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wordstome · 6 months

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the execution of lady jane grey

I got drunk and Tiktok showed me history_alice's video about this painting by Paul Delaroche. And since God has cursed me for my hubris and my work is never finished, have some medieval executioner König x fem mc. Also, Lady Jane Grey was executed by Mary Tudor (Bloody Mary), not by Henry the VIIIth (the one with the six wives), but I blended the stories just because I can.

1.3k words

König doesn't ask questions.

It's never been his job to ask questions. The king points, and he does the dirty work. Most of the time, he takes pleasure in it: thieves, rapists, murderers, they all answer to his justice. And sure, a true loyal citizen might argue that he's simply enacting the king's justice, but it's König who swings the axe, is it not? In the end, König decides their fate.

In theory, anyway. In practice, this is simply his job. He keeps his head down and does what he's told. He stays quiet about the king's secret executions, the ones that happen in the dungeons instead of out in the open courtyard where the smallfolk gather to watch. It's hypocritical, honestly. They all look at König like he's a monster, some spectre of death among men, but when there's a public execution to be held, are they not the ones clamoring and pushing to be at the front?

There are some times when the king's executions are more...dubious. An advisor who voiced dissent one too many times. A thief stealing barley from the royal stables to feed his family, made an example of. A young man, just a boy really, accused of murdering four grown men—convenient, considering all four men's wives had been found in the king's bed at some point or another.

Those are the executions König prefers not to think about. The ones that haunt him in his dreams anyway. Those are the ones that make him yearn for his days in the army: when the people he killed were as faceless as his hood was to them, when he didn't know them and didn't have to think about the loved ones they left behind. König's never claimed to be a good person, the opposite in fact. But sometimes when he brings the blade down, he imagines a different, more royal neck on the block instead.

He feels this way now, as he watches her make her way to the block.

She's ethereal in her petticoat, the soft silken material reflecting what little light there is in the cold stone room and bathing her in a warm glow. Gentle and obedient into her own grave.

The king's wife. Sent to the block for treason, of all things. But everyone knows the truth: he's only killing this poor woman because he plots to put his latest mistress on the throne. Just a few weeks ago, this sweet young thing was the king's main obsession. She stood no chance at all, the daughter of a local lord currying favor with royalty. And now, she's being put to death through no fault of her own. The injustice grinds König's teeth, and takes his mind to a dark, dangerous place.

If she was his, he would never so much as let another woman cross his mind again. He's seen her about the palace grounds, with her beautiful bright eyes and lively smile, skirts trailing behind her like the tail feathers of an exotic bird. Just watching her had made him feel young again, no longer the brutish old soldier everyone averted their eyes from.

He's only spoken to her once, but he'll never forget it. He had been in her way, but she was the one who apologized. Most people would have seen the hood and backed away in fear, but not her. He watched, frozen and unable to say a single word, as she curtseyed and looked at him with, of all things, a shy curiosity. For one still, breathtaking moment, he held her gaze in his, and he felt like they were the last two people remaining on earth.

Then her lady in waiting had touched her on the elbow, and the spell was broken as they continued on their way. But König had never forgotten.

That same lady in waiting is here now, eyes puffy as she holds the queen's elaborate dress and jewelry in her lap. She had chosen to take it off, so as not to stain the expensive fabrics with her blood. How can she be so considerate of others, when the whole world has failed her so?

She turns to him, trembling like a little bird, and meets his gaze. The words come out before he can help himself.

"I beg your forgiveness," he blurts out, and almost immediately mentally scolds himself. What right does he have, of all people, to ask for her grace?

"Of course, sir," she says, her voice clear and sweet. Surely, he can't feel any more wretched than he does right now...and then she speaks again.

"I only pray you dispatch me quickly..." She turns a fearful eye to the wooden block, sitting almost innocently on top of the straw laid down to soak up her lifeblood. "Will...will you take it before I lay me down?"

"No, madam," he whispers.

She nods, and with a sudden streak of iron will, ties the blindfold about her head. König knows this is a kindness: she'll never see him coming. And yet his heart aches to see her cover up those beautiful eyes.

A loud sob comes out of the lady in waiting, watching her young mistress fumble around blindly. König's heart shatters when she lets out a little cry of confusion as the lieutenant of the prison rushes to hold her steady. "What shall I do? Where is it?"

König feels a sudden streak of anger, at the gentle way the lieutenant lowers her to the ground. The man clearly knows this is wrong, and yet will not lift a finger to help her.

Guilt strikes him yet again as he remembers that neither is he.

Or is he?

He stares down at her, this vulnerable little lamb sent to the slaughter, her pretty neck exposed for his blade, and he knows what he has to do.

The lady in waiting cries out in anguish as the blade lowers to the queen's head, causing her to gasp as the cold metal brushes against her skin. But instead of cutting her head off, König slices through her blindfold with a deft precision.

"What is the meaning of this?" The lieutenant demands as the queen scrambles from her kneeling position. König offers his arm, and she takes it, her hands warm against his sleeve as she stands up. The confusion is writ plain on her face, but her eyes shine with an innocent hope that only steels König's resolve.

"You," König says, pointing his axe at the lieutenant, who shuffles backwards nervously. "You will tell the king that she has been executed. If he asks for a body, find one: I don't care which one. And if you tell anyone what happened here today, I swear to you that I will water the earth with your blood, and the blood of every family member in your line." His eyes narrow at the lieutenant. "Do I make myself clear?" The man nods, stuck still with terror.

The queen's lady in waiting rushes forward, pressing jewels into her hands. "My lady, you will need these," she says urgently. "For wherever life takes you next." She gives König a determined look. "Take care of her, sir."

The queen's eyes go wide and round as she looks up at König. "I don't understand."

He kneels to her height, taking her hands in his. "I am taking you away from this place," he tells her, his voice low and urgent. "But you need to trust me."

She closes her eyes, and takes one deep, trembling breath before opening them again. "I trust you."

"Good." She yelps as he picks her up in his arms, hands instantly darting about his shoulders. "I am sorry, my lady, but we don't have much time."

She giggles, giggles, in his arms. "I don't mind," she says, with a mischievous little look that invites trouble. God, he is utterly fucked, isn't he?

"I can give you time, but not much," the lieutenant says. "Go!"

König doesn't need to be told twice.

To be honest with you, I have no idea what this is. I wrote this in, like. An hour. I think a demon possessed me. I don't think I'm going to write more of this au, but who knows!

@danibee33 @kneelingshadowsalome @crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria

#könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #könig x reader #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #könig x you #konig x you

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kaciebello · 3 months

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🫰🏻Masterlist 🫰🏻

Hello! Welcome to my blog! I hope you enjoy some of my writing! I will update when I have something written so I can promise no consistency. My main motto is to have fun so here I am to do so! Tada ~ Have fun! ♡(◕ᗜ◕✿)

Hogwarts AU

Social media ✂

Social media au ☀

Series ✂

Delivery Express ✿ Badger express ★

George Weasley ✂

ღ Love accusations Summary: 3 instances where you deny dating George, and the one where you don’t. Much to Fred's dismay.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Luke Castelan ✂

ღ Band-aids of death Summary: Percy meets the band-aid dealer who has his friend so smitten ღ Bring a scythe to a sword fight Summary: The reader is gradually suspicious, not believing Clarisse is the lightning thief ღ Strawberries with too many seeds Summary: Percy might feel like he is messing up the whole demigod thing, but he sure feels like he has friends here. ღ Offspring garden Summary: Luke and the reader are the unofficial parents of the camp, whether they like it or not.

ღ Us before you and me Summary: Luke and the readers’ relationship before they became a couple. Luke is an absolute loser when it comes to crushes.

Clarisse La Rue ✂

ღ And they were girls together Summary: News gets to the reader about someone's crush., Clarisse wants to hear none of it.

Chris Rodriguez ✂

ღ One egg as the other Summary: Chris visits one of his favourite campers, purely just to annoy them.

Nico Di Angelo ✂

ღ Sibling rivals, sibling allies Summary: Nico was aware his sibling loved him, to the point that lectures were inevitable.

#kaciebello masterlist #masterlist

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justabrunettewhowrites-stuff · 3 months

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Can you do a Clarisse x reader fic where reader snaps at Luke after he calls Clarisse the lightning thief pls? 😇 Fem reader also.

'Thunderstruck'

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Reader

A/N:Hii!Ty for requesting,lovely!I tried but it turned out rather short.But still I hope you like it!Also sorry for beint inactive I had a ton of tests.Probs gonna post more this weekend then be ia for weeks again(hopefully not)

You snap at Luke after he accuses Clarisse of being the thief,and he reveals his true nature.But unknown to you-Clarisse saw it all.

Among campers,accusations of the lightning thief circulated,asting suspicion on Clarisse La Rue-the one who 'had a motive to do it' as luke claimed.Anger swelled within you as Luke pointed fingers at her.It ended with you and him arguing in his cabin "You've got to be bullshitting!You think Clarisse is the lightning thief?" you snapped, eyes burning with frustration. "You're out of your goddamned mind,Castellan!"

Luke's eyes narrowed, his gaze gleaming with a sinister edge. "Watch your tongue.You might not want to make enemies with the wrong people," he warned, a dark undercurrent in his voice.

But you weren't one to back down. "I don't give a single fuck who believes you! Clarisse is not the thief, and you know it,you fucking liar!" The words flew from your mouth like arrows, fueled by a mix of anger and frustration.

But unbeknownst to you, Clarisse observed the heated exchange from the shadows. She saw you defending her honor, even when she wasn't present. Something stirred within her, a warmth that surpassed camaraderie.

As the argument escalated in Luke's empty cabin, his true nature unveiled itself. The revelation sent a shiver down your spine. "You're working with Kronos, aren't you?" you accused, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

Luke's malevolence was palpable as he threatened you, his true colors unfurling like a dark banner. Refusing to be intimidated, you clenched your fists and, without a second thought, delivered a resounding punch to his face.

In the aftermath, as the echo of your punch lingered, Luke's cruel grip on your chin startled you. "Keep your mouth shut," he hissed, leaving you with a sense of vulnerability and shock.

Leaving Luke's cabin, you sought solace by the lake. The water's gentle ripples mirrored the storm within you as the storm outside continued to brew.Unbeknownst to you, Clarisse had followed,silently watching as you grappled with the turmoil of emotions.Sensing your frustration, she approached and sat next to you.

The clouds overhead darkened, and a distant rumble of thunder echoed through the air. Raindrops started to fall, gradually turning into a torrential downpour. With the rain cascading around you, you and Clarisse found yourselves drenched in water.

"Hey," she said gruffly,not even paying attention to the rain,but earning your attention,a flicker of surprise crossing your features as you looked at her. "Thanks for standing up for me back there.Means more than you know."

You managed a small smile,still surprised but as you were about to speak,but before you could utter a word, Clarisse pulled you in,by your shirt as she silenced you with a sudden but equally passionate kiss. It caught you off guard, but the intensity of the moment overwhelmed any protest that might have crossed your mind.

Clarisse released you, her gaze locking onto yours. "Don't need your words right now,just your presence,pretty girl." she asserted.Though,seemingly aware of your shock-and enjoying it,she gave a smirk and spoke again, "Don't ruin the moment with words.Just enjoy it."

As the rain intensified,the world around you blurred into a watery haze.The raindrops, echoing the heartbeat of the moment. In the midst of the storm, your lips met again, a mix of passion and a tinge of vulnerability.

A/N:I'd punch and kiss Luke at the same time but how dare u accuse my girl like that 😭

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foxilayde · 7 months

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Where’s My Goddamn Money? [Marc Spector x Fem!Vampire!Reader]

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Blood drinking, lack of consent, groping, nudity, suggestive language. Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: Marc Spector wants his wallet back.

A/N: I wrote this fic a long time ago, but removed it in a fit of angst shortly after posting. I’ve been thinking about Ula recently because of spooky season and wanted to share her with y’all. I hope you love her as much as I do!

“I know you’re here Dracula, you big fucking nerd. Where’s my Goddamn money?!”

Hurried steps and the swish of a crescent-shaped cape accompany the echoing voice of Marc Spector as he descends the slate steps of your abandoned-chapel-turned-temporary-home. Seems ironic to live in the belly of a place so full of crosses, but it reassuringly houses a small family catacomb, and it just might be the last place anyone would think to look for a vampire… unless they knew who they were looking for. And would you look at that, Spector figured it out.

“Took you long enough, Spector.” You sip your wine, curled up on the velvet divan, the ceiling drips steadily above you, and you couldn’t look more like a fucking vampire if you tried. You look like a boudoir photoshoot they’d sell at an alternative gift shop, and if you were able to appear in photographs, you’d consider posing in a calendar for real. Eternal life has it’s disadvantages certainly, but it is easy on the eyes.

“Where’s my fucking money, Ula? I know it was you.”

He stalks closer to you now with a slow intensity. It’s funny; for how rushed he seemed to be making his way down the steps, he appears to have lost some of his impatience upon reaching his destination. The sight of you totally naked in the candlelight on the blood red velvet fainting couch has the desired stunning effect on poor Marc Spector. His steps grow slower, edging closer to you, but scanning his surroundings now with creeping mistrust. Smart boy.

You pick at a button on the sofa and purse your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Marc.” You smile wickedly at him, taking another sip from your glass.

Marc’s mask dissolves and he flips back his hood to reveal an unamused angular face, inky curls hanging handsomely over his brow. What a tasty looking treat. And so thoughtful. To bring himself all this way.

“My fucking wallet, Ula. Black. Leather. Full of cash. Ring any bells?”

You put an affronted hand on your bare chest, making sure to caress a nipple with your ring finger while you give him a cartoonishly innocent doe-eyed look “Why, whatever could you mean, mister Spector? Are you accusing me of being a thief?”

“You this lonely, huh? You have to take things of mine to lure me down here. You’re obviously not expecting… company.” He shakes his head and gestures to your curled nude form.

“I’m deeply offended, Marc. I assure you, I did not take your wallet.” You set the wine glass down on the lacquered table, next to the flickering candelabra. “Tell you what” You stalk toward him, very slowly as not to frighten him, “You can even search me if it’ll make you feel better.”

Marc gulps and takes one step backwards for every advancing footfall you trod across the damp stone floor. His back eventually reaches a column and he pauses wide eyed allowing you to slowly and carefully close the distance between your bodies.

You thought an avatar might be a little harder to hypnotize, but he was no more of a challenge than any other man. His eyes are effortlessly tractioned by your own and his jaw loosens in wonder as you step between his legs.

He puts up no fight when you grab his hands and place them on your waist. Oh darkness, his hands are warm, warm and sweet like his candied brown eyes. And fuck, the way his panicked heartbeat vibrates through his hot fingers and into the flesh of your ass? The radiance is akin to the memory of sunlight… you can smell he sun on his golden warm skin. Everything in you screams with a bat-shriek to bite into him now, to suck the sweet life out of his sun-kissed neck, with its thick ropes of tense muscle, fatigued from carrying that pretty head around.

He won’t fight now, not while you’re looking at him like this, but you can’t hold his gaze forever… or perhaps you could. You’d wager your hypnotic gaze could theoretically keep him here for as long as his biology could remain stasis without rest and water— but there’s no chance your patience and lust could wait that long. Not while the throbbing vein in his neck, so thick, so appetizing, is inches from your face. You’ve improved upon your restraint in the last few hundred years, but it’s yet to be perfected. And why wait? You don’t want the stupid bird to come looking for him, do you?

Your eyes are heavy on his own when you purr, “search me, Spector.” He nods like a zombie and his hands are rough on your body, zeroing in on the fleshiest part of you— your bare ass, he squeezes and pulls your cheeks apart and his lip curls like a dog when he growls softly. Whether the vocalizations are a demonstration of pleasure or defiance, you don’t care.

“Ooohh,” Your eyes tighten in mirth and you nearly lose the gaze before you widen them again.

“Good boy, Spector.”

You bite your lip, letting your pearly fangs hook on your bottom lip. He’s delightfully obedient to the gaze. You let your long nails scrape along his scalp, scratching him affectionately before you take a handful of his unruly curls in your grasp.

“Such a good boy that I’m going to let you in on a little secret, okay?”

Marc gives no indication that he understood and he continues to stare dumbly into your eyes and pinch and squeeze the softness of your backside in his warm, wide palms.

You huff impatiently and use the reign of his thick strands to nod his head in agreement for him. You smile with satisfaction. “I did take your fucking wallet, Marc.”

Again, no reaction from him, thoroughly caught in the haze and muck of your sticky spell.

“I took it to lure your cute little butt down here so we could have some fun.”

Still silence, hardly a trace of recognition on his dazed face.

You trace a long fingernail down the side of his cheek, poking up the corner of his mouth into a half-smirk. “Gods, I love a man who knows when to shut the fuck up.” You laugh, scraping your nails gently down his neck and down his suit, to the crescent emblemed breast plate. You nearly, very nearly, break the gaze to look at the plate while you tease your fingertips across it. But your gaze is steady.

“But that’s not the secret, Spector. You knew I took it. The secret is this, and I’ll drain you if you ever tell anyone, but the secret—” You pitch your voice down to a breathy whisper, “You know how mortals have to invite a vampire into their home before we are allowed to enter?”

No response, no matter.

“Well, the opposite holds true for mortals entering a vampire home.”

Again, not a flicker of recognition from him, his thumbs are rubbing needy circles at your backside and the closer you step into him, the more pronounced you can feel the pulsing heat between his legs. Fuck, maybe you should drink from him there. It’s been a long time since you feasted on a femoral artery of a man.

“You see, Spector, once you enter a vampire’s lair, you can’t leave without express verbal permission.” You lick your fangs to punctuate your point. “Like a mouse in a glue trap, I could keep you here as long as it pleases me,” you laugh.

You think you see a subtle widening of his eyes, but it could have been a trick of the candle light.

“Oh don’t be scared, Marc. I’m not going to kill you. Not even going to change you. Just going to take a few good mouthfuls of you, and then I’ll let you go.” Your mouth waters at the visual you’ve painted for yourself. Mouthfuls of his thick pulsing blood, straight from the femoral artery. Christ, you need to feed.

“Does that sound good to you, Marc?” His nostrils flare a bit and you grin. “Oh look at you, baby. You’re excited, I can tell.” You place your palm at the inside of his knee and drag it up, up, up, till it’s resting over the booming ventricle at the center of his thick, warm body, it’s playing a quickening beat and you can feel your fangs grow at the temptation of it.

“Eyes on me, baby.” It’s harder to talk the more your throat fills with the analgesic fluid and your fangs thicken and extend. Your tongue gets hard to control in your attempt to swallow the flood of venom that pools in your mouth. You drop to your knees, never breaking eye contact while you kiss his inner thigh. Your lips are right above the searing pulse point he smells like heaven itself. You rip off his stupid loincloth with impatience. Nuzzling your face into his thighs as best you can while still holding his eyes with your own.

Your bare knees sting slightly on the cold wet floor, You grip onto his thighs, nails biting into the grey linen wrapped coverings while you affectionately nip at his clothed inner leg, never breaking the gaze. In your mad craving, you hardly register as a string of venom drips to the floor from your mouth in a debauched display. You admit you can’t remember the last time you went on your knees like this for a warm suck, but Spector looks delicious from this angle, leant back against the cold stone column, legs obediently spread for you. His hands, unable now to “search” and grope you, are balled into fists at his sides.

Your fangs are at full extension and they grow itchy and painful, if you had any patience left you’d have asked Marc to vanish this part of his suit, but he’s likely capable of fuck-all since the gaze kicked in, so you sink your teeth right through the gauze of his leg coverings, hitting that sweet throbbing vein that’s been calling out to you, begging for relief, begging you to slow its rapid pace down.

Your eyes close in relief and ecstasy, and it’s no matter that they do, the damage is done. You don’t have to hold the gaze any longer, your prey is paralyzed. Though, you think briefly you might enjoy it more if he were able to struggle, to vainly wriggle his thick thighs against your predatory hold. He would be so much fun to play with! To wrestle him down, to fight for your meal— for each suck to drag him further and further away from his own strength… but mortals are so fragile, if it weren’t for the gaze, many would perish from a heart attack before you could get to the meal. Only the most unrefined of your kind ever resort to such discourteous practices when feeding.

He tastes so thick and sweet, and so very very warm, much warmer than a neck bite. The heat of his thighs on either side of your head adds to the burning delicacy, the muscles are more tender down here as well… as much as you had fantasized about the ropey texture of his neck under your lips, this holds its own delights. Sure, you can’t taste the sun, salt, and stubble of his neck— but the flesh down here is soft like butter-seared fois gras. Blood syrupy and warm like hot mead. You don’t want to drink too much, but you don’t want to drink too little either. It’s unlikely Marc Spector will be fooled twice and pay you another visit, so you must savor and make this last as long his blood will hold.

When his heartbeat eventually slows to a resting rate, you make an irate little sound against his blood soaked thigh and force your teeth to pull back into your mouth. Fuck, its so painful to do when your lust isn’t slaked, much easier to just drain him… but a promise is a promise.

You nip your finger and squeeze a few drops of your own blood till it pearls on your skin and you swipe the healing blood onto his puncture wounds, effectively sealing him up. It does nothing for the staining though, and the dark red continent is prominent against the light grey of his suit. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and smile, rising up to your feet. You step in between his legs and snake your arms around his trim waist, planting a bloody kiss on his dazed mouth. He kisses you back faintly, like one might groggily mouth a kiss in their sleep.

“Mmmm, darling, you tasted even better than I dreamed you would.” You wipe of the stain of blood you transferred to his lips with your thumb and you pout at him.

“Baby is tired, isn’t he?”

Marc blinks slowly at you in response, eyes rolling back in delirium, and he heavily collapses into your embrace. Luckily your senses are heightened from having just fed, so you’re able to support his weight with ease and bring him to rest on the divan. You prop him up comfortably. Poor baby is helplessly unconscious… Perhaps you took a tad too much from him? You climb on top of him, still naked, and straddle his limp form to press your ear to his chest.

Still beating. Strong enough.

You sigh with relief. If he was dying you’d have to change him and then you’d have that fucking bird on your ass for turning his avatar. Nearly 600 years old and you still can’t control your lust to a conscionable level. Just imagine, Spector as a vampire! You laugh at the idea and slap his sleeping chest as if he were the one who came up with the thought. “Ha!” He would make a miserable vampire, he’d never have fun with it. No imagination. He’d be the type to be wracked with guilt at every kill. Sad silly boy. A regular Louie du Pointe du Lac, feeding on cats in shame and writing disconsolate letters to no one with his own blood tears. What a mess he would be!

You prop yourself up in a cobra pose on him, forearms and elbows on his breastplate, laying on him fully, the tops of your feet pointed atop his shins. You shake your head at his handsome face and smooth the curls from his brow. For the first time in a long time you have a whim to sleep for a moment… but you can’t, you haven’t slept in nearly 600 years, so you prop your chin on your fist and stare at the pretty avatar while he sleeps, drinking in his slumber with your eyes, savoring the slow rise and fall of his chest.

You reach under the decorative pillow and pull out a black leather wallet. You grin as you tuck it safely in his belt and you kiss his warm cheek before whispering in his ear, “I grant you permission to leave when you wake, Marc Spector.” You rest your head in the crook of his neck, lips teasing his weak pulse point. You sigh when you close your eyes and pretend that you can dream.

END

[If you enjoyed, please consider a reblog! 😘]

#Marc Spector #Marc Spector x Reader #Marc Spector x You #Moon Knight #Oscar Isaac forgive me #Kinktober

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an-au-blog · 6 months

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Yo your Shuggy King/ Jester AU is such a good take and I swear to everything holy i'd do unspeakable things to get more of it! Like like like --- like, what if Buggy's not even a jester and was really some third rate theif there to steel some expense trinket or another at some feast and he gets caught beacuse hes a pretty shit third rate thief and just somehow got lucky that the right door was unlocked somewhere but now these folks are ushering him in to entertain the king and his aristocratic asshole friends and he doesnt know what to do!!!! He should have just stuck to picking pockets at taverns and now he's in front of the king and -- wow, OK, so the king is kind of hot? -- nothepoint!!! -- they're all looking at him and he just... the feast turns into a roast and it's so unhinged and also a commentary on all the shit buggy really feels about these rich stuck up assholes and the king is dying from laughing so hard so he just... keeps going? And then he is asked to stay on full time and, sure, why not? Beats the streets any day and plus hes closer to treasure and can just buy his time and strike it rich but then he gets legit invested because don't these assholes know what the people need? What they want? 1 guess and the first one is already wrong because apparently everyone has their heads so far up their asses that they can't see the real issues in the kingdom so he accidentally speaks out of turn and totally out of place but the king, like, listens? He's listening to him. He's taking Buggy's advice and... oh shit... he might be in love now....

Ohhhh you did not just spike my interest back into an au that flopped like a month ago

This is sooo... I'm speechless because yes??? yes please!?!?

Also hi, sorry it took me a little to answer, i try to answer asks in order of who sent one first ':)

Buggy never stops taking small things. Trinkets no one in the castle would miss. But such trinkets outside the castle go for quite some berry. Unfortunately for him, some of the guards caught wind of what he was doing so they start following him around. He meets up with his friends and heist buddies on the outside, selling and buying and they see it all.

He still had connections that only multiplied once he got to in the palace.

One day they practically throw Buggy in King Shanks's feet and started listing all the accusations he was very rightfully blamed about and he thinks that was it. He was going to die because liked the weight of money in his pockets.

And the King is furious. He's shouting and spitting venom. No one had seen him this angry in a while, or maybe even ever. But the most shocking thing was that he was angry at the guards who caught Buggy. He claimed that Buggy was sent by him personally into the city to scout out the common folk. After all how could he know what the people need and lack if he can't leave the castle. He tels them he doesn't need such incompetent and naive people in his guard but he'll send them off with just a warning.

He was talking so convincingly that even Buggy started believing him.

When the doors close and it's just them, Shanks falls to his knees to inspect Buggy for any injuries.

The king is in his royal garments, the ones that probably cost ten times more than what he stole through the whole week. And he's just sitting there, worrying because Buggy's elbow got scratched when he was tossed in the marble floors.

After a good amount of time, Buggy still getting away with way too much, decides to test the limits. A lot had changed since the first time they met. But Buggy was still convinced that there was no way an attractive, powerful and charismatic king like Shanks was genuinely interested in a jester who only tells him what to do and steals from him. And for what? What was Buggy giving in return? Criticized the court and sneak around. Sure they messed around sometimes but the king could have a dozen way more beautiful women at his feet in a second if he wished so. So why?

One night, he feels ballsy and takes a knife into their bed. He hides it under his pillow and waits for the right time to come. He thinks that him and the king had gotten their lines so blurred that Shanks didn't notice the knife, but it wasn't true. Because when it happens nothing changes.

Buggy was fast. The king was already curled up in him, so it took only one motion for the jester to straddle him and put the knife up to his throat.

Shanks was smiling. His hands still running up and down his thighs. And the jester is so confused. If he pushed a bit harder he was sure he would have drawn blood. So why? "Why aren't you scared of me?Why do you keep me around?"

To which the answer sounded so simple it almost didn't register in Buggy's mind. "Because I relish in your presence. And you have my favor." He put his hand on the one holding the knife. "I know you won't kill me..." it wasn't arrogance. It wounded more like comfort.

Because of course he wouldn't. If he did, what would he do? He'd have nowhere to go. And the people would get some snot-nosed brat who would ruin the country. Where would he run? Who would he reside in? Who would love him like this?

Buggy didn't know how but he ended up crying in his king's arms that night. Worst part was - it was the most comforting place the jester had ever been to.

Idk something like that, I probably missed something I wanted to add but oh well

#i kinda tried to keep the fancy talking of a period drama but idk if i succeed haha ':)#shuggy #shanks x buggy #royalty au #op #answers #shuggy au #buggy x shanks

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ghooostbaby · 1 year

Text

Now that i am fixated on he xuan and hua cheng’s dynamic, rereading the black water arc and seeing all of the tiny but meaningful ways they talk to each other is kind of a delight. I suppose on the surface it might seem that they’re kind of passive aggressive in their communication and at minimum are kind of prickly with each other. However, obviously all their face-to-face interactions are shown through the perspective of xie lian, who they need to convince that they are a legitimate god and the ghost king who kidnapped and tortured said god. they’d have to be pretty inept if they got along any better in front of a heavenly official... if you pay attention, it becomes clear how they’re actually always working together and helping each other out.

When shi qingxuan and “ming yi” first show up at the puqi shrine, hua cheng and ming yi react to each other with intense animosity and hua cheng tells ming yi to leave and not come back, and ming yi responds “coming here was not my choice!” The narration explains specifically that their reactions to each other must be because they had last met when hua cheng had kidnapped and tortured ming yi, at least as far as shi qingxuan and xie lian are concerned - so it seems to me that they are putting on a good act to help keep he xuan’s disguise up, while hua cheng is communicating objections to he xuan involving xie lian, and he xuan is responding that he doesn’t want to, but his hand has been forced by shi qingxuan.

Then when they’re going over shi qingxuan’s scrolls hua cheng corrects the mistakes that the kills attributed to the Reverend, and that actually some kills were his own and some were Black Water’s, and then has a pretty good time insulting Shi Wudu. All of that could be typical for Hua Cheng, and there also could be a lot of other double meanings read into it, but I just think that He Xuan probably enjoyed hearing that a lot. And when Hua Cheng describes how the Reverend goes after not only the prey but all its family and friends … something about it feels like he’s speaking for He Xuan’s benefit, speaking out loud all the things He Xuan can’t say yet about what happened to him so Shi Qingxuan has to be forced to deal with it, which I think would be a little satisfying for He Xuan. Hua Cheng seems to be giving him face, showing respect…

Then when they go through the array and Shi Qingxuan gets quite close to the truth of who meddled with the array, Hua Cheng starts babbling accusations and twisting logic so Shi Qingxuan gets confused and distracted and they move on. On the surface it looks like its because Hua Cheng could look guilty himself and he was showing that he wasn’t there to meddle or help, just to be with Xie Lian … but suspicion of Ming Yi was the most probable cause of the array taking them to a wrong place, and Hua Cheng’s contributions mean they barely consider it at all.

“What’s with that look? In my opinion, don’t you think Lord Earth Master is the most suspicious one?” said Hua Cheng.

Ming Yi’s eyes also swept over.

Hua Cheng added, “Instead of focusing on guessing who meddled after, what if the array he drew was wrong from the beginning? You don’t necessarily need a reason to do something. Lord Wind Master, you yourself are suspicious too.”

“Huh?” Shi Qingxuan had never thought the tables would turn on him, and pointed at himself. “Who? ME?!”

“Yeah. A thief crying thief is a common thing,” Hua Cheng said. “Just why have you come? If you and your esteemed brother are truly scared of the Reverend of Empty words, why were those rags cobbled together? It’s not a stretch of the imagination to think that the two of you schemed, and intentionally led us here.”

Just by looking at his expression, one could tell that he was cheekily gabbing nonsense; but he looked so confident that almost anyone would start doubting too. Shi Qingxuan was almost shaken.

(the last part ahahaha hua cheng <3)

Even in the novel as a whole - hua cheng and he xuan do a lot of things to benefit the other that otherwise they wouldn’t have wanted to. They always have a self-serving reason to pass it off as instead of “i just love my ghost king pal <3” but i firmly believe hua cheng and he xuan respect and *gasp* care about each other!!!

hua cheng lies to xie lian to support he xuan's plans in the black water arc and i think it would take a LOT for hua cheng to do that. And in the last book, he xuan comes when hua cheng asks to help shi qingxuan hold together the spiritual array fighting the human face disease, that also is not something he would ever do lightly- even when he does come he seems very angry, as well as that this is the only time he shows his face around shi qingxuan again, and he hadn’t shown his face to anyone since his revenge but for this either.

Also in the last book, he xuan lets hua cheng trash his territory and pretty much smash apart his bonefish, and hua cheng says he can do this because of he xuan’s debt, but 1.) it doesn’t seem like he xuan is ever paying him back, or that there’s any kind of a collection deadline, he xuan just keeps taking more and more, 2.) hua cheng doesn’t seem liable to let someone take so much from him if he had wanted to be paid back, and 3.) hua cheng does not seem to care about any of his nice possessions and wealth, he’s pretty careless with the rare treasures he has, his own mansion burning down (twice?), and so on. He seems pretty unfussed about spending his resources as if there is always more where that came from. (credit to @muigiel for this observation) So i do think this is a purposeful mislead. Like the debt is a good cover for them to do nice things for each other :3 (i love them)

I think in general in tgcf ghosts and gods are not as they appear, and the more i look into ghosts in this book the more full of goodness, hope, love, and life they seem to be. (qi rong is an outlier and should not be counted. Ok but he is loved by guzi who apparently finds him to be a better father than the original (omg i’m so sorry guzi) so he does count a little i guess?)

I think a good indicator of how the actions of these ghost kings should be taken is given in the moment with hua cheng, xie lian and guzi where guzi is afraid of hua cheng on sight, and xie lian says, “don’t worry, this gege is a good person” and hua cheng says “no, i’m a very bad person” while making a cute little butterfly fly over to guzi. in hua cheng’s and he xuan’s responses to each other it’s as if they’re saying “i’m a very bad bad person” while making little butterflies fly toward each other. if we miss that I think we’ve missed something important about the story.

#tgcf #he xuan #hua cheng #huaxuan #ghost kings

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sourtomatola · 2 months

Text

“We are well aware of our worth. We may not understand why we are worth such big numbers of money, but we know humans like money.” Sunny said. His tone was gently despite his accusing words. His spark of energy when offering to find you a security guard has faded, withering his energetic mask and giving way to show his weariness after being ‘harvested’

“How do we know you aren’t here to steal from us, to harvest to get yourself some money?” Moon sneered accusingly. “You’re not the first thief to attempt to infiltrate the factory. Though most just get a job here.”

You hesitate, looking between the two. Your eyes flash down to the small, glittery remains of the broken candy shards that got left behind from the workers who broke Sunny’s rays, or shattered the spearmint cheeks of Moon.

“Then…I won’t lie to you guys.” You sighed softly. “I…was send here to get ahold of some candy…not to outright steal it, I was hoping to just catch some scraps of your drop candies. Like, a broken one that’d get tossed away, or dirty…”

You stared a minute. The thought of Fazbear willingly sending out dirty candy, candy that might have grime or hair on it almost made you gag at the thought, but you kept it to yourself. At least, from what you saw, the harvesters wore hair nets and gloves.

“I…I didn’t know, but…I especially didn’t know what happens to you guys behind the scenes and I…” You bit your lip at the memory of their screams, the begging for a gentle harvest, or the shattering of their candy shells.

“I’m…so sorry you went through that. Are you guys okay now?” You asked gently.

The two confectionary creatures looked at each other curiously before back at you. “Yeeeeah?” Sunny frowned, as if the answer seemed obvious.

“It was just…really horrible to see.”

“Was it?” Sunny frowned, seeming very confused.

“You…you guys were screaming, crying! I-I thought you were being killed or something!” You explained. “It was so horrible to see…”

“That can bother humans?” Sun asked, slight shock in his voice. “You really didn’t, you know, enjoy watching it or anything? Whenever Mr. William Wonka comes to watch, he seems to think it’s funny…”

You heart shattered at the thought of these two being unable to imagine a kind human, one that didn’t want to hurt them.

Sunny cocked his head to the side cutely. “A hug?”

“I-its when people embrace? And we just kind of…hold each other close? They’re really comforting. Humans tend to like hugs. S-some of us…” You explained awkwardly.

“Is this for our sake or yours?” Moon folded his arms skeptically.

You paused and glanced away, almost ashamed. “…I do really need a hug…but I feel like you guys might appreciate it too? A gentle touch?”

Moon stood up and folded his arms, placing himself next to Sunny. “A gentle touch?” He rose his eyebrows at you.

Their complete lack of understanding of kindness hurt you far more than watching their torture earlier. So much so that you couldn’t help yourself in the moment.

You feel their sticky sugar selves against your cheek, but you don’t care as a new kind of stiffness is shared between the two. You just hold them tightly, hoping you haven’t overstepped their boundaries, but not having the heart to pull away just yet.

Tentatively, arms circled you as well. You let a small sob leave your lips as you hugged them tighter. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them from hurting you…”

Next Y/N Info AU info

#Taking Candy for a Fool #Yay next one!!#I've been so exhausted #I've literally have barely been able to keep my eyes open durring the day but couldn't sleep or anything #glad I got this out at last though ^^#fnaf moon #moondrop #fnaf sun #sundrop #art #my art #comic #Private investigator Y/n #sentient candy au

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melminli · 1 year

Text

Lost And Never Found

pairing - avengers x female reader

summery - from time to time, things in the avengers tower disappear out of nowhere

"Okay folks, this is getting ridiculous. Who's stealing my toothbrushes?" Steve asked, annoyed as he entered the living room. "This is the third time in two weeks, and I know it was one of you."

Sam looked at him a little confused. "Those are some serious accusations you're throwing out there." He joked before turning sincere. "What are we even supposed to do with your used toothbrushes, though? You sure that you didn't just misplaced them?"

Before he could respond, Steve took a deep breath and massaged his forehead. "No. It's not like I'm doing a marathon around the tower with my toothbrush that I could put it anywhere but in the bathroom." He pointed a finger at the people in the room. "One of you took it." He pronounced, his tone showed that he was not to be convinced.

Tony rolled his eyes after taking a sip of his coffee. "What advantage should we get from your used toothbrushes, Cap? We're not perverts."

In response, the super soldier raised an eyebrow challengingly. "I don't know. Are you?"

A series of sighs rang out from the people present in the room. "It's just a toothbrush, Steve." Bucky said, shrugging his shoulders. "It's not a big deal."

"No." He replied. "It's the principle. You shouldn't take other people's property."

Of course. It's always some principle.

Wait a second. A certain billionaire suddenly remembered something at the current topic. "You know, while we're on the subject of mysterious disappearing toothbrushes, I'm missing two pairs of sunglasses." Tony threw the information into the room to see if a motive could be discerned.

"Hmm. Come to think of it, I'm missing a couple of shirts, but I always thought they got lost in the wash somehow." Bucky answered.

Sam nodded. "I haven't found my cologne once or twice, but I thought it would show up on its own. Don't think that's going to happen anymore."

Now, that was a little unexpected. When the others talked about it like that, it felt less like a coincidence and more like all these things were connected with each other. "So what? We have a thief among us who steals useless stuff?" asked Sam. It sounded a little absurd when spoken out loud.

You entered the room somewhat abruptly in the middle of the conversation. It was too much of a coincidence seeing you walk in after that statement so the others might or might not think that it was a bit suspicious.

"What's up, guys?" You asked as you looked at your phone and plopped down on the couch. You didn't notice the tense mood until you didn't hear a response and looked up to see all eyes on you. "Is something wrong?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow as he asked you. "Are you missing anything lately? Like toothbrushes or sunglasses...or anthing like that?"

You wouldn't lie. Your heart stopped beating for a second. This was kind of a sticky situation you got yourself in since you didn't work well under pressure. "Oh yeah, totally! Uhm...I miss -" your eyes subtly peeked around, stopping in the open kitchen on the other side of the room. "- my microwave."

You said worse things in the past.

"Your microwave?" Tony repeated with a certain undertone that said - at this point, you can just admit it.

"...yeah."

Tony spoke your name warningly, which made you sweat a little. You instinctively searched for escape exits, but the only one you could see was the door where Steve stood, looking at you with his Captain America eyes. Yeah, you didn't think you were going to survive that. Your eyes then looked at the windows, but even then, your succes rate of escaping wasn't exactly high if you considered that you wanted to get out alive. "So no one wants to ask me how school was?" You finally asked.

"Don't change the subject. Also, what are you? Five?" Tony responded without any mercy.

You rolled your eyes. "Alright, I may have taken some of your stuff...you happy now?" You admitted.

A grin graced Tony's face. "I'm always happy when it turns out that I was right. So yeah I feel pretty good right now."

"Well, technically Steve was right. Besides, you too were first against the idea that it was one of us." said Sam.

Now, on any other day, Tony would let this one slide with a sarcastic laugh, but this was about Steve. On top of that, he felt a bit petty today. "The we was referring to as in we the Avengers. The good people." Defended Tony. "You know because...heroes don't steal and stuff or whatever."

"Oh, come on." Groaned Sam. "Don't throw her under the bus like that. How far are you gonna go just to prove that you're right?"

"You don't want to know how far I'll go, bird man."

Steve clapped loudly once to draw attention to himself. "Can we please focus on the situation at hand?" He asked, looking to you.

You shook your head slightly. "I'm fine. You two can keep talking."

Steve ignored that statement and got straight to the point. "Why are you taking our personal stuff? What are you even doing with it?" He finally asked the question that was secretly on everyone's mind.

"Well..." You began laughing a little nervously while avoiding eye contact. "...I kinda sell it online on eBay?"

It took him a second to process that.

"You're selling my used toothbrushes to random people?!"

You pointed your index finger in the air to correct him. "No. I sell Captain America's used toothbrushes to random people. It's hard to believe, but there are some guys out there who pay an insane amount of money for these things." You told him and then remembered how that man wasn't from this century, so he must be a bit weirded out by that information. More than the normal amount.

Tony challenged you in a sarcastic tone. "Maybe as much as I paid for those expensive sunglasses?"

You looked at him judgmentally. "I think you will be fine, Mr. Capitalist."

You had explained it, but Bucky still didn't understand what was going on. "I guess i can understand some shirts and stuff, but the used toothbrushes kinda freak me out if I am being honest. Like, what are they gonna do with them?"

You shrugged. You thought about it yourself every now and then, but not too much so that your morals couldn't keep you from making money. "I don't know. Maybe a new super soldier from the DNA of the left saliva on it? Oh! Or maybe it's some fangirl hoping for an indirect kiss or even better -"

"Okay, that's enough." Steve stopped you before you could elaborate further, trying to keep you from saying something he'd be mulling over for the next few days. He knew that some people could do disturbing things, but he could block it out as long as you didn't say it out loud. "Why am I hoping that it's the first?" He muttered, slightly disappointed in himself.

After that question was answered, a new question opened up in Sam's mind. "What do you need all that damn money for anyway that you're willing to reach for such extreme measures?" He asked, still slightly in shock from the revelation.

You shrugged your shoulders. "Lady Gaga is going on tour and concert tickets are fucking expensive these days." You answered casually. "Might as well get the best view while I am at it."

Teenagers really are relentless these days. None of them said it out loud because they didn't really have to at this point.

Tony asked, a little confused. "You know you could have just asked me if you wanted some money, right?" And stated the obvious.

"Not to be dramatic or anything." You began with a serious tone. "But I'd rather die than do that. Asking others for help...is so embarrassing."

"And stealing is not?"

"Well, it wouldn't be." You stated and then added. "If you guys hadn't figured it out."

There was no need to go further into this aspect, which is why Steve stopped you. "We are not having this conversation again."

"Well, how about you all stop acting like you seriously cared about these little things because I'm gonna cry if you keep going! Four men against a defenseless little girl. Is that what the Avengers are doing these days? Make little girls cry?" You asked in a serious voice and could see their strong demeanor crumble at your words. You didn't feel bad about making them feel guilty since you did feel like crying at the moment.

Steve tried to argue against it. "You gave the exact same speech the last time you were in trouble."

You crossed your arms challengingly. "So what?"

His argument was invalidated. Silence followed for a few seconds until the men finally sighed simultaneously.

They shouldn't let you get away with these things so easily. They really shouldn't, but somehow they still always did.

#marvel #the avengers #avengers x reader #teen reader #funny post #comedy #mcufam #tony stark #steve rogers #x reader #avengers imagine #female reader

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howlingday · 23 days

Text

Penny's Day Out

Emerald: (Scroll buzzes) Hello?

Jaune: (Via scroll) EMERALD!.

Emerald: Hello, Jaune. What's up?

Jaune: You know EXACTLY what's up!.

Emerald: Oh, is this about the Relics going missing?

Jaune: What? No. ...Why?.

Emerald: (Eyes Relics as decorum) Er, no reason.

Jaune: Emerald...

Emerald: No reason! So what's up?

Jaune: Well, I was just walking around when I noticed Penny wasn't hanging out with Ruby! You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you?.

Emerald: What? No. Why would you assume that I would know? Is it because I used to be a thief? Because I told you that I went straight and that I would never lie about anything, including where Penny might be. I am so hurt by this accusation!

Penny: Do you require medical assistance? Is that Jaune on the scroll? Hello, Jaune~!

Jaune: And who's that?.

Emerald: Uh... My air fryer. One of those, y'know, fancy talking air fryers.

Penny: I am not an air fryer!

Emerald: Uh, Penny, would be a dear and get us some coffee to share? Like friends?

Penny: (Gasps) ACQUIRING COFFEE! (Jets out)

Emerald: Thank you~! ...You still there, Jaune?

Jaune: Emerald, you know Penny is both a Maiden AND a war machine! She can't be hanging out without Ruby there to supervise her!.

Emerald: Relax, old timer. I'm sure Penny wouldn't hurt a fly.

Jaune: Who are you calling a grandpa?! Emerald, this is a bad idea on so many levels as it is! You need to bring Penny back as soon as possible! Do you have any idea how much trouble we could get into just with Penny outside of...

Emerald: (Holding scroll away, Rolls eyes)

Penny: (Walks in with coffee and biscuits)

Emerald: Thank you~! Oh, and biscuits, too? You are just too sweet of a friend~.

Jaune: EMERALD! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!.

Emerald: Loud and cle- KRRK! KRRRK! Breaking! KRRK! Up! KRRRRRK!

Jaune: ...You're making those noises with you mouth, aren't you?.

Emerald: Okay, gotta go, bye~!

Jaune: EMERA-

Emerald: (Hangs up)

Penny: ...

Emerald: What? He'll get over it.

#rwby #pixelrush #jaune arc #emerald sustrai #penny polendina

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lunalitva · 6 days

Text

Way Down We Go

AJ x Private Security/Crime family reader

「 You 」

I sat up on the rooftop of the building next door of the club my brother was currently at. With his friends… If you could call them that. More like work acquaintances, without the work. His little thief friends, Takers. Is what they call themselves, the dorks.

Was I spying on my brother? Sure. But in all fairness, he isn’t always a good judge of character. Hence why I’m here now. Because the knuckle head and his stupid plans are going to be the death of me.

I pull up my laptop, that had been running background checks on my brothers new crew. Alderige, Alexander James. Cute… perhaps my brother doesn’t have bad taste after all-

Ping!

I jolt, picking up my phone hastily. To see a notification from my brother, speak of the devil.

Thorn in my side

Need help.

No hi how r u?

Usually u leave me on read. Anyway hurry up and get ur ass here. We r waiting.

And where would here be exactly? And whose ‘we?’

Christ how dumb do you think I am? Actually don’t answer that.

I snicker at his response, before typing mine.

Fine, I’ll be there. Tell ur boy band I’ll be there soon.

Thx sis x

eww don’t ever call me ‘sis’ again

ok… sis

I leave him on read, maybe he does have a point. Chucking all my equipment back into my duffle bag, slinging it over my shoulder. Making my way to the stairs as I head to the club my brother and the rest of the Takers were at.

「 Narrator 」

Meanwhile…

Aj was lounging on one of the various couches while Gordon and your brother, Alec were discussing the plan for the upcoming heist. Though he appeared to be in a world of his own, Aj was paying more attention than it seemed.

He visibly perked up after hearing your name, he knew Alec had a big family. He’d mentioned it before, from your two other sisters. Him, your parents and obviously your dog named Flash. But he never mentioned you, at least never around Aj. He couldn’t help the curiousness that crept up inside of him, Gordon was usually very picky about allowing outsiders into their plans.

So what was so special about you?

Aj jolts after taking an elbow to the ribs, grimacing at the feeling. “Have you been listening to anything I’ve said for the past hour?” John asks annoyed, though a small smile tugs at the blond mans lips. Not at all surprised by Aj’s brazen behaviour.

Aj picks up his fedora that had fallen to the floor, smoothing his hair back. Before placing it back on his head, “yeah man of course.” His gaze averts to John. His friend’s face held a look of disbelief, busted.

John chuckles at Aj’s obvious distraction. “You might wanna be a little less obvious when your eavesdropping man.” He grins, leaning back against the lounge. Crossing his arms over his muscular chest. The muscle of his biceps straining against the sleeves of his shirt.

Aj lets out a huff, “no clue what you’re on about man.” Trying to dismiss John’s eavesdropping accusation against him.

John raises a brow in amusement, clearly not believing a word that came out of Aj’s mouth. “Yeah, whatever you say.” He smirks, before standing up. Heading over to Gordon and Alec, giving Aj a teasing wink. Who just gave John a playful glare in response, before slumping back in his seat. Crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. Looking like a toddler throwing a tantrum, making John chuckle.

While the Takers were distracted you managed to sneak in through the back entrance. Watching as they all bickered amongst themselves, oblivious to your presence. You decided to remain undetected for now, placing your duffle bag down on the countertop of the bar. Heading behind it to make yourself a drink.

Grabbing a cold martini glass, pouring in a shot of vodka. Filling the rest up with cranberry juice, before topping it off with three maraschino cherries. Hopping up, you sit on top of the bar. Cross legged, siping on your vodka cranberry. While looking through the blueprints of the bank someone had so callously left on the bar countertop.

Hearing the faint sound of heels clicking you turn your head. Lilli approached the bar, jumping slightly as she made eye contact with you. Sitting there sipping on your cocktail, the blueprints laid across your lap. Her jump scared expression making you giggle, she placed a hand over her heart. A smile tugging on her lips. “Hi,” you whisper.

“Hello,” she replies. Her voice soft, as her kind eyes bored into yours. She moved towards the counter, extending your hand for support. She takes it, propping herself up on the counter beside you. “I’m Lilli, and you are?”

You give her hand you were holding a shake. “Y/n, nice to meet you.” You see her eyes avert to the blueprints on your lap. “Wanna see?” She nods enthusiastically, making you chuckle softly in response to her enthusiasm. Picking up the blueprints, holding them out in front of both your faces.

“What are you doing here?” Lilli asks curiously, while scanning the blueprints.

“Alec asked me to come,” you shrug nonchalantly. Pointing at the best points of entry on the blueprints.

“How do you know Alec?” She asks, while you take another sip of your cocktail.

“He’s my brother,” you pick up a maraschino cherry. Popping it into your mouth.

Her eyes widen in obvious surprise, “Alec is your brother?”

“Unfortunately,” you grin playfully. “Speaking of which…” you pause, turning to face the group. That were still engrossed in conversation. “Earth to boy band can we get this show on the road? I have shit to do.” You raise your voice loud enough to grab their attention.

Watching in amusement as their heads snap in your direction, fast enough that they could’ve gotten whiplash. Making you and Lilli laugh, “so oblivious.” She chuckles.

Looking through the group, you see John’s familiar face. “Johnny boy, long time no see.” A soft blush adorns his cheeks in embarrassment.

“Huh?” The blonde man beside him, looks at him bewildered. Which you recognised to be Aj. John just looks back at you and chuckles.

“Y/n, good to see you again.” He waves, as Aj mutters something under his breath. Though your attention is pulled away by a soft tap on your shoulder. You turn to see Lilli with a sheepish smile on her face.

“Can you make me one of those?” She ask hesitantly pointing at the drink in your hand, making a smile tug at your lips.

“Of course,” you slide off the countertop. To behind the bar, hearing someone clear their throat. You look up, meeting the familiar hazel eyes of your brother. “Hey big bro.”

“I didn’t ask you to come over so you could drink.” He quips, with a sly smirk tugging at his lips. Causing you to narrow your eyes at him playfully.

“Well I was bored,” you retort. Ruffling his dark hair, making him let out an annoyed grunt.

Lilli leans a little closer to the both of you. “To be fair, she was sitting here for a while. Not that you guys noticed.” She added in your defence, as you mixed up the vodka cranberry.

“Do you want the cherries?” You ask, raising a brow. She nods in response, “yes ma’am.” You say with a salute. Making her let out a soft giggle.

Alec clicks his fingers in front of your face trying to get your attention, “uh hello? Back on topic please.” Making you roll your eyes at his behaviour.

“You’re so dramatic big bro, relax. Take a breather,” you tease. Hearing a chuckle from behind Alec, then a mop of blond hair peeking through. A big toothy grin on his face, as he steps to the side of Alec. In front of you, holding out his hand. Gently taking yours, bringing it to his soft lips.

Placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Aj.”

A soft chuckle befalling your lips, amused by his irregular behaviour. “Let me guess, you have a thing for the Godfather?” You tease, looking up at his fedora. Alec’s hand immediately shoots to his mouth, muffling his snort. Aj bites his bottom lip gently, giving your hand a soft squeeze. Before you pull it out of his grip, popping the cherries into Lilli’s drink. Sliding it over to her, she whispers a ‘thank you.’

“I do actually, have you watched it?” He leans onto the bar, practically looming over you. The low lighting in the room reflecting off his blond hair. Making him look almost… angelic. Though his playful smirk suggested otherwise.

“No, though if you like that thing you should come to our family reunions. The resemblance is impeccable,” you quip. A wheezy laugh erupting from Alec. Aj seemed undeterred from his friends reaction, leaning even closer. His long lean fingers gently brushing a strand of hair out your face, tucking it behind your ear. With the utmost gentleness, as if you were made of porcelain. His eyes so transfixed on his movements, it was like he was in a trace. So were you, not that you’d admit it. Alec and Lilli observed quietly, aware of the tension. Eyeing the display of affection with curiousness. It was no secret that Aj was a flirt, but this was something that even your brother hadn’t witnessed from him. After a moment you pull back snapping yourself out of your trance like state, withdrawing from his gentle caress. Clearing your throat, “well… Let’s get on with it. We have a lot to do.”

#takers aj x reader #aj x reader smut #takers aj imagine #aj x reader #takers aj #aj fic #aj takers fan fic #aj takers x reader #aj takers drabble #aj takers chapter #ch: aj #hayden christensen #forced proximity #heist #crime #slow burn #aj fluff #aj takers fluff

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rohirric-hunter · 25 days

Text

A Blade for a Life

Look at my 6.3k word oneshot, boy

So I had half of this written and was "basically done" so I sat down to "finish it real quick" and that got out of hand fast. But the half that was already written was mostly written years ago. It all started out as an exercise to figure out how Hathellang interacted with law enforcement in Bree and let me tell you. It absolutely did not do that.

Anyway. Hathellang's POV

~*~*~*~

“You there! Thief!”

You do not recall stealing anything yet today, but the owner of the voice, a stocky, angry-looking Dwarf, is definitely speaking to you. Nonetheless, you indicate yourself and say, “Are you talking to me, sir?”

“Yes!” he growls. “You haven’t seen a sword about, have you? One of mine was stolen this morning.”

You feel a sinking sensation in your stomach. You have not stolen a sword, but it is no mystery why he might suspect you of it. You offer him a disarming smile, at the same time stepping back to put some distance between you. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t,” you say.

“Then you didn’t steal it?” he asks, and you flinch. Chief Watcher Grimbriar is just on the other side of the little roadside cabin that serves as a guard-post along the Greenway north out of Bree-town, and while a glance tells you that he has not yet tuned into this conversation – he is seated on the top step, bending over a sheaf of papers and occasionally marking a map that sits beside him with a piece of charcoal – if the Dwarf maintains this line of questioning he certainly will.

“You can’t make an accusation like that one without evidence,” you say, a little sharply.

“Then that wasn’t you loitering about my shop all this morning?” he asks.

“Your shop?” you repeat. “I don’t know where your shop is. And why would I want to steal a sword? Helena won’t stop making them, even though nobody buys them.” This is not strictly true: Helena is new to swordmaking and most of her attempts so far have not been of high enough quality to be sold. But you are mostly talking to buy time, as you run over your morning in your mind. It had been long and slow; you had arrived in town as the sun rose and gone about gathering work – tailoring work, that is – orders and clothing to be refitted and resized and mending for those too busy to manage it themselves, or wealthy enough to hire the service. This had been done in an hour, but somewhat later in the morning you had had an obligation for the other sort of work you do, and so to pass the time you had purchased a stuffed cabbage from Darin Whitflor and brought it to the Stone Quarter to eat, perched on the jutting foundation of a house just down the street from where several Dwarves share a prolific little smithy. Now you recognize this individual as Lofar Ironband, a craftsman well-known for his quality steel, and the owner of the Dwarf-smithy. You had indeed spent several hours loitering near his shop once you had finished your breakfast, making a start on some of the simpler work in your bag and then catnapping, for the house was built inexpertly, and the foundation offers quite a wide ledge, and the sun had warmed it delightfully.

“It was me,” you say. There is no use in denying it. “But if I was looking for an opening to steal something, I shouldn’t have done it so brazenly. Anyway –” you raise your arms to the side and turn in a quick circle, showing that you are carrying nothing but your work bag “-- do I look like I’ve got a sword on me?”

“No,” Lofar admits, “but you could have done away with it already. Resold it to one of your Man-smiths, maybe? They’re always jealous of Dwarf-craft. Well, I want it back.”

“I don’t have it,” you say bluntly.

Lofar begins to turn, and as you follow his line of movement you realize with a start that Chief Watcher Grimbriar has taken an interest, though he is not looking your way yet. His hand has stilled, and he holds himself with the air of someone who is listening to a conversation that he is not part of.

“Wait!” you say quickly. “I didn’t steal it and I don’t have it, but what do you want? To not get the guards involved, I mean.”

Lofar eyes you suspiciously. “If you didn’t take it, then what’s the harm? If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.”

“Except two nights in the city jail while they investigate!” you exclaim. “I can’t spend time in jail. I’ve got work to do. There’s another babe come in that’s not been weaned, that’s two now! and two wet nurses that have got to be paid for, not to mention food and clothes for twenty-one, with the winter coming on and all.” You nervously bite at your lower lip. “I’ll ask around, see if I can find out who took your sword.”

Lofar frowns, but he turns to face you, crossing his arms in a manner that brooks no nonsense. “I suppose I know your name and where you live,” he says. “It’s not as if you’re going to skip town in the night.” You could, of course, but you don’t feel that information is likely to be helpful in this circumstance. “I would rather have the sword back than anything. Bring it back and I won’t ask where you got it or who stole it.”

As you shoulder your work bag and turn back toward Bree, you reflect that you will certainly be asking who stole it. There are many people about who, unlike you, have ample reason to steal a sword, and enough of these are not people you particularly trust with one, especially a stolen one. If nothing else, you have a bone to pick with the thief on your own account.

You have no better lead to follow than Lofar’s own suspicion that it was one of the smiths of Bree. You doubt very much that any of them took the sword; you have always known them to be honest, though their rivalry with the local Dwarf-smiths is widely known. Perhaps one of the less experienced young pickpockets who hang about the Mud Gate might have considered it a worthwhile risk, but you very much doubt it. Everyone knows that the best money is in jewelry and coins and other small objects that can be quickly pilfered and easily hidden. And if it was a commissioned burglary, a client paying a thief to take the sword, such arrangements go through Albra Lowbanks, and she will tell you nothing, as sure as the sun rises and sets. Nor will you ask, for she keeps your secrets as well.

The smiths, of course, are patently offended at your questions, and with no better ideas you return to the Stone Quarter to look over the smithy there, but you see nothing out of place. The Dwarves there have seen nothing, save one, who eyes you thoughtfully and asks if you weren’t there earlier in the day. His voice carries no suspicion, and it seems that you will find nothing here, before he mentions almost offhandedly that he has seen more Men here today than in the past week.

“Your lot don’t come down here too often,” he says, wiping his hands on his apron, “meaning no disrespect. But it was you and that other fellow today, and the last one before that was a Ranger. We don’t –”

You cut him off, rather rudely, but this is the first lead you’ve dared entertain. “Who was it?” you ask.

“The one they call Strider, I think,” the Dwarf says. “What do you want to be knowing that for?”

“I apologize,” you say. “Not the Ranger, the other man who was here today.”

“Oh, him,” the Dwarf says. “I don’t rightly know. Young-looking fellow; taller than you, but then most Men are. Red hair. I used to see him at the Man-forge by West-gate quite a lot, but he’s been scarce in the past month.” You crease your brow in thought, and he crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “Well? Just because Dwarf work is better doesn’t mean your lot’s never come up with a trick or two. I’m allowed to learn wherever I please, if you please!”

“I agree!” you say, raising your hands defensively. “And thank you! That’s what I needed to know.”

You quickly take your leave of the Dwarf and turn northward, walking at a brisk pace. You do not recognize the description, but a smithy-worker who has been absent for a month can only be one of the new workers at Thornley’s Work Site. Nearly a month ago Thornley had brought on a great many new workers, in response to the increased brigand activity in recent months. None of them are fighters, as far as you know, but you can certainly imagine why they might want a sword, out in the Bree-fields without even a fence around the site. There is a reason Helena has recently taken an interest in making them.

You have little interest in encountering Lofar again on your way to the work site, so you leave town through the North-gate and skirt along the ridge east of the Greenway. This allows you to avoid Lofar and Grimbriar both, and you are congratulating yourself on your cleverness when you stumble across the body.

The wind is in the south, or you should have smelled the blood and avoided it. As it is, however, you step out from among some dense bushes onto a trail that leads down into a shaded hollow, and there you discover what remains of someone who seems to have fallen afoul of the boars that live in the hollow. There is not much left to identify the man, but as you approach you notice the hilt of a sword lying on the bloody ground where he must have dropped it. The blade is snapped off and nowhere to be found, but the hilt is brand-new and shows no signs of wear, and the detailing is distinctly Dwarven.

You consider, briefly, taking the hilt back to Lofar and washing your hands of the whole business, but the poor sap deserves a burial, if nothing else, and the body cannot be left here. Thornley’s Work Site is close, anyway, so you continue on, twirling the hilt idly in your hands as you walk.

When you arrive at the work site, you ask the first Man you see for the foreman. He raises his arm and opens his mouth to answer, and then he catches sight of the hilt held loosely in your right hand and goes deathly pale. He appears terrified, as if the presence of the hilt spells terrible news, and you can’t but conclude that there are more layers to this mystery than you thought. “What do you know about this?” you ask quickly.

“Nothing!” he says, even more quickly, if that is possible. “Please go away! I – I have work to do. Foreman Rosethorn is over there.”

This Man matches the description the Dwarf at the smithy gave you. “Now look here,” you say, sternly but not unkindly. “I’m not going to rat you out. But I very nearly got pinned for this, and I don’t imagine Master Ironband is going to be too pleased at its condition when I return it.”

The man wavers for a moment, and then says, “Fine, I stole it, but I had a good reason! I wasn’t trying to pin anyone. It was for my family! Nate said he would hurt them if I didn’t make a sword for his captain, Blake. But I didn’t have the iron to forge one, so I took the Dwarf’s! Please, you must understand, it was to save my family! Please don’t tell the constable!”

“Who are Nate and Blake?” you ask. “For that matter, who are you?”

“Who are – why, didn’t you take the hilt from Nate?” he asks.

“If I did, then he’s dead,” you say. “Ran afoul of the boars in the hollow across the Greenway.”

“And good riddance to him,” the man says. “I’m Kenton Thistleway. Nate is, or was, a brigand. He said he was going to test the sword against the workers on the silo across the way. But this is terrible! What if Blake comes looking for his sword? I won’t have one to give him, and they’ll hurt my family!”

That seems likely to you. The Hackberry House has thus far escaped the particular notice of the brigands as they robbed and drove off most everyone around because orphans and abandoned children make for good recruits. Lady Hackberry’s do not, because she raises her children right and sees to it that they are loved and want for nothing she can provide, but you have never felt particularly inclined to share this information with any of the people slipping you shadowy notes promising adventure and freedom and wealth, and even less so in recent years, when the letters changed to offer power and fulfillment. You offer a bounty in sweet honey-cakes to any of the younger children who bring you such a letter, for once you have destroyed it they have no in with the brigands. More than one of them are taking advantage of this arrangement, but it is a small price to pay to keep them out of such mischief. All children, in your opinion, ought to know a few basic swindles anyhow.

You are unsure how much longer this arrangement will keep the household safe, however. It was mainly the Blackwold who recruited locally, and the past several days have brought dark rumors with them. They are outlandish, and you believe less than half of them, but all agree that the Blackwolds are no longer a power to be reckoned with in Bree-land. You are sorry, for you had several friends who had run off to sleep in the woods and live off the land and be their own masters, back when that was all the Blackwolds did. More urgently, the power among the various local gangs is out of balance, and you do not know who will fill the vacuum or what they will do. You fear it will be one of the new lots, composed mainly of strangers from the south, and before long they will come to your home and threaten your family, just as they are doing to Kenton Thistleway.

The Man in question looks deeply uncomfortable, and a little constipated. “Do you think,” he asks slowly, “that Lofar would make another sword? If you asked him and explained the situation, that it’s to save my family?”

“I’ll ask him,” you say. “And if he says no, I might be able to get you a near-endless supply of swords that snap off just above the hilt.”

~*~*~*~

“Another blade?” Lofar exclaims, when you have explained the situation to him. “Another blade? I’m already behind on other work, and now I’ll have to forge a new sword to fill the order this one was for. ‘Time is precious, don’t give it away for nothing,’ my father used to say…” He pauses, brow furrowed in thought. “Actually lost my father to brigands a few years back. Wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“Bah!” he says, sounding annoyed, though it is not directed at you. “Give me that hilt. I must be getting soft. I’ll help that Kenton Thistleway, but with two conditions. First one is that if that brigand don’t come around looking for the sword, I get it back. Second, Thistleway gives me a hand and does some of the simpler work I’ve got piling up.” He fiddles with the straps on a workbag much like yours and produces a bellows. “These need new leather. Take them back to Thistleway and tell him I’ll send two or three more projects later today. If he fixes them all and I’m happy with his work, I’ll call it even on the cost of the two swords.”

You take the bellows under your arm – they are too big to fit into your work bag – and once again turn north up the Greenway. Once you have delivered Lofar’s message and bellows, you think, you will turn for home; you have much still to do this day, and you are hungry. The sun is well past its zenith now. You wonder if there are any honey cakes at the house, and if Gareth will have your hide if you take them.

Kenton Thistleway is nervously pacing when you return. You explain Lofar’s offer to him and he takes the bellows almost eagerly. He examines them carefully, and then nods in satisfaction. “I can repair this in an afternoon,” he says, “but I’ll need some leather to replace the worn patches.”

This whole affair is really no longer your business, but you hate to leave a task unfinished, so you quickly volunteer, “I can get you some.” Kenton ought at least to have a sword to bargain with, you think, before you can quite call this done.

He looks at you like you hung the stars, and you excuse yourself quickly and rather awkwardly. The Hackberry House is a short walk away, half an hour, perhaps, or less if you are willing to take a shortcut across Eric Dogwood’s fields. The outer fields lie fallow, as Eric and his wife Eltrys are too old to work so far from their home, and their son Horace had run off before the spring planting. Some of the children at the Hackberry House sometimes set aside time over the summer to assist them, especially Helena, and Léonys when she was not busy, but none of you had the time or resources to plant and maintain entire fields. If the harvest is not good, the Dogwoods may lose their farm – that is, if brigands and worse do not drive them off of it first.

The Hackberry House is larger than most other houses in the Bree-fields, except perhaps the Thornleys’. It boasts two stories and three outbuildings on a sizeable parcel of land: Lady Hackberry had inherited a comfortable fortune in land, livestock, and money from her father, though the latter is spread quite thin in recent years, with more children than she is really able to house about, and the brigands driving up the prices of whatever goods they don’t manage to steal.

The land is surrounded by a hedge, perhaps waist-high to you, which serves to keep some six cows, three sheep, and a dozen or so chickens contained. The only gate opens to the east, but you approach from the north and jump the hedge quite easily. Lady Hackberry has told you not to do this many times, but from here it is a clear shot to the tanning shed, where Léonys lays out and cures leather from her hunting trips. The place reeks, but you are more than used to it, and you slip in and begin browsing the drying racks, where finished leathers hang, ready to be sorted. After a few moments you find something suitable for bellows and reach up to undo the clamps that keep it on the rack.

“Hathellang?”

You turn with a start to see the form of Lady Hackberry framed in the doorway. “Oh! Lady Hackberry,” you say. “You startled me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she says. “Will you be home for dinner?"

"I hope so," you say. "I just have a quick errand to run and then I'll be heading home for the day." You pull the leather down and walk towards the door, taking her hands in yours and squeezing them affectionately.

She smiles fondly. "Don't forget, you promised Anna you would help her at the forge this afternoon."

"I won't," you say. "I couldn't if I tried. She's spoken of little else since last night."

Lady Hackberry leans forward and presses an affectionate kiss to your forehead, and the two of you step out into the late morning sunlight.

~*~*~*~

You don't think you could have been gone for more than half an hour, but when you return to Thornley’s Work Site, Kenton Thistleway has abandoned all pretense of getting work done. Indeed, everyone has. He is sitting on the ground beside his forge, head in his hands, with some unfinished nails scattered on the ground about. The other workers are clustered in little groups, speaking quietly together or casting pitying looks toward Kenton. The foreman looks very displeased with the whole situation, but has made no move to encourage anyone to return to work.

Kenton looks up as you approach, and speaks before you can ask what happened. “Oh, it’s terrible! Blake, the brigand-captain who wanted the sword, came and told me he knew Nate was dead and that he knew I had something to do with it! I tried to tell him I didn’t, that I would have another sword for him soon, but he wouldn’t listen.” The man pauses and takes several steadying breaths. “He said he’s taken my daughter, Maribell! If I don’t give him another sword, and soon, he’ll kill her!”

This affair is really no longer your business, a voice in your mind says, but it’s a quiet one, and you brush it aside. “Get ahold of yourself,” you say. “We’ll get the man a sword, then. Where is he?”

“The brigand-camp in the Bree-fields, up to the west,” Kenton says. “Blake’s in charge there.”

You swing the rolled-up leather down from your shoulder where you were carrying it and drop it unceremoniously on the ground at Kenton’s feet. “Well, there’s that,” you say. “I’ll go get the sword from Mr. Ironband and take it to Blake.”

“Please hurry,” he says. You don’t respond, instead turning away and making for the Greenway at a light jog.

You are sweaty and out of breath by the time you reach the cabin guard-post, where Lofar Ironband still stands, talking to Chief Watcher Grimbriar. It seems to be a discussion of some importance, as both of them are consulting pieces of parchment and making notes on them in charcoal, but it doesn’t interest you. “Have you -- have you finished -- Thistleway’s sword yet?” you ask, gasping for breath and supporting yourself on your knees.

Lofar looks at you as if you had asked him if he had managed to lay an egg. “Do you know how long it takes to make a sword?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “Listen, Blake came back and told Thistleway that he has his daughter Maribell up at the brigand camp west of the Everclear Lakes, and he’ll kill her if he doesn’t have a sword and soon.”

The Dwarf’s face softens. “This is bad,” he says. “No, I don’t have a sword. I have a few in progress and I sent word to my assistants to finish one as soon as may be, but I don’t have it yet. I know these types of fellows. they won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. They’ll kill that girl! You’ll have to mount a rescue.”

You turn and look expectantly at Chief Watcher Grimbriar.

“No,” he says. “Brigand’s Watch? They have a fortification built up there, and can see for miles around. They see a guard anywhere nearby and they’ll kill the girl without a second thought, and do who knows what else. I don’t have the men for a full assault.”

“So you’re just going to leave her?” you ask.

Grimbriar looks at you long and hard, and at length he says, “You’re the one who broke into the Briarstones’ estate last month, I know it. Slipped right past their dogs, somehow.”

“Well --” you say, “you can’t prove that.” You are actually quite proud of the feat, and don’t often get the chance to brag about it. Lady Hackberry feels it’s an inappropriate topic of conversation for mealtimes.

“Unfortunately, no,” the Chief Watcher agrees. “But I know it’s true. And if anyone can make it into Brigand’s Watch undetected, it’s the man who got past six bloodhounds without getting caught. What do you say?”

“I’m a tailor, Grimbriar,” you say. “I don’t adventure.” You know that he knows this is not true, but it’s only good form for him to keep up the ruse when he doesn’t have any evidence.

“So you’re just going to leave her?” he says.

~*~*~*~

The brigands have left one approach to their camp unwatched, and that’s the northern side, where the land rises up into a cluster of foothills around Starmere Lake, nestled beneath the Wildwood to the north and the Brandywood to the west. It is no small wonder; the land is wild here, too rocky for farming and too overrun for grazing. A few hunters come here occasionally, or so you have heard, but not many. It is far from Bree-town and Léonys has told you that it’s more trouble than it’s worth to haul a kill back from these woods, not with the Chetwood so near the town.

They’ve erected a palisade around their camp, but it’s a rush job, just a lot of logs driven into the ground and lashed together with rope. They’ve felled a great many trees to the south-east for this, which serves the double purpose of clearing the land between them and the town, and the farms and homesteads between. It doesn’t seem much like the other brigand camps you’ve seen -- the Blackwolds had watchmen, but their main camps were always nestled in comfortable ruins. This feels like they expect an attack of some sort, and it puts you on edge.

Not so on edge that you aren’t able to approach the palisade undetected. You hear voices on the other side, slurring with alcohol, but after a moment they pass on. You test the logs -- they’re placed sturdily enough -- and then quickly pull yourself up by the rope lashing the tops of them together, swing a leg between the sharpened points of the logs, and then throw yourself the rest of the way over, landing in a roll on the ground. You scramble to your feet immediately and duck behind a nearby tent, tucking your cloak close around you and hoping that to the casual observer you will look like just another bundle or blanket scattered around the sleeping area. But no one seems to have noticed your intrusion, and after a few moments you stand and quickly glance about.

You see no sign of any captives, but people typically keep things they don’t want to be stolen inward, rather than outward, and you imagine the same applies to prisoners they don’t want to escape. There is a gap in the palisade nearby, and from the outside you had seen a smaller compound here, tucked between two steep spurs of rock in the cliff behind. You quickly walk toward it, hoping anyone who sees you will assume you are simply one of their own, and slip inside.

There is a cage built on wheels inside the little area, and inside it you see a young woman sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looks up as you approach, but does not speak at once.

“I’m here to help,” you say as you examine the lock. It’s a simple two-pin lock like thousands of others you could pick with your eyes closed, but the workmanship is odd -- shoddy. The metal is not formed well and it seems to you that someone tried to cool it too fast, and perhaps also form it when it was not hot enough. No smith in Bree-land that you know of would put their name to such work. You wonder where it came from.

“I filched the key a while ago,” the girl, Maribell, says, sitting up and reaching into her pocket. “I was too scared to use it, though. There are so many of them.”

From her voice, you think she’s about Helena’s age. She hands you a key that is somewhat better made than the lock, but still not good. “All right,” you say. You unlock the cage door, but even as Maribell slips out, you hear a sound to your right.

The cage is not the only structure in the little inner palisade. There is also a tent, larger than the ones outside and with blankets and furs covering the floor inside, and from this tent a man has emerged. He is holding an ugly rowan club, little more than a broken branch that someone has tied some rags around for a handle, and he looks angry.

“That’s Blake!” Maribell hisses, and you see why Thistleway was so intimidated by him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he snaps. “You’d better have a sword for me, boy.”

“You know,” you grumble, stepping forward to face Blake, “if I had a silver for every time someone asked me if I had a sword today, I would have two. It’s not very many, but it’s odd that it happened twice, seeing as how I’m very clearly not carrying a sword.”

Blake charges, raising the club high. You stoop to the ground, catch a handful of dust, dry grass, wood shavings, and small pebbles, and then straighten up and throw the lot directly into his face. He stops short, dropping the club, and clutches at his eyes with both hands. Almost in the same movement you step forward, snatch a dagger from his belt with your other hand, and drive it upwards, into his abdomen.

You turn away from Blake before he hits the ground. “Quick, over the palisade,” you say, pointing at a stack of crates behind the cage. Maribell nods and climbs the crates, gingerly pulls herself to the top of the palisade, and then slips over it. You follow as quickly as you may. Even as you stand up, you hear a shout from inside the palisade behind you, and you take Maribell’s hand and the two of you begin to run.

~*~*~*~

Thornley’s Work Site is probably the nearest safe place, or safer, at any rate. The two of you hurry north for some distance before turning west to pass the Everclear Lakes on the north. You are both exhausted, but you don’t stop running until you reach the work site. Work has not resumed in the past few hours, and murmurs and then cheers arise as the two of you approach. You slow to a halt, leaning against the foundation of the building in progress to catch your breath, but at the sight of her father Maribell seems to gain a second win and she runs ahead and throws herself into his arms.

Kenton Thistleway catches his daughter and pulls her close, holding her tight. Someone offers you a waterskin and you accept it gratefully. You aren’t used to so much running after a heist; usually there is a hiding spot much closer that you can retreat to until everything blows over. And you dearly hope this blows over. Hopefully none of the brigands got a good look at your face -- else this might lead to dire consequences for you and your family. The Hackberry House is not too far from Brigand’s Watch.

You aren’t sure how long it is before Kenton approaches you, Maribell just behind him. He clasps your hand in his and there are unshed tears in his eyes. “Bless you,” he says. “You’ve returned my daughter safe to me! I cannot thank you enough!”

“How about some more water?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood. Really, you would rather not think about what might have happened to Maribell, for a number of reasons.

“Get the man some water!” Kenton shouts to no one in particular, and although you know he has no real authority here, someone passes up another waterskin, which he presses into your hands. “You’ve done so much for me,” he says. His expression darkens. “What about Blake?” he asks.

“Blake is dead,” Maribell quickly says. “He --” she looks at you and you realize with a start that you have not introduced yourself to her.

“Hathellang,” you say.

“Hathellang killed him,” Maribell says. “And good riddance to him.”

The foreman pushes through the workers and scowls at Kenton. “Thistleway,” he says, “take your daughter and go home. Take the rest of the day off. And next time you’re getting blackmailed, don’t just come in and not say anything about it. Tusks o’ fury!”

Kenton gathers his tools and he and Maribell head south along the Greenway. It is not the quickest way back to the Hackberry House, but you opt to walk with them. There is safety in numbers, and you would rather see them safe at least as far as the guard’s cabin, since you’ve apparently decided to make this affair your business.

When you arrive at the cabin, Lofar is still there. He looks up as your little party approaches with a broad smile. “Excellent!” he calls. “Glad no harm came to the lass.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kenton says. “I’m so sorry for stealing your sword. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“Don’t thank me,” Lofar says gruffly. “I sent you some work to do. What about it?”

“I haven’t finished it,” Kenton said. “I’ve barely started. I haven’t been able to focus much today. But here’s what I have.” He pauses to swing his workbag from his shoulder and draw out what you recognize as a set of old bellows-leather, marked to be used as a template for a replacement.

“Well, I can see you know what you’re doing,” Lofar says. “What’s all this?”

“The leather was cut wrong at the ends,” Kenton says. “It was putting too much strain here and here when they were used. They still worked, but that’s why they were wearing out so fast. I’ve added an extra measure at each end and I’ll reinforce these stress points when I replace it, so they’ll last longer before it needs replaced again.”

You think you see a spark of respect in Lofar’s eye, but he just nods and says, “Very good, very good. That’s good sense, that. Almost as sharp as a Dwarf-smith, this one. You can expect more work from me in the future, Thistleway.”

��Thank you,” Kenton says. You think he recognizes the high praise for what it is, coming from Lofar Ironband.

“I’ll be off, then,” you say.

“Not so fast,” Lofar says.

You scowl. “I have work to do too, Ironband,” you say. “Don’t tell me you want me to find another sword for you.”

“No,” Lofar says. “Actually, this is for you, seeing as how Thistleway doesn’t need it anymore.” He holds out a long, suspiciously sword-shaped bundle wrapped in cloth. “My assistant just brought it to me not an hour ago.”

You stare at it for a long moment. “Sir,” you say at length. “What am I going to do with a sword?”

Lofar scowls. “Consider it compensation for the fact that I accused you of a crime you didn’t commit and then tried to get you arrested,” he says.

“All right,” you say, taking the weapon. “Thank you, I suppose.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. “Just don’t actually be stealing anything from my shop.”

You look pointedly at Chief Watcher Grimbriar, who is standing behind Lofar with smugness and frustration warring on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ironband,” you say.

“Bah!” Grimbriar says. “Get out of here, Hackberry.”

You consider a parting barb, but think better of it, and instead you hurry ahead, down the lane that leads to the North-gate. More work to be done; you have to get rid of this sword. You have no use for a sword. But at least it should fetch a good price, if not at the market then among the Man-smiths near the West-gate. After you have dealt with this, you promise yourself, you will be headed directly home and you will not go out again today.

As you pass the Windview Estate and near the Sandheaver home, you stop short. You would recognize the bright green and red jacket up ahead anywhere -- but Léonys cannot be here. She’s on a hunt, in the north-eastern Chetwood, up away past Archet. You break into a jog, and call her name, but she does not hear you, and she turns and walks towards the West-gate, and when you round the corner and look after her she is gone.

You turn back to where Lily Sandheaver is standing outside her house. “Was that Léonys?” you ask breathlessly.

“Yes, it was,” she says. “Why do you ask?”

“What’s she doing here?” you ask.

“Nothing, anymore!” Lily says, and chuckles at her own joke. “She just bought some traveling rations from me, and firewood from Pasco Underhill up the hill. Said something about going into the Old Forest and not wanting to risk cutting wood there.”

You stare at Lily in disbelief for a moment. “The Old Forest?” you ask incredulously. “Whatever would she want in there?”

“Well I don’t know,” Lily says. “And what’s more, she said she was going by way of the Barrow-downs! It’s quicker, she said. Seemed in a terrible great hurry.”

What could Léonys possibly be thinking? You glance down the road to the West-gate, and then drop your eyes to the bundle in your hands. Well, perhaps you have a use for a sword after all.

“I’d like to buy some travel rations as well,” you say.

“Of course,” Lily says, and she collects a small bundle from the crate she keeps on her porch to sell to workers and travelers leaving town who have forgotten their lunches. “Forty-eight coppers, please.”

You count out the money, and bundle the meal into your pocket, then unwrap the sword. It’s a nice thing, sturdy and well-made, Dwarven designs worked into the hilt and pommel and running up one side of the otherwise unadorned sheath. You undo your belt and slide the scabbard loops over it, settling the weapon on your left hip, and then with a nod at Lily you turn and leave Bree behind, following Léonys out the West-gate, towards the Barrow-downs.

#lotro #lotro fanfic #the wind will set me racing #lotro oc #love my idiot son #my idiot son loves his idiot girlfriend #im an idiot too btw. were a trifecta

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