#meanwhile dawn never even considered it???

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Slicked Back & Smitten

Rating: Mature Audiences

Warning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, spicy, wlw smut, mirror sex, Paige's biceps, paige fucking you while having you in a headlock, !top paige, !bottom reader, light oral (fem reseving), !purple strap Paige, !slick back ponytail P (yes this deserves a warning), fluff

Paring: Paige Bueckers x fem reader

Fandom: Uconn's Women's basketbal

Summary: Slicked Back ponytail P... and she's swollen in the right places too... oh you're down bad baby

Tag: @elliesglock , @elalfywhore , @paxaz535

The morning of the UConn vs. Butler game was absolute chaos. With a 1 p.m. tip-off, I had been up at the ass crack of dawn, running errands before heading to the arena. Meanwhile, Paige was at home, usually getting her game day braids done by Kayla—her routine, her thing.

Except today, Kayla couldn’t do them she was getting over being sick, didn't wanna risk Paige getting sick.

And I? I was too busy being the responsible, errand-running girlfriend to even offer to do them myself.

So, Paige had to figure something out.

By the time I arrived at the arena, the team was already warming up. I greeted a few of the staff members before spotting Kayla on the sidelines, watching the girls get their final shots up before tip-off.

"Did you see what she did?" Kayla asked as I approached.

I was confused. "Who?"

Kayla gave me a look. "Your girlfriend."

I turned my head, scanning the court until my eyes landed on Paige in her love, Abby warm up. And, oh, did my jaw practically drop.

Instead of her signature game day braids, she had done a sleek middle-part ponytail. The gel, the clean parting, the way the ponytail laid so perfectly down her back—it was… different. It was… distracting.

I bit the inside of my cheek, shifting on my feet. "Yeah… I see her."

Kayla snickered, nudging me. "She look good, huh?"

I exhaled sharply, eyes still glued to Paige as she moved across the court, completely unaware of the effect she was having on me. The slick back? The way it emphasized her face, her jawline, her everything? Yeah, it was bad for me.

"Kayla," I started, voice low. "I don’t think you should do her braids next game either."

Kayla howled. "Oh, nah, you down bad!"

I rolled my eyes, pretending like I wasn’t already making plans to personally ensure Paige never wore braids again.

———

The first half of the game was a problem.

Paige was playing out of her mind. She was dropping dimes, hitting threes, getting to the basket with ease—and she looked damn good doing it.

I was trying to focus on the actual game, trying not to be the most obvious girlfriend ever, but every time she drove to the rim, her ponytail swung just right, her edges still perfectly laid despite how much she was sweating.

It was a crisis.

By halftime, I had reached my breaking point.

Sitting in the stands, I pulled my phone out, thumbs flying across the screen as I sent a text Paige wouldn’t see until later.

Me: You need to put me in a headlock when we get back home.

Me: And I need you to consider this slick back ponytail as your new game day hair. Like… permanently.

I hit send, exhaling as I locked my phone. Out of sight, out of mind. I just needed to get through the rest of the game without combusting.

———

Paige didn’t see the message until hours later.

After the game, she had her usual post-game press conference, with Kk and Azzii answering questions about UConn’s dominant win, her own performance, and how it felt playing without her signature braids.

Then came the locker room celebrations, the team hyping each other up, the post-game shower, and finally—finally—Paige was back at our shared off-campus apartment.

Freshly showered, she walked into the bedroom with a towel around her neck, only in her black Nike sports bra and grey boxers sitting perfectly on her waist line, scrolling through her phone finally checking all her notifications.

I was sitting on the bed, scrolling mindlessly myself, until I saw her pause.

Her head tilted. "What the hell?"

I tried to act innocent. "What?"

Paige turned her phone towards me, revealing my very suggestive text from earlier. "This," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Headlock? Really?"

I shrugged, unbothered. "You read it. You know what I said."

She huffed out a laugh, tossing her phone onto the nightstand before crawling onto the bed. She hovered over me, arms on either side of my head, that damn ponytail still sleek even after her shower.

"So," Paige mused, voice dropping slightly. "You liked the ponytail, huh?"

I reached up, running my fingers over the base of it where she had secured it with a black hair tie. "Liked? Understatement."

Paige smirked, dipping down to press a lingering kiss to my jaw. "Liked it enough to text me during halftime about puttin yo ass in a headlock?"

I exhaled sharply. "I was having a moment."

She kissed the corner of my mouth, teasing me. "Mhm. And what kind of headlock we talking about?"

I rolled my eyes, pushing her lightly. "Don’t play with me, Bueckers."

Paige chuckled, finally kissing me for real, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against mine. "So… ponytail again next game?"

I nodded immediately. "Absolutely, baby it’s your secret weapon."

She smirked, leaned closer, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered, "Anything for you, baby. Especially when I get to have my way with you afterward."

I shivered at her words, my heart racing with anticipation. There was something intoxicating about the way she claimed me, the way she took charge. I loved every moment of it, even if it made me feel vulnerable.

Paige stood up suddenly, her playful demeanor shifting into something more commanding. “Come here,” she instructed, her voice firm yet sultry. I followed her, curiosity piqued, as she led me to the full-length mirror on the wall, right next to the bed.

“Look at yourself,” she murmured, her fingers brushing against my neck as she turned me to face the glass. I could see the reflection of us, a flush creeping across my cheeks. “You’re beautiful,” she said, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “But I want you to see what I see.”

Before I could respond, she slowly pulling my satan mini sleep dress, off revealing my body to herself as if she was claming a prize. My heart raced as I realized her intentions. “Paige…” I started, but her smirk silenced me.

“Shh,” she said, a playful glint in her eye. “Trust me, watch me the whole time, ma. ” She walked to the other bed side table to pull out the purple stap, taking the boxers off and expertly securing it around her waist.

I watched her through the Mirror not taking my eyes of her once.

“Now,” she said, walking back to me and now her breath warm against my neck, “I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and think about how good you can be for me.”

She wrapped her strong arms around me, pulling me back against her chest, and I found my breath catching in my throat as I felt her biceps flex around my head.

“Paige, I—”

“Good girls do what they’re told,” she interrupted playfully, flexing her biceps around my chin so I could look up see my own reflection. “Look at you. So pretty, so willing. You’re perfect just like this.”

I gazed into the mirror, my heart pounding as I saw the way she held me—her strength juxtaposed against my vulnerability. I felt a rush of heat surge through me.

“Tell me what you see,” Paige urged, her voice steady yet sultry. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I see…” I hesitated, caught between the thrill of her hold and the desire to please her. “I see… me. I see us.”

“Good girl,” she praised, her voice dripping with satisfaction. I could feel the tension in her body, the way she leaned into me, the heat radiating off her. “Now, tell me how much you want me.”

“I want you, Paige,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. The honesty of my desire sent a thrill through me, igniting a fire that burned deep within. “I want you to fuck me.”

“See? Was that so hard?” she teased, her lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re learning.”

Paige turned me slightly, enough that I could see her in the mirror too. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she gazed down at me, and I felt a rush of exhilaration at being at her mercy. “Now, I want you to remember this moment. How it feels to be my good girl.”

With that, she pressed her lips against mine, capturing me in a kiss that was both sweet and demanding. I melted against her, surrendering fully to the sensation of her body against mine. Each kiss deepened my desire, igniting a passion that coursed through my veins.

“Look at us,” she murmured between kisses, her voice low and seductive. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Together, we create magic.”

Once back on the bed she had me face down ass up, still facibg the mirror.

I gasped as she took her tongue and gave my much needy pussy attention, “You’re so beautiful like this,” she whispered, her breath warm against my thigh just before kissing and biting at it. “I want to make you feel everything.”

After a few mins of practically making out with my pussy, Paige, pulling me up by my hair before locking my head in her biceps again, her lips brushing against my ear as she trailed kisses along my jawline and neck. I could feel her warmth, her desire, and it sent waves of pleasure coursing through me. “Tell me how it feels, and don't be quiet about it either, baby” she instructed, her voice a tantalizing whisper.

“Good,” I breathed, my heart racing. “It feels so good.”

“Good girls deserve to be rewarded,” she replied, her lips curling into a smirk. “And you’ve been so very good, so keep watching in the mirror for me, yeah mamas”

She guided my gaze back to the mirror, forcing me to watch as she explored my body, her hands roaming, her kisses igniting every nerve. “Look at how much you crave this,” she teased, her voice a sultry melody. “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasped, the thrill of her words sending me spiraling deeper into desire.

“Then let’s make this a night to remember,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief and passion.

Before I could fully process her movements, she had me pinned, face down ass up into the satan sheets, every inch of my body electrified by her touch. The strap slid deeper, an intoxicating sensation that made my heart race and my mind spin.

I could feel every pulse, every inch of her as she filled me, her confidence radiating through the air. Letting out a groan as if she could actually feel me clenching around her. “Fuck, baby you takin my dick so good. Pussy just swallowin me whole, shit.”

“Paige…” I managed to whisper, but the words were swallowed by the thick tension that hung between us. My body was responding, every nerve ending alive with the thrill of the moment. She held me captive, and I was more than willing to surrender.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me as she thrust deeper, the rhythm slow at first but building in intensity. I could hear her breathing, a mix of pleasure and desire, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re so perfect for me,” she murmured, a sultry smile playing on her lips. “I could do this forever.”

With every thrust, she drew me closer to a precipice I had only ever dreamed of. The world outside faded away; there was nothing but the two of us, lost in our own universe. I could feel the heat pooling within me, a delicious tension building that threatened to consume us both.

“God, you feel so good,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire. “I want you to look in the mirror when you cum f'me. Watch yourself fall apart on my shit, ma.”

I surrendered completely, allowing myself to be swept up in the waves of pleasure she was creating. The way she moved, the way she filled me—it was intoxicating. I could feel every inch of her, the connection between us palpable, electric. It was as if we were two bodies entwined in a dance as old as time, a rhythm that only we could hear.

“Paige, I…” My words faltered as she hit a spot that made my entire body quiver. I could feel the tension building, spiraling higher and higher until it felt like I might burst.

“Shh, just look in the mirror and feel,” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. “I’ve got you.”

Her words were like a spell, wrapping around me and pulling me deeper into the moment. I lost myself completely, every thought dissolving into a haze of pure ecstasy. Looking into the mirror watching with way she had my arms pinned behind my back, the determination on her face to make me feel so full. Watching the way my juices leaked on the bed, the way the base of the strap milky white from the way she was pounding me into the bed. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was the connection between us, the way she moved, the way she touched me.

As she pushed deeper, I could feel the heat rising more and more, the pressure building within me. I was teetering on the edge, and I could sense that she was too. And as a last minute act she put me in a headlock again, hips still hitting all the right spot. “Yes, just like that, watch yourself f'me” she urged, her voice a low, sultry whisper. “Let go for me. Yeah ma, cum on my dick.”

With a final thrust, everything exploded, watching myself fall apart on the purple strap. I felt the world around me shatter into a million pieces, the sensation overwhelming and all-consuming. Waves of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me breathless and trembling.

“Just like that, baby. That’s it,” Paige encouraged, her voice a sultry murmur that was so encouraging that I could cum again. “You’re so beautiful when you cum, f'me baby.”

I could hardly respond, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure that coursed through me. I felt her slow down, her movements becoming gentle as she brought me back down from the high. My head resting back on her shoulder for a few seconds before I look at our sweat, cum dripping bodies, in awe

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern flickering in her eyes as they met mine through the mirror.

I nodded, still catching my breath. “More than okay,” I whispered, a smile breaking across my face. “That was incredible.”

Her lips curled into a playful grin, and I could see the satisfaction shining in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. But I’m not done with you yet.”

Before I could fully comprehend her words, she shifted her body, and mine her movements fluid and graceful. The strap was still there, a reminder of the connection we shared, and as she positioned herself above me, as I am now on my back, I felt the excitement build once more.

“Just relax and enjoy the ride,” she said, her voice low and enticing.

With that, she began to move again, her body rocking against mine in a way that sent shivers coursing through me. Every thrust was deliberate, every movement intentional, and I could feel myself responding, eager to meet her rhythm.

“God, you’re amazing,” she breathed, her eyes locked onto mine. The intensity of her gaze sent another wave of heat through me, igniting the fire that had only just begun to simmer.

“Paige, you have no idea…” I gasped, my hands finding their way to her hips, guiding her as I tried to keep up with her pace.

We were lost in each other, the world outside fading away once more. The tension built again, a delicious spiral that threatened to consume us both. I could feel the heat rising, the pressure coiling within me, and I knew we were nearing the edge once more.

“Just a little more,” she urged, her breath coming in quick gasps as she pushed herself closer, her voice laced with urgency. “I want to feel you again.”

With her words, I was gone, the tension breaking like a dam as the pleasure rushed over me once more. I could feel her reach her peak too, our bodies connected in a way that felt transcendent.

As we collapsed together, breathless and spent, I couldn’t help but smile. In that moment, everything felt right. We were two souls intertwined, lost in the heat of desire and the sweetness of connection.

“Wow,” I managed to say, a laugh escaping my lips. “What just happened?”

Paige chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “Just a little magic,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And I think we should do it again.”

I grinned, my heart racing at the thought. “I’m all in.”

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 !

— pairing; malleus draconia x ramshackle! reader

— summary; you throw rocks at his window, malleus thinks you've come for a midnight rendezvous

— notes; idk what this is, it just came to me in a fever dream. please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s late at night, and you’re just about ready to call it a night and head to bed. But then you suddenly think: is there any History of Magic homework?

❋ For a fleeting moment, you consider texting Ace and Deuce. But considering how terrible the subject is at holding their attentions — and yours — it would be a wasted effort.

❋ And so, you decide that the next best option would be to trek to the dorm of a fae prince in the dead of night, stand below his window, and proceed to throw rocks to get his attention.

❋ Because that’s obviously what any sane person would do.

❋ But in your defence, he lives in a tower, and this was the best way you could think of to get his attention.

❋ Ever the night owl, Malleus hasn’t turned in for the night just yet. In fact, he’s completely engrossed in a thick tome when you hurl the first pebble up at his window.

❋ The sound in the otherwise silent room startles him at first, but then he peeks out the window and sees you standing below with a handful of stones, your beautiful features perfectly illuminated by the moonlight.

❋ And his heart melts.

❋ Truly, his Child of Man never ceases to surprise him. No one has ever been so bold, so daring, so romantic as to venture all the way to Diasomnia for him. Throwing pebbles at his window in the dead of night? He’s read about this in Lilia’s novels!

❋ The Great Malleus Draconia, one of the most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland, is now leaning on the windowsill, practically swooning.

❋ “How devoted,” he whispers to himself with a dreamy sigh, pushing open the window with a grand flourish, so that he might better take in the sight of his beloved.

❋ Meanwhile, you’re completely oblivious to his current train of thought. It’s freezing out here, and you just want a quick answer to your question before your fingers and toes fall off from the cold.

❋ “Malleus!” You whisper as quietly as you can, glancing nervously around as though you expect to see Sebek springing out at any moment to berate you for your transgressions. “Do we have any history homework?!”

❋ Silence.

❋ Malleus blinks once. Twice. He’s momentarily taken aback, but then realisation dawns. This casual question must surely be a clever way of hiding your true feelings! Ah, they’re shy about their affection . . . How adorable. He says, “We do not. But if you wished to see me, you need only summon me in the future.”

❋ “I literally just threw rocks at your window —”

❋ “It was lovely.”

❋ After that, Malleus starts to leave his window open every night, just in case you feel the urge to throw more rocks. He even enchants the area so the rocks won’t chip the glass . . . Purely a precaution for his beloved’s romantic tendencies.

[raytoelicker]

xii. aneurysm (written work)

“Goodluck, [Name]!” Hu tao waved the fuck out with the biggest enthusiasm in her voice, and in return, you gave a genial smile with all the underlying of malice in it.

In retrospect, it was a harmless inside joke between the two of you to say, ‘goodluck’ to the other when parting ways; and usually, you never really give a crap about it. Hell, might even slip a laugh here and then. But now?

God, that shitty ‘goodluck’ only has one implication that is the standing elephant in the room.

Said elephant also has the appearance of a snarky little twink with grape hair. You might have flipped her off if it weren't for the influx of people gathering in the gates.

You just don't fucking get it! Usually, usually, in societal norms, it's completely within the ethical law to not piss off others for the sake of lousy jollity.

Well, not necessarily, but it's still so wrong. And so far in your life, people have been respectful enough to not push buttons, and not prod shit they shouldn't even prod at.

But..

Your palm stings under the vice grip you have on your backpack as you stomp at one of the leafs under your feet.

That fucking absolute asshole? The one that goes by the name of Fucking Raiden Scaramouche? God.

You're practically convinced you live in a fictional world where ethical laws are considered as a gag joke in the author’s goddamn hell of a mind.

Just when you thought that maybe, maybe after the whole two days of working with Scaramouche in that café would ease down the hatred running your rivalry, but no. Of course not.

It got fucking worse.

Scaramouche expressing odious hatred is one thing, yeah. But him expressing spurious tolerance in the face of others while verbally battering at you? That's, so far, the worst.

The trees rustled, leaves sweeping along the breeze as you stopped in your tracks.

..Though, you suppose it is a good thing. Because as much as the others dub your dynamic as a ‘hell of a slow burn’, you actually don't think that the two of you will be able to get along at all. Not with these circumstances.

A long sigh left your lips as you glared down on a leaf that had fallen just right at the center of your eyesight.

It wouldn't be so bad. Yeah. It's just 4 hours on the shift with him. It's gonna be fucking okay.

–

And surprisingly with all your shitty luck combined, the universe seems to be fucking on your side today. Gracing you with all the blessings of pettiness it has to offer.

Because—

“I'll be supervising the both of you to see if you two are, indeed, fit for the job. Not that I'm underestimating both of you youngin’ abilities, of course,” your grandmother chuckles, sound low and grainy, meanwhile the nerves under your skin start to vibrate and an antagonistic thrill runs over your body, “I just need finalization to really put you on the Friday and Saturday job.”

And as your grandmother arranges all the papers necessary, a malicious grin reaches all the way to your face.

–

When the familiar sound of bell chimes echo in the interior at sharp 4:00PM, not even 30 minutes since the epiphany of the Holy Grail, you know exactly who arrived.

It's also then that the same malicious grin creeps to your face as you turn to the fuming man stomping all the way to the counter.

“You fuckasser! I told you this morning to leave your fucking doors unlocked—” he abruptly pauses, shock dawning on his face as his eyes set on to the person behind you, “.. oh. hey, granny.”

Nanny to granny, huh?

Silence stretched on as Scaramouche darted his two fucking eyes between you and one miniscule movement for the person, who, hopefully, is probably fuming right now, before a small smile rests on top of the Asshole’s lips.

An awfully sweet tone comes out, “ah, apologies for my crude manner. I.. had a rough day earlier.”

What.

The sound that comes out of your lips upon that.. godforsaken of an excuse is ugly and dirty. And just as you're about to look at your beloved grandmother and call out for his bullshit because it's so fucking obvious—

A chuckle.

Did I hear it wrong? You blinked. Are you having auditory hallucinations now?

Your skin rattled, blinking in a concerning amount for a split second before turning heads and—

What the living motherfucking fuck.

Your grandmother is absolutely having the time of her life believing the shittiest bullshit you've ever heard up to date.

What. The fuck.

For the 5 minutes that you tuned out and tuned in into, there's tidbits of them getting the fuck along by conversing about fucking flour of all shit, Scaramouche's disgustingly honey tone, and what the fuck!? He's a kind man!?

It's up to exactly 7 minutes of standing in absolute consternation that your grandmother takes the shitty pleasure of forcing you into the conversation by putting her wrinkly and soft hand on your bicep, just resting there. “I'm sure the both of you will get along, right, dear?”

It's not gonna be fucking okay.

–

Okay, nevermind. You're absolutely gonna be okay.

A wheeze comes out of the corner as you grasp on the cup perched over the counter and oh my god, did he just fucking bump into me again!?

“Stop bumping into me!”

“You're bumping into me, ass–” a snarl, a hiss, a whatever sound is he even making, “assarita’s stinky as–butthole!”

Another wheeze as you froze, clutching onto the cup in white knuckles before an ugly, “pftft” resonated in the space between you and the Asshole. Your grandmother cackles in the corner, conversing with a regular, “doesn’t he have a lot of strange monikers for my dearest?”

Strange monikers. You snorted again.

Three hours of watching Scaramouche suffer.

Familiar thrill rushes to your nerves like high-blood and you chuckle pettily to the man beside you while handing over the wrinkled cup to an oblivious young lady, “how's that for Mr. Polite, huh? Strange monikers, how adorable.”

Silently and slowly, his gaze flickered to you, a recognizable challenging glint in them as his lips tugged into a smirk you knew too well, “how adorable of you to also get 89 in a physics test you swore to beat me over, huh, fruitcake?”

Okay, fuck him.

“Haha, is that so?” You viciously clicked at the button, coffee dripping slowly into the cup, “at least I don't look constipated but I guess that's just me, right?”

Again, sweet tone that you fucking hate, “you’ve been eyeing that guy for awhile, haven't you? You should date him.”

The second to the last word is loud.

So, so loud in such a deliberate way. Your face burns.

“What!?” a few hollers in shock.

Again, your face burns.

“No! No! It's not—” a snicker just right beside you as another customer was tended to, “it’s not like that! I'm not interested in him! I don't even know him!”

Said student tilts his head at an exact 45° degree, probably having not heard of your wailing and flailing.

As you writhe uselessly under the whimsy teasings and coos, your grandmother, who finally got the situation after having same regular explain to her, speaks up in genuine fucking confusion and curiosity, “oh? I thought you and Scaramouche here were dating?”

And-

Your world crashes the fuck down. You were absolutely not going to be fucking okay.

What the fuck.

The color drained from your face way too fast, knees feeling weak as the air from your lungs constricted.

What the fuck? Is that why grandma adored the asshole? Because she thought–

She thought that you adored and loved him all the same!?

You whipped your head abruptly, hearing a few cracks but that shouldn't matter because–

“Perhaps,” he smirked, eyeing you with a glint.

And, nevermind that, what's more is that–holy shit. Holy shit!?

Is the idiot actually fucking agreeing. Like, as in, fucking agreeing that, yes, they are fucking dating as if you don't have a fucking hate page for him? Are these people being serious right now?

Because what the fuck. Perhaps? Perhaps???

Holy shit, you're actually going to commit murder and it would be in front of your beloved grandmother.

“We're not dating,” you wobbly smile at the regulars, who don't seem to be convinced with how barely restrained the corners of your lips are.

Thank fuck for your grandmother though, for believing words as they are though because goddamn, “oh? really? apologies haha, so, you two are good friends, yes?”

An expectant shine in her eyes as she smiled. Snickers to the side as they eye you with a mockery of, ‘yeah, totally not dating.’

And good friends? God, what a joke.

You sent a split-second glance to the unusually quiet twink beside you; eyes distant and face devoid of its usual scowl.

Weird.

“Something like that,” you awkwardly chuckled, swallowing the bile rising up to your sternum before perking up in hopes to change the motherfucking topic, “but, uh. I think it's our break–”

A brief glance over the clock. 6:27PM. 3 minutes before your break, but who gives a fuck, anyways.

“Yep! Break time, indeed. I'll see you guys later!” You rushed to the door, completely forgetting to put the damn ‘On break’ sign on the counter, before you felt a cold hand grasp on your wrist just right on the doorway.

And you're abruptly turned to a pair of violet eyes and a pleading. Pleading—what?

“Fucking—” a tentative split second pause, “date me.”

Then, your world crashes down again.

You might have thought that hearing those words would lead to a Shoujo Manga setting with all the flowery background and shitty bubbles and shitty blurred surroundings and shitty soft tone–but, no.

What leads, instead, is a fucking punch to the stomach and the shriek that comes out of it.

“What the fuc–”

“If you think you can get whatever the fuck you want with your bullshit, then fuck off. If you pull that shit on me again,” you viciously glared down at the Asshole, “I swear you're not making out of this alive.”

A broken snort.

“Oh, piss off, fruitcake. You ain't intimidating.”

“I don't give a shit if you think I'm intimidating or not. Whatever we have is purely rivalry. Nothing more, nothing less.” And exhale, inhale, exhale– “So whatever bullshit like rivals to lovers you’re planning with me; just.. shut up about it.”

Silence stretched on. Ticking minutes and so.

Then, he looked away, and with a muffled voice, “fuck. just when I thought it would work.”

What?

Your gut squirms. Stomach flipping over like a damn pancake.

Holy shit. Don't tell me.. he actually likes me? What the fuck? Wait, hold on. It makes sense now! That's why he was acting so fucking flirty. Hu and the others were right?? But, then again. No fucking way, he definitely hates me, doesn't he—

You shivered, hoping to fucking ask him to expand only for him to stand up, shove you by the shoulders and then roughly hold you by same shoulders that's suddenly fucking tense, “I don't fucking like you, dipshit. Get your head out of the gutter. I need to fucking stay here for long, and what I mean by long is a fucking long, long time.”

He inhaled, sound sharp, “I figured that maybe being a suck-up to your shitty granny would help in making me stay longer, but fuck.”

Your shoulders sagged under white knuckles, watching him, your rival of two years, grit his teeth in defeat.

And, god.

This defeat was weird. Weird in a way that was helpless, and hopeless. Not in the way you knew all about him when it came to that word; challenging and thrilling. Vibrating with the incessant need to win the next time. Always making sworn promises afterwards to conquer stupid triumphs next time.

And fuck, you just realized, you can't believe that your first ever real conversation with the Asshole is happening in the same damn hall you caught your grandparents doing the nasty.

You gulped, feeling your heart race as the hands on your shoulders loosened, “I won't fire you.”

His hands tightened once again as he turned to you, genuine perplexion on his annoyingly pale face, “what?”

“Deaf much? I said I won't fire you,” you crossed your arms, peering over at him with a pounding heartbeat, “I don't pity you for that shitshow earlier, by the way. I didn't even think about firing you, so I don't even know where you got that idea from.”

He blinked, the familiar taut of downward muscles pulling onto his face, “the fuck you mean? You didn't even think about firing me? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“Yeah,” you snicker, slapping his hands from your shoulder, “you were freaking out over nothing like an idiot.”

He opens his mouth but you beat him to it, finally looking at him square in the eye as your heart beats in tandem of your voice, “and workers here last a long time anyway because my grandmother likes them. And unfortunately for me, she likes you too.”

6:45PM. It's been 15 minutes. Your heart calms down in the meanwhile. It takes a while though, because you're staring at fucking purple. And shit, it's so fucking ugly your heart is considering it as a danger alert–

“So, I just.. freaked out over nothing infront of you,” he bluntly states.

“Yeah,” a snort came out of your lips before being replaced with a gasp, “damn, I wish I recorded it!”

Irked, he dragged a hand over his face, groaning out a, “Ugh, fuck off! Goddamn, I shouldn't have done that. Shit, I hate you so much.”

“Likewise, you asshole,” you shrugged with a smirk, absolutely relishing in the fact that he was flustered.

“Fuck off! Where's your fucking dinner?” He turned to you, teeth bared and body tense as if he was a cat hissing at you to get the fuck away.

Ha, cat. Cat..

“...You don't get to—”

“Yeah, no. Piss off,” the same cold wraps around your wrist once again, “you're not keeling over until this shift fucking ends. And we're equals now in crashing out, you fucking fruitcake.”

He paused, a victorious ugly smirk growing on his goddamn shitty ugly face.

“..Now that I think about it, you crash out more than me. So, that means..” a disgusting, ugly fucking smile, “..one out of four, dipshit.”

Okay, fuck him and his stupid pettiness.

You snapped your wrist from his—gentle?? soft??—hold, “shut up! at least I don't look pathetic begging for their rival to date him!”

“I don't even fucking like you!?” “Still asked me to,” you scoffed, “what a playboy.”

“I don't even fuck with girls?”

…

Long dramatic pause as a shocking yet not really surprising realization dawns on you, “are you actually fucking gay?”

And another dramatic, comical deadpan as he narrowed his eyes, “no, you fucking shithole. I meant that I've never fucked around with girls.”

“Oh, right. So shocking. I'm so sweeped over by the feet. Oh, what could I ever do with that.. jackshit of information!?”

He rolled his eyes, turning away from you as you perched on one of the stools, “I don't know. I'm not the one who fucking asked. ‘Sides, ever heard of fuckass blackmail? Hello?”

“Yeah,” a scoff left your lips, “with the way you proudly said you don't fuck with girls makes it truly blackmail worthy.”

Unbeknownst to you, a cheeky grin spread over his face as he scurried around the cabinets, probably looking for food as to what he promised just moments ago, “oh? I was just letting you know, though. Maybe, you'd like it if I was single.”

The undeniable sting in your throat makes its home as you grimaced, “god, you're such a horrible fucking matchmaker. first, it was that guy who was just innocently eating and now you? ew.”

Scaramouche snickers, the sound evil, “mind you, I'm the best fucking guy to be with. You should be lucky I even asked you to date me.”

“I feel the unluckiest. My bile thinks so too.”

“Liar–” he cut himself off, the rattling becoming a little louder, “also why the motherfuck do you not have any food here!?”

Your eyes imperceptibly widen at the same time as your brows furrowed.

“..I don't eat that much.”

A hideous grimace twisted his pale facd, oblivious of your internal freakout, “well, tell granny i’m going out for food then.”

What. The fuck?

There's approximately 15 minutes left before both of your break ends, and what the fuck does he mean he's going for food? What the fuck?

You narrowed your eyes at the Asshole who's currently fucking counting his damn rich paper moneys infront of you, “why the fuck are you even buying me food anyways? do I owe you something?”

He chuckles, mean and low, “No way. Just doing it ‘cause I pity you.”

A psuedo gag.

“So dramatic,” so he says as he rolls his eyes, heading towards the doorway.

“Think of it as..” he placed one finger on his chin, faking contemplation before sticking his tongue out at you except this one's not.. exactly mean, “think of it as my gratitude for letting me stay in this shitty café.”

Then, he's out the door. Just like that.

(You took a short moment to mentally note the fact that he had gone outside; which means he was going to take longer than the break time curfew. Which then leads to you having to tell your grandmother that her shitty little pissy went scavenging for food.)

“Gratitude gift,” you murmured in disbelief.

..Well, nevertheless if this day ended great or not, with the way he had uttered the name, “fruitcake” with so much disdain proves that at least, at least he wasn't serious in asking you out nor did it answer the question whether he liked you or not because, frankly?

You would never want to know what it would feel like to be asked out or worse: loved by a bastard like him.

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi, @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - lying is the most fun a girl can have with taking her clothes off by panic! at the disco

• LETS HAVE TEEN HEARTS BEAT FASTER FASTER SO TESTOSTERONE BOYS AND HARLEY QUIN GIRLS if orgot the lyics

authors' notes - gonna disappear off of the face of earth rn

(ask to be added or removed)

[robin-evry]

Heyy how are you doing? Anyways when l read the kiana reader post. I feel like nahida o

I'm good thank you for showing concern

𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 🌿🧠

Lesser Lord Kusanali dwells deep in the Sanctuary of Surasthana, and has never really been in the limelight, nor has she even been mentioned much. Her burden is heavy, but though she may experience loneliness, and though darkness is all she sees before her, she will not stop moving forward.

The new guardian of the tree of life, the reader is not part of any pantheon the gods would consider them as an outer god basically a god that wasn't mentioned in any mythology in Earth's history.

The Tree of Life is an ancient, primordial entity that predates even the gods. It is the source of all life, dreams, and wisdom, existing beyond the cycle of creation and destruction. While many gods claim dominion over life, they only shape what the Tree of Life allows to exist. it records every action, choice, and consequence of the universe holding the secrets of the universe even the gods aren't aware of.

Reader is a divine being who predates many of the gods in Valhalla, existing since the dawn of creation. The Tree of Life, which they are bound to, is said to be the source of wisdom and vitality in the universe.

The original guardian sacrificed themselves and from the branch of the tree gave birth towards the reader, the reader is the avatar of the tree and works as its guardian protecting it as well as nurturing it making sure knowledge would be spread around.

During their free time they would visit the dreams of humans and spend time with them, as well protecting them from nightmares and giving blessings towards them, most people who receive their blessing are granted with wealth and become scholars.

They are neither fully aligned with the gods nor humans, but rather with the balance of life itself. To them, Ragnarok is an unnatural disruption of the cycle, but they do not interfere unless necessary.

They view the gods to be overly arrogant, they are convinced themselves they are invisible meanwhile nahida! reader fully knows the truth that they themselves cannot escape fate and soon believe another species would take control of the heavens. Similar to the cycle of titans and gods.

Their presence nurtures life—wherever they go, flowers bloom, and dying trees regain their vitality. Some gods mistake this for a harmless trait, unaware of the immense power it signifies.

Often found in a garden-like domain outside of Valhalla, where reality shifts between dream and waking. The place serves as a sanctuary for them and the aranaras.

The Aranara are small, plant-like spirits born from the dreams of nature itself, residing within Reader’s sacred domain in Valhalla. They are fragments of the Tree of Life’s will, acting as its protectors and messengers. Each one represents different aspects of the natural cycle—growth, decay, renewal, and dreams.

In some ways the aranaras are the leafs meanwhile the reader is the branch and roots of the tree of life.

The tree of life holds knowledge about everything of the universe living beings, humans, primordial gods it holds records since the start and before the rule of the gods. And the reader is able to bend this knowledge meaning they have the capability to remove the authority of the gods as well erasing their existence.

By this knowledge most of Valhalla are weary of them even fear them being afraid that if they manage to anger them the reader would remove the authority of them stripping them from their title.

Even the most powerful gods fully know they are nothing compared towards their authority instead they respect the reader as well as having a political alliance with them, the reader would still be considered a neutral side they are only loyal towards duty not evil or good.

[shusha520]

SPRING DAWN AU

(maybe it's a little spoiler?)

"My king" 16+

"What's a Shihou?"

Macaque cooed softly. Mihou's claws gently stroked under the golden-fur monkey's chin, a sweet shiver went down his spine

"Or should I call you Sun Wukong, huh?" — Macaque whispered languidly in his ear.

Wukong's face fell in shock

"How are you?!"

" Oh, you don't even deny it, as usual?" - Macaque grinned, - "well, they don't call me the six-eared Macaque for nothing, silly."

Shihou Sun Wukong frowned, his whole body tensed, noticing this Macaque let out a soft laugh.

"Peaches, don't worry, I won't tell anyone, but to be honest, you're a disgusting actor. I still can't figure out how our friends didn't figure out who you are, although the idea of asking your general to adopt your appearance is quite ingenious, haha," Mac gently stroked Wukong's cheek.

" Wait! Did you find out even then!?"

"Well, not right away, but consider that that call was the starting point. And then... And then there were many other clues. Well, after comparing the facts, I decided that you are Sun Wukong, the monkey king, who is hiding it, and invented the name Shihou."

" I'm not..."

" Not what?" - ask Macaque

Shihou exhaled loudly - "The name Shihou, it's not made up.... It's... That's the name my foster mom gave me." - Wukong awkwardly rubbed his neck, looking away.

"Oh, oh, that's... that's.. . It's cute, really" - Macaque bent down to his ear again - "but now the question arises" - warm breath tickled Wukong's ear, he shuddered a little when Macaque gently ran his finger to his ear.

"How should I call you? M? Maybe... My king ~?"— The hand that had been resting on Shihou's chest slowly slid down. Wukong felt how Macaque's lips touching his ear, causing him to abruptly push the dark monkey away. His whole face was completely red. The golden eyes frantically darted from side to side

" Ah... uh... ah! What is it!?" — Shihou shouted sharply, pointing his finger somewhere to the side. Macaque turned irritably in the direction his friend was pointing, but there was nothing there. When he returned, the place where Shihou was standing was empty, but he noticed a cloud flying fast in the sky. What a cheap trick. The dark ape's pupils contracted into a snap. Are you avoiding my advances, Monkey King? The Macaque's lips stretched into a smug smile. Don't even think about running away from me, Shihou~

Soon his contract will be over, but Macaque decided not to wait and already start caring for him. Yes, they did agree that as long as the contract was valid, he and Shihou couldn't be more than friends, but... Shihou is so charming, the more Macaque got to know him, the more he wanted to appropriate him for himself.

And since Shihou, that is, the infamous Monkey King Sun Wukong, pretends to be a demon, then the courtship was demonic. Hmm, maybe he should mix courtship? Still, Wukong is considered a celestial monkey. In any case, Wukong clearly cares about him.

A soft warmth filled his chest as Macaque remembered all those awkward attempts by the Monkey king to hide his courtship under a friendly gesture. Oh, Warrior wouldn't even be surprised if Wukong wasn't aware of his actions. He's so cute. That he want to ruin him. Make him tremble with pleasure so that Wukong forgets all the words except his, Macaque, name, Macaque wonder how sweetly Shihou will moan under him?

Meanwhile, Sun Wukong, who has never had a relationship in his long immortal life, is dying of embarrassment on his cloud:

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 06 Chapter 06 | carnage⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The dawn of the contest day broke over Ithaca, painting the sky in hues of rose and gold, as the tension within the palace walls thickened like a storm gathering on the horizon.

You were on your way to the great hall with a satchel swinging by your side, carrying your lyre, when muffled sounds drew your attention to a small, unused closet down the corridor.

Thunk.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you hesitated only a moment before pulling the door open.

There, you found Cleo in a compromising position with Antinous.

His clothes were disheveled, the buttons on his tunic partially undone, and Cleo's chiton was slipping from her shoulders. Their faces were flushed, and her lips were swollen and glistening.

Marks adorned Cleo's neck, a telling sign of the moments they'd just shared.

Cleo was the first to notice you, her eyes widening in panic. She hastily pushed against Antinous, her voice stuttering as she said your name, "_____."

You felt your expression blank, your lips pressing into a thin line as you took a step back, lowering your gaze. Without looking directly at either of them, you spoke curtly, "The contest will begin soon. It would be wise to head to the Great Hall."

Antinous adjusted his tunic, a smirk tugging as he gave you a small bow of his head, his eyes raking over your form with a brazen intensity. "Thank you," he muttered, his tone dripping with smugness.

With one last lingering glance, he turned and swaggered off, his back quickly disappearing around the corner.

Cleo, meanwhile, frantically tried to fix her appearance, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A flustered giggle escaped her as she straightened her hair, attempting to regain her composure.

For a brief moment, you battled with yourself—considering whether to warn her to leave while she still could, to spare her the fate that awaited those who chose the wrong side.

But you held your tongue.

Especially when she nudged you lightly with her elbow, her voice carrying a hint of hesitancy despite her laughter as she said, "You should really loosen up, you know. I mean it, ____. Sometimes I wonder if you're not just wasting your youth—loyalty to a kingdom that may not even be the same by the end of today..." Her smile faltered, her words heavier than her usual teasing tone.

You stared at her, your expression unchanging, though your eyes hardened slightly. "I wonder if wasting one's youth might be better than spending it on someone who doesn't see past the moment." The words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them, a small shard of judgment bleeding through your usually calm demeanor.

Cleo's face flushed deeper, a mixture of shame and embarrassment crossing her features.

For a moment, she looked as if she might argue, but instead, her lips pressed into a tight scowl. She glared at you, her eyes narrowing with a spark of frustration.

"I don't get you sometimes," she added, her voice tinged with both frustration and a weariness that seemed to have been building over time. "You never let yourself live a little. It's like you're always on guard, always distant... and it's exhausting to watch, honestly."

Your eyes narrowed at her words, and your voice came out sharper than before. "Maybe it's because I see what happens when people let their guard down, Cleo. Look around you. The stakes are higher than they've ever been. We don't have the luxury of throwing caution to the wind."

Cleo's gaze faltered, her face flushing in deeper embarrassment, and she scowled with a cross of her arms. "Oh? And I suppose Prince Telemachus would agree with you?" Her voice held a bite now, her irritation surfacing fully.

The mention of Telemachus was no longer just a joke—it felt like a barb, a deliberate attempt to wound.

For the first time, her words stung, and you could feel your composure waver, a pang of something sharp twisting inside you. Your hand twisted around the rope of the bag, fingers curling tightly as if seeking a way to channel the restlessness bubbling just beneath the surface.

"This isn't about the prince," you snapped, taking a step back, your eyes glinting with a rare edge of anger. "This is about survival, Cleo. For all of us. You might think I'm distant, that I'm cold, but I would rather be that than blind to what's really happening."

Instead of trying to listen, Cleo's scowl deepened, her lips curving downwards in irritation. She huffed out a dismissive "whatever," before straightening up, her shoulders tensing. "I'm about to go watch the suitors warm up with the rest of the servant girls," she said, her tone dripping with defiance. "If you ever decide to get off your high horse, you're welcome to join us."

With that, she turned and sauntered away, her shoulders squared in frustration.

You watched her go, her form disappearing down the corridor, before you let out a shuddering breath.

You lifted your gaze upwards, the ceiling above seeming to stretch endlessly, and muttered softly, "Gods, please give me strength," before continuing your way to the contest.

As you entered the grand dining hall, you found yourself impressed by the change.

The sun filtered in through the high windows, casting a golden light over the space, illuminating the dust particles that danced in the air.

Only the suitors and a few servants were milling about, their hushed conversations and tense laughter creating a charged atmosphere.

Unlike the grand events that were usually publicized to the whole kingdom, this one seemed cloaked in a strange intimacy, a finality that made it feel more sacred.

The once opulent room had been stripped of its familiar trappings; the grand dining table and chairs were all removed, leaving a vast open space.

Twelve large wooden boxes had been set up, each marked with a target, waiting for the archery contest that would decide the fate of Ithaca.

The air felt different; a heavy anticipation settled like a blanket over everyone present.

The suitors, standing a few feet away, were warming up.

Some were shirtless, their muscles taut as they stretched; others wore serious expressions as they prepared themselves for the challenge ahead.

Their bodies glistened with sweat, and there was an undercurrent of competition among them—some laughed loudly, trying to mask their nerves, while others moved in silence, their focus unwavering.

A glimpse towards the kitchen door revealed Cleo and a few other familiar servant girls giggling and ogling the suitors, their eyes wide with a mix of shyness and excitement.

They stood partially hidden, peeking out with smiles and exchanged whispers, as if this were some kind of entertainment meant just for them.

Further off, you even spotted the disguised Odysseus, his posture deceptively relaxed as he observed every movement within the hall.

He was studying them, the men who dared to take over his household.

Swiftly and quietly, you made your way to your designated spot.

Unlike last night, you were placed higher up, just two feet away at the foot of the Queen's seat, allowing you to see the entire contest unfold in its fullness. It was a vantage point that made it impossible for you to miss a single detail.

Turning slightly, your gaze flicked back towards Penelope's empty seat; it loomed above you, the polished wood catching the sunlight, a symbol of her resilience and her endless waiting.

A pang of unease twisted in your chest as you wondered if she would be able to handle the events that were about to unfold.

Would she be able to bear it when the truth was finally revealed?

The weight of it all pressed down on your shoulders—the suitors, Odysseus, Telemachus, even Penelope herself.

You wondered if her grace would hold, or if the years of anguish would finally break free when the moment of reckoning arrived.

As you knelt down to tune your lyre, a shadow suddenly fell across you.

"Good morning, ____." You looked up, and there he was—Prince Telemachus. A soft, sweet smile graced his face, his eyes warm as they met yours.

It was the kind of smile that could light up the darkest corners of your heart, one filled with reassurance and kindness.

The sight of him made your heart skip for just a moment, but as you looked into his eyes, Cleo's words suddenly echoed in your mind.

...Oh? And I suppose Prince Telemachus would agree with you?...

The insinuations, the teasing remarks about the prince—they hit you all at once.

The smile faltered on your lips, and you found yourself looking back down at the strings of your lyre, focusing on adjusting the tune rather than meeting his gaze. "Good morning, Prince Telemachus."

Telemachus' brows furrowed, concern creasing his features. He shifted to squat down beside you, his eyes searching your face. "Hey," he said softly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the commotion in the hall, "what's wrong? You seem... distant." There was a genuine note of worry there, as if he could sense that something was off.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. "Oh, it's nothing, my prince," you lied, keeping your tone light. "I'm just a bit nervous about today, that's all." You tried to make the smile a bit brighter, hoping to reassure him.

His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension visibly easing from his posture. He let out a small sigh of relief, his lips curving into a smile that mirrored the sweetness from before. "There's nothing to be nervous about," he assured you, his voice gentle. "Everything is going to be alright."

You noticed the way his hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out and touch yours, his fingers moving ever so slightly before he hesitated, ultimately letting his hand drop to his side.

The gesture, or rather the hesitation, made your heart race just a tad bit faster.

Before either of you could say more, the double doors of the grand hall were pushed open with a loud creak. The announcer's voice rang out clearly, "Her Majesty, Queen Penelope."

All eyes turned towards the entrance, and you followed suit, your breath catching slightly at the sight.

Penelope stepped into the hall, her head held high, her expression calm but resolute.

The morning light streamed in behind her, illuminating her like a figure out of legend. Her veil was gone, her face fully visible—a deliberate choice, perhaps, to show her strength and confidence. Her dark hair was neatly braided, her gown flowing elegantly around her as she moved forward with purpose.

There was a dignity in the way she walked, her steps measured, her gaze unwavering as it swept across the room, taking in the suitors, her son, and the entire setting that would determine her fate.

Her eyes held a quiet intensity, and you could see the years of pain, hope, and resilience reflected in them.

She was ready, whatever the outcome might be.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at her poise, even as that unease continued to twist in your chest.

She had borne so much—far more than anyone should have to—and yet here she was, standing tall, ready to face whatever came next.

Penelope stepped forward, her gaze sweeping across the room, her voice carrying the weight of both authority and something far more personal. She began, "Today is a day for truth, for decisions long delayed." Her voice was calm, yet it resonated throughout the hall, commanding everyone's attention. "For twenty years, my household has waited, and now, it is time to see who among you is worthy."

She turned her head slightly, her eyes resting on the head servant. "Bring forth the bow."

Two servants stepped forward, bowing deeply before leaving the room.

Moments later, they returned, carefully carrying a large chest between them.

The chest was adorned in Ithaca's colors—deep ocean blue and forest green, with intricate gold designs etched into its surface.

It was a chest that demanded respect, one that held not just an object but a legacy.

Penelope approached it, her hands brushing over the top before she slowly and gracefully opened the lid.

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath as she pulled back the chest's top, revealing the bow of Odysseus.

It was a magnificent weapon—crafted from polished horn, its limbs strong and powerful.

The bow was large, and even at rest, it carried an aura of strength, a testament to the man who had wielded it. The gold detailing shimmered in the sunlight, and the string lay coiled neatly, waiting for a hand skilled enough to draw it taut.

The sight of the bow was almost otherworldly—the embodiment of Odysseus' strength, the kind of weapon that could only belong to a hero.

"This bow," she began, her voice echoing through the hall, "was not just a tool of battle. It was the pride of Odysseus, my husband, gifted from the legendary archer, Iphitus, son of Eurytus, as a token of their friendship."

Her eyes softened, her gaze drifting, almost as if she could see Odysseus standing there, beside her. She paused, a faint smile curving her lips as she continued.

"It is a symbol of his unmatched skill, his wisdom, his courage. None but he could wield it, and none but he could string it with such ease." Her voice grew softer, as if she were no longer addressing the suitors but speaking to a memory. "It is the bow of a true king, a true protector of Ithaca—of our people, our home."

There was a pause, the weight of her words sinking into the silent hall.

The suitors shifted uncomfortably, as though some of them began to understand that this was no mere contest—it was a testament, a challenge meant for a man of true worth.

Penelope's eyes lingered on the bow before she looked up again, her expression composed, though a flicker of something more—grief, hope, love—remained behind her gaze.

"This contest, therefore, is not merely to decide who shall take my hand," she said, her voice carrying a firmness that left no room for argument. "It is to determine who among you, if any, possesses the strength and honor to stand where my husband once stood. It is to prove that Ithaca shall have a protector worthy of its people."

She lifted her head, her eyes sweeping across the gathered men, meeting each of their gazes in turn, unflinching and calm. "Whoever can string this bow and shoot an arrow cleanly through the twelve axeheads I have set shall have my hand in marriage and shall take their place as the ruler of Ithaca."

For a heartbeat, the hall was silent, the weight of her declaration hanging heavily in the air.

There was no mistaking the quiet plea beneath her strength, though—her desire for someone truly worthy, for someone who could step into the place Odysseus had left. And as she spoke, you could feel the challenge in her words; it wasn't only a test of skill but a measure of heart, of worth, of loyalty.

For a moment, you saw the vulnerability in her eyes, the way her whole history with Odysseus seemed to ripple through the air; her voice softened when she spoke of Odysseus, and you understood.

The bow was a fragment of him, a piece of her husband, and this contest was more than a show—it was her last chance to find someone who could live up to that memory.

After her declaration, she nodded once, her expression hardening once again.

Penelope then cleared her throat and addressed the suitors directly, her voice calm but resolute, "I will not be witnessing this contest. Instead, I will retire to my chambers. May you all show honor and skill today." She dipped her head in a small, graceful bow and added, "I wish you all the best of luck."

As she turned to leave, her eyes landed on you, gaze softening. "Please, play something cheerful," she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the silence of the hall. "Let the suitors' spirits be lifted by your music."

You nodded, bowing your head respectfully. "Of course, my Queen," you answered.

You watched her leave, her elegant form moving through the hall with grace, while Eurycleia scurried behind her, her steps quick in an effort to keep pace with her queen.

Positioning the lyre comfortably in your hands, you took a deep breath, your fingers gently brushing the strings, bringing forth a bright, lively tune. The sound danced lightly through the still air, weaving around the tension and unease, bringing with it a sense of warmth and energy.

It was a piece meant to uplift, to inspire courage—even if, in your heart, you felt the unease of what was to come.

As the music echoed through the hall, the suitors began to step forward. But before any of them could make a move, Telemachus himself stepped up to take the bow. His approach was confident, his shoulders squared, his chin lifted high.

There was a murmur among the crowd, a collective intake of breath as Telemachus stood before them, his hands resting on the bow.

You watched the prince, understanding why he chose to compete.

Telemachus was not just trying to prove his worth—he was making a statement to the suitors, reminding them that he, too, was a contender, not someone to be overlooked.

Telemachus took the bow in his hands, and the room fell silent, all eyes fixed on him. He tested the string, his muscles straining as he attempted to draw it.

You could see the tension in his posture, the way his brow furrowed in concentration. He tried once, then twice, the wood creaking faintly under his hands.

On his third attempt, his knuckles turned white as he pulled with all his strength, and for a moment, it seemed like he might actually succeed.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath, the anticipation thick in the air. But then, Telemachus glanced towards the back of the room, his gaze catching on something—or someone.

There, leaning against the wall, Odysseus, gave his son a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Telemachus let out a breath and relaxed his grip, stepping back with a nod.

He turned towards the suitors, offering a small, almost playful smile. "I suppose it's not my time yet," he said lightly, though the challenge was clear beneath his words.

He handed the bow back, his gaze moving across the suitors, his expression challenging. There was no mistaking his message—he was his father's son, and his strength and skill were not to be underestimated.

The suitors shuffled, their expressions wary. The prince's near success had shown them all that this was no ordinary contest, that this was no easy feat to accomplish.

Odysseus' eyes flickered with pride as he watched his son step back and make his way back to his mother's chair; settling himself down to watch the contest with clear eyes.

The suitors were strong, yes—but none of them had the true heart of Ithaca.

Though, for now, they would proceed as planned, allowing each suitor to attempt the impossible task, to let them fail and reveal their weakness.

It was all part of the ruse, the careful disguise, the setup.

And now, the stage was set.

The suitors would each have their turn, each of them about to face the impossible task before them, while Odysseus and his allies waited, the true challenge still ahead.

The first suitor, Leodes, approached the bow, a confident swagger in his step that belied his nervousness.

He grasped the bow with both hands, his face flushing slightly as he tried to string it. The bow barely budged under his efforts, his face turning a shade redder with each attempt.

Frustration contorted his features as he strained, his muscles trembling with the effort.

With a grunt, he finally gave up, stepping back with a scowl, his confidence visibly shattered.

Another suitor, Elatus, took his turn next.

He approached with a bravado that masked his growing doubt. He spat on his hands, rubbed them together, and then took hold of the bow.

He pulled at it, his jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together in effort. His movements became more desperate with each passing moment, his hands slipping against the polished wood.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he strained, his bravado fading quickly.

After several attempts, he let out a frustrated growl and stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief.

Finally, it was Antinous' turn.

The blonde stood up, his eyes narrowed, a determined set to his jaw.

The room seemed to quiet even more, a collective anticipation hanging thick in the air.

He moved with deliberate steps, his shoulders squared, his head held high as though the weight of the room's expectation rested on him alone.

Antinous took the bow, his fingers brushing over the polished wood, his lips curling into a self-assured smile. He gripped it tightly, planting his feet, his muscles rippling beneath his tunic as he pulled.

For a moment, it seemed he might succeed—his arms flexed, the bow groaned slightly, bending just enough to spark a glimmer of hope among his allies.

But then, the strain began to show.

Antinous' face reddened, the cords of his neck standing out as he grit his teeth. He shifted his stance, trying to use his full body weight to pull the bowstring back, but it refused to comply.

His frustration grew, a vein pulsing visibly at his temple.

He gave a sharp, guttural yell as he pulled one last time, but the bow remained stubborn, unyielding.

The room held its breath, watching as Antinous' confidence slowly ebbed away, replaced by an ugly scowl.

His face flushed with both exertion and the sting of public failure. He threw the bow down onto the table with a loud clatter, a sneer twisting his lips. "This is impossible!" he spat, his voice dripping with irritation. He shot a glare at the other suitors, as if daring them to laugh.

The other suitors shifted uncomfortably, none of them daring to meet his eye. The silence in the hall was thick, the tension growing as each suitor came face to face with their own inadequacy.

The bow had proven to be more than a mere weapon—it was a testament to strength, a test that none of them could pass.

From your place, you watched the suitors' failures, each attempt underscoring their unworthiness. Their arrogance, their sense of entitlement, all fell away when faced with the challenge they couldn't meet.

It was becoming clear to everyone in the room—these men, for all their posturing, were not the equal of Odysseus, nor even his son.

In the corner of the room, Odysseus remained leaning against the wall, his eyes keen as he observed each failure, his expression betraying nothing.

But you could see the flicker of satisfaction in his gaze, the small, almost imperceptible nods as each suitor faltered.

It was all going according to plan, and the true test had yet to begin.

Finally, as the last suitor made his failed attempt, Odysseus, still in disguise, stepped forward, his expression humble as he approached the bow.

He bowed his head slightly to Telemachus, his voice carrying across the tense silence of the room. "I beg you, my prince, let me have a try. I know I am but a beggar, but I would be honored to hold a weapon of such greatness."

The suitors erupted, voices rising in disbelief and anger.

"Are you sick in the head?"

"A beggar? How dare he even ask?"

"Surely he's joking."

Antinous, still flushed from his recent failure, scoffed loudly, his eyes narrowing. "What nerve!" he spat, his hand motioning dismissively. "You think a beggar like you could even hope to lift the bow, let alone string it?"

The others muttered in agreement. It was as if they feared the humiliation of even allowing him to try, the risk that he might succeed too shameful to bear.

But before their protests could grow too loud, Telemachus raised his hand, silencing them. "He is a guest under my family's roof, and all guests deserve their chance." His eyes, filled with a quiet determination, swept across the suitors, daring any to oppose him. "If the beggar wishes to take part in this challenge, then so be it."

The suitors fell silent, begrudgingly stepping aside, unable to defy their hostess without risking public scorn.

Telemachus seized the moment, giving orders for the bow to be handed to the beggar.

With the prince's permission granted, Odysseus approached the bow. He moved slowly, his every movement deliberate, his eyes fixed on the weapon before him.

The suitors watched with skepticism, their expressions ranging from disdain to disbelief, and a few exchanged mocking smirks, unable to imagine this man succeeding where they had all failed.

You kept playing your lyre, the soft music filling the tense silence of the room. Yet even as your fingers plucked the strings, your gaze couldn't help but drift toward Odysseus, your breath caught in your chest.

You watched as he lifted the bow, his hands moving over it with a familiarity that spoke of years of practice, of ownership. He strung the bow effortlessly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

The bow made no protest—it yielded to him, as if it recognized its true master.

A collective gasp filled the hall, the suitors' mocking expressions replaced by wide eyes and parted lips; shock rippled through them, disbelief etched across their faces.

The great hall fell into a stunned silence, the only sound the faint hum of your music as the bowstring settled into place.

Telemachus, standing by, watched his father with pride that he could barely contain, a small smile pulling at his lips as he saw the reactions of the suitors. He moved with purpose, discreetly signaling to the few loyal servants positioned near the doors.

They nodded, moving swiftly to lock the exits, their movements unnoticed by the crowd, whose eyes were all fixed on Odysseus.

Odysseus stepped forward and, with steady hands, notched the first arrow. He let it loose with a sharp 'thwack,' the arrow piercing through the first of the twelve axeheads.

The room held its breath as he moved seamlessly to notch another arrow, his actions smooth and confident, as though he had done this countless times before.

You watched in awe, your fingers still instinctively playing the lyre, though the music had become mere background noise to the unfolding scene.

There was something mesmerizing in the way he handled it—like watching a legend step out of the shadows and come to life before your eyes.

The room seemed to fade around you, the music blending with the anticipation that gripped everyone present.

There, before your eyes, was the man you had heard countless stories about—the hero of Ithaca, displaying the strength and mastery that had made those tales immortal.

It was as if the years had fallen away, and you were witnessing Odysseus in his prime, every bit the warrior and king he was meant to be.

The sixth arrow flew through the air, and another axehead was split with a precision that seemed almost impossible, Odysseus moving with a grace and confidence that seemed almost otherworldly.

The silence in the hall deepened with each arrow that found its mark.

It was a silence heavy with tension, the kind that made the air feel thick and charged.

Every eye remained fixed on Odysseus, no one daring to speak, no one daring to even breathe too loudly, as if afraid that the smallest noise might shatter the spell that had been cast.

The suitors' faces were a mix of disbelief and something bordering on fear. They had mocked him, ridiculed the idea of a beggar even attempting the task. And now, with each arrow splitting through the axeheads, they were beginning to realize that something was very wrong.

A few of them exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions shifting from annoyance to a growing sense of unease. Nervous chuckles broke out among some of the men, a weak attempt to dismiss what was happening as coincidence.

"He can't possibly think he'll win the queen's hand, can he?" one of them whispered, the words tinged with an uncertainty that belied his dismissive tone.

Another leaned towards his companion, his voice low, almost a hiss. "Is this some kind of trick? Who is this man, really?"

But none of them had an answer. They watched, eyes wide and mouths dry, as Odysseus pulled back the bowstring again and again, his focus unwavering.

Even the most arrogant of the suitors, who had laughed openly before, now stood with their mouths slightly open, their eyes darting between the bow and the beggar who wielded it with such mastery.

You played the final note of your song just as the last arrow sailed through the air, splitting the twelfth axehead with a resounding 'thwack.'

The silence that followed was deafening, the suitors frozen in stunned disbelief, their eyes wide as they took in what had just happened.

Odysseus turned his head, his eyes finding yours across the room. He gave you a stern nod, a silent cue that you understood perfectly.

You nodded back, the bright, almost giddy expression on your face standing in stark contrast to the carnage that was about to unfold.

Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself before your fingers began to dance across the strings once more.

The song you played was deceptively cheerful at first, a light, whimsical tune that fluttered through the air like birdsong.

But slowly, almost imperceptibly, it began to change.

The melody darkened, twisted, the notes taking on an edge that was both haunting and vengeful, a shadow creeping into the brightness—the cheerful melody morphed into something almost bloodthirsty, a song that spoke of retribution, of justice long overdue.

It wasn't just music; it was a call to arms, a declaration of what was to come.

The suitors shifted uncomfortably, some glancing around as if sensing the change, though they couldn't quite put their finger on what was happening.

But you knew. You had been told exactly what this song would do.

You remembered the shed, the way Odysseus had discussed the plan.

The air had been heavy with the scent of earth and wood, the small space filled with the tension of what was to come.

Odysseus had detailed every part of the plan, his voice steady as he laid out each step, each role.

You had listened patiently, absorbing every word until finally, you had asked, "What about me? What will I be doing?"

Telemachus had nodded in agreement, his face uncannily serious, his eyes fixed on his father. "Yes, father, what will her role be?" he had repeated, his voice carrying a note of protectiveness that made Odysseus' lips twitch with the hint of a smile.

Odysseus had reached into his tattered robes, pulling out a simple piece of parchment.

He looked at you then, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He handed you the parchment, watching as you slowly unrolled it.

"This," he had said, his voice low, "is a gift from Athena herself." The paper had revealed a sheet of music, the notes unlike anything you had ever seen—intricate, almost ethereal, as if the very ink had been touched by divine hands. "The goddess delivered this to me, explaining its purpose, its power. This song is imbued with her blessing. It will only affect those she does not protect—those who have no claim to her favor. For us, it will be a boon. For them..."

He hadn't needed to finish the sentence. The meaning was clear.

And now, here you were, playing that very song, the melody shifting from bright and cheerful to dark and vengeful.

You could feel the magic in it, thrumming through your fingertips, spreading through the hall like a palpable force.

It strengthened those loyal to Ithaca, those under Athena's protection, while the suitors began to fidget, a sense of unease settling over them like a cold mist.

The suitors had no idea what was happening, but they could feel it—the shift in the air, the sudden heaviness that made their hearts pound and their hands tremble.

It was as if the walls themselves were closing in, the once grand hall now a trap from which there was no escape.

Odysseus' gaze never wavered from the suitors, his eyes hard and unyielding as the music filled the space around him.

The song bolstered him, his muscles seeming to grow even more taut, his presence even more commanding.

He was no longer just a man—he was a force of nature, a reckoning given flesh.

Odysseus stood tall, the bow still held firmly in his grasp.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he let the bow drop to his side, his hand moving up to grasp the edge of the ragged cloak draped over his shoulders.

With one fluid motion, he shed the cloak, letting it fall to the ground in a crumpled heap.

The air around him seemed to shimmer faintly, as if the very fabric of reality were bending to his presence.

The old, wrinkled skin that had disguised him melted away, replaced by the strong, rugged form that had been hidden beneath.

Muscles, hardened from years of battle, rippled beneath his sun-bronzed skin, and faint scars crisscrossed his arms and chest—evidence of the countless trials he had endured.

His hair, once matted and dull, now seemed to take on a life of its own, curling around his face in dark waves, with sprinkles of grey adding to his rugged appearance.

His eyes, once hidden beneath a tired, weary expression, now shone with an intensity that was almost chilling—a piercing gaze that seemed to look straight through the suitors, as if judging their very souls.

Fine lines marked the edges of his eyes, a reminder of his years, but they did nothing to diminish the fire within them.

A collective gasp went through the hall, the suitors recoiling slightly, their expressions shifting from shock to something resembling fear.

They could no longer deny what was before them—this was no beggar.

This was no mere man.

Odysseus took a step forward, his voice steady, carrying the weight of his authority. "I am Odysseus," he declared, his words resonating through the stunned silence of the hall, "King of Ithaca, and I have returned."

His gaze swept over the suitors, his eyes cold and unyielding.

The suitors cowered, some taking a step back, their faces pale. The arrogance, the bravado that had filled the hall only moments before, had drained away, leaving behind only fear and uncertainty.

They had come here seeking a queen, a kingdom, and now they faced a legend—a legend who had returned to reclaim what was rightfully his.

The truth hung in the air, undeniable and chilling: The true king had returned, and the reckoning was at hand.

The mood in the hall shifted dramatically, the tension thickening until it felt as though the air itself was vibrating with anticipation.

The suitors stood in stunned silence, shock and terror etched across their faces as they began to realize the gravity of their situation.

Antinous, who had been the loudest, the most arrogant of them all, was the first to react. His face went deathly pale, his eyes wide, his lips trembling as he stuttered out, "K-King Odysseus...?"

His voice barely broke through the thick silence, a pathetic whisper that seemed to crack the spell that had held the hall. 

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the weight of his declaration hanging in the air like a thunderclap. A collective murmur rippled through the hall, a mix of gasps, incredulous whispers, and faint scoffs.

Antinous' voice was shaky as he attempted to regain control. "This... this is some kind of trick!" he spat, though his eyes betrayed the fear he tried to suppress. "I refuse to believe it! He's a beggar, nothing more!" He glanced toward the other suitors, seeking support, but found only the same pale faces staring back at him, uncertainty gnawing at their bravado.

Another suitor took a step forward, his lips twisting into a sneer, though his confidence wavered. "Yes, this... this cannot be Odysseus!" He forced a laugh that echoed awkwardly in the heavy silence, his eyes darting between the king and the bow that now rested effortlessly in his hands. "It's impossible. The real Odysseus is dead, lost at sea! We've waited for years!" He looked around desperately, trying to ignite the doubt in others. "How could a man disappear for twenty years and just... return?"

Some of the suitors nodded slowly, as if clinging to his words, to the illusion of control they had crafted for themselves.

But the seed of doubt had been planted.

Their hands twitched nervously at their sides, and their gazes flickered to the bow, to the axes now split cleanly in half by arrows only the true Odysseus could have fired.

One of the younger suitors, trembling, whispered just loud enough to be heard, "Could it really be him?"

"Of course not!" Antinous barked, though his voice had lost its force. He took a shaky step forward, pointing accusingly at Odysseus. "This man—this beggar—he's nothing but a fraud! Some charlatan! Look at him!" His words stumbled out, desperate, as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else. "We—we can't let him fool us!"

Odysseus remained still, his eyes cold and patient as he watched them falter, their arrogance crumbling before him.

Antinous, still clinging to his denial, sneered again. "It's some kind of trickery! He's using magic or... or sorcery!" He waved a dismissive hand in the air. "He couldn't string that bow—no man here could! It's not possible!" His voice grew louder, more frantic. "You saw it! This must be the work of the gods to humiliate us!"

But as his words rang out, the silence that followed was deafening.

None of the other suitors moved. None spoke in agreement.

The tension in the air thickened, pressing down on them as the weight of their situation began to settle in.

Odysseus, his expression unchanging, took another step forward, his presence commanding. His voice was low but carried the undeniable power of a king reclaiming his throne. "You can deny it all you want. But the truth stands before you."

A ripple of fear ran through the suitors, and one of them—the youngest—dropped to his knees, his face pale and stricken. "It is him," he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling. "It's really him. We're doomed."

The murmurs of disbelief turned into frantic whispers, then into rising chaos as suitors pushed back from their places, stumbling over each other in an attempt to retreat.

One last defiant voice shouted from the back, "It's a lie! He's no king!" But the speaker's words were drowned out by the clamor of panic overtaking the hall.

In the next heartbeat, chaos erupted.

Odysseus moved first, with Telemachus at his side—no longer the boy who had tolerated their mockery, but a prince, a warrior who had been waiting for this moment all his life.

Telemachus' sword flashed in the dim light as he let out a shout, the sound echoing off the stone walls, full of fury and long-held determination.

The blade cut across the back of the nearest suitor with cold precision, slicing through flesh as the man let out a strangled cry; blood sprayed, staining the marble floor as he collapsed in a heap, gurgling his last breath.

Chaos erupted.

Some suitors bolted for the doors, only to find them locked.

Others fumbled at their sides, reaching for swords that weren't there—realizing too late that their weapons had been removed under the guise of preventing damage during the contest.

Panic swept through them like wildfire, their faces draining of color, their eyes wide with terror.

They were trapped, defenseless, caught in the jaws of a trap they hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

Odysseus, by contrast, moved with unnerving calm.

He did not rush or hesitate. Each step was deliberate, each swing of his sword controlled. He was a force of nature, his strikes as sure and inevitable as a storm.

His face was a mask of focus, his eyes cold and detached, as though he had separated himself from the violence unfolding around him. He showed no signs of anger, no flashes of hatred—only a methodical precision that made it clear this was no wild vengeance, but calculated retribution.

He wasn't just cutting down men. He was restoring balance, reclaiming what had been stolen from him.

One suitor, his face twisted in terror, fell to his knees, hands raised in surrender. "Mercy! Please, have mercy!" he cried, his voice cracking.

Odysseus glanced at him, but his expression didn't change. There was no recognition, no flicker of empathy. His blade came down in a clean, swift arc, the man's plea silenced in an instant as his body crumpled to the ground.

Behind him, Telemachus moved with the same eerie calm, though his strikes were fueled by a deep-seated rage—rage for the years of watching his mother suffer, for the disrespect shown to his father's memory.

His sword found its next target, sinking into a man's chest. The suitor gasped, eyes wide, before collapsing, his blood pooling around him in the growing sea of red.

The air was thick with the scent of blood, sharp and metallic.

Screams echoed through the hall, desperate, high-pitched, as the suitors scrambled over each other in a frantic bid to escape. But there was nowhere to run.

The once-grand hall was now a slaughterhouse.

Through it all, Odysseus remained eerily composed, his breathing steady, his movements as fluid as they were efficient. His face remained impassive, as though he were cutting through crops, not men.

Each suitor that fell before him was another obstacle removed, another piece of Ithaca restored.

You kept playing, your lyre's dark, vengeful melody rising above the chaos, weaving through the carnage like a thread of fate.

The suitors fell in time with the rhythm, their bodies collapsing as if your music were guiding the hands of their executioners.

And still, Odysseus showed no emotion.

His sword glinted in the dim light, slick with blood, but his gaze never wavered. He cut down suitor after suitor with mechanical precision, their pleas and cries of pain washing over him like a distant hum.

His face was as unreadable as stone, his presence filling the room with an almost supernatural calm.

He wasn't a man in that moment. He was something more, something unstoppable.

A suitor stumbled backward, his eyes wide with terror as Odysseus approached, his trembling hands raised in a feeble defense. "Please, no! I didn't mean—"

But the words died in his throat as Odysseus' blade pierced his heart, swift and clean. The suitor crumpled to the floor, his body joining the growing pile at the feet of the king.

Through the madness, you kept your eyes on your lyre, your fingers moving with a life of their own, but you couldn't help the way your gaze drifted every so often towards the unfolding carnage.

You did not flinch, did not look away, even as the suitors fell, even as the hall was painted red with their blood.

There was something chilling about it—something almost surreal.

The way the men you had served, the men you had watched lounge and laugh and eat without a care in the world, were now scrambling, terrified, their faces twisted in fear and pain.

And then there was Odysseus, standing amidst it all, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made your heart pound. His movements were almost too smooth, too practiced, like a dance he had performed a hundred times before.

There was no hesitation, no rush to his strikes—just a chilling certainty, a man who knew exactly what he was doing and how it would end.

There was sorrow there, yes, but also something else—something fierce, something that spoke of justice, of a reckoning long overdue.

The suitors, on the other hand, were chaos incarnate—stumbling, scrambling, their confidence shattered, their bravado reduced to nothing in the face of Odysseus' calm wrath.

And all the while, the music swelled, the melody growing darker, more vengeful.

You did not stop playing, even as the hall became a graveyard.

Odysseus moved towards Antinous, the man who had led the suitors, the man who had dared to try and take his place.

Antinous had backed himself into a corner, pale and trembling, though there was still a flicker of defiance in his eyes. He raised his hands, trembling as they were, in a last-ditch attempt to regain control. "You think you're a hero, Odysseus? A king?" His voice cracked, the mocking tone faltering as his eyes darted around, searching for an escape that wasn't there. "You're nothing but a monster... who abandoned his kingdom."

Odysseus paused.

For a moment, there was a terrible silence, the words hanging heavy in the air.

But then, his expression darkened, his eyes narrowing into cold, steel slits.

Antinous stumbled backward, his hands now shaking uncontrollably. His back hit the wall, and for the first time, the arrogance that had always cloaked him was gone. His eyes were wide with terror, his chest heaving as panic set in.

"Wait—wait! Please!" His voice had lost all of its previous bite, replaced by a pitiful, desperate plea. "Mercy... have mercy, Odysseus! It—it was a mistake! We were only—"

But his words caught in his throat, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as Odysseus drew closer, unyielding. Antinous' legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground, scrambling backward like a cornered animal.

"Please! I beg you!" He cried out now, his voice cracking with fear. His hands were raised in surrender, his face twisted in panic, a pitiful shadow of the once-proud leader of the suitors. "I—I didn't mean—"

His words were drowned in the silence of the hall as Odysseus loomed over him, his expression cold and unfeeling, as though he were staring down at an insect. The king's gaze flickered for just a moment, watching as Antinous cowered before him, reduced to nothing but a sniveling, desperate man.

Odysseus' lip twitched, not in a smile, but in something darker. His voice was low, each word deliberate, dripping with fury and finality. "Mercy?" He raised his sword slowly, deliberately, the edge glinting with the blood of the others who had fallen. "You know nothing of war, of sacrifice. You are a coward, hiding behind lies and empty bravado. You defiled my home, disrespected my family, and dared to covet what was never yours. Mercy was never an option."

He paused, his eyes like shards of ice, pinning Antinous in place. "Now, you will face the reality of what it means to cross the true king of Ithaca."

Antinous let out a strangled gasp, his eyes wide with terror as the reality of his fate settled in.

He scrambled backward, his hands clawing at the stone floor, but there was nowhere left to go. He was trapped.

His lips began moving in what might have been a prayer, a last-ditch plea to any god who might still be listening.

But the gods had already chosen their side, and there would be no mercy for him here.

With one final look of disgust, Odysseus brought the blade down, swift and brutal.

Antinous' eyes widened for a brief moment, his lips parting in a final, silent gasp before the light in them faded. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his arrogance and bravado extinguished in an instant.

The hall fell silent, the last echo of his pitiful pleas fading into the stillness.

Odysseus stood there, his chest rising and falling slowly, his sword dripping with the blood of those who had dared to challenge him. His gaze swept over the bodies littering the floor, but there was no satisfaction in his eyes—only the quiet, detached gaze he had held throughout.

The king had returned. And he had reclaimed his throne.

A/N: ooof! 8.0k words, lordy... but i must admit, it's getting easier for me to write/picture fight scenes instead of just summarizing them in a sentence lololo;  anywho as you guys can tell by the spammed updates, i really love greek mythology lolo; who's your favorite god/goddess? mine would have to be Aphrodite; for her to be the most beautiful to ever exist, she really does get envious whenever someone even breathes the word 'pretty' in another person direction 😩---i stan a messy queen

[toothplant]

An A/B/O Sammick Idea I had :)

A very unapologetic, lengthier expansion of a tweet I made. 

Pre-movie omega Sammie disappearing for a few days to spend his heat with Alpha Remmick, out of sight from his parent’s careful eyes and having to face their wrath upon his return. Coming back in the early morning with a gnarled mating bite on is neck and smelling like someone else.

Having to face his Daddy’s disappointment at being mated out of wedlock, tarnishing both of their reputations in the community. His parents’ anger and frustration at his recklessness because he went somewhere he knew he had no place being during his heat. This isn’t his first time—he knew where to go and when. He snuck out the house, took advantage of their trust to fornicate with God know what alpha. Tie himself to him without their knowing of who he is, where he’s from, what he does, or how they even met in the first place. And boy, do they lose their gaskets when he won’t tell them a thing.

He won’t tell them a name, give a description of any sort—the only reason they know the alpha is even a man is because Sammie slipped up when he got caught the first time. The smell clued them in on it being an alpha. None of his friends know who this alpha is, much less that he was even seeing someone. At first, they were understanding; maybe the reluctance was because he was taken advantage of by a White man or a bastard alpha during his time of the month. That ended once his Momma and Daddy catch him again in the early morning, looking stupid as all get out as he tried to sneakily change out of his clothes, scent-laden with the deep musk of that same alpha. Things get tense in the coming months both in the home and in the community as Sammie struggles to keep playing his music and hide his alpha from everyone. 

Just Moore family drama, so lovely.  :)

If we want to add an element of mpreg, Sammie skips town without a trace once his belly starts to fill out. Once his Momma learns that he’s pregnant, everything begins to fray. She would never throw him out, and she wouldn’t tell his father either, but things get even harder between taking care of all his siblings, sneaking more food since he’s eating for two, facing constant judgement from people everywhere: fellow church-goers, strangers on the street, his own father. He won’t be able to handle it if they found out he was with child, too. Especially considering who the father is. He doesn’t know what’ll become of him, and he doesn’t want to find out.

Meanwhile Remmick is over the moon. He found his fated, powerful omega and the two spent such a sweet, sweet time under the moonlight in each other’s arms, loving each other so wholly. After mating, they would spend a couple hours singing together, sharing past songs and creating new ones. Oh, he loved it when they sang, especially when Sammie would let such powerful harmonies flow from his mouth, conjuring their people, his people he spent so long chasing. Telling each other stories of hardship, of struggle. Remmick did have to dig deep in his memories to remember how to properly provide for his still human omega, but he was eager to please and determined to woo the darling over, which he did. He had his baby’s heart, mind, and soul, and the boy had what’s left of his.

But he hated, oh how he hated, when that period ended. When put on the clothes that went into their makeshift nest, leaving Remmick with only his half a nest and half a heart. His clothes smelled like the omega’s sweetness, but that lasted as long as the next night as he needed them to hunt. He was antsy, he didn’t understand why his love stayed away. He’d follow his scent to the plantation, call to him through his mind, but he wouldn’t budge. His beau’s mating bite, unhealed on his shoulder was his only form of consolation until his omega came staggering back, desperate and yearning for him, but scared. But he came more often, usually in the dead of night, and would return just before dawn. Remmick relished this attention, but he hated the townspeople for causing his beau so much stress. It wasn’t until Sammie came to him one night crying, near inconsolable, grasping his palm to bring to his stomach and feel a slight lump in his abdomen, that he damn near jumps for joy. A family! Finally!

But his love didn’t share these thoughts. He’s on borrowed time, his mom promised to keep it a secret, but he doesn’t know how he’ll keep it for long. Something is going to have to give and Sammie isn’t prepared for what that will be. Not to mention the sire of his child being a literal blood-sucking monster, and y’know… white. It would be putting Sammie and the baby in danger if he stays here.

So Remmick, try as he might to hold his giddiness, propositions him to leave. They’ll head for Chicago, like he always dreamed of, have the baby there, then they can be a family as Sammie lives out his dreams. Remmick may be old, but he’s no bigot and certainly not one to follow social norms (unless the situation calls); he’ll take pleasure in taking care of the baby while Sammie starts his career. It’ll be hard, but they’ll be free. He reckons he can get a mode of transportation and they’ll head out tomorrow.

And that they do. 

They left the next night, not a clue left behind as budding family rode to the city under the ever-present eyes of the stars.

[jasmines-library]

What do you think about a Batfam x Supernatural crossover??? Like, Reader is Dean's twin, and Sam's older sister, but she can't take the boys' nonsense anymore (like the pranks in the first season) and goes out to hunt a nest of vampires alone, only in Gotham, Batman V and confronts her, she even runs away but is caught, so she tells the truth, he takes her to the mansion and everyone is extremely shocked that these creatures are real (including Bruce) but there is no way to deny the facts!! And meanwhile the boys are freaking out because their badass sister is missing and they're looking for her like crazy?

Changes

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Note: (how strange, someone requested something very similar: anonymous also requested here.

Warnings: Swearing, blood and gore but not descriptive.

Word Count: 1.9k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

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You had finally had enough. You just couldn’t take it anymore. The constant bickering and blame passing, the constant nights spent laying awake blaming yourselves when another got hurt…you were sick of it. 

It was in the very early hours of the morning that you slipped out the door, with a handful of your belongings stuffed into a bag. It’s not like you had planned to ;eave forever..you just needed to get away for a little while. To take a breath of fresh air. You had found a hunt a few states over; a nest of vampires which should be simple enough. 

You made your way to the bus station about 10 minutes before your bus was supposed to leave. It was just a short walk from the motel. You had considered taking a car or hitching a ride with someone, but you knew that Sam and Dean would be able to track you much easier if you did that. So, you opted to take a bus and exchange half-way there just to make sure they wouldn’t follow behind as quickly as you wanted them to. If you were lucky, you would make it back before they even figured out where you were. To say that they were going to be pissed when they found out would be an understatement. But you were an adult, for crying out loud. Hell, you were the same age as Dean and he seemed to run off without a care in the world. 

There was little to no-one on the bus as it sped down the freeway. Supposedly that's because most people weren’t mad enough to get up at 2 in the morning to get on a bus. Either way, it was nice. You had disabled the tracker on your phone and plugged in your headphones to prepare for the drive. 

Gotham city was a strange place. Extravagant, but strange. Dawn was slowly creeping into day when you hopped off the bus, and you could tell that the city was lively. There were people roaming the streets as the streetlamps flickered off and the lights inside the skyscrapers blinked on. There were dog walkers, couples holding hands and businessmen hailing cabs over the road. An eerie feeling hung about the city. You couldn’t place it, but there was something malevolent about this city. With the high rise buildings and twisting alleys,it seemed the perfect place for crime. The city was so big that people could just vanish. It was the perfect place for vampires. 

You found your hotel a little way up the street. It was quaint with only one bed and a small table next to the wall by the ensuite, but it suited your needs perfectly. 

Concealing a machete is not easy. Even though the city had died down slightly now it was past the mid-day hubbub, there were still people everywhere and you did not want to risk being caught by the police for carrying a weapon around. By wearing one of your jackets, you managed to conceal it under your arm as you began to scope out the city to find where the vampires were supposedly nesting. 

When you finally found it, it seemed to tick all of the boxes: glazed windows, outskirts of the city, two entrances that you hoped wouldn’t lead to your untimely demise. Vampires were never very subtle. They were always the same. 

The entrance to the building was concealed down a side-road. Checking your surroundings to make sure the coast was clear, you began to work on the lock. It snapped open and you made your way inside. 

~

Sam and Dean were frantic. 

The day had started out like any other. Sam had slipped out the door early in the morning for his run (a habit which Dean despised and thought was completely unnecessary). He had made nothing of the pile of pillows which you had stacked up on the couch beneath a blanket. It was only when he returned to find Dean nearly burning a floor in the carpet as he paced, taking angrily into the phone. 

“No, I don't know where she could have gone, that's why I'm calling you!”  Dean was scared. Sam could tell that from the first word he spoke. 

There was a pause as the person Dean was on the phone to spoke. Clearly, he wasn’t happy with the response they gave as he slammed the phone shut and threw it across the room. 

“Son of a bitch” he yelled, hands coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“What's going on?” Sam asked. He had a nasty feeling that he already knew. 

“Y/Ns missing.”

“What?” Sam blinked. 

“Yeah. I thought she’d been snatched at first but most of her stuff is gone too.”

Sam bit his lip. “Have you tracked her cell?”

His older brother nodded. “Nothing. I’ve tried calling her too. She’s turned it off.”

“Shit.”

~

You had managed to get yourself in a little bit of a pickle. And by ‘little bit of a pickle’, I mean ‘there were a lot more vampires than you thought and now you were fighting for your life’. So the usual, really. 

When you had slunk inside the building it was completely silent as the vampires sheltered from the sun. But as you moved further into the room and began counting how many there were, you paled. Things hit the fan when you stepped backwards and knocked over a stack of books. All eyes snapped to you and you struggled to keep up with the sheer number of them. The scent of blood and sweat filled the room as you fought and swung. Most of it theirs, but some of it yours. 

No matter how many you took down, their attacks never seemed to end. You had just sliced the head off of one when another three raced before you. They were about to reach you, their fangs bared and snarling, when someone tackled them to the ground. The boy was tall, muscular and dressed from head to toe in black, besides the brown jacket slung over the top and the red emblem on his chest. Another figure appeared to your left, also dressed in black. Though this time, his face was concealed by a domino mask and a blue symbol was imprinted on the front of it. 

Although the vampires went down, it seemed the two vigilantes didn’t know how to kill them which meant that even with their help, you were going to get nowhere. So as they tussled with them, you swung your arm to defeat the one before you before moving to help them. When the last one went down, their attention snapped toward you as you wiped the end of the machete with the hem of your sleeve. 

“What the hell was that?” The one in blue had you pinned up against the wall before you could even blink. 

You scoffed. “A thank you would be nice.”

You pushed against his arm, trying to free yourself but he had you stuck firmly in place. 

He lowered his voice, leaning closer to you. “I’m gonna ask you again: what the hell were they?”

“You won't believe me.” You told him slyly.

“Try us.” The one in red said. 

“Vampires.”

The one in red snorted. “Funny. Now start talking before we arrest you for murder.”

“I told you you wouldn’t believe me.” You rolled your eyes. “If you let me go I’ll prove it to you.”

~

Dick and Jason honestly weren’t sure if they believed you or not. They had heard the commotion when they passed a building on patrol. People had been going missing in the area recently and they were investigating the area. When they saw you inside they were taken aback. Their initial instinct was to attack you, but when they realised that you were trying to stop the group of people they realised it was you who needed help. They thought it would be easy to take them down. That was until they actually tried. The attackers had sharp canines that came very close to their faces and only stilled when you attacked them with your machete. 

When you revealed to them that they were vampires, they thought you were messing with them, but after you showed off their sharp fangs, they were convinced 

They were silent as they walked you back to the cave, unsure what to make of it. They were shell shocked; creatures that they thought only existed in movies were real…?

Even more so, they were surprised at how unfazed you seemed. It made them wonder how long you had been doing this for. They didn’t recognise you, and you had refused to give them a name. Jason was going to ask Tim to run a search on the database later, though he wasn’t even sure if he would find anything. 

Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of it. When the two vigilantes brought you into the cave after introducing themselves and explaining their work, Bruce was hesitant. He thought that this was some kind of joke. A prank by his two sons. You were adamant however, and showed him pictures on your cell and research papers online. 

When you turned your cell back on, you were bombarded with dozens of miscalls and twice as many unread texts from both of your brothers and anyone else who they decided to contact about your disappearance. Shitttttt

Just as you were about to speak, a loud clatter sounded from across the batcave. All of the vigilantes in the room stood to attention and you reached for the gun holstered in your waistband. But as soon as you did so, you came face to face with eyes you knew very well. 

“Dean?!” You gawped at him. 

“Y/N? Oh thank god.” He pulled you close to him. 

The vigilantes dropped their weapons slightly. “You know them?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

“My brothers.” You nodded. They must have managed to track the bus you got on. 

“Jesus christ, Y/N. What the hell were you thinking?” Sam chided. “You could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“Relax, Sammy. I’m fine. I needed to get away from your bickering for once.”

Dick laughed from across the room “You can say that again.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean frowned. 

“I mean you two are constantly arguing and I’m sick of it. I needed to get out on my own for a day or two. I was planning to come back tomorrow morning.”

“And you planned to stay here with these...people?”

“...not exactly.”

“Y/N.” Dean warned. 

“They helped me.” 

“You told them?!” 

“Kind of hard not to when you’re being attacked by a group of blood thirsty vampires.”

“It’s true.” Jason said. “We didn’t believe her at first.”

“Sorry…”

“It’s alright.” Dean said. “We’re sorry it got so far that you felt you had to leave. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

Bruce decided to speak next, his interest peaked by your earlier statements. “So about those vampires…the other things are real too?”

Dean nodded. “Pretty much all of it.”

“Oh god. I have a feeling things are about to get a whole lot more interesting in Gotham.”

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BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff

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SPN TAGS:

@defonotashleyr @aestheticdaisies @xxrougefangxx

@hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao

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[rayroseu]

Wait this is actually interesting, so from what the story implies, Wild Rose Castle is weaker than Black Scale Castle because it probably has no magical atmosphere that serves as its defense, there's probably fewer troops here, and the fact that its just on a clear meadow makes the terrain not suitable for defenses unlike Black Scale who is atop a mountain and covered in a Valley.

So I kinda think that Wild Rose Castle is a newly built castle in Briarland. After all, Meleanor was a kid only 200 years ago so Wild Briar is probably that age as well (or more), i think that age is young (compared to Black Scale which probably several centuries old?) thats why it has weaker defense facilities.

Maybe Wild Briar is older as Black Scale, but this game says this is Meleanor's castle so I assume she's the one who had built this.

But I have this HC that this castle is actually built because of Levan. For his diplomatic mission between humans. Building a castle in an easy terrain would make sense to make it easier for magicless humans to transport in. Because I don't really expect(?) Maleanor who is a military commander, which she probably has knowledge of strategies, to not see how disadvantegous this location is considering its close to humans

But I also think Wild Briar was built as like a refuge for the faes that live far away outside Dragon City(I wont call it dragonopolis lol)

Wild Rose being a few centuries old also kinda makes sense since the Silver Owls only recognize Meleanor as the only ruler in Briarland, they probably arent aware theres a queen named Maleficia because she's ancient(?) atleast I didnt caught any silver owls mentioning her iirc(?) They went to the mountains near Dragon city yes-- but like it was to pursue General Lilia and not to besiege Black Scale as well even they kinda had the potential to do so since they took down Maleanor and Silver Owls' is implied to be very greedy--

I actually think its more interesting to not summarize Maleanor's cause of death as just her overestimating her win against Knight of Dawn-- I actually think its because of several reasons such as:

"Wrong time" in working out the diplomatic relations between the conflict between humans and faes, Levan's plan to educate wasn't pointless effort, but I wish the story states as well what he did to counter the fact that the faes hates humans not because of a misunderstanding, but because of their mistreatment towards faes(the story literally implies rhe humans kills faes meanwhile we have yet to see a royal guard fae that killed humans the story only tells us they chased them away), Levan does this when its clear that the Silver Owls was getting hostile, like objectively speaking, this was kinda not the right time to communicate and Meleanor was the receiving end of the build up hostility of the Silver Owls

This is kinda countering my first point, but Meleanor's decisions was kinda weird too in the story lol, why send your best Generals to the enemy fortress.... 😭💥 But I actually think this is interesting as well, because its likely a reference to the wars in LiveAction Maleficent... I remember watching that movie especially Maleficent 2: Mistress of Evil and just wondering why the Moors never plans (and even if they do its very simple, just charge in and overpower the enemy with strength), they just charge in instead of treating it "like a chess" where you save your best pieces in dangerous situations and everyone has a role in dispelling the enemy. They also hold this belief that only the strong ones would guarantee their success and heavily relies on them. Meanwhile, Queen Ingrid used deception and control to subdue all the faeries. Like Meleanor/Faes vs Humans, the faes never thinks about what the human enemy plans, they rely on raw dodging it lol probably alluding to the fact that the faes have trouble thinking like a human.

And lastly this point lol, poor choice of headquarters, the terrain is easy for humans to invade in, and the castle is still weak, also the fact that Wild Briar was alone in fighting several human nations was a factor as well because it couldnt get back up in time because it was too far away from Black Scale Castle, kinda adding Wild Briar was outnumbered too atp

[siderum7]

Moly Heist AU

This is an AU that just will not leave me alone.

It starts with a redemption-in-progress for the Beasts or at least Shadow Milk with SM staying with both Pure Vanilla in the Vanilla Kingdom and the Brave Trio in their kingdom. Everything is… okay. SM is being himself but he is getting better and he is starting to be accepted by the people of the kingdom. PV is happy to see this and even more happy to see SM getting attached to the (his) kids.

Then people start to get sick in the Vanilla Kingdom. Fast.

PV has seen many illnesses and plagues in his long life but he has never seen anything like this. No magic or potion is working. No herb or medicine has any effect. No book has any hint as to what this sickness is or how to treat it. He can barely even slow its spread. PV has no idea how to save his people.

Then SM and the Brave Trio return and SM knows immediately what plague this is. This is not a good thing. It is an illness from the dawn of cookie-kind with only one cure. An herb called moly (yes, I stole it from “The Odyssey”). An herb that only grows near the home of a witch and can only be harvested by that witch.

PV and SM go back and forth over different ideas for what to do. With options getting grimmer and grimmer. The place White Lily saw the witches was merely a meeting place, not a home. The kind witches that created the Beasts are long gone with no trace as to where they went. Finding a lead to any witch will take time the sick people don’t have. PV and SM are eventually forced to start consider quarantining the kingdom and letting the plague run its course and die out naturally when GingerBrave speaks up hesitantly.

The Trio knows where to find a witch. The three confess that they, and a majority of their kingdom, are witch-baked and it is a closely guarded secret among them and their kingdom’s citizens. Neither PV nor SM understands why they would keep it such a secret (SM’s witches were kind and benevolent and PV is a little bit in denial because while he knows White Lily saw something horrible but he doesn’t know what) but they put it aside to start preparing for the journey to the Witch’s Castle.

Meanwhile, the Brave Trio are hiding just how terrified they are. The Witch’s Castle was incredibly dangerous and the things they saw there still haunt them and everyone who escaped. And now they are going back to that horrible place and, even worse, going back specifically to steal from the Witch. They trust PV and are starting to trust SM but neither understand just how dangerous this journey will be or what to look out for. On this journey the Brave Trio will have to guide PV and SM through the hell that was their former prison/home and steal from a being that is often deified by Earthbread. No pressure…

——————

Someone please write this. I love this idea but I have too many plot bunnies already and have never played cookie run: witch’s castle. Feel free to ask questions or leave link to what you write in the comments.

[syndrossi]

There are already so many AU's that I figure no one will notice another one, so I might as well suggest the one is been thinking about. What if Arthur actually was reborn as Daemon's son? He can be a bastard, or an older son of Rhae/Elyse, whichever one you like the most. If he is a bastard, would Daemon even know about him? I'm assuming his mother would have been a prostitute Daemon was fond of, but would she have told him that they had a child together? Would she have told Arthur who his father is? If he's another son of Rhae/Elyse, would he have tried to get into contact with Daemon sooner? If he gets Summerhalled at the same time as Jon and Rhaegar, would it be harder for their relationship to develope, since Arthur and Rhaegar already know each other and Jon would be something of an outsider? There are honestly so many places this AU could go.

It depends on if the setup is meant to be fairly similar (Arthur shows up as a mystery knight to compete for the Princesguard).

If so, aka he's 16ish, what probably makes the most sense is a either a prostitute or a lord's daughter who got swept up in the romance of sleeping with a prince. Perhaps a woman from the Dornish marshes (like Cole) briefly just before he was forced to marry Rhea. That would work best with the timing (Daemon would have been 17 and he's 34 right now).

Since Daemon was in Runestone when the baby was born and now married, she likely knew the king would not look kindly on her bringing scandal on the marriage, so wouldn't have contacted Daemon. There's also the potential issue of not knowing for certain whose child it was (depending on if she was a prostitute or not)--perhaps his eyes were more blue/dark at birth and only settled into purple when he was a year or two old.

It somewhat amuses me to think that Arthur is actually mistaken for a bastard of House Dayne when a member stumbles across him and his mother a few years later. Say, perhaps, by the Lord of Starfall's younger brother who died of summer sickness. In that scenario, he is likely raised in Dornish fashion as a noble son of House Dayne via a paramour and could conceivably still be awarded Dawn and become the Sword of Morning.

I think this path works better than Elys and/or Rhea keeping another child secret from Daemon, which often feels a little too outlandish to me.

Then there are the fun questions of what to do, once everyone takes a look at the mystery "Dornish" knight and is like...anyone else notice that he looks a LOT like Daemon? With Jon's dark hair? Arthur must know his mother's name, which Daemon may or may not recognize. If he does, then shit, that's his son. *grabby hands* No, you are NOT joining the Princesguard, you are a PRINCE once Viserys legitimizes you.

(Meanwhile, Arthur has his first argument with Daemon because of COURSE he's joining the Princesguard, who better than a prince to guard other princes like his precious younger brothers? While Daemon is adamant that he should be allowed to marry and have children and he can still be a knight, and how is he supposed to claim a dragon if he's stuck on guard duty all the time. Which...is something that Arthur never considered because DRAGONS. HIM. WHAT.)

In fairness, Arthur has only known Rhaegar for a few months (I have him joining the Kingsguard roughly six months before Rhaegar gets summerhalled), so about the same length of time Jon and Rhaegar have known one another! So I don't think it hampers him bonding with Jon too much, especially given how starry-eyed Jon will be about the Sword of Morning being their BROTHER, how cool. (Rhaegar shaking his head because Jon saved the world and doesn't realize that HE'S the coolest.)

I get the sense that Arthur and Daemon would clash heads a lot, too. Arthur doesn't really have any childhood trauma in his original life, so it's not like he's seeking a father figure, and his pre-summerhall version here had a happy childhood in Starfall. Daemon is, as far as he's concerned, the sperm donor.

What ultimately wins him over some with regard to Daemon is probably how sweet he is with the twins, and how badly they want him to be their brother. But Arthur probably always consider Daemon more of an ally than his father-father, despite Daemon's best efforts.

[thlayli-ra]

Hello! I know CodyRoman/Rheigns isn’t your usual but I would love to know your thoughts on it?

Well hello Pillow. Yes, you're right, they're not my usual, so I'm not as clued up on them as I am my favs (hence why I've been sitting on this ask for months) but I'll give it a go;

To me, Cody and Roman are two sides of the same coin - forged the same, minted the same but ultimately are polar opposites. To explain what I mean, let's start with their most obvious similarities. Both men are nepo babies, descended from widely respected lines of wrestling royal families. Both were products of WWE, beginning their wrestling careers in its developmental system and working their way up to the main roster. Both men carried the weight of heavy expectation on their shoulders as a result of their last names and lineage.

But above all else, both men struggled, not just with that pressure, but also with the whims of shoddy creative and more precisely, a certain someone in charge of the company at the time...

And this is where their paths divide. A decision was made, the coin flipped. One chose heads, the other tails. Cody left the company. Roman stayed.

Finally freed from his shackles, Cody thrived. Rebuilding himself on the independent circuit, he met other like-minded individuals, who wished to challenge the WWE's monopoly, and together they started AEW, a company to rival the wrestling juggernaut. At last he had the power to carve his own image and path, he had the adoration of the fans and yet... something was missing...

Meanwhile, Roman carried the company Cody had left behind, To mixed results. His controversial rise to the top made it clear that the powers-that-be had chosen Reigns as its new poster boy and were keen to shove him into every wrestling fan's face. Much like John Cena before him, this divided the crowd, however, not as evenly split as his predecessor. Babyface Reigns floundered when it came to winning the fan's affections and not even the usual tricks, like a seal of approval from The Rock himself, could sway the haters.

Fast forward a few years. Things have changed yet again.

At Wrestlemania 38, Cody Rhodes returns to the WWE and makes his intentions clear - he wants the title that his father, the late great Dusty Rhodes never got the chance to hold. The WWE Championship!

And who is holding that title, but Roman Reigns. No longer the 'blue-eyed' greenhorn who stumbles over his promos and smiles awkwardly through the pain, he is now the Tribal Chief, the Head of the Table. He has his cousins, his Bloodline, around him, he has his Wiseman Paul Heyman and together they have dominated the WWE landscape, casting a shadow of brutality and fear on anybody who defies them, including within their own ranks.

Cody fails his first attempt. Over the following year he understands why. Roman is strong because he has his team and if Rhodes is to defeat the tyrant, he must gather allies too. However, Cody does not bully others into joining his cause like Roman does, instead he chooses a different approach. Friendship. From rekindling old relationships to making new ones, Cody, once again, forges strong bonds with those that share a common goal and together, on a historic night at Wrestlemania 40, they succeed in overthrowing Reigns.

Cody becomes their new leader, igniting a bright new dawn for the company. However, he is forever haunted by the other side of his coin. Reigns returns a humbled and desperate man who has lost everything, including his Ula Falla, to a monster of his own creation, Solo Sikoa. Having been dismissed by everybody he once considered brother and publicly humiliated in the ring, he turns to Cody. The man who defeated him. The man who took down and shattered his Bloodline. He needs him to do it again.

Because that's the problem with Roman; he's never succeeded at anything on his own. His name and family ties can only get him so far but he's always needed somebody else to have his back, whether that be the Bloodline, the Shield or even the boss himself. Cody on the other hand, has done everything himself. Unlike Roman, Cody doesn't have the eyes of a dynasty on him, entrusting him to elevate their good name. What he does is for himself, a destiny of his own design. Roman's path was laid for him by his family and he was expected to walk it, never once allowed to deviate from the set trail.

Until now...

Now both men are at a crossroads (pardon the pun!). Cody is finding that life at the top comes with a price and those friendships he made on his way up are harder to maintain when he holds the biggest prize in the company around his waist. Meanwhile Roman is a chief without a tribe, no title, no purpose. This is his chance to redeem his past crimes and do things the right way this time around but as always, his pride keeps getting in the way.

Wrestlemania 41 is five days away. Both men are set to main event their respective nights. Roman is facing the demons of his past, while Cody is defending the soul of the company itself against the now soulless John Cena. How will things play out for these two - we'll have to wait and see!

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 62

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 5K

Masterlist

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Friday, February 26; 9:00 AM - Zoo.

"Come on, hurry up," my brother urges next to the car.

"Joan," I tease. "Stop it, please, and stay here."

"If you don't listen, we'll turn back," Lucy scolds him.

That threat earns a grumpy response from my brother. He turns his back on us, crossing his arms. I smile, keeping an eye on him in case he seriously considers walking away. Meanwhile, Lucy grabs our backpack, which we prepared last night while Joan was already asleep. Since we couldn't go yesterday, we rescheduled the zoo for today. Joan was over the moon once he figured it out. We didn’t talk about it at all yesterday. We were too busy. We ended up at a small fair with our friends after visiting the local market. My brother had completely forgotten about the zoo because of that, and in the evening, when he asked, we pretended we weren't going anymore to surprise him. It worked quite well. He's very excited now. I hope today will be better than the fair. We came home late, in the late afternoon. We offered to have our friends stay for the evening, but they politely declined, likely feeling awkward about being invited again. Perhaps it was for the best. Joan was so exhausted that he fell asleep right after dinner. We managed to get him to sleep in the guest room thanks to that. Sure, he woke up at the crack of dawn this morning and squeezed in between us, but we couldn't hold it against him. At least we almost got an entire night to ourselves. Joan sulked all morning, but it seems like his bad mood has vanished. Now he’s beaming with anticipation.

"Alright, we’re good to go," Lucy announces, shutting the trunk.

Joan spins around excitedly at the news. His smile brightens, and he looks at me, waiting for my go-ahead.

"Go ahead, but stay in front of us, okay? I don't want to lose you in the crowd."

He nods and takes the lead. I smile, following him with my hand in Lucy's. Lucy sighs softly, probably relieved that we’ve finally arrived. Joan was unbearable the whole ride. I've seen him impatient before, but never like this. It felt like he was deliberately trying to annoy Lucy, and he succeeded. I had to keep him entertained, or else Lucy would have lost her mind.

"I hope today goes smoothly," she says.

"There’s no reason it shouldn’t. Though, there are more people here than I expected," I remark. "I didn't think it’d be this busy."

"It's Friday, the last day of school vacation before the weekend. Of course, it’s packed," Lucy replies. "At least the weather is warming up a bit. It’ll be more pleasant."

I nod. It’s still a bit chilly, but unlike what one of Lucy’s neighbors told us earlier this week, the icy wind has finally died down. The snow has also melted, and in a few weeks, the temperature should finally rise. I can’t wait for that. In Barcelona, we rarely experience bad weather, if ever. It’s the complete opposite here. It’ll be tough at first, but I think I can get used to it. There are perks to the snow and cold. First, you can have fun in different ways, and with the cold, you get way more cuddles. Not that we don’t cuddle in Barcelona, but it’s much more enjoyable here, under a blanket. We reach the ticket booths. We wait a bit before it’s our turn. I handle the tickets, not giving Lucy a chance to argue. It’s about time she lets me contribute financially, even though I’m not working yet.

"I could have paid," she says once we pass the security gates.

"No," I reply cheerfully.

"Yes."

"No, and that’s the end of it. Today, it’s on me."

She rolls her eyes with a small smile before Joan reminds us of his presence by tugging on my jacket sleeve.

"Come on, Ona! We need to keep moving!"

"The animals aren’t going anywhere, you know," I say with a small laugh. "Come on, give me your hand. There are a lot of people here."

"I'm not a little kid anymore," she complains.

"That’s not the point. I just said there’s a crowd, and I don’t want to lose you."

I accompany my words with a stern look. He’s been arguing nonstop since we got here, and I’m starting to lose patience. He sighs and eventually gives me his hand. In the meantime, I turn toward Lucy, but I notice she’s no longer beside me. A brief moment of panic sets in until I spot her at a nearby map stand. I sigh in relief before dragging us over to her.

"Hey, if I tell Joan to give me his hand so I don’t lose him, it’s not an excuse for you to run off."

She laughs softly, leaning her head toward me.

"Sorry. I saw the maps and thought they might be useful."

"Haven’t you done the zoo before?" I ask, surprised.

"No. It’s a first for both of us," she says with a little smile.

I return her smile. She finally takes a map and stops when she sees my hand extended toward her. She laughs but takes it without protest.

"Alright, let’s go."

"What should we start with?" Joan asks, looking around with excitement gleaming in his eyes.

"Well, let’s check the map."

As I speak, Lucy unfolds the map. Everything is super organized. They’ve laid it out by zones based on the animals’ origins. My attention lingers on the penguins. Knowing Joan, that’s what he’ll enjoy the most.

"I’d save that for last," I say, pointing to that part of the map.

"Okay, well, let’s start here then," she points to the opposite direction.

"Should we join a tour group?" I ask, noticing one gathering beside us with a guide.

"No, that’s boring," my brother groans.

"Looks like you’ve got your answer," Lucy says.

"Alright, alright," I reply with amusement. "Just us, then."

"Can we start with the lions?" he asks.

"That’s actually over that way. Let’s go."

We move forward through the crowd to start with the African animals. Joan might be excited, but so am I. I love these kinds of outings, just the three of us. I also love animals. We linger at some exhibits and pass by others more quickly. It’s our first time here, but the layout is really well done. I’m sure we’ll come back, just Lucy and me. The zoo is organized like small villages at various points along the path. They’re often animated by staff, and they even offer activities in certain spots. We managed to get Joan to participate in one of them. He didn’t really want to at first, but in the end, he seemed to enjoy it. Then, we had the chance to feed the zebras. We were lucky to arrive at the right time. That was definitely Joan’s favorite part. Of course, the activity was supervised by staff, but they weren’t obligated to involve the visitors. The African section ends with the lions, which he kept talking about the entire time, even after all the things he got to do. I mentally note that my brother is becoming more and more spoiled and that I need to talk to our mom about it. I’m not the one responsible for his upbringing, but it’d be good for her to keep an eye on this not-so-pleasant change.

"What’s the next section?" I take advantage of my brother’s distraction to ask Lucy.

"The Asian animals. Then the Australian ones. But I think it’d be a good idea to grab lunch before that since we’ll be near a restaurant."

"Okay, that works for me," I reply with a smile.

We’ve been walking for two hours now, so that sounds like a good idea. By the time we finish the next section, I imagine we’ll be ready for lunch just before noon. It seems less busy than the one we just completed, according to the map. That’s good news, considering the crowd around us. Lucy was right earlier. The weather is mild, and it’s the end of vacation, so people are making the most of it. We’ll have to consider these factors next time if we want a more peaceful visit. Lucy kisses me and then wraps her arm around my shoulders. I keep an eye on my brother, who’s been ahead of us for a while now. He’s captivated by the lions. He’s holding onto the railing, looking down as if he never wants to leave this spot. Unfortunately, I have to burst his bubble if we want to see everything.

"Come on, Jo, let’s go."

"A little longer, please," she pleads, pouting.

"No, we’re moving on," Lucy jumps in. "Otherwise, you won’t be able to see everything. There are other animals like leopards and jaguars."

"Tigers too?" she asks excitedly.

"Of course. We’re getting to them soon, but we need to keep moving. »

Finally, without further resistance, he complied. He walked ahead of us. From the start, he had been negotiating to stop holding my hand. It must have been torture for her to see the other children running around while he couldn't. I agreed on the condition that he stayed in front, didn't run, and didn't stray too far. I also didn’t want to spend my day holding his back. So far, he had respected my terms, which was a first since this morning. Lucy had gotten so fed up with his behavior in certain situations that she left him to me to handle. She was probably right. I had noticed that the more Lucy got involved, the worse his behavior became. I imagine it will take some time for him to adjust to having someone else in my life. After all, he had never really seen me with anyone before. When I was with Mapi, he was too young to remember, which was for the best. He would probably have made a fuss about us no longer being together, given how much he adores my best friend.

With these thoughts in mind, we continued along, taking our time to observe everything. The scenery was beautiful, a peaceful place where you almost forget the disrespectful kids shouting everywhere. Almost. Lucy might complain, but at least we didn't have to deal with that with my brother. As someone who dislikes drawing attention, I appreciated this.

Finally, it was time to eat. As planned, we arrived just before noon. There was a bit of a wait, but not as bad as it could have been.  

“I’m not hungry,” my brother mumbled. “Do we have to stop?”

“Yes,” I replied. “You’re not alone, and knowing you, you'll be hungry as soon as we leave.”

“But there’s still so much to see!”

“And we’ll have time to see it all.”

“But—"

“Joan, that’s enough,” my girlfriend interjected with a stern look. “My threat from this morning still stands.”

“Oh, stop. He’s been good all morning.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow at me, and I pressed my lips together. Last night, she’d told me it would be a good idea to support her when she said something to Joan, to avoid making her look like the bad guy. Admittedly, apart from a few grumpy remarks, which I had managed so far, Joan had behaved well this morning. My girlfriend sighed softly and turned back to Joan.

“We’re eating now. If you’re not hungry, you don’t have to eat, but don’t complain later.”

In response, my brother groaned, crossing his arms and puffing out his cheeks. It seemed like his favorite thing to do since he arrived, and it was pretty funny to watch.

“Come on, move along,” I guided him with a hand on his head as we advanced in line.

“But I’m really not hungry,” he insisted, looking up at me. “My stomach hurts,” he added, rubbing his belly.

“Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, eyes filling with tears. I sighed and glanced at Lucy, who shrugged. I knew she was aware, just like me, that this was probably a lie.

“Well, I suppose you can take some medicine beforehand. We brought those dissolvable sachets, just in case.”

In reality, we only had tablets. I would have crushed one if she truly needed it, as he can’t swallow them whole. It’s not like I don’t know how to do that. I also knew he hated it, which was clear when he grimaced at the idea.

“No!” he whined.

“Well, what? You’re feeling unwell, aren’t you?”

“I-I think I feel better now.”

A small laugh escaped me. I shook my head. So the negotiations were working after all. Lucy wasn’t wrong to have me handle this. It seemed effective. We finally reached the buffet, which reminded me a lot of a school cafeteria. I grabbed a tray for Joan and myself, while Lucy took care of hers. We helped ourselves to the food. Lucy and I got chicken cutlets with fries and a green salad, while Joan chose spaghetti Bolognese. For dessert, we picked cookies. I think I also slipped a few snacks into the bag in case we got hungry later. We finished with drinks—iced tea for Joan and me, and water for Lucy. Once everything was ready, I paid, and we found a table. The place was somewhat crowded but not so much that we had to wait for a table to free up.

The meal passed peacefully, with Joan chattering nonstop. It was the first time he’d talked so much, so we let him. He had just started his first year of primary school, and since I no longer lived at home, the change was pretty drastic. Not just in personality, but intellectually as well. This morning, he had fun reading all the signs to me, showing that he could read now.

“And then Paul got a new dog. It’s so cute! I wanted to go to his house to see it, but Mom wouldn’t let me.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded with her mouth full. “I wanted to have a sleepover, but we already had plans that day.”

“I see,” I chuckled. “Maybe next time.”

“When are you guys going to get a dog?”

Lucy, who had been silent until now, nearly choked. I stifled a laugh. That question caught me off guard too. I’d forgotten how unfiltered Joan could be. If anything, he talks more now than before.

“Why do you think we’d get a dog?” I asked, once I composed myself.

“Well, I already asked Mom, but she said no. So now I’m asking you guys. It’d be great! I could take care of it when I visit.”

This time, I laughed out loud. It wasn’t like he would be spending half the year with us. Besides, knowing him, even if we had a dog, he wouldn’t actually take care of it when he was here.

“We’re not getting a dog, Jo, I’m sorry.”

“But why?” she pouted.

“Well, we’re hardly ever home right now. It just wouldn’t work.”

"Home." The word slipped out before I realized it. It didn’t seem to bother Lucy, though, as she kept watching us with a faint smile. I cleared my throat and continued, giving a more realistic explanation that Joan could understand.

“Don’t you think a dog would be miserable, locked up in an apartment all alone? And dogs require care, which we wouldn’t be around to give since we don’t live in the apartment during the week.”

“Or on weekends when you don’t have leave,” Lucy teased, continuing to eat as if nothing happened.

I stuck my tongue out at her in response. She had said that on purpose. The worst part was that she was the one who enforced this “punishment.” It was funny, though, and I appreciated that she still saw me as the person I was before we got together. It meant she hadn’t labeled our relationship or changed how she viewed me. Now that I think about it, our behavior toward each other hadn’t changed either. Joan’s voice brought my attention back to her.

“But yeah, not now, duh! You could get a dog once you’ve finished school and have a house. You said you love Lucy, so that’s what will happen, right? You could have a dog then, and you wouldn’t even need a baby!”

Lucy burst into laughter—literally. Meanwhile, I died of embarrassment, hiding my flushed face behind my hands. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to say that in front of my girlfriend. I could feel Lucy’s eyes on me from across the table, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I forced myself to, though, and saw her smiling at me with amusement, clearly expecting me to respond.

“You’re really talking nonsense. We don’t know yet. And who says we won’t have a baby, huh?”

“Well, I’m already here. You don’t need one. And besides, you can’t have one anyway. I’ll just move in with you.”

Once again, Lucy snickered softly. Joan, who seemed very sure of what he was saying, pouted and crossed his arms. I bit my lip to hold back my amusement. He was definitely giving me plenty of stories to remind him of later.

“All that, huh?” I asked.

“Isn’t it a good idea?”

He was sulking. I recognized the tone in his voice when he did that.

“Where did you get all these ideas, huh?”

“Well, my friends say two girls together can’t have a baby.”

I ran a hand through my hair. He must have talked to them about me. I knew he often mentioned me to them, so it wasn’t impossible. Poor thing must have a lot of questions if he’s already discussing this with his friends—or anyone else, for that matter. It must be tough for him to understand everything at his age. I couldn’t wait for him to grow up, if only to understand this better.

“They’re right,” Lucy said. “But there are other ways.”

“That’s true,” I confirmed. “Like adoption, for example.”

I gave him the simplest version of the truth, something he could grasp. Lucy and I hadn’t had the chance to talk about it yet; it was way too early for that. But if I were to give my opinion, adoption wasn’t something I’d want to prioritize. Joan seemed to latch onto the idea instantly, and his reaction caught me off guard.

“Then you can adopt me!”

I rolled my eyes playfully and grabbed a napkin to wipe the tomato sauce covering his face. A few more seconds, and it would have dripped onto his clothes.

“And why would we adopt you, huh? You have a home with two parents. Adoption is for children who don’t have that, you know?”

I can see through his eyes that all the hopes he had thought so much about have evaporated. I don't like seeing that glimmer. I feel bad for him.

“So, you don't want me?”  

“We didn’t say that,” Lucy responds. “You can come see us as often as you want, and we’ll visit you in Barcelona too.”  

“But… I want to stay with you! You’re way too far from home, and Mom and Dad aren’t around much anyway.”  

I give him a sad smile. I know what that’s like, unfortunately. I run my hand through his hair before pulling him into a hug. He lets himself go without any fuss.

“I know, sweetheart, but we can’t do any better. It’s not that we don’t want you, but you can’t just leave home like that. Besides, Lucy and I will probably have another busy year ahead. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t take you in permanently.”

I think about the opportunity at the Art school for me and the opening of the gym for Lucy. This upcoming year will be just as busy and complicated as this one, if not more. I dread it as much as I’m excited to see what the future holds. I’m still waiting on a phone call, and I’m starting to worry that I haven’t heard back yet. Lucy says it’s normal, and I hope she’s right.

“Hmm… I would have preferred to live with you anyway,” he admits.  

I don’t know what’s going on at home, but there’s clearly something wrong. I think I’ll call my mom when I get the chance. If Joan isn’t feeling comfortable there anymore, I need to know so I can get my mom to react. There’s no way I’ll let him go through what I went through. I know how that ends, and if we don’t find the right person to help, things can go very wrong.

“Alright,” Lucy interrupts. “We should finish up quickly if we still want to do everything.”

This news brings a small smile to my brother’s face before he quickly resumes where he left off before our conversation.

“Slow down, please. Otherwise, you’ll really get a stomach ache.”

He nods but doesn’t slow down, which makes Lucy and me laugh as we exchange a glance. She may not have said much at the table, but I know she heard everything. I’ll ask her what she thinks about it all when we’re alone. We finish dessert, then head off to explore another area. Even though Joan claimed he wasn’t hungry, he still ate well. The day goes on, and surprisingly, Joan has become calmer than before, which delights my girlfriend. It’s understandable. As much as he pushes her limits, it’s annoying to have to constantly put him back in his place when we’re supposed to be having a good time. He must have realized that his tantrums don’t work with us. Maybe I should call Sofia as well to see how she reacts to his. Unlike my mom, I don’t doubt Lucy knows how to manage him as I do. It’s just that my mom doesn’t have patience for this sort of thing, so it’s very hard for her to react calmly. She loses her temper rather than defuse the situation.

“Hey,” Lucy calls out after a while. “Stop worrying. It can’t be that bad.”

“I don’t know,” I admit with a small, anxious smile. “We’ll see. I’ll call my mom tonight. I need to know what’s going on.”

She nods understandingly before giving me a soft kiss. Unfortunately, it’s the moment Joan turns around. His new habit is to let out disgusted noises whenever he sees us. But it seems he didn’t hear the rest. We change the subject as we finish this park, which Joan seems particularly fond of. It’s true—it’s very well done. We’ll definitely come back.

Friday, February 26th; 9:00 PM – Lucy’s apartment.

We’re back home. Everything is peaceful. It was six o'clock when we got back. The day was good. We all enjoyed it, especially Joan, who has already showered, eaten, and even gone to bed. He fell asleep in the guest room without even protesting. In fact, he went there on his own with his new penguin plush. We managed to finish the park, and it seems I was right—Joan loved it, and I couldn’t resist buying him a plush when he asked for it. He earned it with how well he behaved in the afternoon. As for Lucy and me, I had just settled on the couch with Netflix on in the background. I had already showered, and Lucy should be joining me soon. I hadn’t heard the water running in the bathroom for about five minutes. Now that everything is calm, I wanted to call my mom. Joan’s behavior wasn’t normal. I knew he had behavioral issues, but now we needed to figure out why. Nothing ever happens for no reason. It seems like everyone’s already forgotten what happened with me. I’m not going to let them forget. Just as I was about to call, an unknown number appeared on my screen. I don’t recognize it, but it seems to be from here, from Manchester. I frown, intrigued by the late call. Could it be Feli? Would she really come here? How would she even know where I am? The thought makes my stomach knot. I inhale slowly, glancing behind me to check if Lucy is around. Not yet. She’s still in the bathroom. After the fifth ring, I force myself to pick up.

“Hello?” I answer cautiously, my voice uncertain.

“Miss Batlle?” a voice asks.

“Yes...?”

“Hello, this is Bennett Fields! I’m sorry to call so late. I lost track of time,” he says with a small laugh. “Am I disturbing you?”

Bennett Fields, Bennett Fields... Oh! He’s the gallery director. I immediately sit up straighter on the couch, as if he could see me from afar.

“No, no! I’m at home,” I tell him.

“Good.”

If he were in front of me, I’m sure I’d be able to see his smile. It’s amazing how you can read him so well.

“How are you?”  

“Well, I’m pretty nervous now that you’re on the line,” I admit, which makes him chuckle. “And you?”

“I’m well, thank you. I apologize for not contacting you sooner. I had a rather busy week. I know I said I would get in touch with the person who sent me your drawings, but I preferred to speak with you directly.”

“No problem.”

In any case, I would’ve gotten the answer tonight since the other person is also in this apartment. I now understand why he asked for my number at the end of our meeting. He seems to like dealing with people directly, which is completely normal.

“I’m calling to follow up on our meeting.”

“I figured,” I reply with amusement.

I like the way we talk. I should be stressed, but he puts me at ease. His laugh is contagious.

“You impressed me a lot, Ona. Certainly not by your lack of experience, but by your undeniable talent.”

Blushing, I feel flattered to hear that from a professional.

“So, here’s the thing. I have a proposal for you. Of course, as we discussed, it would mean going back to school. Are you still okay with that?”

“Of course!”

We haven’t discussed next year much with Lucy yet, but we both kind of know what to expect.

“Good. However, the offer wouldn’t be for the Manchester gallery…”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feeling a bit worried.

“Well, here’s the thing. My gallery is expanding. I’m developing new locations in the region. I’m about to open one in Cardiff, and I’m putting together a team. I think you’d be a great fit there, under the direction of my new manager.”

Cardiff? The news leaves me speechless. What should I say to that? I definitely can’t accept such an offer on the spot. My lack of response prompts him to speak.

“I know it’s a big decision to think about. You’ve already traveled a lot, but this would be an excellent opportunity for you.”

“It definitely requires some thought…” I murmur.

“I didn’t expect an immediate answer. I’ll give you time to think it over. Just so you know, there’s also an Art school there, and the program can last two to three years, depending on the student’s choice.”

Two to three years? My vision blurs. There’s no way I’m staying away from Lucy for that long!

“If you’d like, we can schedule another meeting in two weeks. Do you think you could get some time off from school for a weekday meeting?”

“I-I’ll have to check.”

“Well, call me when you know. That way, we can set up a time to meet and talk face-to-face. Can we do that?”

“Yes, we can do that. I’ll call you then.”

“Great! Well, I wish you a good evening. Talk to you soon.”

“Talk to you soon, Mr. Fields.”

I hang up, completely overwhelmed by the conversation. Damn it! I think I’d have preferred if he’d just rejected me rather than making me face such a decision!

“Who was it?”

I jump, not having noticed Lucy’s presence. I turn toward her as she slowly approaches to sit beside me.

“Ona?” she calls gently. “Is everything alright?”

“I think we need to talk…”

Concern flashes across her eyes. Oh yes, she has reason to be worried. If she only knew how I’m feeling inside right now... I almost feel like crying.

[allyriadayne]

could you talk more about the daynes post robert's rebellion?

SURE

first of, this is mostly my hcs, speculations and a mix of things i must have read back when there was the height of asoiaf meta in 2013 because there is almost nothing about the daynes post robert's rebellion. so bear with me.

just to set the scene, the members of house dayne left after the mess of the rebellion were the unnamed older brother of ashara and arthur, the lord and father of edric; allyria the youngest sister that i headcanon to be much younger than her older siblings seeing as she is betrothed to beric dondarrion who is was in his twenties per agot so i don't think the marriage would've occurred if allyria was in her middle thirties or forties if she was closer to ashara and arthur; edric, twelve years old, beric's loyal squire; and gerold aka darkstar head of high hermitage, also in his twenties? around arianne's age.

(c) Eddie Mendoza for the cover of A Song of Ice and Fire 2025 Calendar

under the cut because i'm crazy

i don't know if the books are ever going to make clear what happened at the toj-starfall zone but we can be sure only that ned went from one to the other with lyanna's bones and supposedly baby jon to return dawn to the daynes. ashara had a baby of father unknown and shortly after ned was there she took her own life, body never found. i go back and forward in thinking if ashara's brother lord dayne was there with her when ned went or if he was one of the dornish commanders defending the targs. in any case, his presence was completely zero during this time so i think he was too injured for a time or too sickly in general to do something to reestablish the dayne name in dorne after arthur being an important part in elia's disgrace and indirectly, her murder.

because yeah after arthur and ashara's death and going by the books there is zero mention of them, even in the chapters set in dorne or others about dornish characters make no mention of them. and it's strange considering that when you read awoiaf and f&b, the daynes are The knights of dorne. queen nymeria marries a dayne, sends a starfall king to the wall, meria martell commands a dayne to burn oldtown, arguably one of the most powerful cities of the time, out of all the sons of daeron ii and myriah martell, maekar marries a dayne, the only dornish lady. it could be nothing OR something but i think it does mean something. we see there's no daynes in oberyn's party in kl or speculation in general about the new sword of the morning beyond remembering dear old arthur. they've fallen completely into obscurity. the house was reduced to a young girl and its child lord.

edric's dad dies before agot (he doesn't seem to afflicted by his death when he meets arya if he were less than a year dead, inheriting the lordship at such a young age would've been dramatic to him), i would say just after becoming a page to beric dondarrion at 7 yo and i headcanon the marriage between beric and allyria was brokered at this time too. this was part of a fic i was writing like 500 years ago but i think lord dayne must have known he would not live too long, not to see edric grow so he must have looked for someone to prepare and take care of allyria and edric after he died. betrothing allyria to a marcher lord is......strange. if a dornish person would have to be married to someone it would go like this 1) not from the reach 2) not from the marches in that order, there is too much bad blood. the daynes have a longstanding tradition of killing oakhearts so marrying allyria to the heir of blackhaven and giving him his only heir, lord dayne entrusted a complete stranger with the future of his house.

beric would've been in charge of teaching young edric just about everything. he would be living in the stormlands for almost half his live, learning from a his maester and how to govern a stormlands' castle. meanwhile, allyria in a few years probably around agot time would be ready to marry beric when she reached her majority. she would've been the defacto ruler of starfall in edric's name when lord dayne dies, i think the idea was to swap when edric gained his spurs: he would return to starfall after a successful run as a tourney knight, probably gaining some recognition from whatever beric was tasked with at the capital (rip king) and then accompany allyria to be married to his knight master. andddd fin.

the thing is. allyria being so young during the rebellion, lord dayne absence for whatever reason and then dying, let the younger members with no connections in the wider dorne political context. it is said young children go to the water gardens and it's fun yeah but it's def a starting point for politics for many lords. it's close to the martells and it's an opportunity to make friends with future rulers, /everyone/ is going. the daynes didn't have this. allyria was probably very young when the rebellion happened (i think no older than 5) and for obvious reasons she was not sent to the water gardens; as for ned, i think lord dayne could not secure an invitation, this or he died too early to even try. if allyria had gone, she would've been for sure one of arianne's companions, she has both the breeding and the standing, but NOT and it's crucial, the reputation. see what arianne has to say in affc about gerold's standing:

"He is highborn enough to make a worthy consort, she thought. Father would question my good sense, but our children would be as beautiful as dragonlords."

it's must be passé to associate with the daynes at this point. think of the conningtons losing all standing when joncon lost the battle and was exiled.

in any case, allyria, more than edric, grew in obscurity. as of the books she's betrothed to a marcher lord nobody knows if he's alive or dead, has a missing nephew and it's in charge of one of the most ancient first men houses of westeros. sad! at least ned is having more fun. which leads me to darkstar. i see his thirst to prove himself, his notoriety as a cruel knight as another way to separate himself from what the main branch has fallen into. he is in his twenties so he was probably affected by the same dark cloud as the others.

"If I led a quarter of a million men to death, would they call me Gerold the Great? I shall remain Darkstar, I think. At least it is mine own."

he wants to have what arthur had, but not be the sword of the morning, he wants something that it's his own, as he says. he may want the sword and the fame like arthur, but not to be associated with another's bad luck so to speak. it's very telling that he's called one of "the most dangerous man in dorne" and what is the sword of the morning if not this? he's a dark mirror of the daynes pre rebellion, just like allyria would've been a renown beauty just like ashara is she wasn't cloistered. something something gerold and allyria as mirrors of what could've happened to ashara and arthur if they hadn't the protection of the monarchy.

i once read gerold is meant to have young ned's plot after germ scrapped the five year time skip and i think this is half true. i do think there is something to be done about dawn the sword and i think gerold is going to steal it and do something with it, something ned can't do because he's /still/ in the riverlands. i don't know what but i think it ties nicely with the theme of deconstructing the noble knight archetype. arthur is only great because he knew how to kill.

writing this i had a breakdown about the parallels between arthur and gerold

to finish this rambling i want to say my hopes for house dayne in what is left of asoiaf is 1) ned alive 2) gerold steals dawn 3) and like. something. honestly i will take anything at this point about allyria. DOES SHE EVEN KNOW? my poor girl and 4) if germ wants to clear the toj situation then it's fine.

thanks for asking and to anyone reaching this point lol. this is mostly general but if you want to talk about anything specific just message me! k thx muah!

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I've Had A Thought. I was thinking about the scene where Eragon is reminiscing over Brom's message to him as his father, and how Eragon is confounded and troubled that he in no way mentioned Murtagh. I found it a little sad that, for whatever reason, Brom decided Murtagh didn't bear mentioning. Then it crossed my mind to consider the possibility that Brom didn't know about Murtagh at all.

As it turns out, Eragon actually does think about it in that scene- he says, "He must have known about Murtagh. He couldn't not have." And admittedly I don't think this is the most likely scenario or that it's now my personal interpretation of canon, but the idea really has captivated me. Because it actually does fit within the facts! (the new book notwithstanding)

Brom was a gardener at Morzan's estate for three years, and while it's probably more likely that he learned about Murtagh in that time, I think it's certainly feasible for him to never know. Morzan was very determined to keep him hidden and took a lot of precautions to ensure just that. Oromis said Morzan forced all his servants to swear fealty and Brom found a flaw in his wards to infiltrate, and possibly he was able to do so because a job as a gardener didn't require such strict oaths because it wasn't in proximity to Murtagh.

Again, it may not be the most likely, but I can absolutely believe Selena might not have told him either. She also would have been aware of the serious danger Murtagh was in and would've wanted him to stay hidden. Even after Brom told her who he was and she started working with the Varden, she might have kept it secret. For one, Brom's hatred of Morzan is described as extreme and all consuming, and that it never waned with time. Even if she came to believe that Brom wouldn't harm Murtagh, she might not have trusted he could look at him kindly. And of course, telling him about her child with Morzan also risked damaging their relationship considering that they were lovers. Then there's the possibility that Selena did build all this necessary trust to tell Brom about Murtagh if he wasn't aware of him already, but it was too late for her to discuss it with him before she died. So I think it is conceivable that Brom actually never knew about Murtagh's existence.

Where this concept really shines is in an AU where Brom survives after Murtagh saves them from the Ra'zac. I've always liked these, and I sometimes toy with my own, but there's so many ways Brom could react and I've never been able to settle on one well enough to get invested in it. But I find this SUCH a fascinating take on it (especially if you wave off the detail that Murtagh's voice sounds ~exactly like~ Morzan's, which I tend to do). Brom recovers and meets their rescuer, and he has no idea he's looking at Morzan and Selena's son. Murtagh seems terribly familiar, but Brom has been relentlessly haunted by his past for so long now that he doesn't put much stock in the perceived similarities. Meanwhile, Murtagh realizes that Brom truly does not know that he's the son of the man he murdered, a precarious but welcome relief. Because he doesn't know- up until Murtagh's confession in the valley.

Brom is stunned by disbelief. It can't be true, Morzan had no children, because surely he would know, surely-! But another thought dawns on him, drowning out the memories of Morzan, because who could have been the mother of his child other than his wife: Selena? And Murtagh is looking at him with fear, fear that he'll turn on him because he shares the blood of the man Brom hated most. It's heart wrenching, because even as part of his mind tells him that maybe he should scorn him, Brom is looking at this man who single handedly saved him from the brink of death and saved Eragon and Saphira from far worse at the hands of Galbatorix, and who has given them extraordinary devotion ever since.

In his core, he accepts the truth of Murtagh's claim as he explains his past and recounts the story of his parents exactly how Brom knows it to be. The paradigm shift sends him reeling. Murtagh believes Brom is affected only because of his past with Morzan; he has no way of knowing what he felt for Selena. He still glances at him nervously, especially as he admits that he briefly intended to serve Galbatorix, yet then there's also a spark of trust and gratitude- maybe even hope- in his eyes when Brom doesn't rescind the way he vouched for him when they were stopped inside the gates. How could he? Murtagh has accomplished one thing neither Morzan nor Selena ever did: escape.

Despite everything, his aching heart feels something fiercely like pride. He would not dare ruin that for him.

Then to further prove the truth, like the world is laughing at his years of ignorance, Ajihad recognizes him, because after Murtagh was brought to Uru'baen, the Varden's spies informed him of Morzan's son. But of course, that was after Brom cut himself off and started living in Carvahall, so he never learned of that discovery. "Morzan's son" is said over and over, but in Brom's mind, that idea is far eclipsed by Selena's son. He's hurt and ashamed to realize he never knew something so significant about the woman he loved. And he feels guilty that Murtagh struggled for so long in Uru'baen because no one was there to save him when he was left helplessly alone. Brom must have been so close to him when he arrived right after Selena's death, but he just didn't know.

Brom is utterly at a loss. How can he process Murtagh- the child of Selena and Morzan, Eragon's half brother, and in a certain sense, his own stepson? What can he do now? He was already so terrified of telling Eragon the truth of being his father, and now he has another staggering revelation to inflict on Eragon and Murtagh both. The prospect feels terrifyingly impossible, but keeping his secrets has grown even more painful. Watching how easily and how well Eragon and Murtagh get along is now bitterly ironic. Even without knowing it, Murtagh is a great older brother, waiting vigilantly near his side after the battle. The injury Durza inflicted scared Brom in a way he can't put into words; he simply could not bear to lose Eragon. How could he risk that happening without telling Eragon how much he loves him and values him as his son? But telling him truth could be the quickest way to lose him. And now, with Murtagh, he has more to lose than he ever realized.

-And because Murtagh deserves it, I like all these changes resulting in the Twins never getting the chance to kidnap him, and so Brom has to figure out how to make the three of them into a family <3

[matchadobo]

matchadobo's 500 followers event!

forced proximity

"if you seriously propose that i sit on your lap, i'm gonna fucking kill you."

"never figured you for this much of a cuddler." click here for the fic!

"a word from you about this and i'll set you on fire." click here for the fic!

hurt to comfort

"i still smell you on my sheets, i still remember your favorite songs, i still remember all of your little quirks, i still remember the feel of you under my palms, i still remember your smile, and i still can't get you out of my head. even though you forgot about me right now."

"if i had three lives, i'd marry you in two. the other life, i would be writer trying to pen you into existence." click here for the fic!

"show me all the parts of you that you don't love, so i know where to begin."click here for the fic!

fantasy

"been chasing me for weeks, and this is how you flirt? if you wanted to get under my skin, you should’ve skipped the silver and brought rum." (vampire x hitman)

"it'd be unbecoming for the captain of my knights to get caught sneaking out of my chambers at dawn, is it not?" (knight x king/queen) click here for the fic!

"for someone who claims to hate me, you sure can't stay out of my waters. afraid you'll miss me?" (mermaid x pirate) click here for the fic!

he puts you in your place (smut driven)

"you act like a brat all day and you expect me to do nothing about it?" click here for the link!

"you're in no position to tease baby, remember that."

"oh please, you like it when i tell you what to do."

modern au

"i told you not to get too close to me." (mafia) click here for the link!

"oh alright, but you bet your sweet ass i won't be doing it for free." (tutor au)

"are you confessing or do I need to sweep you off your feet to make it happen?" (soulmate au where bells keep ringing if you're with your s/o until a confession happens) click here for the link!

RULES

follow my blog rules! in case of special requests that fails to follow my blog rules, it will not be considered upon creating the request or it will be considered void. i'll try to find a way to partially meet the request and align it to my rules, otherwise it'd be void. like what happened in this hc. (not blaming the person who requested, just demonstrating what i'll plan to do)

this will be strictly a kidd x reader event, it could be poly with another one piece character but the pairing of 'kidd x reader' shall remain.

once i have accepted a request, the dialogue starter and a prompt genre will be crossed out in this post. a dialogue starter can only be accepted once. meanwhile, a prompt genre will remain open until all the dialogue starters are crossed out.

i only write for gender-neutral (they) and afab (she) readers. indicate in your request your preference, otherwise i'll decide.

smut, fluff, angst, etc. are welcome.

the event will be open until all the prompts and dialogues are crossed out.

HOW TO REQUEST:

select one (1) prompt genre (from #1-5) and choose one (1) dialogue starter. inclusion of more than one on each will result to a void request. if you want to request more than one prompt/genre, make another request.

include your special requests if you have any (it's fine if you don't, and if your request violated my rules; it'll be up to me in that case 😼). special request/s may include a particular ending for the request, a particular preface, story flow, established fact about them, a little alteration/modification in the dialogue starter but the inital intent is still there, personality trait, or if kidd/reader will say the dialogue.

requests will be accepted on a first come first serve basis. i won't be picky this time 🫰😚

place your requests on my ask box.

sample format: "i'd like to request forced proximity with the 3rd dialogue. make it a gn reader. i'd like an angst where kidd will say the line. maybe make it a happy ending."

click here for masterpost link