonely fits Sam because at the heart of it all, I think that's what he is. Lonely, he's still young and trying to navigate these powers and his place in the world and space and what his identity is. And no one else can quite get that. "Everybody knows my name now. But somethin' 'bout it still feels strangeLike lookin' in a mirror, tryna steady yourself and seein' somebody else. And everything is not the same now. It feels like all our lives have changed Maybe when I'm older, it'll all calm down. But it's killin' me now. What if you had it all, nut nobody to call? Maybe then you'd know me 'cause I've had everything. But no one's listening and that's just f- lonely." Shawn Mendes' Wonder works for similar reasons. Mainly I imagine him singing it to his missing father who inherited so much but knows nothing personally about him, "I wonder why I'm so afraid of saying something wrong, I never said I was a saint. I wonder, when I cry into my hands. I'm conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man and I wonder if someday you'll be by my side and tell me that the world will end up alright. I wonder..I wonder."  And then a party song for each 

Sam: All I do is win by DJ Khaled "All I do is win, win, win no matter what. Got money on my mind, I can never get enough ('Nough) And every time I step up in the building Everybody hands go up And they stay there And they stay there, up, down, up, down, up, down 'Cause all I do is win (Win), win (Win), win And if you going in put your hands in the air, make 'em stay there" 

Luke: Finesse by Bruno Mars, "We out here drippin' in finesseIt don't make no sense Out here drippin' in finesse You know it, you know it We out here drippin' in finesse It don't make no sense Out here drippin' in finesse You know it, you know it" 

Peter: Another one bites the dust by Queen "nother one bites the dustAnother one bites the dust And another one gone and another one gone Another one bites the dust Hey I'm gonna get you too Another one bites the dust"

Danny: Normally, I don't think Danny would be into party music, too much cursing, too much noise to distort the mind, that stuff. But Rihanna is catchy. "I wanna take you away, let's escape into the music, DJ, let it playI just can't refuse it, like the way you do this Keep on rockin' to it Please don't stop the, please don't stop the music I wanna take you away, let's escape into the music, DJ, let it play I just can't refuse it, like the way you do this Keep on rockin' to it Please don't stop the, please don't stop the, please don't stop the music" 

Ava: Woman by Ke$ha "I'm a motherfucking woman, baby, alright I don't need a man to be holding me too tight I'm a motherfucking woman, baby, that's right I'm just having fun with my ladies here tonight I'm a motherfucker"  This other cool blog is much more into USM and has tons of hcs if you want more of this stuff, @im-rewriting-ultimate-spider-man

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course Chapter 28)Broken

.-.-.

Utstott grew rapidly. For the first few days, Ivar managed to hide the raven chick inside the pocket of his tunic. But now that the hatchling received proper food and care, the little thing grew in size and had a massive opinion; it no longer allowed Ivar to shove him into his pocket. It pecked and cawed every time Ivar’s fingers brushed over the hem of his tunic, puffing up his humble amount of feathers. 

“Fine, be stomped to death, scrawny excuse for a chicken!”, Ivar badmouthed Utstott, who’d fiercely dug his beak into Ivar’s thumb. The little shit managed to draw blood and received an aggravated wave from Ivar. Utstott tumbled down onto his tiny arse and cawed disapprovingly.

Ivar threw a meaningful glance at Piglet, who failed miserably at  keeping her snigger hidden. 

The Giant had unchained Ivar shortly  before, and Ivar had barely managed to hide the hatchling underneath a pile of hay, coughing  excessively loud to mask the sound of Utstott’s caws of disapproval.  

It had earned Ivar two iron fists smashing in between his shoulder blades, along with a shove towards the door; the Giant didn’t want him slacking. 

“You take care of that pain in the ass”, Ivar half ordered, half asked Piglet. The slave maiden made a deep bow as an answer and used her broom to sweep Utstott to the furthest corner of the shed. 

“Make sure the calves don’t crush him”, Ivar added before crawling out of the doorway. 

His duty still remained the same, scrubbing the staircase. It was the most pointless and exhausting task possible; for every step he mopped, a hundred dirty feet and muddy boots defiled it before the end of the day.

But, like the bloody bear of Kattegat, Ivar would scrape his palms raw and routinely work his way up to the steps of the entrance. 

Then again, he was out in the sun, catching a breath of fresh air,  and he’d managed to collect a small log he could use for carving later. Life could be much worse; yet it bothered him how grateful he’d become for such basic aspects in life. He used to literally eat from a golden bowl and now his day was considered an excellent one if meat was on the menu. After winter, his heart truly beat faster every time the Giant would unshackle him and allowed him to slave his way through degrading and pointless tasks. 

He’d evolved into a proper dog, Ivar dog with muzzle, as Piglet put it. 

How much time had passed since his arrival in de Haar? Since his father promised him greatness and a meaningful death? Of course he’d known he’d never return from England, he’d settled with drowning at sea. At least he’d be right beside a Legend, a King, a father. 

Oh, sweet bliss, if only he’d died during that storm. Then he’d never know how Ragnar Lothbrok’s suicide mission only included him for his unfailing and inescapable affliction; being born a cripple. He’d just been a tool, a simple pawn to deliver a message to his worthy brothers. 

And he even failed at that. At night, that was one of the thoughts that kept gnawing holes into his mind; what if he escaped de Haar? Then what? Crawl his way to the closest dock and head home like a cowardly dog, muzzled, beaten, marked, and damaged? 

With his luck, he had a better chance at swimming home, because how was he going to afford the crossing? 

And what awaited him at home? Shame, mainly and mostly, shame. He’d served Christians, in order to survive. He’d slept between pigs, cattle, shit and Piglet. He’d done nothing memorable aside from enduring a bloody flogging. 

What would his brother’s think of him, if he’d told him how he cleaned the enemies chamber pots? How he allowed the entire population of de Haar to take a piss at him? 

The worst thing was, by now he’d been so conditioned into his new role, he numbly did what was expected of him. Without a fight, a curse; defiance had literally been beaten out of him. A shadow casted over him, expecting the Giant to ruffle him up, Ivar flinched back before glancing up. 

Ivar couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“God zij met u,” were gentle words spoken by the fair-maiden. A breeze whispered past, teasing the blonde strands of her hair. Although her posture regained its grace, her beauty still one to match; the light had been robbed from her eyes. 

Her sudden presence overwhelmed Ivar and it showed; a blush scorching his cheeks, setting his face on fire. Full of shame, he lowered his gaze and waited for her unblemished ankle boots to pass. 

By the Gods, she must have turned into flawless marble, because she was not moving an inch. Now if it was up to Ivar, he’d remain ignoring her presence until the day he died. But she was standing on the spot he needed to clean and if the Giant caught him neglecting or pausing his task, the fair-maiden would witness him being beat. 

Leaning into  his embarrassment was inevitable. Ivar felt awkward and reticent, yet managed to glance up. 

Her expression lacked security too, and there was that brokenness again. The longing, the burning expectation of a sign, of something good. 

Did she honestly still believe that the rumours of his ‘Martyrdom’ were true? Months had passed since the forty lashes, if he’d been anything other than human he’d surely have allowed a miracle to happen. One that set flames to the highest towers of De Haar. A plague to strike anyone that ever dared to harm him; causing puss filled blisters to scar their faces, like the whippings that had scarred his back and shoulder blades. 

But no, no miracle in the form of sickness or fire had occurred. His life still wasted away, while hers had worsened by marriage. He did not have anything to offer her, and he wished he had the words to tell her that.

There was no escape, from neither of their lives. He could not save her from Ludolf’s marital ties. He could not save her from being raped and abused, because Ludolf was her husband, the young ruler of de Haar. 

The Giant must have smelled his cold sweat, like a bloodhound, the brute lumbered across the cobble-stoned centre in a direct line towards Ivar and the fair-maiden. 

Both eyes of the youngsters locked in a shared understanding until Ivar broke it off. Well, was forced to break it off. A vicious yank on his hair forced him to hunch forward, causing him to tap over his bucket. The wooden tool tumbled down the stairs, splashing water all over the place. Ivar didn’t even register, pain scorched his scalp as the Giant picked him up by his hair. 

Instinctively, he clung both his hands around the thick wrist of the Giant, as the brute pulled him up to eye-level. 

Brandishing his fist in front of Ivar, the Giant diminished the space between them. Almost nose to nose, the bastard started roaring in his face; the stench of tooth rot and decay overwhelming. 

Instead of ramming his fist into Ivar’s face, the Giant pushed him down the steps. 

Every muscle in Ivar’s body knotted up as his arse hit the first step, spinning he tumbled down the rest of the steps, hitting the back of his head against the bucket and his teeth grazing mud. 

The Giant took his time to walk down and kicked the bucket across the cobble-stoned centre. He didn’t need to shout his order, Ivar knew he was burdened to repeat his entire task again. 

The cloth landed on the back of his head and the Giant walked off.

  It made Ivar feel so small and insignificant, yet he picked himself up and started crawling towards the bucket. The fair-maiden luckily had disappeared, hopefully she now knew better and would stay far away. 

.-.-.

“What did you do?” Piglet ranted the moment the Giant locked the door. Apparently, his little downfall had been the talk of the town. 

“Nothing”, Ivar snapped back, wishing that would be the last word of it. 

Of course it wasn’t, Piglet pressed both her palms into her waist and glared down at him. 

“She’s trouble! Won’t last long! I’m not going to heal your back again!” She threatened. 

This was fuel to Ivar’s simmering fire: “I bled for you, not for her”, he reminded her firmly as he rose up to his knees to at least have a shot of being at eye-level with her, “don’t tell me what I can do and can’t do, or you might wake up while I ram a nail in your eyeball!”. To give his threat more weight he thrust his fist forwards, aiming at her face. Their distance was too great by far to even touch the tip of her nose, but his gesture made Piglet sway on her feet. 

She must have seen that thing in his eyes; what his mother called rage and she called the Djinn. 

“Thick-head”, she announced, and fled up the attic, allowing Ivar to unload on his own. His knuckles grew white from clenching his fists too hard, his teeth gritted from the effort to remain silent. His face was red from suppressed rage, and he hunched forward. It was as if a wildfire burned his insides, slicing and scorching his consciousness away. He blacked out, saw red and when he came to, Piglet sat right in front of him. 

His breathing was out of control, fists clenching and unclenching, he noticed stug material being stuck between his teeth. The potato bags from around his knees and legs lay torn and shredded across his box. He choked, inwardly he suffocated. The beatings, the ridicule, the overall indifference for his pain, the absolute monstrosities he’d been through all throughout his life sparked up from every corner of his mind. Memories, old and new, of being unworthy of being alive, unworthy of being a person, shattered in a frenzy. 

At a loss for words, unable to express himself, Ivar broke down. He fought it with every fiber of his being, but he wept. Hating his physical reaction he buried his face into his hands and hated, absolutely hated himself for expressing such weakness, in such an unmasculine way, in front of another person. 

If the Gods would have any mercy, they’d allow him to crawl down a dark hole and never come out. Screwing his eyes shut, Ivar furiously banged his fists into the ground, stirring up the last bit of his anger. It was his last resort to regain some dignity, unleashing one more time and destroying everything his hands and teeth could get a grip off. 

Piglet’s touch was so gentle and hesitant, Ivar swore he’d made it up. But when he opened his eyes wide and still on the verge of madness, the slave maiden wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. She did not speak, only held him close. Her silence didn’t feel empty, rather, it enveloped him and allowed him to bear his grief and choke through his tears and pain. Despite the heaviness in his stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of her body pressing against his. 

Although he wished to fight it, he sank into the warmth of her simple gesture. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, in return, Piglet carefully twined hers around his lower back.

Since he’d taken the path of no return, he allowed himself to find safety in the crook of her neck. 

“They broke me, Piglet. I’m broken”, the grunt that escaped the back of his throat was soft and hoarse.  

“No, not broken Ivar,” she whispered into his hair, “damaged. But damage heals”. 

For some reason, her words planted back a seed of hope, at least to get through another night and another day.  

.-.-.

A/N: So, did I have any kind of storyline for this chapter. No, this was a total freefall. Lightly inspired by episode ‘The Outsider’ (see Ivar rant on my tumblr). Halfway I thought ‘kay I’ve physically screwed him up a dozen times, why not break him down mentally. Oh and let's make him cry, yet try to keep him in character’. Tada… this happened. Loved writing it! First the total overload of frustrations and then the breakdown. Eager to read your thoughts/opinions, 

Xoxoxox Nukyster The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones:@youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys​ @shannygoatgruff@pieces-by-me@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa@readsalot73@lauraan182 @conaionaru@sarahh-jane@peachybonelessIf you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire: Omega.1.8

I am above them all.

It is a strange feeling, being above someone. They look like ants, so far away. Yet I am not moving, just floating. I scan the crowds of the parade, full of people cheering and having candies thrown at them from the floats. Cramped streets, even tighter sidewalks filled to the brim with people in their summer gear. Some dressed as their favorite heroes that will be in the parade. The heat came in waves, but it didn't affect me. This high up, the air is always cool. Music was always present, among all the other cacophonous explosions of noise. The rumbling brass of the marching bands, the explosive drums of the floats, and the click-clacking of the boots of the veterans of the Power War barely eke out the cheering in the air. It has been so long since I have been among people in this way, in such big groups.

I wasn’t used to the noises again, the sounds of their voices and screaming. Of course, I heard their voices while I shut myself away. Yet, I ignored them. They were suffering at the hands of their chosen protectors, crying for help. Why would I help those who dare declare me a terrorist, a traitor?

But I do anyway. I am the only real hero.

Maybe a few of those poor souls in the crowd will see it after this. An example is always needed to show when something needs to be fixed. They were finally beginning to understand, but I went too far too quickly. The Capitol should have been much later. The establishment of a state was too ingrained in them. Removing it will take much more than just the butchering of the real traitors. It was supposed to be my real confrontation with Whirlwind. He was always on the President’s payroll, him and a few heroes at any given moment. He never showed, though. Instead, I fought nothing. The police never bothered to go in until I left. The so-called heroes in D.C did not even try to stop me. Not even a reserve guard. The networks always disregarded that fact though. It was always a focus on me, the killer and butcher. It was never that the police let me in, the heroes didn't fight me, the President flew away an hour before I showed up.

The parade isn't moving nearly as fast as I’d like it to. Whirlwind is at the end of it, along with this other speedster he’s taken under his wing the last few years. Doesn’t matter. I’ve waited this long. I can wait just a few more minutes. All I’ll need is one. Just like at D.C.

All it took was one minute.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thunder preceded my arrival to Washington. Nature was on my side, as it should be. I was the oncoming storm. This was the peak of me, my movement, my actions. Across the nation, people were questioning those who supposedly protected them. This would be my magnum opus to removing the leeches of society, toppling the decaying order. From the top-down, it would be reformed in my image. A safer image. A better one. People won’t have to see their father shot on the streets. But that was all in the future. For now, I had one goal in mind.

The President left an hour ago with an Air Force escort of multiple jets, running away with his tail in between his legs. He wasn’t my target anyway. If I had wanted him dead, he’d be dead. No, the only thing in my mind as I flew through the heavy, cold rain towards the Capitol building was a list. The white marble of the building looked grey under the overcast sky, and as I landed down onto the steps of the building, thunder struck. The entire mall was empty, the Smithsonian closed, Whitehouse silently evacuated. They knew I was coming, knew that their time was limited. Yet, curiously, when I arrived there was no one there. I could feel eyes watching me though. As I scanned the city, I counted the bodies that hid behind the walls of buildings. Shaking men in women in blue, weapons hastily drawn and pointed my way. So-called heroes, standing and facing me defiantly yet refusing to take a step. Citizens clamored around the barricades, trying to catch a glimpse of the great eradicator. The police and heroes weren’t there to stop me, or to keep me from leaving. They were there to make sure no one was stupid or suicidal enough to attempt.

It's all infected. This is the only thought I have in my mind as I ascend those marble steps. They’re all infected. Not a single good soul among them. Not a single good soul within a hundred miles of me. Misguided, led astray by those who trusted them. They thought themselves above those who would put them in power. But they were wrong. And they know they’re wrong now. As I approached the doors, I could hear the desperate banging on the locked doors. Doors locked for me. Hundreds of people, left behind so that another may save their neck. A sacrifice to me in vain attempts to stop greater bloodshed. I heard cries of terror, screaming, silent acceptance in the minds of those who understood what was going to happen.

I was not there for all of them, but they didn’t know that.

I kick the doors down into the Capitol and enter alone. My sopping wet footsteps echo an empty hall as I walk towards the chambers. Carved marble and granite floors, extravagant works of architecture. A palace in any other world. Fit for those who think they’re kings. The first step in a long revolution. I put force into every step I take towards the chambers. I let the ground shake and echo, becoming louder and louder. I hear their voices grow quiet, anticipating my arrival into their room. The House would be first. And it would be public. The cameras were no doubt rolling inside, people-watching in abject horror as I tore the door off from the wall and threw it across the room. Huddled in groups under their desks, hugging each other as if the other day they weren’t at each other's throats. Pathetic. The heat builds in my eyes as I calmly walk down the aisle. It almost seems random who I select, but I choose only the most egregious offenders. Those who have passed beyond the spot of return. I pick no side, only my own. Concentrated shots of a four thousand degrees laser make short work of traitors and an inconvenience for the janitor’s vacuum. They all scream, but none dare move. None dare look away. For they think that if they defy what is happening in any way, they too will turn to dust.

I say none, but one did try. While I am mowing down his colleagues, he attempts to run for the door, thinking I'm preoccupied. To the cameras, I don’t even move. All they see is a sudden mist of red and a smear on the once pristine white walls of the House Chambers.

After my work is done, those I deemed worthy of living still cowering in fear at my feet, I face the camera.

“People of the world, listen closely. I am the first and the last of your new masters. I am the great reset. I am the great leap forward. Everything begins and ends with me. I am everywhere, I am everyone. The world shaped me into what you see now.”

Using my speed, I dart around the world. I make it seem as if I am levitating over every major city. Every capitol. My face, my helmet is seen everywhere.

“I am the Alpha. I am on top. A new order comes from me, and me alone. Do not count on your heroes. Do not count on your villains. There is only one master. One ruler.”

Fires burn across the world, ships and cars crash, planes fall from the sky. I cause them all.

���I am the Omega.”

Escaped from a mental institution, assaulted by a man I could kill if only I had not held myself back. I would have ruled the world had they just listened to me. Yet, I was caught off guard and made a plea bargain. A streak of light and I was defenseless. Another day and it was all back, but by then I had made a plan. Which all leads back to where I am right now. I stand above a parade, waiting to enact revenge on the person who made me who I am. I should thank him, honestly. Without him, I would never have cared about the world. I would have never been born. But he still needs to die. The path to him has been bloody and unnecessary. Sure, many needed to die and were dead now. But it all meant nothing if it meant he still breathed. My failure at Washington will not be repeated. The world is infected, and I am the cure. He is the disease that awoke me. I am power defined, power controlled. There stands no one beside me, no one above. There is only below.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And yet, here I am.

Wait. One person could have seen me. In that moment of realization, I chuckle. I was going to have to put down another upstart. A small bump in the road in my ambition. It would be a thrill, an easy warm-up for my strength. I inhale the sharp cold air. In the bright blue sky where I floated, I mentally chastised myself for not noticing sooner. That light shouldn’t have reflected and followed me the way it did on my way over. That heat was never that bad this high up. No, It had to come from another source. And as I turned to face it, I smiled.

The parade meanders, a large affair for a large city such as Boston. Yet, I feel something off. A speedster such as himself would never wait for the back. He basks in speed, he would never sit and stay on a float. He’d be here by now. There is no way he’d be late. Unless...

No... Unless he knows. But how? The hospital has not sent any news out, I have made sure of that. I had not sensed any signal leave that building, not even internal ones. No, there is no way he could have known. [i]Could I have been seen? Impossible, I flew in the stratosphere all the way here. No one could have seen me.

Bright white and red, streaks of gold, red hair. She was new. I have only barely heard of her if only through the stories Kiara’s father has told me. In her hands were two suns, harsh things to look at. Her feet were two fireballs, propelling her to stay level with me. Her look was fierce, streaks of flame dripping off her hands like molten iron. Her eyes glowed gold. Cute. A sharp scar across her face showed this wasn’t her first rodeo. It will be her last, however.

“Sunspot, is it? I will give you one chance to leave right now. You are clean. You have done nothing wrong. Your ambition is sacred, you have a life worth living. Live it somewhere else.”

She said nothing, though I could hear her heartbeat increase. I smirked under my mask.

“I only cleanse those who need cleansing. I am not here to butcher the masses. I am not here to terrorize. You are not part of my plan, they are not part of my plan. Do not become a part of it.”

Villains had their weaknesses. Heroes theirs. Everyone had their blind spots. I don’t. There is nothing better than me.

Still, she stood next to me, defiant. The sun started to glow a little brighter, which tickled something in my mind. “Omegaman, you are under arrest. Please surrender and come with me.”

Her voice, while confident in tone and steady, betrayed her uneasiness. Had it not been so cold up here, I would have no doubt seen her sweating. Her shakiness could be written off due to altitudes, but I knew better. She was scared. She had never faced someone like me.

“I don’t want to go to another funeral in Boston because of your mistakes.”

“Or what?” I finally faced her. She couldn’t have been older than 22, yet here she was trying to take me down.

“I have killed heroes ten times better than you. Thirty times more deserving. This is your last chance to leave, Sunspot.” I lower my head behind my arms as I put them up. She mirrored me, moving her arms into a boxing stance, her legs getting ready to propel her. This was inevitable, she wanted this to happen. Might as well make it fun for me, give her one more chance to leave.

She had managed to hurt me.

In a rage of fury, she roared and threw the sun at me. I opened my palm to catch it, laughing at her outrage. Yet when it reached my hand, I stopped laughing and started to scream.

What?! My hands and arms were red and black scorched marks, my brain a frenzy with synapses of pure pain.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

[anistarrose]

Entropy (The Owl House)

Summary: As a witch, Eda thrives on unpredictability and chaos. Unfortunately, so does her curse.

Word count: 1734

Warnings: mild violence, but it’s no darker than the show itself

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/22518526

The first of what I expect will eventually become many Owl House fics from me! This story is set a few months before Luz’s arrival to the demon realm, but also has some big spoilers for Episode 4, so beware!

***

Eda believes that unpredictability is a witch’s best friend. Magic should always be a little wild, a little feral, a little chaotic, a fickle force of nature that keeps its users on its toes. Predictable magic is weak magic, diluted magic, practically homeopathic magic that’s left with nary a spark of what once made it so fierce and formidable.

This is the philosophy that’s made Eda the most powerful witch on the Boiling Isles. It’s the philosophy that’s helped her dodge imprisonment for decades. It’s even the reason why against her better judgement, she invited a scrawny little demon with an extreme superiority complex into her home — and as loathe as she is to admit it to King’s face, the little wannabe tyrant has brightened up more of her days than she’d ever expected.

Adherence to a status quo leads only to stagnant magic. Routine makes the bile in Eda’s heart run dry. Variety is the spice of life, and despite all the challenges she’s had to overcome — or perhaps even because of them — Eda is living.

But the most potent curses are always the most ironic ones. The ones that weave themselves not out of foreign magic, but out of the victim’s own nature, turning strengths into weaknesses and prides into secret shames.

In Eda the Owl Lady’s case, this means that her curse is very wild, very feral, very chaotic, and never predictable. When the feathers begin to sprout and she feels the telltale pinpricks of quills in her hair, when her fangs begin to elongate and her stomach makes its appetite known through bloodcurdling growls, she only has a matter of minutes at best before she loses herself — only a few minutes, at best, to find her elixir and stave off her transformation.

And if there’s no elixir in reach to be found, well… her last few moments of lucidity are best spent ensuring that no one will be around to see her in this state, both for her sake and theirs.

***

Eda is unceremoniously tossed into a Conformatorium cell, unable to get to her feet before the cold iron anti-magic gate slides down in front of her. The gaps between the rungs look plenty wide enough for King to slip through, which means either the guards haven’t noticed him shuddering and trying to hide in Eda’s arms, or they just don’t care enough about whether he escapes to bother securing him better.

“The Warden will be seeing you shortly, Owl Lady!” one guard barks from behind his beaked black mask. “I’m sure the two of you will have plenty to discuss!”

As their jailers leave, King wriggles out of Eda’s arms. “Are they gone?” he meekly asks, poking his snout out between the bars and peering down the hallway.

“Yes, but not for long,” Eda grunts as she attempts to draw a small spell circle in the air. A few sparks surround her fingertip, but fizzle out before the circle is complete. “Drat. They learned their lesson from the last time I broke out of this place.”

“Then looks like it’s the King of Demons’ turn to save the day!” King declares, raising a tiny fist. “And what better place to find recruits for my army of darkness than here, in this cesspool of sinister machinations and forbidden black magics!”

He pokes his head into the adjacent cell, in which a demon with foot-long pointed nails leans against a wall. “You there! You look like a foul, black-hearted creature if I’ve ever seen one! How about you join my prison riot?”

“Are you joking? There’s nothing foul or black-hearted about overthrowing an unjust government institution that misuses its authority,” the demon scoffs, continuing to polish their nails. “Come back and talk to me again if you think of something that’s really evil.”

Muttering to himself and shaking his head, King trots over to the prisoner on the opposite side of Eda’s cell. “How about you? You’ve got a lot of life left ahead of you — do you really want to spend it all in a prison?”

The baby in the cell ignores him, preoccupied with repeatedly stabbing a knife into the floor.

King trudges back to Eda’s side, head hanging. Very quietly, he asks: “Eda, what if I’m just not cut out for demonic tyranny?”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” Eda rubs his head. “I’ve never seen a demon more power-hungry than you are, you evil little thing. And hey, it’s not all bad — now you know exactly what types of demons not to recruit for your army of darkness!”

King’s mood immediately lightens. “You’re right, I just need to look on the bright side of things! Like how at least you didn’t have your staff with you today, so it’s not going to end up locked away in the warden’s contraband pile!”

Eda tries to retort that if she’d had her staff, she never would’ve gotten captured in the first place — but her throat has gone dry. After all, she hasn’t had anything to drink in hours.

Why do the torches in the hallway suddenly hurt to look at?

“All they actually confiscated was that orange potion you were drinking,” King goes on, completely oblivious. “Good thing they didn’t take anything important, ha!”

Eda runs a hand through her hair. Her fingers graze quills, sprouting from her scalp.

No! Not here, not now! Not in front of —

“King, you have to leave,” she hisses, falling to her knees and clutching her chest. “Squirm through the bars and run. I’ll catch up later.”

“Are you serious? I’m not leaving you!” King exclaims. “I can’t fly back home unless you carry me!”

He’s so precious.

So stubborn.

such dumb, easy prey

“I know a way to break out of here, but it’s — it’s — you’ll just get caught in the crossfire if you stay.” Eda claps one hand over her mouth, hiding her extending fangs, and with her free hand, picks up King by the scruff of his neck and stuffs him through one of the holes in the iron grate. “The guards will all be distracted in just another minute or two, so don’t waste your chance! Run and meet me back at the Owl House!”

no, little demon

come back inside, little squirrel creature

Halfway across the Conformatorium’s main chamber, a door creaks open, and King finally takes it as his cue to bolt.

so bright

too bright

can’t see

kill the lights

“Eda the Owl Lady!” Warden Wrath’s voice echoes. “I’ve been waiting so long for this moment…”

new demon

bigger demon?

bigger meal

Warden Wrath is wholly unprepared for the explosion of claws and feathers that tears through iron like it’s parchment, then barrels out of the Owl Lady’s cell with a scream that would cause a banshee to lose their voice for a week. The monster rakes a clawed hand across the wall, shredding half a dozen torches into tinder with a single blow — then turns to face Wrath, baring her fangs and grinning.

Wrath has read of the bloodthirsty strixes, the owlishly metamorphosed victims of potent curses — but he’s never encountered one face-to-face, never stared into these black eyes that are simultaneously so empty and so cunning. A lesser warden might turn tail and flee, but Wrath knows his duty.

Strixes are unnatural. Improper. Unpredictable. Feral.

Unsuitable for society, but a worthy opponent for him.

He charges, swinging a scythe-hand, and Eda effortly catches it with her fangs. She swings Wrath around like a toy, sending him careening into the wall — but he has a trick up his sleeve, and he transforms his hand into a hammer that pries Eda’s jaws open before she can extricate her teeth from his flesh.

Wrath laughs as Eda recoils, as she spits out dark ichor and shards of shattered yellow fangs. The acidic ichor sizzles as it lands on the cobblestone floor, and its ghastly smell reaches Wrath even through the herb-stuffed beak of his mask.

Seeing their warden stagger backwards from the pool of acid, two guards rush Eda — a mistake, they realize a few seconds too late. They add a degree of entropy to the battle that the strix exploits, whirling around and delivering two powerful kicks from her rear legs — and before Wrath can even admonish his inferiors, they’ve been flung on top of him, their heavy metal armor pinning him to the ground.

Eda licks her lips, advancing slowly, savoring the moment. A tiny drop of icor dribbles down her chin from the corner of her mouth, and her batlike ears twitch with delight.

Wrath’s arms are pinned, and any sudden shapeshifting movement will surely provoke the strix to lunge before he can get an attack off. Unable to remove his mask, yet left with no other option, he points his head at Eda as best as he can, and opens his mouth.

As the spout of flame incinerates the likeliness of a raven beak and spills out to fill the hall, Eda screeches and extends her wings so quickly that a sonic boom tears though the Conformatorium. Cast-iron gates are shattered, cobblestone is pulverized into rubble, and leagues of demons and witches run free.

Nearly overwhelmed by the stampede, Wrath staggers to his feet just in time to see the strix take flight, and soar out the skylight at the top of the prison dome.

***

Eda awakens beneath a tree, scattered patches of feathers still present where the early-morning sunlight hasn’t yet crept through the leaves to dapple her skin. As she collects herself and steps out into the direct sunlight, her transformation fully reverts — though her stomach still grumbles for flesh and blood. She’ll just have to get home quickly and quell it with an elixir, instead.

When she walks into the Owl House, King almost immediately springs into her arms and breaks down sobbing. “I was so worried! I ran like you said but I heard so much screaming and I saw something get lit on fire and I wasn’t sure if that was what you meant to do or —”

“I never do exactly what I mean to do,” Eda tells him, forcing a smile. “It wouldn’t be very wild and unpredictable of me if I did, would it?”

She sets King down on the couch. “But you can always count on one thing — I’m never leaving home without my magic staff again.”

[nightowlfandom]

The Kings’ Pet Princess- Royal! BTS x Reader Series Part 1- Prologue

REQUEST FROM PROMPT LIST- RIGHT HERE! (I write for anime too )

MY NEW SERIES, IT’S GONNA BE HYPE!  I am so excited because I’ve been wanting to do this for a while and I’m finally getting around to it! ALSO THIS IS MY 100TH POST!!! LETS GET HYPE!!! *TWERKS*

This is going to be dark, sexy, and dark and more sexy...y’all better buckle up and if you want me to continue the series then please let me know by just sending me a message and telling me you like it because that’s what keeps me going. I like knowing people enjoy my writing. This story is for masochistic fucks....like meeee.

Also if you’ve sent in a request, rest assured Tumblr wasn’t acting like a dick, so I definitely got it this time around, I just ask you give me a few days to get them out.

This story will have partial violence, and a lot of sexual content.....soooo.

Also this is fanfiction land so STD’s don’t exist here fam, so we get to fuck all we want. (Meaning I intend on some sexy ass two against one shit....just warning you guys.)

LEGGO!

....

This is my fate. This was my fate from the second I opened my eyes as a newborn. I had always known this would happen. I just didn’t suspect it to be so soon. I remember the tears of my mother and the clenched fists of my father. The sad looks of my younger siblings who I would tell to take my place on my throne.

“We promised no tears.” you said, while ironically wiping your face with your sleeve. “It’s not like they would have a change of heart.” you looked down. 

“You’re very brave.” Your father, the king of your kingdom, your home, your utopia put a hand on your shoulder. “Your people are very proud of you...are you ready?”

You nodded even though you had been lying. The seven kings of your enemy kingdom, had agreed to an alliance in exchange for one thing...only one.

You.

Pretty soon the beautiful bright colors that adorned your crown, gown, and palace would be replaced by dreary black and blue. Something that you didn’t look forward to. You had only agreed because this would mean both side of the kingdom would put aside their differences and come together as one to help one another. You hated the way those awful men ran their kingdom. Instead of being about love and togetherness, they inflicted pain and fear into their people, the people that made them kings. It made you wonder if they were held by their mothers as children. 

Your mother straightened your crown while your younger siblings rocked on their feet. You hadn’t bothered to put on your beautiful dresses and opted for a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt.

You knelt down to greet your younger brother and two sisters. 

“Promise me you three will take care of my throne while I’m gone?” you grabbed your younger brother whom was only five as your other two sisters, 12 and 13 hide their tears from you. 

Tearfully your baby brother took off his favorite necklace and held it out for you, your sisters followed in haste. Tearfully you hugged all three of them, inhaling sharply as not to cry.

“Your majesty...the carriage is ready.”

You turned towards the guard who had been standing there, witnessing everything. You stood up tall and nodded. 

“Never forget where you come from...and who you are my daughter.” your mother kissed your forehead. “When this is all over you will return home, and we’ll be all be together again.”

With another nod, you turned towards the guard, following him outside. You were taken aback when your people, the citizens of yoru kingdom stood on either side of the path. As you walked down the trail they all knelt, bowing down to you. They knew of your sacrifice and they knew what the enemy kingdom had told your family. It was a thank you, a way of saying “we are indebted to you”. Before you got on the carriage you turned towards your people and without another word you did you best bow and as you stood upright you punched the air with your fist a determined look on your face. A cheering roar echoed throughout the crowd as you got in the carriage.

“If it’s any consolation, they’re allowing you to bring your pets,” the guard said as he helped me on. “You are very brave princess Y/N.”

“Thank you...you have been a great guardian for my family and I hope we shall cross paths again soon.” you said sadly.

You could only wave goodbye to your kingdom as the carriage drove off. You sighed. You had never been to enemy kingdom before, you have never even bothered to learn its name. You knew of their rulers though.

All of them ruthless, cold blooded, and pure evil in your eyes. You had only ever seen them once, when your father was at the sharp end of a sword. 

Kim Namjoon who was supernaturally intelligent , Kim Seokjin the eldest king and scarily precise with a sword, Kim Taehyung who was a sweet talker who could obtain whatever he wanted, Park Jimin whose had the eyes of a siren, Min Yoongi whose anger issues were notorious, Jung Hoseok whose feet were as fast as his words, and Jeon Jungkook who much Taehyung could use his words to get away with too much.

You were betrothed, a slave to all of them...

You felt an uneasy aura go through you as you entered, you took a good look at the castle. It was nowhere near as light-hearted and whimsical as your home. It was dark, dreary almost. You looked down at your hands your fist clenched. For the kingdom, Y/N.

You were welcomed by a woman in a maid’s uniform. You stepped off the carriage feeling your heart drop. 

“You must be Y/N. My name is Rina, I have been appointed as your personal maid and assistant.” she bowed towards me. “Welcome to Bangtan.” (Sue me lol. It actually sounds like a good kingdom name)

“Please, don’t use formalities. I’m only (your age).” you tried to sound polite. You could tell that this girl was not excited to be living in such a palace herself.

“I heard you were a kind hearted princess...but to hear you...a sigil of royalty speak to me as if I am your equal...you truly are a dream.” she blushed a deep red. 

“Oh but you are my equal...our statuses don’t make us who we are...it’s our character.” you winked. “From now of you will refer to me by Y/N...not princess, your majesty, none of that stupid title bullshit.” you allowed your true self to show. You barely swore around your family, but since you were on your own, it was open season.

“Bless your soul Princess- I mean Y/N.”she smiled shyly. “You come with me. Your things will be tended to.”

You followed Rina inside and were suddenly met by a horrible chill.

“Is it always this cold?” you asked to which she replied with a nod.

“The kings like to keep it cool when it gets hot during the summer months.”Rua replied.

“Yeah but it’s like a freezer in here.” you shivered a bit. Talk about an odd welcome. 

“Well those are the kings for you. They were always the cold type.” she frowned. You could tell that she held some sort of animosity towards them. “The throne room is this way. After that I’ll escort you to your room”

You nodded and followed her. Well it was now or never. You were led into the throne room which almost took you by surprise. It was surprisingly bright and filled with paintings on the walls the sun peeked through the windows.

“The kings are on their way.” Rina looked frightened. “I hope you’ll understand I’ll have to use formalities towards you in their presence.” 

You didn’t have time to asked why before the doors swung open. You and Rina turned around to find seven men by the door, all standing tall.

“P-presenting Princess Y/N L/N...she j-just arrived.” Rina stammered over her words. You noticed she had a grasp on your wrist.

You knew each one all too well, you didn’t need to be introduced to them, not at all.

“So this is the princess...Y/N, was it?” Namjoon raised as eyebrow, smirking at you as you confidently walked up to them. You crossed your arms. You weren’t going to let them scare you.

“Precisely.” you held your head up high. “You must be...Namjoon.” you said unenthusiastically. “The first to be crowned, moreover...the leader.”

“Hm, you know your history.” he smirked. “I’m assuming you-”

“Know of Jungkook, Jimin, Yoongi, Seokjin, Taehyung and Hoseok?...Everyone in my kingdom knows of you and your reputation.” you said tiredly. “Sadly.”

“Hm...So you know of our power?” Hoseok asked.

“What we’re capable of...” Taehyung followed.

“and what we’ll do to get what we want?” Jungkook ended.

“....Yes.” you sighed. “Of course if I had other options....”

“Ah but you don’t....you swore your betrothal to us...little Y/N.” Seokjin hissed sweetly. “Of course don’t worry, we wouldn’t be so harsh on you.”

“Unless of course you were a masochist.” Namjoon added. “Although I expected you to....dress better for such an event.” he tsked at your casual wear.

“I wear my gowns for an event worthy of a fucking gown.” you spat. “You can forget about me wearing pieces of string just to satisfy you.” you crossed your arms. “I don’t do that, especially not for men like you.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to argue with us...little Y/N...remember this arrangement...to help your people...your family...you wouldn’t go as far to be so selfish.” Yoongi smirked, knowing your reply.

“How dare you use that against me...” you clenched your fist. “If war wasn’t as risk I would punch you right where you stand.” you hissed. 

“Hmm, think of it this way Y/N. You get to be waited on hand and foot.” Namjoon began. “No one would be stupid enough to cross you with us around.”

“You get do do things you’ve never had the chance to do before.” Seokjin follow.

“You get to experience what it really means to be a ruler.”

“You don’t have to lift a finger...or work in general”

“And if you’re lucky, you might find you actually enjoy it here.”

“All alone with us.”

“To do whatever it is that pretty little mind can summon....Especially when you can’t sleep at night”

You eyed the seven kings, they seemed like they had the same plan in their head.

“So...with that being said...we hope you enjoy your stay in our castle.” Namjoon said.

“Because you’re all ours Y/N.” they chorused, all wearing the exact same smirk. 

What had you agreed to...

...

Rina had taken to your room as promised.

“Y/N I applaud your bravery but if you keep this up you’ll surely be punished.” Rina exhaled an extreme breath. “What you did might have opened up a portal of a load of-”

“I don’t care what portals I’ve opened up, Rina.” you snapped lightly. “They do not control me, or my fate. The minute our kingdoms are merged...I’ll be queen and this kingdom will do what I say...sure they’ll be kings but I find I can be quite convincing when I want to be.” 

Rina looked at you. She wished she could be as brave as you. The only reason she had taken this place as a maid in the palace was so she could send money to her family, the kings had no care for their people it seemed. So she made sure her family was fed first, then she would send whatever she could to her village. 

“They don’t stand a chance....” you said determined. 

“You are signing a death certificate...but I admire you.” Rina sighed. “I was also requested to tell you that dinner begins at 7:30, and you are advised to comply because you do not want them to come up and bring you physically.”

“Great....Now who do I speak to about being shown around this place.” you sighed.

“I’ll show her.”

You grimaced...that damn voice.

You turned around and saw Hoseok standing by the door. Rina seemingly ducked behind you. Were you a human shield or what?

“You, Maid...you’re needed to help prepare dinner in the kitchens.” Hoseok pointed towards Rina.

“Right away!” she bowed before scurrying off without another look at us.

“...Y/N was it? Follow me.” he said turning around.

You hated to admit, but this place was twice as big as your palace back home. It looked way too easy to get lost so you had no choice but to comply.

Wordlessly you followed Hoseok down an unfamiliar looking hallway. Well the whole fucking castle was unfamiliar.

“Hm...you seem nervous.” Hoseok began smirking. “Don’t worry...I won’t bite you...unless of course you’re asking.”

“No thanks.” you crossed your arms. You were led down another hall. “What is this place?”

“We’re almost there.” Hoseok’s smile widened. 

“Wait a minute...I thought you were showing me-”

“I am...but first...I must show you something.”

“Like what exactly?” you stopped walking. “If you plan of playing dirty tricks then you can forget it.”

“Never I’m almost hurt you’d assume such a thing.” Hoseok faked a sad face. “Now come along...the others aren’t as patient as I am.”

Slowly you bagan walking again.

You followed Hoseok into a strange looking room, you were taken aback at the appearance. This was either a dungeon....or a sex room. You didn’t want to stick around to find out. 

The ironic thing about this was that it was just as big as the throne room, where seven thrones sat. As Hoseok predicted, the other six were all on their respective spots. 

“HEY!” You were taken aback when your arms were bound behind your back by shackles.

“Just so you don’t try anything.” you felt Hoseok whisper in your ear in a sickeningly sweet tone.

“Try what!?!?!” you argued, trying to shake out of your bindings.

“You can cut that bullshit now, Y/N.” Namjoon got up and approached you. “No we aren’t any happier than you are about this fucking arrangement.”

“The why did you arrange it! You get these shackles off me or I’m gonna-” you cut yourself off....you didn’t know what you were gonna do.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hoseok said from behind you. 

“Not really.” you were now genuinely more confused than angry. 

“It’s because we want you Y/N.” Namjoon chuckled. 

“Uh...yeah we’ve already established tha- OH!” You suddenly realized what he meant. “You mean...all of your...all seven of you.”

“Precisely” Namjoon’s smirk broadened. “Of course the thought of merging kingdoms is absolutely repulsive to me...I will admit our land could...use a bit of an agricultural and technological advantage. It was the perfect plan.”

Okay now you didn’t know how to feel.

“We get you all to ourselves, you get to help your people, and we get to keep our position as kings.” Jungkook watched you from his throne. “Of course you being the positive light you are saw an opportunity, you just fell right into our trap like a helpless little mouse.”

“I’m still lost at what this me-” Namjoon tilted your head up to look at him.

“It means, my dear, and here I thought you were smarter...what a shame. It means that during our time together, you get to be our good little pet. You get all of our undivided attention. We had the special room built just for you...to “ he chuckled. “Explore.”

“Save some of her for the rest of us Namjoon...poor thing already looks like she’s prepared for something...” Taehyung commented.

“P-prepared?” you squeaked. “F-for what exactly.”you asked, knowing good and well his answer.

“Hm...wouldn’t you love to know.” they all chorused.

(YOU GUYS I AM SO EXCITED!! ARGH! )

[minervacasterly]

Real Life Horror (Plantagenet edition): Popular Terror aka Mob Rule

One of my favorite episodes of The Orville had to do with the team going down on a planet that follows the rule of mob mentality. People are judged based on how many dislikes they get by their fellow comrades. If they do something that is deemed "offensive", they are forced to go on an apology tour where they have to subject themselves to public humiliation. If they fail to the people over, all hell breaks loose. This bizarre form of government is not hard to digest when we take into account it has happened before (and given how history tends to repeat itself, it can happen again). In 1381, four years after he ascended to the throne, Richard II faced the peasant's revolt. The movement, as pointed out by historians Julian Baker and Dan Jones, was initially fragmented but it quickly gained momentum. By the summer of that year, whole towns had risen up against the ruling classes, including the high clergy, after their demands were ignored. The royal family was forced to seek sanctuary, and with Richard II in the hands of his enemies, there seemed little hope for them. But then things turned around for them. After Richard II turned the tables on Wat Tyler and his associates, he publicly declared to the common folk who had joined the revolt that he'd spare them, and that if they expected a kinder king, they were dead wrong. "Vileins you are, vileins you will be." Long story short, if they thought their living conditions were bad before, they hadn't seen nothing yet. The King was the King and he was within his authority to rule the country as he pleased. And if they were born in the position they were born into, tough luck. They had no other choice in life but to endure and pray for forgiveness and move on, or carry on with their complaints which would get them nowhere. To get you an idea how bad this mob was, think back to Game of Thrones season 2, the King Landing's riot, when the commons nearly killed Cersei and raped Sansa. George R. R. Martin has gone on record, saying how much inspiration he took from European history. Given all the historical parallels we've seen with other events on the show, it is not far-fetched to say, that part of these riots were based on the peasant's revolt. People who criticize the show for being too violent have NO idea how terrible the source material is. It makes the show look tame in comparison. Just as the end of that episode of the Orville where one of the main characters is saved thanks to one of the inhabitants who helps the crew manipulates the score so he will get more likes than dislikes; Richard II and his family mildly avoided the terrible fate that befell many clerics, noblemen, and other victims of this mob by taking advantage of the leaders, namely Tyler, in their moment of perceived victory. Besides beating down Richard II's officials and tearing them limb from limb, they also proceeded to burn down jail and legal offices. They also went after everyone who was associated with these people, delighting themselves in their bloody handiwork. In historian, Dan Jones' words "piling their corpses in the streets". The following morning the rebels raced to the tower of London where they hoped to find the King and his officials . The King was not there but some of his officials were, including one of his high clerics was. He was dragged out to Tower Hill and decapitated, his head stuck on a pole for everyone to see. After the King and his ministers restored order, harsher penalties were imposed on the commons. As one of the characters of the Orville tells the inhabitant who helps them free their friend, having a say is something that should not be freely given but earned. The Plantagenets would have agreed with that ... to a certain extent. In their view, anyone worthy of being an officer, should rise by his own merits. But if that person happened to be the son of a favorite or a loyal supporter then screw it. He would be favored over the son of a nobody who had worked harder than anyone else to get to that position. Nonetheless, Richard II's actions were praised by his noble subjects at the time. When he was deposed by Henry IV, they continued to be well seen. It was not until later in his reign that his actions were condemned. Ironically, his actions would be emulated by none other than the dynasty that followed his, the Tudors. It was Elizabeth I who was quoted saying "know ye not I am Richard II?" Like Edward II and Cleopatra VII, who were two of history's greatest losers and tragic romantic figures respectively, Elizabeth I considered Richard II a sorrowful figure who had been unjustly dethroned by a jealous cousin. She often compared herself to him, and like he had done during the peasant's revolt, she took a firm stance against any of her subjects who questioned her rule. Knowing full well that you could never please the mob, she acted severely against their slightest complain. The mob could decry being treated unfairly. That was okay, but organize and form large groups to list their grievances was going too far. Damn if you do. Damn if you don't. It was impossible to please everyone. Having studied history, she had learned from the Plantagenets' example how dangerous it was to rely solely on popularity. The people respected a strong leader, someone who defied all their expectations. Given that she was condemned by both sides (Catholics and radical Protestants) on the basis of her gender, legitimacy, and faith, Bess opted to rule with an iron fist. Through the use of religious iconography and gifted playwrights, she transformed herself into a living goddess. She wasn't going to endure the public humiliations Henry II and other kings went through to be in the church's good graces. She was the church. And she sure as hell wasn't going to tolerate her clerics question her rule or turn the other way around when they were attacked by an angry mob. Whether you approve of her actions or not, time proved her to be right. The Orville and Game of Thrones end with the main characters narrowly escaping their bloody captors. But as with history, neither sees things changing any time soon. With civil war still raging on in Westeros, it won't be surprising to see another riot in King's Landing. As for The Orville, the only person wise enough to see how crazy her society is, is not going to make a difference. Her society is all too eager to bring people down and if she isn't careful, she might end up killed or given a lobotomy to appease the masses. Ultimately, mob mentality or majority rule is a terrible thing. A bad economy that leads to feelings of of disenfranchisement mixed in with charismatic leaders with big egos, leads to a reign of terror worse that puts any bloody spectacle from the Saw and other horror movies to shame.

[ironforgedrp]

♛   BRYNDEN II TULLY

↳ details; male, twenty-nine. ↳ date of birth; 12th day, third month, 477AC. ↳ status; heterosexual, unmarried, no children. ↳ faceclaim; garrett hedlund. ↳ hails from; riverrun, riverlands. ↳ loyalty; house tully and the riverlands.

↳ position/title; the first tully king, king of the riverlands, the river king. ↳ religion; faith of the seven. ↳ spoken languages; common tongue. ↳ reason for being in sunspear; attending the summit as king of the riverlands, looking to solidify alliances to avoid invasion.

♛   PERSONALITY

↳ type; ISFJ-A (defender) ↳ alignment; chaotic good. ↳ star sign; pisces. ↳ positives; just, honorable, truehearted, strong, virtuous, persevering. ↳ negatives; taciturn, restrained, shortsighted, apprehensive, obtuse, soulful.

♛  BIOGRAPHY

↳ family lineage.

ever since brynden was born his father, lord robin tully, thought him a disgrace. as you see, he always had more meat on his bones than the average infant or child. how could that be? he never did eat all that much and his parents both were petite. he blamed his wife, a bastard child brynden was, not his own. “another one! you must give me another!” he vociferated, but she would not. not for months, not for years, and even then pregnancy would unveil another repugnance.

so much time stood between him and his younger sister, lord robin grew wary he would have to fall back on his firstborn son, unknowing he would not even end up with another if conceiving served successful. ugh, he would groan as he spent his time thinking about how to fix this boy, this problem. times only seemed to get worse however, no matter what he did. he tried stripping pastries from brynden’s reach, eating them in front of him so that he would learn self-control and telling him that a single bite does not make a normal man resemble a boar more than it does a human being, as it did for him. brynden would pout and cry, being so little he did not know any better. surely he would learn as his response did not serve lord robin’s favor, a whiny imbecile it represented and lord robin would not have that.

a scolding here, a scolding there, he went mute, not making a sound, not learning how to talk at the expected rate. another fault lord robin would claim he had, he did not care if his child did not long to talk or simply was afraid to, all he knew was that his child was slow. he would think him as slow as his metabolism, as it would not be until he was six that he would mutter his first words “yes, my lord.” to his father, and until he was eight, he would write a single letter. “a fool, a fat fool. what have you given me?” he heard lord robin scream in the late hours of the night at his mother who never seemed to retaliate. soon lord robin would begin to strip him of privileges until he could prove himself worthy. he would be asked questions before meals and if his answer was not correct, he would not get a meal. he was scared of his father and so he grew anxious, getting questions wrong even if he knew the answer. there was one point in time that he went a whole week not eating a single crumb, his uncle would take pity on him and sneak him a bite, stay up with him and help him learn to get the question right for next time. the trouble was his uncle was hardly ever around, positioned as a recruiter at the night’s watch, only visiting his family when scouting. he fled for the wall at a young age, not being able to stand his brother or what he passed for O.K. the tully’s putting family before duty and honor ended with his reign. it was most upsetting how the boys were only born not a day more than ten months apart. he could have been the ruling lord, and everyone knew he was deserving; he had the heart, cherished their blood, and held high morals. he would be compared to the blackfish, brynden tully, ironic the name was not passed along to him.

brynden’s uncle had love for his nephew, not because he was family, but because his nephew was good. all brynden wanted to do was feel and give love, he was the kindest soul you ever met; he fed the does and the stray dogs, he sat with children of farmers and lesser fortunate and told them stories, knowing well they did not have access to books or maesters, and no matter the scoldings that would occur after lord robin’s discovering, and the screaming and shouting, “you will get a disease, boy” and “you? teaching? these children do not need to get any more stupid.”

when his uncle left, lord robin began to beat him, not believing simple scoldings or starving him was teaching him enough. after beating him, he would begin to kick him out of the castle, making him sleep in the stables. growing more and more afraid and waking up next to horse shit each and every morning became his reality for a few years. all that was getting him through the torture was the idea of his uncle returning. he could go with him to the wall! he thought. his mother recently gave birth to a girl, she could be the ruling lady of the house! though he knew he had a duty, he could not return so soon.

eventually,  enough was enough, he would head north on his own. he watched as the lights went out in the windows to his parent’s chambers and he snuck back into the castle, stealing a loaf of bread, a few coins, a knife, no, not a sword, and some of his mother’s jewels. he kissed his newborn sister on the forehead and prayed to the seven gods, “let her be strong, let her be smart, let her be everything and more.” one day, he would meet her again.

he ran far, not taking a horse because he felt bad enough stealing what he had already. by the time of his venture, he was a stick, no muscles, no fighting experience, no brains. his red hair did not help him blend in, and when he passed a tavern in the later hours of the night, when traveling through the westerlands after mistakingly following the river road west instead of north, a man stood outside, pestering him about coin. he would only apologize, stating he did not have any to spare. the man saw the glimmer from the jewels hidden in his coat pocket, and began to corner him, questioning him again. when brynden answered with his condolences once more, the man said that was not good enough, he called out his friends and as one held brynden down, the other knocked him out with a kick to the head, taking all that he stole from his parents and even his shoes. brynden would awaken, bruised, and with a pounding headache, frantically checking himself for his coin and the bread, but all he would find in a hidden tunic pocket was his mother’s necklace. he wanted to sob, to turn back, but it was too late. he would be killed on the road or he would be killed at home.

he decided to visit the markets in lannisport where he was not far from, looking for short term work or to find a ride up north in trade for the last bit of his house he had left. they all spit in his face, mocking him for not having enough meat on his bones, and for feeling as if he were mocking them for having clearer sentences than they did. that was a first, he would think to himself. it was not until he reached the bakery, unknowingly one of the finest in the land, belonging to a man who had lost his son days before from red spots, and was in dire need of help, that his luck started to turn around. the baker offered him a job only if he could assure he would not be foolish with his days there, as he did not want to get a poor reputation and scare away good customers. brynden made a promise and he would keep it until his time there came to an end.

during the beginning of working at the bakery, when the baker would throw out the unsold, not utilized, or stale bread, he would head down to the poorest of slums and hand them out to people in need whether they were men sleeping on the street or the entirety of an orphanage. the baker saw the goodness in him and gifted him with a new pair of boots only two weeks in. he would start bringing brynden home with him, giving him his son’s old bed no matter how short or hard.

in return for the boy teaching him how to read, even if he was not the best or the brightest, still getting some words wrong here and there, the baker would also teach him how to fight, not with a sword but with his fists and daggers, a skillset learned in his days growing up in flea bottom and leaving to fight in small wars. brynden became quite skilled and strong. for the first time in his life, there were lines on his stomach and not from rolls or ribs. his build was slim and yet beastlike, and he grew tall, much taller than most.

in lannisport, he met a fair maiden called adelayne hill, a child belonging to one of the orphanages he delivered to. she was much younger than him, but a beauty no doubt. he would be keen on her good nature and welcoming of a boy unknown to the lands, with a learning disability, bruises and scars adorning his flesh, and no one, but himself and a baker to rely on or trust in. she would show him the points her peers and her jumped at sunset, laugh at his jokes that were not in the least bit comical, help him form a stronger faith in their seven gods, and provide for him a true friend. she became the apple of his eye for some time. some time eventually becoming years and the years would have him sticking to the land a lot longer than expected, and coming up with as many excuses as the boy could to withhold his travels to the point nearest to the skies, because with her he felt already surrounded by clouds.

to his dismay, their connection would not remain strong. towards the end of this chapter of their lives they began to bicker endlessly, one upset over the other’s goals not being suitable for the two of them, and the other, the same. neither of them had dreams fitting for boy and girl, man and woman, as one longed to be a commander of the night’s watch and the other, a septa. at last, brynden would decide it was time to leave, but it seemed adelayne came to the conclusion first, or was forced to. when he arrived at the orphanage one night to bid farewell, she was gone, missing. he thought to himself how she would never leave, it was not what she had planned, and so instead of heading north he would follow the gold road east after questioning onlookers if they had seen a girl suited to her appearance and size pass by and they directed him toward. some spoke of her being alone, others dragged, he did not know who was fiddling with his mind, he only knew he needed to find her.

it was during the celebration of prince aemos that he arrived. he was passing by a bakery when he noticed it set on fire. everyone rushed to extinguish it, but he was left severely injured after running in to the save those caught within, a deed performed reflecting on the bakery that saved him. he managed to carry many out and to a safe place, free of the smoke, before going back to help clear the streets. on one of his trips back, he saw a young boy struggling to breathe, lying on the corner of the street holding his throat, he knew it was too late so he sat at his side, walking him through his death, thinking about how his younger sister would have been about the age and how he would have wanted someone to do the same for her.

he was angry, mortified even, staring down at the lifeless body and the frantic citizens. his vision went slow, and his hearing went shot, taking everything in at the same rate as his heartbeat. he wanted revenge, and he was not known to be vengeful. as the night went on and the smoke cleared, his mind cleared. eventually, he decided to kneel before the king and ask for his support in helping rebuild the bakery and those who were affected. the king was not holding hearings though, he had far too much on his mind to answer the plea, his son had been kidnapped, after all.

his anger only grew. all the nobles cared about was themselves, never the people. it was that thought and the thought of his lost friend, that would carry him home after buying a ride back with a good portion of the money he was able to save so far. when he made his presence known in the castle at the confluence of the red fork of the trident, he could hear his father yelling before entering the main hall of his former home, but when his father saw him, his eyes grew wide and his mouth went shut. his son was a man, bigger and better than he could have ever envisioned for him. his father gave him a look of adoration for the first time ever, but not in a way of familial love or joy, rather in a way of advantage. his father welcomed him home, keeping him close, and not listening to any of his requests to help those he originally longed to, brushing them off for later. his father told him of how he came right in time to hear his announcement, that they were separating from the iron throne. his father spoke of having ideas, big ideas. he would step down from the throne and his son would take his place, that way he would not be everyone’s target, but rather his son would be, his son that he could so easily control through his stupidity.

cold blood still ran throughout his veins and through his head, he was as cruel to the people, as he was to his son throughout his reign. he treated the women like animals and the men like slaves. he cared little for who had enough to eat, or any at all, and if the people working for him day in, day out were living in good conditions. for all he cared the people were bathing in the rivers once red, sleeping in the dirt once fertilized with the blood of man. when brynden was a young boy, he was more pleasant, but not much. he still did not attend court meetings, instead he sent his castellan in his place unless he wanted to raise the taxes some more and send his troops to raid towns to intimidate the people. he spent most of his days yelling at the master-at-arms and treasurer demanding they needed to spend more time training men and collecting more coin. he wanted house tully to thrive somewhere other than marriage and providing the best lands to battle upon.

brynden did not know if taking his father’s place was what he wanted. he always envisioned the day his father would love him, but it seemed too good to be true. he knew there was a hidden agenda behind his father’s motives, after all, why would he not want to be king and inflict his own rules? he accepted his father’s petition, driven by the means of helping those who could not help themselves and served meaningless to those who could, but he was not prepared for what would come with the power of being a king.

having been gone for so long he was not aware of the type of ruler his father really was. when he was young he was too distracted by his own suffering to think deep into politics, so it came as a big surprise now. his father began his son’s reign by encouraging, and encouraging in his case is moreso demanding, brynden to close off their borders and inhibit a similar system the freys once proved successful by requiring paid fees for anyone that longed to cross bridges, rivers, and continue along routes. now a man from every household in the riverlands was to be taken from their homes and forced to train in the barracks, for their cooperation each family would receive an initial chicken, and pay every other week for their husbands, but for some, it was less than they made when they were at work as butchers, stonemasons, and roofers. the little they received in return for their services were by the insistence of brynden, not even planned for by his father.

brynden’s father insists on starting war, destroying the surrounding independent kingdoms once the men have been prepped and prodded. he is aware that the negative responses to what he hopes to enact will put a target on his son’s back, but that was the plan all along, was it not? he set the rules, the laws, made changes, and his son would only sign them off with his name. if his son were to die, the kingdom would be given back to him with ease, if the people rallied, they would not be against him. it was his son who made them independent, it was his son who reigned. brynden allowed it all because his father would twist the truth; by taking men, they were supplying jobs, by putting up borders, they were warding off invaders, and all the money they collected from taxes would be to pay off debts they had before, so that taxes would become little to none when all were cleared.

if brynden was not manipulated by his father then he would rather have lowered taxes, he never would have forced the men into their forces, and he would have insisted on aligning with the other independent kingdoms opposed from making them targets as well. only time will tell if brynden’s vision will come clear and he will finally see that his father is persuading him to guide the people in the opposite direction of which he had originally intended.

his father originally prevented him from attending the dorne summit, insisting they need no trade, they need no alliances. brynden insisted that their absence could prove fear or intimidation and that not cooperating could put an even bigger target on their back. he also insisted that perhaps it was better to form alliances, as their land rested in the middle of westeros, between one and another, his father accepted, but claimed if anything went wrong it would be because of brynden’s foolish decision. he would only attend to make sure his son did not make any claims or accept any offers he did not approve of. they left over a month before the midsummer ball and would arrive near the end of the very night.

↳ personality.

family, duty, honor, just as a true tully should, brynden abides to all three in the exact order. there is no one that comes before his family, no matter all they had put him through and his once fleeing. he loves his family, all that he has ever longed for is to feel that love reciprocated from his father and mother. family comes first, always, no matter the consequences, as he has proven with returning home, forgiving his father, and following in his direction. he would do anything for his family. for his family, he has taken up the title of king, no matter if truly saw fit for or even prepared. he finds honor in abiding by his family and not refusing their wishes. all are clear as day within any interaction with the tully heir and there is no changing his mind.

to most, it may seem as if he is not easily deceived or manipulated, that he is headstrong, but on the contrary, he lives his days guided by another. his father controls him, leads him to believe what they are doing is right. he does not act at his own free will, but that of the ruling lord before him, a cruel, cruel man with only his own benefits in mind, not that of his family, and so it may be made evident that brynden’s longings and decisions may contradict one another at times, some may speculate he is not his true self and is a king under a lesser subject’s rule, which goes against being a king overall.

ever since youth brynden has put the people before him, he holds them in his heart, having only their best interest in mind. those that know him well may say that he only performs his father’s deeds for the benefit of those who do not have voices. if he does what his father says, he can do as he longs when all is done. unfortunately for his giving nature, he has always been a quiet boy, not one to defend himself, and at times lacking in intellect.

↳ the splitting of the kingdoms.

brynden agrees with the decision of the several kingdoms split from the iron throne months ago. he thought king arryk to be too easily distracted and burdened. a true king would not have allowed such mishappenings, or so his father has said. he does not believe the summit for treaties/trade routes will work, and if it does it has the potential of promoting or demoting his rule, as the riverlands stand in between the vale, reach, westerlands, crownlands, north, all would have to venture through or around. there the most blood could be shed, the most fatalities could be accounted, and his kingdom served the most potential to be overrun. however, if he plays his cards right, he could use the riverlands placement to his advantage unlike previous rulers of the land.

     ♛   STATUS:  TAKEN.

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of January 1st, 2019

Best of this Week: The Flash #85 - Joshua Williamson, Christian Duce, Luis Guerrero and Steve Wands

Amidst everything going on in the DC Universe right now from Year of the Villain to the end of Doomsday Clock, there’s been a lot of really underrated books that DC’s been publishing and Flash Definitely falls into that category for me. Of course, Flash is no low-tier character, but as it stands, there’s not a big conversation surrounding Joshua Williamson’s run with the character like there is for the up and down runs of Batman and Superman, but there should be!

Joshua Williamson and his revolving art team of Christian Duce, Scott Kolins, Rafa Sandoval and Carmine di Giandomenico have pulled off some of the most consistently fantastic Flash storytelling in recent years. From the Speed Force Storm to Flash’s “Final Showdown” with Captain Cold and finally here with Rogues’ Reign, these stories have only seen Flash become an even better character with depth after he’s been tested over and over with insurmountable odds and overpowered enemies while still being riddled with doubt.

This issue of Flash acts as the penultimate issue to the Rogues’ Reign storyline and sees us learning a bit more about some of the Rogues as individuals while at the same time, breaking them apart even further. This book is less centered on the various speedsters, but more around their lack of control over their powers and Flash continuing his rivalry with King Cold to the bitterest end.

The book begins with four panels of King Cold, Leonard Snart, monologuing to himself. We get a great big focus of the Symbol of Doom in the sky as Snart says that it’s the end of the world, but at least he’s going out like a winner, unlike his loser of a father. One of the many defining characteristics of Cold up to this point and in other stories has been his hatred of his father and his aversion to become anything like him. However, he’s become nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy because his life is nothing more than misery because of the sacrifices he made to get to where he is.

Cold helped Luthor’s ascension and the rise of Doom by accepting Luthor’s Gift and allowing himself and his Rogues to become ultra powered, but in doing so, has alienated himself from his friends and family now that they all have what they want. Duce frames all of this excellently by first placing Cold in shadow before he looks at his glasses, as if reminiscing about his old life before putting them on and looking towards his death at the end of the world.

Soon after, we cut to Kid Flash and Avery receiving training from two unlikely sources; Heatwave and Weather Wizard. Though they were seen as reporting in to King Cold a few issues ago, it was brief and mostly to air some small grievances that they had with the way that Cold was running things. Here, we get the reveal that they’d been working with Golden Glider since she broke off from her brother and Mirror Master under their noses. In a brilliant double page spread by Duce and Guererro, we see that they’ve been helping the speedsters keep their speed under control.

It’s a pretty warmhearted scene followed by more where Gold Glider comforts Flash about their presence. Williamson makes Heatwave and Weather Wizard come off as two men that have suffered hardships in their lives, leading them to the life of crime, but still managing to have hearts. Glider tells Flash how Weather Wizard wanted to escape the life of crime that his family was involved in when he was a kid, but never could which lead to him hurting people he loved. Heatwave suffers similarly from his pyromania being the reason his parents died, but it’s painted more as him having a sickness he can’t control. Glider tells Flash that they want to stop Cold so that things can go back to the way that they were.

Duce draws these scenes with a surprising intimacy. Amidst all of the intense action, Duce draws Heatwave with a sense of pride as he watches Kid Flash control his speed better, Weather Wizard stare in his lonesome because of everything going on and shows the kids eating with their teachers after a long day. On top of all of this, Flash has a nice scene where Golden Glider teaches him how to ice skate after he asks her to get back into what was one her hobby. Guererro colors all of these scenes with warm tones, even in the ice which is primarily blue and white. Flash and Glider’s colors give off something of a happy feeling.

One of the recurring themes of this run has been relating to the Rogues in meaningful ways and Williamson does an excellent job here of contrasting all of them to an amazing degree.

After Flash makes a bad joke to Golden Glider, causing her to become morose, Weather Wizard steps in and tells them that they’ve found where Mirror Master has been hiding and the entire crew go to find the last two pieces of his great mirror. Kid Flash asks Golden Glider if she used to date him and she confirms this, stating that she didn’t know why, but that she knew all of his tricks.

Mirror Master has always been one of the Rogues of lesser renown because well… he's an idiot. Only in the sense that he's never used his powers to a degree where people needed to be afraid of him, but thanks to his upgrade they need to. In actuality, his access to an entire Mirror Dimension makes him one of the most dangerous people in the DC Universe as a potential spy or thief because A LOT OF SURFACES REFLECT. Flash and the other Rogues learn this the hard way when Mirror Master springs a trap on them, revealing that he knew that Glider and the others betrayed Cold.

When the Rogues and Speedsters finally encountered Mirror Master, he looks absolutely devious with a wide grin and his wide grin as they did everything they could to stop him. Duce’s poses were dynamic and captured how intense the fight was, the furious facial expressions were very well done and crystalline backgrounds were beautiful. Guerrero’s colors stood out in how distinct each of them were. Mirror Master’s glossy white clashed with the other characters, especially Flash’s vibrant reds and Weather Wizard’s dark greens. By easily besting all of them, he showed just how dangerous he could be.

He teleports them all to the King and Snart notes how disappointed he is and how the Rogues could have ruled the world together. This causes Glider to snap at him, saying that he never told the Rogues what that would entail - the end of the world under Luthor. At this point Captain Cold is so far gone that he just doesn't care anymore and Williamson has been leading him down this path since the beginning.

In Rogues Reloaded, Cold had the idea for the Rogues to get one more heist over on The Flash before retiring completely and that was foiled with all of the Rogues being defeated. In Welcome to Iron Heights, Snart decided he'd run an operation from prison but Barry Allen and his former ally, Godspeed foiled that plan too. Because Cold had murdered another inmate to throw off the scent, this led to a fist fight between Cold and Flash which saw Cold's defeat and transfer to Belle Reve Penitentiary. Obviously the defeat had an adverse effect on Cold because he was so sure that he would overcome, but didn’t. He lost again.

Captain Cold has always been one to hold family in high regard since he's never quite had a functioning one side from the Rogues, so his time on the Suicide Squad was devastating to him. I mentioned in past Flash reviews that watching teammates die mission after mission must have done something to his psyche and Lex Luthor took advantage of that when offering him and his actual friends a way to win against The Flash. All of that led to this.

King Cold, feeling betrayed and pissed off, freezes his former friends and sister, leaving only The Flash to fight him one on one again. In their last fight, Cold wanted it to be one on one without any powers, but he lost that fight because of Flash’s iron will. As he removes his cold weather clothes, he reveals that Luthor’s Gift wasn’t just improved gear, but it was a supercharge of power implanted into him. Their final face off will be hand to hand with powers.

This final shot is absolutely poster worthy. Duce conveys the rage emanating from both of them with jaws wide as if they were yelling at each other. Fists are cocked back, ready to pummel their opponent into the ground, especially Cold as he has frozen his arms up to the elbow for maximum impact. What makes this even better is the Symbol of Doom hanging over them in the background like a terrible omen. Guerrero manages o make so many colors fit together in a brilliant display. Flash and his signature red and bright yellow makes him look heroic, the underdog in a fight shrouded in dark greens and cold greys. Cold is paler, his normally blonde hair turned completely white and his arms as blue as his cold blood.

I absolutely loved this.

Duce and Guerrero killed the art in this issue. On the scale of Flash artists for me, Duce is high up there. They manage to blend high intensity action with nice character moments to get the reader invested in character’s emotional states through visuals. Guerrero accentuates this by coloring scenes so that they fit each individual mood and can blend these all together when there’s a clash of ideology or character. Of course, Steve Wands is the glue that holds all of this together his letters are perfectly placed, distinct for each character and give every situation the proper weight to individual lines.

The Flash is an underrated hit that everyone should be reading, especially in regards to the Flash/Captain Cold saga. Their rivalry has been a grand center point on the level of Batman and Bane’s right now or Superman and good storytelling (zing!) I can only wonder where things go from here and what will happen to Captain Cold after this because this is probably the highest he’s ever flown, so how will he fall?