#drama rebellion stories

[drama-rebellion]

Two souls

(A short story about my two souls, living together. One wants to be healthy and productive, the other self-destructive and addicted to the darkness. A story about what the sides borderline look like in my world)

The sky is covered in dark grey clouds. The soft rain creates little rivers flowing down the window. Vala blows the cigarette smoke into the cold air, while she looks down on the empty street, wrapped in her soft blanket, a steaming cup in her hands. Although the heat is running on full power, it’s uncomfortably cold in the little attic apartment she lives in together with her best friend Noxa. The other girl had just woken up and yawns extensively. “Good morning”, Vala greets her, but only gets an incomprehensible grumble as an answer. “Coffee?”. She nods. In the small kitchen she pours a second cup, black as the night. Noxa mumbles a “thanks” and takes a small sip. Her hair is ruffled and she needs to shower. Empty bottles and cans pile up next to her bed. She had slept 13 hours straight. After she puts the coffee on her nightstand, she reaches down and checks the cans. Once she finds one that still seems to contain some beer, she gulps it down and grimaces, then lights a cigarette. Vala sighs, but doesn’t say anything. She accepts her friend like she is. She wishes there was something she could do to help her fight her demons with something else then alcohol, but didn’t judge her if that was the only solution for now. Also she is most creative when a little drunk. Vala had visited her all the time when she was in the hospital, forced to stay sober and she had been completely miserable. But one day, she swears to herself, they would find a different way.

“We have no more beer”, Noxa states. Vala, who had sat down on the couch, laughes. “I told you not to drink all of it yesterday, but you didn’t listen.” The other girl moans. “Yeah”. “You should take a shower. You smell.” “I don’t care, I don’t want to.” It is always hard to motivate Noxa to even the tiniest actions of human life. Like cleaning, doing the laundry or simply taking care of herself. For the first time that day, their two cats emerge from their hiding places. With demanding meows, they walk up and down in front of their food bowl. Vala gets up, puts her empty cup in the dishwasher and gets a can of cat food out of the cupboard. They are running low. While she puts the meat junks in the bowl, she addresses her friend over the shoulder: “If you shower, put on clean clothes and collect all the trash around your bed, I am gonna go to the store with you. We need cat food anyway and the fridge is almost empty too.” The outlook of more alcohol gets Noxa on her feet. Vala sees immediately that she’s quite shaky already, but pulls herself together. The fresh clothes she gets out of the closet don’t match at all, but Noxa doesn’t give a shit about her looks these days. While her friend showers, Vala cleans up the kitchen and gets dressed herself. It’s almost noon by now. Once done, the other girl looks much healthier already, although she didn’t bother to do anything than the absolute necessary. While she puts on her clothes, Vala can see the countless markigs covering every inch of her body, also her ribs are clearly showing. She basically gets all her calories from alcohol, but that doesn't nurish her body. The scars are the relicts of the war she fights with herself. Most of them already turned white and officially Noxa has stopped cutting, but every now and then she still slips up and Vala has to drive her to the hospital to get stitches. Fortunately the last incident of that kind had been over a year ago already, no comparison to the times, when she would cut on a daily basis. Every morning Vala would clean up the blood from the floor, change Noxa’s red stained bed sheets and take care of her wounds. Right now she might be in a bad place, but not nearly as lost as she had once been. Now Vala helps her to pick up the empty bottles and cans, because it’s clearly exhausting her. She needs a little break before putting on her shoes and jacket. "Don't forget your meds", Vala reminds her. Noxa rolls her eyes. "I'll take them when we get back." "No, now! Otherwise you forget." The other girl gives her an annoyed look, but does as asked. Once the anti-depressants, mood-stabilizers, potassium, and a couple of other unpronouncable meds are down her throat, they get ready.

They take the trash and their backpacks, Vala closes the door behind them. Two flights of stairs down and they step outside into the rainy autumn day. The smell of rotten leaves and wet pavement fills the air. “Damn it, is that cold”, Noxa complains. Her friend actually enjoys the weather, but doesn’t tell her that. Without talking they get on their way to the store. It’s not far. There are barely people around. Only some dog walkers with their canine companions, some kids hurrying home from school, an elderly couple hand in hand. Typical life in a small town.

In front of the store they return the empty cans and split up as soon as they step through the door. Both of them have their own shopping list. Vala gets herself some low fat curd, natural yoghurt, various fruits and vegetables, protein chips, smoked tofu and a big coke zero, plus cat food. Noxa on the other hand, arrives at the check out with a six pack of beer and three bottles of wine, some sweets, a frozen pizza and zero cal energy drinks. It’s her usual purchase, although she mostly doesn’t even eat, only when Vala insists. The alcohol works better on an empty stomach, Noxa had once explained to her. Outside the wind has gotten stronger, tearing at their jackets. On the stairs to their apartment, Noxa has to stop twice due to her lack of stamina and the heavy groceries. She tumbles over the doorstep and immediately collapses on the couch, breathing heavily. Vala saves herself a comment. They’ve had this conversation so many times before. Instead she gets rid of her shoes and carries the two bags into the kitchen, putting the cooled stuff in the fridge. With some curd and half a mango, she prepares her breakfast, or rather lunch. Meanwhile Noxa has gotten out of her jacket too and pulls two cans out of her backpack. Both sit on the couch, Vala with her fruit salad and Noxa with her beer and energy drink. With a fizz she opens both, drinks half of the beer in one gulp, flushes down the terrible taste with energy. Once Vala had asked her, why she drinks it if it tastes so horrible. “I don’t do it for the taste. Beer and wine are cheap, the good stuff way too expensive for wasting it on casual day drinking”. Makes sense. “Wanna watch something?” Vala asks. “Yeah sure.” “And what?” “Don’t care”. That is probably Noxa’s most used phrase, because she actually doesn’t care about anything much anymore. Vala should be offended, but she isn’t. She knows that her friend isn’t doing it on purpose. She has her wars to fight and her demons eat her alive. Vala only tries to help as much as she can, watch over her, sometimes admitting her to the hospital when she really is close to stumble over the edge, but that hadn’t been the case in quite some time. It just makes her sad to see Noxa fading away everyday a bit more. There had been a time she was an actually happy and positive person, but that’s long ago, nothing more than an echo from the past. So often Vala asks herself, what went wrong, what had happened to her best friend and if there had been anything she could have done to prevent her from getting so bad. The guilt is misplaced, but she can’t help feeling this way. Vala gives her best to get her out of her hole every now and then, but barely succeeds. The pull of the shadows on her is too strong. Now Noxa just stares blankly at the TV where a documentary is flickering over the screen. Absently she pets the cat next to her, sometimes taking some sips from her beer, or smoking a cigarette.

In the early evening, Vala prepares her dinner. While cutting vegetables and the tofu, she can hear her friend sapping through the program in the other room. While the oven is heating up, she takes a short shower herself and switches into her comfy sweatpants. Although she knows that Noxa isn’t gonna eat much, she unwraps the frozen pizza and puts it in the oven along with her veggies. In the living room she is surprised to see that Noxa has her I Pad on her knees and is drawing something. She hasn’t done that in days. Her inspiration is very inconsistent, but the results not less admirable. While waiting for the food to be ready, Vala cleans up the room a little bit. Collects empty wrappers, cigarette stumps, empties the ashtray and sweeps through the room with a broom. It’s already quite dark outside, so she lights the dozen candles scattered everywhere as well as a scent stick, and puts on the fairy lights. It’s a pretty cozy ambience. She gets the metal plates out of the oven, piles veggies on one plate, the pizza on another. After slicing it, she puts it in front of Noxa on the living room table. “Eat”, she tells her, like a mother to her toddler. “Don’t feel like it”, she says and drinks some wine instead. “Come on, please. At least a bit”. Noxa sighs, but gives in. After it cools down a bit, she even eats two slices, while Vala enjoys her own meal. The evening passes by without anything special happening. The two girls are even quieter than usual. Sometimes, when Noxa has drunk enough, she gets quite talkative. Then she rumbles about the most unusual facts and drifts away in nostalgia, memories of happier days. At the moment she is still busy with her I Pad and once she’s done she shows Vala her latest work, who had been waiting excited already. The picture shows a faceless monster of some kind with a crown of thorns on its head. It’s disturbing, but also beautiful. “Very good, I love it”, Vala says. She is very creative herself, but more into words than drawing, although she hasn’t written anything in a while now. Her thoughts are too clouded. This dark void hovers over them for days now. There are these times. Every night, when Vala goes to sleep, she hopes that tomorrow will be better, but it rarely is. Noxa is quite drunk by now, puts her I Pad away, mumbles a “good night” and tumbles into bed. Vala smokes one last cigarette. Silently she watches the night outside the window and without even realizing, she starts crying. Hot and salty the tears roll down her cheeks, while she wonders if life will always be this way. If they will ever be alright.

[fleetsonourgecentral]

What If the Royal Au IS like Sonic underground but without the Silblings find their mom part?

Ok it's just I LOVE that Au and I want to help you with It by giving ideas, draws, whatever you NEED <:c

It would probably be difficult for the royalty au to be much like sonic underground considering in sonic underground the royal family has essentially already fallen and gone into hiding, while in the royalty au Scourge's family is still firmly in power and honestly probably doesn't even realise there's a rebellion brewing. Not a lot of places for parallels from what I can see. Although I guess it's similar in that Sonic is trying to take down the people in power lmao, but alas there isn't really a destiny aspect involved in the royalty au. Sonic is just an angry scruffy lil hedgehog commoner that thinks the royal family suck and is actually willing to do something about it, and Scourge just happens to run into him and fully support his cause because "my family fucking sucks and I don't care about any of this royalty shit so sure I'll help you take it down"

Omg aaaaaaa if you ever draw anything for this au (or this ship in general) I am begging you to tag me fhkdsakfkjl no pressure of course but... if you ever decide you wanna... I will certainly not complain about having more art of the bois

[theladysunami]

Fics where Bingge gets his own Shen Yuan are always a delight, but I do wish more of them let Shen Yuan dote on Bingge’s children!

I’d love a story where Shen Yuan somehow ended up in the role of ‘Head Imperial Tutor’ and became the children’s beloved teacher and fiercest protector.

Whatever harem drama, rebellions, or other nonsense is going on, he observes with only mild interest (plus much internal eye rolling, and maybe a little gushing over Binghe) but if anyone dares target his students he utterly destroys them.

Sometime after the Bingge vs. Bingmei extra (perhaps after Shen Yuan eliminates some threat to the children), Binghe actually notices Shen Yuan and just how closely his behavior mirrors the nice Shizun.

He’s a very gentle and attentive teacher, tailoring lessons to each child’s learning style, comforting them when the drama between their mothers causes them distress, and freely granting affectionate head pats and light fan bops.

Binghe fighting with his own kids for attention from his world’s kind Shizun, while juggling with Shen Yuan’s obliviousness, and the fact he must be careful never to seriously upset the kids (or he will face Shen Yuan’s wrath), just has so much comedy and cuteness potential!

In the end, Bingge not only falls for Shen Yuan, but comes to more fully love and care for his own kiddos too.

[slu7formen]

Girl first of all I want to say that I'm OBSESSED with your writing I love it.

Second of all I would like to make a request about Luke so hear me out.

Luke and reader were in a relationship before he betrayed camp and they were head over heals for each other and then he stole the bolt and when Percy discovers he's the thief the reader is there feeling betrayed and specially heartbroken even though Luke ask her to go with him but she doesn't accept it because she's so loyal to camp and her friends.

Time passed and even if she wants to hate Luke she loves him more than anything. And Luke loves her too so instead of asking Annabeth to escape with him he asks reader and she accepts.

I want to see everything in here fluff, angst, everything you think about.

I hope you like this request and make it real for me because I've been having this idea for over a week.

Okay but I feel so bad ‘cause I totally forgot I had this story FULLY WRITTEN and READY to be published (‘cause I LOVED it), I’m so sorry angel, made you wait a lot more than just a week 🥺, but thanks for reading my stories <3

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: luke´s a traitor, betrayal, use of yn, swearing, kinda angst (?, KISSING, lil book spoiler

₊˚⊹♡

The crackle and pop of the bonfire filled the air, a comforting contrast to the vibrant bursts of color exploding overhead. The annual fireworks display was in full swing, casting shadows on the faces of your friends huddled around the warm flames. It was a picture of peace, a moment of respite amidst the constant threat of monsters demigod drama.

You stole a glance at the empty space beside you. Luke, your boyfriend, had told you he'd just be back in a minute. A few minutes had turned into an eternity, but you chalked it up to his usual impulsiveness. He'd be back any minute, with his signature smile and an arm wrapped around you.

You knew it.

From the moment you met, you and Luke had been inseparable. You were his confidante, his anchor in the chaos of being a demigod and his messy life. He was your rock, always there to make you laugh, to understand the weight of your heritage in a way no one else could.

The warmth of the fire danced on your skin, but a shiver snaked down your spine. Something felt off. The chatter of your friends seemed muted, replaced by a dull ache in your chest. You couldn’t deny the way you noticed how Luke has been acting lately. So weird and distant towards you the last couple days. You loved him, fiercely and unconditionally. You'd been there for him through thick and thin, especially after his quest left a jagged scar across his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes.

But then he suddenly just, snapped.

A memory surfaced in you , sharp and unwelcome. It had been months ago, a conversation in the darkness of his cabin in a particular cold night. Luke, his eyes filled with a desperate fervor, had confessed his anger towards the gods, his belief that they were cruel and neglectful parents. He'd spoken of tricking the Olympians, joining forces with the Titans to fight for a better life for all demigods.

The anger in his voice, the glint of rebellion in his eyes, had scared you. The scar on his face, a reminder of his failed quest, seemed to burn brighter that night.

You understood his anger. The gods were far from perfect, their neglect and cruelty evident in countless demigod lives. He'd begged you to join him, his voice filled with a desperate hope. But you'd refused, your loyalty to Camp Half-Blood and your friends unwavering. You had spent hours talking him through it as you held his hand, reminding him of all the good the gods had done, no matter how flawed they might be. He'd looked lost at the time, seeking comfort in your touch. You'd thought you'd reached him, extinguished that spark of rebellion.

You really believed that conversation was long forgotten. But there was a reason why you remembered it.

Some movement at the edge of the woods caught your eye. But it wasn't the boy you were expecting. Percy, his face pale and etched with worry, practically stumbled into the fireplace, his chest heaving and his grip tight on Riptide.

A pang of concern shot through you. "Percy?" you called out, concern lacing your voice. You pushed yourself off the ground, walking towards him. "What happened? Where's Luke?"

Percy hesitated, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. Shit, should he tell you? His silence was a hammer blow to your gut. You knew, with a chilling certainty, that something was terribly wrong.

"What?" you choked out, the question barely a whisper, expecting some kind of answer from the blonde boy, but nothing came from his trembling lips. The air felt dense, with a truth you desperately wanted to deny. You saw Luke getting into the woods with Percy, you saw it. And now, he was nowhere to be seen.

Then, it clicked. A cold, horrifying truth began to dawn on you.

He lied.

Without a word, you pushed Percy aside and started running, towards the woods. Your heart hammered against your ribs, like a trapped bird desperate to escape. You plunged into the darkness of the forest, the path you'd walked countless times with Luke now leading you into the unknown.

"Luke!" you screamed, your voice raw with anger and despair. You wove through the trees, the undergrowth tearing at your camp shirt, but you didn't care. You had to find him, to confront him, to understand why he'd chosen this path, if he chose it, why he'd lied to you.

But with each passing minute, hope crashed over you. The forest grew denser, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the frantic beat of your own heart. There was no sign of Luke, no echo of his footsteps, no smell, no sense of his presence, only the chilling truth hanging heavy in the air.

He was gone.

He had left.

You sank to your knees, the weight of betrayal crushing you as the first tears you ever cried for Luke Castellan, started to fall. The man you loved, the person you'd trusted with your life, had chosen darkness over everything you held dear. He had chosen Kronos over you.

Grief, a cold and relentless serpent, coiled around your heart. And that feeling never seemed to leave.

The year that followed was a blur of sadness and a desperate attempt at normalcy. The silence from Luke was deafening. Not a single Iris-message, not a single sign of the one who once, was your boyfriend.

You knew you wouldn´t be able to return to Camp, at least not for now. Every corner held a ghost of Luke's smile, every sword clang a reminder of his battles and his betrayal. Your friends, the true ones, bless their hearts, tried everything to cheer you up from a distance, but their efforts felt like trying to pick up the pieces of a broken glass in the sea.

You opted to stay home that summer. But even there, away from the prying eyes and hushed whispers, escape from Luke's betrayal seemed impossible. Messages and news found you no matter where you hid. News of Luke leading a rogue army aboard a stolen cruise ship, rumors of him serving as Kronos's right hand while the Titan slumbered – it all reached your ears.

The nights were the worst. The darkness mirrored the hollowness within you. Tears would stain your pillow as you relived the events leading up to his betrayal. You once seemed to dream about seeing him again, and now you only screamed when you saw his face in your nightmares.

The memory of his touch, the warmth of his smile, the nights you spent loving each other with the sheets tangling in your legs, all felt like cruel illusions now. Yet, a part of you, a stubborn, illogical part, still clung to the love you once shared.

And Gods, did you try to keep yourself as busy as possible. You threw yourself into your studies and little courses here and there, seeking solace in facts and logic. You even began working, a boring but well payed summer job. Yet, the pain lingered, a dull ache that refused to subside.

The more you tried to banish these visions, the more vivid they became. You missed him like a starving man craved a feast, a yearning that gnawed at your insides and threatened to consume you. Frustration gnawed at you. How could you still love someone who'd betrayed you so utterly? How could your heart still ache for a man who chose war over you? The questions echoed endlessly within you, a relentless chorus fueling your self-conscious.

How could you be so weak?

These consuming questions were your companions for a whole year. But as the second summer after Luke's betrayal rolled around, a shift occurred within you. The raw, agonizing pain began to dull, replaced by a quiet resolve.

Finally, you decided it was time to take back control again. Camp Half-Blood called, a familiar haven among the storm. You returned a changed person. The vibrant smile that once adorned your face was a ghost, replaced by a guarded expression that spoke about the pain you harbored in silence. The camp's familiar energy felt hollow, a constant reminder of the happiness you'd lost.

Training became your sole solace. You'd disappear into the arena for hours, your celestial bronze sword a blur as you cleaved through training dummies, each swing fueled by a potent cocktail of grief and anger.

Exhaustion became your closest companion too. You pushed yourself to the limits of your endurance, hoping to find oblivion at the bottom of an empty fuel tank. But sleep, when it finally came, offered no escape. You'd dream of him, leading his army of rogue demigods, his eyes filled with a fanatical zeal that chilled you to the bone. And in those dreams, you'd see yourself, standing beside him, not out of loyalty to his cause, but out of a desperate yearning for the boy you once loved, still love.

In the quiet moments, when your friends weren't around, the dam would break. You'd collapse onto your cool and empty bed, tears streaming down your face, a raw, primal sob escaping your lips. The memory of Luke was no joy anymore, it haunted you like a specter.

You hated yourself for the traitorous flicker in your heart, the desperate, illogical yearning for him. It wasn't the war that tempted you; it was him.

You hated how much you missed him.

The scent of rain clung to the humid night air and to you like a second skin as you zipped up your duffel bag. Another summer at Camp Half-Blood loomed, promising a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and pain, but more training. The worst was yet to come, so you needed to be ready.

New York City, with its cacophony of car horns and the anonymity of millions, had become your refuge these past few months. In Manhattan, the memories of Luke seemed to hold less power for some weird reason, their edges dulling with the passage of time. You'd spent the past months in this tiny apartment, the silence deafening compared to the constant hum of life at camp.

Just then, a sharp rap on the door shattered the silence of your apartment. It was past midnight, an unusual time for visitors.

Adrenaline surged through you. Months of living fully alone had honed your senses. You'd become acutely aware of the city's underbelly – the flickering shadows that could hide monsters thanks to the ever-present mist. You'd seen them stalking the streets, stalking you, their true forms hidden to them mortals, an unsettling feeling crawling up your spine whenever their paths crossed yours. They never attacked, but their chilling presence followed you like a phantom.

Grabbing your necklace, you asked, "Yes?"

Silence. You weren't taking any chances. Pulling down at the pendant once, the necklace morphed into your celestial bronze dagger.

You took a step, two. Could it really be a monster? Could it really be some creature trying to get to you, by knocking on the door? With a shaky breath, you cracked the door open just enough to peek through the gap, hiding the dagger behind your back.

The sight that greeted you stole the air from your lungs.

Standing on your doorstep, bathed in the harsh glow of the hallway light, was Luke. His dark hair was windswept, his face etched with a gauntness that hadn't been there before, but his eyes – those were the same eyes that had haunted your dreams for months. They held a desperate plea, a flicker of the boy you once loved struggling to break through the hardened shell of the man he'd become.

“Luke?”

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and a tangled web of emotions. Time seemed to warp in that hallway, a single moment stretched into an eternity. Luke looked different, yes. The carefree boy you knew had been replaced by a man hardened by experience, his features etched with lines that spoke of battles fought and burdens carried. But his eyes, those brown eyes that had once held a mischievous twinkle, now held a deeper sadness that mirrored your own.

"Hi" Luke finally said, his voice raspy.

You stood speechless, the dagger still clutched tightly in your hand. Years of longing warred with the fresh wounds of betrayal. You wanted to scream at him, to unleash the torrent of hurt and anger that suddenly washed over you. But something held you back, a flicker of curiosity, maybe.

"Um, can I come in?" he continued, his posture pleading despite his attempt at nonchalance.

Jesus. Was that all he had to say? After everything, after what he did, all he could muster was a request to enter your apartment? A tide of anger threatened to drown you. Did he not understand the gravity of what he'd done? Did he not realize the pain he'd caused? But you forced your thoughts down. You weren't a child anymore, throwing tantrums wouldn't solve anything.

"Are you armed?" you asked, your voice flat, devoid of any warmth.

Luke flinched at your question, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "You think I wanna hurt you?" he countered, his tone defensive.

"Last time I saw you," you spat back, your voice laced with bitterness, "was three years ago, and I know your little monsters are keeping an eye on me. The first thing I'm supposed to think about is whether you want to hurt me or not."

He sighed, a long, weary exhale. Unzipping his jacket, he turned slowly, patting down his pockets before turning back to you. His eyes, once alive with mischief and love, were now filled with a desperate sincerity. "See? No weapons. Just me."

You studied him, a battle raging within you. One part of you wanted to slam the door, to let him know that he wasn't welcome. Yet, another part, a smaller, more vulnerable part, couldn't help but cling to the flicker of hope that flickered amongst the ashes of your love.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you stepped aside, allowing a sliver of space for him to enter. "Fine" you said, your voice devoid of warmth. "But you better have a good reason to come here"

Luke hesitated for a beat before stepping inside. He closed the door softly behind him, the sound echoing through the tense silence. He stood there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the room, landing finally on the packed bags besides the tv.

"You're heading back to camp?" he asked.

You flipped the dagger in your hand, and the celestial bronze morphed back into the golden necklace. "What do you want?" you repeated, your voice still sharp, a shield against the emotions swirling within you.

Luke stood awkwardly in the doorway, the once carefree boy replaced by a man burdened by the weight of his choices. His leather jacket seemed to hang heavy on his broad shoulders.

"I…" he started, then stopped, seemingly unsure how to proceed. He cleared his throat, the sound scratchy and unfamiliar. "You look different" he finally managed, the words tumbling out awkwardly.

You scoffed, a humorless sound that surprised even you.

"Look, yn" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper, "I wanna talk, okay? I know what I did was wrong. I know I hurt you."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "You could say that again."

His fingers twitched at your bitterness, but pressed on. "I came here because..." He hesitated again, seemingly wrestling with an inner turmoil. "Because I-"

Frustration bubbled up within you. This cryptic approach, this lack of honesty, it was infuriating. "Because you what, Luke?" you demanded, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Because you decided to grace me with your presence after leading a rebellion against the gods? Or maybe because you just wanted to see if I'm still waiting for you?"

You watched his face harden, the vulnerability replaced by a familiar defiance.

"Don't twist this" he snapped, his voice firm. "I came here because..." He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours. "Because I miss you, yn. I miss us."

The air crackled with a tension so thick you could almost taste it.

You took a slow step towards him, then another. He took notes of yourself as you did. The way you had grown internally was so intense that he could sense it everywhere. He might have betrayed you, but that only helped you get on your feet stronger, grow stronger. Become the warrior he always knew you were.

Then, in a move as instinctive as it was fierce, your hand lashed out. The slap connected with a stinging crack, the sound echoing through the apartment like a thunderclap. Luke's head snapped to the side, a crimson handprint blooming on his cheek. Shame flickered in his eyes as he scoffed, quickly replaced by a dull acceptance.

He deserved it, that much was clear.

"How dare you?” you spat, your voice shaking with barely controlled fury, "How fucking dare you come back here after what you've done? After leading a rebellion against the gods, after putting everyone we care about at risk? After betraying me?"

Luke took a shaky breath, running a hand over the burning mark on his face. "I'm sorry” he said, his voice low and ragged. "I'm so sorry. I know I hurt you, and I know a simple apology won't erase the pain or fix things. But you have to believe me, I never meant for things to get this bad"

He stepped towards you, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture, but you flinched back, the space between you a tangible barrier. "Don't touch me" you warned, your voice laced with ice.

He lowered his hands, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I know you hate me for what I´ve done. For joining Kronos, I-“

"You think this is all about Kronos?" you cut him off, your voice shaking with barely contained fury. "You think the reason my heart has been broken these past years is because you joined a fucking Titan?"

Luke remained silent, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a collapsing mountain. He knew better.

"This is about what you did to me, Luke" you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. "I was with you, all the time. I was your girlfriend! And you betrayed me. You left me alone” your voice broke so hard that you had to take a second to swallow the big gulp that was forming in your throat. “Everyone at camp looked at me after what you did," you choked out. "They either felt sorry for me, or they insulted me, saying that I was still loyal to you, that I was a traitor."

You closed your eyes for a moment, the pain etched on your face a stark reminder of the devastation he'd wrought. "You were the most important person in my life" you cried, your voice raw and vulnerable. "But you? You let Kronos fill your head with empty promises, and just like that, you forgot about us."

The truth felt like a bitter pill to swallow. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I asked you to come with me" he finally whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I gave you the chance to leave with me."

"And even after I said no," you countered, your voice trembling like the finger that was now pointing at his chest, "you still left. You threw me away like shit. And do you know what the worst part is?" Tears streamed down your face, tracing a path through the dust of old heartache. "That as much as I try, I can't seem to hate you."

A sob escaped your lips, shattering the fragile dam you'd built around your emotions. "I still love you, Luke" you confessed. "Even though it's a love that fills me with pain, it's still there. I hate myself because I dream about you, about the way things used to be. But when I don't, I feel like a piece of me is missing."

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears and a raw vulnerability that left Luke speechless.

What had he done?

"I hate myself because I can't help but pray for your safety, even though you never seemed to care about mine. I hate myself because even after everything, I still love you, Luke."

Your heart felt like a shattered kaleidoscope, a million shards of love, anger, and pain reflecting back at you in a distorted reality. You walked and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs racked your body.

Luke, his heart heavy with a remorse sharper than any weapon, watched you crumble. The carefree girl he fell in love with was gone, replaced by a woman etched with the scars of his own actions. Hesitantly, he reached out, placing a hand on your back as he sat down next to you, a gesture of comfort that felt more like a branding iron on his guilt.

"yn” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I still love you too."

You didn't respond, the sobs coming in ragged gasps as your body struggled to contain the storm within.

"I know I left you" he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And you didn't deserve it. But… I was so lost, so angry. Kronos promised me power, a solution to all the problems I saw. He convinced me that Olympus was corrupt, that the gods didn't care about half-bloods like us. And when you said no, he-, he told me to leave you behind, said that it would be easier for everyone…"

His voice trailed off. Easier for who? Easier for him, perhaps, to sever the ties that bound him, to plunge headfirst into a rebellion fueled by manipulated ideals.

"But it wasn't" he choked out, a tear escaping his eye, carving a glistening path down his cheek. "Every day, every step I took… it was a constant reminder of what I'd lost. The guilt was eating me alive, yn, you have to believe me”. His hands desperately reached for yours, trying to get your fingers to intertwine by placing his over yours.

Tears welled up in his own eyes. "I regret everything. I mean it. I don't want to do this anymore."

You finally lifted your head, your eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. Luke looked different to you now, the bravado and arrogance gone, replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

"Don't want to do what?" you asked, your voice hoarse.

"This” he gestured vaguely to himself, but you didn’t quite catch it. "Following Kronos. Helping him rise to power. It's wrong. I can see that now."

“Little late to that, isn’t it?” you blurted out.

He took a deep breath, his expression resolute. "yn, there's a reason I came to you. A reason I risked Kronos' trust in me." He paused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Kronos wants me to become his host."

And the world seemed to suddenly stop. You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Your mind raced, trying to process what he had just said. Luke, your Luke, becoming a vessel for the monstrous Titan?

"What?" you croaked, fear coating your voice like frost. Your eyes darted around, searching for a way out, a solution, anything. But Luke wouldn't meet your gaze, his jaw clenched tight, a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. "No. No, he can't. It's not possible."

The thought of him, Luke, being consumed by Kronos, twisted your insides into knots.

Luke, however, seemed to gather his resolve. "Yes, it is" he said, his voice low and strained. "There are things you don't know, yn. Things I've done."

A cold dread gripped your stomach, a physical manifestation of the terror that clawed at your insides. Your mind raced, desperate for answers. "Then tell me" you only managed to say. "Luke, what have you done?"

He hesitated, looking around as if afraid someone might be listening. "There's no time now" he finally said, his voice tight with urgency. "But I promise I will explain everything. That's not why I'm here."

Taking a deep breath, he dared to reach out, his hand gently grasping yours, finally. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, a stark contrast to the chilling fear that gripped you.

He called your name, his voice softening. "Come with me" he said.

You only feel capable of frowning your brows in confusion. "Go where?" you asked, your voice wary.

"Anywhere" he said, like a plea. "Let's run away, together. It can be just you and me again"

He leaned closer, the air around him crackling with a tension that mirrored the storm within you. As his forehead rested against yours, a jolt of electricity shot through you. It was a familiar warmth, a spark that had ignited countless stolen kisses and whispered secrets back when your world wasn't teetering on the brink of war. His other hand cupped your cheek, the touch a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. His hand, usually warm and comforting, felt cool against your burning skin, a physical reminder of the distance that had grown between you. Yet, despite the chill, a wave of longing washed over you, a yearning for the simple comfort of his touch.

But reason tugged at you, a voice of caution in the midst of the storm. "But Luke," you stammered, pulling away slightly, "If you escape, Kronos will come for you. He'll come for us, and-,"

"I don't care" he interrupted, his voice resolute, yet laced with a tremor that betrayed his bravado. It was as if he was on the precipice, teetering between defiance and the vulnerability of a man on the verge of breaking. "I'll fight everything that comes for us. And if the war happens... I'll fight. I'll fight for everyone, I’ll fight for you. I'm not losing you again, yn."

His words resonated deep within you, a desperate echo of the love you still harbored for him, a love you thought you'd buried beneath layers of anger and sadness. You saw the fear in his eyes, a fear that you sadly shared, but beneath it, a flicker of something else – a raw, desperate hope. And as you looked at him, a wave of relief washed over you.

The relief of knowing he wasn't entirely lost, that a part of the Luke you loved still existed.

"I love you" he confessed again, his voice trembling.

Looking into his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling within them, the truth resonated with you. "I love you too" you whispered, the words tumbling from your lips like a long-awaited confession.

The world did indeed, stop. The rain, a relentless symphony against the window pane, faded into a distant murmur. The thunders became a muffled echo. In that moment, the only reality was the space between you and Luke, charged with the unspoken electricity of your confessions.

He leaned in further, a hesitant question in his eyes. A flicker of fear danced in their depths, a scared boy seeking forgiveness beneath the warrior's facade. You watched him, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest.

With a sigh that trembled on your lips, you closed the distance. Your lips met in a hesitant touch, a tentative exploration of a forgotten familiarity. Three years of longing, of unspoken words and simmering emotions, poured into that kiss. It was sweeter than you'd dared to imagine, a warmth that spread from your lips and drizzled down your chest.

Unlike the passionate encounters of your past, this felt different; like kissing him for the first time. Luke's lips moved against yours with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine. He held back, his desperate desire tempered with a respect that surprised you. You knew him.

But then, you yielded. Your lips parted, a silent invitation, and his tongue met yours in a dance as old as time. A full, heavy and angry thunderclap erupted outside, a jarring contrast to the intimacy unfolding on the couch. But you paid it no mind, lost in the whirlpool of rediscovered affection.

Your arms encircled his neck, a desperate hold. He, in turn, cupped your waist, his touch lingering on the curve of your hip as he gently lowered you onto the soft cushion. His body hovered above yours. His lips, however, remained glued to yours, a relentless exploration that spoke of a love both fierce and fragile.

The kiss deepened, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. You felt the familiar rhythm of his heart against yours, a counterpoint to the frantic beat of your own. It was a melody of second chances, of unspoken apologies and nascent hope.

His hand trailed down your back, teasingly brushing under your shirt, sending shivers dancing across your skin. You arched into his touch, a wordless plea for more. But just then, he pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions.

His voice, a husky murmur against your skin, sent shivers down your spine. "I missed this so much," he whispered, his lips trailing down the delicate column of your neck and the dip of your collarbone. His warm breath mingled with your own, a heady mix of emotions swirling around you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, the familiar texture a stark reminder of the past you both desperately clung to. He reached for your pulse, slowly sucking in before letting it pop.

"I wanted to feel you every night" he confessed. "Every night, I dreamt of you." His words were a stark contrast to the cold, distant Luke you saw in your dreams, the only vivid memory you’ve had of him the past years.

"Luke" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to speak.

He didn't stop. His hand drifted down your torso, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your lower tummy. Every touch felt like a brand, a searing reminder of what you had lost and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

"It was a mistake" he said, his voice thick with regret. "A big, fucking mistake. Leaving you, betraying you-, it was the biggest mistake of my life. My life doesn't make any sense without you."

With a strangled sound, Luke deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own. You clung to him, a drowning sailor grasping at a lifeline. The scent of leather that clung to him was intoxicating, a familiar anchor in this storm of emotions.

"Luke" you managed to gasp between kisses, a flicker of reason breaking through the haze of desire. You needed more than just words, needed a binding promise, something concrete to hold onto if you were to take this leap of faith.

He stared at you, his eyes a storm of emotions – desire, confusion, and a flicker of something that might have been annoyance. But before he could respond, you pressed on.

"Swear on it, Luke" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "Swear on the River Styx” you repeat. Luke’s eyes dart back and forth, from your lips, to your eyes, to filling up with confusion. “I’m not-,” you cut yourself off as you feel your eyes filling with tears again. You bit your tongue before speaking, “I’m not letting you hurt me like this again"

You knew it was selfish, a desperate attempt to safeguard your heart. But Luke was here, finally, after all this time. You craved the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence. The thought of letting him go again, of enduring another betrayal, was unbearable. Yet, a part of you, still scarred from the past, craved a guarantee, an oath sworn on the most powerful river in the Underworld. It was dangerous, yes, but did you care?

Did he care?

Luke's expression hardened. The River Styx, held a weight that couldn't be ignored. The river he already bathed himself in. It was a binding vow, a promise etched in the very fabric of existence.

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of doubt, a hint of manipulation. But all he saw was the vulnerability, the fear – a vulnerability born from the scars he himself had inflicted.

"I swear on the River Styx" he said, his voice low and solemn, each word heavy with the weight of the oath. "I swear I won’t ever leave you. I swear I love you. I swear I'll fight for you, for us, with every breath in my lungs."

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 1: Smoke and Mirrors

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7k

Chapter 1/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: I was going to wait to post this since I have fifty-leven WIPs but to make up for me not being able to write for a while and also finishing two stories in the coming weeks - here we are. I'm nervous about posting this one for some reason. Hope y'all like it.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Track 1 - Smoke and Mirrors (each chapter is a track)

In the world of music, there's no denying that Velvet Rebellion's sound is electric, their melodies are undeniably addictive. But offstage, the drama and chaos surrounding this band have been the subject of endless tabloid fodder. It's a classic case of the music being sweet, but the rest of the package is a tad sour. Will their rock 'n' roll lifestyle ultimately overshadow their undeniable talent? That remains the question on everyone's lips.

The TV channel flicking produced a rapid succession of blips and static.

"You know, when it comes to Velvet Rebellion, it's clear that Natasha Romanoff is the best thing about the band. Her vocals are just on another level!"

"Oh, absolutely! Natasha's stage presence is incredible, and her voice, that raw emotion she pours into every note, it's what sets them apart. But let's not forget the rest of the band; they bring their own magic to the mix!"

Another press of the button. Another channel emitting the same rhetoric. 

"So, what are your thoughts on Velvet Rebellion, the band that seems to be taking the music scene by storm?"

"Look, I won't deny that they've had their moments. Natasha's got a powerful voice, and they've had some catchy tunes. But let's not forget, there's more to rock 'n' roll than just one person. We bring our own unique sound to the table, and we're here to show that rock isn't a one-trick pony."

Suddenly, the screen goes black. The television has been turned off. The room is silent. 

“Whatever,” The mysterious person tsks. There are better things to do. 

In the dimly lit room, the first flicker of a cigarette lighter illuminated a shadowy figure, and a guitar's haunting melody echoed through the air. It was a simple beginning, a humble birth of sound that would eventually become the anthem of a generation.

Images flashed in rapid succession—a chaotic whirlwind of memories and moments that had defined their journey from obscurity to stardom. The flashing lights of a small, dimly lit club, the very place where they had played their first gig, gave way to a sea of screaming fans, arms raised in fervent adoration.

“Bucky! Bucky!”

“Steve, we love you!”

Talk show interviews brought them into living rooms across the nation, their faces beamed into millions of homes as they shared their stories and their music with the world. The camera panned to Natasha, her fierce gaze unyielding as she answered questions with poise and grace.

And then, there were the guitars. Guitars being smashed in a blaze of glory on stage, a ritual that had become their trademark. The destructive catharsis of the act symbolized the release of their raw energy and passion into the world.

Groupies and fans clamored for their attention, their devotion evident in the longing looks and outstretched hands. Each face in the crowd told a story of how Velvet Rebellion's music had touched their lives.

Late-night studio sessions followed, with the band working tirelessly into the early hours, crafting the songs and lyrics that had earned them their place in music history. In the dimly lit room, the flicker of a cigarette lighter once again marked the beginning of a new song.

Magazine covers splashed with their images adorned newsstands across the country. Excerpts from clippings of their first studio album, "Velvet Love," told a tale of raw, unbridled emotion set to music—a story that had resonated with countless souls.

The montage painted a vivid picture of a band that had journeyed through the highs and lows of fame, never losing sight of the music that had brought them together. Velvet Rebellion had carved its path through the music industry, leaving an unforgettable mark on the hearts of those who had listened and loved.

*************

Sunlight filters through the curtains of Natasha and Wanda's cozy Los Angeles apartment. Disheveled yet determined, Natasha sits on the edge of her bed, cradling her guitar. She strums the strings absentmindedly, searching for that inspiration that once fueled Velvet Rebellion. Her fingers danced over the strings of her trusty guitar, each note a whisper in the quiet solitude of the bedroom.

Natasha's hair framed her face, and frustration lined her expression as she strummed the chords once again. The next album's melodies were meant to be born here. Yet, inspiration remained at arm’s length, teasing her like a fading dream.

"Come on Natalia," she whispered gruffly, remembering the name she had left behind long ago.

With a sigh, she shifted her gaze to the muted TV on the dresser. A NEWS REPORTER's face appeared on the screen, accompanied by headlines that could never escape the relentless clutches of the media. She searched for the remote to turn up the volume as the face of one of her bandmates, Tony Stark’s pictures appeared. 

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“In a surprising turn of events, Velvet Rebellion's Tony Stark was arrested last night for public indecency.”

Natasha's eye-roll was instinctive. Tony always had a way of making headlines for all the wrong reasons.

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“...fans and critics alike have noted the band's gradual decline, and it seems the once-revered punk rock indie sensation is now on the verge of falling apart.”

The reporter's words cut through Natasha's indifference, a scalding reminder of the shadows that had been gathering around them. She couldn't deny it; the band had been stagnant for too long.

Fury sparked in her eyes, and she clenched the neck of her guitar, momentarily abandoning the song. The Velvet Rebellion of yesteryears, the band that had ignited stages and won hearts, couldn't be reduced to this—a spectacle of controversies and dwindling star power.

Returning her attention to her guitar Natasha sighed. The room's stillness hung heavy as she gently laid the guitar down on the floor. It felt like a futile effort, the muse remaining frustratingly out of reach, leaving her with an empty canvas and an aching desire to create.

Her gaze dropped to the small, black notebook, its pages filled with aborted attempts to capture the essence of their experiences and emotions in song. But today, those pages mocked her, an unforgiving reminder of the creative void that had taken its home within her.

Just as her frustration reached its peak, the bedroom door swung open with a soft creak, and in walked Wanda, a bowl of popcorn cradled in her hand. She plopped down on the bed beside Natasha, her eyes rolling in a knowing, teasing manner.

“How’s writing going?” Wanda asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn to plop into her mouth. 

Natasha let out a weary sigh, her notebook momentarily forgotten as she shared her woes with her best friend.

“You have no idea. It's like I've hit a wall, and I can't seem to find my way around it.” Natasha said. “How are we supposed to come up with another album with no songs? It’s been two years. We’re going to be known as one-hit wonders.”

“First off that’s a bit dramatic,” Wanda attempted to calm her down. “We made the hot rock and alternative songs billboard charts for our debut. I think the momentum is still there.”

Wanda cast a glance at the muted TV screen, where a news reporter was still busy dissecting Tony's latest escapade. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, mirroring Natasha's exasperation.

“And of course, our dear Tony adds another branch to the publicity tree. It's almost impressive how consistently he manages to get into trouble.” Wanda shook her head. 

After placing her bowl of popcorn on the dresser, Wanda decided to abandon her sitting position and instead flopped onto her belly, propped up on her elbows. She grabbed Natasha's small notebook, a curious glint in her eyes as she skimmed through the handwritten lyrics and scattered notes.

“You know, Nat, I think I see where you're stuck.” Wanda hummed to herself for a moment. 

Turning her attention to Wanda, Natasha felt her frustration momentarily ebb away, replaced by curiosity.

“Oh?” Natasha eyed her. “Please, share your wisdom.”

Wanda's eyes sparkled with an unexpected idea, and she pointed to a particular verse in the notebook. Her voice took on a sultry, poetic quality as she suggested a new lyric.

“How about this: "In the shadows of desire, we ignite the night."

Natasha's eyes widened in surprise as the words resonated deep within her. She quickly reached for her instrument and strummed the guitar, incorporating the new lyric into the melody, and in that instant, it all fell into place. A smile grew on her face, and she turned to Wanda.

“Wanda, that's brilliant! Thank you!” Natasha leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I know why I keep you around.”

Wanda beamed in response. 

"Speaking of," she began, her voice casual yet laced with an underlying purpose, "we've got a gig this weekend. It's a birthday party for Harley Jameson, you know, the producer's daughter."

Natasha's response was swift and uncompromising, her will clear in her refusal. Her head shook slightly as she firmly voiced her decision, her thoughts already drifting toward the disturbing pattern of her bandmates taking liberties with decisions without consulting her, the lead.

"Absolutely not, Wanda," Natasha declared, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Aren’t we better than performing for snot-nosed brats?

Wanda, ever patient and understanding, propped herself up on her elbows. 

“Well, when that snot nose brat is paying us fifty thousand dollars plus a retainer,” Wanda shrugs. “And all the booze and food we want.” Her words were measured, spoken with the calm that came from knowing this conversation was inevitable." Nat, remember," she began, "you're the lead, not the boss. We haven’t been taking gigs because you've been declining. You know we need to keep the momentum going."

Natasha's jaw clenched in frustration. She leaned back, her gaze shifting to the ceiling as she contemplated her response.

"There's a reason, Wanda," Natasha explained, her voice tinged with concern. "Our brand has taken a beating lately with all the scandals we've had over the years. It’s not a good look being so new. I want us to lay low for a while, let the storm pass."

Wanda sighed, her eyes reflecting her understanding of Natasha's concerns. But she also recognized the band's need to keep going ahead despite the challenges.

"Nat," Wanda said, her voice gentle and reassuring, "I get it, I really do. But we'll be fine. Harley's party should be a breeze, and I promise we'll stay out of trouble. We'll stick to the music, no antics."

Natasha's hesitation lingered. Ultimately, the trust she had in Wanda, her lifelong friend and partner-in-crime, began to outweigh her reservations. She finally nodded, a reluctant but willing acceptance of the gig.

"Alright, alright," Natasha conceded. “We'll do it. But just this one, and we'll play it safe."

Wanda's eyes sparkled with a victorious smile, recognizing that she had won this battle for now. With that agreement, they returned to their songwriting. 

**************

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn of Harley Jameson's grand estate, Velvet Rebellion gathered on the makeshift stage. Around them, staff and party planners began to decorate the backyard. Their instruments glistened under the setting and stage lights. 

Natasha, her guitar slung securely across her shoulder, couldn't help but notice Tony, seated behind the drum kit, his sunglasses doing little to hide the lingering effects of his earlier indulgence. She approached him with a stern expression, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"Tony, you better get it together," She warned. "We're not messing this up tonight."

Tony, ever the charmer, brushed off her concerns with an easy smile and a wave of his hand.

"Nat, I promise, I'm fine. See?"

With that, he launched into a lively drum solo, his sticks dancing skillfully across the drumheads. The rhythm was tight, the sound electrifying. Natasha couldn't help but acknowledge his undeniable talent, even as she sighed in resignation.

"Great," she muttered to herself, "the sunglasses are his secret weapon now."

Standing beside Natasha, Steve placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His quiet and calming presence was a balm to her nerves.

"It's alright, Natasha," He reassured her, his voice steady and comforting. "We'll get through this gig, just like our old days. Tony’s recovering but he seems fine."

Together they glance back to their bandmate who was more than likely inebriated. Tony chugged a bottle of water, before crushing it and dropping it down onto the floor beside him. 

Natasha's gaze softened as she looked at Steve, a small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, he’s the epitome of fine.”

“Okay,” Steve pulled her gently to the side. “What’s the problem?” 

“Nothing,” Natasha shrugged. “I just can’t help but think that gigs like this are beneath us. I mean we went from performing at the MTV Video Music Awards to this? A sweet sixteen?”

Steve looked at her. He had been through thick and thin with Natasha and knew the depth of her concerns. 

“Natasha,” He replied. “I get your worries, but I promise this is a good thing for us. Todd Jameson is one of the biggest music producers in Hollywood right now. There will be a lot of executives here just to support his daughter. Think of what that could mean for us.”

“Fine,” Natasha nodded. “But if he fucks up I kick his ass.”

“Oh, you bet. Right after I’m done kicking it,” Steve joked causing Natasha to burst into laughter. 

Natasha steps back over to the mic. “Alright let’s take it from the top.” 

As Natasha prepared to lead the band into their rehearsal of the first song, the peacefulness of the backyard rehearsal space was abruptly disrupted by the arrival of Harley Jameson. She swept onto the scene with all the extravagance befitting a Hollywood princess, accompanied by a harried-looking party planner and another woman, who appeared to be a guest.

Harley, the embodiment of a spoiled heiress, immediately began issuing orders with a sense of entitlement that left the party planner flustered.

"No, no, no! These decorations are all wrong! Change them around! The mirror ball should be over here. And I want a live peacock by the pool. It's not too much to ask, is it?" Harley demanded impatiently.

The party planner, clearly overwhelmed, tried to keep up with Harley's demands. "Harley, we only have a few hours before the party starts. It's going to be challenging to make all these changes in such a short time."

Harley huffed, uninterested in the logistical challenges she was causing. "I don't care about that. Just get it done. My dad said I could have whatever I wanted."

Meanwhile, Harley's attention shifted to Velvet Rebellion, her face lighting up with enthusiasm.

"Oh, my God! I've been dying to meet you! I'm a huge fan!" she exclaimed with excitement. “I’m so happy I could get you here.”

She bounded over to the band, seemingly oblivious to the chaos she was creating, and introduced them to the party planner and you.

"This is Velvet Rebellion!" Harley introduced with enthusiasm. "Steve, the keyboardist, Tony on the drums, Bucky on the electric guitar, Wanda, the second lead singer and bass guitar, and Natasha, the incredible lead singer!"

You and the other woman exchanged glances, your expressions a mixture of frustration and amusement at the whirlwind that was Harley Jameson. You gave a small wave, opting to be in the background of this exchange. 

Wanda, ever the peacekeeper, managed to maintain her composure and put on a friendly smile despite Harley's overwhelming energy. She nodded graciously at Harley's enthusiasm.

"Oh, thank you so much, Harley!" Wanda replied with genuine warmth. "We're thrilled to meet you too. Your party looks like it's going to be incredible!"

Harley's energy showed no signs of waning as she delved into the details of the band's performance. When Wanda mentioned their planned first song, "Smoke and Mirrors," Harley immediately piped up with an alternative suggestion.

"No, no, no," Harley interrupted with fervor. "I want you to start with 'Ink and Whiskey.' It's my favorite!"

Natasha, who had been preparing to protest the sudden change to their setlist, hesitated as she saw Wanda's meek demeanor. However, it was clear that Harley's demand had disrupted their carefully planned sequence.

Natasha began to voice her concerns, but Harley's retort was swift and smart-mouthed. 

“We’ve already planned this out for-” Natasha began. 

“Oh, you can change it, can’t you? It’s just a silly setlist,” Harly questioned. 

Before Natasha could respond, you intervened with a calm yet authoritative tone.

"Harley, let's tone it down a bit," You advised, your demeanor oozing an air of authority that surprised Natasha. Harley listened, her earlier defiance giving way to a more composed demeanor.

“Sorry, I’m just excited,” Harley shrugged. 

Natasha found herself intrigued by your presence and the respect Harley seemed to show you.

"Alright," Natasha conceded with a smile, "since it's your birthday, we'll start with 'Ink and Whiskey.'"

Wanda offered a nod of agreement, and the tension in the air began to dissipate.

Harley, feeling triumphant, turned her attention to the party planner.

"Sarah, darling, let's make sure everything is perfect. I want it to be a night to remember!" Harley changed the subject, pulling you both back into a conversation with ease. 

Sarah, the party planner, nodded and tried to hide her relief that the brief crisis had passed. 

"Of course, Harley. Everything will be just as you want it."

Natasha watched the exchange between Harley and Sarah, her curiosity piqued more by you. 

“Who’s the chick?” Natasha pointed over to you with a tilt of her head. She got shrugs from Steve and Bucky. Tony was way too distracted to answer as he flirted with one of the staff. Wanda squinted to see if she could guess. 

“I don’t know,” Wanda said. “She looks vaguely familiar, but I’m guessing it’s not her mom.”

“Interesting,” Natasha mumbled to herself. She shook her head. There was no time for whatever the thumping in her heart was proving to be. She was here for the band and for the music. Also for the money, she couldn’t forget the money. 

As the preparations for the party continued, your cell phone suddenly rang, breaking the conversation flow. You excused yourself with a polite smile and stepped away from the group, heading toward a quieter corner of the backyard a few feet away.

Natasha couldn't help but overhear snippets of your conversation, the tone of your voice suggesting a heartfelt exchange, likely with a significant other. Natasha discreetly glanced in your direction, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Your voice held a gentle warmth as you spoke softly into your phone, your words filled with affection and longing.

 "I miss you too, sweetheart. Yeah, the party's getting started here in a couple of hours. It's not the same without you. Can't wait to see you soon." You smiled. 

Natasha couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but the tenderness in your voice painted a clear picture of a loving connection between you and someone special.

Meanwhile, Harley, always the inquisitive host, began questioning Steve and Bucky about the band and its music.

"So, guys," Harley started, her interest genuine, "Have you ever thought about going solo? I am dying to know the secret."

Steve and Bucky, accustomed to answering these questions, engaged in a friendly chat with Harley, even if they also found her annoying. 

As Natasha discreetly observed you from the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but be captivated by your natural beauty. You were dressed in a simple white t-shirt and form-fitting jeans, a look that should have been unremarkable, but on you, it was utterly captivating.

The way your hair was styled, framing your face in soft waves, added to your appeal. Your skin had a radiant glow, and your features held an understated elegance that drew Natasha's attention. Despite the casual attire, you exuded a timeless charm that was impossible to ignore.

Natasha found herself admiring the effortless beauty that seemed to emanate from you and she wanted to know more. 

Just as Natasha started to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping, you turned around with a warm smile, catching her off guard. She quickly toyed with her microphone stand, feigning indifference.

You found her reaction amusing but were soon drawn back into your phone conversation. Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the person on the other end of that call and what had sparked such a genuine smile on your face. 

She toyed with the mic stand for as long as possible, physically forcing herself not to look your way. It’s a few more minutes before you returned to the group. You turned your attention to Harley and Sarah.

"Harley, don't forget, you have that hair appointment in an hour," You reminded her, glancing at your watch. "We need to make sure you're all set for your big night."

Harley, momentarily distracted by the band's presence, nodded in agreement.

"Oh, right! Thanks, y/n. I'll head out now," Harley replied with a grin. She turned to the band and offered her farewells. "Catch you all later!"

With that, Harley and Sarah departed, leaving Velvet Rebellion alone in the backyard.

As the group began to disperse, you took a moment to say goodbye to the band. 

“See you guys tonight,” You said. “I’m sure you’ll do great. If you need refreshments just ask one of the staff and they will be happy to help you with anything you need.” 

Natasha responded with a small smile and a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of the brief but pleasant interaction.

Once you, Harley, and Sarah were out of earshot, the rest of the band couldn't resist teasing Natasha. Wanda, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, chimed in.

"Uh oh, I know that look," Wanda teased, earning a knowing chuckle from the others. Natasha's momentary fascination with you hadn't gone unnoticed, and her bandmates were more than happy to playfully nudge her about it.

“There’s no look, I don’t have a look.” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Sure, you don’t,” Wanda grinned. “Any bets on how long until she gets her number?”

“I say within the hour,” Tony raised his hand pulling out a single, crinkled five-dollar bill from his back pocket. 

“Fifteen says they sleep together after the show,” Bucky shrugged. Steve is the only one to remain silent. 

“I don’t know,” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “I think I’ll save my thoughts for later. The girl barely said two words to any of us.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said. “Now, can we rehearse like a proper band?” 

She tried to erase your image from her head as she positioned herself in front of the microphone. 

From the top. 

*****************

The night was alive with energy as Velvet Rebellion took the stage, the crowd gathered around, eager to soak in every note of their music. Natasha oozed confidence and charisma, a star in every sense of the word. The opening chords of "Ink and Whiskey" filled the air, and the crowd erupted in cheers. This birthday party was a rager if she’d ever seen one. Natasha always considered rich people stiff and uptight. Going to plenty of parties once their debut kicked off their careers. Stiff drinks, weird pleasantries, and even more drugs. She was being proven wrong with this particular shindig. 

She moved to the edge of the stage, her presence magnetic. She sang with a passion that could be felt in every corner of the space, her voice carrying the weight of their lyrics. The audience couldn't help but be drawn into her performance, and they eagerly joined in, singing along and dancing to the beat.

Wanda, standing beside Natasha, bled a different kind of cool and calm. Her steady presence provided the perfect balance to Natasha's fiery performance. It was clear to anyone watching that their dynamic was the secret to their success.

Natasha lowered her head, giving Wanda the floor to sing her part of the chorus. Wanda’s hands moved steadily between the chords as she sang into the microphone. 

Ink and whiskey, the pages of our hearts,  

Tangled in the chapters where love starts,  

In the darkness, our secrets we confide,  

With every word written, our souls collide

Natasha steps forward, moving close enough to the microphone so that she and Wanda could harmonize the last verse. Her eyes travel from Wanda’s, smiling as they share in the energy and joy of being on stage before she maneuvers herself to face the crowd. 

In the night's embrace, our love's sweet refrain,  

Ink and whiskey, like a runaway train,  

Through the highs and lows, we'll find our way,  

With every word we write, love's here to stay

In the front row, Harley danced with her friends, reveling in the music and the excitement of the night. The atmosphere was electric, and the joy was contagious.

As Natasha sang, she scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on familiar faces among the sea of B-listers and music enthusiasts. But the one that stood out the most was you. Your eyes locked, and Natasha couldn't resist a playful wink, a silent acknowledgment of your earlier encounter.

You raised your glass in a silent toast and clapped enthusiastically when the song came to an end. You weren’t a huge fan of the music genre but you could see why Velvet Rebellion was such a rising star amongst new artists. Their stage presence was undeniable, the song was catchy and the beat was electrifying. It helped that Natasha was cute. All good things in your book. You can’t take your eyes off the stage as they move into their next song. It’s a bit disjointed considering Harley made them change the setlist around the last minute but it seems smooth either way. Natasha dances a bit for this one, her body movements fluid and effortless. Almost as if she’s had some training. 

You’re momentarily distracted when a distant family member comes to say hello. 

The show must go on as Natasha continues to sing her heart out. 

**********************

The final notes of their setlist rang out, and the crowd roared in appreciation. Velvet Rebellion had given their all, and now it was time for the DJ to take over and keep the party going.

Wanda had convinced Natasha to stay a while longer, promising that the night was still young and full of possibilities. Tony, ever the charmer, remarked with a grin, "I see a few MILFs in the crowd that I wouldn't mind mingling with." He slipped into the crowd with ease, chatting up the first single woman he saw. 

Natasha, however, remained all about business. She stood at the bar, surveying the party and keeping a watchful eye on her bandmates. The chaos and revelry around her seemed to blur into a colorful swirl of dancing bodies and laughter.

It was then that you approached her, catching Natasha's attention. Your presence was a welcome change of pace, and Natasha couldn't help but appreciate the genuine compliment she received.

"You guys were incredible," You said with a smile. "I'm impressed."

Natasha, always a woman of few words in such settings, offered a gracious nod of acknowledgment. 

You extended your hand with a warm smile as you introduced yourself, "I'm y/n. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Natasha shook your hand firmly and replied, "Natasha. Likewise."

You couldn't help but notice Natasha's reserved demeanor. Almost as if she felt too cool to be here. 

"I couldn't help but wonder," You began, your curiosity evident as you raised your voice above the music. "why aren't you out there dancing like the rest of your bandmates?"

Natasha offered a wry smile and shot back, "I could ask you the same thing."

“Touche,” You nodded. “I’m not much of a party girl.” You turn towards the bartender. “Do you want a drink? Eric here makes the best mojitos.”

“Sure, I’ll have a sex on the beach,” Natasha asked. 

“You heard the woman,” You jokingly said to Eric as he began to make your drinks. As you focused your attention on grabbing a few napkins, Natasha gave you a once-over. Your party dress was a delightful balance of simplicity and style. The knee-length and backless dress showcased a flattering silhouette, hugging your curves in all the right places. The deep, midnight-blue fabric was decorated with tiny, shimmering glitter that seemed to twinkle with each movement you made. Its sweetheart neckline and delicate spaghetti straps added a touch of femininity to the ensemble, while the mid-thigh slit allowed for easy movement as you moved. The overall effect was a cute yet elegant dress that perfectly suited the festive atmosphere of the party.

Natasha's observant eye caught the jewelry adorning your wrist. It was subtle but tasteful, hinting at a level of refinement that didn't go unnoticed. It was at least half of her salary for tonight’s show. This only interested her more. She needed to know who you were. She wanted to know the mystery behind you and your name. 

“Here you go,” You step back over to Natasha to hand her a drink. “I hope I’m not being too forward.”

“Not at all,” Natasha shrugged. 

"You know, if you're looking for a bit more quiet, we could step inside for a breather." You suggested, tilting your chin towards the house. 

Natasha considered the offer, realizing that a change of scenery might be a welcome respite from the party's chaos. With a small smile, she agreed, "That sounds like a good idea."

You led Natasha through the sea of people and inside the mansion to a nearby office where the music's relentless thump was muffled, and the atmosphere was quieter. It was a welcome change from the frenzied party outside.

As you settled into seats close to each other on the couch, drinks in hand, Natasha couldn't help herself and began to ask you questions. 

“Why did you ask me in here tonight?” Natasha asked. “Not that I’m complaining. I have been invited into much worse places.”  

“Thanks, I think,” You chuckled. You sensed Natasha's curiosity and offered a simple explanation, your eyes holding Natasha's in an unspoken connection."I enjoy meeting new people," you confessed, your voice soft but sincere. "And I've decided I wanted to talk with you."

You took a sip of your drink, your gaze thoughtful. "I also wanted to apologize for Harley's behavior earlier. She can be... spirited at times."

Natasha waved off the apology with a small smile, understanding that spirited was one way to describe Harley's antics.

You went on to explain, "Usually, I don't speak up like that, but my uncle has a way of spoiling Harley. It's... complicated."

Natasha's curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, "Your uncle? He’s Todd Jameson?"

You took a moment before revealing, "Yes. He and my dad are half-brothers. Making Harley my little cousin. I don’t admit it often."

The revelation left Natasha intrigued. She had heard the name Todd Jameson before, a figure of significance in the entertainment industry. The connection between you and Harley was now becoming clearer, and Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the family connection.

“That would make your dad…” Natasha began. 

“Nick Fury, the one and only,” You finished for her. “Different fathers. My dad is somewhere out there tonight. It’s a thing I don’t like to admit to strangers.”

“I get it,” Natasha nodded. 

The revelation about your family connection to Todd Jameson made Natasha pause for a moment. She had always admired the award-winning jazz player turned talent manager, Nick Fury, from afar. His contributions to the music industry were legendary, and Natasha couldn't deny that she was a fan of his music.

She decided not to fangirl, though, and instead offered a genuine smile. "Your dad is a legend. I've always been a fan of his music."

Your eyes lit up with appreciation. "Thank you, Natasha. I'll be sure to pass that along to him." You set your half-empty cup onto a coaster, before turning back to Natasha. “So, watching you on that stage. Not many people have that star power. I was wondering if you have experience dancing? You were incredible.” 

Natasha's eyes sparkled as she recalled her performance. "The way I danced on stage during our set, it's a part of who I am. I guess you could say it's a bit of my background showing through."

Your curiosity piqued, and you guessed, "Ballet, then?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes, I did ballet for sixteen years as a child. I even got into Juilliard."

Your eyes widened in admiration. "That's amazing, Natasha. How did you get into singing and music?"

Natasha took a sip of her drink and smiled as she delved into the story of how she got into music. It was a story that she didn't often share, but there was something about her conversation with you that made her feel comfortable opening up.

"It all started back in high school," Natasha began. "I was really into dancing, and it was an elective at my school. But then, one day, I decided to join the choir on a whim. And I fell in love with singing and songwriting. I grew up in a rough neighborhood. I needed something to keep me out of the house and off the streets."

She paused for a moment, reminiscing about those early days. "So, I started writing songs, and my friends Wanda and Steve would go over to Steve’s small bedroom. We'd play our rented instruments and experiment with different sounds. It was just a fun little hobby at first."

Natasha's gaze drifted, lost in the memories of those simple beginnings. "Then Bucky, Steve’s best friend well, he's always been a bit of a troublemaker, but he's got a talent for the electric guitar. And Tony...his dad's pretty wealthy and bought us all our equipment. Plus, he's good at the drums."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "It was a bit of a motley crew, but that's how Velvet Rebellion came to be. We started playing in small venues, dive bars, and country clubs. And somehow, we made it here."

Natasha's usually guarded demeanor had softened in your presence, and she found herself enjoying the opportunity to share a piece of her journey with someone who seemed genuinely interested in her story.

“I love that,” You nodded. You and Natasha share a smile before she asked. 

“Is your boyfriend here tonight? I don’t want to keep you too long,” She fished for more information. 

“No, no,” You shake your head. “No boyfriend. You?”

“Not really into monogamy at the moment,” She shrugged. She doesn’t know if this statement will bite her in the ass later but for some reason she trusted you. “Tell me about you. Are you in the family business or?”

"I've always had a bit of a connection to the music world," You began. "As a teenager, I sang a few backup vocals for artists my uncle produced. I guess you could say I almost pursued a career in music, but life had other plans for me. I got pregnant at seventeen. Dedicated to finish school and go to college."

You took a thoughtful swig of your drink and continued, "Now, I'm a publicist. I don't mean to brag, but I'm good at what I do.When I'm not working, I'm taking care of my daughter, Isabella. She's nine years old and the light of my life."

Your face softened as you spoke about your daughter, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and joy. "She's with her dad for the weekend," you added, "and we co-parent quite well."

Natasha was genuinely interested in your life outside of the party scene, and she couldn't resist asking, "Do you have any pictures of Isabella? I'd love to see her."

Your eyes twinkled with delight as you pulled out your phone and began to share a few adorable images of your daughter. Natasha couldn't help but smile as she admired the photos, enjoying this glimpse into your world beyond the music and the party.

“Here she is at gymnastics practice,” You flipped through a few pictures of Isabella’s smiling face. “And swim. She is a little spitfire and she wants to do it all.”

“Wow,” Natasha smiled as if Isabella were her own child. “Do you ever want more?”

“Maybe one day,” You said wistfully. “For now I feel pretty full with everything in life. You?” 

You noticed the change in Natasha's expression and asked, "Is something on your mind?"

Natasha sighed, leaning back into her seat. "I just don't know if I'm cut out for motherhood," she admitted. "I have a younger sister, Yelena, she’s attending the University of Cambridge in England now. She's even developed a bit of a British accent." Natasha couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

"But," she continued, "I enjoy the fast-paced life, the music, the performances, and the constant movement. A significant other won’t quite understand that I don't always have the time. Not that I don’t ever want that someday but…” Her voice died down. 

You listened empathetically, understanding the complexities of Natasha's life as a musician. "I get that," you acknowledged. "But it's essential to find the right balance for you, whether it's in your music career, personal life, or something in between. My dad was able to do it. When he crossed over into hip-hop there was definitely a lot he missed but he still made things happen"

“Really? Well, I will have to ask him for pointers.” She grinned. 

Just as the conversation was reaching its peak, there came a polite knock at the office door. A member of the party staff popped in to inform you that they were ready to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley.

You turned to Natasha with a warm smile. "It was nice meeting and talking to you, Natasha," you said genuinely.

Natasha, not wanting the connection to end, began, "You know, I'd love to..."

But before she could finish her sentence, your cheeks flushed, and you interrupted already knowing what she was going to say, your voice bold, "Are you going to call me, or are you going to leave me hanging in the wind?"

Natasha couldn't help but laugh at your sudden assertiveness. It was a pleasant surprise. "I’m not that type of woman," Natasha said. At your look, she laughed again. “You got me there.”

You returned her smile and handed Natasha your phone, saying, "You'll just have to trust me with your number instead, and I'll call." Asking for her number instead eased the pressure off Natasha, and also your nerves at hoping she’d call. 

You gave Natasha a wink and chucked a thumb over your shoulder to indicate you were going back to the party. Natasha nodded and watched you walk away. When her eyes trailed lower she doesn’t even feel guilty about it. 

Natasha left the office, rejoining her bandmates outside in the backyard, just as they were preparing to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley. The festive atmosphere was in full swing, and the energy of the party was infectious.

As the crowd gathered around Harley, Natasha's eyes scanned the faces, and they landed on you, who was standing among the partygoers. Your eyes met, and you shared a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had developed.

Tony, always quick to pick up on things, couldn't help but tease Natasha when he noticed her grin. "So, did you get her number?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at Tony's assumption but then burst into laughter. "No," she replied with a playful smirk, "she took mine."

The party was still in full swing when someone on stage stopped the music with a loud, "Hey, everyone! Can I have your attention, please?"

The spotlight shifted to the stage, and all eyes turned toward the source of the interruption. It was a friend of Harley's, and he had a mischievous grin on his face as he spoke into the microphone.

"I have a special surprise for our birthday girl tonight," he announced. "We have someone here who's agreed to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Harley, and I think you're all in for a treat."

A collective cheer and applause erupted from the crowd as they eagerly anticipated the surprise. The spotlight moved to you, highlighting your face and putting you on the spot. You managed to not look like a deer in headlights which was a feat in itself. Natasha's curiosity was piqued, especially considering you had mentioned you weren’t much of a singer.

You tried to protest shyly, but the crowd begged you to come up on stage. Encouraged by their cheers, you reluctantly made your way up to the spotlight.

Once on stage, you cleared your throat and took a deep breath, your nerves palpable. You began with a little birthday speech, your voice tinged with affection and humor.

"I want to wish a happy birthday to my cousin Harley," You began, your smile directed at the birthday girl. "Even though she's a bit of a brat," you teased, earning laughs from the crowd, "she's my brat, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Then, as expected, you began to sing "Happy Birthday." Your voice, which you had modestly downplayed earlier, was nothing short of remarkable. It was soulful, sweet, and filled with a depth of emotion that resonated through the entire backyard.

The crowd, including Natasha, was utterly blown away by the unexpected talent that you possessed. Your voice filled the air, making the birthday celebration even more special and memorable. It was a moment of pure magic, and Natasha couldn't help but be captivated by your incredible singing ability.

Natasha decided two things then and there. One, she really liked you, and two, boy, was she in for a ride.

---> next part

[marvelsmylife]

The Long Lost Archeron Sister Chapter 1: Life At Basgiath War College

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron!reader, Xaden Riorson x Archeron!reader

Plot: A glimpse into your life at Basgiath and your complicated relationship with Xaden Riorson.

A/n for obvious reasons Violet has a different dragon in this story since the reader is bonded to Tairn. I also decided not to include Cat in this story because I felt like there would be too many characters in this story.

ACOTAR Masterlist

Fourth Wing Masterlist

TLLAS Masterlist

You thought you had a pretty normal childhood growing up. You had parents who loved you and siblings whom you very rarely fought with. Of course, you knew you were adopted from a very young age. Mostly because you looked nothing like the rest of the family, but they all loved you just the same.

While you got along with your three siblings, you were the closest to Brennan because he felt the need to protect you from everything and everyone. He would defend you when people would tease you because you were adopted. He would respond to those bullies with “Our family chose y/n, you’re family is stuck with you.” This would result in the bully crying to their parents, and they would demand Brennan apologize for his words. Of course, your parents defended Brennan’s actions and scolded the parents for raising their children the way they did.

So you were devastated when Brennan was killed during the war. You were like a zombie roaming around and caused your family to worry you were going to do something to yourself. You only got worse when your father passed away shortly after Brennan’s death.

You became a shell of yourself, and no one, not even Violet (who always managed to make you smile) could get you back to how you once were. Because of that, Lilith thought it would be best to train you so you could become a rider when it was time for you to attend Basgiath. She knew you wanted to enroll in the healer quadrant but felt like you might excel as a rider like her, Brennan, and now Mira.

“Be careful. Xaden Riorson is also attending this year with you. He might want to kill you for what mom did to his dad,” Mira warned you on your first day before she pulled you into a hug, “I love you, I know you’re going to do great in the riders quadrant. You’ve been preparing for years for this moment.”

Mira was right. You did fantastic in your first year at Besgiath; the only bad moments you had involved Xaden.

It all started when you crossed the parapet. You had just finished crossing when you heard a female screaming behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you spot a girl with a rebellion relic on her arm hanging off the parapet. Without thinking, you ran towards her and managed to help her up before making it to the other side again.

As soon as you did, you were pushed to the side by a tall, tan, muscular guy. You immediately noticed a rebellion relic on his arm and put two and two together that he was checking on the girl who almost fell. “Excuse me,” you said under your breath, but the guy managed to hear you.

“What did you say?” the guy asked with an angry expression on his face.

You knew you should not start drama on the first day, but you turned around and said, “Excuse me. You say that when you want someone to get out of your way. Instead of pushing past people.”

“Yeah. Well, I wanted to make sure you didn’t do anything to her.”

You were ready to argue when you heard a man clearing his throat, “Sorrengail, what is going on here.” Looking over, you spotted Colonel Aetos with his arms crossed.

“Sorrengail?” the guy had a surprised look on his face.

Colonel Aetos looked at the guy and replied, “Yes, Riorson. Sorrengail, as in general Sorrengail’s daughter.”

Fuck was all you thought when you realized Colonel Aetos announced who your mother was. You were also freaking out that you were arguing with the one guy Mira told you to stay away from.

“Nothing Colonel Aetos. We were just finished crossing the parapet,” you replied while holding your head high and tried not to show you were freaking out internally.

Colonel Aetos looked you straight in the eye to see if you were lying. When he couldn’t detect if you were lying, he nodded before leaving. As soon as he was gone, Xaden glared at you and said, “Stay out of my way,” before storming away with the other marked ones.

You tried your best to avoid Xaden as much as you could. Unfortunately, it seemed the universe wanted to make your life difficult because no matter how hard you tried, you kept running into Xaden. At first, all he did was glare at you, but over the following weeks, it shifted into him taunting you if you made a small mistake.

Things only got more complicated when you discovered that your dragon was mated to Xaden’s dragon. You glared at Tarin when you found out and shut them tight when you heard Xaden’s voice. “Let’s see how long you last before Tairn has to find a new rider,” Xaden taunted before mounting Sgaeyl.

“Do you wish for me to get rid of your enemy?” Tairn asks once Xaden and Sgaeyl are gone.

You tried to suppress a laugh at Tairn’s request, “Sgaeyl will get mad you killed her rider.”

“She’ll get over it. There are a lot of riders who are not bonded to dragons yet. She can pick from them,” you let out a loud laugh at Tairn’s response.

“As much as I wish for you to do that, I’d rather not give the marked ones another reason to hate me,” you replied before you mounted Tairn and shot up into the sky.

Your second year was when your relationship changed from hatred for one another into lust. It was somewhere in mid-September when you and Xaden first slept together. What was supposed to train for upcoming challenges turned into something more when you managed to pin Xaden onto the mat.

Before you had a chance to second guess your decision, you leaned in and kissed Xaden. Xaden was more than happy to kiss you back and started groping your ass. You were ready to remove your leathers when Xaden stopped you. “Not here,” Xaden groaned into your chest while you moved against him, “not unless you want someone to walk in on us.”

You were more than happy to be dragged into his room, where you proceeded to have sex until you were exhausted. It had been a long time since you had sex with anyone, so you were enjoying every second of it. Once you caught your breath, you decided that it was time to leave. As soon as you got up and started getting dressed again, Xaden asked, “Where are you going?”

“To my room?” you replied, a confused look on your face, “where else would I go?”

Sitting up, Xaden had a scowl on his face, “You’re not going anywhere. It’s late, and might I remind you, people are still trying to kill you so they can bond with Tairn.”

You mentally cursed yourself because you knew he was right, “So what am I supposed to do? Spend the night here?” Your eyes widened when Xaden just pats his bed, “holy shit, I was kidding. It’s one thing to fuck; it’s another to sleep together after sex.”

“Well, I’m not kidding, so come back to bed. You can sneak out in the morning if you want, but you’re not leaving this room tonight.” Xaden moved his sheets so you could get back into his bed.

You wanted to continue arguing with Xaden, but you knew it was a lost cause, so you decided to climb back on his bed. “I still hate you,” you grumbled.

“You weren’t saying that when I was fucking a few minutes ago,” Xaden teased as he held you against his chest and drifted off to sleep. 

You wish you could say that was the first and last time you had sex with Xaden; it wasn’t. What followed was a very challenging relationship that lasted for the rest of the year. Each time you thought you were in a good place with Xaden, you discovered he was lying. Which would result in you breaking up with him and him asking for another chance. 

It wasn’t until your third year that your and Xaden’s relationship started to stabilize. Part of you felt like Violet had something to do with it. With her being forced into the rider’s quadrant by your mother, you found yourself looking after her. It crushed you at times, watching as she went through the same challenges you faced in your first year. You made sure to give her the book Brennan wrote for Mira like Mira gave it to you on your first day.

You also made sure that no one killed her the entire year like they tried with you during your first year. Of course, you also roped in Xaden’s friends to help and suggested one of his friends from first year follow her around just in case. You knew you were being over the top, but you had already lost two family members, and you didn’t want to lose more.

Of course, the trust you built with Xaden went down the drain the day you found out Brennan was alive, and he knew the entire time. You screamed at Xaden; if the events during war games hadn’t happened, would he have eventually told you that your brother was alive. He tried to tell you that he wanted to tell you the truth but that Brennan told him not to.

Because of that, you didn’t speak or acknowledge Xaden’s existence for weeks after graduation. You wanted to be stationed as far away from Xaden as possible. Unfortunately, because Sgaeyl and Tairn are mated, they need to be by each other’s side. Which was unfortunate for you because that meant you had to be around Xaden.

Xaden spent weeks trying to work through your rough patch, and his hard work paid off nine weeks later. He promised to be completely honest with you and even offered to answer any questions you had for him about his past. 

You were happy to take him up on his offer and spent three weeks asking him questions you were dying to ask him, but he always shut down. The big one was if he truly loved you. “Yes,” Xaden replied while caressing your face, “you are the first and only woman I’ll ever love.”

Hearing that finally put your mind at ease and allowed Xaden to kiss you. Of course, Xaden took things further than kissing quickly, seeing as you refused to be touched by him for weeks. He repeatedly groaned about how much he missed you and hearing your whimpers because of the pleasure he brought you.

That night was different than other nights you’ve had since you were stationed at Samara. You had a dream you used to have daily when you first got to Basgiath and bonded with Tairn and Andarna. 

You were hyperventilating and covered in sweat when you woke up in the middle of the night. “What’s wrong?” Xaden asked in a groggy state.

“I had that dream again. The one where I’m being hugged by two other girls, one looking exactly like me. Then a man ripped me away from them before handing me to my father, and the other girls called after me,” you replied, holding Xaden’s blanket against your chest. “I feel like it isn’t a dream. I feel like they are memories, but the last time I talked to my mom, she said I was an only child and that my parents gave me away because they couldn’t afford to take care of me.”

Xaden sat up and kissed your shoulder, “I hate to be that guy, but there is a strong chance your mother is lying to you. Are you sure your parents didn’t have someone erase your memories when you were a child?”

You were about to reply when you heard Tairn’s voice, "Young one, your sister’s in trouble. Surie can’t locate her, and their line of communication has been blocked. We have to go now before it’s too late."

You began to panic at Tairn’s words and shot out of Xaden’s bed, “What’s wrong?” Xaden asked as he watched you get dressed.

“My sister's in trouble. Tairn said Surie can’t get ahold of Violet.” You replied, “I don’t care if I get punished for this. Need to find my sister.”

Xaden didn’t have to think twice before getting up and started getting dressed. “Go pack up your stuff. I’m going to go tell Garrick we’re leaving and give him the option to come with us or stay if he wishes. We’ll meet you in your room, ok?”

“Ok,” you replied, kissing Xaden before you packed to your room.

@a-frog-with-a-laptop @saltedcoffeescotch @lilah-asteria @kksbookstuff @nerdygirlyy @angstylittleb1tch @snoopyspace  @thecraziestcrayon @vickykazuya @noelli-smv @flowerprincezz @bookwormysblog @jessimay89  @randomperson1234sblog @ghostwritermia @we-were-beautiful @acotarfics-mharmie009 @sheblogs @mistymoocow @sleepylunarwolf @thestartitaness @sorrybaeeeeee @mybestfriendmademe @annamariereads16 @wolfbc97 @honethatty12 @atomi-mi @feyres-fireheart @katrina0-0 @demirunner @st4r-girl-official

[astrolovecosmos]

Aries - Libra Axis: Tells a story about taking action vs. indecision, inaction, and procrastination. Tells a story about selfishness but also giving to the detriment of self, lack of boundaries, assertion, charm, persuasion, force, peace and war, leadership and cooperation, independence vs. partnerships, passion, romance, self-awareness vs. shallowness and detachment, insensitivity vs. tact, cheating and deception, winning and losing, honesty and bravery. Tells a story about lovers and fighters.

Taurus - Scorpio Axis: Tells a story about control, power, jealousy, resentment, stubbornness, indulgence and sensuality, comfort and thrill, safety and danger, possessive behavior, materialism, emotional strength and influence, inner security or contentment and inner empowerment and passion, willpower, revenge, grudges, manipulation, obsession, seduction, self-destruction, transformation and rebuilding. Tells a story about self-mastery and self-esteem.

Gemini - Sagittarius Axis: Tells a story about communication, learning, knowledge, teaching, exploration of mind, body, and the world, trickery, con artists, betrayal, support, lies and truth, versatility, duality, variety, curiosity, superficiality vs. depth, philosophy, morals, logic, spontaneity and fickleness, symmetry vs. asymmetry, restlessness, carelessness, freedom, exaggeration vs. factual, movement, cunning wit and intellect as well as wisdom, optimism vs. skepticism, dissembling, analyzing, deception, schemes, gossip, boasting, charm vs. tactlessness, and promises. Tells a story about storytelling - lessons and adaptation.

Cancer - Capricorn Axis: Tells a story about protection, self-preservation, endurance, practicality, emotions and rationality, defense vs. offense, vulnerability, attachment, clinging vs. self-reliance, sentiment, nostalgia, home and family, ambition, purpose, clans, tribes, societies, private world vs. external/outer world, moods, cycles, authority, parents/mothers and fathers, caution, responsibility, duty, patience, compassion vs. cruelty, intuition, shrewdness, strategy, contentment vs. dissatisfaction, security vs. insecurity. Tells a story about needs and being uninhibited, as well as control and discipline.

Leo - Aquarius Axis: Tells a story about leadership, charisma, confidence, individuality, self-expression, creativity, innovation, the power of one vs. the power of the many, attention, compulsion, pride, ego, play and discovery, experimentation and rebellion, drama, curiosity, socialization, influence, dignity, generosity, benevolence and/or common good, chaos, destruction, passion vs. dispassion, humanity, divinity, fellowship, organized groups, separation or standing apart, control or tyranny, strangeness and what's rejected vs. what's accepted or even celebrated. Tells a story about the king/queen/politician and anarchist/rebellion/revolutionist.

Virgo - Pisces Axis: Tells a story about the spirit and body, healing, helping others, service, caring for others, listening to your body or your intuition, purity vs. corruption, compassion, sensitivity, impressions, flexibility, logic, imagination, being receptive, mysticism, confusion, illusions, clarity, distillation, categorizing, researching, analyzing - a thorough search for facts/truth. Tells a story about sacrifice, empathy, saving others, discernment, efficiency and productivity vs. procrastination and rest, modesty, free and flowing energy vs. precise and predictable energy, perfectionism vs. admiring flaws, realism or skepticism vs. idealism, details vs. big picture. Tells a story about the dreamer and the worker, the ability to make our dreams come true.

[comicaurora]

top three changes to the star wars franchise?

Like, top three things I would change if I was in charge of the franchise top to bottom?

This is Big Cheating calling it "one change", but scrap the prequels. The original trilogy already implied an incredibly simple by-the-numbers dark fantasy origin story for Obi-Wan and Anakin and if we strip away the space veneer we can easily see that Anakin's original backstory was implied to be "prodigy warrior-wizard is tempted by dark magic (and an established evil sorcerer-emperor who has clearly been in power for more than a scant 18 years by the time of the original trilogy) which slowly corrupts and twists him into a monster who eventually has a fight with obi-wan that he loses, also he has a relationship with a woman who survives to raise Leia for at least a few years". Those are the only points you need to hit, and you could tell a very compelling simple-meal-well-made sword and sorcery adventure with a guaranteed tragic ending. The original prequels fail at holding to the ONLY points of canon they needed to hit - the innately corruptive power of the dark side SLOWLY leading to Anakin's downfall, the empire being an existing threat for a long time and the jedi correspondingly being an ANCIENT religion rather than being less ancient than 9/11, and Padme being alive enough for Leia to remember her a little bit. Close your eyes, clear your mind, let the tropes flow through you - a By-The-Numbers Story will come to you and you will see the completely inoffensive prequel tragedy we could've had. Also, never show Yoda, preserve the fun twist in the original movies.

Easy change for this one. Finn's a force-user with a plot about inspiring a stormtrooper rebellion, another plot that literally writes itself, also let the sequel trio actually all hang out for more than five fuckin minutes because the only thing that ever made Star Wars work was the raw charisma of the actors having a good time and the chemistry was really solid for the only time in the final movie they were allowed to share screentime.

And while we're gutting the sequels, how about letting the hero's victories actually fucking matter. Luke gets to actually reinvigorate the jedi way and doesn't have all his victories ripped away in the name of sequel bait, and can serve as an extremely powerful but very busy Jedi Ex Machina who turns up in the darkest hour to save the day, Mandalorian-s1-finale style. The Empire doesn't just get magically replaced with Empire 2, Now With Less Charisma, let the threat be something actually new or a natural consequence of a newly liberated galaxy in sudden turmoil - feudal tyrants ruling over planetary fiefdoms squabbling to fill the Emperor's power-vacuum, more sith lords coming out of the woodwork now that their greatest rival is gone. Leia and the other rebel leaders struggling to reinstate some semblance of democracy in a scarred and shattered galaxy too accustomed to the crushing totalitarianism of the empire. How goddamn unoriginal to start a sequel by undoing every happy ending from the original series for retreaded drama, as if the universe could only ever hold three problems in it.

[drama-rebellion]

Just a normal day

(A short insight of a usual day in my life with bpd, depression, ED and alcohol abuse and what I do to get through it...)

It’s a cold February morning. Pitch black, the dying night encloses the world. The freezing wind blows through the open window, where I lean on the sill, a cigarette in my trembling hand. I shiver despite my fluffy morning gown. Damn, how I hate the winter. Except some distant streetlights and the glowing of the cigarette, it is dark. A car passes by in the distance now and then, the only sign of life in this forsaken town. I dump the cig in the improvised ashtray and close the window.

I look at the clock. Half past six. A deep sigh escapes my throat. In the bathroom, I dare to glance at the mirror. I look horrible. Filthy hair, eyes sunken in, pale skin. I should shower, but I don’t want to. I don’t remember when my skin has seen water the last time. Must be days. I feel deep disgust towards my reflection and quickly turn around. I scrape together the tiny shards of my motivation and get some clean clothes out of my closet. Nothing fits together, but at least they are clean and warm. Back in the bathroom, I get rid of my dirty t-shirt and sweatpants. It feels like forever until the water in the shower gets warm. Quickly, I rub shampoo in my hair and soap on my body to get rid of the sticky sweat from the night. I skip conditioner and shaving, I just want this to be over as fast as possible. I wash it all off and am already out again. Didn’t take me longer than a minute. The cold air hits and covers me instantly in goosebumps. Once clothed, I sigh again. This tiny act of self-care was exhausting.

For a while, I just sit on my bed, waiting for my heart to calm down again. It’s too quiet, so I put on my “fucked up”-Playlist. It basically always fits. My room is a mess, but I don’t really care. Maybe later I will have the energy to clean a little. In the kitchen I make myself some coffee, although I don’t really feel like it. But that’s what normal people do in the morning, right? Take a shower, drink coffee…the fridge is almost empty. Only some sad fruit eke out of their existence. I put the steaming cup on my nightstand and get half a bottle of wine from the drawer. Leftovers from the night before. I have to hold my breath once I open it, the smell is nauseating. I gulp it down and have to focus on not puking. It tastes terrible. Quickly I drink a few sips of coffee. Disgusting combination. I put the empty bottle in the bag where I collect them. Got to expose of them later.

The minutes pass and the clock hits 7am. My clue. I pull myself together, put on shoes and jacket. Armed with my backpack and blaring headphones in my ears, I grab my keys and wallet, put my beanie on. Once outside, I curse the winter again. I ignore my shaking legs and haste down the sidewalk. It’s not far to the store, but yet I get out of breath. My stamina has decreased rapidly during the last few months. Another thing I don’t care about. On my way I see a lot of kids on their way to school, it’s in the same street as the supermarket. I keep my head down, eyes on the pavement, never looking at anyone directly. The shop has just opened, and I am almost alone. Without hesitation, I aim towards the lane with the alcohol and put four bottles of wine in the cart. I add a big coke zero, then stand there a little lost. I should eat something. But what? I don’t feel like anything. In the end, I chose natural yogurt and one plain full grain bread roll, although I know I probably won’t eat it. At the checkout, I put my stuff on the counter. The woman behind it looks at me with a pitiful smile, but doesn’t say anything. My product choosing doesn’t need any explanation. I am here almost every morning. I pay, stuff everything in my backpack and am already on my way home again. The short wals feels longer and my body heavier. The first slur of dawn shows at the horizon, the streets are full of people on their way to work. Finally in my apartment, I close the door not very gently and drop the bag on the floor next to my bed. My heart races due the stairs. I don’t even allow myself to think, before I open one of the bottles, take a few sips and flush it down with coke. Now I wait. I lay back and look at the white ceiling. The music hovers through the room, but I barely hear it. Slowly, my trembling and the nervousness get better as the alcohol starts working. Even a hint of motivation overcomes me, and I take the chance to get a broom and trash bag. I clean the dirt from the ground and throw my splattered clothes in the laundry. Damn it, I need to do laundry. It’s been piling up, but I don’t have a washing machine of my own, I need to go to the next town to do that, and I absolutely don’t feel like it. I still have enough to wear, but the old stuff starts to smell. Also, I need to change my sheets urgently. They are covered in wine spots. My energy has already left me again, so I just turn the blanket over. I will tend to that later, I lie to myself. Since I barely use the kitchen, at least that is clean, but there is still so much stuff that need to be done. Instead, I make myself comfortable in bed, the wine bottle next to me and power up the TV. Without even checking the rest of the program, I instantly skip to the only channel I actually watch besides Netflix and Amazon Video. It only shows documentaries and no advertisement. I have seen most of them at least once, but I like the voice of the commentator, it’s very calming. So I let myself relax to a report about ancient civilizations. My stomach keeps grumbling, I numb it with more liquid calories, and my anxiety about the future is numbed too.

After a while, I get up to smoke one. Except for one window, I keep my blinds down constantly. Although it’s around 9am now, the morning isn’t much brighter. Gray clouds in a gray sky. It starts raining while I exhale the smoke into the cold air. I feel okay. Not happy, not utterly depressed, but comfortably melancholic. I don’t know what’s gonna be tomorrow or in a week or a few months. I don’t care about it either. I only think about getting through today. My phone rings and I hesitate to pick up once I see the name of my counselor on the display. Damn, I forgot our appointment. I moan and take the call. Luckily it’s short, she only asks me how I am (I lie confidently, like always), she informs me about a meeting with a psychiatrist next week and a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to get a prescription for my meds. We didn’t even talk for two minutes, yet I am glad once she finally hangs up. My phone tells me, I got 5 new emails and 3 unread messages. I ignore them, don’t even open my inbox. Reminds me I haven’t checked my mail in days. Don’t care. Instead, I finish the first bottle. I feel warm and comfy in a sick way. My stomach grumbles again. In the end I get the yoghurt from the fridge, a spoon from the kitchen. After I put some liquid sweetener in it, I eat about half and put the rest back. I can eat it later (haha!). I don’t remember when I had a real meal the last time. But alcohol contains enough calories and no matter how much I drink, I’ve never gained weight because of it. Somehow I still care about the number on the scale, although I don’t take care of my body at all. I only destroy it. It’s a paradox. Noon passes by. I don’t even know what the documentaries were about, but it doesn’t matter. At half past 1, my alarm goes off, reminding me that my supervisor from assisted living will be here in half an hour. I totally forgot. I drink the last bit of the second bottle and hide it in my drawer. I collect the three empty ones that are still stashed under my bed. I check the room for any other dangerous indications about my current condition. Except for the usual chaos, everything suspicious is out of sight. I open the window because of the smell and start chewing gum, which I spit out the moment the bell rings. I can hear the steps on the stairs and greet the woman at the door. She’s around fifty and very kind, but not easily fooled. By now I have a very high tolerance, so despite the amount of wine, I am still talking clearly and don’t show any physical signs of drunkenness. In my room we both sit down, talk for a short while. She praises me for cleaning up a bit and taking a shower, she knows how hard these things are for me. I tell her the usual. That I feel a bit sick and depressed, don’t eat much and sleep crappy. None of it is a lie. I just leave out a few things. I stay polite, but try to get rid of her as quickly as possible. She seems to realize it and says that if I am not feeling well, she will leave me alone now. After she closes the door behind her, I feel drained by the short visit. I get back into bed and let the time pass by. Now and then I smoke one, drink more, watch the shadows crawl over the ground. I am fairly drunk when the night sets in and this normal day comes to an end only to repeat itself tomorrow. I don’t care.

[platinumrosetail]

Yandere Hualian x reader.

Warning: In the fem reader's first life, she was the younger sister of General Pei Ming. She lived as a beautiful young woman loved by her brother, without caring that he was a womanizer. Then, according to Pei Ming's ascension story, when he was accused of treason and broke his sword. However, the reader remained in the mortal realm and was unjustly executed. After 800 years she is reincarnated again, but as a humble traveler, there she meets Xie Lian and Huan cheng (you decide how) after many adventures together. He then reunites with his brother, although at first he does not remember him, although Pei Ming insists that he was once his brother. Little by little she will remember her past life. In the end he has a relationship with Huan cheng and Xie lian, and when he remembers his previous life, he sadly dies, but some time later he is reincarnated again.

(I based this request on some Chinese dramas, thank you for accepting it.)

Oooh interesting, also my first heaven officials blessing/tgcf request yay!

Warning: noob author, female reader, yandere characters, and others.

Characters: hualian (hua cheng and xie lian).

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

You were the little sister to pei Ming, you didn’t mind his womanizing ways but you always scold him to be careful as one of those woman he woo’s could seek revenge when he breaks her heart. Though not many gods knew about you as you had died a little after your brother ascended to godhood, falsely accused and executed over a misunderstanding along with how you were the little sister to pei Ming so they thought you had a part in the rebellion even though you were innocent, your brother couldn’t save you as he had only learned after your death that you were in trouble and it was already too late to save you.

Pei Ming has hope that you might reincarnated or turned into a ghost and he just couldn’t find you good enough. He has searched high and low for you, and when he gets frustrated he usually woo women’s hearts and release his frustration by having sex with them and leaving afterwards to continue searching for you after the stress and frustration is out of his body.

Pei Ming was right to think you reincarnated though it was only after 800 years had you finally reincarnated this time as a young female and humble traveler, each time you have left a place he would arrive missing you each time as you have never stayed in one place for too long which resulted you in meeting a nice young man by the name of xie lian who is a humble cultivator also traveling. You soon start having a crush on xie lian as he is such a kind person so it was no surprise when you started developing feelings for the young man.

On your journey with xie lian you meet many interesting people and fight against some enemies as well, though even when you can fight it’s not as good as two junior officials from the heavens and your crush; xie lian, fighting though xie lian always seems to be there for you no matter what and can protect you and your weak spots which warms your heart and love for him.

You soon met hua cheng when you had became a bride bait to lure out the ghost groom or also known as ghost bride as you all soon found out that the ones behind the disappearance of brides was a woman one who shared history with pei Ming, who you find familiar in name but can’t place where it was familiar. Pei jr saw you and noted to tell his father about you.

You later met San lang when he was with you while you and xie lian was riding a cart together to get back home to your little shrine in piqu village, later spending the night there with you and xie lian before the two junior officials came by again with another mission to banyue(?) pass. Many months later and many adventures later you, San lang who you later found out was hua cheng, and xie lian who you also found out later was a god, started a relationship together.

Pei Ming had soon asked xie lian if he could meet you as you very well could be his sister who finally reincarnated, xie lian at first was worried that pei Ming would flirt with you but soon found out that you were pei Ming’s reincarnated sister and let pei Ming meet you though with a subtle warning on if pei Ming hurt you he and hua cheng would show no mercy even if he was your past life brother. You were skeptical about the situation between you and pei as you had no memories and there wasn’t really any proof and pei Ming could have gotten the wrong person but after meeting pei Ming you kept getting memories of your past life but before you could celebrate on finding out the pei Ming is actually your brother you were sadly killed by a jealous woman who had mistaken you for pei Ming’s lover instead of sister.

The woman was soon tortured and killed by hua cheng, xie lian and pei Ming, thankfully the woman was a ghost so xie lian and pei Ming didn’t get in trouble on killing her if she was human, and even if she was it would be easy to hide that fact considering who the three were. Hua cheng and xie lian are now on the hunt for your next life with pei Ming as the two both love you and won’t let you go even after you die and pei had just found you he won’t lose your next life like he did last time which means he gives up on womanizing if it meant you won’t get hurt like you did last time. You won’t ever escape them and no one will ever take you away from them now.

(A/n: hope yall liked it!! I decided on making pei Ming a platonic yandere as I thought it fit plus since xie lian and hua cheng were already yandere i thought why not him too? lol anyway hope yall have a wonderful day/evening/night!!)

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Hi hun, would you be in the mood to write something about dadrry dealing with his kids terrible twos pls

The Terrible Two’s.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist is here.

authors note - something about lhh being a dad does something to me i simply cannot describe so enjoy my loves…!

word count - 1.4k

in which, travelling with your husband around europe hasn’t been the most smooth sailing, especially when your daughters currently experiencing her terrible twos.

Faith Anne Styles.

After dating your boyfriend Harry for just over a year, you fell pregnant at the lovely age of nineteen and now both of you are at the age of twenty one and had a beautiful baby girl.

The perfect mix of both of you.

But life wasn’t all that swell.

As you stand backstage at the One Direction concert in Oslo, Denmark ,the pulsating excitement of the crowd seeping through the walls from the support act McBusted.

You watched as your boyfriend, the charismatic Harry Styles, attempts to navigate the treacherous waters of your two-year-old daughter Faith's terrible twos.

It seems that tonight, the tantrum monster has reared its head, threatening to disrupt the carefully choreographed chaos of the concert.

Great timing there, Faith Baby.

You glance around and notice Niall, Louis, and Liam, all observing the situation with wide eyes and amused expressions.

Harry, ever the doting father, crouches down to Faith's level, his brows furrowing in concern.

"Hey, baby love," Harry cooed gently, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of the chaos. "What's got you feeling so gloom and doom, eh?"

Faith's tiny face contorts, her little fists clenched tightly as she lets out a shrill cry. The sound reverberates through the backstage area, drawing amused glances from the rest of the band.

Louis, unable to resist a cheeky remark, leans over to Liam and whispers, "I think little Faith here is giving Harry a taste of his own teenage rebellion. Karma's a funny thing, innit?"

You never knew Harry in his pre teen years, however from the stories that you had been told by his family and fellow bandmates, he was a bit of a cheeky chappy.

And you couldn’t help but think that Faith, at just two years old, had developed some of his cheeky persona.

Before going down for naps, she would negotiate about how she wasn’t tired and then proceed to jump out of her crib, running through the house the same way that Harry would.

If you ever went to the shops or the park, then you would often catch her talking to random strangers as she held onto your hand or sat in her stroller, waving at them and being the kind girl she is and due to her father most likely doing the exact same thing.

You knew your two year old shouldn’t be interacting with strangers but she was just simply too adorable.

Liam chuckles and nods in agreement, but their attention is quickly pulled back to the unfolding drama.

Harry tries a different approach, his voice filled with patience and understanding. "Faith, darling, let's try to use our words, yeah? What's making you so upset?"

But Faith's wails persist, growing louder and more intense with each passing moment. She falls to the floor, kicking and flailing her arms, her cries echoing through the backstage area.

You watched as Harry ran a hand through his shoulder length hair, you could see slight stress lines appearing on his forehead.

He took it exceptionally hard when Faith would be upset, no parent liked to see their child sad but Harry absolutely hated it. He would always sit with her until she felt up for talking and although she was only a two year old and could hardly form a coherent sentence he would nod his head and listen to every word she said.

Faith idolised him.

Niall chuckles, watching the spectacle unfold. "Well, she's certainly giving us a show, isn't she? The drama of the terrible twos."

Tell you about it.

Harry shoots Niall a slight glare, finding absolutely nothing about the situation taking place funny in the slightest,before refocusing his attention on Faith.

He kneels down beside her, speaking softly amidst the cacophony. “Hey, my love, I know it's frustrating. Let's take some deep breaths together, okay? In and out."

But Faith's tantrum continues to escalate. She starts throwing toys and objects around, her frustration seemingly endless. The backstage area is filled with the commotion, drawing curious glances from the crew members and dancers nearby.

One thing you hated was gaining unnecessary attention.

Louis leans closer to Liam, a mixture of amusement and awe on his face. "I never thought I'd say this, but Faith might just give us a run for our money in the energy department."

Liam chuckles, nodding in agreement. "That she does. But Harry's got this. He's a patient one, that lad."

Harry tries different tactics, attempting to distract Faith with a toy or a silly face. But her cries persist, and the tantrum shows no signs of abating.

The band members exchange glances, a mixture of amusement, sympathy, and mild concern. This is uncharted territory for them, witnessing Harry deal with the full force of a toddler tantrum.

Harry's voice remains calm, though a hint of exhaustion seeps in. "Faith, sweetheart, I understand you're upset. Can you tell daddy what's wrong?"

But Faith's words are muffled amidst the tears and screams, her frustration rendering her temporarily speechless.

She continues to lash out, her tiny body wracked with sobs.

You step closer, offering your support. "Harry, maybe it's best if we take a break. Find a quiet spot for her to calm down."

Harry nods, his eyes filled with determination. "You're right, love. Let's find a quiet room where she can settle."

Together, a crew member leads you as well as Harry and Faith away from the backstage chaos, seeking Together, you lead Harry and Faith away from the backstage chaos, seeking refuge in a nearby dressing room.

The familiar scent of hairspray and the faint echoes of music provide a contrast to the storm of emotions still raging within Faith.

Gently closing the door behind you, you find a comfortable corner where Harry can sit with Faith in his arms. The room is dimly lit, allowing a sense of tranquillity to settle in.

Harry cradles Faith, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Shh, my love. We're here in our little haven. Take your time, sweetheart. We'll wait until you're ready to talk."

And if it was up to both you and Harry, you would both wait an eternity.

Faith's cries gradually subside into sniffles, her breath hitching as she tries to regain control, gripping a strand of her fathers long curls whilst the other grips onto the hem of his shirt.

Harry's soothing presence provides an anchor in the midst of her emotional tempest.

You sit beside them, offering a comforting smile. "It's okay, Faith. Mommy and Daddy are here for you. We love you, no matter what."

Faith looks up at you, her tear-stained cheeks glistening in the soft light. Her eyes search yours, seeking solace and understanding. You gently stroke her hair, allowing the silence to envelop the room, giving Faith the space she needs to collect herself.

Minutes pass, and the tension begins to dissipate. Faith's breathing steadies, her tiny frame relaxing against Harry's chest.

The storm of her tantrum has run its course, leaving behind a weary calm.

Harry speaks softly, his voice a comforting lullaby. "Sometimes, my love, we get overwhelmed. It's okay to feel angry or frustrated. But remember, we're always here to help you through it."

Faith nuzzles closer to Harry, finding comfort in his words. She wraps her tiny arms around his neck, seeking solace in his embrace.

The best father daughter duo.

The door creaks open, and Niall peeks inside, his eyes filled with concern. "Is everything alright?"

You nod, a sense of relief washing over you. "Yes, No, Faith just needed some quiet time. She's calming down now."

There was no doubt that Niall was Faith’s favourite uncle when it came to the four boys.

Niall steps into the room, his face softening as he gazes at the scene before him. "You're doing a great job, you guys. Parenting isn't easy, especially in the midst of all this craziness."

Harry smiles, gratitude and weariness mingling in his eyes. "Thanks, Niall. It's a learning process for all of us. But moments like these remind us why it's all worth it."

The sound of music drifts through the door, a reminder of the support act performing still in full swing. The energy of the crowd and the rhythm of the songs pulse through the walls, but in this small sanctuary, you find a moment of calm amidst the storm.

As Faith's breathing evens out and her grip on Harry loosens, you lean in and plant a tender kiss on her forehead. "We love you, Faith. And we're here for you, always."

Always and forever.

For eternity.

[icaberries]

What if the Vinsmokes were in the Wano Arc?

Go read Part 1 here but TL;DR the Vinsmokes regain their ability to feel emotions and escape Germa with Sanji and the Strawhats.

Mostly headcanons with a side of canon plot.

They’re still modded physically, but now their pain receptors are active so they’re dealing with the ramifications of years of neglecting their body. Ichiji is partially blind from using Valkyrie, Niji has burn marks all over his body, and Yonji has chronic pain in his wrists. It's a struggle, but they feel like they deserve it after all the torment they inflicted.

Ichiji comes across traditional tattoo shops in Wano and decides to get new tattoos on a whim. The ‘1’ tattoo he had before had been his first rebellion against his father and now that he’s free he wants to add more to it. He gets tattoos for all his siblings along his other arm—a pink butterfly for Reiju, a blue lightning bolt for Niji, a green clover for Yonji and a yellow sun for Sanji. It helps to ground him when the Feelings™ get overwhelming and reminds him that he’s not alone in this world. 

The drama in Shokugeki no Sanji with Sanji’s soba stall still happens, only this time he’s backed up by the rest of his siblings who glares at the soba competitors in submission. 

Reiju is first in line when the soba stall officially opens. She’d had to fight her brothers and the Strawhats for it. Robin is a close second but only because Reiju was distracted by her. If you know what I mean ;) 

The handcuffs left marks on Sanji’s wrists. Surprisingly, it’s Niji who asks why Sanji’s hands are so precious to him and Sanji tells them about Baratie and Zeff. There’s something about the sparkle in Sanji’s eyes as he talks that draws them in, the way he speaks so highly and softly about his found family on the East Blue. They wonder, if somewhere down the line, Sanji would speak about them with that same fond tone. 

Niji gifts Sanji a pair of dark brown leather gloves, long enough to cover the marks on his wrist. Sanji wears it to the raid and Niji is quite proud of it and claims he must be Sanji's favorite brother now. Until Ichiji chimes in and says that Sanji’s hairstyle as Stealth Black/Soba Mask is more similar to his and confidently declares himself as Sanji’s favorite brother. Ichiji and Niji argue for hours.  

(It’s actually Yonji who's the favorite. Sanji only has one little brother and he’s got a soft spot for him.) 

Just imagine Law, Basil Hawkins and X Drake watching Soba Mask. Now imagine them seeing a group of brightly-colored siblings cheering on Soba Mask, while they themselves look like Sparking Red, Electric Blue, Wench Green and Poison Pink. It’s a good day to be a North Blue fanboy in Wano. 

AND NOW FOR SOME ANGST!

They witness Sanji awakening his modifications and for a brief moment they’re happy that Sanji caught up to them like he always wanted, until they see the horrified look on Sanji’s face. He looks so afraid to turn out like them, to the point that he’d ask his own crewmate (Zoro) to take him down if he ever ended up like them. They’re not even mad. They’re just sad and guilty that Sanji felt that way. 

There’s a brief lull in the battle and Reiju pulls her brothers aside to tell them about their mother and her sacrifice. She told Sanji that story so he’d remember that his life was worth living and being kind. Now she’s telling the same story to Ichiji, Niji and Yonji so they can remember the same thing. Sora wanted them to live and be good. 

After his fight with Queen, the brothers hug it out. Reiju may or may not have taken a picture.

Right after that, the brothers now hug Reiju! Because she deserves it alright! Years of pretending for Judge, of keeping her brother's in check and dealing with their mother's death, Reiju did her best to be there for all of them. Now she gets to see her little brothers grow up into the good people their mother wanted them to be and she can finally stop pretending. She can be herself again <3

(I love Reiju sm yall but that's just the eldest daughter syndrome talking)

The road to redemption is paved with triumphs and stumbles. It’s just fortunate for them that Sanji has a good sense of direction. 

AND NOW BACK TO FLUFF!

Yonji continues to cement himself as the favorite when he calls Chuji the cutest thing in the world and proceeds to share his snacks with the little guy. Niji and Ichiji never stood a chance. Little brother is strong and is hitting all of Sanji's buttons.

The worst part of regaining emotions though? It’s not the gooey mushy feelings of love, or the cold guilt and shame over their past mistakes, it’s the annoyance they now feel whenever they witness Roronoa Zoro flirt with their oblivious brother. They can’t stand him. Unfortunately, he makes Sanji happy so they’re forced to seethe on the sidelines while Zoro picks another fight/flirting session with Sanji. 

Reiju doesn’t tell them that it’s not just Zoro they have to worry about. Trafalgar Law keeps finding an excuse to check Sanji over for his “health”, a jaguar mink keeps asking him out to smoke together, don’t even get her started on Basil Hawkins and X Drake asking her for her blessing. That’s not even counting Sanji’s other suitors who aren’t in Wano right now. Their baby brother is quite the popular guy.

[galaxiasgreen]

📚🐦‍🔥Stay With Me

Slow burn Garreth x F!Reader romcom-mystery [T-Rated, 5.6k words]

You don't meet his eye. "I've prepared you some questions, for this... tutorship." You unbuckle your satchel and take out not one, not two, but four rolls of parchment, one for each subject, and slide them across the table. "It's simple multiple-choice so I can figure out how much you know. It won't take you long to do." He stares at them, open-mouthed. "You've set me homework?"

Garreth Weasley is good at Potions… and not much else. You, a bookish, lonesome Ravenclaw with a weighted family secret, are good at everything… except Potions. Assigned together for a mutual tutorship, Garreth is sure he won’t meet anyone more boring.

But the potions lab isn’t the only place where sparks will fly.

Tropes: romance/ humour/ drama, slow burn, fluff, tutoring together, grumpy x sunshine, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, pining, love triangle, dark secret, sworn off love, Everyone Can See It.

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

A/N: Just to note, in this story Garreth and others fought Ranrok with MC. Enjoy!

He calls you Prim, mostly because you hate it.

It's not a nickname Garreth gives you for fun (though make no mistake, he loves to tease you with it). No, it's a nickname that's descriptive, deriving from your most cardinal trait. Prim, because you are. Prim and proper and academically minded. Meanwhile he's never had an aptitude for learning, preferring the freedom of exploration over the rigid structure of curriculum.

On paper, you seem like a match made in hell – but in practice? Well, he's always up for a challenge.

He doesn't get to meet you, though, until the dawn of his sixth year, when easy classes and free periods for the exam-weary older students are over. He doesn't even meet you on the day he first hears of you.

Back then, you were merely an illicit suggestion.

"I'm worried about you, Garreth."

He sinks into the chair in Professor Weasley's office. He's been here so many times now it practically feels like a second home, mostly for, ahem, disciplinary reasons, but there are the rare moments when his aunt calls him in for a quick catch-up, tea and biscuits, sometimes to discuss family news – a great grand-uncle dying or one of his cousins announcing a betrothal.

When the professor called him in this time, two days into the term, he thought maybe his parents were expanding their gnome collection and she wanted him to advise against it (there is such a thing as too many gnomes, and it's any number more than zero). Or maybe his sister Clara needed help adjusting to the school – she's a first year now, after all.

So it's like the rug is yanked from under him when she asks about his grades.

"It's two days into the autumn term, Auntie," he says, not prepared to have this conversation so soon. "What's there to worry about? I haven't even had all my N.E.W.T. classes yet."

"That's exactly what I wanted to discuss with you. You have so much potential, Garreth. You are incredibly bright and passionate, and I know you are capable of so much, but your O.W.L. scores left a lot to be desired, and I worry that you won't be able to handle the workload this year."

"Don't know if you remember," he says airily, "but I practically saved Hogwarts—"

"Yes, yes, last year in the caverns below with your friends, I know, Garreth. I was there." Her lips bunch. "But no school-saving antics will boost your grades. Your heroics are the only reason you don't have to repeat your O.W.L.s, and you won't have such an opportunity this time around."

He drops his head on the back of the chair, groaning. Imagine stopping a whole goblin rebellion... and still having to write history essays. He literally made history.

"Your father suggested something I actually like," she says, drawing Garreth's eyes back down. "It seems you need some motivation, and I know you work well when you're with your friends. Therefore he suggested you pair with someone. A mutual tutorship, if you will."

"You want to give me a study buddy?"

"Yes! Oh, I do like that phrasing much better."

"You can phrase it any way you want. Still wipes."

"Garreth..."

"Come off it, Auntie. What are they gonna' do? Sit with me doing every piece of homework I have? And I didn't flop at everything. I got an Outstanding in Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Which were your only top grades, half of which because Hecat saw fit to reward your capabilities against Ranrok last summer," she remarks shortly, taking a piece of parchment. "You don't need a study buddy for those subjects. You do, however, need one for History of Magic, Astronomy, Divination and," she stares meaningfully over the rim of her spectacles, "Transfiguration."

He grins sheepishly. "As it happens, I know someone who's great at it?"

She sighs, putting the parchment aside and dropping into her chair. "I know you want to become a potioneer, Garreth, but even the most famous potioneers are well-rounded individuals and excelled in subjects outside of their specialty. Look at Professor Sharp! He was an Auror!"

"Okay, I get it, I get it." All this talk depresses him – all this knowing that he's a problem depresses him. "I promise I did try. I just— find revising very hard and demotivating. And you know, the whole saving-the-world thing..."

Professor Weasley gives him the look.

"I made it to N.E.W.T. classes, didn't I? I'll try this year, I will. You don't have to get me a... study buddy."

"Oh, but I think I do, and as it were, I happen to know the perfect student to match with you. A very bright young lady one year your junior, a Ravenclaw. She excels in all her subjects" – she pauses – "except Potions."

"So you want me to teach her Potions," he clarifies, "and her to teach me everything else?"

"That's right."

"Doesn't seem fair."

"I think you'll find it will be." She makes a knowing face that he doesn't like. "So, what do you say? Want to give it a try?"

"... Can I say no?"

"No."

He sighs. "Brilliant."

His schedule's already packed with classes and homework, now that his education's ramped up for sixth year, and he mulls on the extra work a mutual tutorship will bring for the next few days. Explaining it is even more difficult, when he has to tell Leander he's missing Quidditch for this.

"A study buddy?" he scoffs, as they lounge in the Gryffindor common room after classes that day. "Sounds right horrid."

"Tell me about it."

"Who're you pairing with? Do you know?"

"No idea. A Ravenclaw in the year below, apparently."

"A younger swot? Merlin's pelvis, couldn't she have put you with, I don't know, Amit? Or Everett? If she wanted a Ravenclaw?"

Garreth slouches. The sofas are so comfortable he doesn't want to move. "Bet she knew if she put me with either of them we'd get no work done, Everett because he'd be too busy trying to prank me, Amit because he'd be wasting time describing irrelevant extra stuff."

"Oh, no," Leander panics suddenly, "if this works then she might start doing it to all of us. I don't want a study buddy!"

"Relax. It's only because I'm her nephew that she's testing it with me."

He's sure his aunt wouldn't care quite so much if the same blood didn't run through their veins. After all, she has no children of her own – so Garreth and his sister are the closest she'll get. All her motherly affection, and motherly reprimand too, goes to them.

So when he gets the owl on Sunday afternoon to meet promptly in the library during lunch the next day, he sucks in his gut and resolves to at least try and have fun with it. He likes meeting new people, even if he doesn't like the circumstances – maybe he'll get along with the new Ravenclaw. Maybe they won't be as boring as he suspects.

He heads to the library the next day – late, mind, because he didn't particularly feel like rushing from Charms – and spots Professor Weasley waiting by the front desk.

That's the first time he sets his eyes on you.

Waiting placidly at his aunt's side, you're perfectly put together, not a hair out of place. Your waistcoat is straight, your long skirt starched, your shirt tucked in and top button done. You hold your books in your hand – because of course you do – and the satchel draped over your shoulder bulges with more of them.

You're the picture of a prim Ravenclaw student.

And it fills him with misery.

"Hello, hello," he says to you both, "sorry I'm late." Not.

You purse your lips, like you can detect his lie, but say nothing as his aunt gives him an admonishing glare. "That you are, Garreth. Did I not say you were to be prompt?"

"I grabbed some extra parchment, Professor," he makes sure to use her epithet in the presence of other students, "because I didn't know if I would need it."

By the way her brow loosens, it was a good lie. "All right. Come along, I've reserved a table for you both."

He decides to introduce himself to you on the way upstairs. "Nice to meet you."

You introduce yourself as well, but it's clear by your aloof eyes that you were also roped into this arrangement. "Nice to meet you as well," you repeat awkwardly, voice high with tension.

Turns out, Professor Weasley reserved an entire table, right at the back of the top floor. It seems unnecessary, the isolation, how you've obviously been coerced.

"Now, your proper sessions will take place after classes finish for the day, so for now I believe getting to know one another's style of learning would be most prudent." Professor Weasley ushers you to two seats next to each other. "I'll be sitting over there to keep an eye on you. Madam Scribner has given you both permission to have a quiet chat, so why not break the ice?"

It feels so forced Garreth would prefer to get a Howler right now, but under his aunt's stringent gaze, he plops onto the chair and tosses his bag under the seat. You draw out the seat gracefully, fold yourself upon it, and gently place your satchel, then books, on the table. There is method, he realises, to your movements.

"So..." he claps his hand awkwardly. "Where are you from?"

You clam up immediately, and he doesn't know why that's the wrong thing to ask, but he backtracks.

"Sorry, I mean – you know, where do you live?"

Your frown is still pronounced, but some relief breaths free. "London. You?"

"Devon."

"Right. I've never been there."

"It's nice. Except in the winter. Then the sea air is like murder."

Silence. He has a feeling he'll have to nudge all conversations, which is simply brilliant.

"Have any family?"

"Just my parents. They— they used to live in Asia, before coming here." You shift. "You? I mean, besides the professor."

"How much time do you have?" When you don't answer, he tugs his collar. Tough crowd. "Er, I have a younger sister. Clara, she's called. She's just started her first year. Little menace. Was hoping she wouldn't be Sorted into Gryffindor, but I guess it runs in the Weasley blood. Then there's my cousins, but there's so many that if I named them all you'd miss all your afternoon classes. Hey, maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing?"

You don't even crack a smile. This will be a long, painful conversation.

"Why don't we get started then?" he suggests instead, because the faster he does this, the faster he can leave. "I mean, discussing what we're meant to be, er, learning together? Shouldn't take very long for you if you're only failing Potions."

Your cheeks bloat. "I'm not failing. I just... need a little boost."

Touchy. Okay.

"Well, I'm not afraid to admit I'm failing."

"Yes," you say, and you list on your fingers as you go. "Transfiguration, History of Magic, Divination, and Astronomy. That's four subjects."

"Hey, last year it was five, but luckily I managed to wrangle a Kneazle before it bit Professor Howin, so she bumped up my grade." He's still quite proud of that moment. You make an unimpressed face. "What? You should be grateful we don't have collect Flobberworm mucus together."

"Okay, well, I've prepared you some tasks to complete."

His amusement drains like pus from a Bubotuber.

"What."

It's a statement of disbelief so sheer he doesn't even accompany it with the tonal flick of a question.

You don't meet his eye. "I've prepared you some questions, for this... tutorship." You unbuckle your satchel and take out not one, not two, but four rolls of parchment, one for each subject, and slide them across the table. "It's simple multiple-choice so I can figure out how much you know. It won't take you long to do."

He stares at them, open-mouthed.

"You've set me homework?"

"It's not homework."

"It's work that I have to do in my own time. It's homework."

Your lip curls in displeasure. "Like I said, if I'm going to tutor you, I need to know how much you already know. Then I can incorporate it into my lesson plan."

"Your lesson plan?"

"How else are we going to know what to cover per session?" you ask, bewildered. "You must have something planned for me, right?"

Of course he doesn't. He was just going to give you potions to brew and point out where you'd gone wrong. He rakes a hand through his hair, thinking about whether he could get away pretending to have a stomach/ head/ knee/ butt ache.

"If you don't want to do it later," you say, "you can do it now. Then I can be prepared for our first official session."

How about I run and never look back? With his aunt's watchful gaze on his back, he reluctantly unfurls the first scroll. Transfiguration. You hand him a quill and inkwell and he surfs through, ticking the answers he thinks are right.

"You're not even reading the questions."

"Am too."

"Glancing your eyes over words isn't the same as reading."

Oh, Merlin, you will be the death of him. Sniffing indignantly, he slows down, actually taking time to read the questions. How many exceptions are there to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration? He tries the rest, though not very hard, because just reading this stupid parchment has left him perplexed, and hands the scroll to you when he finishes.

He's halfway through puzzling when Geminis are born for the Divination quiz – he guesses February – before you roll his parchment up again.

"So? What's the verdict?"

You can't control the grimace on your face, and it's all he needs to know.

He's a total shambles. A failure.

"It's not— unsalvageable," you say hastily, your expression flattening. "But we have a lot of work to do."

He drops his head onto the table so loudly Madam Scribner yells "SSSHHH!" from the floor below.

When he's completed all your scrolls and falsely promises to make a list of things for your Potions O.W.L.s, you collect your belongings, slotting each book and scroll into its rightful place in your bag, give a quick word to his aunt in thanks and leave without goodbye. The whole exchange was about twenty minutes but to Garreth felt like twenty years. He tromps up to Professor Weasley in utter disbelief – and despairs in the way her grin unfurls.

"I told you it would be a fair exchange."

"She's made me homework, Auntie!"

"SSSHHH!" Scribner yells.

"Sorry!" he squeaks over the bannister. "Homework, Auntie. And— lesson plans. She told me I was practically unsalvageable!"

"I definitely heard not unsalvageable, Garreth."

"You can't be serious with this girl."

But Professor Weasley simply pets his shoulder.

"Your future is at stake here, Garreth. It's about time you start taking it seriously. She will help you. You will help each other."

But he really doubts it.

He waits for you outside of the Ravenclaw common room entrance for your first session later that week.

Dread roils through him as he leans against the bannister. Two hours of this, thrice a week, when he could be doing literally anything else. Quidditch has started again – which his aunt has barred him from playing due to his grades – but he could at least watch the Gryffindors practice, watch Leander and Eric Northcott toss Quaffles between them.

He's never had a mind for anything that doesn't interest him. History, divining the stars – both approaches. Even turning butterflies into bells doesn't capture his attention the same way potions do. There's just something about the way you can play loose and fast with the rules, with the ingredients, with the measurements, with the method, that delights his curiosity.

He wiggles his arm so it doesn't go to sleep. He's been to the Ravenclaw common room a few times, usually with Amit – for when they need to get back at Everett for catching them with a dungbomb. Unfortunately it means he's well acquainted with the eagle knocker.

"Honestly, Mr Weasley," it enunciates with that high and mighty tone, "if you sulk any harder and your expression will stick permanently to your face."

"Know from experience, do you?"

It doesn't bother to grace that with a response.

"What quandary plagues you so?"

"I'm doing a study buddy programme."

The knocker toots – literally, like a trumpet. "Hundreds of years I have guarded this tower, and never have I heard something so funny!"

"You could be more sympathetic."

"For the boy who thought it would be funny to tickle my nose with a feather when I was asleep? I think not!"

"I didn't think you had a nose!"

The door swings open then, and you step out. Prim, proper, picturesque. You startle at the sight of him.

"I thought we were to meet in the library."

"I was passing by, thought I'd come up and walk with you."

Suspicion flutters through your eyes. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Why would you want to walk with me?"

He blinks. Is he being stupid, or has he missed something? "Er, because it's a nice thing to do, and if I have to waste six hours of my life on this mutual tutorship every week then I should at least get to know you better."

"I see."

Something not quite as strong as displeasure edges your voice, but you fall into step with him – not missing the way he makes a rude face at the knocker on the way downstairs.

"Look, I'll be honest," he begins, "I don't like this arrangement any more than you do, but I'm naturally pre-disposed to not taking anything too seriously, so even if we have to endure revision together, we can at least try to have a good time with it. Sound fair?"

You don't answer immediately. "What's the catch?"

"What? No catch. I just don't want to be totally glum each time I see you."

Something flashes across your expression, but it's too fleeting to identify it. "All right, that's... understandable."

"Great."

Conversation is stilted, however, even when you get to the library. You don't immediately warm to him, which is odd, because he's very used to people immediately falling for his magnanimous charms. You pull out your notebook – a timetable neatly journaled into the opening page – as he dumps out his parchment and quills.

"Since our sessions cover six hours per week," you say, "I thought we could work on your subjects for four of them, and then two hours on Potions for me."

"Right, fine." Sounds positively wretched. "My aunt's got Sharp's permission to use the potions laboratory this Friday, so I guess we can do it then."

"The potions laboratory?"

"Yeah. What? Did you think we could do Potions work without... potions?"

"Shouldn't we focus on the written portion?"

He frowns. "The written portion of the Potions O.W.L. is tiny. Like, miniscule. And boring."

You draw yourself up. "I don't find it boring. The essays are the best part."

Oh dear Merlin. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but the majority of your Potions O.W.L. depends on actual potion-making." He grins. "Why? Scared, are you?"

"Why would I be scared?"

"You seem keen not to do it. Don't tell me you have some tragic backstory involving an exploding cauldron."

"No," you grind out. "I just... don't have a natural affinity for it like I do all my other subjects."

"That must've been really hard for you to accept."

He's teasing, but your face sours. Wow, you really are a tough crowd.

"Let's start. History of Magic."

This is one of those subjects he needs to know for his career choice – potioneers are expected to understand the history behind advancements in potion-making, after all – but Professor Binns makes it near-impossible to derive any sort of interest in the subject. The first topic of the year, the disbandment of the Wizards' Council in 1707, is already so dull Garreth can feel himself melting into the floor the moment the ghost opens his mouth.

"Now, I've already started the essay about the tumult of the Ministry of Magic's early years." You pull out a roll of parchment. "If we compare the key argument points—"

"Wait," he says, holding up his hand, "what do you mean, you've started the essay?"

"The essay that Binns set."

"You're doing N.E.W.T. level classes?"

"I'm doing N.E.W.T. level homework," you correct. "The professors assign it to me and I work on it with my regular homework."

"How do you have time to eat? Or sleep?"

You shrug. It's all so easy to you. You probably dream of your textbooks. It's so boggling.

"As I was saying," you continue, "we ought to start by comparing the points we've both made for the essay."

He just can't fathom it. Is there any point getting to know you when your spare time is dedicated to nothing but grades and studying? How can anyone be so academically good at (almost) everything, take on extra work, agree to tutor a frankly hopeless student... and still find time to enjoy other things?

"Right, yes, comparing essay points," he mumbles. "Sounds good."

Then again, he thinks, when neither of you move, and your eyes begin to narrow, you don't seem like the type of person to enjoy anything.

"You haven't started the essay yet, have you?"

"... Does a sphinx speak in riddles?"

You groan.

The first Potions session that Friday is a fun one – because now he gets to test you, watch you squirm and sweat. After the painful four hours together, scribbling theory for Divination and star charts for Astronomy, it's finally time to show what he can do. You're always so put together, so  he wants to see how bad you are, see what it is that justifies asking for his help in the first place.

Professor Sharp is waiting in the potions laboratory when you both arrive, seated at his desk marking homework.

Garreth grins. "All right, Professor?"

His expression curdles exponentially. "I trust I don't have to keep one eye on you for the entire two hours, Mr Weasley?"

"'Course not, sir. I'm only here to supervise my charge. In fact, you could say I'm the professor here."

"That doesn't fill me with much more confidence," Sharp mutters, then flicks his quill. "I've prepared the one on the left. Work quietly, please."

You seem nonplussed when Garreth steers you to the potions station. "Do you have a... reputation?"

"Don't know what you mean."

"You must do, by the professor's tone. You're a— miscreant."

"I'm a creative," he corrects. "Professor Sharp just doesn't appreciate my artistry."

"I can hear you, Mr Weasley."

"See? No appreciation whatsoever."

He gave you a list of ingredients to bring, and as he lights the fire beneath the cauldron, you sort them on the table – a bezoar in a mortar, mistletoe berries tied together with twine, Mooncalf tears in a phial. He notices you spend an inordinate amount of time placing them in neat, agreeable piles, rather than, you know, starting the actual potion-making, and he tucks this information away.

"Right, so, today I thought you could brew the antidote to common poisons."

"Antidote," you say stiffly. "Common poisons."

"That's what I said."

"Isn't that a third year subject?"

"It is." He smiles devilishly. "But we're going to do it with a twist."

Your brow furrows. "You're supposed to teach me relevant things, Garreth."

"You'll be lucky I'm not adding my own spin on it. No, just a simple improvement to up the ante. We're going make sure our potion can also act as an antidote to spider venom."

"Spider venom?" Your hand reaches for the textbook, but Garreth palms it away. "But— I need the recipe."

"You won't get the full recipe in your O.W.L. exams. You only get a list of ingredients and vague instructions. But it's better to learn by doing, and you will be expected to understand how the property of each ingredient affects the potion." He gestures. "Shall we begin?"

Your lips are flat as you fill the cauldron with standard potioning water – two pints of it, until it bubbles nicely over the flames. You know the first step by heart, which is to crush the bezoar into a fine powder and add four measures. Good start. With each of his thorough explanations, you fidget, uncomfortable.

"Why not just feed someone a bezoar? It works, doesn't it?"

"Why do we extract essence of dittany instead of just nibbling on the stem? Because combined with other ingredients the potion is more powerful. A bezoar wouldn't work against more virulent spider venom on its own, but it will in the potion we're brewing, because its healing properties are enhanced. Also, have you tried shoving that whole thing in your gob? Tastes rank."

"Wait," you say suddenly. "I need to write this down."

"The tastes rank part, or shoving in your gob part?"

You ignore him, grabbing your quill and scribbling furiously.

"Watch your cauldron. It's bubbling over."

You squeak, dropping the quill and stirring. A sheen of sweat coats your forehead, which is pretty hilarious. You've only just started.

"What's the next step?" he asks.

Your eyes skim the ingredients, frantic. "Erm... Mooncalf tears?"

"Try again." When you grimace, he says, "Begins with Stuh. Ends with andard ingredient."

You glare at him. "This doesn't make sense. Why add that now?"

"It's a stabilising agent. It emulsifies the ingredients together."

"Like eggs in a cake," you murmur, which surprises him. "But we've only added the bezoar to the water. What's there to stabilise?"

"Bezoars don't dissolve in water, and this will help the ingredients we add next."

He can see your frustration. Suddenly it makes sense why you hate Potions so much. You don't understand the science behind it – ironic, for someone who seems so methodical, and so proficient at other more technical subjects like Transfiguration. You pour the herbs into the brew, watching cautiously as the liquid thickens and changes colour from grimy brown to forest green, and notes of saltiness waft into the air.

"Good." The potion isn't looking too bad – maybe a little too green, but not unworkable. "Now, what next?"

"... Mooncalf tears?"

"Nope. You need to desaturate the brew."

"So turn up the heat?" He gives a firm nod. "For how long?"

"Well, you've added standard ingredient, which acts as a thickening agent already, and bezoar powder burns easily, even in water. Do you think much heat should be applied?"

"... Maybe?"

"Bet your examiner would love that answer."

You scowl. "Just tell me."

"Bring it to simmer," he instructs. "But only for a few minutes. For the aforementioned reasons."

After you write this down, you nudge another piece of wood into the fire pit below, then adjust the knob for heat. After a few moments, the bubbles pop ferociously on the surface. He watches you watching it, transfixed, eyebrows sloping in intense concentration. It's clear you desperately want this to work – but something holds you back, whether it's just disinterest in the subject or not. You lower the heat after three minutes, leaning back.

"Now do we add the Mooncalf tears?"

He laughs. "Merlin's beard, you're desperate to get those tears in. No, now you wave your wand and let it stew. Do you know for how long?"

"I remember this," you say. "It was about thirty minutes."

"Are you sure?"

"Well now I'm not."

His grin only grows. "What type of cauldron are you using?"

"Pewter."

"How will that affect the time?"

"Isn't pewter less conducive of magical properties than the others, and therefore makes brewing time slower?"

"I don't know. Is it?"

"Garreth."

"Yes, you're right," he says. "You're a right laugh, you know."

"You're not," you remark tersely. "So it stews for more time then?"

"Probably about forty-five minutes, though I reckon with how you bunged all the standard ingredient in, it'll probably need a few minutes more. We'll eyeball it."

You squeak. "We can't— eyeball it!"

"'Course we can. When it's reduced enough, we'll take it off the heat."

Still, it's about a fifty-minute wait, and unfortunately you decide to get him back for all the fun he's having by asking how his History of Magic essay is going (... it's not). Even Professor Sharp laughs when he stumps at the first bullet point.

When the fifty minutes slog by (and they do slog – probably because Garreth dies a little with each legislative policy he has to know by name), you check the potion again. The water has boiled down to a gooey liquid, half the size it was before, and the colour has deepened.

"Now you have ground unicorn horn to add. This is where it gets interesting." His voice dances with glee, but you look like you'd rather get punched in the face. "The recipe for the regular antidote calls for a pinch of unicorn horn, then two clockwise stirs. But to work against a more potent poison like spider venom, you need at least two pinches, and double the number of stirs, to let everything combine."

You hunch over your unicorn horn powder. "Are you sure this isn't one of your creative exploits?"

"Hand on heart, this is all by-the-book," he says, then calls out, "In fact, I should really get some house points for it!"

"Don't hold your breath," Sharp calls back.

Garreth winks at you. "Worth a try, right?"

Your brow drops in exasperation.

Still, you follow his next instructions carefully. Two pinches of unicorn horn powder, then four stirs of the cauldron, and it hisses and pops as the powder melts into the solution. Finally you add two mistletoe berries, careful to keep the toxic leaves away, and wave your wand to finish. It's as expected – not bad for someone who claims to struggle at the subject, though he had to coach you through most of it.

"So... how do we know if the potion works?"

"Funny you should ask." Garreth reaches for his bag. "I have a spider I keep in a jar—"

You scrabble away at once. "What?" you shriek – it's the first explosive emotion he's seen from you. "No, no, no—"

"Merlin, that was a joke! 'Course I don't have a spider in my bag!"

Your shoulders drop. Your expression storms.

"Not. Funny."

But he giggles. "Come on. That was kind of funny."

"You really are a miscreant."

"Not a fan of spiders, are you?"

"They're detestable." You shudder, crossing your arms. "I don't know how anyone can stand the creatures."

"I think they're kind of cute. You know, in an ugly sort of way."

You step back to the station, gesturing with your chin to the potion again. "So? How do you know if we succeeded?"

"Colour, consistency, smell. Is it teal? Yes. Is it thick, and the bottom of the cauldron is only visible when you scrape it with a spoon? Yes. Does it smell like Graphorn dung?" He sniffs. Winces. "Oh yeah."

"How do you know what Graphorn dung smells like?"

"You don't want to know." (It involved Everett, naturally.) "So, with all those factors, we can safely say the potion was a resounding success. Huzzah!"

Yet you don't seem particularly pleased. He's not sure why, given that his aunt implied you were so poor at the subject even a mediocre brew was unthinkable. But maybe your bar to success is much higher than his. He helped you a lot, after all – maybe you'll only consider these tutoring sessions a win if you manage to brew an entire potion by yourself, without his ogling over your shoulder. Without someone literally telling you what to do.

And if that's what you want, okay. He's happy to help. The quicker you pick up these potions lessons, the quicker he is freed of your prickly company.

"Wait," you say suddenly, "what were the Mooncalf tears for?"

"Oh, those?" He chuckles. "They're not for anything. They're just to bamboozle you."

Your glare is potent enough to set him on fire.

"I am trying to learn here, and you fooling around is not helping."

"Who says this isn't helping? You'll never forget Mooncalf tears aren't in the antidote now, will you?"

"But— that's—!" You let out a groan. "You're being insufferable."

He just laughs harder. "You're so prim, it's hilarious."

"If wanting to learn things the proper way makes me prim, so be it."

"The proper way? Oh ho ho, no. There's no proper way."

"Written study is the proper way."

He leans on the potions station, grinning villainously. "Then I'll prove to you that it's not all about textbooks and words on a page. You're going to learn so hard you won't know what hit you. You'll see."

Your raise your chin, derision clear.

"Very well then, Garreth."

"All righty then, Prim."

He sees how it digs. "What? Don't— don't call me that!"

"Only calling you what you are, Prim."

When the session ends, he agrees to start that essay – or at least think about starting it – and you agree to review your notes for the antidote, but no matter how many times you remind him of your real name, he teases you with the moniker until you part ways. Unfortunately for you, insufferable doesn't quite have the same ring to it, and you wouldn't dare deign to his level of immaturity.

So at the end of the first week, you still call him Garreth.

And he calls you Prim.

[Next chapter coming soon] <3 [Divider credit, gorgeous art by Lyworth]

[theghostofpyke]

another interesting interview on outsiders in ASOIAF; reposting the transcript:

Interviewer: Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf character in asoiaf, he probably is one of everybody's favourite characters and he has this really memorable moment where he says: "I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things". Many, so many-- some of your characters are these outsiders, they are different or they are disabled in some way, and they seem to be the only characters that are capable of true compassion, and yet they seem to suffer for it-- is this something you are conscious of doing, George, when writing the book?" GRRM: Yeah, definitely, I mean, I have a large caste of viewpoint characters, but, for the most part they all have something that makes them a bit of an outcast, you know. Tyrion is a dwarf. Jon Snow is a bastard. Dany, who is beautiful, is a penniless exile who's being essentially sold off into marriage. Arya is born to a noble house, but she's kind of this wild child where she doesn't conform to her proper gender role. Brienne of Tarth even more doesn't conform to her proper gender roles and because of that she suffers a lot of scorn and rejection because she is not a proper woman in the terms of her society. Uh, Sam Tarly is fat and bookish, when a lord is expected to be warlike and strong and fierce and good with a sword and Sam would rather read and dance and listen to music and so he suffers a lot of rejection and I could go on and on, but--" Interviewer (interrupting): All of these people have this honour code, within themselves, that they almost need to hide-- and that seems to make life even more difficult for them-- GRRM (interrupting back): Even a character like Theon Greyjoy, who's not a character that a lot of people are fond of, because he's a weak character-- I mean he's physically strong, he's very skilled with a bow, he's a good warrior, but he's a character who is suffering a lot of confusion about his place in the world. Cause, you know, he's born of a noble family, but his father rised in rebellion, and his elder brothers were killed in that rebellion, and he was handed over as a hostage at the end. Theoretically a "ward" they called it, but still a hostage. If his father creates trouble, he's to be hung, you know, so. That was a frequent practice in the middle ages, when you didn't really trust one of your underlords, or enemy who had bent the knee, you took some of his children as "wards", or hostages, and, uh--- So he's a Greyjoy by birth, and by some standards he's the heir to the Iron Islands, but he's been raised in the household of Eddard Stark and there's part of him who, you know, he has these two fathers looming over him, neither one who he can ever quite please. And he's desperate to find his place in the world, as one or the other, but from that confusion a great drama arises! I mean, you know, I think the best fiction, the best stories, arise out of conflict. I've always taken as my mantra, Willian Faulkner's nobel price acceptance speech where he said: The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself.

[in-class-daydreams]

My One and Only (Sebastian Sallow x Reader)

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader (Established relationship) Synopsis: It's seventh year and you're exceedingly happy with your loving boyfriend, Sebastian. Having had enough excitement for the rest of your time at Hogwarts, you both were happy to sit idly by and spectate the Triwizard Tournament. Only, that's not what the universe has in store for you. Notes/TW: Another installment in the Headmaster's Kid MC universe, because I love the drama. MC sort of has PTSD from the Ranrok thing, but it's not described in detail nor is it called such in the story.

You were in the Slytherin common room, leafing through Goblets, Goblins, and Gobstones: An Anthology of Magical Folklore. It was a gift from Sebastian from before either of you realized you loved each other. Back then, he couldn’t name the warmth in his chest whenever he saw you, but his regard for you was so great, he gave you a treasure from his childhood, the book of stories his mother used to read to him and his sister as children. Even though you were now utterly devoted to one another, you still liked to bring it out from time to time. It was as if his mother’s love extended to you, who never had anyone who felt like real family. The House of Black was not the most hospitable of bloodlines.

“She’d have loved you,” you remembered Sebastian saying. “You’re clever and funny and your brand of love is so similar to hers.” You liked to think that in your love for Sebastian, you returned a piece of his mother to him.

“Black!” Imelda shouted from the front door. “Your boyfriend’s gotten himself into another fight!”

You looked up, more than a bit confused. Since things had quieted down, neither you nor Sebastian had been getting into brawls of any sort. If there was one thing you’d learned about him over the years is that he always had a reason for doing things. You might not have realized that, considering you met him during arguably the worst year of his life, but now that it was over and Anne was cured, he was his affable, happy self. Even more so when he found out you loved him back.

Tucking the tome beneath your arm, you rushed over to Imelda, who led you a short distance to a hallway where a small crowd had gathered and Professor Weasley was already marching your boyfriend away from the scene.

You hurried to follow at her side.

“What happened?” you asked.

Professor Weasley sighed. “Yet another physical altercation. I thought you were done with these, Sebastian.”

Sebastian, face still red with rage, looked stubbornly forward. You noted his split brow and darkening bruise on his cheek with a frown.

“He normally is,” you insisted. “Please, professor, can we hear him out in private first?”

Professor Weasley was a reasonable woman, and she knew it was true that you and Sebastian both had been on your best behaviors since Anne was cured. The two of you had a happy, quiet peace together without goblin rebellions and cursed sisters, and the most exciting thing you did nowadays was play highly competitive games of Summoner’s Court. Some people wondered if you ever missed the excitement, and you’d reply that while you enjoyed a good challenge, you’d gladly give up being in constant peril for the rest of your time at Hogwarts.

Weasley relented and led you into a spare room away from prying eyes. You sat Sebastian down and set to work patching his wounds in a practiced routine.

“Sebastian. Lovey.” His hard stare softened at the endearment.  “Tell us what’s wrong, please?” you asked gently.

Sebastian took a deep breath and it became apparent that he wasn’t withholding the information, he was previously too enraged to explain.

“Yaxley and his band of idiots put your name in the Goblet of Fire,” he said through gritted teeth.

You let the information sink in, only for your blood to drain from your face entirely. With your luck, you had a highly likely chance of being selected to represent Hogwarts.

Since you’d accepted Isadora’s power to cure Anne, your magic had been permanently altered. You had returned to the Keepers, apologizing profusely and insisting that you were willing to return the power to keep it contained away from anyone. Given the fact that you were integral to stopping Ranrok and you surprised them by being willing to relinquish such power so easily, the Keepers tentatively forgave you. Though, you suspected that Professors Fitzgerald and Bakar were particularly softened by how you only took the power at all for Sebastian’s sake. One did not simply cast the Killing Curse in defense of a mere friend. You would know.

But even after the dark magic left your body, your own magic had become altered. More lethal, more sinister. You managed it just fine in the day-to-day since you yourself had no sinister intentions, but if the tournament put you in danger, you could not promise that your magic would stifle its lethality.

Professor Weasley was just as enraged as Sebastian.

“They what?” she raised her voice. “Did they succeed? Or was it only an idea?”

Sebastian’s head hung low and he rested his elbows on his knees. “It’s already been done. I didn’t act fast enough. I’m sorry.”

Disregarding your own panic, you hugged him close.

“Oh, Sebastian, don’t be,” you assured him. “I’ll manage. I always do.”

Sebastian looked like he wanted to say more, but you turned to address Professor Weasley.

“I don’t suppose we can get my name out of the Goblet, can we?” you asked.

The professor shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid not. The contract is magically-binding. We simply have to hope that someone who actually volunteered is chosen, not you,” she replied.

It was concluded that Sebastian would get an obligatory detention for starting a physical fight, but it would be short, and he’d be allowed his books, so it wasn’t much of a punishment. It was highly generous of her, and you noted as much. On her way out the door, Weasley smiled over her shoulder, stating that, “Had I been in your position when I was a student, I might have done the same.”

Afterwards, you helped Sebastian back to the dormitory. One of Yaxley’s group had gotten in a lucky shot to his leg and left him limping slightly.

“Sebastian,” you said before you parted ways. He turned towards you and you took his face in your hands. You pressed a butterfly kiss to his nose. “Thank you for trying to protect me.”

He furrowed his brow. “Trying isn’t good enough,” he stated.

“It is for me,” you replied gently. “No one’s ever been behind me one hundred percent until I met you. I grew up so alone and I always felt so unwanted.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb. “The fact that you care is plenty enough for me. So, don’t worry. Even if the Goblet of Fire spits my name out, I will manage, because I have you.”

You pressed a goodnight kiss to his lips and headed to bed. You thought Sebastian’s weak kiss back was because he was tired and distracted and, well, you were half right.

Several days later, you gripped your boyfriend’s hand as you all sat in Beauxbatons’s equivalent of the Great Hall, impatiently waiting for the Headmistress to draw a name. The large room was lavishly decorated, like a dining room in the Palace of Versailles.

Anne, Imelda, and Natty sat in front of you while Ominis and Poppy sat to your left. They looked at you with worry, having been updated on the situation. You all knew full well that the universe greatly enjoyed putting you at the center stage of great peril, and while you were honest with Sebastian that you’d manage, you were exhausted. Dueling was fun for a challenge, fighting for your life was tiresome.

You squeezed Sebastian’s hand under the table. He gave you three pulses back, eyes never leaving the Goblet. He was more tense than usual, and you assumed it was out of concern for you.

The Beauxbatons Headmistress went onstage with great ceremony, giving a spiel about the history of the Triwizard Tournament and what an honor it was to represent the school in such a rich tradition of joint relations between the three schools. She had a heavy, lilting French accent and had a stately aura about her not unlike Professor Weasley.

The Goblet’s blue flame turned red and spit out a singed piece of parchment, which the Headmistress caught and read aloud.

“The Durmstrang Champion is…” she paused for effect. “Sava Peycheva!”

Their student body erupted in cheers and applause as a tall, powerfully-built girl with long dark hair shook the Headmistress’s hand and waved to the crowd. Unlike you’d have been, she seemed completely at ease, as if her victory was guaranteed. You could respect someone confident in her abilities to that degree.

Sava took her seat and the Goblet’s flame turned red once more. Taking the parchment, the Headmistress announced the next champion.

“The Hogwarts Champion is…”

The darker part of your magic sang, eager to be put through its paces, but you felt a lump in your throat. You had been willing to use lethal force once, but only because of what was at stake. The idea of harming anyone now was enough to make you sick to your stomach.

You white-knuckled Sebastian’s hand and you all held your breath when the Headmistress spoke, loud and clear.

“Sebastian Sallow!”

[shiningshenanigans]

If I had a nickle…

For every time I shipped a guy and a girl…

Where the guy comes from a semi-privileged background and stable home life (albeit with a very dysfunctional family who is kinda mean to him)…

and the girl is a scavenger who has been fighting to survive her whole life because of a totalitarian regime…

and they’re forced into a situation where they have to work together and kinda start getting attached to each other…

and the guy is HOPELESSLY head-over-heals besotted and in love with the girl and, like, doesn’t even try to hide it… 

and the girl… kinda likes him back? But like it’s hard to tell? Because like I said, Girl has been fighting to survive her whole life, and is still very much in survival mode, and her fight-or-flight response is so through the roof right now it’s hard for her to feel that way about anyone at the moment…

also there’s kind of a rebellion/revolution going on against the totalitarian regime I mentioned earlier, and Girl is very focused on killing The Leader of said totalitarian regime, so romance is kinda the last thing on her mind…

but also their love is like this weird powerful force that’s fueling said rebellion, so she can’t really get away from it?

And she acts super cold and indifferent toward him but the second he’s in any kind of danger she immediately throws herself under the bus to save him…

(by the way they balance each other out really well, because Guy is not really much of a fighter, but he’s super charming and good at negotiating with people so he helps Girl grow in that area, cause she’s really bad at it)…

and they’re being mentored by a slightly cynical middle-aged man who “loves a good drink”…

(who totally has a crush on his cute-but-brainwashed-by-the-badguys female superior)…

oh yeah and remember The Leader of the totalitarian regime I mentioned earlier? He’s, like, weirdly invested in their love story and has been watching it unfold this whole time…

(and we don’t really know why he’s so obsessed with them, other then that they remind him of a situationship he was in ages ago, which ended really badly because he was paranoid, so now he’s living vicariously through them while at the same time scrambling to maintain the fragile power of his regime or something like that)…

and he keeps using his power to make them play weird games where he constantly tries to pit them against each other and get one of them to kill the other… 

(he actually does almost brainwash the guy into killing the girl at some point, but Guy wakes up and is like “Naw man, I’m in love with her, I will endure endless psychological torture before I do that.”)

and don’t forget, “This series is actually incredibly profound and thought-provoking and has some really deep things to say about freedom and government control and the value of human life, but for some reason nobody wants to talk about those things because all they care about is shipping drama (even though shipping should be a non-issue because the narrative makes it 100% clear who the cannon romance is)…”

…I’d have two nickels.

Say it with me kids…