#ch: c. stark

[snowneedsanap]

Feed a guppy, will ya miss?

The Merman's Cove // Poly!Mermay!141 x Afab!Human!Reader // Ch. 1

Tags // Reader is Afab with she/her pronouns, this is eventually a poly ending but starts with a Kyle/Johnny fic for the beginning, the boys are feral hunters, reader doesn't like fish, I don't care if it isn't MerMay anymore I want Mermen, Reader is human interacting with feral beasts of the deep, protective mermen, biting, marking, clawing, Reader def has daddy issues, will later build on once I get to writing ok loves<3

A/N // possibly smut? i am still a baby writer you guys. I don't know, this is hopefully my first longer fic and it catches on b/c I'm going through a mermaid phase.

Buying or really stealing a bucket of mackerel from your father's fishing boat was a daily habit since you remembered, since he would take you to the cove where the sea otters stayed. Their chirps and squeaks, clawing and pawing to the slippery and small fish was the only tolerating part of handling fish. Ever since living on a port city that thrived off of it's fishing exports, you could never quite enjoy the delicacy the locals enjoyed. The texture, the olfaction, the taste, you could never get over. No matter if it was grilled, baked, stuffed, raw, or cooked, any sort of fish could never be to your liking.

So, imagine to your father's surprise, as an owner of his own fishing company, when his own daughter doesn't enjoy the food he catches and how he smelled at the end of the day coming back from sea. When you were younger, he would shower right as he got home to then prepare chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese right when you came home from elementary school. But as you grew and he spent more time out at sea to pay for your primary education, he would never even have the chance to see you nor even have you smell him to know that he was home.

When things hardened and after you graduated from primary, you decided to help his business by working in his store, no where of the sea and their smells and harm, and surely you kept it that way. But today, and with most days, it was raining. The small Irish island was notorious of their rough seas and torrential rain, but today was a light drizzle. With said light drizzle, and the fact that the island was home less to 400 people, all spaced out too, no one was out. Grabbing a bucket from yesterdays catch of mackerel, you sought out to the comforting cove with the smelling fish bucket to the even more smelly cavern with the salty sea otters. Making sure to watch your step, your slowly made your way to the watery and rocky seats you've known. Throwing a slippery mackerel in to attract them, despite them not already being here was offsetting, you threw one it and it plunked right in. Within a blur and not breaking the surface, a whir of black and deep green snatched the dead fish. Immediately knocking the bucket back and leaning down over the rock's edge to get a quick glimpse, of what you've thought could've been a tuna, but definitely was not the coloring, you peered down into the dark waters. Unbeknownst to you, a pair of bright blue, starking humanoid eyes were staring right back.

As you stared into the murky waters, wondering what sort of fish could possibly be larger than the size of a shark but also not break the surface tension.

A splash of cold water broke your attention, making you take a step back and wipe the nasty salty sea water off of your face. You blink a few times to make sure nothing is in your eyes, you look back to the waters to see a head with green iridescent scales aligning the scalp, pointed high with one large fin down the middle. It's hair was, odd, the sides were shaven and had given it the appearance of a mohawk. It's eyes pierce to yours, a glare sending a shiver down your spine.

It was humanoid. No, it was a merfolk. The one your father always warned your about, whenever he would tell you stories out at sea, where he would see half fish half women, but you would always laugh and call him delirious, tell him to take his vitamin c pills so he doesn't get 'scurvy' like a real pirate.' What a joke.

What a joke you seriously thought when this merfolk stared you down. You felt choked, bewildered, and creeped out to find out that your father's stories were somewhat, factually true. Barely moving a muscle, the merfolk dives back in. In a flash, the same shadow you saw snatched the dead mackerel swam by. Then, it's head popped back up, closer. It eyed the metal bucket by your side, where it's dumped contents laid out by your side. Without words but understanding, you threw another fish. The merfolk jumped out and caught it with it's razor teeth, almost full body propelling itself up. Toned with white scars that had never healed properly, a strapped leather weapon to, to his chest, you realized. It was a merman.

Wanting to know more about this merman despite your father's previous warnings, you threw in more mackerel. It went back in for more, swiping each one. Peering down over the edge, his head moved back up. Then he swam closer to get a closer look too it seemed, to where you saw a large fish hook in the corner of his right gills. They pulsate from the lack of water but also the pain from the metal imbedded into the flesh. Frowning, but also having experience with unhooking and releasing, so you motion for him to move closer to hopefully remove it without anymore pain.

Begrudgingly, he swims forward. Swiftly without another blink, the hook is removed without anymore harm to the flesh. Smiling, you throw the rest of the fish to him. He stares at you, shocked as you removed the hook effortlessly. His siren eyes stare a while before you catch on, where you then realize you have befriended a fear of your father's.

Chapter 1 || Next Chapter ->

[peachyjinx]

LYHOM: Ch 1: The Menace

Summary: Now that summer is coming to an end, Loki returns to campus in preparation for the new school year. Charlotte meets Professor Laufeyson for the first time. W/C 6k

Warnings: TW for anyone who's been in the weeds working in a restaurant 😂

Masterlist / Ao3

Five Years Ago.

Loki stared out of the window of Stark tower as rain pelted and dripped down the sides of the glass building. Not twenty four hours ago, his silhouette had dominated the skyline, a commander before his chitauri legion, every muscle coiled with purpose and determination. Determination to make Thor suffer. Determination to conquer and rule. This planet was to be his kingdom. Now it would be his prison.

Yes, his fate could’ve been worse, but that didn’t stop the dread inside. The resentment that had simmered about Thor, that unshakable conviction of superiority over the mortals of Earth, now seemed like the remnants of a dream. His mind drifted in a haze of internal conflict, the sharp edges dulled by shame and the sting of powerlessness. The magic that had been an extension of his very essence was now gone; it left him exposed, raw in a way that pained him more than his physical wounds.

Loki could feel the cold emanating from Thor’s posture in the chair across from him. His brother’s presence was like a statue- immovable, severe- a stark contrast to the warmth that usually radiated from the God of Thunder. Not that it wasn’t warranted– Loki had just yesterday killed a dear friend of Thor’s and the Avengers, plus countless other civilians. 

“The Avengers and SHIELD want you to stay on the Eastern seaboard, so that they can easily keep an eye on you,” Thor’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and cool.

“Great, I’m homeless on this godforsaken planet and I will be under surveillance by those who could never understand our ways,” Loki muttered to himself in a bitter tone, sighing as his eyes focused on nothing in the grey skies out the window. 

“You know that Father was lenient. It’s only because of Mother that you were given this sentence, and not death,” he said, his tone more patronizing than Loki had ever heard it.

“And what of Thanos? Odin said nothing to the truths I laid out for him!,” Loki spat.

“Father will do what needs to be done. But you cannot deny your place in this scheme. What you have done. The lives you have taken in vain!,” Thor’s voice raised, echoing in the modern room. 

Loki didn’t respond, he was done discussing this again with his family. Instead, he sat with the weight of the situation he had found himself in. That he had put himself in. He could almost taste the tang of his own pride as it fought against this imposed humility.

Thor shifted in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath his large build. He remained silent, the lines of his face taut with unresolved tension. The space between them was filled with the weight of yesterday’s tragedy, the lives lost lingering like specters in the air.

“Now we just have to find out what kind of Earth job suits you, and that Father would approve of,” he began, his voice echoing Odin’s edicts. “‘You must put in the work, help the Midgardians. And prove to them that we are not savages who have no regard for life on other realms.’”

The words hung between them, a gauntlet thrown at Loki’s feet. To labor among these mortals, to be judged by their standards and confined within their borders– this was his penance. 

“How could you make amends to the people of Midgard? Through the arts? Hmm…an actor? You are dramatic and love to lie. You could probably make a fortune doing that if you wanted,” his voice dripped with irritation as his eyes bore into Loki.

Loki let out an almost inaudible snort and rolled his eyes while he continued to try to ignore Thor’s anger. He had thought the lowest point in his life was his falling from the rainbow bridge. But this was more public– a loss for all of Earth to witness. The humans saw him as a monster, a being woven from darkness and chaos here to destroy their world- just as the Frost Giants of his bedtime stories. Maybe the accusations of his heritage were right. 

And yet, Thor was still helping him. A small pang of guilt surfaced– remorse for the lives lost, dreams shattered. Yes, they were mere mortals, but he had seen their courage, their capacity for love and sacrifice. In his heart, he knew what he had done was wrong. Even if there had been coercion, and magical forces, he had still committed atrocities. 

“Perhaps there is some way to channel this penchant for knowledge you possess. You do love to read books…what about a librarian?,” Thor suggested to Loki, his annoyance growing at Loki’s refusal to participate. 

Loki’s gaze snapped back to Thor, a flicker of irritation crossing his features, agitating the cuts on his face that mirrored his injured ego. “A librarian?,” he echoed, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. “You suggest I spend my days shuffling parchments and hushing children?”.

“An annoyance, I know,” Thor replied, the corners of his mouth threatening to curl into a smile. “But it would be an environment suited to your talents. And it may serve as penance of sorts.”

 “And how exactly will that ‘improve our relations with the people of Earth’?” he drawled, the imitation of Odin so spot-on it bordered on mockery.

Thor’s patience, hanging by a thread, finally snapped. He stood abruptly, the chair beneath him screeching in protest against the polished floor. Loki felt himself jump slightly, surprised at Thor’s sudden movement.

“Loki, you best try harder,” Thor barked, his tone sharp. “As I’m doing all of the work and I am sick of the sight of you. You need to help me find the answer so we can end this.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken truths and the shadow of deeds that could not be undone. Loki felt the sting of Thor’s words deeper than he cared to admit. He truly was in a dark place, and his brother was ready to be rid of him. The pang hit unexpectedly, a sharp twinge that resonated somewhere deep within him– a place he rarely dared to explore. It was more than the sting of humiliation; it was a profound sense of loss.

“Thor,” he began, voice softer than he intended, “I know my actions have caused you pain.” The admission cost him, his pride chafing against the humility of the words.

Thor’s eyes snapped to him, searching, perhaps for a glimmer of the brother he once knew. Loki held that gaze, offering a silent pledge to try– he couldn’t erase all he’d done, but he could do this for him– help Thor with this decision. 

“Let us consider this... fate,” Loki replied sullenly.

“Very well. A healer? Or a Doctor, as they’re called on Earth,” Thor suggested, his voice infused with a forced optimism that clashed with the tension that gripped the room.

“What, and work with humans when they are their most disgusting? No thank you,” Loki replied, folding his arms over his chest. Thor ignored Loki’s response, and walked over to a bookcase, running his thick fingers over the binds.

“I’ve got it! A teacher!,” he exclaimed, the words tumbling out like a revelation as he turned around to look at Loki, a proud smile starting to form on his lips. 

Loki’s eyes met Thor’s in a glare, “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, you’d be perfect! You could teach humans about Asgard!” His voice carried a note of excitement.

“And since you won’t have your magic, you’ll be relatively…harmless,” Thor’s brow furrowed as he drifted off in thought for a moment, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. 

“I do not think I am the person to be teaching children,” Loki commented dryly. 

“No, not children– they study as adults here, as well. Think about it– you’re fulfilling Father’s order to give back. And you’re so knowledgeable. Plus you could hold court and be the center of the room’s attention– you’d love that!,” a sad smile pulled at the corner of his mouth wistfully. 

With a heavy sigh, Loki turned his gaze back to the window, where droplets of rain raced each other down the pane. Loki thought about this proposal, it was the best idea Thor had had. Loki couldn’t be bothered thinking about taking a Midgardian job– they all seemed terrible. But maybe this was the best option. He didn’t want to spend an extra minute here in this tower, in this city. He needed out. 

“Great,” Loki muttered under his breath, “a pedagogue to these Midgardians.” He could already picture their puzzled faces as he unraveled the threads of ancient lore. Despite his frustration with his brother’s suggestion, a part of Loki couldn’t help but appreciate the poetic irony of it all. 

Thor, however, seemed deflated, the lines of frustration etched upon his brow as he slumped back onto his chair, “Well, brother, I have tried. I don’t know what else to do, other than having SHIELD pick a job for you. And you probably would not like whatever that would entail.”

“Okay,” Loki said quietly with resignation as he felt the metaphorical door click on his new jail cell. His voice carried the faintest trace of defeat- or was it acceptance?- as his reality narrowed to the confines of this Midgardian existence.

Loki didn’t need to turn to know Thor’s eyes were upon him, searching for signs of sincerity or perhaps the glimmer of rebellion. “Thank you,” Loki murmured, almost too soft to hear over the drumming rain. “For your... persistence.” His admission hung between them like a delicate truce.

“Of course,” Thor responded, his tone carrying a hint of surprise. “You are my brother.”

Loki nodded, wrestling with the discomfort of his own vulnerability as he continued to look into the rain clouds outside of the window. 

Now.

The slight breeze pulled the recently fallen leaves across the dark pavement of the parking lot with a skitter. It was a cool day for August– a promise of what was to come in the New England fall. Charlotte sighed contentedly as she looked at the apron thrown in a haphazard pile in her passenger seat. 

Today marked her third shift at The Mudd Puddle, the quaint coffee shop that had quickly taken a spot in her routine. Nestled near the heart of the university, it was a sanctuary for over-caffeinated students and sleep-deprived professors alike. 

Charlotte had arrived early for her shift and lingered in the sanctuary of her car. With the windows down, she let the sounds of distant chatter and the rustling of trees fill the space around her, a white noise backdrop to her wandering thoughts. For a few moments, her mind drifted to the recent months that had led up to her sitting in this car, in this parking lot, far away from home. All of the studying, all of the hard work– it brought her here, to this moment.

While she could’ve taken a gap year after she graduated with her bachelor’s, or entered the workplace, she had decided to start her masters program immediately. She’d be the youngest in the program, a fact that filled her with a mix of pride and trepidation. But this was her dream, crystallizing into reality at this very university. This anthropology program was one of the best in the country, and there was also an added bonus: Asgardian History and Culture with Professor Laufeyson.

In fact, his class was the reason she was here. Her mind danced through a montage of moments spent hunched over her laptop, replaying the few interviews Loki Laufeyson had given. His voice, filtered through speakers, had been a siren call to her hunger for knowledge. 

Before she had arrived, Charlotte had envisioned the upcoming lectures– the gateways to worlds very few humans knew about. Loki Laufeyson, the handsome former God of Mischief turned professor, would be her guide through the tapestries of alien traditions and ancient stories. The very thought sent shivers down her spine.

Everything she had idealized for the former god as her teacher had come crashing down when her new boss, Kate, told her about how he really was. The reality being: Professor Laufeyson was a dick. And he was a repeat customer at the place she had coincidentally gotten a job at. 

“So, you know “Professor” Laufeyson, right? The asshole who invaded New York and the Avengers had to stop?,”  Kate had asked on Charlotte’s first day at The Mudd Puddle. Charlotte nodded, recalling how her heart skipped a beat at the mention of the name that had been echoing through her mind for months.

“Macchiatos are his thing, but he’s super particular,” Kate had continued, her brows knitting together in annoyance. “We called him the ‘macchiato menace’, and now he’s just the ‘menace’. He made one barista quit when he went off on her a couple of years ago.”

Charlotte remembered the shock that had bolted through her— the juxtaposition of her excitement over the lectures she yearned to attend and this unexpected revelation of his cruel nature.

“Really?” she had managed to say, trying to keep her voice light despite the unease coiling in her stomach. 

“Yeah, but don’t worry too much. Just...be precise with his drinks, okay?,” Kate nodded reassuringly. 

“Got it,” Charlotte had replied, more to herself than to Kate, not ready to tell her she would be in his class in a few weeks.

Now, sitting alone with the echo of that conversation playing in her mind, she refused to get worried over something that hadn’t happened yet. Who knows, maybe he would be nice to her? 

Charlotte was thankful that at the very least she had decent people to work with.  Her co-workers had been mostly friendly, and she had been enjoying the training with the owner of the shop, Kate. Kate was an amazing barista, and had even competed and won awards in her field. She was also a great boss, who was reasonable and level headed– something you didn’t always get in the restaurant industry. 

An alarm went off on her phone, signaling to her it was time to head into the coffee shop. With a smile on her face, Charlotte pulled her chestnut colored hair into a ponytail and grabbed her apron, making her way inside. As she entered the small cafe, she was surprised to see how busy it was as she pushed past the crowd. Kate greeted her with a relieved face, “Boy am I glad to see you! Che called off, so it’s just you and me until relief comes at noon!”.

“Alright, let’s do this!,” Charlotte replied, her tone cheerful and determined despite the rush. She tied her apron strings with nimble fingers and joined Kate, ready to tackle the wave of customers.

This shift had been particularly difficult, and nothing like her first weeks here. While Charlotte tackled the register, the crowd got busier and ruder. It was back to school season, and the bustling crowd had become impatient this morning. A forced smile had quickly plastered on her face as she treated each customer like they were her favorite just as Kate had taught her. An hour flew by in what felt like minutes. 

Charlotte’s fingers danced across the register keys with a deftness while the coffee shop buzzed, each customer’s voice stacking atop another in a cacophony of demands. The queue snaked out the door, a relentless stream feeding people into the cramped space. Yet, somewhere amidst the bustle, Charlotte managed a smile and found solace in the rhythm; take an order, give a muffin, smile, repeat.

“Hey, Char, can you grab another box of chai tea bags from the back?,” Kate’s voice cut through the commotion, her tattooed arms flexing as she steamed milk with precision. 

“Got it, Kate,” Charlotte replied, darting to the storage room and back with a nimbleness that surprised even her. She was learning, adapting, and the curveballs thrown by the crowd were no longer daunting.

“Thank you! Have a great day!,” she chimed to another satisfied customer. Today’s shift would not defeat her.

The atmosphere subtly shifted, like the hush that falls over an audience before the curtains rise. A tall figure materialized at the back of the line, his presence alone a silent command for attention. Whispers began to weave through the throng of people. Younger students craned their necks, some daring to giggle and point as they turned on their heels to catch a glimpse of the newcomer.

Charlotte’s breath caught as he began to move, the crowd parting with reluctant awe. He strode forward with an air of entitlement and grace, bypassing the waiting patrons. She felt herself stiffen, the surprise etching itself across her expressive features as  Professor Laufeyson approached, cutting through the line to stand before her.

“Excuse me! There’s a line!” someone called out, their protest feeble against his confident advance. The professor ignored it.

Charlotte found herself tempering her expectations about Professor Laufeyson as he stepped up towards the counter, towering over her in a finely tailored black suit and a placid look on his face. Should she tell him she’ll be seeing him next week? That she couldn’t wait to start his class? No, that’d be a weird thing to do. It’d be better to act like she doesn’t know who he is.

She couldn’t believe how handsome he was in real life. Like, stunningly so. She was not prepared for that. Sunlight from the window caught the angles of his face, casting light and shadow over the high plains of his cheekbones. His hair, the color of a raven’s wing, was pulled behind his ears; shorter than she’d seen it before. It suited him. The sexy curls of his hair framed his jawline, and danced above the lapel of his suit, which hugged his form with the precision only bespoke tailoring could afford. His appearance in the humdrum coffee shop seemed out of place. 

“Good morning,” her cheerful voice clung to the professionalism that had served her well throughout the morning rush.

Keep it together, she mentally chastised herself for the nervous flutter in her stomach. Her fingers betrayed her composure with a slight tremble, an involuntary reaction to the man who now demanded her attention.

“Good morning,” Professor Laufeyson gently smiled, his blue eyes nearly sparkling. 

“What can I get you?,” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“I’d like a macchiato, please,” he calmly requested, his eyes holding hers for a fraction longer than necessary.

She replied, “Sure thing!,” and put in his order, trying to focus on acting like this was no big deal. He paid in silence, his attention turning towards the crowd behind him with a smile. With the transaction complete, Professor Laufeyson acknowledged Charlotte with a nod and then turned and strolled towards the serving area where his order would soon appear.

That wasn’t so bad. He seemed to be in a good mood. 

Charlotte watched him go, admiring the confident set of his shoulders, the effortless way he navigated the bustling space. As he disappeared from her line of sight, Charlotte exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her pulse still raced, but she found solace in the small victory of having handled their interaction with outward poise. 

“Excuse me, hello?,” a voice jolted her back to the present, and she turned to face the new wave of customers.

“Good morning!,” Her self assuredness returned in full force as she greeted the fresh-faced group before her– a gaggle of freshmen flanked by their equally eager parents. They crowded around the counter, bright-eyed and buzzing.The order was very complicated, and she struggled to take everything right. Double shots, extra shots, no foams, the ticket for the 6 drinks was ridiculous. 

Charlotte’s hands hovered over the register, her fingers fumbling as she tried to focus on the screen in front of her. Her concentration was tested by the crowd’s discussion of Professor Laufeyson, who stood casually at the pickup counter,  reading his phone. 

“Isn’t that Thor’s brother?,” someone murmured, a ripple of excitement passing through the crowd.

“Looks way younger than I thought,” another voice joined in, edged with a mix of surprise and admiration.

“I can’t believe the school lets a terrorist teach a class,” an older man gruffly commented.

“Well, if the Avengers approved it, I’m sure it’s fine. He’s been teaching here for years, and nothing’s happened,” a father in the group contributed with self assured authority. 

Charlotte hit the wrong button, then another, and with a sigh, deleted the drink from the order for the third time. She could feel her cheeks flush warmly with a blend of embarrassment and frustration.

“Sorry,” she mumbled more to herself more than anyone else, re-entering the details yet again. She could feel the impatience growing in the line as she nodded thanks, looking towards the next in line.

The next order was also a group– more complicated requests, and it took Charlotte three tries to ring them up correctly. Doesn’t anyone just order regular coffee anymore??, she thought to herself. 

Kate, usually easy going, was now a portrait of strained patience, her arms moving in a blur as she crafted drinks as quickly as possible. “Damn it,” Kate exhaled, the sound barely audible over the grind of coffee beans and the hiss of steam wands. Charlotte glanced at the clock: thirty minutes before help was to arrive. 

They were officially in the weeds, and Charlotte was still new, so she didn’t know how to help Kate make the orders she had just taken. 

Three teenagers walked up, one of them with Instagram open and a picture of a coffee drink. She knew they were about to order some random concoction that had become viral. Just what she and Kate needed. 

Panic started to creep in, as the front door bell went off again, and Charlotte saw the line now going out the front door. She felt her chest tighten as she tried to concentrate on the customers, and ignore the eyerolls in the back of the line. 

“Can you add an extra shot to that latte?,” asked an annoyed man in a crumpled suit, phone wedged between shoulder and ear.

CRASH. Charlotte jumped as her head turned towards the sound of the calamity, and saw Kate had dropped a mug on the floor, sending porcelain shattering everywhere. The crowd quieted for a moment. Charlotte told the next couple in line to hold on a moment as she checked on the mess.

She took the brief moment to take a deep breath as she walked over to Kate. “Is there anything I can help you with?,” she asked hopefully, while Kate pulled blonde strands of hair behind her ear and reached for the broom and began to sweep up her mess. 

“Keep the line moving, Char. I’ve got this,” she reassured her. 

“Ummm excuse me- I ordered oat milk- this tastes like regular milk,” a young teenage boy no older than thirteen claimed with a condescending tone to Kate from the pick up counter.

Charlotte wanted to reach over the counter and smack him– she knew Kate wouldn’t have made a mistake like that. This morning was getting more intense by the minute, and the last thing she wanted to deal with was assholes. As the boy tapped his foot impatiently, a surge of protectiveness washed over Charlotte. Her cheerful facade wavered, the edges of her smile hardening into something less inviting.

“Oh, it’s oat milk,” Kate replied with a sickeningly sweet tone as she bent over and picked up the big shards on the floor, not looking at him.

“Shit!,” she muttered under her breath as she stood up to look at Charlotte. 

Charlotte saw the red seeping out of Kate’s finger, a cut from a piece of porcelain. Kate dumped the last of the mess into the trash, and shot Charlotte a “Can you fucking believe this??” look. She wrapped her cut finger in a paper towel.

“Can you just redo it? It tastes funny,” the teen replied to anyone who would listen, rolling his eyes. 

“Of course, dear, I just need to go clean myself up first,” Kate walked up to Charlotte, lowering her voice. 

“I’m going to tell the people at the register it’s going to be a few minutes, and try to calm them down before they start flipping their shit. Can you make that little asshole’s cappuccino? Oat milk,” she sarcastically saluted Charlotte. 

“Uh– yea, I can try,” Charlotte nodded, heading to the cappuccino machine.

Out of her periphery, she saw Professor Laufeyson walk up to the counter, standing next to the teenage boy. She shook her head, dreading what could possibly happen next. 

Charlotte completed the drink and delivered the coffee to the teen, “OAT. MILK.,” she enunciated, forcing a smile as much as she could, but she was sure appeared more like a sneer.

Then came the voice, deep and unamused, slicing through the coffee shop chatter like a blade, “This macchiato is not up to acceptable standards.”

Charlotte looked to her new teacher and saw a look of disapproval on his perfect face and tried to bring herself to smile at him, but she wasn’t sure if she was pulling it off. 

“Yea we’ll get to it in a minute, the line’s backed up, and–”, Charlotte tried to placate him while internally she felt like she might snap. This shift had been too much, and dealing with “The Menace” was the last thing she wanted. Her fascination with him from his arrival quickly vanished, and annoyance began to set in. 

“I do not have time. You will remake mine now, as I was here first.” His tone grew more stern, and his brows furrowed.

“Yes, sir, I get it, but we’re understaffed and I’m new. We’re trying.” She tried to hide her irritated tone unsuccessfully as she looked around at the chaos unfolding in the entryway. She could feel heat rising in her cheeks, the frustration and embarrassment of not being able to do her job getting to her. She hated feeling like this. 

“Trying? Well that’s not good enough, is it?,” he shot back at her, setting his cup down on the counter with emphasis. 

If there was one thing that really bothered her, it was treating service workers like shit. Charlotte’s heart pounded a furious rhythm. His words were a slap to her pride, a dismissal of her efforts. She felt herself snap.

“Look- I don’t know how to make one,” she could feel her blood pressure rise with anger as her voice raised and she met his steely blue eyes with a glare, the professor’s haughty attitude getting under her skin. 

“Hey- are we going to get some help down here??,” a man at the register yelled down to Charlotte. She looked back over to see the line of customers looking mad, some throwing their arms up in the air.  

“You’re just going to have to wait, like everyone else,” Charlotte said to her professor, venom appearing in her tone more than she had planned as she gestured to the situation unraveling around them. 

“Excuse me?? Do you know who I am?,” Loki’s eyes narrowed as he stared down at the small woman, stepping closer. 

“Yes I do, and like I said, I literally don’t know how to make your damn drink, so you’re just going to have to wait!!,” her raised voice cutting through the air, sharp and reckless, as her hands curled into fists at her sides. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, a battle drum urging her on.

Professor Laufeyson’s face was a canvas of barely restrained fury, his eyes darkening like storm clouds over an ocean. His stature loomed, a tower of indignation. Charlotte could feel every eye upon them, and her chest tightened with a cocktail of rage and mortification as she tried to ignore it.

The look in his eyes grew meaner. “You’re incredibly disrespectful for someone who can’t even make a simple coffee at her coffee shop job!” Professor Laufeyson snapped, his voice now threatening. 

Is this the part where I'm supposed to cower? Fuck that!

The corners of her mind whispered defiance, but aloud, nothing came– only the sound of her own breath, ragged and quick.

“Heeyyyy….,” Kate’s melodious voice interrupted the tension between them as she quickly sidled up to Charlotte.

“Finally, someone competent. You will re-make my macchiato, and this time, you will be less heavy handed with the milk,” he demanded, his focus shifting to Kate. 

“Absolutely, Professor. I’ll get on that right now,” Kate’s hand gently pressed against Charlotte’s back, pushing her away from impending disaster.

“Girl, what are you doing? He’s not the one to mess with,” she whispered as she ushered Charlotte away from Laufeyson. 

Charlotte turned quickly, plastering on a sweet smile again for the irritated man at the register. She could feel her hand shaking as she rang him up, her mind racing about what had just transpired. Even though this customer was also an asshole, he only annoyed her. Professor Laufeyson’s attitude and entitlement genuinely made her want to fight. 

As her Professor, finally satisfied, left the cafe without a look in her direction, Charlotte knew one thing for certain: she was not looking forward to class with him next week. 

Loki, irritated about the incident at the coffee shop, loudly slammed the door to his office. The insolence. He shook his head as he thought about the young woman who dared to give him attitude. He couldn’t believe the audacity of such a simple human brashly arguing with him like that in the coffee shop he had been frequenting since he’d moved here. Loki huffed, trying to push her out of his mind as he sank into the large brown chesterfield couch in his office. 

He sat quietly for a moment, refocusing his attention on his surroundings. Naturally, he had been able to get himself the best office on campus. After thousands of years, humans were still easily manipulated into giving him what he wanted. His office was tucked away in the library building, where it was quiet. It was also huge, with large windows overlooking the south quad. Loki hated to admit that the view was gorgeous, and that he had started to get attached to this space. This had become his sanctuary when he was on campus. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as his head rested on the back of the couch. 

Five years down. They had been the longest in his life. And he still had no idea how much longer he’d be here. Twenty years? Fifty years? While the time should go quickly for the former god, the days were feeling longer, and a sense of restlessness had taken hold of him. 

He would’ve preferred jail to this. He could just sit and read. Instead, he was made to get a job. Like a peasant. Odin knew exactly what he was doing when he delivered this punishment.

On top of the mundane life that Loki now led, he felt bound up not being able to use his magic. It was as if someone had tied his arms behind his back– the feeling of the phantoms of magic tingling his fingertips, never to truly form. Yes, he still knew his spells. He still had the innate knowledge of a divine magic user– but Odin had stripped him of the ability to use it. It was as useless to him as it was to mortals. 

A new fear had begun to creep into the back of his mind over the past few months– that he would never have his magic returned. That he may remain mortal forever. That fear was the worst that plagued Loki, and he pushed it away to the farthest reaches of his mind, locked tight in a box he tried to ignore. 

His dreams of late had taken him to previous battles, or chaotic cosmic events where he was able to truly be himself. But the reality of his life now was that there was no excitement, no thrills that satisfied him. 

He had tried to fill this void when he first arrived by partying and fucking nearly half the city. Debauchery had been a great distraction, but that enthusiasm waned over time. Then he started joining dojos and trying to get accepted into local weapons clubs. He was quickly kicked out of all of them– mortal men do not like being shown up by a 1200 year old former god. And Loki wasn’t challenged, it was just too easy. He briefly missed Thor– he was a formidable opponent to spar with. 

Whenever Thor was on Earth, he would text Loki, reaching out to check in. Loki ignored those texts. It was bad enough that the Avengers would sometimes send someone to check in on him, showing up nonchalantly and disrupting his class. It was a reminder that he was in prison, and they were his jailors. Loki sneered a look of disgust thinking about their patronizing attitude. Everyone– Thor, the Avengers, SHIELD– was waiting to see him fuck up. Make one mistake, then he’s done. Odin would have no qualms with bringing Loki’s life to an unceremonious end. 

But Loki had stayed here this long, and one day, he’ll be out of here. He just needed to ignore this new, clawing feeling of agitation that had begun to grow in the last couple of months. 

Loki had also changed a small amount since he had been banished here, and he knew it. Softened. He had even begun to enjoy some of the student’s conversations last year. So maybe the growing feeling of unease was because he knew he was changing? Or was it the mischief– calling to him, urging him to cause disruption again? He had walked the straight and narrow for years…it was exhausting fighting against his own nature constantly. And boring. 

He hummed thoughtfully to himself as he relaxed in the warm yellow glow of the room, picking up the class roster and reviewing the list of names. Twenty five students, full class again. At least half of them would be gone by the end of the semester. They normally started off the year excited, asking him a bunch of inane questions in the beginning (this year he was going to start the first class with an FAQ to get those out of the way). 

But once they saw how rigorous the class was, and learned about Loki’s high standards, most dropped the class. Last year he was lucky to have a few very enthusiastic students who seemed genuinely interested in Asgard. It was often a mix of students who just wanted to brag about being there, those who were trying to fuck him (or trying to fuck Thor somehow), or lazy students who were taking the class because their parents made them. 

Loki stood and walked over to his record player, pulling out a favorite recording of Caprices of Paginini, and put it on, sighing. He stepped over to his large mahogany desk and opened his laptop for the first time since school had let out in May. 

He had spent the summer as he did every year on Midgard– exploring the far reaches of the planet. He figured that if he was stuck here, he may as well approach this realm with scholarly zeal. The planet had pleasantly surprised him in its range of biomes, cultures, sights, and foods. Somewhere along the line, Loki began to appreciate parts of living on Earth. He wouldn’t dare say it out loud, but there were some things he truly enjoyed that humans had produced. 

He spent a few minutes reviewing his emails, nothing of much importance that he had to respond to. They wanted him to do another speaker night, of course. That was a big donor night. And the librarian, Ms. Warren, who had a very obvious crush on him, informed him of the new literature they had stocked for the year. Nothing interesting there.

Loki unceremoniously closed the computer, bored with its contents. His thoughts drifted again to the young woman in the coffee shop, spitting attitude and disrespect towards him. He felt his irritation building back in his chest. She was a nobody, and she dared to speak to him like that. Why did it bother him so much?

-> Chapter 2

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⋆˚࿔ 【 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞‼ - Ch.11 - 13】 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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The cafeteria hall hummed with silence. Long, heavy wooden tables dominated the space, stretching from one end of the grand room to the other, their surfaces polished smooth by years of use. Benches, equally sturdy, lined either side, inviting weary students to rest.

A large stone fireplace, almost gothic in its design, dominated one wall. The sound of boots echoed against the checkered floor of deep purples and muted greens, a stark contrast to the rough-hewn stone walls that rose high above.

Ornate candelabras stood sentinel at regular intervals, their flickering flames adding to the already warm glow of the numerous hanging lanterns. The soft, diffuse light gave the hall an almost ethereal quality.

High, arched windows, framed by thick stone, reached towards the vaulted ceiling, allowing only muted sunlight to filter through the cafeteria. [Name] sat down at an empty table, the weight of the day pressing down on her like a heavy cloak of stress and worry.

The quiet hum of the cafeteria offered a strange solace, a temporary respite from the storm raging inside her. Not only had she dealt with Ace, but she had also spent the entire day trying to clean the statues, unable to attend any of her classes due to a certain cat throwing a fit the entire time. Even Nevermore was more patient with her when it came to taking baths She let out a shaky breath, the warmth of the room a small comfort against the chill of her anxiety. The rhythmic tapping of cutlery on wooden surfaces, a familiar sound, began to calm her frazzled nerves—until a whiny voice snapped her out of it. "I can't believe we still gotta watch that stupid Ace guy wash a hundred windows!" Grim complained.

[Name] sighed, watching as Grim plopped onto her thigh, grumbling while she stroked his gray fur. "Grim, just because you're a mattress pea doesn't mean you have to be impatient, okay? Let's just wait a bit." Grim huffed, rolling around on her lap before pausing and looking up at her. She raised a curious brow at the cat's sudden stillness. "What's a mattress pea?"

[Name] paused, then smiled softly. "A term of expression from where I'm from. It's common… it's like saying, uh, couch potato." Grim blinked before getting up and pointing a paw aggressively at [Name]'s face. "I ain't no couch mattress pea!" A warm, sweet laugh escaped her lips as she stared down at Grim, nodding. "You tell yourself that."

A huff came from the gray cat as the duo continued to wait for Ace. Silence settled between them before Grim let out an annoyed meowl, his paws clinging to her clothes. "What's buggin' me is—Ace ain't even here yet! To make us wait after what he did… Grrr!" The two paused for a moment before Grim growled. "And now he's super late! I bet he up and bailed on us!"

Grim jumped off the table, his hind legs hitting the floor, then turned to the h/c-nette. "We should look for him! Ain't no way am I doin' his punishment for him!" The gray beast stomped off, with [Name] following behind, sighing softly. Her lips twitched upward slightly as they passed through the large wooden doors.

"C'mon, [Name], I don't care if we gotta drag him kickin' and screamin he's washin' those windows! While I laugh." A chuckle escaped her as she complied, the two heading down the hallway.

Grim pressed his paws against a dark oak door, its curved golden handles gleaming under the soft light. A golden sign above read "Classroom 1A." With a determined push, the door creaked open, and [Name] stepped inside, following closely behind her feline companion. Her e/c eyes swept across the room, its familiar design reminiscent of her own school. Grim, however, was far more focused on his search.

"Hey! Ace! Get over here! Try to hide from me, will ya?!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the wooden walls. After a moment, his ears twitched, and he huffed. "Huh... Maybe there's really no one here?" A soft hum escaped [Name]’s purple-shaded lips as she glanced around. The room was simple yet carried an air of familiarity. A sturdy desk stood at the back, books stacked neatly on either front corner. Behind it, a large blackboard dominated the wall, with a bookshelf filled with various tomes nestled beside it. Wooden counters lined either side of the room, arranged in two rows with space between them, one row slightly lower than the other.

Grim stood idly between her legs, his tail flicking impatiently before a voice suddenly rang out. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. I'm here." With a startled yelp, Grim scrambled up onto [Name]’s shoulder, his claws digging into her jacket. "Bwaaah! That painting just talked!"

[Name] flinched at his sudden movement before turning her gaze to the portrait in question. She blinked once, then deadpanned at Grim’s exaggerated reaction. The painting, despite being a flat 2D image, continued speaking with ease. Intrigued, [Name] leaned in slightly. "Yes, and...? Is a talking painting really such an oddity at this school? The lady in that portrait speaks too, as does the gentleman over there. As long as a painting has a mouth, why wouldn't it be able to talk? Is that really so strange?"

She tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk on her lips. "Where I'm from, talking paintings aren't exactly common. It's... peculiar, I suppose." The painted figure grumbled but seemed to concede. "Well, your 'usual' and my 'usual' clearly differ. Shall we agree to disagree on the matter?"

[Name] hummed in amusement before a thought struck her. "Sorry for the sudden question, but were you with those ghosts from yesterday?" The portrait let out a contemplative hum. "Unlike those restless spirits, always wandering hither and thither, I have been contentedly hanging on this wall for over fifty years. But you..." The painting's painted eyes seemed to study her. "You seem to be searching for someone."

Grim, ears perking up, nodded enthusiastically. "We're lookin’ for this guy called Ace. Messy hair, heart drawn on his face. You seen him?" The painting blinked, considering. "Ah, I know the one. A new student, if I recall correctly? Today was his first day. I believe he returned to his dorm a while ago."

[Name]’s eyes lit up, and she grinned. "Hexcellent! Thank you so much!" Grim, however, was less pleased. "Myaaah! So it's true! He's tryin’ to ditch us!" His tail bristled with annoyance before he turned back to the portrait. "Do ya know which way he went?" The painted figure offered a small smile. "The door to the dorms is in the eastern building." "Let's chase after him!" Grim cried, already dashing out of the classroom. [Name] nodded in thanks, gripping the oak door to follow only to pause when the portrait called out once more.

"Hold on for a moment..." The voice from the portrait was softer now, almost reverent, yet something in its tone sent an unnatural stillness through the air. "[Name], I apologize for not bowing earlier. I was simply... mesmerized. Your presence such beauty, such poise... you carry yourself with a grace that rivals even the statue of your mother."

A cold shiver trailed down [Name]’s spine. Her grip on the door faltered. The painted figure's eyes, flat and lifeless yet unsettlingly aware, seemed to bore into her. "I apologize," the voice continued, hushed and deliberate, as if speaking some forbidden truth. "I simply did not expect to see a child of Seven in all my years of being painted."

The room felt heavier, the air dense as silence stretched between them. Her fingers twitched against the wood, nails digging in ever so slightly. Her e/c eyes, dark with something unreadable, flickered toward the portrait.

"...What?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. The painting merely smiled, unblinking. "It is rare to see a child of Seven here. I am glad I had the privilege before any other painting did."

The way it spoke—slow, deliberate, knowing—made her stomach twist. She forced a breath, steadying herself, but the unease clung to her skin like a shadow how come the painting was staring at her in revolting disgust and fear as if she wasn't horrifying to look it, as if her mother wasn't someone that everybody feared which caused them to fear her...? "Now, do run along," the portrait continued. "You wouldn’t want to lose your furry companion. But should you ever wish to converse, I would be delighted to learn more about you." Her nails pressed lightly into the polished wood, though her expression remained calm. With a soft nod, she turned and stepped through the doorway, leaving the painted whispers behind her.

The dimly lit corridor stretched endlessly, the flickering lanterns casting long, distorted shadows against the polished floor. Ace strolled lazily down the pathway leading to the Hall of Mirrors, arms draped behind his head. A smirk tugged at his lips as he muttered under his breath, “Yeah, right. Like I’m actually gonna waste my time washing a hundred windows. I’ll just turn back and—” A thunderous voice shattered the eerie silence.

“AHA! GOTCHA, PUNK!”

Ace’s smirk vanished. His muscles tensed, heart hammering as his eyes snapped wide “Shit!” He bolted. The once leisurely steps became frantic strides, his breath coming in sharp gasps. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the source of his impending doom Grim, that fiery little menace, was in full pursuit.

“Stop right there, pal! No fair gettin’ a head start! Wait!” Grim’s voice echoed through the hall, his tiny paws pattering furiously against the stone floor. Ace scowled, legs burning as he picked up the pace. “Who in their right mind would wait?! Seeya!” Grim’s jaw hung open in disbelief before his expression twisted into determination. “No way are you gettin’ out of this! You think I WANNA WATCH YOU WASH WINDOWS?!”

Not far behind, [Name] struggled to keep up, her breath ragged, each footfall growing heavier. “Grim, I am not built for running when I haven't eaten!” she huffed, pressing a hand to her chest. The feline ignored her complaints, too consumed by the thrill of the chase.

Through the blur of moving figures and glowing lanterns, [Name]’s sharp gaze darted around,  calculating a way to bring Ace’s little escape to an abrupt halt. Her fingers twitched at her sides, a familiar warmth spreading through her palm. A pulse. A whisper of power coiling at her fingertips.

A thick mist of deep violet unfurled from her hand, swirling like liquid amethyst in the dim corridor light. It crackled, mystical energy twisting and curling before she thrust her arm forward.

The air rippled. A dazzling wave of shimmering purple magic burst forth, sweeping across the hallway like an oncoming storm. Ace barely had time to turn his head before it struck him, the sheer force sending him reeling. His feet stumbled his body tilted “Wha—?!” His cry was cut short as he toppled forward, limbs flailing. The violet energy crackled like static before dissipating, leaving him sprawled across the floor.

But before he could scramble back to his feet— “Anything?! Anything, huh… All right! Here goes anything! I summon thee… something heavy! CAULDRON!” A deep voice cut through the chaos.

From seemingly nowhere, a massive, cast-iron cauldron materialized above Ace’s prone form. The dim candlelight glinted off its smooth, dark surface as gravity took over.

A loud crashed echoed. The cauldron came down like a hammer of judgment, pinning Ace beneath its overwhelming weight. “Bwaaah?! What the—A POT?!” The hallway fell silent for a beat. Grim howled with laughter, his tiny body trembling with the force of his amusement. “Ah ha ha ha ha! Look, [Name]! LOOK! That Ace guy got crushed beneath a giant cauldron! It squashed him flat! Aha ha ha! That’s what you get!” He kicked a paw near Ace’s hair, utterly gleeful.

[Name] exhaled, still catching her breath, her fingers flexing as faint traces of purple energy crackled around them. She eyed Grim, before reaching down to ruffle his fur lightly. “Nice job.”

The boy who had conjured the cauldron blinked, his cyan-colored eyes wide in stunned disbelief. He clutched his small wand, still processing what he had just done. “A cauldron?! I wasn’t expecting that… I may have overdone it this time.” A groan of pain drifted from beneath the cauldron. “What are you bothering me for?” Ace grumbled, voice muffled. “You guys could’ve just washed the windows yourselves.”

[Name] placed her hands on her hips, her glare sharp. “You got punished for acting irrationally.” The blue-haired boy furrowed his brows, puzzled. “Wait—you have to wash a hundred windows as punishment? What the heck did you even do?”

Ace let out a drawn-out sigh. “I was just messing with that furball a little. ...Okay, and the statue of the Queen of Hearts got a teeny bit charred. Sue me.” [Name] crossed her arms. “And?” Ace groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes. “And I might’ve said N/N shouldn’t be here.”

The blue-haired boy’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “You damaged a statue of the Great Seven—wait, you actually insulted a girl without a good reason? What’s wrong with you?! No wonder the headmage lost it on you!”

Ace scoffed. “Oh, shut up. Who even are you?” The boy straightened, clearing his throat awkwardly. “My name is Deuce. Deuce Spade. Don’t you remember your own classmate?” Ace raised a brow. “You don’t remember my name either, do you?” Deuce stiffened. “That’s not the point! You shouldn’t try to ditch an order from the headmage! Or insult a woman! Ever!”

Ace groaned. “Yeah, yeah, message received…” He huffed, stretching his arms. “Fine, let’s bang out the windows already. Huh…?” His gaze flickered down the hall, expression shifting. A familiar gray-furred figure was darting away—fast. Ace pointed, panic rising. “The furball! He’s gone!”

Grim, the little rascal, was already bolting down the corridor on all fours, his fluffy tail swaying behind him. “Ah ha ha ha! I’ll let you two handle the rest! No way I’m watching someone clean windows! See ya, suckers!” Ace groaned, struggling to free himself from the cauldron. Deuce and [Name] quickly grabbed his arms, yanking him up just as he shot an enraged glare down the hall. “You caught me just so you could run away yourself?! Hey! You there! Uh… Juice?”

Deuce’s eye twitched. “My name isn’t Juice. It’s Deuce! With a D!” Ace, utterly dismissive, waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You’re involved now, so help us catch that little furball!” Deuce scowled, already running. “HOW is this my responsibility?!” Ace jabbed a finger toward [Name]. “Grim’s friend over here—” [Name] raised a questioning brow, lips twitching.

Ace sighed. “You know what? Let’s just go!” Without another word, the trio took off in a dead sprint after Grim. Deuce, surprisingly fast, quickly overtook them. [Name]’s voice rang out behind him, breathless yet unwavering. “GRIM, STOP!” The feline only grinned wider, tail flicking. 

The sound of crashing echoed throughout the cafeteria. Grim scampered wildly around the room, while [Name] desperately tried to grab the cat without using magic, fearing it might cause harm. Not only that, but Ace was in danger of getting hurt as well.

Ace lunged at the feline, frustration evident in his voice. "Argh! Stop jumping around like that!"  Grim perched smugly atop the chandelier, Grim grinned with an egotistical smirk. "Heh heh heh! Catch me if you can!" Deuce's voice grew taut with irritation. "No fair climbing onto the chandelier, you coward! I haven't even learned flight magic yet... What could I summon to hold onto him...? Hmmm..."

While Deuce scanned the room, [Name] raised her hands, a familiar purple mist swirling around them as her patience wore thin. Before she could act, Deuce suddenly lit up with realization. "Oh! That's it!"

Reaching down to his uniform belt holster, Deuce grasped a fancy gold key and twisted his wrist, sliding his familiar wand into his hand. He firmly gripped the black handle, its golden accents glinting under the cafeteria lights. At the wand's tip, a small crown cradled a rose-red crystal, encased in a delicate golden frame. As Deuce raised his arm, the crystal sparkled brightly.

Ace turned just in time to see the wand aimed in his direction. "Did you come up with somethi—Oh, hey! Stop! What are you doing?!" He staggered backward, his scarlet eyes wide with alarm. Name] froze. "Oh my Godmother—" she muttered, watching as Deuce pointed the wand directly at Ace.

The redhead forced a nervous grin, staring at the glowing crystal. "Why are you pointing that at me?!"Y/n barely processed what was happening before Deuce, completely unfazed, answered matter-of-factly, "Because I'm going to launch you."

A brief silence followed before [Name] burst into laughter. "No way!" Ace's face drained of color. "Are you kidding me?! Bwaaah! Put me down!" He flailed wildly as he was lifted off the ground, panic setting in. His scarlet eyes locked onto Deuce. "Seriously, do not launch me! Abort! ABORT!"

Despite Ace's protests, [Name] lowered her hands, deciding to let Deuce handle the situation. "Just make sure to grab him tight," she advised. Deuce smirked, adjusting his grip on the wand. "I've got him in my sights, and... Go!" With a swift motion, Deuce launched Ace through the air.

A high-pitched screech tore through the cafeteria. Grim's claws dug into the chandelier's metal frame, his ears twitching at the girlish scream approaching at rapid speed. His eyes widened as he spotted Ace, arms outstretched, barreling toward him.

"Wha—?!" Grim barely had time to react before Ace collided with him. The chandelier swayed dangerously before giving way under their combined weight. A loud crash erupted as debris filled the air, scattering across the room.

[Name] moved swiftly, stepping in front of Deuce and raising a hand. A shimmering purple forcefield flickered to life, shielding them from the worst of the impact. As the dust settled, Deuce peered at [Name]'s back, noting her tense posture.

"I... I didn't add a cushioning spell," she realized, her voice laced with panic. The purple barrier vanished instantly. Deuce coughed into his sleeve, clearing the dust from his lungs. His cyan eyes flicked toward [Name], and with a soft smile, he placed a gloved hand on her forearm. "Thanks."

She looked at him fondly, offering a small nod. "No problem." Their attention snapped back to the cafeteria, where the extent of the destruction was now clear. The chandelier lay in ruins on the floor, shattered glass and twisted metal scattered around it. Scratches marred the once-pristine flooring, making [Name] wince at the damage.

A low groan echoed from the other side of the wreckage. The duo's eyes widened as they spotted Ace kneeling near the cafeteria entrance, gripping a dazed Grim by the scruff. The cat's eyes swirled in dizziness, letting out a faint noise of protest.

Ace scowled, jabbing a shaky finger in Deuce's direction. "I cannot believe you just did that!" Deuce blinked, resting a hand on his chin as he nodded thoughtfully. "Oh, right! I probably should've thought of a way to soften your landing after you caught him..." "[Name] just said she should've done that too..." Ace growled through gritted teeth, his eye twitching in exasperation.

A tense silence stretched between them before Ace erupted. "You complete and total moron! We got Grim, but we broke the chandelier! If the headmage finds out about this—"  "If I find out about... what, dear Ace?" Everyone froze. Slowly, their heads turned toward the source of the voice. Standing before them, hands on his hips, golden eyes gleaming, was none other than Headmage Crowley.

Ace and Deuce stiffened, their gazes snapping to the older man. "Ah! Headmage Crowley...!" Ace stammered, his voice unsteady. [Name] stepped back, letting out a sigh knowing the familiar routine that she has seen and been apart of before.

"YOU AGAIN. What have you done this time?!" Crowley's voice thundered through the cafeteria, his golden eyes blazing with fury. Grim, still cradled in Ace's arms, wobbled unsteadily, his tiny body swaying like a pendulum. "Myaaah... Everything's spinning..." he groaned, his pupils swirling. |

The Headmage inhaled sharply, his expression a perfect storm of exasperation—until his gaze landed on [Name]. In an instant, his demeanor shifted. The anger melted away, replaced by a bright, almost saccharine smile.

"Ah, Ms Queen!" Crowley cooed, clasping his taloned hands together. "I do hope you had a pleasant day. My sincerest apologies for this unfortunate mishap. How were your classes?" He tilted his head, his golden eyes expectant as he awaited her response.

[Name] hesitated before sighing. "Actually... I couldn't even attend my first class because of Grim, but I—" Crowley's eye twitched. His is head turned slowly—too slowly—toward Grim, his gaze narrowing dangerously. 

Taking a deep inhale through his nose before exhaling sharply. Then, just as quickly as his rage had flared, he spun back to [Name] with a composed smile. "We can discuss this later." He patted her shoulder lightly before turning his full attention to the three trembling boys.

Crowley's expression darkened once more, his patience hanging by a thread. His piercing gaze swept over the wreckage, the destroyed chandelier lying in jagged pieces across the floor. "Burning a statue wasn't enough for you? Now you've destroyed a chandelier?!" His voice rose, filled with incredulity and exasperation. His cloak billowed as he turned sharply on his heel. "Enough! All of you are expelled!" The words struck like a thunderclap. [Name]'s eyes widened in shock.

A loud cry of protest erupted from both Ace and Deuce. Deuce surged forward, desperation in his wide, panicked eyes. "Headmage, please! Give me a second chance! I can't get expelled from this school! I need to be here!" His voice wavered, frantic as he searched Crowley's face for even a shred of mercy.

Crowley scoffed, crossing his arms. "Then blame yourself for your own foolish behavior." "I-I'll pay for the damages! However much it costs!" Deuce blurted out, gripping the front of his uniform as if trying to steady himself.

Crowley let out a slow, dramatic sigh. "That chandelier," he began, his voice grave, "is no mere light fixture. Its candles are fueled by an eternal magical energy source, enchanted to burn without end. It was crafted by a legendary artificer possibly their finest creation. It has been here since the school was founded, and I had imagined it would remain here forevermore."

His golden eyes flickered toward the ruined chandelier, disappointment settling deep into his features. "Considering its historical value..." he continued, his voice heavy with emphasis, "I would estimate its worth to be no less than a billion thaumarks." Silence filled the cafteria.

Deuce stood frozen. His shoulders trembled as the number fully registered in his mind. "A... A billion marks?!" he croaked, his face turning pale. Ace let out a nervous chuckle, stepping in quickly. "B-But I'm sure with your magical talent, sir, you could just—" He snapped his fingers. "—fix it right up, easy!"Crowley shot him a flat, unimpressed stare. 

"Even magic has its limits," he said coolly. "Furthermore, its magestone—the figurative heart of any magical artifact—is cracked. A magestone cannot be replaced so easily. I fear the candles of this majestic chandelier will never burn again."

Ace's gaze dropped to the floor, muttering under his breath, "This is bad..." Deuce fidgeted anxiously, cracking his knuckles in distress. "What am I going to do?! How am I supposed to tell my mother?" His voice wavered, panic bubbling up as he imagined the inevitable conversation.

Crowley observed the scene with a flicker of amusement before his eyes landed on [Name]. His smirk faltered slightly. She wasn't panicking. Instead, she had taken a step forward, her hands slowly rising. A determined glint flickered in her gaze.

"Ms Queen—" Crowley's voice hitched, his beak slightly parting in surprise. Ace and Deuce turned just in time to witness it.

The broken shards of the chandelier lifted from the ground, shimmering with a soft glow. Piece by piece, the fragmented metal and shattered crystal drifted upward, clicking together like a puzzle. A faint hum of magic vibrated through the air, causing the dust to swirl gently around them.

The magestone at the chandelier's center pulsed weakly, fractured but not beyond salvation yet it was close to already dying out. Ace's jaw dropped. "No way..."

Deuce's breath hitched. His eyes darted between the floating shards and [Name], who stood firm, her fingers splayed as she willed the pieces into place. Crowley, for once, was completely speechless.

The golden candles flickered weakly as the energy surged through them. The cracks in the magestone began to mend—slowly, but surely. Sparks of violet and gold crackled around the fixture as if the chandelier itself was breathing once more.

Ace swallowed hard. "She's actually doing it..." Crowley blinked, his wings ruffling slightly in stunned silence. Perhaps, just perhaps... there was hope for these miscreants after all.

[Name] huffed, turning to face Crowley, whose eyes widened as his lips parted in surprise. Her chest heaved slightly as she met his gaze, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then, quickly composing himself, he pursed his lips and sputtered, "Ms. Queen! How outstanding! I never should have doubted you for a second!"

[Name] merely stared at him, her expression deadpan. Crowley sweat-dropped under her unimpressed gaze, shifting slightly as if hoping she wouldn't call him out. After a brief pause, she let out a soft sigh and offered a small smile.

"Headmage Crowley," she addressed him, watching as the crow-masked man perked up in response. "I understand that we've caused an issue for you, but don't you think expelling them on the first day is a bit harsh? Since I've already repaired the chandelier, maybe they can make up for their mistake by retrieving a new magestone?"

She gestured towards Ace and Deuce, who were still staring at her in disbelief. They had barely processed what had just happened, but the weight of the conversation quickly dawned on them. [Name] kept a tight smile, trying to make her plea as convincing as possible.

Crowley stroked his chin thoughtfully, tapping a gloved finger against his beak-like mask. A flicker of amusement twitched at the corners of his lips as an idea formed in his mind "Ah... perchance, I could let them off with a task instead," he mused.

Ace immediately perked up, sensing a chance for salvation "The magestone that powered this chandelier was originally mined from the Dwarfs' Mine," Crowley continued. "If you can acquire a magestone with the same properties, it may be possible to repair it properly."

Deuce straightened, speaking without hesitation "Then I'll go find a magestone! With your permission, sir!" A relieved sigh escaped [Name] as Crowley nodded, but his expression darkened slightly as he raised a cautionary hand.

"I should warn you," he said gravely, "that I cannot guarantee there are any magestones left to find. The mines were closed long ago, and it is highly likely that all remaining magestones have already been extracted." Deuce, however, was undeterred. Clenching his fists, he stepped forward with unwavering determination "I will do anything to avoid expulsion, sir!"

Crowley regarded him for a long moment before shrugging his shoulders lazily. "Hmmm... very well, then. I will suspend your expulsion for a single night." A sly smile played on his lips before his tone dropped into something far more serious.

"But," he added, voice sharp, "if you fail to return with a magestone by morning, then all of you are expelled." Deuce nodded rapidly, straightening his back. "Yes, sir! Thank you very much for this opportunity!" Ace sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face.

"Fine, then. Let's just hurry down there, grab a magestone, and get this whole thing over with." Crowley raised a hand in a dismissive wave. "You should be able to reach the Dwarfs' Mine instantly by using one of the gates in the Mirror Chamber." Deuce gave another quick, "Yes, sir!" before turning toward the exit, determination evident in his every movement.

Just then, a groggy voice interrupted. "Myah—wh-?! Where am I?!" Grim blinked blearily, his fur fluffed up as he finally regained full consciousness. [Name] chuckled, ruffling the cat-like creature's head. "We're going on a little trip," she told him.

Crowley tilted his head, regarding her with mild surprise. "You would join them as well, Ms. Queen?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity. "I assumed you'd stay behind, given that you already repaired the chandelier and restored its magestone." [Name] smiled, shaking her head.

"The magestone in the chandelier might not last forever," she explained. "If it fails, we'll just be right back where we started. I'd rather go along and make sure everything is truly fixed." Crowley's expression brightened instantly. "Well then! Good luck on your little escapade!" he chimed, clapping his hands together.

But as Ace and Deuce turned to leave, Crowley suddenly leaned in close behind them, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper. "I swear—if she gets so much as a scratch—you two won't just be expelled," he threatened, his tone deceptively pleasant. "You'll be cleaning the entire school from top to bottom."  Ace and Deuce stiffened under the weight of his words.

Then, just as suddenly, Crowley straightened and cleared his throat, a bright smile returning to his face as if he hadn't just issued a thinly veiled threat "Now, off you all go!" he chirped, waving them toward the Mirror Chamber.

The moment they stepped into the Mirror Chamber, an eerie yet mesmerizing aura washed over them. The room seemed almost alive, pulsing with a presence both elegant and unsettling. The air carried a faint hum, as if the very walls whispered secrets meant for no ears to hear.

At the heart of the chamber, suspended above a bubbling green fountain, hovered an ornate mirror its circular surface an abyss of darkness that swallowed all light. It did not simply reflect; it consumed, as though holding within it the weight of untold destinies. The mirror was encased in an intricate, gold vine-like frame, its twisting tendrils almost appearing to writhe in the flickering glow of the chamber's peculiar lighting.

The fountain below brimmed with an otherworldly luminescence, its liquid swirling in hypnotic patterns, casting shifting ripples of emerald light across the polished floor. Each wave that lapped against its basin seemed to carry whispers from another world.

Lining the chamber walls stood tall, coffin-like structures, each propped against grand columns. Their surfaces bore elaborate carvings and faintly glowed in hues of green, blue, and violet, a spectral dance of colors that suggested something slumbered—or perhaps lingered—within. The sight of them sent a familiar chill down [Name]'s spine, a reminder of when she had once been trapped within their suffocating embrace, engulfed in darkness so absolute it had felt like drowning in silence.

The columns stretched skyward, framing massive cathedral-like windows. These windows, adorned with curling wrought-iron patterns, were partially veiled by deep crimson drapes that barely parted, allowing only slivers of cold, blue light to seep into the chamber. The faint glow of the outside world barely dented the chamber's unnatural gloom, heightening the contrast between light and shadow.

As they advanced toward a small pedestal stage, [Name]'s gaze flicked upward. A colossal wrought-iron chandelier loomed over them, a monstrous centerpiece dripping with chains, beads, and jet-black crystals. The dim lighting refracted through the crystals, casting faint, ghostly figures that drifted along the walls, shifting and twisting like lost souls searching for a way out.

Delicate strings of pearls and gems hung from the chandelier's sprawling arms, stretched outward toward the room's farthest corners. The effect was hauntingly beautiful—an eerie elegance that straddled the line between decadence and doom.

The lighting in the chamber was a paradox—a mix of warm and cold, unsettling yet oddly harmonious. Fiery-red lanterns jutted out from the walls, their glow stark against the green luminescence of the fountain. Meanwhile, faint bluish reflections from the mirror added an ethereal shimmer, a strange truce between warmth and void.

Suddenly, the mirror's surface rippled. A comedy mask face formed within the abyssal blackness. Ace and Deuce flinched violently, instinctively grabbing onto each other. "THE MIRROR!" Ace shrieked. "IT SHOULDN'T BE DOING THAT!" Deuce echoed, his voice an octave higher than usual.

[Name] simply sighed, her gaze unwavering. The dark mirror's voice emerged, smooth yet ominous, its tone carrying a warmth that contradicted its chilling presence.

My Queen 

My lady of ebony and darkness

Lady of eternal beauty 

What brings thou to me?

Silence fell like a heavy veil over the group before a loud cry came from Grim "Henchman!" Grim barked, stomping a tiny paw against the ground. "Why's the mirror talkin' like that?!" The surface of the mirror shimmered around the comedy mask. Its pale, porcelain-white visage bore a fixed, enigmatic grin. The mask hovered in the void, watching her intently, its eerie presence seeming both familiar and otherworldly as it continued to stare at her.  [Name] exhaled through her nose, pressing her lips together before speaking.

"I seek a way to the Dwarfs' Mine." The comedy mask flickered, tilting its head before bowing in acknowledgment. 

As you wish, My lady

A surge of green fire erupted around the mirror's edges, flaring outward before curling inward like a beast retreating into its lair. The mask's form dissolved into the darkness, and in its place, the mirror's surface glowed with a brilliant radiance. The inky blackness peeled away, unveiling a portal. A window into a sunlit forest, its tall grasses swaying gently under a sapphire sky.

The dark mirror beckoned. Its surface no longer a void, but a doorway, promising passage into lands unknown. Ace, still recovering from the shock, sighed and stepped up behind [Name], resting a hand on her shoulder "Alright, let's go... Oh, and you better explain that whole 'Queen' thing later." [Name] rolled her eyes, shaking off his hand.

Ace groaned, dropping his arm. "Maan... how did I even get mixed up in all this? I swear, I have the worst luck." Deuce crossed his arms, his tone sharp. "We don't have time to complain. Let's go!" They turned to face the dark mirror, standing at the precipice of the unknown.

"To the Dwarfs' Mine!" Deuce declared.

One by one, they stepped through, the mirror's surface parting like liquid silk. Grim clung tightly to [Name]'s shoulder, whining, "Myaaah! Why's the mirror only focusing on you?!"

As they vanished into the swirling portal, the Mirror Chamber fell silent once more—its watchful eyes unseen, but always observing.

⏝꒷︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶꒷⏝ Dictionary !!

Features!! Physical Appearances S/C: Skin Colour H/C: Hair Colour H/L: Hair Length E/C: Eye Colour

Other!! Other things that could be mentioned in chapter

Headmaster Crowley: The headmage of Night Raven College. Likes to constantly remind others how kind he is. He grants the MC student status and appoints them prefect of Ramshackle Dorm after they wind up stuck in Twisted Wonderland.

The Great Seven: There are seven influental figures in the world, called The Great Seven whose deeds are told through many legends

Mage Stone: Magestones operate indiscriminately; they are used as everyday  household appliance that anyone could use if they know how to operate the device to begin with.

Ace Trappola: A quick learner with an upbeat personality and a mischievous streak. Since he and are both freshmen in the same class, they regard one another with amicable antagonism.

Deuce Spade: An earnest young man who enrolled at Night Raven College with the singular aim of becoming a respectable mage.

Grim: A monster who aspires to be a great mage. He will eat anything and everything, and his tendency to get carried away often gets him and the main character into trouble.

Phrases/Sayings/Refrences/Quotes Ever after High dictionary/Rooms/ etc. from the show/or game!!

Mattress Pea: A phrase that means Couch potato. The Mattress pea slang comes from The Princess and the Pea is an original tale written by the Danish storyteller, Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875). It was originally published in 1835, and depicts the story of how a princess proves her 'nobility' by sensing an uncooked pea under a pile of mattresses as she tries to sleep.

Hexcellent: A word that means excellent, very commonly used in day to day life in ever after high. Oh my Godmother: A phrase used when surprised or used to emphasize how surprised, angry, shocked, etc.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 / 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 【Hexes & Hushes — MASTERLIST】 Tag List @mochiclouds @1abi

[juniperpyre]

What are your thoughts on gender in the wizarding world? Do you think there’s a strong patriarchy, and if so how do you think it formed?

I feel wobbly about how powerful patriarchy would be in the wizarding world before answering this question. let's see what conclusion i come to lol

table of contents—you could skip to gender in the text if you don't want the connections to the real world and don't need the foundational ideology of my argument

1: where did patriarchy originate in the real western world? & what assumptions am I working off of?

2: gender in late medieval and early modern england & western europe

3: gender in the text 3.1: younger women 3.2: older women

4. conclusions

1. where did patriarchy originate in the real western world? & what assumptions am I working off of?

mona eltahawy called patriarchy "the oldest form of occupation", speaking to the way women & people classed as women (or gender deviant or ungendered) are treated as commodities to own. this BBC article argues that patriarchy was created as a way for the proto-state to leverage control over the population. the enforced social roles of males soldiers & female reproducers made groups bigger & more powerful.

I will take the article's assertion (it's very well sourced) that one of the first instances of patriarchy developing starts about 5,000 ago in Mesopotamia, when records show women disappearing from public life, at face value. then, ofc, in the mediterranean world we "soon" after see the Mycenaeans & Greeks & Romans, in that order, develop, all of which had patriarchal societies—tho to different extents.

as I have stated previously, the wizarding world loves Greek & Roman shit, as does the real western world (and we have! for centuries!). I like to consider their cultural norms, especially as they were interpreted during the Renaissance, when thinking about wizarding culture.

so, yes, the WW is patriarchal, since for at least 1,500 years, but probably more like 4,800 years. and for most of that time there was no wizarding world, just the World, and the WW had the same histories as the muggle world.

2. gender in late medieval and early modern england & western europe

so sorry, you've unlocked an info dump cutscene. it can be skipped.

I want you to imagine the traditional gender roles for men and women in western society. write them down, even. what should women be like? what is the inherent nature of women, if one exists, according to traditionalists? according to society at large? according to you?

in early modern england there was a HUGE shift in the perception of women and gender roles.

in "'The Good and Bad of that Sexe': Monstrosity and Womanhood in Early Modern England," by Alletta Brenner, the epistemological history of womanhood in the middle of the sixteenth to the end of the 17th centuries, is analyzed.

epistemology is about the study of knowledge, so think intellectual history, a history of what ideas and thoughts people are sharing and the patterns of those ideas and thoughts.

long story short: for about 1500 years, western culture regarded women as lesser versions of men, who are the perfect form of humans. male and female were not regarded as opposite, but two versions of the same thing. eve was made from adam’s rib, she’s a knockoff.

“Monstrosity and Womanhood” discusses two cultural differences between then & now that are significant to my argument. 1: people of the middle ages & early modern europe regarded the monstrous as a part of God’s creation, possibly frightening, but not unnatural. 2: women were regarded as too sexually driven, lustful temptresses. this is a stark contrast to the Cult of True Womanhood that we see in the 19th c, submissive, gentle, spiritually included, a soft place for her husband to find comfort in after being in the chaos of the outside world.*

(lily kind of embodies the late middles ages dangers of womanhood & it’s monstrosities in earth after rain.)

so, the answer to “what is a woman?” is changing rapidly right before the WW cuts itself off from the MW. I expect that, since the bio-essentialism of today started in the 19th century, post SoS, there is a significant difference in what the WW settles on.

the changing views on women in the MW are also influenced by and/or create the atmosphere wherein the witch trials are born. midwives and other women who transgressed their gender roles were targeted in the witch trials. the WW reacts to the witch trials by going into hiding (I don't believe this, I think it's part of the WW historical mythos used to uphold their society & it's fucking issues)

*this ideal of womanhood is only accessible by white middle and upper class women. other women are in many ways, monstrous, but they are also degendered.

3. gender in the text

in the books we see multiple examples of sexism, and a large chunk of these examples involve over-sexualization or sexual policing. our entry into WW culture, ron weasley, displays these views multiple times. he does not seem to believe that women are less intellectually or even less physically capable. he also doesn’t have a problem being defended by harry potter or hermione granger, or defending harry or hermione.

3.1 younger women

the threat of love potions is also brought up a few times throughout the books, and they are solely seen as a woman's weapon.

in Goblet of Fire, once skeeter turns on hermione, she asserts in a PUBLIC NEWSPAPER that hermione is possibly using love potions to seduce powerful men (pg 357). this is after harry's friendship with hermione is portrayed, again, in a public paper, as a romance (pg 225). hermione is pretty and smart when she's "with" harry, but when she is associated with a second man, thereby betraying the englishman who must be the hero of skeeter’s stories, she's ugly and smart enough to drug him. mrs. weasley, an adult woman and frequent caretaker of hermione, believes this and is cruel to her, a child.

over sexualization is used as a highly effective weapon against hermione. the WW easily accepts a young woman's sexuality as a threat to the men around her; she is voracious. i'm sure hermione being muggle born does not help.

merope gaunt is also accused, by dumbledore, of drugging tom riddle sr. with a love potion (pg 154 HBP). no evidence is given. we, the reader, are meant to assume the accuracy since dumbledore is making the claim. once again the sexual appetite of a young woman is dangerous. her misdeeds, brought about by choices made clouded with lust, only the short term considered, end up creating a fucking super villain. what's interesting is that this isn't only a belief of the characters in-text, it's the perspective of the author. nonetheless, dumbledore's quickness to blame a young woman's desire for driving her to violence and bringing misfortune, indicates that the sexuality of women in the WW is easily seen as dangerous.

i think this well establishes women's sexuality as a dangerous, insatiable threat in the WW culture. this is clearly a patriarchal ideology. the systematic reinforcement at the nuclear family level becomes clearer when we look at how the weasley brothers treat ginny's sexuality. they, just as men in the MW do, see their sister's sexuality as their business. however, this is not because men are a threat, but because ginny is unrestrained in her expression and exploration of her sexuality. I do not recall anyone ever worrying for ginny’s safety—women are competent and intelligent enough to defend themselves. 

here are two instances from HBP where we see the brothers judging their sister and trying to control her sexuality:

fred and george are selling love potions, but not to ginny, because she's used her wiles to collect enough men. ron is also reporting on ginny’s romantic endeavors to their older, of age, brothers (pg 91 HBP). Is this to leverage additional power and to control her? Later in the book ron doesn't want people to see ginny engaging in sexual behavior because of what they might think of his sister (pg 204). being a slut is bad in the WW too. :/

So, the two young women we focus on the most have their sexuality picked apart and policed.

3.2: older women

What of the older women? 

There are women in positions of authority in the WW, but most of the women who work and have positions of authority are not mothers in canon. The women with the most authority, mcgonagall, umbridge, arguably amelia bones though she is tertiary, are not mothers and remain, in canon, romantically unattached. pre-fudge there is a woman minister, who i imagine was put into power as a part of the glass cliff phenomenon, when shit hits the fan, women are more likely to be hired to oversee the shit hit everyone, and then be blamed. 

Marriage & motherhood remove agency. The important mothers of the series, lily, petunia, narcissa, molly, to a lesser degree alice and tonks, do not have children until they are married. Half of them definitely do not work. two have jobs, tonks and alice, and they + lily are in the order, activities unspecified. 

The lack of women occupying both domestic and public spaces indicates patriarchal control. There are two options. The married mothers we see occupying both spheres are all taking part in the public sphere with their husbands. Even tonks, who works were remus does not, is in the order with him. Mothers & wives are not unchaperoned.

It is also notable how young people are when they get married and have children. This is explained by war in the text. I posit that it’s actually another element of the patriarchal control of women’s sexuality. Since women are insatiable, those that are linked to a man must be kept under a higher level of control to ensure she stays loyal to her husband. Marriage in the teen years is younger than the average in MW in the 1970s (22.8 for women, 25.1 for men). the average age of women entering into their first marriage has consistently been 24 or older in england and wales since the 1550s—it dropped in the 1950s and 60s. 

Sidenote—during WW2 the age of marriage in the UK seemed to stagnate, and then it dropped at the conclusion of the war. 

We don’t have the stats for the WW, but we know james and lily married and had harry before 21, we know from the black family tree that narcissa had draco at the average age of marriage in 1970s MW UK, which indicates a younger marriage. We do not know alice and frank’s ages. tonks actually meets the average age for women in the UK in the mid 90s, but her husband and she are half bloods. it is possible that the average age of marriage in the WW is younger than the MW, especially among the upper classes. 

4. conclusion

The main element of patriarchy in the WW is control of women’s sexuality, because women are too promiscuous to control themselves, and this poses multiple dangers. Love potions, pursuing a man to near death, tarnishing the family name, etc. This has created cultural norms of younger marriage and women, especially upper class women, not working outside of the home once they are married. Women who choose not to tie themselves to a man through marriage may be seen as inherently less sexual, as adult women who do not marry are not put through the same scrutiny as women who express sexual inclinations. 

It is possible that we don’t see the scrutiny adult, unmarried women endure because harry is a child the whole time and does not think about his professors getting their backs blown out on the weekends. It is also possible that the women we see, namely umbridge and mcgonagall, put up a non-sexual persona to avoid this scrutiny, a childish feminine and de-sexed school marm respectively. I’d edge my bets towards the latter. 

Magic allows a significant portion of reproductive labor to be automated, and in the MW reproductive labor is designated to women and made invisible as an element of maintaining the nuclear family to uphold capitalism. Therefore women in the WW are partially freed from this element of capitalist patriarchy. 

Women are not seen as less capable with magic, intellect, or physically, so their voracious sexuality creates a greater threat. The patriarchy in the WW seeks to control their sexualities, but not much else. The desire to keep pure blood families “pure” likely increases the drive to control women’s sexuality in the upper classes. I’m not seeking to make this argument here, but I believe this element of policing would have evolved in the 19th century, parallel to the evolution of the bio-essentialist ideal women of the MW. the reason I am not making this argument here is that this post is long as shit, and making the point requires a lot of details about fascism and the history of the WW and MW.  

I do think patriarchy is “weaker” in the wizarding world, but still exists. Due to the SoS and magic much of the modern elements of capitalist patriarchy did not develop in the WW, instead, elements of the early modern patriarchy were carried over and intensified. At the same time, women in the WW always had a level of agency and power unreachable to muggle women, which carried over to the SoS society. Perhaps magical men treated muggle women how we treat marginalized women in the real world, and continued to do so after the SoS ended. Perhaps the WW is a secret upper class that exploits the MW without muggle’s knowledge. Perhaps.   

I can’t believe I didn’t talk about the witch trials at all. I have thoughts on those! They are forthcoming when i finish the wizarding world & colonial era meta.

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 2 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Two: Let The Dance With The Devil Begin

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Omfg. I took so long to write this I know T^T Thank you for being patient with me! I just decided to have a mini break bcs I was jet lagged from travelling and had to focus on my health for a little bit. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The Albatross by Taylor Swift

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RED KEEP, WESTEROS - 300 AC

You spent two decades carefully avoiding forming deep bonds, all the while meticulously plotting your revenge. You studied their weaknesses, habits, and relationships, patiently biding your time until you could strike from close range.

You had noticed the lingering glances between Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister, their whispered conversations turning into passionate encounters. So when Cersei bore a child, rumored to be the result of her incestuous relationship, and as you witnessed Joffrey Baratheon growing into a likeness of his parents, you recorded every detail in your leather-bound notebook. It contained all the information about those responsible for the death of Elia Martell, ensuring no detail escaped your scrutiny.

Serena, a girl you befriended in the bustling stables, is a steadfast ally in your quest for vengeance. Together, you both meticulously gather intelligence, weaving through the whispers of the kitchen staff and the secrets shared in the shadowy corners of brothels. With her keen eyes and your shared determination, you stalk those who have wronged you, laying the groundwork for your calculated retribution.

In the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, the struggle for power rages on. Joffrey Baratheon, seated upon the Iron Throne, wields authority backed by the formidable House Lannister. However, his claim faces challenge from his uncle Renly, who, bolstered by the might of House Tyrell, presses his own bid for kingship. In this turmoil, Tyrion Lannister arrives in King's Landing, aiming to assert control, only to find himself at odds with his conniving sister, Cersei, now entrenched as Queen Regent.

As autumn blankets the realm and whispers of an impending winter linger, Westeros braces for the bitter cold ahead. Yet, instead of preparing for the harsh season, the land remains conflicted. Renly Baratheon's sudden demise alters the tides of allegiance, leaving the political landscape in flux. Meanwhile, Joffrey, with the backing of House Tyrell, emerges victorious in a decisive clash against his uncle Stannis, solidifying his hold on power.

The fates of many hang precariously in the balance. In the labyrinthine corridors of King's Landing, both Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark navigate treacherous waters, their survival dependent on their ability to navigate the perilous currents of court intrigue.

You had served Sansa since the day she was first betrothed to King Joffrey. Back then, she had been full of dreams—visions of knighthood, love, and a golden crown. But those dreams quickly soured, turning into nightmares as the Lannisters’ hold over her tightened. What was once a promising union became a gilded cage. They kept her in the Red Keep, a prisoner beneath layers of silk and politeness. 

Sansa clung to her “lady-like” pursuits to distract from the harshness of her reality—sewing, embroidery, poetry, and music. Her stitches were always delicate, her voice soft, yet behind her graceful demeanor, you saw the cracks. You were there when Septa Mordane led her through the Red Keep’s throne room for a lesson in history. It was meant to be a glimpse into the glory of the Targaryens and the rulers of old, but instead, Sansa’s gaze lingered on the dark stain where her grandfather and uncle had been butchered by the Mad King. Her face paled, and she pressed her lips into a thin line, haunted by the ghosts of her own blood.

One evening, as she sat embroidering by the window, she confided in you. “Do you think I’ll be able to give Joffrey sons?” Her voice wavered. “What if… What if I’m only able to give him daughters, like Jeyne Poole’s mother?”

You tried to find reassuring words, though even Septa Mordane's attempts had done little to ease her fears. “You’re young, my lady. You will bear many children in time.”

Her blue eyes, wide with fear, met yours, but she said nothing more.

The Hand’s tournament arrived, and Sansa, despite everything, seemed to sparkle for a brief moment amidst the finery of the lords and knights. You stood in the shadows, watching her as she watched them. Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, was a towering presence, and you felt a chill run down your spine as he unseated Ser Hugh of the Vale, killing him in the dust of the joust. Littlefinger whispered dark stories to Sansa of the Hound’s past, tales of burned flesh and brutal lessons. You saw the way Sansa’s hands trembled as she absorbed the horrors hidden beneath the chivalry.

Yet, there were moments of fleeting happiness. Ser Loras Tyrell, the famed Knight of the Flowers, gave her a single rose before his tilt with Ser Gregor. She blushed under his attention, but you noticed how Loras’s gaze lingered not on her, but on Renly Baratheon, who stood just behind. That small act of kindness, hollow as it was, brought a rare smile to Sansa’s lips, even as the court applauded Sandor Clegane’s intervention to stop his brother’s rampage.

But that brief joy was drowned by the darkness that soon followed. When King Robert Baratheon died after a hunting “accident,” everything unraveled. Eddard Stark, honorable as always, tried to reveal the truth about Joffrey’s parentage, but it was too late. You weren’t surprised when Littlefinger betrayed him. You had seen the cunning in his eyes long before, the way he played everyone like pieces on a cyvasse board. 

Chaos erupted. Eddard’s men, loyal to the last, were slaughtered by Lannister guardsmen led by Sandor Clegane. You remembered Mordane’s voice trembling as she urged Sansa to lock herself in their chambers. But there was no hiding from the Lannisters. They took her.

You watched from a distance as Sansa was humiliated before the court, her innocence crushed beneath the weight of Cersei’s cold cruelty. She stood there, trembling, and you saw the beginning of a transformation. The girl who once dreamed of knights and love was slowly breaking, her innocence being stripped away by every sneer, every command, every cold laugh in the throne room.

You wished you could offer her comfort, but in King’s Landing, comfort was as fleeting as mercy.

The great Sept was filled with the hum of whispers, the heavy weight of tension hanging in the air as Eddard Stark stood before the court. His face, weathered by years of honor and battle, now looked hollow, beaten by betrayal. You stood in the shadows, where servants always stood, your eyes flicking between the high lords and the northern Warden. As the silence fell, Eddard knelt, acknowledging his so-called “crimes” and pledging loyalty to King Joffrey.

For a moment, it seemed the court might breathe again. Sansa stood nearby, her hands trembling. Hope flickered in her eyes—briefly. But Joffrey, perched on the Iron Throne like some twisted boy-king out of a nightmare, leaned forward with a smile sharp as a blade. His words fell like a thunderclap. “Bring me his head.”

Sansa's scream cut through the hall, raw and broken. She lunged forward, hysterical, her voice lost in a storm of pleading, but the gold cloaks restrained her, forcing her back. Her cries—“Please, mercy, mercy!”—rang in your ears, making your stomach turn. 

Ser Ilyn Payne stepped forward, cold and unfeeling as he drew Ice, the greatsword of House Stark. You could see the light catch the edge of the steel, and the last thing Sansa saw before she fainted was her father’s final, resigned glance.

You moved through the chaos as a shadow. Your duty to Sansa came first, so as the blood pooled on the Sept’s floor, you carried her from the carnage, her limp body heavy with grief. The days that followed were hollow. She barely spoke, her eyes vacant as you tended to her, making sure she ate, dressing her in the Lannisters' silks even as her soul remained buried in sorrow.

It was one of those somber evenings when she finally spoke, her voice so faint you almost missed it. “Do you… serve the Lannisters?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You paused, setting down the tray of untouched food, meeting her tired gaze. “Yes, my lady,” you answered softly.

Sansa’s eyes flickered with something—confusion, maybe anger. “Have they always been this cruel?” she asked, her words trembling with an innocent horror.

You weighed your response carefully, then nodded. “From what I’ve heard, unfortunately, yes.”

Her lips parted as she considered your answer, but it was her next question that cut deeper. “Then why do you serve them?”

You lowered your eyes, your hands folding over the fabric of her gown, the lie of your position hanging heavy on your shoulders. “It’s something I wager on,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the unease in your chest.

Sansa, always perceptive, frowned. “Is that the only kind of wager you make?”

For a moment, you froze. Then you let a faint smile tug at the corner of your lips, the words “Unbowed, unbent, unbroken” echoing in your heart, though unspoken. “There was one time I bet my entire life on something,” you confessed quietly.

She looked at you then, truly looked, her tear-streaked face searching yours. “Did you win?”

Your smile faltered, but you met her gaze with a spark of determination. “I’m planning to,” you said, with a quiet promise hanging between the two of you.

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP — 300 AC

The stone walls of the Red Keep felt colder that night, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the ancient stones. In a small, dimly lit chamber tucked away from the grand halls, you worked in silence, the weight of your plan pressing down like the calm before a storm. Every movement was deliberate, each thought sharper than the edge of a Valyrian blade. The game was already in motion, and you were setting the pieces in place.

You had long been underestimated—a mere servant, a shadow in the background of the powerful Lannisters, Tyrells, and Martells. Yet, you had seen the truth: the most dangerous players were often those who remained unseen. You were one of them, a silent force, blending into the background while carefully planting the seeds of destruction. The poison, subtle and undetectable, was your weapon.

A soft knock interrupted your focus. The door creaked open, and there stood Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger himself. His thin lips curved into a smile, but there was no warmth in it, only calculation.

“Ah, a quiet place for quiet minds,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, eyes darting around the chamber before settling on you.

You raised your head slowly, meeting his gaze with a calm that belied the storm brewing inside you. Littlefinger wasn’t a man easily intimidated, but neither were you. Two wolves circling, each looking for the other’s weakness.

“You seem to find yourself in many quiet places, Lord Baelish,” you replied, voice soft but pointed. “What brings you here?”

He moved closer, his steps light, like a predator stalking prey. “Just ensuring the right wheels keep turning, ensuring the chaos that follows serves the right cause.” His gaze lingered on your hands, noting the fine movements as you handled a small vial, the liquid within almost imperceptibly shifting.

You allowed a small, knowing smile. “Chaos... Chaos can be useful. But only if it’s controlled.”

His eyebrow raised, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Controlled chaos? Now, that’s an art.”

You carefully set the vial down, your voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “What if the chaos that’s already simmering were to boil over? What if, after Joffrey’s wedding, his reign came to an... unexpected end?”

Baelish didn’t blink, though you could see the subtle change in his posture, the slight narrowing of his eyes. You hadn’t suggested anything outright—it was the art of planting the idea, the delicate balance of nudging him without him realizing he’d been led.

He took a slow breath, his mind already racing. “And who, I wonder, would have the audacity to arrange such an unexpected end?”

You smiled, but didn’t answer directly, your silence speaking volumes. Instead, you moved the conversation forward, allowing the implication to sink in.

“The realm is already full of hungry wolves, my lord,” you said, your voice steady, your hands working deftly as you began to clear away your tools. “All it takes is a nudge in the right direction, and they’ll tear each other apart. No one will stop to notice who did the nudging.”

Littlefinger tilted his head, studying you for a moment longer. “Perhaps,” he mused, his tone as noncommittal as ever, “but wolves are tricky. You can never be sure which way they’ll turn.”

“That’s true,” you conceded, meeting his eyes directly. “But I’ve always been good at reading the pack.”

The silence that followed was heavy, each of you measuring the other, testing the boundaries. He wouldn’t act on your words immediately. Littlefinger was too careful, too meticulous for that. But you could see the spark in his eyes—the idea was there, planted, waiting to take root.

With a nod, he turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “You have a dangerous mind,” he remarked, half admiration, half warning. “Be careful. The pack bites back.”

You gave him a knowing look. “Only if they see the one holding the leash.”

Days passed, and as you moved through the grand halls of the Red Keep, you watched everything begin to fall into place. Like a silent puppeteer, you pulled the strings without ever needing to step into the light.

Varys had been busy, moving pieces on the board that even you hadn’t expected. Ros had whispered in his ear, and soon after, Lady Olenna Tyrell had been brought into the fold. The whispers of a marriage between Sansa Stark and Loras Tyrell spread through the castle like wildfire. You had always known Varys to be a man of schemes, but even you marveled at how quickly he moved.

In the gardens, you overheard the conversations as they unfolded—subtle, quiet, but filled with power. Lady Olenna, with her sharp wit and keen mind, was already orchestrating her plans, likely envisioning a future without Joffrey’s cruel reign.

You stood in the shadows as Littlefinger passed by, his expression unreadable. He had heard your suggestion, and though you were not directly involved, you knew the idea had taken root. He would set things in motion, ensuring the chaos that followed would serve him—and you would remain unseen, untouched by the blood that would soon spill.

RED KEEP, WESTEROS – 301 AC

The War of the Five Kings dragged on, but within the Red Keep, the battles were far subtler, fought with whispers and veiled threats. Your life as a servant under King Joffrey's reign had grown increasingly unbearable. Between the relentless demands of court life and the constant fear of his cruelty, you found little time to care for yourself.

Your headache throbbed—a reminder that you hadn’t eaten since dawn, and the long days had begun to blur into endless nights. It wasn’t uncommon for you to push through these spells, but this time felt different. The world around you grew heavier, your limbs sluggish, and the gardens seemed far away.

Basket in hand, filled with fruit from the kitchens, you trudged through the Red Keep's gardens. The bright afternoon light stabbed at your eyes, worsening the pounding in your head. You tried to focus on your task, but each step felt more labored, and a cold sweat broke out on your skin.

As you rounded a corner near the overgrown hedges, your vision blurred. The world tilted. The cobbled path beneath your feet shifted into an unforgiving blur of stone and soil, and with a muffled thud, everything went black.

In that hazy in-between of consciousness, a voice pulls you back—familiar, though distant. “He would have liked you,” Princess Elia’s voice echoes in your mind.

“Whom do you speak of, my lady?” you had once asked her, back when the Red Keep still buzzed with life and not dread.

“My brother. Oberyn. He’s trouble, but even so, I love him dearly.”

For a brief moment, you can almost feel her presence, and the weight of the past rushes over you like a cold wave. You blink, pulling yourself out of the memory just as a different voice fills your ears. A deeper one, full of curiosity and something unreadable.

You woke slowly, your senses coming back in fragments: the scent of crushed grass, the cool air against your skin, and the distant murmur of voices. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the filtered sunlight through the leaves overhead.

"Careful. Don’t rush."

The voice was deep, tinged with amusement. A hand—warm and strong—rested on your shoulder, gently holding you down. You blinked, focusing on the face above you, unfamiliar yet striking. Dark, sharp eyes, framed by lustrous and black with only a few silver streaks recede from his brow into a widow's peak. The emblem of a red sun pierced by a golden spear embroidered on his tunic caught your eye.

Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper of Dorne.

“Are you injured?” His voice held a soft curiosity as if you were some puzzle he intended to unravel.

You shook your head, still disoriented. "No, I... I must have fainted."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the basket of spilled fruit beside you. “It seems you’ve been overworking yourself. King Joffrey’s court, I assume? They’re not known for their kindness.”

A rush of embarrassment warmed your cheeks. You scrambled to sit up, but Oberyn’s hand remained firm.

“Take your time,” he said, his tone softening. “Even a servant deserves a moment to breathe.”

You weren’t used to kindness, especially not from someone of his stature. His reputation as a fierce and dangerous man preceded him, yet there was something else—an air of compassion, albeit hidden beneath his sharp edges.

“I’m... grateful,” you murmured, unsure of how to respond. “But I should get back to my duties. They won’t—”

Oberyn interrupted with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let them wait. The Lannisters have their claws in many, but even a viper can strike when the time is right.”

There was a pause, a subtle shift in the air between you and Oberyn Martell. His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, and though his words were casual, they held an undercurrent you couldn’t quite place. It was as though he saw something deeper in you, something more than just a servant tending to her duties. Fate, or perhaps something far more dangerous, had drawn his attention to you.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he stood upright, his dark eyes gleaming with a playful intensity. "You Dornish are known for our... passions," he said, his voice a low, deliberate purr. "But it seems fate has a way of placing beauty in my path, whether I ask for it or not."

You blink, unsure of how to respond, heat rising uncomfortably to your face. He stepped closer, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, lingering there a moment longer than propriety would allow. "Tell me," Oberyn continued, his tone playful yet edged with something deeper, "does a woman like you often find herself fainting at the feet of princes? Or is this a rare occasion?"

Your breath hitched, panic flaring inside you, though you did your best to suppress it. Affection—let alone attention—was something you were unaccustomed to. His flirtation was like a wildfire, threatening to burn through the careful walls you'd built around yourself.

"I... I don’t..." you stammered, trying to pull your thoughts together, your mind racing. You weren’t used to being noticed, not like this, not by someone like him.

Oberyn tilted his head, his smirk widening as if he could sense the flurry of emotions raging within you. "Don't be shy," he murmured, voice lowering as his eyes roamed over you with quiet curiosity. "I can see there's much more to you than meets the eye." 

The words felt like a tease, a challenge wrapped in silk, and your heart pounded in your chest, caught between the instinct to flee or stand frozen in place. Oberyn Martell's gaze seemed to strip away every defense you had carefully built over the years, as though he could see straight through the mask of servitude you wore.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, steadying your trembling nerves. This was not the time to panic, not in front of the Red Viper of Dorne. He was too sharp, too dangerous, and your heart fluttered at the way his presence seemed to unsettle the very air around you.

Without answering the prince’s flirtatious remark, you bent down to hurriedly gather the fallen fruit, your fingers clumsy as you fumbled with the basket. But even as you moved, you felt his eyes on you, watching every motion with an almost predatory amusement.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he crouched beside you, his hand brushing yours as he handed you one of the scattered apples. "You're in quite the hurry," he murmured, the smirk never leaving his face. His touch lingered, deliberately slow as he placed the fruit in your basket.

You rose quickly, trying to distance yourself, but Oberyn stood just as swiftly. Before you could retreat, he grasped your wrist, pulling it gently toward him. His movements were fluid, effortless, as if this were a dance he had long perfected. He raised your hand to his lips, his dark eyes locked on yours, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles—his lips soft, warm against your skin.

Your breath caught, panic fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird. Heat crept up your neck, your heart racing as you tried to pull yourself together, but his touch seemed to set your mind spinning.

Just then, Oberyn’s eyes shifted, narrowing as he caught sight of something—your scars, peeking out from beneath your long sleeves. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, curiosity flashing across his features. He tilted his head, about to speak.

But you jerked your hand away, the sudden movement sharp, almost frantic. "I should go," you blurted, the words tumbling out hastily. You gathered your things, your pulse still thrumming wildly as you turned on your heel, desperate to escape his piercing gaze.

As you hurried away, you could feel Oberyn's eyes lingering on your retreating form, his expression unreadable. Even in your rush, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the prince wasn’t done with you yet.

KING'S LANDING, WESTEROS – 301 AC

The sun hung high over King’s Landing, its golden light casting a deceptive warmth over the cool sea breeze that drifted in from Blackwater Bay. You stood with Marei at the edge of the courtyard, the bustle of the palace below and the hum of the city distant beneath the tranquil air. The garden was alive with color, a stark contrast to the heavy gloom that clung to those gathered at the banquet table.

Shae moved with a quiet urgency, filling a plate with food from the banquet spread. She placed it in front of Sansa, who sat still, pale and lifeless, her face void of any spark. Her slender hands rested on her lap, unmoving. It was as if she had already become a shadow, despite still breathing.

“You need to eat something,” Shae urged softly, her voice carrying both concern and exasperation.

Sansa did not stir. 

“Pigeon pie,” Shae offered, her tone gentler now, but Sansa’s pale lips barely moved as she whispered, “No, thank you.”

A sigh escaped Shae, but she quickly turned back to the table, scanning for something else. With a quick motion, she removed Sansa's untouched plate and placed a new offering in front of her. “Lemon cakes?” Shae asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice. Everyone knew Sansa's love for lemon cakes.

Sansa’s voice, barely a whisper, responded again. “No, thank you.”

Shae’s expression faltered. “You love lemon cakes.”

But Sansa remained unmoved, as if the world around her had lost all meaning. Shae’s shoulders slumped in frustration, her eyes flicking toward you and Marei before glancing at the entrance of the courtyard.

Tyrion Lannister entered the garden with deliberate steps, his short legs struggling to match the long strides of the men he was often compared to. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the scene with quick efficiency. Despite his stature, you had learned well enough that Lord Tyrion Lannister was not a man to be underestimated. His mind was his sharpest weapon.

“Tyrion,” Shae called out to him with a sigh of relief. “Tell her she needs to eat.”

Tyrion approached the table, offering a small, polite smile. “My lady, you do need to eat.”

Sansa’s gaze remained fixed somewhere in the distance, her hands limp in her lap. “I don’t need to eat,” she said softly, without even looking at him.

Tyrion hesitated for a moment, glancing between Shae, you, and Marei. His expression was measured, patient. “Could I have a moment alone with my wife?” he asked gently, though his tone held the firmness of a command.

You exchanged a quick look with Marei before bowing your head and stepping away. Shae, however, lingered, her eyes flashing with concern and defiance. She crossed her arms, unwilling to yield.

“She needs to eat,” Shae said stubbornly, her eyes narrowing as she looked between Tyrion and Sansa. 

Tyrion met her gaze, his expression imploring, but Shae’s frustration was palpable. With one last glance at Sansa, Shae reluctantly turned and left the garden.

Tyrion took a seat across from Sansa, his eyes softening as he reached out to take her hand. His grip was gentle, but firm enough to draw her from her daze. “I can’t let you starve, Sansa,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet compassion.

Sansa didn’t react. She stared past him, her blue eyes hollow, as if the world had dulled to nothing but gray. Shae, now at the far end of the garden, cast a furious glance back toward Tyrion, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

A FEW DAYS LATER

KITCHEN KEEP, KING'S LANDING — DAY

The kitchen was a chaotic blend of sounds and smells, with servants rushing around, preparing the feast for the garden party. You focused on your tasks, slicing fruits and arranging them neatly, hoping the repetitive motions would calm the unease bubbling in your chest. The Lannisters' garden parties always came with tension—too many eyes, too many secrets.

Serena, ever observant, moved beside you with a conspiratorial smile. Her presence had always been a quiet comfort, an unspoken pact between two women wronged by the same family. She nudged your side playfully, her voice just loud enough for you to hear over the clattering pans and murmurs of other servants.

“Guess what I overheard in the gardens earlier,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of fresh gossip.

You glanced up, your curiosity piqued. “What is it now?”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping even lower. “Tyrion and Lord Varys were having one of their secret little chats. Something about Shae.” She gave a sly smile before recounting the conversation she’d overheard, her voice adopting a mocking impression of Tyrion's measured tone.

“Lord Varys. Breakfasting with the king?”

Your hands paused over the fruit, recognizing the weight of that simple greeting. Serena continued, now mimicking Varys’ smooth, ever-cautious reply.

“I’m afraid foreigners aren’t welcome at such exclusive affairs,” she quoted, barely concealing a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at your lips. Tyrion and Varys—always circling each other, testing the limits of loyalty and power. Serena’s impression was spot on, and the dry chuckle she added to Varys’ line brought the exchange to life.

“Oh, to be foreign,” she muttered in Tyrion’s voice before glancing around the bustling kitchen with exaggerated suspicion, mimicking Varys’ quiet amusement.

“Ahem,” she finished with a soft laugh.

The kitchen clamor drowned out any chance of someone overhearing, but you kept your gaze fixed on your hands, focusing on the fruit before you. "What did they say after that?" you asked in a low voice, not wanting to appear too interested but knowing that information like this was often a lifeline in King's Landing.

Serena's smile dimmed slightly as she continued, her tone more serious now. “They were talking about Shae. Varys warned Tyrion that she’s been noticed. That Sansa’s maid saw them together, and it’s only a matter of time before Cersei—and worse, Tywin—find out.”

Your breath hitched slightly. That was dangerous—too dangerous for a place like this.

You glanced up at Serena, who nodded grimly. “Varys told Tyrion his father has promised to hang the next whore he’s found with.”

Your stomach twisted, though you managed to keep your expression neutral. Information like this could be a weapon if used correctly. But it also carried its own risks, especially for someone like you, who lived in the shadows of these powerful people. You simply nodded and whispered, "Thank you."

KING’S LANDING GARDEN, DAY — 301 AC

The gardens of the Red Keep, beautiful though they were, could not ease the tension that clung to the air. The lush greenery and sea breeze seemed wasted on the gathering before you, where cruelty simmered beneath the surface. You moved silently among the servants, pouring wine, offering trays of food, your head low as your sharp eyes observed everything. No one here was truly safe—not even those who smiled and pretended otherwise.

You had learned long ago to watch, to listen, to see things others missed. And here, among the so-called lords and ladies, your simmering hatred boiled just beneath the surface. Revenge had a way of lurking in quiet moments like these, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

At the head of the table sat King Joffrey, his golden crown glinting in the sun like a mockery of all that was just. Around him, the key players of the realm gathered: Queen Cersei, her eyes sharp and watchful; Lord Tywin, stoic and commanding as always; Prince Tommen, innocent and ignorant of the malice around him; and Grand Maester Pycelle, old and leering.

But your attention flickered to Sansa Stark. Pale, withdrawn, her once-vibrant spirit all but crushed under the weight of her suffering. She sat beside her husband, Tyrion Lannister, who, despite his small stature, radiated an awareness far sharper than anyone gave him credit for. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken grief they both carried.

Your heart tightened as you watched, knowing Sansa's pain was not unlike your own. Like her, you had learned to survive in silence, though your silence was of a different kind. The Lannisters had taken too much from you. They were going to pay for it one day, one way or another.

Across the table, Lord Mace Tyrell puffed out his chest, carrying a gleaming goblet, his voice filled with a pride that bordered on foolishness.

“From House Tyrell and the people of the Reach, Your Grace, it is my honor to present you with this wedding cup.”

He placed the goblet before Joffrey, who barely looked at it, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“A handsome goblet, my lord. Or shall I call you Father?”

You noted how Mace Tyrell’s face flushed with both pride and unease. He bowed deeply. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

As Mace withdrew, Shae moved gracefully through the crowd, setting a tray before Sansa. You saw how her eyes flickered toward the young girl, but there was no response from Sansa, no recognition of the kindness that once might have been there.

Then, the sharp voice of Queen Cersei pierced the moment, her words venomous.

“She’s the whore I told you about. The dark-haired one.”

Your blood boiled as you saw Shae stiffen. The insult cut through the air like a blade, but Shae, ever composed, turned to leave without a word. You noticed how Tywin’s cold eyes followed her, narrowing as she walked away.

“Have her brought to the Tower of the Hand before the wedding,” Tywin ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion, yet as sharp as a death sentence.

Tyrion’s face darkened. You could see the concern etched into his features, his helplessness as he tried to control a situation slipping further out of his grasp. Your heart raced, knowing the precarious game being played here—and how dangerous it was for all involved.

Shae’s departure was barely noticed as Podrick stepped forward, carrying a large tome. He placed it carefully before Joffrey, and Tyrion followed, a strained smile on his face as he addressed the king.

“A book,” Joffrey said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Tyrion clasped his hands together, speaking with calm civility. “The Lives of Four Kings. Grand Maester Kaeth’s history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good. A book every king should read.”

For a brief moment, Joffrey hesitated. His sharp tongue seemed to fail him as the weight of the gift hovered in the air. But Tywin’s piercing gaze prodded him, and the boy-king forced a mocking smile.

“Now that the war is won, we should all find time for wisdom,” Joffrey said, his voice laced with scorn. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Tyrion bowed, but the tension between them crackled like a hidden storm.

Before anyone could breathe, The Mountain lumbered forward, carrying a sword swathed in black cloth. He laid it before Joffrey with all the reverence of a knight presenting a sacred relic. Tywin rose, his voice steeped in gravitas as he spoke.

“One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the capital, Your Grace, freshly forged in your honor.”

Joffrey’s eyes gleamed with an almost childlike excitement as he tore the sword from its sheath, its blade gleaming ominously in the sunlight. You felt a ripple of unease roll through the gathered nobles as the blade sliced through the air.

“Careful, Your Grace,” Pycelle croaked from his seat. “Nothing cuts like Valyrian steel.”

But Joffrey’s wicked grin only widened. “So they say.”

In a sudden, violent movement, Joffrey swung the sword down, cleaving the book Tyrion had gifted him clean in half. The sound of tearing parchment and splintering leather echoed through the garden. A gasp rippled through the crowd, but Joffrey was delighted with himself.

“Such a great sword should have a name,” Joffrey declared, his eyes burning with cruel glee. “What shall I call her?”

The crowd murmured suggestions, none of which seemed to please the boy-king. But then, his lips curled into a malicious grin.

“Widow’s Wail. I like that. Every time I use it, it’ll be like cutting off Ned Stark’s head all over again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You saw Sansa freeze beside him, her face drained of color, her entire body rigid with the memory of her father’s execution. Across the garden, Shae watched, her eyes narrowing with unspoken fury.

You kept your head down, but the seething rage inside you boiled hotter. One day, they would all pay for this. The Lannisters, their cruelty, their arrogance—it would all come crashing down. And you would make sure of it.

KING’S LANDING GARDEN, LATE AFTERNOON — 301 AC

The preparations for the royal wedding between Joffrey and Margaery were endless, consuming the days and nights of everyone within the Red Keep. But while others concerned themselves with the surface duties, your mind was preoccupied with a far more dangerous task.

The thought of the Strangler stones hidden within Sansa's necklace gnawed at you. The pieces were already in motion, each step methodically planned. Your hands moved through the flowers you were tasked with arranging, but your thoughts were elsewhere, carefully calculating the next move in your plot to bring down King Joffrey without implicating yourself. 

As you worked alone in the gardens, the late afternoon sun blazed overhead. The sweat clung to your skin, and the heat forced you to roll your sleeves up just enough to reveal the faint, jagged lines of scars that adorned your forearms. The burn scars, remnants of your brutal encounter with Ser Gregor Clegane, were still a reminder of what you endured—and survived. The pain was still fresh, but it fueled your resolve. Spite, after all, was a powerful motivator.

You barely noticed the approaching footsteps until a shadow fell across your path. Looking up, you were met with the sharp, knowing gaze of Oberyn Martell. His smirk was playful, as it often was, but there was something deeper there—an intensity that sent a ripple of unease through you. 

"You work too hard," he said smoothly, his voice like silk. "It’s a crime to see such beauty covered in dirt."

You straightened, brushing your hands on your apron, trying to keep the panic from showing. "I have my duties, my lord," you replied, keeping your tone even. The way Oberyn looked at you—intense, almost predatory—made your heart race, though you tried to remain composed.

He crouched beside you, plucking a flower from the arrangement and twirling it between his fingers. His eyes flicked briefly to the scars on your arm, scars you quickly moved to conceal by rolling down your sleeves. But it was too late—Oberyn’s gaze lingered on them for just a moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. 

The way he studied you wasn’t merely out of curiosity, but recognition. His next words carried a weight that hung in the air between you both. 

"There are stories... of a servant who once attended to Princess Elia." Oberyn’s tone remained casual, but you could feel the shift, the tension creeping in as he spoke. "They say she escaped the Sack of King’s Landing with her life. Barely."

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to remain still. You had heard those stories too. After all, you had lived them.

Oberyn leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Some say she vanished, swallowed by the chaos. Others claim she survived through sheer will, fueled by spite." His dark eyes locked onto yours, searching. "I wonder… do you know of such tales?"

The question lingered in the air, heavy with suspicion. You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, but your face remained a mask of composure. "Many stories are told in King’s Landing, my lord. Few of them hold any truth."

Oberyn’s lips curled into a faint smile, but his eyes remained sharp, watching you carefully. "Perhaps," he murmured. "But then again, some tales are more dangerous than others." He stood up, still twirling the flower between his fingers, casting one last glance at your concealed scars. "Sometimes, survival speaks louder than words."

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment. Ellaria Sand approached, her eyes already on you. There was a possessiveness in her gaze, though softened by intrigue.

“So this is the woman who has caught my prince’s eye,” Ellaria remarked, her voice a low purr as she moved closer, her hand brushing lightly against Oberyn’s shoulder.

You bowed your head, hiding the inner storm brewing within you. "My lady," you greeted, though the tension in the air was unmistakable.

Ellaria’s gaze flicked to Oberyn, then back to you. “She is different,” she said, her tone intrigued, but there was an edge of caution in her words. “I wonder what it is you see in her, my love?”

Oberyn chuckled softly, his attention still on you. “There’s something about her,” he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with deeper meaning. “Something familiar.”

Ellaria looped her arm through his, drawing him closer to her side. “Familiar or not, I trust you know where your loyalties lie.”

Oberyn’s smile deepened, but his gaze didn’t waver from you. "Always," he replied to Ellaria, but his words were aimed at you, and the unspoken suspicion between you both lingered in the air, unsaid but undeniable.

As the two of them moved off together, your heart pounded in your chest. Oberyn's words, the way he had looked at you—he was starting to piece it together. He suspected who you truly were, but for now, he remained silent, watching. You returned to your task, but the weight of his suspicion clung to you. 

Everything had only just begun, and you were already in far deeper than you had anticipated. But like the scars on your skin, the memories of your past had shaped you into what you were now. And just like that day long ago, you would survive.

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen

[lagncx]

Meat puppet.

Protecting a fire with bare hands ch:14

<<<<Hello to you all feels good to be back, and feels good to say I am back with another chapter. I wanna say that this romance is slow I apologize but it never felt right to just have them kiss and make out but trust me I DID try. but I feel you can tell they have feelings but they will kiss I am a sucker for kissing.>>>>>>>>>>

--------youre all ive ever wanted.-----------tw: torture

“Did you think about me while I was away?”

Heimdall cracked his knuckles as he gazed out over the water, its surface shimmering like molten gold in the sunset. He turned to face the colossal wall that had confined him for what felt like an eternity. “Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, that familiar pull of your words lingering in his mind. 

Crouching down, he caught sight of his reflection in the still water—he was a mess, and he despised it. His hair was damp with the sweat of exertion and the remnants of the very water you had brought after he—

His hands trembled as he looked down, the crimson stains on his palms gaudy and haunting. Your blood. Panic clawed at his chest as he released a shaky breath. He plunged his hands into the cool water, scrubbing furiously, desperate to cleanse himself of the stain that wouldn’t wash away.

   He still felt disgust, and he went further into the water with a panicked breath, submerging into it.

   -

 Heimdall held you close to him as he made his way through Asgard. Thrúd had been behind him. Unfortunately, people had their eyes glued on you both and the children…Heimdall knew they loved you so much. Some were hiding or trying to ask Thrúd what happened.  Heimdall grew tired, slowing down as he walked, looking down at you. 

  “Heimdall…it hurts.” Heimdall let out a shaky sigh. “Of course, it hurts. I cut off your arm.” You whimpered as he shifted you a bit in his arms. Suddenly blocking his path were two Valkyries. Heimdall looked up, too anxious to be angry. With a simple expression, he spoke, “Move.” 

   The Valkyries looked at you, “Golden prince, we can take her off your hands.” They went to grab you, but Heimdall pulled back, “Take her off my hands?! She’s not some burden. I have her.” The Valkyrie on the left approached “Sir, we c-“ 

 Thrúd stepped up. “He said, he’s got her.” Heimdall looked down at her, smiling softly. The woman moved, and Heimdall continued, his legs shaking just a little, you were still mumbling gibberish. It was good because that meant you were alive. 

   It reassured him you were alive.

  -

Heimdall slipped into fresh clothes, carelessly letting his bloodstained garments fall to the floor, knowing one of the keepers would deal with the mess. They weren't armor, just simple fabric, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. It was late, but sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford tonight. As he stepped out of his room, a gnawing emptiness churned in his stomach, filled only by the heavy weight of guilt. 

As he made his way down the dimly lit corridor, he crossed paths with Sif. She reached out, pulling him closer, her expression a mixture of concern and compassion. “Heimdall… I heard the news. I’m so sorry. Was it that boy's father who did it?” Her piercing gaze lingered on him, catching the shadow of anguish in his usually vibrant eyes.  

He’s in his own head and not everyone else’s. 

  Heimdall removed her hands. “It was me.” Sif dropped her arms, but before Heimdall could go, she said, “Heimdall, don’t blame yourself.” He shook his head, “I already do…”

  Heimdall made his way to the small building that had a large white sign on it, that’s where he left you. Heimdall stopped, something catching his eye. turning to the right of him were two Midgardian kids. With gold…Heimdall approached them, and they looked at him with fear. “L-lord Heimdall! We’re sorry we didn’t steal it, we found it! Honest! We’re not lying, we promise.” The girl shook. 

  Heimdall crouched down, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I can see you're telling the truth, so there's no need to be scared. May I take a look?” With a hesitant nod, the smaller girl placed the object in his palm. He examined it closely, his brow furrowing. “It’s tarnished and honestly quite ugly—it's lost its shine and value. Such a shame.” He slipped it into his pocket, noticing the little girl's frown deepening as tears brimmed in her eyes. 

  Her sister quickly shushed her, but Heimdall couldn’t help but smile. “Oh dear, little one seems unhappy. We can’t have that, can we?” 

Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he reached behind both girls' ears and dramatically pulled out two gleaming gold coins. Their eyes widened in awe, sparkling with wonder and excitement.  Heimdall chuckled as he gave them both the coins. “Magic, I tell you.” He said, standing up again and walking away. 

   Pushing open the door, he walked to a nurse. “Oh, lord Heimdall, it’s been barely an hour since you’ve been gone, you can go home and rest!” Heimdall shook his head. “I’m fine, I don’t need rest, how is she?” The nurse's smile turned down slightly. “She’s lost a lot of blood; she’s stable, but she hasn’t woken up.” Heimdall nodded. “Can I see her?” The nurse bowed her head and led him to the room you were in, walking inside, it was the keepers of the Black Thunder, the couple that had taken you in as their own.

  “Heimdall! Thank the gods you're here, we’ve been waiting for you to tell us what happened.” Heimdall put a hand up, “and I will, but not right now.” The nurse saw Heimdall wave her over, and she approached, leading your parents out. “Heimdall will come to you both, I’m sure.” Heimdall shut the door.

   Plopping down on the seat, he watched you as you took soft breaths, a cloth damp with water over your head. Leaning on his knees, he pressed his lips together. He knew water couldn't heal this damage.

  It had been a few hours of him just watching you. Heimdall pulled out the golden chain from his pocket. “One of your little Midgardian kids found it. It’s the same one, the one I put around your neck.” Heimdall scooted his chair closer, laying a soft hand on your cheek. “For the love of Odin, please wake up so I don’t have to feel awful anymore.” Heimdall looked down at the chain. “I can’t hear anything from your mind, it’s silent. It’s so quiet now that the quiet is loud.” 

  Heimdall laid his hand on your stomach. “I never realized how—silent everything was when you left.” Heimdall lifted his head, looking at your arm that was wrapped tightly. “Days passed slowly without you in Asgard. That night at the banquet, I was selfish, I was afraid you would take my spot on my father's side…but you wouldn’t do that, I was filled with jealousy.” Heimdall shifted slightly. “You would’ve stayed by my side through it all, and I hurt you. More than once.” 

    He was exhausted. He sighed and laid his head down on your side again, succumbing to sleep. Heimdall remembered the way you used to nap together when you both first became friends—well, when he eventually accepted you.

-

 Heimdall had gotten back from the dwarf realm, but he was in bad shape. He went straight to be treated, and you didn’t see each other on the way; you were distraught. The helmets had just waved you off, 

   Heimdall had his arm in a sling and a wrap around his right eye. He had noticed there seemed to be heavy rain; he knew it was you, he’d be lying to say he wasn’t looking forward to boasting about his victories. 

  Pushing the door open to Black Thunder with one hand, he met eyes with your father as he cleaned the tables, “Ah- you came.” Heimdall nodded, “Yes, the weather is quite…wet. I’m guessing she’s crying over missing fluff in her pillows?” Your father snorted somewhat. He nodded his head to the stairs. “She was trying to find you for hours.” Heimdall frowned. “I was injured.” Your father shrugged and continued to the kitchen. 

  With a pent-up sigh, Heimdall approached your room, knocking, then opening the door after a moment of silence. You were sleeping soundly. 

  Heimdall looked at your bedside table. There was a stuffie, it was an animal, a wolf. Heimdall picked it up. “Where’d you get this from? There’s no place for wolves in this pride.” Heimdall chuckled, “Should’ve gone with a stuffed lion, they’re loyal.” 

  Heimdall looked at you and exhaustedly crawled into the bed beside you. “It’s good to be back.” He whispered before falling asleep, his back facing yours.

——

   Heimdall was jolted awake when troops and the all-father walked in. “Heimdall.” He spoke, wiping the drool from his mouth embarrassingly. Heimdall stood up, back towards you, holding up his head, “All-father.���

….silence

  Heimdall arched a brow, looking at the Valkyrie who walked in .“Why are you?” Odin hushed him. “The girl, have you noticed anything weird?” Heimdall shrugged after a moment lost in his thoughts, “No—I mean-…I cut off her arm.” He admitted shamefully, Odin walked past him and removed the cover you revealing your upper body, covering your breast with a single bandage, and the lower was just your pants. Heimdall turned in the same way as Odin. “What is the meaning of this?” Heimdall wondered, Odin's hands hovered on your skin as though he was scanning. Searching.

  “Are you questioning me now?” Heimdall shrank back like an elephant from a mouse, “No father…” Odin stopped and leaned in, grabbing your arm, a bright glowing orange like a flame shone from the cracks in his fingers. Heimdall's eyes widened. 

  “Your suspicion was right, All Father truly, your knowledge is infinite.” The Valkyrie praised as she bowed her head. Odin clicked his tongue, “No���knowledge is something you have to take. I must know what lies in her mind.” Odin turned around after laying the cover on you, walking out with the group behind him. Heimdall leaned close to you whispering “I’ll be back.”, and ran after his father.

   Odin held the shoulders of the nurse. “I want you to keep a close eye on her.” The nurse nodded and bowed. Heimdall followed his father, others disbanded, and it was just the two. Heimdall and he stepped into the ring of ravens as they ended up in the archives. “Father, I don’t understand. What was on her arm?” 

  Odin hummed “runes. Vanir runes. Old vanir runes are naked to the untrained eye. Except mine.” Heimdall looked down. “That can’t be Father, she has only been to Midgard.” Odin grabbed a book. “That is what she told you, yes? Heimdall, what happened to thinking? Has being outside the walls made you smooth-brained?” Heimdall looked down, “No father-I“ 

  Odin shoved a book in his hands. “Gods, quit your mumbling. I’ve long cured that damn stutter, you are not a toddler.” 

Cured.

  Heimdall cleared his throat and looked at the pages. “These…are vanir traditions, berry crushing, rituals, sacrifices…why is this important?” Heimdall said, overlooking the page where a woman was using crushed berries to write a rune on her chin. “Heimdall, her mother…was Vanir.” Odin spoke before grabbing another book and giving it to him, throwing the other one. 

 Heimdall lowered his head, trying to reason. “Well, that’s expected, I mean, she did come from outside.” 

  Odin nodded, “Yes, but her father, her father is a traitor. He used to lead my armies; he was skilled with a sword and other things. He was my right-hand man.” Heimdall squinted at this 

   Stepping forward, “Father, I thought you knew nothing of—“ Odin let his head fall. “I knew all about him and his little witch he decided to run off with.” Heimdall arched a brow, and Odin continued walking with him through the halls. “We had broken the alliance with Vanaheim, and her father and mother were long gone. He betrayed me, us…Asgard and I could not allow it.”

Heimdall nodded slowly, his expression solemn. “I understand,” he said, with a hint of apprehension in his voice. 

Odin, however, shook his head, his brow etched with a mixture of concern and anger.. “You don’t grasp the full gravity of the situation,” he replied, his voice resonating with authority. “Her father was scheming against me, plotting in the shadows. Meanwhile, her mother, through a web of manipulation, convinced your mothers to… bless the girl.” 

Heimdall furrowed his brows, the realization dawning on him like a storm cloud. “So they cursed her with that magic,” he murmured, his tone heavy with understanding. “It may appear powerful, but in reality, it devours her from within, transforming what should be a gift into a shackle.”

  Odin put a hand on Heimdall's shoulder. “It is not her fault, they planned to use her as a weapon. Her father believed in Freyrs 'truth.” 

   Walking back outside, Ravens started to circle the all-father. “But I saved her. From being a weapon.” Odin looked down, the birds circling him. “I killed them.”

    Suddenly, he was gone, just like that. “Lord Heimdall! My lord, she has awoken!” Heimdall looked down, seeing something in his hand, a pendant. He’s seen it before, in your memories…in your mind during the hallucinations from the Norns. 

——

   Heimdall ran into the room only to yell and close his eyes, “Gods! I apologize.”

   You laughed, the nurses quickly covering your breasts up. “Thank you, girls.” They bowed and walked out, giggling at Heimdall's posture. You sat up, “Heimdall.” You acknowledged, and he looked at you. Your eyes were dark, and you wore a smile, though you looked dazed. Heimdall approached you. “How are you feeling?” he demanded. You shrugged, “I’m alright…for losing an arm.” Heimdall frowned. “You should lie down.” 

  You shook your head, “No, too much to be done. The Midgardians—I promised to…dammit I forgot.” Heimdall crossed his arms “Even if you remembered you weren’t going to get your ass off that bed.” You looked at him and huffed in compliance. Looking down, you saw your sword. “Been holding that for me, watchman?” Heimdall looked down at it. “Yes, I kept it safe.” 

   You smiled, your eyes flickering down. Heimdall went to lay you back down. “You should rest,” he said, tucking you in and shaking your head. You said, “Stay. Don’t go.” Heimdall saw something flicker in your mind, making his eyes soften. 

  The same as the night of the celebration. 

   He nodded and sat down on the chair, his hand holding yours. “Heimdall..” you spoke after a minute or so, he looked up at you with raised brows, “What is it?” You sighed “What am I gonna do, look at me, I’m completely fucked.” Heimdall frowned. “Just one arm isn’t going to stop you. I’ve seen you overcome things.” You pulled your hand away, placing it over your eyes. “Heimdall, what about when I want to get married! Who’s gonna marry a one-armed Betty?” Heimdall sneered, “That's what you're worried about?” 

  You sniffled, “Yes.” Heimdall growled, “Not the fact that you could be infected? Or that you will have trouble fighting? You’re worried about who will lie with you?!” 

   You looked at him with tears clouding your view, “I just want someone to love me,” you whispered as you wept softly. Heimdall leaned back, his eyes turning sympathetic.

  “Love is foolish. You’re not missing out on anything.”

——

  It had been a few days, you were up on your feet again. You were excited to get back to normal. 

Normal.

    “Morning kiddos!” You said, happily standing on top of one of the grassy hills outside the wall, they all looked up at you in their training clothes. “It’s so nice out today!” You said they yawned tiredly. “Why’re we out here so early?” one of the Midgardians said, tiredly leaning on their friend, who was Asgardian by the way. You smiled, “Well, I wanted us to explore the wilderness, and I have been given the okay to take you all out of Asgard!” 

   The kids perked up. “Really?” One of them spoke, “…Wait, did Heimdall approve?” you groaned. Why does everyone think Heimdall runs things? 

  The kids shrugged, “Well, you’re still recovering.” 

    You laughed “One arm has nothing to do with anything. I’m still just as strong as you guys” the kids looked up at you playfully “Prove it.” 

 You sighed pulling off your cloak.

—————

   “What’re you doing?” You said climbing on the fence sitting down and watching Heimdall wave his arms in a Fluid motion. His eyebrow twitched before sighing “balancing.” You snorted “Who’d you learn that from? Thor?” Heimdall took a deep breath “No, Tyr.” Your eyes widened “Oh…” 

   Heimdalls motions became faster as you flinched as your hair whipped your face from the wind. The wind was blowing hard and the grass danced as the clouds disappeared, the sun shining through…

‘He will bring light and smite the wicked.’ 

   Heimdall stopped and opened his eyes overlooking the field. He turned to you with an indifferent face. “Want to learn?”

——-

    Using your only hand you held it over your chest pushing your shoe into the ground, the kids waited.

   “Is it supposed to be happening?” One of them said but was shushed by the others. You could feel it, the earth like in Vanaheim. Taking a deep breath there were loud noises. You opened your eyes hearing the kids mumbling. You looked up seeing how water towered over you all, but the water fell back into its original form as soon as you stopped concentrating.

   You smiled back at the kids “Let us go!” You said happily skipping into a portal that formed hopping into the other realm. 

    With a happy sigh you took a deep breath in “Breathe it in my students, welcome to Midgard.” The kids huddled close, holding themselves. The cold air was already forming ice on their lashes. 

   Skoldr huddled to you closest the others teased him for his crush on you but you found it adorable. “W-why have w-we come here-“ you looked down at him with a warm smile “Because you all have grown accustomed to…well peace, none of you have ever faced true foes or been in true danger.” You yawned and sat on a rock.

You manifested your staff in your hand slamming it on the ground causing a loud ring. 

“Today's topic, ancient fighting.” You said your staff disappearing 

   Suddenly there was a rumbling sound. The kids all turned to what seemed to be a rock but it started to move and stand forming a giant ice form. 

   The kids panicked looking at you “Are you going to help us?!” You looked at them while cleaning your sword “Help with what, you have your weapons, and you’ve been trained by me and Heimdall even Thrúd. Now it is up to you.” Suddenly one of the boys, aradin shot an arrow at the creature, making it turn to them slowly. 

  You chuckled “I’d like to say it wasn’t attacking you and it was being docile. Lesson one is, not everything has to be your enemy. Now you for sure have to fight it.” The kids were running around like headless chickens dodging the beams. You laughed at them “Find its weakness!” The kids yelled at each other bickering as they dodged the projectiles from the frost ancient.  

   You held up your sword checking for any damage “If shooting or hitting the outside isn’t working shouldn’t you focus your attack elsewhere?” You said calmly, but today was not the day for victory. Your eyes caught the kids shaking as they laid on the ground hit by the reoccurring frost waves from the ancients stomps. 

   You sighed “alright, that’s enough.” You spoke, raising your right hand and clenching a fist the frost ancient melting in an instant. You grunted getting up from your seat walking to the kids as they wiped the snow off of them. 

   “You have to work together.” You said pointing towards the blue icy core of the ancient floating in the air. “If you all weren’t so busy fighting or competing you’d see the core was the obvious hit spot.” 

  The kids sighed disappointingly. “Well it’s easy for you, you’ve been here before.” You nodded “Yes I have but I was alone. You guys are not, and hopefully it stays that way.” The kids all muttered to each other as you walked ahead of them leading them through the trails. You smiled seeing it, Tyrs Temple. You turned to the kids “This is Tyrs temple, now mine. It’s where I stayed when I was away.” You smiled “It’s frozen now but this is the lake of nine, see the giant monoliths with the runes of the realms?” The kids looked around in awe.

   One of the kids ran up to your side. “Is it true you rode a dragon?” You laughed “I’ve said it before you guys, I saved the dragon, that doesn’t mean it let me ride on its back.” The kids groaned. You smiled “How are you all growing accustomed to the weather?” 

Penelope let out a dramatic sigh, pulling her cloak tighter around her. “It’s absolutely freezing! I’d much rather be in Asgard right now.” 

You gave her a knowing hum in response, trying to lighten the mood. “I understand, but if Ragnarok is really on the horizon, where will you all take shelter?”

The kids gathered around you, their wide eyes fixed on your face, curiosity dancing in their expressions.

You quickly covered your mouth, a laugh escaping as warmth flooded your cheeks. “Mm—excuse me, I have no idea why that just slipped out.” But even as you chuckled, a thread of panic tightened in your chest. 

“What's wrong? Are you okay?” the kids pressed, concern etching their young faces.

Your gaze fell to your sword, which suddenly vibrated fiercely in your grip. It was as if it had a voice of its own, whispering secrets just beyond your comprehension. You squinted at it. “My sword—it’s… talking?”

Skoldjr nodded, his eyes wide with excitement. “Yeah! You said it could, you remember, right?”

Staring at him, confusion set in. “What? No—no, I don’t remember that.” 

In an instant, the world around you dimmed, and a violent tremor rippled through the ground, as if reality itself was unraveling around you.

 ‘Now you are out of Asgard, we will break the wicked hold of the false prophet! I shall strike it!’ Your sword boomed suddenly, the sword handle glowed orange, it started to heat up, burning your hand, making you scream, you couldn’t let go. 

   The fire felt like it was going through your veins, bursting your vessels, and traveling into your heart. The kids backed up, panicking as you fell on your knees. ‘Wake up, banish the lies, remember!’ You looked at your sword, your nose bleeding, drops falling onto the snow, you gasped as your body shook. 

   Helheim. Your parents. Odin…false father, false prophet. Lies and pain and control, suffering and evil. It all came back to you. You took a minute before you pushed yourself up, you wiped your nose, looking down at your missing arm. 

 ‘There you are, welcome back. Odin placed you under a forgetful trance when you were sleeping. But you remember now…’ your sword spoke softly and you nodded. 

“I do.” 

———

Gripping your sword tightly, your knuckles turned ghostly white as you trudged through the muddy roads of Asgard, each step leaving a mark in the soft earth. The smaller children scurried after you, their laughter fading into nervous silence as the swirling mud began to rise ominously around your feet. An oppressive blanket of gray clouds cloaked the sun, casting a shadow over the vibrant realm of the gods.

With a forceful kick, you slammed the door to the great lodge open, eyes immediately drawn to you in a mixture of surprise and curiosity. You stepped inside, your gaze scanning the crowd, seeking a familiar face amid the flickering firelight.

Sif approached, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Hey, how was it with the kids in Midgard?" she asked, but you barely acknowledged her, your focus locked onto Thor, who swayed slightly as he turned to face you, the scent of ale thick on his breath.

“Where’s Odin?!” you demanded, your voice low and fierce, narrowing your eyes at him in challenge. He squinted, seemingly unfazed by the intensity of your glare. “Why? Got business with the old man?”

With a quick step closer, you bore into his gaze, the temperature in the room shifting. “Where is he? Do not test me.”

“Down the hall, in his study with Heimdall,” Thor replied, finally relenting. You spun on your heel, your heart pounding with urgency, and stormed down the dimly lit hallway. Behind you, Thor tipped his pint back, mumbling, “Good luck.” Thrúd and Sif exchanged puzzled glances, the tension still heavy in the air as you disappeared around the corner, determination fueling your every stride.

    You made it to the door, but stopped. Going in alone was that foolish? 

‘You are not alone, I am here.’ 

  You pushed open the door with your shoulder walking up to the desk Heimdall had his eyes on your sword “Oh hello my dear-“ you kicked the chair out of your way “Don’t you fucking call me your dear!” You yelled. Heimdall stepped up, “Watch your words in front of the All-Father!” 

 “He is not all father, he takes the name of the true father in blood, he has stolen the skin of the real creator of the world!” Odin put up a hand, making Heimdall stand down. “Why are you upset, sweetheart?” You growled 

“Why did you do it?”

   “Do wh-“ 

“Kill them! Why did you kill my parents?!” 

   “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You do! You do! I know now, I remember!” 

   “You do.”

“The ravens…they brought you to my home for a second time, you were hiding, watching as I ran into my home to my mother, whom you brutalized. You mangled my father, and you reached for me…you reached for me, and I felt fear wash over me, water rushing through like a wave breaking down the house washing away my parents and me.” 

   Odin nodded, “I did it to protect you, your mother and father were wicked. You—“ you yelled, throwing the table to the other side of the room with your arm. “No more lies!” You said holding the sword to his throat, but you weren’t the only quick one. 

   You felt a blade against your throat as well. You turned your head slowly, looking at those purple bifrost eyes, and your lip wobbled slightly. “Back up.” He said. You looked back at Odin, then at him, I won’t ask again,” Heimdall warned. You pulled back, cutting Odin purposely in the process. Heimdall pushed you back at a safe distance. 

   Odin stood up, wiping his neck. “I knew if you remembered, it would be too much for you to handle.” You looked at Heimdall pushing the blade from your throat, making him step back. “You’re just like your father.” Odin continued,

   “I hoped you would lead my army just like him, You are already a great teacher.” 

  You stepped forward only to be grabbed by Heimdall. “Mm-mm.” He shook his head. 

  You stepped back.. “I’ll never let you use those kids as another one of your trained killers. In your damn blood war!” 

 Heimdall sighed, “All father had his reasons! It is hard to accept it as the truth, but after some time im sure—“

  You shook your head, “No! You can’t be serious, Heimdall! Odin is false, he lies! I’ll never trust him again.”

  Odin grabbed your face, hands on each side of your cheek.

 “I know…that’s why I need your mind.”

‘No!’ Your sword yelled

  Suddenly, you felt yourself being pulled to your knees. You looked down, vines traveled up your leg, and tied themselves around you. You dropped your sword, struggling against the vines. “Father, is this necessary?” Heimdall spoke, looking down at you. 

  Odin ignored him, picking up your sword. “The vanir runes on your arm, where’d you get them?” You looked up at him. “I don’t have to tell you anything!” Odin frowned. “Wrong answer”. Suddenly, the vines pulled off your cloak, squeezing your injured nub, making you let out a low groan. 

 ‘You will not break’ your sword whispered 

   Odin and Heimdall stood in front of you. You looked away from Heimdall, looking down at their boots in front of you. Odin sighed, “Who were you with in Vanaheim?” You closed your eyes, remaining silent. Heimdall flickered his eyes to you, “Just tell the truth.” You looked up at Odin, “Nobody!” You said.

  Odin looked at Heimdall, who clenched his jaw as he looked into your mind, “Speak, boy!” Odin demanded. 

 “She’s lying.” You screamed as a vine pushed into your wound, making you sweat. Odin grunted as he took your sword and put it to your chin. “Who was she with, Heimdall?” He said, forcing your head up with your blade to look into Heimdall's eyes. 

   Heimdall's nose flared.. “Freyr.” You shook your head, “Heimdall no! It’s not like that!” Odin sighed, “I told you, use your brain, Heimdall.” Heimdall looked down at you in slight disappointment.

  “You lied to me.” 

  You grunted in pain, “I did not lie! You never asked!” 

  Heimdall's brow furrowed. “You implied that you had only been to Midgard! But you were lying on the same ground as the enemy!” 

 You gritted your teeth. “Tell me what else you see,” Odin said. Heimdall looked around, his eyes purple as he looked into the air, his mind and yours were now linked.

   “Freyr, his group. They helped her, healed her. He spoke of you, of my mothers, told her tales and stories.” You finally pulled your head away, letting out a pained cry from the psychic disruption.  

  “Heimdall, he is using you! He was the one who prohibited your mothers from seeing you.” Suddenly, the vine in your wound moved, making you scream as tears fell down your cheek. Heimdall turned to you, “Enough! There is only one liar here, and it’s you.”

 Odin grabbed Heimdall's shoulder. “That’s enough.” Heimdall pulled from your mind, looking at you in front of him. 

  You sighed, “Heimdall…we’re a team. I lied because I was doing my job.” Heimdall scoffed, “Your job is to protect Asgard!” 

  You looked up at him furiously.. “No! I am the Protector of Realms! All the realms are taken under my wings. I protect all creatures, all people, from the world serpent to the worms in the soil. Hel I protect the soil!”  You said with pride in your voice.

  Odin walked behind you, grabbing your head and forcing you to look up. “I wished you could have stayed curious. It’s a shame you chose the path of your father.” You struggled to free yourself from his grasp, but it was futile. Suddenly, you felt something you had lost start to return to you; it tickled…It burned.  

  “Ta tilbake de delene av oss som er ødelagte.” Odin spoke in a soft tone. You let out a shaky breath as you felt the fabric of your clothes with your lost arm. Heimdall's eyes softened as he looked down. Your arm was back, but why didn’t he do that as soon as you got back? 

  He wasn’t done with you, though. Suddenly, the hold on your head tightened, and it was like a ring squeezed around your brain, making you let out a yell. Odin started to speak what was gibberish to you. 

 “Munn fïnn nafn Gorm” you gasped, realizing too late that it was a hex.

———

 Heimdall stood in the dimly lit room, his gaze fixed on you as you crumpled to the floor, the thick vines slithering back into the ground like serpents retreating to their lairs. “When she awakens, take the helmets and your cat. Seek out Freyr’s little hideout and bring him to me, alive,” he commanded, his voice crisp and authoritative as he strode away, slamming the door with a resonant thud that echoed in the silence.

Heimdall surveyed the room, his eyes scanning the shadows, “It’s called a Graðungr, not a cat.” Suddenly, you twitched, a flicker of life igniting within you as your fist struck the wooden floor with a dull thump. With a slow and unsettling movement, you began to push yourself up, your body moving as if manipulated by unseen strings, like a marionette coming to life.

    Your back popped as you stood up. Heimdall's eyes widened seeing yours glow bright purple with black around your eyes, like the Einherjar.

  Like his.

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

tagging my supporters @slaying69696969 @moongasux @jinxedsiren @r4spb3rries @meowmaii @leandraisnotfruity

@library-viking @lunaryasha

FUNNY THING:

medias that inspired this story was wicked, hunchback of nortre dame, Hamilton, uhh halsey, lana del rey video games, WICKED, call of the wild, the great gatsby, and other things....I'm not crazy.---lagncx

[littlemisslomax]

"C" isn't just for Constantine...

Ch. 1 - "Oh yeah, that's a good idea."

John Constantine x nurse!Reader : CW: medical talk, mention of cancer, mention of su¡cide.

The hospital's fluorescent lights flickered overhead as you made your way down the corridor, the rhythmic beeping of machines and the hushed murmurs of nurses filling the air. Your shift had just started, and you were already tired. All of last week, you prayed to be assigned to the ER or to Triage, but here you are in Oncology and Radio. It’s so… depressing. It's so dismal that it drains you just to walk down these hallways, hearing the things you hear from different rooms as you pass them. You glanced at the chart in your hand, the first patient of the shift: John Constantine, Room 314. Preparing for an MRI. You took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The room was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the bright, sterile hallway. A pallid, lanky man in an expensive suit sat on the edge of the exam table, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling upwards in lazy tendrils. His eyes, dark and haunted, flicked towards you as you entered, small wisps of his black hair drooping over his forehead.

"Mr. Constantine?" you called softly, stepping closer into the room and shutting the door.

"Yeah, that's me," he replied, his voice rough and weary. He took another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly for a moment before he exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Hello, I’m uh— I’m your nurse for today.” You offer him a weak smile before your eyes trail down to the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips. “If I could just ask you to please put out your cigarette…?” The request squeaked out a bit awkwardly. It was always so tough asking patients to do anything, especially considering how much these patients already probably have to worry about.

"I'm here to help you get ready for your MRI," you explained, setting the chart down and moving to gather the necessary supplies. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, mixed with the acrid scent of tobacco. "It won't take long."

He watched you with a mix of curiosity and wariness, his eyes tracking your every movement. You could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and probing, as if he were trying to see past the surface to uncover your secrets. It was disconcerting, but you pushed the feeling aside and focused on your task.

"Not many people would want this job," he remarked, a hint of sardonic humor in his tone. His voice was like gravel, roughened by years of hard living.

You looked up, meeting his eyes. They were a striking shade of brown, intense and void-like. "Well, someone has to do it," you replied, offering a small smile. Truth be told, you would much rather be in Pediatrics, handing out stickers and lollipops, but you obviously can’t just tell him that. That would be terrible bedside manner. "And besides, everyone deserves a bit of kindness."

He let out a bitter chuckle, the sound low and mirthless. "Yeah, nothing but sunshine and rainbows for me."

"Well anyways, Mr. Constantine, let’s get you ready." You said, your voice steady. "If you could just undress and get into this gown." The paper of the hospital gown rustled a bit as you lifted it out of the exam table drawer and handed it to him. You turned away, working on something on the counter to give him some privacy. “MRI magnets are some of the strongest in the world. Please be sure you remove any and all metal from your being and leave them with your clothes.” You added as a cautionary warning. John wasn’t loving this. What a waste of time—but the blood in his coughing sure was a sight. He had to get this done. So, with a roll of his eyes, he obliged and took off his watch, and removed all metal on his body. But… he was taking a pretty long time getting that gown on. He was more worried about removing all of his protection. For just a moment you turn around and catch a glimpse of him shirtless, seeing all of those tattoos of different sigils and symbols. Your cheeks get just a little bit hot, and you turn around. Suddenly, that jar of cotton balls on the counter is extremely interesting.

You adjust your scrubs and cough before sitting down at the monitor at the desk in the corner to begin the pre-examination questionnaire. “Well, I know you smoke… How many in a day...?” You ask, pulling up his file. “Oh, I swear, I don’t smoke,” John scoffed, a sarcastic smirk spreading across his somber face as his gaze remained glued on the sterile linoleum floors. “Some guy just came in and strongarmed me into trying a cigarette… Peer pressure is a real problem in our world, y’know?” Unamused, you just look at him with a silent expression that speaks volumes. After a few beats and a couple blinks you speak up. “Mr. Constantine.” “Jeez.” He muttered, “No sense of humor...? Fine. I'd say a pack a day.” John finally gave the answer. “Well… It says here on your file that you have previously struggled with suicidal tendencies. Would you say that this is something you continue to struggle with? Preferably on a scale from one to ten.” Typically, this was a heavy question for you to ask any patient, but it seemed John wasn’t your typical patient anyway. “I wouldn’t say I struggled. I was pretty successful in my endeavors.” John gave another dry joke of an answer and a mirthless chuckle.

And he was met with another blank stare. But this time, you were trying to hold back a laugh. That one was kinda funny, but you gotta keep a straight face, this is serious. With a clearing of his throat, he spoke up another response. “About a two…” The only noise that could be heard in the exam room was the sound of your fingers clicking against the chunky keyboard, the humming of the fluorescent lights, and the crinkling of the sterile parchment under where John was seated. You stood and washed your hands before gloving up and going over to him to administer a few run-of-the-mill tests before transferring him to Radiology. The wheels of the blood pressure monitor creak as you roll the small cart over to the table. Velcro rips apart as you open the cuff and wrap it around his arm.

"So... Why do you do this?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You paused, considering your answer. "Because I believe everyone has a chance at redemption. And sometimes, it starts here, I guess."

He studied you, his gaze intense and searching as if trying to gauge the sincerity of your words. "Redemption, huh? Not sure there's enough bedside manner on earth to redeem some people." John said, his tone low and almost derisive, knowing that by 'some people,' he was really talking about himself.

"Maybe not," you conceded, meeting his eyes once more. "But it's worth a try, isn't it?"

For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. It was as if your words had struck a chord, resonating with something deep within him. You pulled the cuff off of his arm and smiled softly.

"Maybe," he said finally, his voice softer than before. "Maybe it is."

The weird tension was broken by the entrance of John’s doctor and a couple of Radiologists, ready to take him over to the MRI. “John? You ready?” John’s dark eyes bolted over to the doctors in the doorway. The dread and worry in the pit of his stomach grew heavier and heavier.

You looked up at him and offered a reassuring smile, your hand gently resting on top of his. "I'll be here when you're done," you said gently. "You're not alone in this. They’re going to take great care of you. I’ll be sure to keep your stuff nice and safe until you come back. Looks expensive."

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something other than cynicism and bitterness. It was fleeting, but it was there—hope, maybe, or the faintest glimmer of trust.

"Thanks," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

As you stepped back, giving him space, you couldn't help but feel a strange connection to this man. Something about him drew you in; a sense of shared understanding and unspoken empathy. You knew this was just the beginning, a first step on a path that could lead to something more.

And as you left the room, you couldn't shake the feeling that your paths were meant to cross, that in the thralls of fate, you had found each other for a reason. A regular kismet.

a/n: eat up y'all, this is gonna be a slooooowww burn. in all seriousness, i really hope you guys like it, i've had writer's block from hell recently, and know i've been super inactive. hoping this makes up for it

[behindthesoul]

Shang Tsung request. This is an idea I did in a MK roleplay. Reader is Kitana and Mileenas younger sister. She accompanies Mileena everytime she gets a Serum from Tsung. Kinda a forbidden love story since he is only doing that to gain the empress favor c: You can make it either fluff or angst at the end

Forgotten Child - Ch. 1

Shang Tsung x Reader

Masterlist || Next Part

Characters - Shang Tsung, you, Sindel, Mileena

Summary - As Sindel’s forgotten child, no one noticed how the snake wrapped his way around your heart.

Word Count - 1150

Warnings - gender neutral, implied smut, no one cares about reader, everyone’s probably OOC, Shang doesn’t know if he loves you or not.

A/N - my friend you do not know what you have created

It was tough being Sindel’s youngest child. A majority of the spotlight was on the eldest, Mileena. After all, she’s heir to the throne. A smaller light was shone on your other sister, Kitana, by her supporters who felt she was more deserving of the throne than Mileena. But you? You were forced to find comfort in your sisters’ shadows. Each time you tried to claw your way out and carve your own path, your royal duties forced you back in.

To the realm of Outworld, you were Sindel’s other child. Not important to anyone.

To Shang Tsung, you were everything. He first laid eyes on you when he snuck his way into the palace grounds. Words could not describe just how ethereal you looked. He overheard you talking to a few servants; your voice was meek, a stark contrast to the confident voices your family possessed. Shang needed more of it, so he introduced himself.

It was a perfect idea - not only could he gain the empress’ trust by managing Mileena’s Tarkat, he could also gain the trust of her child by courting them. Shang lied as easily as he breathed. He knew it wouldn’t be difficult to make you fall in love.

And you did. You attended every one of Mileena’s serum sessions. Her Tarkat diagnosis was devastating to your entire family, you saw how it destroyed the bodies of its victims; you couldn’t bear to see her suffer under the same fate. Though, you couldn’t lie and say you attended these sessions only to support her. Each week you saw Shang, you grew more and more fond of him.

You and Mileena walk the hallway to Shang Tsung’s laboratory, hand in hand. Her hand is clammy and it makes you want to pull away. Your thumb rubs circles on the back of her hand, trying to soothe her. Mileena never tried to put a brave face on for you, you know how terrified she is at the idea of succumbing to this illness.

“Princess,” Shang says, as he hears the two of you approach. “Not a minute too soon. Please, lay down and we will start.”

You walk Mileena over to the table and help her lay down. You brush stray hair from her face in another attempt to comfort her. The focus on Mileena is interrupted by Shang.

“I would appreciate an extra hand…” he trails off, and you rush over to him before he gets another chance to speak, missing how Mileena’s eyebrow quirks in curiosity. As soon as he sees you’re out of her sight, Shang wraps his hand around your waist and pulls you in for a quick kiss.

“My, how I’ve missed you.”

You stifle a laugh, as to not alert Mileena. “We were together last night, do you not remember?” You take a quick glance around the laboratory, but you’re interrupted by your lover taking your chin in his hand, making you look at him.

“A moment’s break from your gaze is an eternity past,” he hums. Shang walks toward Mileena, serum in hand. You notice how you didn’t even help him at all.

It really was no surprise when the two of you became official. But you were caught off guard when your mother found out.

“You asked to see me, mother?’ You ask, immediately feeling the tension when you walk into her bedroom. Sindel’s eyes pierce into your body, but your body protects itself by averting her gaze.

“I have eyes, you know.”

“Excuse me? I don’t understand.” Your chest tightens, not knowing where she’s getting at.

“Your relationship with the sorcerer. I don’t know why you thought it wise to court him.” She sees that you are about to speak, so she continues before you get the chance. “You doom your sister to death by distracting Shang Tsung. You will end your relationship immediately.”

You shake your head, slightly angry. “I am a distraction to no one! My courtship does not put my sister in harm’s way. Should it, I’d strike Shang Tsung down where he stands.”

Sindel walks closer to you while crossing her arms. “This is not a conversation open to argument. You will listen to your Empress, and you will not risk your sister’s life.” You want to roll your eyes at her, but you restrain yourself. It would only make this conversation worse for you.

“Mother, can’t you see that I am happy? Just once I wish you’d think about my happiness and not Mileena’s! My life is important too.”

“But your life is not the one of Outworld’s future leader. You will put her needs first.”

You can feel your heart breaking with her response. Tears start to fall as you walk out of her room. Sindel calls after you, but you don’t stop moving. Your legs unconsciously carry you to the place that comforts you the most: the palace gardens.

To your surprise, Shang Tsung is there. It’s as if he was waiting for you. He looks over at you as he hears your footsteps, and he makes his way over to you. He sees the sad look on your face and offers you his hand. The two of you slowly walk around the garden. It’s dark; the night brings a chill, drying the tears that stain your face. Shang is silent, but his hand holding yours says everything you need to hear. You look into his soft eyes, he wants to speak, but he holds back and allows you to make the first move.

“Not once in my life have I truly felt my mother’s love for me,” you choke out. “Not once have I been her priority.”

Your hands shake and your heart feels like it’s about to beat out its chest. “Does my age mean I am irrelevant?” You sob harder as Shang pulls you in for a hug, squeezing you tight. He frowns in anger.

“You, more than anyone, deserve to have the realms bow at your feet,” he mutters. “Not many are wise enough to admire and worship your beauty. Trust that I am here, darling, and that I know your worth.”

You look at him, eyes puffy and shoulders slumped - still beautiful in his eyes. Your feelings for him almost hurt, and you pray he cares for you just as much. Unable to find the right words, you kiss him. It’s not enough, he needs to know how much you burn for him.

So you kiss him again, noting how he softly sighs as your hand travels up his thigh. He pulls away and unties your robes; he admires the shine of your skin.

“I love you, more than anything,” you announce, “more than anyone.” You giggle when he smirks at your words. That’s all he needed to hear.

You’re so drunk in love that you ignore how he’s never told you he loved you, too.

[yourmidnightlover]

timeless - ch. 3

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: in a flashback chapter, we see what it was like for reader and bucky before and during deployment, up until they were captured by what they didn’t know was hydra.

warnings: canon typical violence, talk of war, wounds, little knowledge of how deployment/war works on my end lol, affectionate/flirty bucky, if i missed anything PLEASE let me know!

w/c: 2.3k+

a/n: HIIII! another chapter that’s not two months out… who am i???? this chapter is definitely the last calm before the storm… expect either the next or the one after that to be very very angsty. i haven’t decided if i want to do the next chapter in current time/civil war time or a flashback as well, so if you have a preference please let me know!

<- chapter 2 ~ chapter 4 ->

two days before deployment

two weeks ago you found out you were being deployed as a nurse for the 107th with your best friend. your uniform came in a week ago. now, it was only two days until you would go to europe to try and ensure the safety of the men who were fighting for your freedom.

especially the man you called your best friend.

buky wasn’t nervous. well, not about himself, at least. he worked you twice as hard during your workouts, demanding longer runs and harder punches until he was satisfied with your progress. he pushed you to your limits and helped you cool off, running you hot baths and cooking you dinner when you were too sore to move.

although you loved having all of his attention and devotion, it had been a strenuous two weeks.

“the stark expo?” you questioned as he called out to you from the kitchen. you were in the shower, scrubbing away after another long workout as he was throwing together some sandwiches.

“yea!” you could hear his smile. “i’ll go in my uniform, you could even throw yours on. you know i would definitely love to see that,” you rolled your eyes at his comment, knowing he was merely joking around.

“maybe in your dreams.”

“you know it,” he knocked on the bathroom door to alert you of his presence. “i think it’ll be a nice last outing for steve and us. one last hoorah before… everything. one more good memory.”

“you say that as if it’ll be our last, jamie!” you turned the water off and wrapped a towel around your body before yanking the door open. “we’ll be back. between the two of us, we’re unstoppable, right?”

he turned to look at you, taking a deep breath before continuing, “i know, but it’ll be different, y’know?” he let his hand find your wet hair, laughing at your dripping wet state. “you should dry off, the food’s ready.”

“thank you, my chef,” you scampered into the guest room (your room, really) and quickly got dressed.

the truth is, bucky was scared shitless. sure, he was worried he wouldn’t be coming home once it’s all over. he was scared he would get whatever ptsd was. he was frightened about the possibility of him getting severely injured. but the thing that was debilitating him the most was the fact that he might not be able to protect you.

he’s always prided himself on being able to tell when you’re within a 3 mile radius of danger, guiding you out of harm's way as soon as he realises. with you literally going into a war zone, you will be surrounded by danger. gunshots, grenades, hand to hand combat, everything that could possibly harm you, you would encounter firsthand. that is what was the most frightening part of this whole deployment situation.

for you, you were simply scared to lose bucky. you couldn’t give two shits about what would happen to yourself. bucky had a family here, his best friend, he had so much. you just wanted to make sure that he would be able to make it back to all of it.

in a perfect world, the both of you would have made it back together.

-

“i knew you’d look amazing,” bucky cheered as you stood by your door, clad in your uniform and feeling tacky as ever.

“i dunno if i actually want to wear this out, jamie,” you pulled at the neckline, neglecting to look at him in return. “feels… weird.”

“c’mon, darlin’ you look great,” you felt his hands reach for yours, breaking your attention on yourself and diverting it to him.

boy, was he one to talk about you in your uniform when he looks so wonderful in his own. from his hat to the buttons adorning his cufflinks, he looked to die for. so much so, that your breath actually caught in your throat.

“woah there, y/n/n,” he smirked knowingly. “make sure to breathe for me. can't be leaving without you, darlin’.”

you rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, “so arrogant.”

but he’s not wrong… no matter how much you wish he was, he always seemed to truly know what made you tick, and he knew how to tease you from it, too.

he also knew how beautiful he was. there was no way he didn’t with how many girls constantly ogle him as he simply walks the sidewalks with you or steve. in school, you would always see how the girls gravitated towards bucky. you couldn’t blame them, either. he’s tall, dark, and handsome with pretty blue eyes that were like whirlpools, sucking you in and making you look stupid for trying to not get sucked in to the spiral.

truth be told, you were jealous when he would entertain these other girls. he would take them dancing or to fancy restaurants, sometimes telling you and steve all about it upon his return.

sure, you were often entertained by other guys back in school, but if you were honest with yourself, you knew they were just distractions. they never compared to bucky.

all bucky would ever do was complain about your poor choice of distractions. if you went on a date to the fair, your date never took you on enough rides. if you went dancing then your partner must’ve had two left feet in bucky’s eyes.

no matter what went on, bucky found a way to make it seem like you had terrible taste in men, so somewhere along the way, you’d kinda stopped trying. besides, it’s not like those dates ever truly meant anything to you anyway.

“you know you love it,” he traded your hands for your waist as he tugged you into his chest. “i still don’t like the idea of you goin’ in, even if you’ll be goin’ with me.”

“well,” you placed a hand on his shoulder, “we still can’t change anything about it. we’ll be alright, jamie. we’ll be alright.”

with that, you left to meet steve at the expo with another date bucky’s trying to set him up on. steve was pouting, as usual. apparently he had been denied entry into the army by yet another station. soon, all of this would catch up to him and by the time it does, the police would be right on his trail too.

“i can do it; they’re asking everyone to enlist, for everyone to help however they can, yet they won’t let me try!” steve went on about how frustrating his situation was.

bucky threw his arm over the smaller man, “they’re just lookin’ out for you, punk. you know that. now, you keep trying to enlist how you are, you’re gonna end up gettin’ in bigger trouble than usual.”

“doesn’t make it any less frustrating, jerk,” he elbowed bucky’s gut that he was positioned under.

“boys, boys,” you sighed as the two finally stopped shoivng at one another. “i would like to spend my last night here not talking about what we’re about to go into, please.”

it was extremely crowded, body’s shoulder to shoulder trying to see what howard’s newest mystical yet scientific creation would be.

as some douchebag that was nearly a foot taller than you manuevered to stand right in front of you, bucky bent down to your level, “wanna get on my shoulders?”

“jamie, you’re gonna drop me on my face!” you chuckled at his suggestion.

“ouch,” he threw his hand over his heart, clutching it intensely. “you wound me. have a little trust,” and with the smile he was sending your way, you couldn’t say no.

suddenly, his head was beneath your thighs, but not in the way you might’ve imagined a time or two when you were by yourself, lifting you to see above nearly everyone else in the vicinity. his hands were gripping your thighs tight, ensuring your security whilst also spreading a bit of warmth very close to where his head resided. your hands wandered to his shoulders, you didn’t want to mess up his uniform too much.

“better up there, doll?”

“much,” you laughed as him and steve continued their way through the crowd to see better.

howard stark began his speech and presentation, everyone ‘ooo’-ing and ‘awe’-ing each minute. with so much talk of the future, it mostly reminded you of the fear you had of your own. would you mom ever come back from this war, herself? would she be lost in her work? what would life look like if things didn’t go well in the field?

it was almost as if bucky could tell you were in your head because within a few more minutes, he ushered the two of you out of the crowd before easing you off his shoulders with his award-winning smile.

“seems like steve ran off again,” bucky chuckled as he adjusted his cap. “what a surprise right?” his voice was dripping with sarcasm. you remained silent, stuck in your own head before bucky continued. “what’s one thing you want to do before you die.”

“woah!” your eyes widened. “way to be cheerful, jamie,” you scoffed at his question as you continued walking around, seemingly nowhere.

“hey,” he placed his hand on your shoulder, turning you towards him. “i’m serious. i know it’s scary, what we’re going into. i’m scared shitless. i’m terrified. but what i’m scared of most is losing you, doll,” he paused, letting his fingers take through the ends of your hair before he continued. “so, tell me, what’s one thing you want to do before you die.”

“i wanna see the northern lights,” you admitted quietly, almost embarrassed. “i mean, i’ve seen pictures of ‘em in the paper, but the way people write about them makes it seem like they’re so much better in person.”

“i know the feeling,” you met his gaze before you continued.

“what about you?” you nudged his shoulder with your own. “what do you wanna do before you die?”

“i don’t think there’s anything else i want in my life right now,” he kept playing with your hair before you continued walking around the park, his arm thrown around your shoulder and yours around his waist.

-

3 weeks after deployment

“heya, doll,” bucky’s voice rang through the tent as he made his way towards you.

currently, you were stitching up someone with a 5 inch laceration to their thigh, one inch to the right and it would’ve struck their major artery and he would’ve been a goner.

“james, i’m busy right now,” wiping off the wound once more, applying antibacterial ointment before wrapping his thigh in gauze. “be sure to come back before lights out, i’ll clean and redress the wound, try to stay off of it if you can,” you gave the man a worried grin.

“thank you, y/n,” the man pressed a kiss to your hairline before making his way to his bunk, you assume.

“just came to say hi to my best girl,” he wrapped his arms around your waist. “and i have a small wound i need you to tend to, please?”

you turned to face him, rolling your eyes when you saw the puppy dog eyes adorned on his adorable face, even covered in layers of dirt and grease.

“let me see it.”

he lifted his shirt - god those abs - to show you the many bruises and scratches littering his torso. you looked up at him with sad eyes. “i hate seeing you like this…”

he paused before snaking his finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “i’m okay. it’s just the price of war.”

“i hate that you’re the one paying for it, though,” you shrugged as you motioned for him to lift his arms so you could remove his shirt easier. “gosh, jamie,” it was worse the more you uncovered. “it’s like you’re rolling around on a knife out there.”

“sorry, doll,” he chuckled as you reached for more supplies. you took a washcloth and dipped it in a bucket of water, wringing the washcloth and wiping down his chest and arms. “you’re so gentle.” you continued your job with close concentration. “always loved that about you, y’know?” you ignored his comments. “and your lip does this thing when you’re so concentrated - i don’t even know how to describe it, it’s so adorable.”

you sighed, biting back a smile as you leaned back, “i’m starting to think you purposely get hurt just to see me, now.”

“caught on already?” he chuckled before wincing slightly. you leaned forward once more and started back on cleaning up his skin.

“luckily nothings too deep,” you commented. “you won’t need stitches, but with as many cuts as there are here, i’m gonna go ahead and disinfect and wrap you with some antibacterial to avoid infection.”

“i love it when you talk all doctor to me,” you rolled your eyes at his comment. he lowered his voice before continuing, “can i still sneak in with you tonight?”

“you always do,” you smiled as you dabbed rubbing alcohol on his wounds, trying to distract him as the sting began. “same time?”

“always,” he nodded before you began putting on the antibacterial ointment and then wrapping his torso. “thanks, doll.”

“anytime, jamie,” you nodded as he wrapped you in a warm embrace.

he came into your tent that night. you reapplied his ointment and rewarded him before he insisted you lay your head on his chest to go to sleep, claiming it was more comforting that way. he held you as he slept, not even realizing how tight his grip was.

you didn’t mind it, though. it was comforting. you felt safe and secure in his arms.

that’s how you’ve slept the past two weeks. the same routine, every day. at least, when he was at base. it was harder when he was off fighting. sometimes you had dreams that instead of him coming back to you, it was a letter of condolences, saying their apologies for his missing body.

other times you didn’t sleep at all, too busy worrying about if he was alright or safe at all. you would worry that he was wounded, crying for your help.

i’m a few months, your life would be turned upside down. you weren’t prepared for what was in store, neither was bucky or steve.

TAGS:

@cjand10

@coldheartedmar

@ordelixx

[hexpea]

Ch. 8 - Seedling The symbolic meaning of seedlings is often associated with potential, trust, and hope. ⚠️NSFW BELOW⚠️ AN:TW: Elements of non-con

You sat up suddenly, the room clouded with darkness as you adjusted to your surroundings now sober. You pressed the button on your phone so it would light up and display the time: 4:00am. You shifted onto your back, groaning softly as the remnants of your restless sleep clung to your senses. The room felt too warm, too stifling, and the pounding headache that accompanied your awakening didn't help matters. As you slowly became more aware of your surroundings, the memories of the previous night flooded back. The pulsating music, the neon lights, the intimate dance with Naoya all replayed in your mind like some kind of hazy dream. But reality hit even harder when you turned your head and your eyes focused on the man sleeping beside you.

Naoya laid there, his features softened in his sleep, a stark contrast to the hardness that usually defined him. You could hear the soft sounds of his rhythmic breathing, his peaceful face quite a sight considering the man you were used to. However, the tranquility was short-lived as he began to shift and mumble in his sleep.

"N...no, Mmmom...don't leave. C-come back," Naoya stuttered, his voice a mixture of desperation and pain. His fists gripped at the sheets, his grip opening and closing as if chasing after something. The vulnerability in his sleep-induced ramblings had become a regular occurrence, one you hadn't brought up since that first night.

Your brow furrowed with concern as you watched his unconscious body clutch the sheets. His mommy issues were ever-apparent even in his dreams. A surge of empathy tugged at your heart, urging you to reach out, to offer comfort to the tormented soul lying beside you. Just as your hand hovered in the air, ready to bridge the gap between you and him, a haunting voice echoed in your mind. It wasn't Naoya's voice, but the cold, calculating tone of your father, reminding you of your duty, your purpose.

"Y/N, you can't afford to be swayed by emotions. Your duty is clear. The Zenin heirs must fall to strengthen our clan one way or another. You don't have the luxury of love; it's a weakness that you cannot afford."

The memory of your father's scolding replayed in your mind like a relentless loop. You winced at the idea, the pain of losing someone you genuinely cared for surfacing once again. The seven years of marriage to Naohiro, a man you had actually loved, had ended in tragedy. The cautionary tale lingered, reminding you that love was a dangerous territory, a luxury you couldn't afford. The conflict within you intensified as the need for duty clashed with the empathetic desire to comfort Naoya.

With a resigned sigh, you pulled your hand back, abandoning the idea of offering solace to the troubled man beside you. Instead, you slid out of the bed, careful not to disturb his restless sleep. Gathering your things, draped in his shirt that he'd given you, you silently padded towards the bathroom, the cool floor beneath your feet much different than the warmth of the bed you'd just left behind.

The hot water cascaded over you, a welcome relief from the throbbing headache and lingering regret. As the steam enveloped the bathroom, you tried to wash away not only the physical remnants of the night but also the emotional turmoil that accompanied it. Memories of your time with Naohiro plagued your mind as you recalled Naoya's troubled sleep and your father's voice echoing in your head.

Meanwhile, Naoya stirred in bed, his eyes squinting against the intrusion of daylight that had begun to seep into the room. The hangover lingered as a dull ache in his temples. He blinked, surveying the room, and a jolt of realization hit him as he noticed the disheveled state of the bed and the lingering scent of sex in the air. His gaze shifted to your empty futon, neatly made up, betraying no sign of the intimacy that had transpired between you. Confusion clouded his features as he tried to piece together the events of the night before.

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, Naoya sat up, the remnants of his groggy hangover very much present. As his memories gradually came into focus, the intensity of your shared moment surged within him. His heart fluttered, a flicker of vulnerability threatening to surface. "No," he muttered angrily to himself, as if trying to dispel the emotions that threatened to rise.

In an attempt to make sense of it all, he scanned the room for any clues. His eyes fell on the discarded clothes, the tousled sheets, and the faint marks of passion stained into them. A tinge of regret mingled with curiosity as he recalled the moments leading up to your shared intimacy. As he wrestled with the realization of the previous night's events, you walked back into the room fresh from your shower albeit with damp hair. The awkward tension was incredibly present as your eyes met and you both found yourselves at a loss for words.

"Good morning," you said, your voice carrying a hint of unease. You averted your gaze as you stepped further into the room to put your shower things away in one of the nearby cabinets.

Naoya chuckled darkly as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a predatory gaze. "We had an interesting night, didn't we?" He remarked, his tone casual, almost indifferent.

Your eyes darted briefly to him as you came to stand straight, registering the subtle shift in the conversation. "It was...something," you replied cautiously, choosing your words carefully while crossing your arms tightly against your chest.

He leaned back on his hands, a smug grin playing on his lips. "Something, indeed. We didn't just dance, did we?"

You sighed inwardly, feeling a surge of irritation at his arrogance. "Naoya, it happened. Let's not dwell on it." Your words carried the confirmation he needed to refresh his memory.

His grin widened. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of dwelling on it," he relied smugly, "once is enough for me."

You rolled your eyes at his demeanor. "How gracious of you," you retorted, unable to suppress a hint of sarcasm as you relaxed your posture and peeled back the cover to your futon to slip inside, desperately needing more sleep after such a night of revelry.

Ignoring your response, Naoya got up from the bed and began gathering his things for his own shower. "I'll need to scrub the filthy remnants of you off of me," he remarked casually, a smirk playing on his lips.

You couldn't help but scoff at his comment as you snuggled further into your pillow on the floor, the audacity of his arrogance grating on your nerves. "Don't strain yourself," you muttered under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief.

Naoya chuckled darkly at your retort, his smug expression maintaining as he sauntered out of the room with an air of superiority. His laughter echoed in the now empty space as you attempted to find a more fulfilling sleep.

Meanwhile, as he walked down the hallway, he ground his teeth together, the memory of the way you'd made him feel just a few short hours ago gnawed at him like a relentless beast. As he stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, the hot water cascading over his tense muscles, he tried to push aside the thoughts of you. But the image of your tousled hair, the curve of your body, and the passion between you refused to fade. It was intoxicating, infuriating, and undeniably alluring.

Anger boiled within him as he forcibly scrubbed his skin, trying to rid himself of the lingering remnants of your touch. Yet, with each stroke of his hand, his mind betrayed him, conjuring vivid images of your bodies entwined, your breath mingling, and your moans filling the air. His cock stiffened against his will, a physical manifestation of his conflicting desires. It throbbed with a relentless ache, begging for attention as if to mock his attempts to resist. He cursed under his breath, the pulsing heat of his member demanding release.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to succumb to the overwhelming urge coursing through him. His hand trailed down his body, fingers wrapping around his hardened length with a firm grip. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine, igniting a fire in his veins that burned with a fierce intensity. As he stroked himself, the memory of your touch flooded his mind, each stroke of his hand echoing the passion of your night together. He suddenly remembered the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips, the warmth of your breath against his skin, and the way you'd whimpered his name with such fervor.

He stood beneath the hot spray of the shower, his hand wrapped firmly around his throbbing cock. "Fuck," he muttered, cursing under his breath, the memory of your enticing moans and the way you squirmed beneath him flashing through his mind. "Why can't I get you out of my head?"

He gritted his teeth, his movements becoming more urgent as he tried in vain to push thoughts of you from his mind. Attempting to think of other women he'd been with wasn't even doing the trick. The vivid images of the hours prior played like a tantalizing filmstrip, each frame capturing a moment of your shared passion.

"Damn it," he growled, his grip tightening around his shaft as he surrendered to the intoxicating fantasy of you. He could almost feel the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips, the warmth of your breath against his neck.

His hips bucked involuntarily, his rhythm matching the frantic beat of his heart as he lost himself in the vivid recollection. "God, you drive me insane," he hissed, the words escaping his lips in a desperate plea for release.

With each stroke, he could feel the tension building within him, the pleasure threatening to consume him whole. The memory of your moans echoed in his ears, fueling the fire that raged within him. "Fuck," he gasped, his breath growing shallow as he edged closer and closer to his climax.

And then it hit him, a wave of pleasure crashing over him with a force that left him breathless. He cried out, his voice mingling with the soft pattering of the shower as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation around his cockhead. But even as he came down from his high, his body trembling with the aftershocks of release, he couldn't shake the vivid flashes of you within his mind.

He slammed his fist against the tile to the shower. "Damn it, Y/N," he muttered, his voice laced with frustration and desire. "What have you done to me?"

As the morning unfolded, Naoya didn't return to the bedroom after his shower, leaving you to wake up in the late morning to an empty room. You sighed, deciding to put the events of the night behind you and go about your day. After freshening up, you headed to the kitchen for a late breakfast.

The kitchen was a bustling hive of activity, attendants swarming around, preparing ingredients and discussing the upcoming lunch. You grabbed a piece of toast and watched the organized chaos unfold. Swallowing your thoughts about the evening shared with Naoya, you focused on the simple act of eating.

Through one of the open kitchen windows, you caught sight of Naoya out in the garden, engaged in what appeared to be a heated discussion with his father. Curiosity piqued and you set your plate down and moved closer to the window, careful not to draw attention to yourself. From your vantage point, you watched as Naoya argued vehemently, his gestures animated and his expression impassioned. Naobito, on the other hand, remained calm and composed, his responses measured and deliberate. With a mischievous grin, you decided to take your toast with you and head out into the garden. Casually munching on the last bites, you approached Naoya, who was clearly steaming as his father walked away.

"Naoya, darling," you greeted with a teasing lilt, "what's gotten up your ass this fine morning?"

He shot you a venomous glance, his frustration palpable. "Your damn family," he spat out, the words punctuated with his lingering anger. "My father just told me your old man insists on having our pathetic wedding at some damn shrine in Kyoto instead of Tokyo. What the hell is that about?!"

Your eyes narrowed at the disdain in his tone, but you maintained a composed facade. "Kyoto is a beautiful place, Naoya. Maybe your father agrees a shrine there would bring some semblance of sanctity to our union, seeing as I'm living here now thanks to our compromise," you remarked, not missing the opportunity to add a touch of sarcasm.

"Sanctity? In this farce of a marriage? Spare me, Y/N," he scoffed, the mention of the wedding clearly rubbing him the wrong way. "And don't think you can distract me with your sweet words. I know your game."

Your eyebrows arched in feigned innocence. "Game? Naoya, you're imagining things. If you have an issue with the location, take it up with my father. It's his grand idea, not mine."

He glared at you, suspicion lingering in his eyes. "Your father, huh? I wouldn't put it past your scheming family to have some ulterior motive. Maybe he's giving you your window to kill me."

You rolled your eyes at his conspiracy theories, however right he may be. "Naoya, you're being ridiculous. Our families agreed on this arrangement together. There's nothing sinister at play."

He ground his jaw and took a step closer to you, the intensity of his gaze unsettling. "I don't buy it. Your family's hands are tainted. Like I said before, you had a hand in my brother's death."

Your composure wavered for a moment, a flicker of panic masked by a defiant glare. "You know I had nothing to do with that. We've been over this. His death was a terrible tragedy."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, threatening growl. "I'm watching you, Y/N. Don't think I've forgotten who you really are."

You squared your shoulders, meeting his intense gaze with both defiance and exasperation. "Naoya, you're letting your paranoia run wild. This is a simple arrangement, a marriage to strengthen the alliance between our clans. Your brother's death was tragic, but it had nothing to do with me or my family."

He smirked at your defiance, saying nothing as to not start up the never-ending argument of who-killed-who when he knew neither of you would relent. He instead leaned in, brushing some hair from your face, causing the heat to rise to your cheeks involuntarily but you quickly masked it with a defiant glare.

His demeanor had shifted temporarily, a facade of calm settling over him as he changed the subject. "You know, Y/N," he began, his tone low and almost sultry. "Kyoto or not, it doesn't change the fact that once we're married, you should expect nothing from me besides fulfilling the duties expected of a wife. Don't delude yourself into thinking there's anything more because of what transpired last night."

You rolled your eyes at his proclamation, dismissing it with a sarcastic smirk. "Oh, Naoya, how could I ever expect anything more from such a charming and considerate man like yourself?" You retorted, giving a small chuckle as you realized his sudden change of topic had come from him dwelling on your late night adventure.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers lightly tracing the outline of your jaw. "Sarcasm suits you, Y/N. But let's not forget our little bet. We made a deal that the one who lasts the longest in this arrangement would emerge victorious. I'll make sure you remember that," he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

You pushed his hand away, maintaining your composure. "I remember, Naoya. But let's not pretend you didn't enjoy it as much as I did."

His lips curled into a smug smile. "Enjoyed it? Maybe. But make no mistake, Y/N, what happened last night won't happen again. It was a momentary lapse, nothing more."

You arched an eyebrow, challenging him. "Afraid of catching feelings, Naoya?"

He scoffed, his arrogance returning in full force. "Feelings are a weakness, Y/N. I'm not one to be swayed by sentiment. Our union is a business arrangement, nothing else. And once we're married, I expect you to perform your duties without unnecessary emotional attachments."

As he spoke, his fingers grazed your arm in a touch that lingered a moment too long, sending a chill down your skin. "I hope you're not harboring any illusions about what this marriage entails," he added with a cruel glint in his eyes. You maintained a steady glare at him, not wanting to feed into his taunts considering your face was flushed. With a dismissive laugh, he stepped back, his tone returning to its usual arrogance. "Don't get too comfortable, Y/N. Our little tryst changes nothing."

You stared at him with anger and disgust bubbling beneath the surface as he continued his taunting. You crossed your arms tightly to your chest as his words cut through you like a knife, each one reminding you of the mistake you'd made in allowing yourself to be vulnerable with him.

But before you could muster any retort, he leaned in closer once again, his breath hot against your neck as he gently grabbed your waist. "You remember last night, don't you, Y/N?" He purred. "How you squirmed beneath me, begging for more. Your sweet, sweet moans echoing out of our room as I made you mine in every way possible." Your fists clenched at your sides, the urge to slap him growing stronger with each word. His face contorted into a sneer as he continued. "You were insatiable, Y/N," he remarked, "writhing and craving my every touch, every kiss, every thrust."

He paused, relishing in the discomfort he knew his words caused you. He was doing this on purpose... "I'll never forget the way you begged for more, how you cried out my name in absolute ecstasy," he continued, his tone oozing with self-satisfaction. "You were like a wanton little whore, desperate for my cock, begging for release." He chuckled pridefully, standing straight and crossing his arms with a smug smirk.

Your jaw clenched at his crude language, the urge to silence him growing stronger still. But he showed no signs of stopping, his ego inflated by the memory of your shared passion. "And when I finally took you, Y/N," he went on, his voice dropping to a low, sultry tone, the corners of his smirk quivering, "you were mine completely. Every inch of you belonged to me. Every single moan. Every single gasp. Every single whimper fueled my desire."

His words painted a vivid picture of the night you both shared, a night you wished you could erase from your memory. But as much as you wanted to shut him up, a part of you couldn't deny the twisted fascination in hearing him describe your intimacy in such explicit detail. But as he delved deeper into the details, a tingling sensation began to build at the base of his pelvis, gradually spreading outward as his cock stirred to life beneath the fabric of his hakama. It was a familiar yet unwelcome sensation, one that threatened to shatter his carefully constructed facade of control.

A low groan escaped his lips as he felt his cock stiffen, straining against the confines of his clothing. He cursed inwardly, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment and frustration at his body's betrayal even as he continued tightly holding your waist. It was infuriating, humiliating, to be rendered helpless by his own desires in such a manner. He was supposed to be teasing you...but it was clearly backfiring on him. Glancing up, his eyes met yours, and he saw the triumphant glint in your gaze. It was as if you could sense his inner turmoil. Anger flared within him at the realization that you were reveling in his discomfort, in the undeniable evidence of his arousal. It was supposed to be the other way around!

"What are you smirking at?" He snapped, his voice laced with thinly veiled hostility as he sought to deflect attention away form his obvious predicament.

You couldn't help but chuckle as you stared at his erection fully visible under his loose hakama, your grin widening as you continued to relish in his discomfort. "Must be pretty cold out here, or maybe the alcohol played tricks on my vision last night," you remarked teasingly, your gaze lingering on his crotch. "You look smaller now than you did last night."

Naoya's jaw clenched at your taunting words, his frustration reaching a boiling point. Without a word, he grabbed your wrist firmly, his grip bordering on painful as he began to pull you back toward the estate. You couldn't help but continue to smirk at his reaction, finding perverse satisfaction in pushing his buttons -- you were alike in that aspect. You allowed yourself to be dragged along, noting a sense of resignation how you were growing accustomed to his forceful gestures.

As you reached your shared bedroom, he released your wrist with a sharp flick of his hand, his expression dark with anger. "You think you're clever, don't you?" He growled, his voice dripping with venom as he glared at her.

Naoya then moved quickly, forcibly bringing you to your knees by applying rough pressure to your shoulders. You stumbled for a moment, stunned by his sudden aggression. His grip on your wrist was firm, almost bruising, as he towered over you, his expression twisted with rage and desire. You swallowed hard, feeling a surge of both fear and excitement coursing through your veins. With a swift motion, Naoya undid the ties to his hakama, letting them fall to the ground with his boxers, revealing his throbbing, pulsating cock glistening with pre-cum. His chiseled abdomen was partially revealed by his open hakamashita. He sneered at you, his eyes burning with fury and dominance.

"Well, Y/N, do you still think the alcohol was playing tricks on your vision?" He spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "Or do you finally see just how much of a fucking man I am?"

You remained silent, unable to tear your gaze from his cock, trepidation washing over you. Before you could muster a response, he tapped the tip of his cock against your lips with a smirk, his fingers lacing into your hair and pulling tight.

"Come on, Y/N," he taunted, his voice laced with arrogance. "Open up. You know you want it." You felt a surge of defiance rise within you, but Naoya's grip on your head became unyielding as he forced his cock past your lips and deep into your throat.

You gagged and choked as he pushed himself further, the sensation overwhelming and suffocating. Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to breathe, the taste of his salty pre-cum filling your mouth. Your hands gripped his thighs, your nails digging into his flesh for dear life as you struggled with your gag reflex.

Naoya hissed in pleasure, his fingers digging into your scalp as he reveled in your discomfort. "That's it, you fucking whore," he growled, his voice thick with arousal. "Take it all, just like the pathetic little slut you are."

You tried to protest, to push him away, but his grip on your head was strong. He thrust his hips forward, driving his cock deeper into your throat, eliciting another gag from you. You didn't even want to think about what would happen should you vomit all over him in the middle of forced oral.

"Fuck...your mouth feels so good," he groaned, his voice tinged with pleasure as he pumped his hips rhythmically, using your mouth for his own gratification. "You like sucking my cock, don't you, you filthy little whore?"

As he continued to thrust his cock into your mouth, a symphony of lewd sounds filled the room, creating a perverse melody of pleasure. The wet, rhythmic slurping of your lips around his shaft mixed with his low, guttural moans. You felt yourself succumbing to his advances, your hands instinctively gripping his thighs again as you willingly moved your head on your own. The harmony of your desperate gasps and muffled moans intertwined with Naoya's primal noises, an explicit exchange of pleasure and submission.

"Mmm...yesss..." he groaned, the sound of satisfaction escaping him. "Suck it, Y/N... You're taking me so well..." He chuckled between moans, lightly patting your cheek with praise while his other hand stayed tangled in the strands of your hair he was pulling.

The wet sounds of your cock-sucking intensified, reaching a crescendo as Naoya's arousal peaked. His groans grew louder, his cock throbbing with an insistent ache as he approached the climax of his pleasure.

"Ugh, that's it!" He grunted, the sounds of his pleasure matching the rhythm of his thrusts. "Ah, hah, ah!" With a final, guttural growl, he reached the pinnacle. The explicit sounds of his orgasm filled the air. His hot seed erupted into your mouth with a sour taste. "Take it!" He commanded, the forceful sound of his voice trembling with the noises of his climax. "Swallow every last drop, you filthy little slut!"

As he released you, you complied obediently, your throat working to swallow down his milky cum. The sound of your swallowing was audible as the thick fluid slid down the back of your throat.

He watched with a smug expression as he adjusted himself back into his pants, tying them tight. He regarded you with satisfaction and contempt. "You're quite the eager little cocksucker, aren't you, Y/N?" He remarked casually. "I must say, I'm impressed. My brother was a lucky man."

Your cheeks burned with humiliation and anger at his taunting words, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. Pushing yourself up from the ground, you straightened your posture, glaring at him intensely.

"Save your praise, Naoya," you retorted with venom in your tone. "You may think you've won some kind of victory here, but don't mistake my compliance for weakness."

Naoya's smirk faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he quickly masked it with his usual arrogance. "Is that so? We'll see about that, won't we?"

With that final taunt, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the bitter taste of his presence lingering on your lips. As you watched him leave, a steely determination settled over you, a silent promise to yourself that you would not let him break you, no matter what games he tried to play.

Dates: May 18, 2018 - The drunken night they shared seems to have planted something within Naoya.

[tllgrrl]

7th Inning Stretch by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

Sarah Wilson/James “Bucky” Barnes | 5K Words | Ch 1: SFW Fade to Black. Ch 2: NSFW Spicy.

Summary: Sarah and Bucky enjoy their day off, beating the heat at home on the sofa, watching the ballgame.

Summer + Baseball + Waltzing + Ice(?) = Shenanigans!

* * * * * * * * *

Chapter 1 - Take Me Out

Where: Southern Louisiana.

When: Summertime. Baseball Season.

Late afternoon at the Wilson-Barnes home. It’s not just hot and humid. It’s steamy, and rain is in the forecast. It hasn’t started yet, but it’s on its way.

Sam’s visiting for a few days, and to keep two bored tween boys from going stir crazy he offered to take his nephews to the movies, pizza, and then for a mini-shopping spree at Crescent City Comics in NOLA, so Sarah and Bucky, both in lightweight cotton shorts and tank tops, are lazing on the sofa, enjoying a quiet day off…and air conditioning.

Like in many older buildings and houses in Southern Louisiana, opening windows and/or doors and letting the air flow through was “air conditioning” in the generations-old Wilson house.

To make it more effective, some window units were installed in the living room and the bedrooms, including Bucky’s bedroom/office in the attic.

Having Stark Industries and WakandaTech available did have its perks. Low profile, high-efficiency and environmentally friendly A/C was one of them.

But sometimes, open windows and good screens were fine. Especially after sundown.

Bucky got the small ice chest out of the garage, filled it with ice, a couple of bottles of beer and 2 bottles of water. Sarah laid out some snacks, including a few of Bucky’s favorite granola bars, on the coffee table.

He’s watching the L.A. Dodgers (the “Brooklyn” Dodgers, as he sometimes calls them) play the New York Mets while he rubs her feet with his warm right hand.

She’s enjoying the hell out of the pampering, while reading the novelization of the Bridgerton spinoff, Queen Charlotte.

He knows about the popular TV series and enjoys the way she tries to keep a cool demeanor at what she and her friends call “the juicy parts” of the book.

He can hear her when she says under her breath, “Well, alright now…” or “Mmm-hmm…”

And he took particular note when she covered her mouth, whispered “Giiiiirl?! Yesss…” and her toes curled in his hand.

He planned to try and get her to read whatever that part was aloud to him later.

“It’s almost time,” he informs her, releasing her foot and rubbing his left hand, still cool from holding a cold beer, on her legs.

“Mmmm…that’s nice.” she sighs as she lightly kneads his thigh with her heels. “Time for what?”

“7th Inning Stretch…

…You know the song, right? Take me me out—“

“To the ball game? Everybody knows that song.”

“Yeah, the chorus part of it. Did you know there are verses?”

She laid the book down on the coffee table next to the bowl of roasted peanuts, snagged a little cube of ice and rubbed it on her wrists, her neck and her collarbone.

His eyes caught a drop of water from the ice making its way from the hollow at the base of her throat, down her chest, rolling into her cleavage.

For a second he considered going in after it. With his mouth and tongue. Instead, he gave her another piece of ice and popped one into his own mouth, crunched it, then taking her hand slowly kissed up her arm, from the pulse point of her wrist, watching her eyes slightly widen as she grins.

"Is that right..." she murmured, getting a little lost because it felt like every time his cold mouth landed on her warm skin, all of her attention, her focus, was drawn to that spot on her body.

And he saw her thighs press together just a little when he reached the inside of her elbow, kissed it and then rubbed his bearded cheek on it, making her hiss and pull away but just a little because the cold followed by the warmth made her want more.

“Verses? That song has verses? Lay it on me, Sinatra.”

“Okay, it goes something like,

Katie Casey was baseball mad,

had the fever and had it bad.

Just to root for the hometown crew,

Every sou—that’s a penny—Katie blew…”

“Really! That’s how it starts?”

“Yeah. Learned it from my Pa. There was another version later about a girl named Nellie Kelly.”

“Anyway," she ruffled his hair, and lightly raking her nails on his scalp, she watched his eyelids start to flutter. "I’ve never heard the intro before. My baseball knowledge isn’t very deep. Daddy’d sometimes watch depending on who was playing, and you know about Sam and his football. I’m into whatever the boys are into, but I don’t know a lot about baseball.”

“My Ma loved baseball. Prob’ly more’n Pa. She’d listen to games on the radio doin' housework, or makin’ dinner, and during the 7th Inning Stretch she’d grab me and Becca, turn the radio up, and we’d all three of us dance around in the living room. God, in the summertime it’d be so hot, but we didn’t care.

Sometimes if I had a little bit o’ money left from a job, when the ice wagon came around I’d run downstairs and get us snow cones.

Man, when that ice hit your mouth…it was like heaven. I’ll never forget…”

Sarah saw that soft smile and look of almost wonderment he sometimes gets when an old formerly-lost memory resurfaces.

‘Well, anyway,” he offered, rising from the couch, taking her hand and leading her to the middle of the room, “I’ll be more than happy to be your private baseball tutor.”

“Private tutor, huh?”

“Mmm-hmmm. May I?”

She nodded, he placed her right hand on his shoulder, took her left hand, and pulled her nearer.

“When you’re watching the boys’ team play, you want to be the parent who knows exactly what they’re yelling at the ump for.”

“Well, I thank you in advance, Professor Barnes.

So when do my lessons start?”

“Now. Do you waltz?”

“Waltz? A little. Not much occasion to, but I can waltz with a good partner.”

“You’re in good hands. Trust me. Okay…”

He raised the volume on the TV, tossed the remote onto the couch, and they began to dance as the announcer sings:

🎶Take me out to the ballgame,

Take me out to the crowd…🎶

“Say! Not bad, young whippersnapper!”

“Thank you!”

🎶Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack…🎶

“Who taught you?”

“Daddy. And mama taught Sam.”

“Sam? Your brother Sam? Sam Wilson can waltz?”

🎶Root, root, root for the home team,

If they don’t win it’s a shame…🎶

“Oh, yeah! Social Dancing was definitely part of our Home Training. But not Soul Train dancing. You learned popular dances from friends, and from the TV.

I mean Fox Trot, Swing, and Waltz. Like your Mama taught you, our Mama and Daddy taught us…just like you’re gonna teach Cass and AJ.”

“You want me to teach them.“

“Mmm-hmm. They're already learning baseball fundamentals from you. You can show them basic partner dancing steps, and they can practice leading with me.”

“I thought you wanted them to like me!”

“It’ll be fun! I promise.”

“Mind if I hold you to that?”

The song continues and the crowd on the TV sang as Sarah and Bucky find themselves slow dancing.

Whenever they dance past the AC unit, they linger, feeling the cool air as it hits the light veil of sweat that has settled on their skin.

It’s Southern Louisiana. In the Summer, it’s always there.

She grew up with it.

He’s gotten used to it and actually loves it because he’d had enough freezing in his life to never want to be cold again unless necessary.

She places her hand on the back of his neck and feels him inhale, rub his cheek on her temple, then he lightly kisses her there.

The back of his left hand slides down her shoulder, then his fingers slowly run from just behind her ear, down the side of her throat.

The sensors in that hand know her skin intimately now.

He remembers the first time she took his hand, the first time he touched her arm, her cheek, her bottom lip. Her...

He lightly kisses the side of her neck, her ear, while softly humming the song, pulling giggles from her.

Her hands roam up and down his back, gently kneading the muscles there, pulling another deep inhale and sigh from him.

🎶Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack…🎶

His mouth travels to her cheek, then to her mouth.

🎶I don’t care if I ever come back.🎶

They get lost in the kiss, and when they finally do come back…

“Well, now. Tell me, Professor Barnes, do they still call a kiss like that getting to First Base?”

“I believe they do, Ms. Wilson.”

“I wonder if you can make it to Home Plate.”

“Not if I can, sweetness, but how many times.”

“Oh, really now,” she huffs, pulling away before he can go in for another scorching kiss, and heading toward the stairs.

He watches her ascend and when she looks back at him over her shoulder, she sees that “got an idea” look he gets when he gets the kind of “ideas” that get her pulled into a hideaway someplace at least semi-private for some good old-fashioned grownup shenanigans.

“The truck windows are still down,” he grins. “I’ll be right up.“

As if on cue, the wind kicks up a bit, and then there’s the sound of rain beginning to fall.

{*ping*}

They both glance over at his phone on the end table, then at each other, and she starts to prepare herself for the words that’ll mean he has to get dressed, grab that ever-ready Backpack and board a QuinJet that’s miraculously showed up in the front yard.

(Dammit. Here it comes: “HQ called—blah blah blah. The boys and I are headed back home. Wheels up in 2 hours—blah blah blah. Sorry Buck.”)

Bucky picks the phone up, reads the message, and breathes a sigh of relief.

“It’s from Sam. He says, raining cats and dogs up here...storm’s headed your way...boys are knocked out and so am I...crashing at safe house...see you guys in the morning. Don’t get distracted and forget to roll up windows on that old truck, White Panther? Distracted?!” Bucky says to his phone. “I don’t get distracted, Samuel!”

For a few seconds, Sarah watches with amusement as he fusses at the phone, then she turns and continues up the stairs.

“Don’t take too long rolling up those windows, Lover,” she teases. “It’s the top of the 7th.

Batter up.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 2: Rounding The Bases on AO3 (Rated E)

Originally published for the 2023 SarahBucky Summer event.

Thanks for reading! (Or re-reading!)

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

╰➤ ⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 004 | 𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝒀 FIRST CHAPTER: 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 — 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 | 1

TRIGGER | CONTENT WARNINGS: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION WRITING OF VIOLENCE, BLOOD, SCARIFICATION!!! Mentions of SWEARING!

005 | Catalyst

❝Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

"You poor soul, you must leave."

Startled, I whipped around, expecting to see someone standing there, but the hallway was empty. The eerie whisper echoed in my mind, and confusion crept in as I scanned my surroundings. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a shiver coursing through me, wondering if my mind was playing tricks on me. The voices in my head had a habit of whispering and yelling at the most inconvenient times, clouding my thoughts with their incessant chatter.

Perhaps it was those annoying voices.

I shook my head, trying to dismiss the eerie encounter. I needed to stay focused. Recalling the intricate steps of the Evil Containment Wave was crucial. I could not afford to let my mind play tricks on me now. With a deep breath, I pushed the unsettling experience to the recesses of my mind and continued walking.

The sounds of distant cheers reverberated through the halls, a stark reminder of the stakes at play. I found a quiet corner, a small alcove where I had stashed the bottle of water. Sitting down, I closed my eyes, forcing myself to center my thoughts.

Memories of my training with King Piccolo surfaced, the rigorous drills, the grueling lessons. I could still feel his cold, unyielding grip around my throat, his voice a cruel whisper in my ear. My body remembered the pain, the sensations of damage inflicted without mercy.

A bitter scoff escaped my lips as I leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to push those memories aside.

Instead, I focused on the teachings of Master Mutaito. With his calm demeanor, and his wise counsel, he was a good teacher, the one who kept me—somewhat—sane during my time as King Piccolo's weapon. I recalled the simple moments and remembered the Evil Containment Wave that Master Mutaito used against King Piccolo.

I could see his steady hands demonstrating the precise motions, and feel the immense energy it demanded. It was a technique of last resort, a desperate gamble, but one I might have to use against Junior.

As I sat there, the weight of my mission settled heavily on my shoulders. The room around me seemed to fade, the sounds of the arena distant and muffled. My thoughts were a whirlwind of strategies and what-ifs.

. ୭ ˚○◦˚★˚◦○˚ ୧ .

Time seemed to warp as I delved deeper into the technique, each repetition bringing me closer to mastery. But even as my movements grew more fluid, doubt still lingered in the recesses of my mind. I could only hope I might manage to trap Junior without any fatal mishaps. The blaring speakers cut through the silence, jolting me back to reality. Match 4 had come to an end, and the winner was announced with a flourish—a man named Hero.

"With the first round of intense fighting over, the best four have been decided! It's time to welcome our top four athletes to the semi-finals: Tenshinhan, Anonymous, Junior, and Hero!"

As the announcer's voice reverberated through the arena, my heart quickened its pace. The semi-finals were about to begin, and I was among the chosen few. My gaze drifted towards the entrance of the arena. The sunlight spilled in the cold, dark interior.

"Attention, semifinalists, and spectators! The first match of the semi-finals is about to commence. Tenshinhan versus Anonymous!"

I sighed softly at the mention of my alias, "Anonymous." I hoped this next competitor would be more challenging than Goku, or at least that someone else would deal with Junior before I had to. Stepping into the light of the arena entrance, the scent of sizzling food from nearby vendors mingled with the earthy tang of sweat and soil, assaulting my senses.

The crowd grew louder with each step, a cacophony of excitement and anticipation. The sky above was a canvas of vibrant hues—blue, purplish-pink, and gold—heralding the approach of sunset.

As I walked past Junior, our eyes locked for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange laden with unspoken threats. I could feel his gaze boring into my back, a reminder of the danger he posed. My focus shifted to Krillin and Goku, both defeated, and I exchanged glances with them before approaching the ring.

There, my eyes met Tenshinhan's intense, three-eyed gaze. He stood tall and confident, muscles coiled and ready for combat. I took a deep breath, centering myself. I needed to test his strength and skill. The announcer's voice boomed, "Let the first match of the semi-finals begin!"

Tenshinhan moved first, his speed astonishing. He closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, his fist aimed squarely at my face. For a moment, I was frozen in bewilderment, not expecting such impressive speed from a regular human.

Instinct took over. I leaped back, my shoes scraping the cement floor as I landed, stopping myself from tumbling out of the ring. My hand reflexively reached for my belt, patting to realize my gun wasn't there—old habits from survival situations die hard.

This is a tournament, idiot! Not a war! I'm not even in danger, not yet.

I scolded myself inwardly, berating my paranoia in the heat of the moment. With renewed focus, I pushed aside my doubts and focused on the task at hand. Tenshinhan's attacks came in waves, but I held my ground, meeting each blow with steely determination. His attacks were relentless, a barrage of strikes that kept me on the defensive. I countered with a swift kick to his midsection, but he blocked it effortlessly, retaliating with a powerful elbow strike.

The force of his blow sent me skidding backward, my feet digging into the ground to maintain balance, stopping mere centimeters from the ring's edge. Tenshinhan followed up with a right hook. I evaded the attack by leaping off the ground and swinging my leg toward his face, delivering a solid blow to his left cheek.

The impact reverberated up my leg, causing him to stagger, but he quickly regained his footing. Landing gracefully, I closed the gap between us with a swift dash. His eyes narrowed, anticipating my next move, scanning for an opening.

My immortality granted me an edge, but I couldn't rely on it. Not here. Not now.

I brought my fist to my chest, feinting a jab, then swiftly dropped to the ground, sliding towards Tenshinhan. Caught off guard, he stumbled, unable to react as I swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor with a resounding thud.

I always had a knack for faking maneuvers and playing dirty.

As Tenshinhan sprang back to his feet, I watched closely, testing his intellect. He wasted no time, delivering a swift kick to my midsection that knocked the breath from my lungs. I rolled away, clutching my stomach, the pain coursing through me.

This is good.

I welcomed it—it was all part of the plan, a calculated risk to make Junior underestimate me. And besides, a little pain was nothing compared to what I had endured.

The crowd's cheers filled the air, but I tuned them out, focusing on my opponent. With each passing moment, my body recovered. I stood up, my breathing steady, my expression unreadable. Tenshinhan and I locked eyes, and without a word, we charged at each other once more. Our movements were fluid, a seamless blend of offense and defense. Each strike he landed was met with a counter from me, each block calculated to perfection.

The arena around us seemed to fade away, the only sounds that mattered were the rhythm of our breathing and the thunderous thud of our footsteps. Tenshinhan was relentless, his attacks coming faster and fiercer with each passing moment. As he unleashed a flurry of kicks and punches; I blocked and dodged with precision, my mind racing with strategy.

Does this man want to push me further? Fine, I can keep up.

My energy surged as I matched his pace and power. I blocked and dodged, feeling the strain in my muscles. We clashed again, Tenshinhan's firm, warm, and sweaty hand pressed against mine. His brow furrowed in concentration, teeth gritted with resolve and frustration as he sought to overpower me with sheer strength. But I held my ground, pushing back with equal force.

It was a brutal test of strength, a relentless tug-of-war that seemed to stretch on endlessly. The broadcaster's voice cut through the tension, their exclamations echoing in the arena. "Whoa, the two have finished their lightning-speed battle, but Tenshinhan and Anonymous are practically at each other's throats!"

Every muscle in my body tensed every sense heightened as I focused on the fight at hand. Despite Tenshinhan's strength, I sensed a flicker of doubt in his eyes, a momentary lapse in his resolve, noticing I wasn't tired. Centuries of experience had made me somewhat immune to the face of exhaustion.

"Come on, Tien! Take 'em down, hurry!"

The shout seemed to bolster his resolve. Seizing the opportunity, I brought my knees to my chest and thrust my legs forward, my feet connecting under his chin with a powerful blow. The impact forced Tenshinhan to release his grip, sending him soaring off the bounds of the arena.

But he disappeared before he could make contact with the ground.

Sensing his energy building behind me, I reacted on instinct, executing a flawless backflip to evade his strike. Time seemed to slow as I watched him miss his mark, his surprise evident in the widening of his eyes, our gazes locking as I flipped through the air.

With a graceful landing, I kept my hood securely, concealing my identity from prying eyes. I caught his arm and twisted, using his momentum to slam him into the ground. The impact reverberated through the arena, leaving him winded but far from defeated. After a moment, he pushed himself up, a mixture of determination and respect shining in his gaze as he met my eyes.

"You're good," he rasped, his voice rough with exertion, wiping a trickle of blood from his lips.

"I could say the same," I replied, my tone measured despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The truth was, I didn't tire easily. Centuries of life had honed my stamina, from traversing into the wilderness, and learning how to swim, to scaling towering peaks. I had embraced the physical challenges that came with my immortal existence.

The announcer's voice reverberated through the arena, "It doesn't get more exciting than this, folks! Anonymous and Tenshinhan standing toe to toe in intense combat! The way it looks now, the match could go either way. Let's hope they won't disappear again!" The crowd's cheers and shouts created a din that seemed to fuel our resolve, the palpable energy in the air amplifying every heartbeat.

Tenshinhan advanced once more, his movements calculated and precise. I scrutinized his approach, recognizing the subtle shifts in his stance. He launched a barrage of rapid punches, each aimed to pierce my defenses. I parried and dodged, feeling the rush of air from each narrowly avoided strike. Taking a deep breath, I decided to change tactics.

I lunged forward, feinting to the left before swiftly pivoting and delivering a decisive kick to his right side. Tenshinhan groaned, stumbling back but quickly regaining his footing. "Impressive," he said, his voice tinged with respect and irritation. "But this isn't over."

We circled each other, both assessing and recalibrating our strategies. My eyes lingered on his form—well-defined, slightly battered, but far from beaten. His extraordinary ability to stand toe-to-toe with me, a regular human exhibiting unparalleled swiftness, power, and energy, was awe inspiring and deeply unsettling.

What if there was a possibility he was an agent sent to apprehend me? What if there were more like him, capable of pushing themselves to extreme limits?

The thought gnawed at my paranoia. I couldn't afford to make errors. The real question was: how skillful and powerful is he in utilizing ki energy? As if in response to my silent query, Tenshinhan halted his circling and adopted a new stance, forcing me to pause.

He emitted a series of grunts, a battle cry tearing from his throat as his energy levels spiked. Before my eyes, he formed a copy of himself, which appeared beside him. My eyes widened in bewilderment, a chill of trepidation running down my spine.

Can he make more copies himself endlessly?

The idea of facing an army of Tenshinhans filled me with dread. Detecting the crack in my facade, he smirked smugly, chuckling at my reaction. "If you think that's it, wait till you see what's next." With another cry, he materialized two more clones.

I dropped into a defensive stance, my heart pounding and my muscles tensing with anxiety. The four clones moved into offensive positions, and though Tenshinhan spoke, his words were lost to me. My ears rang, my heart thumped in my eardrums, and my hands quivered as my breathing became erratic.

Surrounded by Tenshinhan's clones, I felt a surge of adrenaline course through me, my instincts kicking into overdrive. With a sharp intake of breath, I extended my hands, channeling my ki into a focused assault. The clones closed in, in a split-second decision, I unleashed a beam of energy aimed directly at the chest of one of the clones.

Eyes squeezed shut against the blinding brilliance, I braced myself, arms forming a protective barrier fueled by my own ki. The explosion that followed was deafening, a symphony of chaos that reverberated through the arena, I held my ground, my barrier of ki offering some protection against the shockwave and heat. For a moment, all was chaos—a symphony of destruction that drowned out the distant roar of the crowd.

As the light began to dim, I cautiously opened my eyes, squinting through the lingering haze of smoke and debris. Dust swirled around me in lazy spirals, obscuring my vision until the silhouettes of Tien's clones began to fade into the dissipating fog.

Heart pounding, I steadied my breathing, mind racing with possibilities. Could Tien be the one to defeat Junior? The thought flickered in the recesses of my mind, a fragile hope in the uncertainty. But as the smoke cleared, reality came crashing upon me like a ton of bricks. Tien lay before me, battered, and bruised, parts of his skin scorched, but resolute.

Yet, he was outside the bounds of the arena—a grave miscalculation that sealed his fate.

"Tenshinhan is out of bounds, ending in an impressive battle! Anonymous wins the first match of the semi-finals and now advances to the championship round where the 23rd Martial Arts Champion will be determined!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, their jubilation echoing around me. My barrier dissipated, the tension in my body easing as the round came to an abrupt end. I stood there, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.

What the fuck just happened?

Those words echoed in my mind, realizing I could have accidentally killed a man in front of thousands due to a survival instinct I tried so hard to suppress. The panic surged through me; the silence hung heavily in the air after my victory, broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing.

The shock of ending Tenshinhan's match so quickly left a bitter taste in my mouth, and the cheerful crowd seemed distant and out of place in this surreal moment. Tenshinhan lay on the ground, his body battered and slightly burned, struggling to regain his bearings.

I could have killed him if I hadn't controlled my instincts.

I felt Junior's eyes lingering on me. Looking up, I saw Junior's sharp gaze fixed on me from atop the tournament building roof. His mind was undoubtedly filled with an array of thoughts, analyzing my strengths and capabilities, and silently forming opinions based on what he witnessed.

Dismissing Junior's stare, I forced myself to regain my composure and turned my attention back to Tenshinhan, who seemed to be slowly gaining his bearings. My expression was firm and mingled with frustration, attempting to maintain my calm facade as I watched Tenshinhan gather the remnants of his strength to stand up.

Gradually, with a groan of pain, Tenshinhan stood up, his body still reeling from the aftermath of our battle. He faced me, his dark eyes meeting mine, his expression a combination of pain, determination, and something more—respect.

"Damn it," he managed to mutter, his voice crackling with pain, as Tenshinhan climbed back into the arena. "You're one hell of a fighter..."

The crowd seemed to hold its breath, the suspense electrifying the air as they waited for my response or next move. I could feel the weight of their stares, their curiosity, their expectations. But I paid them no mind, my focus only on Tenshinhan. I was silent, attempting to push aside my emotions as I spoke, my voice controlled and firm.

"Likewise, at least you're not dead."

Fuck, I'm awful at socializing.

A flicker of pain and frustration still lingered in Tenshinhan's eyes, but there was also a hint of admiration beneath it. Hearing my response, he chuckled softly, a mix of humor and acceptance in his tone.

"Yeah, I guess I should be grateful I'm still breathing," he responded, wincing as he gingerly touched his injured ribs. "You sure know how to throw a punch... or a blast, I should say."

The crowd's applause died down, and the spectators were still in awe of my seemingly effortless victory over Tenshinhan. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of sweat and adrenaline, the sounds of murmured conversations and footsteps on the arena floor blending into a low hum. I could feel the texture of the stone floor beneath my feet, grounding me in reality.

Tenshinhan coughed slightly, drawing my attention back to him. He stood before me, his body still bearing the signs of our previous battle, yet his eyes fixed on mine with a blend of respect and curiosity.

"I never caught your name," Tenshinhan said, breaking the silence. "I didn't expect such strength from you," he admitted, his tone tinged with genuine surprise.

"Anonymous, that's all," I replied, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. The sun cast a golden glow over the arena, highlighting the dust particles still floating in the aftermath of our battle. My heart pounded, not from exhaustion but from the adrenaline and the fear of what lay ahead.

Before he could respond, I turned on my heel and walked away, my mind racing. If Junior won the next match of the semifinals, I would be forced to confront him—the very outcome I had been desperately trying to avoid. Attempting to quell the rising tide of panic, I reminded myself of the Evil Containment Wave, my last resort. There was no need to panic—not now.

Tenshinhan watched me walk away, his eyes following my figure, seemingly wanting to say something but hesitating. There was a mixture of anticipation and confusion among the onlookers, and I could feel their gaze on me as I made my way back toward the tournament building.

In my mind, I could almost hear Junior's voice, his presence lingering in the air as if he was silently waiting for the next round to begin. As I entered the tournament building, the sudden silence enveloped me. After the roaring cheers and applause outside, the contrast was stark and left me with a few moments of solitude to catch my breath and regroup. Before I could walk further, the blaring speakers announced the next round.

"This next match is an important one. It will determine who will fight Anonymous in the final battle for the title. The outcome is unpredictable, but one thing is certain: this battle is one you wouldn't want to miss. So, get a good view and welcome the mysterious Junior and his unpredictable opponent, Hero!"

I inhaled deeply, trying to quell the rising tension within me. All thoughts of the previous battle quickly vanished, replaced by the mounting dread growing in the pit of my stomach. Junior is next. The thought echoed in my mind, the realization bringing a wave of unease. I stood there, my mind racing with thoughts and emotions. A part of me wanted to run to escape this confrontation.

However, I knew deep down that running wouldn't solve anything. I decided to watch the match to analyze and get more information about Junior's skills and power again. I took a step back, retreating to the arena as I sought out a vantage point. Among the familiar faces of Goku, Krillin, and Tenshinhan, stood another man.

The man stood tall with a light tan complexion that spoke of countless hours spent under the sun. His medium-length black hair, perpetually wild and spiky, framed a face marked by a single diagonal scar running across his left cheek, underscored by a subtle smirk that danced across his lips. His eyes, sharp and confident, betrayed a hint of mischief beneath his steely gaze. Clad in an orange gi similar to Goku and Krillin.

As I approached, Goku greeted me with a warm smile, his usual cheerful demeanor cutting through the tension like a ray of sunshine. Krillin's gaze held a mix of curiosity and caution, while Tenshinhan remained stoic, his expression unreadable.

"Hey, you're back," Goku said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. I fell into step beside him, nodding in response. "That was an impressive match you had," Krillin chimed in, his gaze probing, seeking to unravel the enigma that was me. I acknowledged his comment with a nod, though guilt gnawed at me beneath the surface. Tenshinhan remained silent, his gaze piercing yet inscrutable.

Goku chuckled lightly, oblivious to the weight of my internal turmoil. "You really gave Tien a run for his money," he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. Tenshinhan shot him a glare, though there was a flicker of admiration in his eyes.

"How are you holding up?" I inquired, betraying no hint of emotion as I met Tenshinhan's gaze. Tenshinhan shifted slightly, his ribs still tender from our encounter with the burn marks. His response was laced with a hint of wry humor, masking the pain he undoubtedly felt.

"I'll live," Tenshinhan replied, his smirk belying the pain he endured. "You certainly don't hold back, do you?"

If only you knew.

I thought, keeping my thoughts carefully guarded behind my stoic facade. "Yeah," I said simply, evading his gaze as I wrestled with the guilt that threatened to consume me. Tenshinhan nodded, a silent acknowledgement passing between us. He understood my reticence, recognizing that words were not my forte. Despite the pain he endured, there was no animosity towards me; the intensity of battle often yielded unexpected camaraderie.

Goku and Krillin observed our brief interaction. "You're not much for conversation, huh?" Krillin remarked, studying me with a hint of confusion. He seemed puzzled by my concise responses.

"Not everyone is as chatty as you," Goku chimed in, a playful grin on his face as he rested his hands behind his head. Krillin shot Goku a playful glare, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Goku chuckled, "Justat you tend to talk a lot, that's all." Krillin rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, "And you? You can ramble on about food for hours."

Goku laughed, "Well, food is important. I can't help it if I appreciate good grub." Krillin shook his head, "Always with the food talk."

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I tuned out their banter, my focus fixed on Piccolo Junior, awaiting his challenger. Suddenly, Goku excused himself and disappeared into the tournament building, leaving Tenshinhan, Krillin, and an unfamiliar man in his wake. With Goku's departure, an awkward silence descended upon us.

The unfamiliar man cast curious glances my way, his eyes a mix of intrigue and caution. Krillin appeared lost in thought; his brows furrowed as he oscillated between me and the tournament building. The absence of Goku's jovial presence amplified the uneasy atmosphere.

The man, breaking the silence, directed his cautious inquiry towards me. "So, who are you?"

"I'm someone. And you?" I replied, deflecting with a touch of sarcasm. The man raised an eyebrow at my cryptic response, realizing he wouldn't elicit any straightforward answers. He shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Just a martial artist trying to make my mark," he quipped, a hint of bravado in his voice.

Tenshinhan, still recuperating, rolled his eyes at the man's boastful demeanor. "Try not to let your ego overshadow your skills, Yamcha," he cautioned, wincing slightly as he adjusted his stance.

Yamcha.

His name echoed in my mind as I took note of him. Krillin, finding the situation amusing, chuckled softly. He knew Yamcha's penchant for boasting. "Hey, it's not ego, it's confidence," Yamcha countered, the smirk still evident. "And trust me, I've got the skills to back it up."

Krillin interjected with a playful jab, "Yeah, like the time you lost to a clumsy opponent?" My interest was piqued for a moment, recalling the fourth match from the quarterfinals where Yamcha faced Hero, understanding Krillin's implication.

Yamcha's smirk faltered at the reminder of his defeat. He muttered under his breath, his pride stung. "That guy just got lucky," he grumbled, crossing his arms defensively. Ignoring their banter, my focus remained on Junior. I studied him intently, trying to discern his intentions and how he planned to confront me in the arena.

Sensing my intense gaze, Junior turned his head towards me, his eyes locking onto mine from the arena where he stood. Despite the distance between us, his scrutiny felt palpable, as though he were dissecting my very essence. I braced myself, feeling the weight of his stare. The tension in the air thickened as our eyes met. 

Junior's gaze held a sinister gleam, his lips curling into a smirk that sent a shiver down my spine. It was as if he was sizing me up, searching for any chink in my armor. Behind my facemask, I concealed the whirlwind of emotions raging within me. Fear, uncertainty, and simmering anger bubbled beneath the surface, but I refused to let them show.

Tenshinhan, Krillin, and Yamcha sensing the brewing confrontation, exchanged uneasy glances but wisely chose to remain silent, not wanting to escalate the tension further.

Despite the fear gnawing at my insides, a surge of anger pulsed through me, fueled by the confidence that I could seal him if it came down to it.

With a nonchalant flick of my middle finger, I delivered a silent message of defiance, telling him to back off. Junior's smirk faltered momentarily, taken aback by my audacity. He regarded me with a mixture of surprise and amusement before letting out a scoff, his smirk returning with a hint of excitement dancing in his eyes.

Krillin, Tenshinhan, and Yamcha exchanged incredulous glances, their expressions a mix of shock and apprehension. Whispering under my breath, mindful of Junior's acute hearing that could catch even the faintest of sounds just like King Piccolo.

"Suck my—"

•◉◒☆◒◉•

FINISHED: JUNE 10, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: 004 | 𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝒀 NEXT CHAPTER: 006 | 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑲𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡�� 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈���𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[sandiavolo]

Hi, can you tell when the new chapter will be released? Can't wait!

I'm pleased to say that the next chapter of ATACPO will take no longer than a week to be released, possibly even in the next few days!

I've recently been working with pacing myself for quicker updates now. I like to think I have a good sysem down for writing/editing a new chapter, but its always so jumpy, especially now with college finals coming up. Also, even with my novice ability, my dream is to make this Ch. 11 my pièce de résistance, so to say.

*Slight Spoiler* Jake is gonna have his work cut out for him. The Sully siblings, Tsireya, and Ao'nung are going to be in for quite a wild ride. Neytiri is going to pay the consequences for her actions just a bit. AND MY ASH NA'VI ARE GOING TO BE REVEALED IN THEIR FULL BLAZING GLORY!!! I CAN'T WAIT!🔥🔥🔥

To help keep ya excited, here's a whole mess of what I have planned😉:

“So…we’re here,” the obscured Na’vi muttered from below, the orange glow of their companion bouncing off the shoreline and illuminating the head of the thin spear they gripped beside them. 

“Hah! It’s going to be fun!” a more jovial tone added from above, their tail swishing along the bark of the tree. They twisted the tip of their blazing, thin finger, as if using the trailing embers to form words in empty space. The blood-red fletchings of the arrows behind them came to light when the luminous digit was raised high into the air. “It is likely tsmukantsyìp (little brother) has gotten in trouble already in our absence. Do you agree, Txon?”

@anka-partizanka-from-pandora has plenty in store for you guys as well. They're artwork is going to make this 10x better 😈

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Through the haze, he catches the sound of screaming from nearby, and a rushing of footsteps from all around. It's as if there are those running from the center of the beach, and those running towards it. Just as he’s able to see his eyes set amidst the sudden uproar of noise, Jake hears only one thing clearly enough. It’s enough to spur him into realizing the true gravity of the situation.

“Ash Na’vi!”

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A seasoned hunter, raised under the skillful arms of the Omaticaya, who had faced the force the sky-people brought to her land. She was trained to defend her People with a ferocity akin to an ikran protecting its nest. She was the mate of Toruk Makto, mother to four beautiful children, and she had never fallen. Even in times of war, the uncertainties of her mind failed to overcome her. 

Yet, for however strong she believes herself to be, Neytiri cannot ignore how her instincts scream at her to run. 

The voice cut through the ruptured marui wall and into the air like a thin blade, with it a heavy weight of ruthlessness that sent a chill down Neytiri’s spine. “Lay your hands on my son again, Neytiri te Tskaha Mo’at’ite.” Her heart hammering in her chest, she came to the stark realization that this was no ordinary Na’vi warrior. “And I will show you the true meaning of fear.”

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My BIGGEST, BADDEST, probably longest, AND MOST EPIC chapter is coming! I hope you guys are as psyched as I am, b/c this is going to be a wild ride!

[brights-place]

⋆˚࿔ 【 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞‼ - Ch.8 - 9】 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Read The full book on my wattpad

The sound of laughter bounced off of the bedroom walls. The morning sun poured into the room, Dust motes danced in the weak light filtering through the grime-coated windows, draped with heavy, dusty blue curtains that hung like mournful veils.

The walls, once perhaps a crisp white, were now marred by crumbling plaster, revealing patches of the aged wood beneath. Large, cobweb-laden cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling, hinting at the history and life of neglect.

A body laid upon a four-poster bed, its dark wood polished to a dull sheen, sat in the corner. It's white linens crisp against the room's otherwise drab palette, but a stark contrast to the generally dilapidated state of the room. A bump laying under the blankets of the bed that shifted due to movement.

A tired groan came from [Names] lips eyes opening slightly, her hand rubbing her eyes tiredly. Scowling towards the light that peaked from the windows of ramshackle. Her vision blurry and teary eyed as she let out a yawn.

Her attention diverted to above her being greeted by two floating marshmallows that called themselves ghosts.

"Hee hee hee... Aren't the you supposed to be off to clean statues then to your classes?" The h/cnette stared tiredly at the ghost from the dusty mattress she laid upon.

Grims tiny body moved around, grumbling throwing his paws into the air bapping [Name] is cheek drooling "Mmmmm... Nngh... Five more minutes, Ma..." The third missing trio of the ghosts peaked through the wall giggling waving its fingers towards the two who rested in the rickety room.

"Go ahead, sleep the day away. And you might not eeever hafta wake up again." The plump ghost flew over grinning "Just like us! Ah ha ha ha ha ha!" Grim slowly opened his eyes and staring at the hovering phantoms grinning down towards the duo.

Silence filled the room before Grim screeched out in shock "Myah?! Ghosts?! Hey, [Name]! up and at 'em!" the girl looked down towards the cat. Grim wiggled around screeching causing the girl to just sit up and hold Grim up properly who was clinging to her pajama clothes.

The skinny ghost floated over towards the h/cnette with highlights, quietly combing it's fingers through her hair grinning towards her "So I hear you'll be living here from now on? Hope you like pranks as much as we do! Hya ha ha!" Grim pointed his paw towards the group of ghosts waving it frantically "We gotta get rid of those things for good!" [Name] couldn't help but let out a huff sitting up on her bed waving off the dusty blanket.

The sound of screeching hinges were heard throughout the room. [Names] eyes snapped over towards the oak door the s/c girl quickly raising her hand in alert. A magenta mist starting to form before she blinked noticing the familiar figure standing in the entrance of the doorway.

A familiar Crow beaked mask stared down to her with a golden swirl of eyes beaming showing Crowley is imposing figure gripping the gold door knob with a black covered gloved hand, smiling towards the h/cnette who flinched at the random appearance of the male the mist that wrapped around her fingers, curling around the pillow before hurling it over to Crowley.

Crowley blinked with confusion seeing the pillow come closer hitting his face before dropping onto the hardwood floor. Crowley couldn't help but fix his mask with one hand and cough up one feather before inviting himself into the room. "Good morning, My Raven! Did you sleep well?" he beamed smacking Grim with the end of his staff nudging the grey cat off of the girl is body without hesitation.

Grim couldn't help but hiss in annoyance towards the adult male "Not at all! When I sprawled out on the bed, the mattress fell right through the frame! Exactly how ramshackle IS this dorm? And worse yet, we got woken up by ghosts!" [Name] looked at Crowley tiredly before eyes widening when realizing Crowley was staring down at her as if he was trying to unveil every layer of her skin causing her to mutter quietly while staring at Grim "I felt bad" the Crow couldn't help but let out a melancholy hum thinking to himself.

The talon on his glove tapped against his cheek grinning towards the girl un-phased "Well, it's understandable you'd be anxious after being pulled into such an unfamiliar place but the world can be cruel sometimes. So suck it up and move on!" [Names] eyes twitched slightly glaring at Crowley for his comment as he waved off [Name] is reaction when she tried to speak up once more.

"Plus I can't exactly have you leave but at the same time want you to! You're just much to important and a bit too much of a hassle to deal with. Speaking of hassle I would need to discuss about your uniform with Professor Crewel" Crowley continued to smile ignoring the girl whose eye twitched at the birds comment.

"Now, speaking of moving on, let us discuss your assignment an excuse for today before you join classes... but I cannot say the same for that thing" A gloved finger pointed towards Grim who smacked Crowleys hand away with his paw.

Crowley continued what he left off before turning to [Name] with a serious look. "And Ms Queen... I hope that you'll keep an eye on that. I don't want another incident like yesterday to happen again... even if we haven't discussed why it must stay."

Her body stiffened for a slightly moment before she nodded her head "I'll do my best."  Crowley nodded, "Don't fail me. You can have your lunch in the cafeteria after fixing the statues and attending classes though I must admit we would need to converse on other topics as well in the nearby future. I eagerly await the fruits of your labor." Crowley finished before getting up and slamming the door shut grinning.

After he left Grim puffed out his cheeks tail lashing onto the dirtied mattress, "Hmp! I ain't cleanin' anythin'! I came in here to study magic! Not clean someone else's gunk! I want to be like "WHAM!" "POW!" "WHOOSH!" y'know?" For a moment [Name] froze.

Her eyes staring down at the cat who was doing small poses that caused her hands to dig onto the bedsheets below. Her thoughts swirling with a vivid memory playing "You aren't cleaning. You're staying here" she said climbing out of her bed and summoning a cozy purple robe with black lace trim on the sleeves. Putting it over her bat pattern pajama top.

"Meh-?! BUT WHY?!" Grim exclaimed following the girl around the room as she stared down at him "because I need someone to protect our dorm! Your a great mage right?" She bent down to his height patting the fur in between Grims ear.

Her mind flickering to the thought of the little piglet who wanted to be like her. Well more like the next evil queen until the end of the day where the pig got into balloons but that was a thought she waved off.

Grim couldn't help but boast about the fact she stated he needed to protect ramshackle. The Cat couldn't help but smugly grin his paws crossing over against his chest "Myah! Of course! The great Grim will protect the house! Henchwoman! Bring me back some tuna for my hard efforts!" Grim stomped his hind leg down causing [Name] to giggle but nod her head as she headed off to the bathroom.

She headed off over to the bathroom closing the wooden door behind her. Walking over towards the sink, her hand reached to turn the faucet and pausing when seeing nothing come out of the tap causing her to take note that she would have to beg Crowley to start the water, and boiler before they could start doing actual proper renovations within the dorm.

Lifting her head, she found herself face to face with the dirtied mirror. Her eyes flickered away almost instantly ignoring it as if it wasn't there, turning her back to the reflection before stepping out of the bathroom to start her day.

Though sadly enough after trying to persuade Grim to stay back she sadly failed due to the cats whining so here she was walking down the stone path with the fluffy grey cat following beside her.

The stone path stretched ahead, lined with towering statues on either side, each standing proudly on a carved pedestal. Black lamp posts stood tall between them, casting long shadows over the neatly arranged tiles.

Lush green trees framed the walkway, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. In the distance, past the statues, a grand castle loomed with its towering spires reaching toward the sky. Closer by, another elegant building stood, its arched windows and pointed rooftops giving it a regal presence.

The whole place felt ancient yet well-preserved, like a path walked by countless generations of nobles, scholars, and heroes a place that reminded [Name] to much of Ever after high.

She couldn't help but smile "Wow, so this is Main Street, huh?" she beamed when seeing the familiar faces of her friends is parents, yet the way her smiled dropped when staring at a statue of a woman holding a red apple. A face that she couldn't bear to look at even after everything and trying to restore what was left.

[Name] couldn't help but look away back to the other statues her eyes focusing mostly on a statue that reminded her too much of a friend. The sense of familiarity continued to grow in het chest.

Grim looked around blinking "I didn't get to see it much yesterday. What's the deal with these seven statues? All their faces look pretty scary!" Grim stopped in front of a stone statue of a lady curtsying holding a small staff in her hand "Like, this lady here looks like she's got some reeeal anger management issues."

A small noise came from [Name] "yeah cause you were chasing me and that may be true but yeah she does have slight anger issues" Grim turned her head towards the girl with highlights with confusion "You know her?" he mumbled as [Name] whispered back "A very personal level of knowing her but mostly her daughter" she winked towards the cat who blinked at her with slightly sparkly eyes.

[Name] looked back to the statue her hand touching the small curves staring at it with interest of its carved appearance "Lizzie would of enjoyed seeing this" she couldn't help but sigh and raised her hands "Guess I'll start cleaning this one first. Grim don't do anything" she scolded the cat who looked away crossing his paws.

[Name] glanced back over to the statue "Hm this dress and crown... Lizzie told me about this before didn't she?" [Name] mumbled to herself eyes focused eyeing the statue "Does that mean she was known here too?" she mumbled shifting her head "She a known celebrity or something?" She spoke out loud wondering before hearing a voice call out from behind her.

"Is that some kind of Joke? You don't know the Queen of Hearts?" She turned her head over to face a boy who was wearing a uniform that consisted of a dark grey jacket and pants, a white shirt and a rose red vest with a ribbon tied around the left arm in a red color with a black stripe in the middle with a heart emblem on it.

The male who called out to her had fluffy, orange hair that flips up at the ends, and average-length bangs that fall around his face and between his eyes. His eyes were a bright scarlet in color, and over his left eye is a red marking shaped like a heart.

For a moment she turned her head and back over to the statue reminding herself of the moment when the short red head she met at the orientation shouted about the queen of hearts. Telling her off about the queen of hearts as if she didn't know who she was but she couldn't help question if she was also an important figure in Night Raven "Does she rule here?" [Name] looked back towards the red head who gave a slight shrug but a nod at the same time causing her to just stare confused.

"She was a queen who lived in a mazelike garden of roses long, long ago." [Name] crossed her arms focusing on the red head is explanation "She was a strict woman who prized order above all. She wouldn't tolerate a rose being off-color, or her playing-card soldiers being out of step. She basically ruled over a kingdom of madness, but not one of her subjects dared to defy her. You wanna know why? Because the punishment for breaking a rule was-" [Name] was quick to interrupt him.

"Off with there head." The heart male blinked staring at her "I mean wonderland ain't that bad though, Maddie says she still has lots of respect for the queen like everybody else, and plus Lizzie loves her mother. Nobody's really does get on her bad side after a while unless it's with something else" She chuckled at the thought of her friend.

[Name] blinked turning to the two who were staring at her. The red head spoke "Wonderland...?" he raised a brow to the girl as [Name] awkwardly spoke "Yeah wonderland? The Queen of Hearts? Cheshire Cat? Mad Hatter? The March hare? Door mouse that hides in the tea pot..? The white rabbit? do you not know...? I mean I thought you had proper knowledge of it since you were talking about it" She said confused while the boy scoffed looking away and back.

Rolling his eyes and spoke up once more "I mean, who would bother to obey a queen that was kind all the time?" Grim nodded his head thinking "Yeah, true. A leader needs to be strong. But puttin' that aside... Who are you?" [Name] nodded her head turning to the male "Are you a student here too?" The male nodded his head grinning making a heart with his hand and winking towards her "Name's Ace Trappola. I'm a first year student here, as of today! Pleased to meetcha!" Ace grinned towards [Name] arms dropping as he tilted his head.

Grim stepped forward grinning smugly his paws on his hips "I'm Grim! I'm a prodigy whos plannin' to be, like, the greatest mage who ever lived." he then moved to the side and pointed to the h/c girl who waved "This is my henchwoman!"

[Name] returned the smile with the same fondness "[Name] Queen, How are you?" Ace blinked at her "That's a weird sounding name" She couldn't help but stare baffled "Is my name hard to pronounce in this world? I think it's quite easy... You can call me something easier if you'd like" "N/N it is then!" Ace grinned

"Hey... Your that chick who was acting up at the ceremony right?" [Name] looked away "It wasn't exactly me but you could say that it was a total fairy fail due to a slight issue" a small noise of protest came from Grim.

Ace perked up grinning smugly "I Knew it!" he laughed nudging the girl who side eyed him "The mirror picking a girl! especially one who shouldn't even be here with what? Oh yeah "large sums of magic?" Please I was trying so hard not to laugh" Ace grinned.

[Name] smiled staring at Ace trying to bite back an insult, Grim moved onto the next statue that he pointed at. His pitch forked tail swaying "So tell me, Ace. Is that lion with a scare in the eye a famous ruler too?" Ace smiled stepping forward following Grim "Of course!" The H/c girl couldn't help but grit her teeth together slightly as Ace quickly went off to talk about the statue.

The three were now standing in front of the lion statue crafted with steady hands touched and carved with beauty.

Ace continued on giving explanations towards the duo mostly focused on Grim "That's the King of Beasts who ruled the savanna. But he wasn't born into the throne - he had to earn it through hard work and elaborate schemes-" [Name] glanced over to Ace with confusion.

"That's not how the fairytale goes, but I know Lionel would of enjoyed this instead of what happens to him" Ace blinked at the girl and spoke "When he became king, he decreed that the hyenas would be pariahs no more, and should live among his subjects as equals." Grim smiled "Sounds like a great guy! Not everyone's able to look past social status like that." She stared down at Grim who was already eyeing the octopus woman a lady [Name] was familiar with.

Grim paused and pulled down [Name] is pant leg causing her to bend down to the cats hat as Ace went to talk about the next statue "Hey.. Henchwoman who's lionel? is she like your lizzie friend" "oh yes but its actually a guy and he is infant a friend of sorts. If you want I can tell you all about them later?" Grim nodded his head as the duo listened to Ace.

Grim turned to Ace "Who's the lady with the octopus legs?" Ace smiled gesturing to the stone statue for the moment. "The Sea Witch who lived in an underwater grotto. She basically devoted her life to helping troubled merfolk If they were willing to pay the price, she'd help them change their appearance, find love, whatever!"

Ace placed a hand on his hip "They say she was so good, there was no wish she couldn't grant. They also say the price was a tad steep, though. But she was granting wishes! Of course it was!"  Y/n blinked at Ace who smirked at the h/cnette who stared back at him.

Ace eyes flickered between [Name] and Grim trying to stare at the girl longer slightly scooching closer "You know... I can tell you more bout this stuff if you ever want to talk longer so I can explain it better for you" Ace smirked arms crossed as [Name] mentally and physically winced at Ace is comic on mansplaining about the people she already knew.

Turning his attention to Grim who exclaimed happily his tail swishing "Myaha! So you're sayin' that once I'm a great mage, gettin' rich off folks will be a total cinch?!"

[Name] stared at the statue mumbling to herself "God the memories I have of Ursula... Coral though isn't as bad but sheesh didn't think I'd see so many familiar faces." She paused and turned to Ace "Hey Ace" Ace instantly turned his attention from Grim to [Name] raising a brow "Question with this... does it ever mention that they had children?"

The red head pursed his lips "Uhm No...?" her face shifted slightly as she kept her though to herself ignoring Ace is stare.

Grim perked up pawing the next statue "Oh, oh! Do the dude with the big hat next!" he said to Ace who shrugged "That's the Sorcerer of the Sands He was an advisor to a total dolt of a sultan. He was a smart guy. Really capable sort. He exposed this swindler once - some guy pretending to be a prince in order to trick the princess! After that, he got this magic lamp and became the greatest sorcerer in the world."

[Name] blinked "Hey that kinda looks like Jafaeline is dad" she muttere. Ace stared at the girl with sheer confusion "Okay whats up with these weird names" "I'm just talking to myself" she muttered shrugging as the girl tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear "Then, they say... he used that power to become sultan himself!" Grim eyes sparkled "Wow! Guess it's true that a mage needs to be an excellent judge of character, huh- And what about this beauty over here?" Grim couldn't help but walk over to a stone statue of a gorgeous woman that [Name] stared at with furrowed brows, She couldn't quite mask the simmering fury and slight annoyance in her eyes.

Ace glanced to the statue and smiled raising a hand "She's a queen who was said to be the fairest in all the land. In fact, she used her magic mirror to check how she ranked on a daily basis! When it looked like her position was threatened, they say she'd do whatever it took to keep it." for a moment Ace watched [Names] expression blinking for a moment taking in her features.

"You know N/N... you kind of look like her" Ace turned back to the statue and towards the girl who scowled. Grim himself looked at the statue and back to the h/cnette before beaming pointing a paw "Oh yeah! look I can see it! meheheh! hey henchwoman you should be the next queen like her she got her priorities right!" Grim beamed smirking.

Ace turned his head back to the statue yet Grim noticed the intensity of [names] gaze was palpable, a storm brewing behind those dark, expressive eyes. Her perfectly sculpted lips were pressed into a thin line, the color a deep, angry red that mirrored the simmering anger within.

Her body was tense, a coiled spring ready to unleash the tempest within her arms crossed fingers curling slightly around her skin every line of her face every twitch of her perfectly arched eyebrow screamed frustration, a silent scream only the screen could witness. The tips of her hair sparking a purple flame slightly fists balling up for a slight moment.

"Can you even imagine the level of dedication it would require to keep a record like that? Also, they say she was a master of making poisons!" Grim shivered at the thought "Geez. She's pretty, but that sounds kinda scary." Ace is scarlet eyes stared down to Grim snickering "You think so? I gotta respect the hustle!" Grim nodded shakily "F-for sure... Sounds like she fought hard for what she believed in, and never gave up!"

A scoff came from her lips "Oh yeah she does whatever it takes alright like poisoning and trying to get the huntsman to kill snow white or maybe when she tries to take over kingdoms" Ace stared at her blinking open mouthed with wide eyes "Uhm- so..." Ace looked away awkwardly at the shifting tense atmosphere as the leaves of the trees swayed within the breeze.

Grim continued to bombard Ace with questions "And the one there, with the flaming head? Now THAT guy looks scary!" Grim beamed as Ace snapped his fingers smiling "That's the King of the underworld! Single-handedly ruling a kingdom packed with rambunctious spirits - that takes competence!"

She softened her gaze at the statue her thoughts lingering slightly to Zagreus a close friend of hers. Her eyes shined glancing around the statues now figuring out that most of the statues were ones of her closest friends is parents.

Her attention was attentive towards the statues that stood before them. "He may look scary, but he was a straight shooter who worked tirelessly at a tough job he never even asked for. I mean, this is the guy who was ordering Cerberus, the Hydra, and the Titans into battle for him." Grim nodded his head "Hmm. That IS something. T'think he could have that much power and not let it go to his head! And that last one there, with the horns?"

[Name] stared off into the distance to herself before focusing on the next statue her thoughts clicking when seeing a somewhat familiar face of a dark fairy/fae who enjoyed cheerhexing.

"That's the Thorn Fairy who lived on a mythical mountain. She was noble and elegant, and a master of magic and curses - even by the standards of these seven! She commanded storms, covered the kingdom with thorns" [Names] lips pursed staring at the statue "She could use magic on a massive scale! She could even turn herself into a giant dragon."

"Oooh. a dragon! What all monsters yearn to be!" Ace nodded "Pretty cool, huh?" Ace stared down at Grim his demeanor changing a kind smile on his face shifted quickly to one filled with absolutely menace and laced with mockery "Not like some piddling weasel."

⏝꒷︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶꒷⏝ Dictionary !! Features!! Physical Appearances S/C: Skin Colour H/C: Hair Colour H/L: Hair Length E/C: Eye Colour

Other!! Other things that could be mentioned in chapter

Ramshackle: Ramshackle Dorm was once abandoned and haunted by ghosts until Crowley moves the protagonist and Grim in. Unlike the other dorms which can only be accessed through the mirror chamber, Ramshackle Dorm is located within the school's grounds, near the main building.

Headmaster Crowley: The headmage of Night Raven College. Likes to constantly remind others how kind he is. He grants the MC student status and appoints them prefect of Ramshackle Dorm after they wind up stuck in Twisted Wonderland.

The Great Seven: There are seven influental figures in the world, called The Great Seven whose deeds are told through many legends

Ace Trappola: A quick learner with an upbeat personality and a mischievous streak. Since he and  are both  freshmen in the same class, they regard one another with amicable antagonism.

Grim: A monster who aspires to be a great mage. He will eat anything and everything, and his tendency to get carried away often gets him and the main character into trouble.

Phrases/Sayings/Refrences/Quotes Ever after High dictionary/Rooms/ etc. from the show/or game!!

Fairy Fail: Another phrase that means epic fail

Spelltacular: A phrase that is another for Spectacular a word of enthusiasm

Elizabeth "Lizzie" Hearts: She is a 2013-introduced and all-around character. She is part of "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland", as the next Queen of Hearts and she is a student at Ever After High. In the destiny conflict, she is on the side because of years of family dedication, practice, and belief of destiny in general. Per their escape to , all the escaped Wonderlandians transferred from Wonderland High to Ever After High.

Lionel Lion: NOT A CANNON EVER AFTER HIGH CHARACTER!! He is the son of  Scar. He is a new student at Ever after high and it is unknown where he stands in the destiny conflict. he is royalty and acts the part, but he does not like his future and is convinced that means no one will like him. He does not want to kill his sister either but does want to be king one day. Most of his mentions ever would be more like he is an OC but I will base him off of the real fairytale and other versions along with the disney one mostly.

Coral Witch: She is the daughter of the sea witch in Ever after high. Coral is a 2013-introduced and book-only character. She is part of The Little Mermaid as the next Sea Witch. It is unknown where she stands in the destiny conflict, but she appears to have Rebel sympathies. Other then that there is nothing else that gives off her character except for that she is apart of meeshell mermaids story.

Jafaeline Snake: NOT A CANNON EVER AFTER HIGH CHARACTER!! so most of her mentions ever would be more like she is an OC but I will base her off of the real fairytale and other versions along with the disney one! Anyways! Jafaeline Snake is the daughter of the great Sorcerer aka Jafar. In the destiny conflict, she is on neither side of rebels nor royals as she enjoys the chance of just going with whatever and belief of destiny in general.

[Name] Queen: YOU!!! Yeah no that statue and Ace is comment? what comment? him pointing out how you look annoyed at the statue? was he seeing things? You have no idea what he was on about at all they all shouldn't know either

Zagreus Persades: NOT A CANNON EVER AFTER HIGH CHARACTER!! He is part of "Hero Heracles", as the next king of  the underworld and he is a student at Ever After High. His fate is to be a jealous and vengeful God of the Underworld who plots to overthrow his brother by using a prophecy to prevent the rise of 'Herculine' Hercules is daughter yet he doesn't exactly want to do that as he only wants to sit down rest with his dog and his girlfriend Penelope Spring  a daughter of one of 'The Three Spinning Women' Herman In the destiny conflict, he is on the side of the rebels because of years of family dedication, practice, and belief of destiny in general made him despise taking the life of another for his own benefit.

Faybelle Thorn: She is part of The Sleeping Beauty as the next Dark Fairy, and she is a student at Ever After High. In the destiny conflict, she is on the Royal side out of family honor. Even as a child, Faybelle has always loved cheerhexing. However her mother constantly warns her that if cheerhexing happens to overtake her destiny, she will put a stop to it. Faybelle is not prepared for such and loves both her destiny and cheerhexing a fair amount. Her story is known as both Sleeping Beauty and, according to the Ever After High website, The Sleeping Beauty. She is the daughter of the Dark Fairy, and is a dark fairy herself.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 / 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 【Hexes & Hushes — MASTERLIST】

Tag List @mochiclouds @1abi

[elysiangroundsforall]

Love & War

"Everything is fair in love and war."

Ch-19

As the dust settled from the intense battle, Seonghwa and Y/N found themselves amidst the aftermath, their hearts still pounding with the adrenaline of combat yet relieved that the immediate danger had passed. They stood together, surrounded by soldiers and the echoes of victory, a testament to their resilience and unity in the face of adversity.

"We made quite the team out there," Seonghwa remarked, a rare warmth in his eyes as he looked at Y/N. Despite their tumultuous past and the suspicions that once clouded his perception of her, the events of the day had forged a newfound respect and trust between them.

Y/N nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "We did. I couldn't have asked for a better ally."

The sounds of celebration echoed around them as soldiers cheered and embraced, celebrating their hard-won victory. Seonghwa glanced around, his gaze lingering on his comrades and the battlefield strewn with fallen enemies. The price of victory weighed heavily on his heart, knowing the sacrifices made by both sides.

"We should go," Seonghwa said quietly, breaking the momentary silence. "There's much to be done."

Y/N nodded again, her expression reflecting the gravity of the situation. Together, they began to coordinate the aftermath of the battle, ensuring the wounded were cared for and the fallen honored. It was a somber task, a reminder of the harsh realities of war.

As night fell, they returned to the palace, weary yet determined. The palace grounds were alive with activity as servants tended to the wounded and prepared for the homecoming of their victorious army. Seonghwa and Y/N walked side by side, their shoulders brushing occasionally, a silent understanding passing between them.

Inside the palace, they found a moment of respite in the quiet of Seonghwa's chambers. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on the walls, creating a sense of intimacy that felt both comforting and unfamiliar. Seonghwa poured two cups of tea, handing one to Y/N with a small smile.

"Thank you," Y/N said softly, accepting the tea. She looked at Seonghwa, her gaze searching his face. "For trusting me today."

Seonghwa met her eyes, his expression serious yet sincere. "You've proven yourself, Y/N. Today showed me who you really are."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the weight of their shared experiences hanging between them. Outside, the palace continued to buzz with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet intimacy of the chamber.

"I owe you an apology," Seonghwa said suddenly, his voice low. "For doubting you."

Y/N shook her head gently. "It's understandable, given everything."

"No," Seonghwa insisted, his tone firm. "I let my suspicions cloud my judgment. You've shown me today that you're not just a princess, but a formidable ally."

Y/N smiled gratefully, feeling a warmth spread through her at his words. "Thank you, Seonghwa."

He nodded, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he masked it with his usual stoicism. "We should rest," he said, standing up. "Tomorrow, we continue to rebuild."

Y/N nodded in agreement, setting her cup aside. As Seonghwa moved to leave, she reached out, gently grasping his hand. He paused, turning back to look at her with a questioning gaze.

"Seonghwa," Y/N began softly, her voice hesitant yet determined. "There's something I need to say."

He waited, his eyes searching hers.

"In the midst of everything today, I realized…" Y/N faltered slightly, gathering her thoughts. "I realized that despite our differences and the challenges we've faced, I… I care about you."

Seonghwa's expression softened, a flicker of surprise and something more vulnerable crossing his features. He took a step closer to her, his hand tightening slightly around hers.

"I care about you too, Y/N," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

With a surge of courage, Y/N closed the distance between them, rising to her feet. She placed her free hand on his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her fingertips. Leaning in, she pressed a gentle kiss against his lips, a silent promise of understanding, acceptance, and hope for the future.

Seonghwa responded with equal tenderness, his arms encircling her as they shared a moment of mutual comfort and reassurance. In that embrace, amidst the echoes of battle and the uncertainties of the future, they found a fragile yet powerful connection that transcended their past misunderstandings.

As they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingling in the quiet chamber, Seonghwa rested his forehead against Y/N's, a rare smile gracing his lips.

"Together," he murmured, his voice resonating with a newfound sense of possibility.

"Forever," Y/N whispered in response, her heart lighter than it had been in years.

In that moment, amid the turmoil of war and the challenges ahead, Seonghwa and Y/N found solace and strength in each other's arms, ready to face whatever the future held, together.

Ch 20>>

[dustedmagazine]

Uniform — American Standard (Sacred Bones)

Photo by Joshua Zucker

“American Standard,” the title track from the new LP by NYC noiseniks Uniform, will likely dominate the attention garnered by the record. That’s justified: the song is massive, at 21+ minutes, and it’s massively unpleasant — more on those qualities below. But listeners shouldn’t neglect the rest of the release. The shorter songs that compose the remainder of American Standard are just as uncompromising, and they also foreground the band’s gift for coupling a caustic, aggro sensibility with compelling melodic structures. Rarely has noise rock been so tuneful, and then also so awfully punishing.

Godflesh and early Swans (Greed is a useful point of comparison) are clear touchstones for Uniform’s blend of noise rock and industrial music; but this reviewer also flashes on the Cows, c. 1993. Check out the one-two punch of “Shitbeard” and “Ch” from Sexy Pee Story, songs that couple brain-bludgeoning dissonance with weirdly idiosyncratic hooks. Uniform’s sound is less organic and more mechanically insidious than that bovine band from Minneapolis. The squelchy slaughterhouse is swapped for the cold cement of the factory floor — and the dudes in Uniform are driving a steam roller across it, grinding through waves of spilled sulfuric acid.

A more metallic array of factory apparatus is appropriate to American Standard, named for the famous brand of mass-produced plumbing fixtures. As much of the record’s pre-release chatter has indicated, the title track thematizes vocalist Michael Berdan’s long struggle with an eating disorder — and the horrifically long sessions of purging he has done over numerous toilets. The song extends, stretching out inexhaustibly. Berdan does not spare us: “My forehead rests / On dried piss / And twists of hair / […] An acrid film / On the water / I’m consumed / By the stench.” The images are stark, immediate. They need no figural amplification.

The music takes on that task, churning and moving in waves, an inexorable force that dramatizes regurgitation. That rhythmic structure is the song’s dark heart (or gut), but past the ten-minute mark, there is a break into a more dramatic passage, punctuated by a big riff. You can imagine the song’s I-speaker, a barely veiled version of Berdan himself — shattered, driven by impulse’s perverse excitements. One could call the long passage cathartic, but that term’s access to the idea of purgation is both exactly right and exactly wrong. Because after six minutes, the song explodes into a bright, surging river of sound, and Berdan rides it, shouting, narrating there the I-speaker’s particular variety of physical purging.

The listener is presented with a sort of problem. Clearly that last section of the song is the climax, and the musical effect is indeed cathartic. It thrills and it exhausts. We know that the binge-and-purge dynamic of some eating disorders is damaging and destructive. But the skill with which Uniform (including Berdan’s longtime bandmate Ben Greenberg and an expanded rhythm section of Mike Sharp, Brad Truax and Michael Blume) has constructed and performed the song implicates us in its galvanic lifts and kicks. We can’t help but be roused, even pleasured by it. And that’s the thing: there’s an addictive force to some eating disorders, a distorted “I want” that is very, very hard to resist. Uniform’s smart and forceful engagement with those concepts and feelings makes “American Standard” a terrific and terrifying song. It’s hard to hear, but it’s also hard to forget, or to stop.

Jonathan Shaw