Had another brain worm. (Edit 4: soooo I’ve started writing a oneshot, it might be booty cheeks but I will do my best to get it out in a somewhat timely manner. It’ll take place in the early seasons with the winchesters.)
Imagine a neglected Batfam reader who was sent away for schooling who becomes involved with the Winchesters
She becomes a hunter and is taken in by them, maybe she’s around a teenager she was sent away when she was 8 years old and she returns to Gotham changed.
Imagine she was sent to a school in a different state so that she would be safe from the villains in Gotham but instead she finds herself under attack of ghosts and demons and the winchesters save her
Imagine she gets the brotherly bond with them and joins them because at the time they helped her she was 18 and now doesn’t go to school.
Imagine a Batfam doing an investigation in mysterious deaths at Gotham and the Winchesters show up with their baby sister who refuses to speak to them because they never reached out to her for all those years that she was gone.
Imagine a reader who was technologically brilliant and could hack better than Tim so she uses it to cover her trail with the Winchesters
Edit: I fear this gained more traction than I initially anticipated
Second edit while at work lol: is there seriously no fic like this??? I feel like Gotham is so spooky yall come on 💔
Third edit: I might make a two parter of this when I have the time currently dealing with some medical issues lmao hate this body (just kidding I love it please don’t deteriorate further 💔💔💔)
FOURTH EDIT LOL: I’ll be tagging whoever comments so yall can read the fic!
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Daughter of Aphrodite reader who grows up neglected by the batfam (yes I’m still on my batfam bullshit) and leaves for camp at the age of 11 after a field trip to the museum that she gets attacked at, becoming a missing person but the batfam barely notices until she comes back at age 18 now grown up and back in Gotham to deal with the monsters there.
She definitely takes after her Mother and by that I mean she is very similar to Aphrodite when she was still a war goddess! She has perfect hair is gorgeous/handsome and could absolutely kill a monster without even blinking. Just a thought idk
Yknow what fuck it imma blurb this
Edit 2: ok it’s in the works just be patient with me yall I gotta brush up on my lore and I work full time so it’ll be out I just don’t know when yet but I will tag whoever wants to be tagged!
Here’s the first part posted: part 1
-
Growing up you always knew something was different about you. Not only because you were the daughter of THE Bruce Wayne, billionaire, forever bachelor and Prince of Gotham, but because there was just something about you that seemed almost mythical.
The way you never had a bad hair day, your teeth never stained, you had a quiet grace about you and were told numerous times how beautiful or handsome you were. You wrote them off as just luck or being blessed with the Wayne genetics.
That changed on a field trip, you went to Gotham Academy. Only the best for the daughter of Bruce Wayne no matter how much you were ignored by your brothers and father. Never really being included in the conversation or being invited on family outings. Never taught how to be a robin despite your father putting everything into teaching Tim and Damian the ways of being a Robin.
They all ignored your presence no matter what you did to try and garner it. Dick only giving you half truths and promises, only polite smiles in the way you give one to an acquaintance. Jason not even bothering to entertain your childish nature or take part in your art projects.
Forget even trying to engage Damian in a conversation, he would call you an “insolent brat” and be on with his day.
Oh but they would soon learn to miss you after an attack rocks the Gotham Academy field trip to the Museum of Ancient History.
@serenemanifestoscheme since you didn’t see the blurb in the og post
ORIGINAL THOUGHT for SPN Angel!Reader in A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms universe
Thank you @catkissesclaws and @thatoneweirdgirl17 for filling my brain with worms on this especially
-
You felt it as soon as you blinked. You’re not in the right place. No, that’s not right. Your eyes scan the landscape, those trees weren’t planted there originally. A look to the landscape and mountains and you can see that those mountains were not created by your Father. They're not the right shape.
You’re not in the right space, not in the right world.
You look out further and see some smoke and hear loud groups of people, likely a gathering of some kind. A glance at the sky and you see that the sun is going down, best to be moving while there’s still light out. Not that you have any trouble seeing in the dark, still you'd rather avoid walking at night while you could.
Your feet take you out as your coat gets stuck on some branches, though you brush past them with ease. You don't understand how Castiel always wears that trench coat of his, though you suppose you’re no better since you did follow in your brothers footsteps with the coat. As you get closer you can hear more clearly the sounds of drunken stumbling, bartering and what seems to be metal scraping. Possibly a workshop, hopefully they have a phone so you can contact Sam and Dean. For whatever reason, Castiel isn’t answering on “Angel radio” as Dean and Sam call it and you can't find the boys.
“Ridiculous boys,” you mutter as you get closer to the settlement. As soon as you set foot into the settlement. Immediately, eyes are on you as you walk past the tents where humans gather, drinking and eating to their hearts content. Your eyes follow the look of the settlement and a castle in the distance.
"I'm in the middle ages or, what did he call it, a renaissance fair."
An observation, hardly an odd thing. You'd once walked amongst humans. Purely for observation, though you had been an outlier amongst your siblings. The odd one after Castiels many cleaning's. You still weren't well-versed in the way they acted, you'd gotten many odd looks from Sam and Dean for that to be apparent to you. Your clothing is sure to not be period accurate, something you note when you see a small boy point at you as he hides behind his mother's skirts.
A cursory glance is given to him before your eyes fall on a rather large man exiting the golden tent with antlers at the top. He speaks to a smaller boy with no hair as they walk back to wherever they had come from.
You essentially flash beside them, quiet until the larger man notices you and jumps.
"Seven hells-"
"Where am I?"
The young, bald boy looks up at you with a raised eyebrow and oddly colored eyes.
“What are you wearing?”
You don’t look at the young boy, eyes unblinking and on the larger man as he stumbles on his words.
“Ash- Ashford Meadow? Are you not here for the tourney?”
You don’t say anything, only looking down at the young boys eyes. They’re violet, light that even you can see in the darkness of the night. It’s not natural. Whatever world you’re in is one where the unnatural must be normal.
“Who sits on the throne?”
The large man looks to the boy with furrowed brows. Are you being serious? Everyone knows who’s king.
“Are you unwell?”
“Who sits on the throne?”
You haven’t blinked the entire time you’ve conversed with the two and the fact is startling to unsettle the two. The boy answers with a head tilted up at you.
“King Daeron Targaryen.”
Targaryen. Targaryen. The name sounds familiar to you. You tilt your head as you look at the boy, more so at his eyes. Violet, purple, light.
“Targaryen,” you mumble as you search out once more for Castiel’s frequency, still not finding him, but reaching a point. Only this point is branching out, going eight separate ways. Odd. The feeling of your frequency reaching eight points instead of your brother or any other angel does not bring any comfort. It makes your wings twitch and your eyes narrow. There’s no angels that your frequency reaches, only higher beings.
“Yes, Targaryen,” the large man pulls the boy to stand behind him as you stand. No movement of your shoulders, no inhaling or exhaling, only stillness. The fabric you wear doesn’t move and your arms are flat at your sides. You’re strange and unnerving and you may a lady, but your appearance makes Dunk’s skin crawl.
‘Dean watched a show that mentioned Targar-something.’
Dunk looks to you and the confusion clear on your face before clearing his throat, bringing your eyes to him.
"If you are lost, you may come with us? Back to our camp at the least, until you get your bearings."
You tilt your head at the large man, before looking down at the boy.
"That would be," you search for the word, "appreciated."
Egg eyes your clothing as you walk behind them. Your clothing is like nothing they’ve seen before. A long cloak that has bits of fabric, dark trousers, and a tunic that has some round things going down your middle from where your collar would be. It’s nothing that a woman would be wearing, it seems more manly than anything. The only thing he can recognize are the shoes you wear, they’re clearly boots of some kind.
They lead you back to their small camp. Two horses eating grass calmly and the little boy goes to get a fire started. The larger man sets down his arms and you stand still, hands at your sides as they do their respective tasks.
Dunk looks up at you and motions his hand down as you follow his hand to where he gestures at the ground. You slowly lower yourself until you sit pin straight with your legs crossed, expression blank. Dunk inhales, glancing at Egg before clearing his throat.
“I’m,” he clears his throat, jaw clenching briefly before his eyes flit to your face. Still blank, “my name is Ser Duncan the Tall. What is yours?”
You glance from the now lit fire to the man, Ser Duncan, “I am an angel of the Lord. Though you may call me (Y/n).”
The young boy glances at Duncan with a lifted brow and slowly introduces himself, “I’m Egg.”
You look to the boy.
“Egg? As in poultry?”
He nods his head, though still glances at Duncan. You say nothing more until Duncan clears his throat and sets down his blade that he was sharpening.
“You said you’re an angel of the Lord?”
You look to Duncan with a tilt of your head, “why do you not believe in my words?”
Duncan looks to Egg with a stutter and flushed cheeks.
“Angels don’t exist. Not in my experience, my lady.”
The fire crackles as you look from Duncan to Egg.
“They do exist. You only need to have faith.”
Duncan shakes his head, disbelieving until Egg gasps, gaining his attention as you straighten your back and the light from the flames lick your form as the image of wings erupt from behind you. Duncan and Egg watch as large, magnificent wings unfurl and lick the trees and blades of grass below them. Branches shift at the touch and the grass flattens. What else could that be, but the wings of an angel.
They have no words as their eyes grow wide on your form as the image fades until they curl back inward, resting like a birds.
“You- you’re inhuman.”
Duncan makes to grab Egg as you watch him do so.
“Be not afraid. I mean you no harm.”
Duncan grabs his blade as he pushes Egg behind him, violet eyes watching as you move to stand only for Duncan to hold the tip of his blade under your throat and point it towards where your heart would be beating.
“How do we know you’re not some monster made flesh?”
You raise your hand and push his blade away from your chest as you rise to your feet and let your angel blade fall down your sleeve and into your hand. Duncan immediately raises his blade to you as Egg moves to the elm tree for safety. Your eyes only glaze from the young boy to the much larger man.
You flip the blade so that you hold the sharper end and hold out the handle to Duncan.
“This blade is the only thing that can kill me. You may hold it if you wish. I mean no harm to you nor the boy.”
Duncan furrows his brows and holds the blade out, tilting his head to the boy, “Egg,” the young boy looks to his ser with his own brows furrowed.
“Grab the blade.”
He slowly creeps forward and grabs the handle of the blade. It’s heavy, much heavier than it looks. The weight of it has him struggling to hold it upright as he brings it to Duncan who slowly lowers his own blade.
He looks to you then to the blade.
“You may get the blade back in the morning.”
You nod as you sit back down in front of the flames, reaching out to one of the points that you’d made contact with earlier. The flames seem to help with this contact.
Egg and Duncan eye you warily as they set out their packs and blankets for the night. Laying down they eye you as you stare, unblinking into the flames.
“Good night,” Egg calls out quietly as Duncan gives you one last glance before closing his eyes.
“Sleep well, Egg,” you respond calmly, eyes never wavering from the flames.
You wait at least two hours for the boys to get deep into their sleep before you blink away and into what you can only assume is the Heaven of this world. You look around as you see numerous tunnels, likely leading to the seven other points that you'd felt. You only chose the one that was connected to the flames to approach. You walk forward to the pyre in the center of this room.
As soon as you get closer the flames grow large, large enough until they lick the ceiling and lightly graze your face. You make no move away from the flame or give any reaction as they die down until a form is left in front of the pyre. The figure of a man stands with his back turned to you, long dark hair flowing down his shoulders and cascading down his back.
A voice rumbles from his form, "you are not one of our children."
You calmly look forward as you respond, "I am not. You are not my Father."
The figure turns and flaming eyes are met with your own indifferent gaze. You're the first to talk next.
"The seven other points I'd made contact with, they are also like you?"
A rumble sounds from deep in his vocal cords.
"You are ignorant to us. You are not from here."
You look away from him to the pyre, now lightly burning in his presence.
"I am not. A spell went wrong from my world and I am now here. You are a Lord, yes?"
He approaches you, hand coming up and resting a finger beside your head.
"I am a God."
"What of the seven beyond this hall?"
R'hllor taps his finger on your shoulder as your eyes go back to his face.
"They are the new god, though they have seven faces they share one body."
You blink as he retracts himself from you and turns back to the pyre, hands clasped behind his back.
"Go back to your small flame, little angel. Learn of the gods before approaching me again."
You heed his warning as you fly away in a blink back to the flame in front of the boys. You look into the flames once more, briefly seeing the face of the god you'd approached. He glowers at you before his face recedes into the flames.
"A seven-faced god," you look beyond the fire to the sky and watch the stars.
"I'll need to learn more of the gods of this world."
You sit with your back straight and push a branch into the flame to keep it alive and to keep the boys warm. You have many questions once they wake.
AKA what type of woman he's into, what he looks for in a relationship etc hcs sfw and nsfw if possible? Nothing too intense though
I love this, wait lemme think.
First and foremost, I’m putting this out there that I believe he looks at people more than just their gender. He looks at them, what makes them do the actions and how they uphold their beliefs.
To me, Qifrey seems like someone who appreciates a strong willed person, maybe even tough, but still has a nice heart. We see how he acts with Olruggio and he has all those attributes even if he does bend them a little, especially when it comes to the girls.
I think Qifrey would be drawn to someone who has loose morals, but ultimately leans more to the ‘good’ side.
Morals, especially in this universe, seem to be somewhat loose. At least for Qifrey. We see that he is someone who has a strong sense of right and wrong, but definitely doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty when needed.
A person that would fit well with him would be someone that is kind, caring, but knows where to draw the line and how to make the tough decisions.
Personally, I think that Qifrey would find the gray areas in all things and wouldn’t mind helping his partner with making a difficult decision. Like with Coco in the very first episode of the series. We see that the right thing to do would have been to erase her memories of Magic, but is that the right decision morally? Ethically? Would leaving Coco all by herself with her mother encased in crystal, not knowing how or why she ended up that way been the right decision or would that have lead to Coco falling down the wrong path and becoming a brimhat?
Sorry, let’s get back to the topic.
Qifrey, to me, would want a partner that doesn't mind getting their hands dirty. Someone that sees the world in gray and not necessarily black and white. He makes questionable decisions at times, has done some very irredeemable actions that I will not specify for the anime only.
I think Qifrey would want a person that takes care of themself, but still has things that they rely on someone else for. Qifrey to me seems like a provider, he loves to provide things for people. He helps others at no expense of himself.
I don't think he would mind if a person was quiet or loud. He seems to me like someone who values time spent with a person, I think his love language would be quality time spent together.
He probably feels that he's on borrowed time so any time he gets with his partner he will gladly take.
On the same note of him feeling like he's on borrowed time, I think he has a bit of a pervy streak. Walk with me.
If the both of you find yourselves alone in the atelier I could see him bending you over and just playing with you a bit. He rubs your chest over your clothing, not quite giving you the touch you want, but letting the heat of his palm warm you through your clothing.
He could slip a hand underneath your skirt if you're wearing one and just let the warmth of his hand settle on you as he lightly toys with you through your undergarments.
If you're busy cutting food up, he'll slink behind you and push you so that you're pressed against the counter and he'll push himself so that you can feel the hardness of his cock against your butt. He'll try to distract you so that you give in to him, he just wants to feel you.
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Summary: You’ve lived a long life. Over three thousand years and over that time you’d become entangled with the Targaryens. After the Dance of the Dragons you’d been lost in time until one day the Kingsguard come to bring you back at the request of King Daeron the Good.
Masterlist
Word Count: 735
Warnings: let me know if I missed any!
Tag List:
The original post here
Seventy-eight years. Hardly anything when compared to how long you’ve lived, but you still feel the passage of time regardless. It’s been seventy-eight years since the dance of the dragons. Seventy-eight years since you’d left your place in the Targaryen courts, since you’d left their muddled and crazed home.
You now found yourself living in the woods. Far from court and from the expectations of royalty. You simply wandered the lands for years, collecting spells and then returning home. You’d only just returned home and had gone out to replenish your supply of herbs when you’d been approached by a group of knights clad in white armor.
You lift your head up with a bored look on your face, not at all eager for humans to come onto your land.
The knight in front sits tall on his horse as you look back down at the herbs, rifling through them to pick the best.
He steps down and approaches you carefully, left arm resting on the hilt of his sword.
“If you’ve come for the witch of the woods, I’m afraid you’ve arrived ten years too late.”
You crouch down in front of your patch of oregano and start to pluck the ones you need, picking off brown leaves here and there.
The knight stands tall, clearing his throat.
"You are the elf, (Y/n) the Slayer, correct?"
You chance a look at him, "I haven’t been called that in many years. I wasn’t aware that there were still humans alive that knew of me. Plus, it seems rather rude to ask ones name before introducing yourself, no?"
The knight stares down at you before sighing.
"My apologies, I am Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard."
"I figured you were with the Kingsguard, the armor gives it away. I may have been gone from court for half a century, but I still remember the knights."
You glance up at Ser Roland with a flat face. Your ears twitch lightly, betraying your blank expression.
“King Daeron the Good has requested your presence.”
You hum.
“And if I refuse?”
“He politely asks for your presence.”
He tightens his grip on the hilt of his blade.
You glance at his blade before flicking your eyes to the other knights behind him.
"I see."
You bring forth your staff, in a flurry of magic causing the knight to clench his hand and start to pull out his blade.
"I have no desire to fight you, I'm sure we both know how that would fair," you stand, brushing the dirt from your dress as you turn to your home.
“I’ve lived a long life, Ser Roland, seen many kings live and die.”
In a burst of light, your home goes from lived in and well kept to a decrepit state. Wood rotting, foliage and overgrowth over the doors and beams that were once upright now fallen over. You wave away your staff as you crouch back down.
You pick the herbs you need, flicking dirt off them as you place them in your basket.
“I’ve no interest in the way you humans live in court, it doesn’t matter to me if the Targaryens call me back. I haven’t been interested in the last seventy eight years, not after Rhaenyra.”
You inspect another herb you’ve picked, bringing it close to your eye. You stand, bringing your basket close to your hip as you level the knights with a stare.
"Why has Prince Daeron requested me back?"
Ser Roland arches a brow as the knights behind him, still on their horses, shift lightly at your words.
"King Daeron, and he wishes to see you for reasons he has not disclosed to us. He simply requested we bring you back."
You look to the sky and watch the birds fly away, before bringing a hand to your hair and push it back.
"When I last saw him, he was still Prince Daeron. Though I doubt he remembers me, he was still a baby."
You walk to your now decrepit home and enter, placing the herbs inside a luggage you bring on your travels and exiting your home, locking the door behind you. You approach Ser Roland with a still blank look on your face.
"I suppose if he requests it I cannot refuse."
He nods his head as mounts his horse and extends a hand to you.
Imagine a isekai reacher!reader ( she could be the daughter of reacher- Amazon version) who when dunken is about to help tansel jumps in and single-handedly takes out the guards and prince aerion. Everyone is stunned looking at the “small” lady who just overpowered three grown men in stunned silence. And when Aerion wants to have her punished she teases him about admitting that he and three kings guard were overpowered by a young lady. Nobody would believe that and he would become a laughing stock. Only the people who were there believe it happened and even they don’t trust their eyes. She likes dunk cuz his size reminds her or her dad. Please add on more!!!!!
Oh I love a strong lady. I feel like Aerion would be obsessed with her to a disgusting degree after the fact. I’m so blurbing this
Warnings: gun mentioned, violence, blood, let me know if I missed any!
Falling. You're definitely falling. And fast it looks like.
"Oh fuck m-"
You turn your body just in time as you hit a branch on a tree, stomach first, shirt getting caught until it rips and your hand fumbles to get a catch on anything to slow your fall.
Your hand grabs a branch and your arm snaps like a rubber band pulled taught as you stop just enough for the branch to snap as you hit what feels to be every branch on the way down until you land flat on your back.
The wind gets knocked out of you as you hit the ground and you groan. Your hands are splayed out as you bend your legs individually to make sure you didn't break anything.
Groaning, you stand up as you check to make sure your gun is still tucked under your shirt and into your pants only to find it gone. Your eyes widen as you look up at the tree you hit and then around the forest. You're lucky there's hardly any bushes around as you look for it.
Spending around ten or so minutes you finally find it maybe twenty feet from where you'd fallen. You eject the magazine, checking for any missing bullets and pop it back in, clicking it in place as you retract the barrel, popping the bullet in the chamber out and catching it. No damage, everything intact. You pop it back in and switch the safety on and tuck it back into your pants and under your shirt as you rub your arm.
Some blood wipes as you check the cut. Not deep enough to cause any actual damage and use your shirt to wipe it away as you look around.
“What the fuck.”
Grass, trees, no sign of life except for bugs that fly by your face. You swat at them as your eyes scan past the trees. Straining your eyes, you can see plumes of smoke. Maybe a mile or so away and start walking in that direction.
You brush past trees and foliage as you grumble and break branches.
"Stupid doors leading to nowhere. Dumb fucking sheriff," you finally hit a road leading into a small town with numerous tents set up. Thankfully, the sun has only just lowered as you step into this very strangely set up town.
"Where the fuck am I?"
A scowl works it way to your face as you slowly creep into the town. There are people dressed like they're in some medieval period, definitely not at all like how you're dressed with your jeans, dirty and beat up combat boots and black long sleeve shirt. You find yourself getting odd looks as you give a glare back.
"Fucking freaks looking at me like I'm the weird one," you mutter as you walk deeper.
One woman comes up to you, quite bravely you might add, considering that you're sure you look just positively beautiful with the cut on your brow and bruise on your jaw. Not to mention your ripped shirt and bloodied arm, courtesy of that damn fall.
You look her up and down as she approaches you slowly.
"Are you alright, dear?"
"Uh, yeah, I'm fine, where exactly am I?"
She gives you a strange look as she takes in your clothing, messed up hair and bloodied and bruised face.
"You're in Ashford Meadow. Why don't you come with me, I'm sure we can find a knight to help you."
Your brows furrow as she lightly grabs your arm, bringing you further into this "Ashford Meadow" as she calls it. As she's bringing you in you hear a commotion coming from a tent as you shake off her hand and start to walk toward it. It's when a scream tears through that you sprint in the general direction and see people start to shuffle around a large pitched tent.
You shove past onlookers as you see a light haired man holding what looks to be a girl in armor on the ground with a dagger to her finger as he uses his blade to cut her finger and pull the bone out. Another person runs up behind you and makes to move, only for you to hit the ground running first.
You run up and shove the blonde haired man off the girl as some other men come at you. You kick the first man in the groin as he groans and falls back, the other coming up to grab your arm as you spin and grab his, driving your knee up and displacing his elbow as he screams in pain.
From the back, a man wraps an arm around your throat as you take a deep breath in and crunch yourself down as you flip him over your back and driving a hard kick in the head, hearing a crunch as his head slams against his helmet.
The man you'd kicked in the groin runs back as he swings at your face, only to miss as you duck back and drive your knee into his chest and down onto your knee as you slam him onto the ground.
Your head flies up as the blonde haired man runs at you, dagger first as you kick him in the chest and bring his face down to drive your knee into it. His head flies back as he bleeds from his nose and moves to swing his dagger at you. Your hand darts out and grabs the hand with the dagger, turning his wrist until he's forced to drop it as you turn him around and grab him in a headlock. You tighten your hold on him as he thrashes around, hitting and kicking as you keep a firm hold on your arm.
He hisses out air as he struggles to breath, scratching at your arm with his nails and drawing blood as you breathe heavily, tightening your grip even more.
“Go to sleep, go to sleep-”
You mutter as he continues to thrash in your grip as the man you’d pushed past watches you with wide eyes as does the rest of the crowd.
After a minute or so, his body finally goes slack as you release your hold and kick him away, his head hitting the ground as the other men groan in pain.
You look at the girl who cries as you rush to her, kneeling in front of her and grabbing her hand that she cradles.
"Are you alright? Fuck, you're probably in a lot of pain. I don't have any meds on me," you rip the bottom of your shirt, exposing your stomach as you pop her bone back in place causing her to scream in pain.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but it won't heal correctly if it's not set right," you wrap your shirt around her bleeding hand as some other people rush to her side.
Your grip on her is tight as she cries and you move in front of her to glare at them. They keep their hands up as they look at you.
"She's one of our own, she's our puppeteer."
Your eyes flit to her as your breathing starts to even out, "are they telling the truth?"
She looks up at you and nods as she sobs. Slowly you let go of her as they take her away.
You stand up and look at the men on the floor, only to look up and see a crowd of people dressed in medieval clothes staring at you in disbelief.
"The fuck is your problem?"
You sneer as a very large man comes up.
"How did you-?"
Before he can say or ask you anything else a little bald boy runs up with wide eyes.
"Ser, did you do this?"
You huff as you shake your hand and wipe at your arm, movement causing your scrape to bleed again along with the scratches he'd left on you.
"I-" the large man gestures to you as the blonde man you'd held back starts to groan. The large man swiftly kicks the man in the mouth in panic as his head lulls back. Raising your eyebrows, you just shrug until he groans again and stands. Spitting blood out, he looks to the three of you as you turn and stalk toward him until the little boy yells out for you to stop. You turn to him as the man stands up fully, taking in heaving gulps of breath.
"You impudent little rat," he starts out. Even though you're sure he means it towards you, he's staring directly at the little boy. You shift so that you cover his view of him, glaring at the what you can now see is silver hair on the man.
"What's happened to your hair?"
The little boy steps out from behind you as he glowers at the man.
"I cut it off brother, I didn't want to look like you."
You turn your head down to the little boy, then side eye the man in front of you and point a thumb as you speak.
"That psycho is your brother?"
He nods as the larger man steps closer to the both of you.
"Dude, I'm sorry but that's gotta suck."
"Bring them to the castle."
You arch an eyebrow as the three, what you're assuming to be guards, approach you warily. You glance at the young boy as the larger man is taken along with you to whatever castle they were talking about. You're walked out as you follow silently with a guard on each side.
The crowd watches in silent horror as you're walked off to face whatever fate will be decided for you.
As soon as you arrive in front of a large stone castle you whistle out as they pull you inside.
"That's a big bitch, is this real stone?"
You knock on some stone as you pass by and get put into the same cell as the larger man.
"That's real stone, huh."
The door locks behind you as you stand with your arms crossed. Turning to look at the large man you lean onto one side as you look at him.
"You alright man? You look like someone stole your dog."
He looks to you from his place by the barred window, watching the rain and a rat that scurries away, with furrowed brows and wide eyes.
"'Am I alright?' You've struck a prince! We're likely to be tried for treason."
"Oh prince schmince, that guy is an asshole."
"Are you not afraid of death?"
He asks you, bewildered beyond belief. Before you can answer, if you even had a proper answer, the door opens as the same little boy, now dressed in more "princely" attire, walks in with food for the both of you.
As soon as the food is set down you start to eat, happily eating. The large man follows suit, chewing slowly as the little boy stands with his arms behind him.
"My uncle says I must beg your forgiveness for deceiving you."
"Your uncle?"
"Prince Baelor."
And you've tuned out, eating the bread as they both converse. You gather some words like "Heir to the Iron Throne" and "Prince Egg," whatever that means. Though, you swallow your food roughly as you glance at the boy and his clothing. "Iron Throne" does sound familiar, it was from some show if you remember correctly.
The little boy sits down by you as you glance at him before looking away. You pointedly stop your slouching and pull your shirt further down to hide your gun. The large man continues to chastise the young boy as he gets more and more upset. When a moment of silence brings itself you clear your throat as they both look to you.
"Not to be rude, but who're you anyway?"
"Egg."
"Egg?"
"Egg."
You chew as you nod slowly and look to the large man now, "and your name?"
"Dunk- er- Ser Duncan the," he clears his throat, "the Tall."
"Right, right. I'm (Y/n). Reacher."
"I don't know of a Lord Reacher. Is he a knight?"
You chew your food slowly as your eyes flit from the boy to Dunk.
"Of some kind, I guess, but he's no lord" you bring the cup to your mouth as you drink and wince at the taste. Duncan looks to Egg with slowly quelled anger.
"What will they do with us, Egg?"
Your eyes flit to the young boy, to Egg, as he speaks.
"My uncle wants to see the both of you after you're done eating."
You nod stiffly as Duncan takes a deep breathe, "I'm done now then. I've already kicked one prince in the mouth, I don't mean to keep another one waiting."
He looks to you next, as if waiting for you to say you're done, only for you to furrow your brow as you swallow your food.
"I'm not gonna stop eating just because some stuck up prince needs to talk to me, he can wait."
Egg says nothing and Duncan just sits and watches you finish your food. As soon as you're done, you wipe your mouth with your hand and wipe it on your shirt as you stand and stretch, stomach revealing itself as you do so. Duncan looks away with a flushed face until you stop and sigh.
"All right, let's go meet this prince whatever."
The walk to where this Prince Baelor is, as Egg kindly told you, is silent and awkward as you walk with the two boys. Your stomach rumbles lightly as you pat it.
"Ugh, indigestion. I need a Tums or something."
"A what?"
You lift a brow as you pinch your index finger and thumb until they get to about a fingers thickness.
"A Tums, it's about yay big and a thing people take when their stomach hurts. It's an antacid or whatever."
"Ant-ass-id?"
"The way you say it is weird."
Duncan just makes a face as Egg shakes his head.
You arrive in front of a door as the same two guards from before open the door for you. You let Egg walk in first as he pulls your sleeve for you to follow, then Duncan as the door closes behind you.
It's quiet as the three of you stand in front of who you assume to be Baelor until you open your mouth with a shit-eating grin.
"So, Prince Baelor?"
You look him up and down and think to yourself, 'would.'
There comes a tale, a myth, of a flower that can grant life. Heal even the worst of wounds. All you had to do was sing a simple song and the flower would bring you the life you wished for.
Long thought a myth, there were those that would speak of it the same way you would speak of faeries or mermaids. With awe and wonder, but knew better than to truly believe in the myth of it. There was no such thing as a magical flower that could grant life, heal wounds or reverse time. That was all just nonsense.
Folk tale that grew beyond the villages it originated in.
But one person knew the truth.
Her name is more of a fading wind. Whispers of a long forgotten name, those that knew it once have long gone over the years. Never seen with anybody longer than a few hours. Not memorable enough to let her form fester in your mind, despite her youthful appearance.
She knew the truth of the flower, she harbored the secret and loathed that word of it had spread. For hundreds of years she'd used the flower to keep herself youthful all by singing a song. A simple song and years of her life were given back to her. Her wrinkles gone, age spots faded, skin back to the elasticity that she had in her youth.
Yes, she knew the truth and she knew that her time with the flower was limited. More and more people had been asking about it and word was now spreading to lords and ladies that wanted to use the flower for themselves.
So, she came up with a plan. A strange, horrid plan. She fell pregnant from a lord. This lord had influence and was a widow, no one would care that he got someone pregnant. But she didn't know that he would care, that he would search for the mysterious woman and his daughter, for many years. But that is to be spoken on later, later in your life when you finally meet your knight and your prince.
For your mother, she finally had the piece needed for her plan and during her pregnancy at the end of her term when her health had declined she ingested the flower in a tea. Now with the flowers power coursing through her veins to her baby, all she had to do was wait. Wait and see if her plan was going to come to fruition.
Once her baby was born she waited. Patiently she waited for her daughters hair to grow. Long, healthy hair flowed from her daughters head and so she sung. She sung the same song that would grant her the flowers power and saw as her daughters hair glowed from root to tip, her plan had worked.
She brushed her fingers through her daughters hair and felt her skin tightening, her youth coming back to her and she knew then that she needed to do everything in her power to keep her daughter here. Far away from those who would abuse the flower's properties.
The woman kept the child locked in her small cottage, far away from any prying eyes and hidden past an alcove. You would have to go out of your way to find the cottage and with no one knowing that you were there, it would be nearly impossible to find you there.
This isn't to say she kept you from the world. She taught you many things! She taught you that people weren't to be trusted, that people had sharp teeth and that people would use you for your power. They would never see you as a person only as a conduit for the flower that gave you your power.
Then the years passed, you got older. You read all the books that she got you. Painted every inch and corner of the cottage that you lived in and finally you got a chance. One chance to leave. All it took was her leaving for three days and a knight passing through that you got your chance to live. To finally live a life past those walls of your cottage.
And you took it. Now you find yourself at a crossroads: expose yourself and the power you possess or run away, leave the tragedy to play out as it should and return back to your lonely life.
