#you know what it is you shall not listen to

[theonottsbxtch]

FOR YOU, ALWAYS | CL16

an: this was a request! i loved wiritng it and now i love the idea of historical romance prince!charles, thank you for requesting it 💞 also i listened to experience by ludovico einaudi the entire time i wrote this

summary: charles has always hated his life, he thinks, he doesn’t know really. but then he meets someone, she challenges him, she makes him try and all of a sudden he knows what he wants.

wc: 12k

The grand dining hall of the Château de Monte Carlo was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through its ornate windows. Prince Charles of Monaco sat at the long mahogany table, his jaw tight as his parents, the Sovereign Prince and Princess, laid out their expectations with the weight of unshakable certainty.

"You must understand, Charles," his mother said, her voice poised yet firm, "a union with Princess Evelyn of England is not merely desirable—it is necessary. The alliance could strengthen our position in ways you cannot yet fully grasp."

His father leaned forward, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the table. "This is not a matter of choice. You are the crown prince. Your duty outweighs any personal hesitation."

Charles’s fingers tightened around the stem of his untouched glass. “And what of my life? Am I to simply be a pawn in your political games?” His voice was calm, but a sharp edge lay beneath the surface.

His mother’s gaze softened slightly, though not enough to dissuade her resolve. “You are the oldest, my son. The weight of the crown has always been yours to bear. This... is part of that burden.”

He didn’t argue further, though every fibre of his being resisted. Instead, he rose, offering a clipped bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Moments later, Charles pushed open the heavy doors to his private chambers, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of his room. His temples throbbed with the remnants of the conversation, and he felt the weight of his parents’ expectations settling heavier than the crown he would one day wear.

Inside, the faint rustle of fabric caught his attention. The servant girl—her name unknown to him, as it was meant to be—was smoothing the fresh sheets over his bed. She froze upon seeing him, her hands faltering mid-motion.

“Your Highness,” she said quickly, dipping into a small, practised curtsey. “I didn’t realise you were returning so soon. Shall I leave and return later?”

He waved a hand absently, stepping toward the settee by the window. “No. Stay. Finish your work.”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to his face, then back to the task at hand. He sank into the settee, his head tilting back against the carved wood as he let out a heavy sigh.

“Do you ever wonder,” he began, his voice soft yet tinged with frustration, “why some of us are given so much freedom, yet chained in ways that others cannot see?”

She paused, her hands gripping the edges of the linen she had just tucked in, unsure if the question was meant for her.

When she did not answer, he looked at her—truly looked at her—for the first time in a long while. Her expression was guarded, her posture poised, as though expecting reproach. “You can speak freely,” he said, a rare hint of gentleness colouring his tone.

Her lips parted slightly, then closed again before she carefully responded, “I think, Your Highness, that even those with freedom often long for something else.”

He smiled faintly, though there was no humour in it. “Something else,” he echoed, the words hanging between them like a challenge to a fate he could not escape.

She quickly turned her attention back to the task at hand, smoothing the sheets in swift, precise movements, as if afraid that lingering would invite trouble. Charles, however, was not done with the conversation.

“And what would you long for?” he asked, his voice quieter now but laced with curiosity. “If you could have… anything?”

Her hands stilled, though she didn’t lift her gaze. “It doesn’t matter, Your Highness. People like me don’t waste time with such thoughts.”

��That’s not what I asked.”

The firmness in his tone made her look up briefly, her eyes meeting his for the first time. They were dark, unyielding, yet not unkind. She hesitated, as though weighing the consequences of speaking too openly.

Finally, she murmured, “I suppose… I’d long for choice. To decide my own path, no matter how humble.”

Charles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regarded her with an intensity that made her shift slightly under his gaze. “Choice,” he repeated, almost to himself. “The one thing I’ve never had.”

She blinked at his words, her brow furrowing in confusion. He noticed the look and gave a soft, bitter laugh.

“You think I have everything, don’t you?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the opulence surrounding them. “All this, and yet I’m to marry a woman I’ve never met. Smile on command. Produce heirs like some stud horse for the dynasty.”

“Your Highness—”

“Spare me,” he interrupted, raising a hand. “I’m aware I sound insufferable. Poor me, the prince in his gilded cage.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile threatening to appear, though she suppressed it quickly. “I wouldn’t dare say so, Your Highness.”

“And yet you’re thinking it,” he said, leaning back against the settee, a faint smirk tugging at his lips now. “Go on. You’ve already said more than most would dare. Speak freely.”

She hesitated, then, emboldened by his unusual mood, offered carefully, “I think… it’s easier to envy a cage when it’s lined with silk.”

Charles let out a bark of laughter, surprising them both. For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by something lighter.

“Touché,” he said, shaking his head. “Perhaps I deserve that.”

She resumed her work in silence, and he watched her, his mind turning over her words. There was a simplicity in her presence, a quiet sense of purpose that felt like a reprieve from the endless demands of court life.

As she moved to leave, her task completed, she paused by the door. “Your Highness,” she said, her voice tentative.

He glanced up, his expression expectant.

“Sometimes… cages are only as strong as we believe them to be.”

Before he could respond, she slipped out, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and the echo of her words, which refused to leave him in peace.

The words haunted Charles for days. Cages are only as strong as we believe them to be. They played on a loop in his mind, following him from morning meetings with ministers to the hollow dinners with his parents, where talk of his engagement to Princess Evelyn consumed every conversation.

By the third day, he relented. Not to the sentiment behind her words, but to the reality of his life. Duty, it seemed, would always triumph over desire. He formally agreed to the arrangement in a cold meeting with his father, his voice devoid of emotion as he signed the papers that would announce his betrothal to the world.

That evening, restless and seeking solace, he ventured into the royal gardens. The roses were in full bloom, their scent heavy in the warm air, yet they brought him no comfort. The paths, so meticulously maintained, felt as constricting as the marble walls of the palace.

The crisp evening air offered a solace the grand halls could not. He strolled along the manicured paths, his mind still heavy with the decision he had made, when movement near the servant’s entrance caught his eye.

It was her.

She was dressed simply, carrying a basket as she slipped through the narrow door at the edge of the palace walls. For a moment, he simply watched her, a sudden curiosity flaring to life. Then, before reason could temper him, he followed.

She moved with purpose, her steps quick as she crossed the gravel path leading to the servants’ gate. Charles kept his distance, careful to stay within the shadows. The sound of the gate creaking open carried through the still night, and he quickened his pace.

“Wait,” he called softly as the gate began to swing shut behind her.

She spun, startled, her hand flying to her chest when she saw him. “Your Highness!” she whispered, her tone panicked. She glanced around quickly, as though expecting someone to appear from the darkness. “What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you,” he said simply, his voice low, “and I followed.”

Her expression shifted from shock to alarm. “You shouldn’t have. If anyone sees you out here with me—”

“They won’t,” he said firmly, stepping closer.

“But if they do…” Her voice dropped further, almost a plea. “I’ll be dismissed—worse. Do you know what they’d do to me for leaving the palace grounds with the prince?”

He stared at her, and for the first time in days, he felt a flicker of something other than despair. “Please,” he said, the word escaping him softly but with undeniable weight.

Her eyes widened at his uncharacteristic vulnerability. She shook her head, taking a step back. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”

“I’m not ordering you,” he said quickly. “I’m asking.”

For a moment, she stood frozen, her mind clearly racing. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she pulled the cloak from her shoulders and thrust it toward him.

“Fine,” she said, her tone sharp but her movements careful as she draped it around him. “If anyone asks, you’re my cousin visiting from the countryside. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

Charles nodded, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Understood.”

She turned and began walking quickly down the narrow dirt path beyond the gate. He followed, cloaked in her simple, worn garment, the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the fabric.

They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity before the lights of a small village came into view. She turned onto a side lane, leading him to a tiny house at the edge of town, its thatched roof weathered but charming.

“This is it,” she said, her voice clipped as she gestured to the modest dwelling.

He stared at the house, a stark contrast to the palace he called home. “You live here?”

“Yes,” she said, clearly defensive. “It’s small, but it’s mine. No one tells me what to do when I’m here.”

He didn’t respond, too busy taking in the details: the flower boxes beneath the windows, the faint glow of a single candle in the window.

“Now you’ve seen it,” she said, her tone impatient. “You should go back before someone notices you’re missing.”

But Charles shook his head. “No,” he said softly, his eyes still fixed on the little house. “Not yet.”

Her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. “You shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, finally looking at her. “But now that I’m here… I can’t imagine wanting to leave.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. The quiet stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she sighed again, softer this time.

“Fine,” she said, stepping toward the door. “But if anyone asks, I don’t know why you’re here, and I definitely didn’t bring you.”

She pushed the door open, stepping inside with a cautious glance behind her. Charles followed, ducking slightly to avoid the low wooden beam over the doorway. Before she could say a word, a voice called from inside.

“Back already? I thought you—”

The voice cut off as a man, younger than Charles but older than the servant girl, appeared from the far corner of the small room. He froze, his sharp blue eyes flicking between her and the prince. “What in God’s name…”

“Damn it!” she hissed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I thought you were working the late shift at the docks tonight!”

“I was,” her brother said, stepping forward and squaring his shoulders. His rough shirt and patched trousers bore the telltale marks of dock work—salt stains and grime clung to the fabric. “But the shipment was cancelled. Now you tell me why the bloody prince of Monaco is in our house. Did you kidnap him?”

“Kidnap him?” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous. He followed me!”

Charles, for his part, seemed utterly unconcerned by the commotion. His gaze wandered over the small room with childlike fascination, taking in the chipped table, the cracked ceramic plates stacked neatly in the corner, and the patchwork curtain separating the single sleeping area. He paused to admire a string of dried herbs hanging near the hearth, as though he’d never seen anything so fascinating.

“Your Highness,” the brother said, stepping in front of him with an awkward, hesitant bow. “I mean no disrespect, but do you… do you need me to call someone? Or are you in danger?” He looked over his shoulder at his sister. “Are we in danger?”

“No one is in danger,” Charles replied, his voice calm. He turned to her brother with a polite nod. “Thank you for your concern. I’m here of my own accord.”

The girl pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. Meanwhile, Charles’ eyes landed on a wooden crate near the wall, and before either sibling could stop him, he lowered himself onto it. The crate creaked but held, and he leaned back with a sigh, a serene smile spreading across his face.

The girl spun on him, her exasperation bubbling over. “What are you smiling about?”

He looked up at her, his expression earnest, almost boyish. “It’s beautiful.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Here,” he said, gesturing around the room. “It’s so cosy. Everything has its place. It’s warm, lived-in… peaceful.”

Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. “You call this beautiful? Your palace is five hundred times the size, and you think this is—”

“I know what my palace is,” Charles interrupted, though his tone held no irritation. “Cold. Grand. Silent. This… this feels alive.”

She crossed her arms, her brow furrowing as she stared at him. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him. “It’s a shack,” she said finally, her voice softer but still tinged with disbelief.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “But it’s your shack. And it’s more honest than anything I’ve ever known.”

Her brother exchanged a glance with her, his expression suggesting that he thought the prince might have lost his mind. She only shook her head, sighing heavily as she walked to the table and placed her basket down.

“This is a mistake,” she muttered to herself.

“Perhaps,” Charles said, still smiling, “but it’s the best mistake I’ve made in a long time.”

She busied herself unpacking the basket, placing a few withered carrots, a handful of potatoes, and some crusty bread onto the table. Her brother leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still watching Charles with wary eyes.

“If you’re staying, Your Highness,” she said, her tone clipped as she focused on the food, “I hope you don’t mind scraps.” She hesitated, then glanced at him. “And you can’t tell anyone at the palace that I take the extras. They’d—”

“Dismiss you,” Charles finished, his voice soft. “I won’t tell. You have my word.”

She gave a small nod, her shoulders relaxing slightly, and began peeling the potatoes. Her hands moved deftly, her brother stepping in to fetch water from the small barrel near the door. Charles sat quietly on his makeshift chair, watching the two of them work in a rhythm.

“Do you need help?” he asked after a moment.

Her brother let out a short laugh, but she only shook her head without looking up. “No, Your Highness, but thank you for the offer. I imagine peeling potatoes is beneath you.”

“Not everything is beneath me,” he replied, and while his voice was carrying a hint of dry humour, there was some seriousness to it.

She didn’t respond, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she chopped the vegetables and tossed them into a battered pot over the small fire. Soon, the room filled with the simple, comforting aroma of soup.

When the meal was ready, she placed three mismatched bowls on the table and ladled out the steaming broth. She set one in front of Charles without ceremony, then handed one to her brother before sitting down herself.

Charles took a tentative sip, and his eyes widened slightly. “This is excellent.”

Her brother snorted. “It’s boiled scraps, mate. You must really have it rough if you think this is fine dining.”

“Max,” she warned, shooting her brother a glare.

Charles chuckled, dipping a chunk of the crusty bread into the soup. “Maybe it’s not fine dining,” he admitted, “but it tastes real. Honest.”

Her brother rolled his eyes but said nothing more, focusing on his meal. The three of them ate in relative silence, the tension in the room easing slightly as the warmth of the food spread through them.

When the bowls were empty, she cleared the table, stacking the dishes neatly on a small shelf. Charles leaned back, his contented smile returning as he watched her move about the room.

“You should go,” she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet. She didn’t turn to face him.

His smile faltered. “I don’t want to.”

Her hands paused for a moment before she resumed tidying the table. “You’ve seen what you wanted to see. This is my life. And you… you have your own life waiting for you back there.”

Charles stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

She walked toward the door, not meeting his eyes as she grabbed her cloak and gestured for him to follow. Her brother gave Charles a long, unreadable look as he rose to leave, but he said nothing, only shaking his head as the prince ducked back out into the cool night air.

They walked in silence down the dirt path, the lights of the palace glowing faintly in the distance. When they reached the servants’ gate, she stopped and turned to him, keeping her eyes on the ground.

“This is where we part ways,” she said firmly.

He took a step closer, and when she looked up, she saw something in his expression—gratitude, yes, but something deeper, too. Without a word, he reached for her hand, his touch gentle. He held it for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over her calloused fingers.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For the soup. For everything.”

Before she could respond, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was brief, but it sent a wave of warmth up her arm, leaving her stunned.

He stepped back, releasing her hand, and gave her one last look before slipping through the gate and disappearing into the shadows.

She stood there for a long time, staring at the empty path, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

The next few days at the palace dragged on in a monotonous blur for Charles. His mornings were filled with tiresome meetings about the engagement, his afternoons with rigid etiquette lessons to prepare for public appearances with Princess Evelyn. Every second felt like a tightening noose around his neck.

Finally, the day came for him to meet her. Princess Evelyn of England arrived with her entourage in an ornate carriage, her entrance every bit as grand as expected. She was perfectly polite, perfectly poised—and, to Charles, perfectly insipid.

They sat across from each other in one of the palace’s many drawing rooms, chaperoned by a small battalion of attendants and his ever-watchful parents. She spoke at length about her family lineage, her charity work, and her plans to modernise court life, but her words washed over him like a stream of lukewarm water.

When it was his turn to speak, he managed only the barest pleasantries. He was certain she noticed his lack of enthusiasm, but if it bothered her, she gave no indication.

By the end of the meeting, he felt more drained than he had in years. As she curtsied and left the room, he caught his mother’s pointed glare, but he ignored it.

Before she could say anything to him, he glanced at the ornate clock on his wall. It was nearly the same time as the day she would be fluffing the pillows on his settee. A peculiar sense of anticipation stirred in his chest.

Without a second thought, he made his way to his bedroom. As he opened the door, his eyes immediately fell on her.

She was there, as if summoned by some unspoken wish. She was standing by the settee, her back to him as she carefully fluffed the pillows. Her movements were deliberate, methodical, and entirely unlike the flurry of maids bustling about elsewhere in the palace.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Perfect timing,” he said loudly, causing her to jump slightly.

She turned, clutching the pillow to her chest. “Your Highness!” she said, startled. “I— I can come back later if—”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted dramatically, throwing himself onto the bed with a theatrical sigh.

She froze, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed, as he sprawled across the silk covers, one arm flung over his face.

“Let me tell you about the most dreadful afternoon of my life,” he groaned.

Her brow furrowed as she set the pillow back in place. “The dreadful afternoon where you met the woman you’re going to marry?”

“Precisely,” he said, sitting up slightly to gesture at her. “You understand my plight already.”

“I understand you’re being ridiculous,” she replied, smoothing the cushions on the settee.

“Ridiculous?!” he exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart. “Do you know what she said when I asked her about her favourite pastime?”

“I don’t,” she said flatly, clearly trying to stay focused on her task.

“She said,” he continued, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm, “Oh, I do adore embroidery. There’s something so meditative about it.”

She stared at him. “That… doesn’t sound terrible.”

He sat up fully now, gesturing emphatically. “Doesn’t sound terrible? It’s horrific! What am I to do with someone who finds stitching flowers onto fabric the height of excitement?”

“You could try embroidery yourself,” she suggested dryly, unable to resist a small smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Very funny. No, what I need is someone who… who challenges me. Someone with fire.”

She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, turning back to the pillows.

“Instead,” he muttered, flopping back onto the bed, “I’m shackled to a walking lesson in decorum.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted the settee. Finally, she turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable.

“Maybe,” she said carefully, “you should spend less time thinking about what you don’t like about her and more time figuring out what you’re looking for.”

Charles opened one eye to glance at her. “And if what I’m looking for isn’t an option?”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then, she shook her head and turned back to her work.

“Then you make do,” she said simply.

He watched her for a long moment, his chest tightening inexplicably.

“Is that what you do?” he asked softly.

She paused but didn’t turn around. “Every day, Your Highness.”

Without another word, she grabbed her items and walked out, softly closing the door behind her.

Charles had barely settled back on the bed, still pondering her cryptic answer, when the door to his chambers burst open.

His younger brother, Arthur, strode in, his golden hair slightly dishevelled and a boyish grin plastered across his face. “Charles! I just saw her—the princess of England. She’s… stunning. Gorgeous. A masterpiece, really. You lucky bastard.”

Charles groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Arthur, must you always barge in uninvited?”

Arthur ignored him, plopping himself unceremoniously into one of the velvet chairs near the fireplace. “I mean it. If I were you, I’d have proposed on the spot. Did you see her eyes? Like polished emeralds.”

“She’s… fine,” Charles muttered, his tone flat.

“Fine?” Arthur’s voice rose in mock indignation. “Brother, I’d trade places with you in an instant.” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “What is it? Not enough excitement for you? Too… proper?”

Charles sat up, his expression exasperated. “If you find her so attractive, Arthur, marry her yourself.”

Arthur laughed, clearly amused by the suggestion. “Oh, if only it worked that way. But alas, you are the crown prince. The heir. The one who gets the girl and the throne, while I’m left to look charming at parties.”

Charles shook his head, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t help but wonder how different his life might be if the roles were reversed. Could Arthur really be happy living a life of obligation, of gilded cages and loveless arrangements?

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the servant girl. Her small house, her laughter with her brother over bowls of soup, the way she moved through life with an independence he’d never known.

“What would it be like,” he murmured, almost to himself, “to marry someone who isn’t royalty? Someone who isn’t bound by these ridiculous rules?”

Arthur blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. Then he laughed, loud and incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”

Charles turned his head sharply, fixing his brother with a challenging look. “I’m serious. What would it be like to marry a commoner? To live a life free of all this… pomp and pretence?”

Arthur’s laughter faded, replaced by a look of disbelief. “You are mad. Do you have any idea what that would mean? The scandal? The uproar? Father would have a fit. Mother would faint on the spot. And the people? They’d riot.”

“Would they?” Charles asked, his tone calm but insistent. “Or would they understand? Would they respect a prince who chose love over duty?”

Arthur shook his head, a faint sneer creeping into his expression. “You don’t know what you’re saying. A prince doesn’t marry a milkmaid or a seamstress. It’s not a fairytale, Charles. We’re not… like them.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

“Not like them,” Charles repeated softly, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Arthur hesitated, then shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “It means we have a responsibility. A legacy to uphold. Marrying into royalty isn’t just tradition—it’s survival. You think Father and Mother arranged your engagement for fun?”

Charles didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard, his mind churning. Arthur’s words grated against something deep within him, something that longed to push back against the boundaries of their carefully constructed world.

“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low, “the legacy isn’t worth the cost.”

Arthur stared at him, his disbelief giving way to concern. “Charles… you’ve been spending too much time alone. Or worse—reading poetry again. Get your head out of the clouds, brother. This is your life. Learn to accept it.”

With that, Arthur rose, clapping Charles on the shoulder before striding toward the door. “And if you won’t,” he added with a grin, “I’ll gladly keep the princess company. You’re a fool not to appreciate her.”

The door closed behind him, leaving Charles alone in the echoing silence of his chambers.

But his mind wasn’t silent.

It churned, restless and defiant, filled with images of a life he might never know.

The chill of the autumn night bit at Charles’s skin as he hurried along the winding path toward the small house. A week had passed, and though he told himself repeatedly that it was improper—foolish, even—he couldn’t shake the gnawing thought of her.

He hadn’t seen her since their last conversation in his chambers. Every day without her had stretched longer than the last. No wry comments while she smoothed the wrinkles from his sheets, no gentle jabs at his dramatics.

The house appeared before him, small and humble against the starlit sky. Light peeked through the cracks in the shutters.

He hesitated, his heart pounding. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked.

The door opened a crack, her face appearing in the dim light. The moment she recognised him, her eyes widened in alarm, and she yanked him inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Your Highness!” she whispered fiercely, pressing her back against the door as though to block the outside world. “Are you out of your mind? I’ll be hung if they find you at my door!”

He tried to smile, though he knew she was right. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

Her expression turned exasperated. “That’s not a valid reason to sneak out of the palace, Prince Charles.”

“Isn’t it?” he countered lightly, though the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed the truth of how much he’d missed her.

Her sigh was heavy with frustration, but something softened in her gaze. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said again, though her voice lacked its earlier sharpness. She moved away from the door, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders.

It was then that he noticed the redness around her nose, the slight rasp in her voice.

“You’ve been ill,” he said, stepping closer.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, waving him off as she moved toward the small kitchen space. “A cold. Happens every year when the weather turns. I’ll survive.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said quietly, glancing around the room.

“Life doesn’t wait for the sniffles,” she said with a faint smirk, though her movements were slower than usual as she reached for a bowl.

“Then let me help,” he said, surprising both of them.

She turned, raising an eyebrow. “You? Help? What do you know about cooking?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he admitted, grinning. “But I’m an excellent student.”

She stared at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to humour him. Finally, she handed him a knife and motioned toward a small pile of vegetables. “Fine. Peel those. Try not to cut yourself.”

He took the knife gingerly, studying the carrot as if it were a puzzle. She chuckled softly, the sound warming the small space, and stepped beside him to show him the proper angle for peeling.

The next hour passed in a flurry of quiet laughter and careful instructions. He fumbled with the knife, his first attempts earning teasing remarks from her, but he improved quickly under her guidance. Together, they chopped, stirred, and seasoned until the small pot on the stove began to bubble with a fragrant stew.

As they worked, the conversation drifted.

“You’re better at this than I expected,” she said, handing him a spoon to stir.

He smiled. “Careful. If you keep complimenting me, I might come back for more lessons.”

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Cooking isn’t glamorous work, Your Highness. It’s just… survival.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “but there’s something… grounding about it. It feels real.”

She looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You really hate that palace life, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead focusing on the steady motion of the spoon in the pot. “I don’t hate it,” he said eventually. “It’s just… hollow. Every decision is made for me. Every word is calculated. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be in all of it.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “You’re lucky, though,” she said softly. “Even if it’s hollow, you have a place. A name. People like me… we’re just the shadows keeping the fire alive.”

He stopped stirring, her words settling heavily in the space between them. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said after a moment.

She tilted her head, her expression sceptical. “No?”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re more than that. You’re clever. Strong. Independent. You see things I never could.”

She blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his voice.

“That’s what I like about you,” he added softly, almost without thinking.

The words hung in the air, and he froze, realising too late what he’d said.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she turned away quickly, pretending to adjust the pot on the stove.

His own face burned as he fumbled for something to say, but nothing came. The silence stretched on, heavy and charged, until she finally spoke, her voice quieter than before.

“You should taste the stew,” she said, not looking at him.

He stepped forward, dipping the spoon into the pot and taking a tentative sip.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice softer now.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile, though she still didn’t meet his gaze.

The evening deepened, the chill of the autumn air seeping through the thin walls of the small house. Charles noticed her slight shiver as she ladled the stew into two mismatched bowls, the threadbare shawl around her shoulders doing little to shield her from the cold.

He stood abruptly, unfastening the clasp of his heavy cloak. She turned to look at him, startled, as he stepped behind her and draped it gently over her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling the thick fabric around herself instinctively.

“You’re cold,” he said simply, sitting back down and picking up his bowl.

She hesitated, looking at him with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “But you’ll freeze without it.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a small smile. “I’ve survived colder nights, army and all of that.”

The warmth of the cloak seemed to envelop her, and she relaxed slightly, sitting down across from him. For a moment, they ate in silence, the quiet clinking of their spoons the only sound.

When their bowls were empty, Charles glanced around the modest room, noticing for the first time the lack of a hearthfire.

“Do you light a fire at night?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

She shook her head. “Can’t afford firewood,” she said matter-of-factly, collecting their bowls. “It’s not so bad. We manage.”

“Oh,” was all he managed to say, though the thought of her and her brother enduring nights in such cold unsettled him deeply.

She didn’t seem to notice his reaction, busying herself with tidying up.

Later, as he prepared to leave, she hesitated by the door, holding his cloak out to him.

“Take this back,” she said softly.

He pushed her hand gently back toward her. “Keep it,” he insisted. “For tonight.”

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped, the words faltering. Finally, she nodded, her fingers tightening around the fabric.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

He smiled at her one last time before stepping out into the night, the chill biting at him instantly as he made his way back to the palace.

She played with the royal clasp of his cloak as he left and wondered what her life would be like if she wasn’t just a servant and he wasn’t the Crown Prince of Monaco.

No less than a few days later, her brother barged into the small house, his footsteps heavy against the creaking floorboards.

“Why,” he began, his voice loud and incredulous, “is there months’ worth of firewood outside the house?”

She looked up from where she was patching a worn-out scarf, distracted. “What are you talking about?”

“The firewood,” he repeated, gesturing wildly toward the door. “There’s a mountain of it, just sitting there! Did you rob a lumberyard?”

She frowned, setting down her work and walking to the door. When she stepped outside, her eyes widened at the sight of the neatly stacked pile of firewood by the side of the house.

“I… I don’t know,” she stammered, completely bewildered.

It was then that she noticed a small slip of paper tucked into the top of the stack. Pulling it free, she unfolded it to reveal a note written in a familiar, elegant hand.

Keep warm – C

Her cheeks flushed, and a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Her brother leaned over her shoulder, reading the note. “C?” he asked suspiciously. “Who’s C?”

She folded the note quickly, tucking it into her apron pocket. “No one,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

Her brother narrowed his eyes but didn’t press further, shaking his head as he muttered something about princes and their peculiarities.

She was fluffing the pillows on the freshly made bed when the door to the prince’s chambers swung open. Charles strode in, his expression lighting up the moment he saw her. Without hesitation, he leapt onto the bed, landing with a dramatic bounce that sent a pillow tumbling to the floor.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed, grinning. “And you’re better!”

“And you just ruined the bed I made.” she chided but then moved on to adjusting a vase on the side table. “Well I must say, a lit fire at night changes a whole lot.”

He froze for a fraction of a second, then sat up, feigning ignorance with an exaggerated shrug. “Oh? A fire, you say? That’s… good to hear. Fires are quite helpful, I’m told.”

Her smirk widened. “I’m sure someone told you that.”

“Perhaps,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But we’re not here to discuss firewood logistics, are we?”

She rolled her eyes, walking around the room to dust the mantel. “Then what would you like to discuss, Your Highness?”

He sighed heavily, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his face. “The princess of England.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him. “Oh?”

“I have to meet her again,” he groaned. “Another tea, another tedious conversation about fabrics or her needlework or some other mind-numbing topic. I swear, I’d rather duel blindfolded than sit through it.”

She snorted, biting back a laugh. “Blindfolded? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“No,” he said, peeking at her from under his arm. “It’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Of course it is,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Because what’s more reasonable than a prince skewering himself just to avoid small talk?”

He sat up, clutching his chest theatrically. “You wound me, madam. Truly, your lack of sympathy is cruel.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, shaking her head as she set the duster aside. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, grinning.

She turned back to the mantel, but when the silence stretched, she glanced over her shoulder. He was watching her, his expression soft, his eyes warm and intent.

Her brow furrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie, and quickly looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

“You absolutely were,” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a suspicious look.

“No, I was… thinking,” he said, his voice a touch too casual.

She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”

“About…” He scrambled for an answer, then pointed toward the bed. “About how well you made this bed. Truly impressive. Best I’ve ever seen.”

She rolled her eyes again, but a faint blush crept into her cheeks. “Right,” she said, picking up her duster. “Well, I’ll leave you to your very important thinking, then.”

He watched her go, his chest tightening as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

Over the next few days, Charles found himself increasingly distracted. Whether strolling through the palace gardens or enduring another tiresome tea with the princess, his thoughts invariably drifted to her. The way her wit kept him on his toes. The quiet determination in her movements. The occasional flicker of softness beneath her sharp remarks.

It was maddening.

When he was near her, he found excuses to linger. When she wasn’t around, he searched for her without realising it. And as much as he tried to push the growing ache in his chest aside, he couldn’t deny what was happening.

He’d fallen for her.

It was late afternoon when he returned to his chambers after a gruelling diplomatic meeting. To his delight, she was there, dusting the intricate carvings on the wooden frame of his bed. She didn’t notice him enter, humming softly to herself as she worked.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before clearing his throat.

She jumped, spinning around to face him, clutching her duster like a weapon. “Do you have to sneak up on me?”

“It’s my room,” he said, smirking. “I can hardly sneak into my own space.”

She scowled, turning back to her work. “You’re insufferable.”

“So you’ve said,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “But you keep coming back. Perhaps I’m growing on you.”

“I come back because it’s my job,” she retorted, moving to dust a nearby shelf.

He followed her, leaning lazily against the furniture. “A job you seem to excel at. Though I wonder… do you enjoy tormenting me as much as I enjoy tormenting you?”

She shot him a sharp glance, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Someone has to keep your ego in check, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, reaching out to pluck the duster from her hand. “You do it so well,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her breath hitched slightly as he leaned closer, her eyes darting to his before flicking away. “You should stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he leaned closer still, his face mere inches from hers.

“Whatever it is you’re doing,” she said, stepping back slightly, only to find herself against the edge of the shelf.

The tension in the air was palpable, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His gaze was locked on hers, and for a moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Charles?” his brother’s voice called from the hallway.

Panic flared in her eyes, and Charles acted on instinct, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the large wardrobe at the side of the room.

“What are you—” she began, but he pressed a finger to her lips as he opened the wardrobe door and ushered her inside.

The space was small, barely enough for the two of them. She pressed herself against the back wall as he stepped in, closing the door behind them.

The darkness was absolute, and the only sound was the quiet shuffle of their breaths.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

A beat passed, and she whispered back, her voice laced with frustration, “If we get caught, it’ll be my neck, not yours.”

“No one’s getting caught,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

In the confined space, his hand brushed against hers, and he froze. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers moved to her face. His touch was light, tentative, as though he feared she might vanish at any moment.

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, brushing against her skin with agonising slowness. Her breath hitched, and in the silence, it felt deafening.

“Why are you…” she began, but her voice faltered as his fingers brushed the line of her jaw, lingering there for a moment before sliding to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“You’re too close,” she replied, though her tone lacked conviction.

The faintest smile curved his lips, though she couldn’t see it in the dark. “You’re not stopping me,” he said softly.

Before she could respond, his brother’s voice echoed from the other side of the room. “Charles, where are you?”

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers. “Stay still,” he murmured, his hand still cradling her cheek.

She closed her eyes, the tension in the small space suffocating and electric all at once.

Footsteps receded as his brother left the room, grumbling something about missing him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Charles let out a slow breath, his hand dropping from her face. He opened the wardrobe door slightly, letting in the dim light of the room.

“Safe,” he said quietly, stepping back to let her out.

She stepped past him, her cheeks flushed and her breaths uneven. “You’re reckless,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze as she hurried to gather her duster.

He smirked, leaning against the wardrobe door. “And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

She shot him a glare over her shoulder, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Get back to work, Your Highness,” she said, her tone sharp but her voice unsteady.

He chuckled softly, watching her go.

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Charles’s chambers, painting golden streaks across the plush rug. She was there again, this time at his desk, meticulously polishing the brass handles of the drawers. She worked with the same quiet efficiency she always did, her movements steady, purposeful.

Charles, reclining lazily on the settee, had been pretending to read a book for the past ten minutes. In truth, he’d barely turned a page. His attention was drawn, as it so often was these days, to her.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Have you ever taken a moment to rest?”

She glanced at him briefly before returning to her task. “I rest when my work is done.”

“And when is it done?” he pressed, setting the book down and rising to his feet.

She didn’t answer immediately, her focus still on the brass handle in her hand. “When your chambers sparkle, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “It already sparkles. You’ve polished this desk so many times I can see my reflection.”

She huffed softly, clearly unimpressed. “There’s still dust.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing hers as she gripped the cloth. She stilled, her breath catching as his fingers lingered over hers.

“You’re relentless,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her eyes flicked to his, wide and uncertain. “And you’re in my way.”

He smiled, his expression teasing but his gaze intent. “I’m rarely in anyone’s way. It’s a novelty.”

She tried to step back, but he moved with her, closing the distance between them. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Observing,” he said, his voice soft, warm, as if he were sharing a secret. “You’re endlessly fascinating to watch, you know.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, but he reached out, gently tilting her chin so she’d meet his eyes again.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Why not?”

“Because…” She faltered, her lips parting as she searched for words. “Because you shouldn’t.”

He leaned in slightly, his hand still holding her chin. The air between them was heavy, charged with something neither of them dared name.

“You’re trembling again,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles.

“I’m not,” she said quickly, but her voice betrayed her.

“You are,” he whispered, his thumb brushing her jaw in the lightest of touches.

Her breath hitched, and her hands tightened around the cloth she still held. “This is dangerous,” she managed, though her tone was weak.

“For you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Or for me?”

She couldn’t answer, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

His hand moved, the backs of his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, then down to her neck, where his thumb rested lightly against her pulse. He felt it hammering beneath his touch and smiled softly, almost as if he were marvelling at it.

“You feel it too,” he said, his voice low and intimate, as if the world beyond this moment didn’t exist.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she finally pushed lightly at his chest. “You… need to stop.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze locked on hers. Then, slowly, he stepped back, though the tension in the air lingered like a storm about to break.

She turned away quickly, grabbing her cloth and pretending to busy herself with the desk again, though her hands shook so much she nearly dropped it.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice stopping her in her tracks.

She didn’t turn back to him, but she nodded slightly, her voice quiet. “Don’t do it again.”

But neither of them believed that.

That night the crackle of the fire in the grand drawing room filled the silence as Charles poured himself another glass of brandy. His younger brother lounged in the chair across from him, a glass already in hand.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Arthur said, swirling his drink. “Even more so than usual.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. “Have I?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “You spent half of tea with the English delegation yesterday staring at the window. I’m pretty sure they could have declared war, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Charles chuckled, though it lacked his usual mirth. He stared into his glass, the amber liquid catching the firelight.

“Arthur,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

His brother tilted his head, curious. “What?”

“What would you think of… being the next heir to the throne?”

Arthur blinked, then laughed, loud and incredulous. “What, you’re not planning on dying anytime soon, are you?”

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

Arthur leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Then why would you ask that?”

Charles swirled his drink, his gaze distant. “Just… wondering.”

Arthur snorted, leaning back again. “Abdicating is social suicide. If you’re even entertaining the thought, I’d advise you to stop immediately.”

Charles stayed silent, his thumb brushing idly along the rim of his glass.

The quiet stretched, and Arthur froze mid-drink, lowering his glass to the table with a sharp clink. His eyes widened, and his voice dropped. “You’re not thinking of abdicating… are you?”

Charles didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he stared into the fire.

“Cha,” Arthur pressed, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell is going on with you? Who’s put this absurd idea in your head?”

Charles glanced at him, his expression inscrutable. “It’s not absurd.”

“It is when you’re the crown prince of Monaco,” Arthur snapped, sitting up straighter. “You’d give up everything—power, privilege, our family’s legacy—for what? A whim? A fleeting fancy?”

“It’s not a fancy,” Charles said sharply, his voice cutting through the room.

Arthur blinked, taken aback by his brother’s rare flash of anger. “Then what is it?”

Charles leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring hard at his brother. “What if I told you it’s something real? That I’ve found something—someone—who makes me feel more alive than anything this throne ever could?”

Arthur’s jaw dropped slightly, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly serious,” Charles said, his tone firm.

Arthur exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t just about a servant, is it?”

Charles’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing. “How—”

“Please,” Arthur said, waving a hand. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you’ve been sneaking out, the looks you give when you think no one’s watching? The firewood? You’re an open book.”

Charles leaned back, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I underestimated you.”

“And you’re underestimating the chaos you’d cause,” Arthur shot back. “Do you have any idea what this would mean for the family? For Monaco?”

Charles’s expression hardened. “For once, I’m thinking about what it would mean for me.”

Arthur stared at him, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “You’d walk away from all of this?”

“If it meant being with her?” Charles said, his voice soft but resolute. “Yes. I would.”

The weight of his words settled over them, and for once, Arthur didn’t have a quick retort.

The next few days were torturous for Charles. Each moment stretched longer than the last, his thoughts dominated by her. Every step he took through the palace halls felt meaningless without catching sight of her—her quick smile, her quiet resolve, the way she challenged him without fear.

He thought of her words, her laughter, the way her cheeks flushed when he teased her. More than that, he thought of the way she made him feel—seen, understood, even cherished in a way that no title or crown could replicate.

His heart ached with the weight of it, with the need to tell her, to unburden himself of the truth that had taken root so deeply he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

But how? How could he look her in the eye and admit what he was so sure would unravel the tenuous balance between them?

One morning, he found himself wandering aimlessly through the palace gardens. It was the time of day she often brought fresh linens from the storage to the castle, she usually crossed the gardens. He lingered, hoping for a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Frustrated, he returned to his chambers, pacing the space restlessly, thinking. No, waiting to next see her. When she finally arrived, carrying a tray of fresh tea and biscuits, his breath hitched.

“You’re pacing,” she said, placing the tray on the table. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I’ve been restless,” he admitted, stopping mid-stride. “And you’re late.”

She raised an eyebrow as she set the tea. “Didn’t know I was on your schedule.”

He crossed the room to her, his steps deliberate. “I notice when you’re not here.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed arranging the tea things. “I’m just a servant, Your Highness. Surely you have better things to notice.”

“That’s not true,” he said, his voice dropping.

She looked up at him, her expression guarded. “It should be.”

He wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t her place to decide what mattered to him, but the vulnerability in her gaze stopped him. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Have you eaten today?”

She frowned, clearly caught off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d wager you haven’t,” he said, stepping closer. “You work yourself to the bone.”

She shrugged, turning back to her task. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, his tone softer now. “Come. Sit with me for a moment.”

She hesitated, glancing at the door. “If someone sees—”

“No one will,” he said, moving to pull a chair out for her. “Please.”

Her eyes darted between him and the chair before she sighed, giving in and sitting reluctantly.

He poured her a cup of tea, his movements unhurried. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, and he felt the now-familiar spark that always seemed to follow her touch.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, looking down at the tea.

“Do what?”

“Treat me like I’m someone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone important.”

His chest tightened. “You are.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide, filled with a mix of disbelief and something else—something that made his breath catch.

For a moment, he thought about saying it, about laying it all out before her. But the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the fear of what her reaction might be.

The next day, Charles found himself waiting for her in his chambers again, anticipation thrumming through him. When she arrived, her arms full of fresh linens, he immediately noticed the faint circles under her eyes.

“You’re overworking yourself again,” he said, standing from his seat near the window.

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone brisk as she moved to change the bedding.

“You’re not,” he countered, moving closer.

She straightened, turning to face him. “Why do you care?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

“Because…” He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. “Because you matter to me.”

Her lips parted, her breath catching. “Charles, don’t—”

“I’m not trying to overstep,” he said quickly. “But you should know—I can’t ignore it anymore.”

“Ignore what?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. She stepped back instinctively, breaking the moment.

Over the next few days, he was quieter, more pensive. He found himself watching her more often, the words he wanted to say always on the tip of his tongue. But every time he opened his mouth, the weight of the risks stopped him.

What if she didn’t feel the same? What if she did, but couldn’t say so?

The questions tormented him, each one drawing him closer to the inevitable conclusion: he had to tell her.

But how could he make her understand the depth of his feelings without ruining everything?

Charles really tried to wait it out, he tried so hard.

But when the rain lashed outside his chambers where he sat in the dimly lit room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.

He worried.

It was late, far later than when she usually came, but he had waited, a knot of tension in his chest.

When the door finally opened, and she stepped inside with her usual quiet grace, drenched from the rain with his laundry in a covered basket, his heart leapt.

“You’re soaked,” he said, standing quickly. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

She shrugged, setting the basket down by the door. “Work doesn’t stop for a storm, Your Highness.”

He frowned, crossing the room to her. “Take off that cloak; you’ll catch your death.”

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing past him toward the hearth, but her shivering betrayed her words.

He moved closer, pulling her gently toward the warmth of the fire. “Why do you always insist on pretending you’re fine when you’re not?”

She stiffened under his touch. “Because I have no other choice.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected. He reached for her hands, his thumbs brushing over her cold fingers. “You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

She pulled her hands back, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and caution. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, his heart pounding. “I can’t keep pretending. Not anymore.”

“Pretending what?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

“That I don’t feel this,” he said, stepping closer. “That I don’t feel everything for you.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching. “Charles…”

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out, raw and unguarded. “I’ve tried to fight it, to ignore it, but I can’t. I don’t want to.”

Before she could even stop them, tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head, stepping back. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

“I do,” he said firmly, closing the distance between them again. “I’d give up everything—this title, this life—if it meant being with you.”

Her tears spilled over then, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice breaking. “If I’m not happy here—if I can’t have the life I want—what good is any of this?”

“Because you don’t know what you’re saying,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve lived in a palace your entire life, with servants, banquets, comfort. You don’t know what it’s like to live without it. To go to bed on an empty stomach. To wake up not knowing if you’ll have work the next day. I can’t do that to you.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it to me,” he said desperately. “It would be my choice.”

She shook her head again, her tears falling faster now. “And what happens when you realise you can’t live like that? When the reality of it sets in? You’ll resent me. And I’ll lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he said, his voice pleading as he reached for her hands again. “I swear to you, you won’t.”

“I don’t have a good life,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can barely take care of myself. How could I take care of you?”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he said, his hands tightening around hers. “I just need you. I don’t care about the rest.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his, her tears glistening in the firelight. “You’re asking me to believe in something that feels impossible.”

“Then let me prove it to you,” he said, his voice breaking as his own tears threatened to fall. “Please. Give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me. Let me love you the way you deserve.”

Her resolve wavered, her breath hitching as his words sank in. She wanted to believe him—desperately—but the fear of what they would face, of what they would lose, loomed over her.

“Cha…” she began, her voice cracking.

“Please,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Say yes. Just… say yes.”

For a long, agonising moment, the only sound was the rain pounding against the windows and the crackle of the fire.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “But don’t push me away. Not now. Not when I know you feel this too.”

Her lips quivered, and she closed her eyes, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“And you’re everything,” he replied, his voice trembling with emotion.

After pacing around his room for a few days, thinking of how he was going to tell his father, Charles went to his study.

The atmosphere in the king’s study was heavy with tension, the air almost crackling as Charles stood before his father. The older man sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, his expression dark and unreadable. The storm that had raged days earlier seemed to have shifted inside these walls, centering on the room as if the universe sensed the coming conflict.

“I need to speak with you,” Charles began, his voice steady but tight.

The king set down the pen he had been holding, his gaze sharp. “This sounds serious.”

“It is,” Charles replied, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve made a decision.”

The king leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I see. Go on, then.”

“I’m going to abdicate.”

For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the room.

Then, the king’s expression darkened further, his voice sharp and incredulous. “You’re what?”

“I’ve decided I don’t want the throne,” Charles said firmly. “It’s not the life I want anymore.”

The king rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he loomed over the desk. “Do you even understand what you’re saying? What you’re throwing away?”

“Yes,” Charles said, meeting his father’s gaze without flinching. “I’ve thought about this—more than you know. I don’t want this life. I want…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “I want to live my own life.”

The king scoffed, shaking his head. “And what life would that be? One of obscurity? Of poverty? You’ve never gone a day without comfort, without privilege. You know nothing of what it’s like out there, and you think you can just… give all of this up?”

“I do,” Charles said, his tone resolute.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “This is about her, isn’t it? That servant girl. Your mother mentioned her but I did not believe her.”

Charles’s chest tightened, but he didn’t deny it. “Yes. It’s about her. But it’s also about me. About what I want, who I want to be. And I know I don’t want this.”

“Don’t be a fool,” the king snapped, his voice rising. “You think love is enough to sustain you? That some fantasy of a simpler life will keep you warm when reality sets in? She can’t give you what you need, Charles.”

“She gives me what I want,” Charles shot back, his voice fierce. “And for once, isn’t that enough?”

“No, it isn’t!” the king roared, slamming his hand on the desk. “You’re a prince! You have a duty—to your family, to your people. You can’t just walk away because of some fleeting infatuation.”

“It’s not fleeting,” Charles said, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “I love her. And I’d rather live a life with her—whatever that looks like—than spend one more moment pretending to be happy here.”

The king laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You’re naïve. You don’t even know how to survive out there.”

“She’ll teach me,” Charles said, surprising even himself with the certainty in his voice. “I want to learn. I want that life—with her.”

The king stared at him, his face a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “You’re throwing away everything you’ve ever known for a life of struggle. For what?”

“For love,” Charles said simply.

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The king finally sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked up again, his expression was weary but no less stern.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly.

“Maybe,” Charles replied. “But it’s my mistake to make.”

The king’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze searching his son’s face as if looking for a crack in his resolve. But Charles stood firm, his decision made.

“You’ll regret this,” the king said finally, his voice heavy with warning.

“Perhaps,” Charles said. “But I’ll never regret choosing her.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the study, leaving his father staring after him in silence.

The rumours spread like wildfire. Whispers followed Charles wherever he walked, his every step trailed by servants and courtiers exchanging furtive glances and hushed speculations. The air in the palace buzzed with the shock of his decision, but none of it mattered to him. Not the disapproval etched into his father’s face, nor the incredulous murmurs of the courtiers. His mind was focused solely on her.

He found her in the palace laundry room, folding linens with the quiet efficiency that always seemed to calm her. When he walked in, she froze, her fingers clutching the corner of a sheet.

“You,” she began, her voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “You really went through with it?”

He stepped closer, his hands tucked behind his back, his face calm but his eyes alight with purpose. “I told you I would.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “I thought—Charles, I thought it was just talk. Something you’d get over once you realised how insane it is.”

“Well, I’m officially insane,” he said with a faint smile, stepping closer.

She dropped the sheet onto the table and turned to face him fully, her arms crossed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The crown, the throne, your entire future—it’s gone. All of it. For what?”

“For you,” he said simply.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. Finally, she shook her head, her voice trembling. “You’re impossible. Do you know what this means? I can’t work here anymore, not if you abdicate. The palace won’t keep me.”

“I know,” he said gently. “And I wouldn’t ask you to stay here. We’ll leave—together.”

“Leave?” she echoed, blinking at him.

“Yes,” he said, stepping closer until he was just in front of her. “I’ve been thinking about it. We can go somewhere no one knows us, where we can start fresh.”

She stared at him like he’d grown another head. “Where would we even go?”

“Italy,” he said with a small smile.

“Italy?” she repeated, her brows furrowing.

“Yes, maybe Marenello,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “It’s beautiful, the weather is perfect, and… I don’t know, it just feels right.”

She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Charles, I don’t even speak Italian.”

He tilted his head, his smile widening. “Then, for once, I’ll get to teach you something.”

His words hung in the air, so tender and unexpected that she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The corners of his eyes crinkled at her reaction, and before she could say anything else, he stepped even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

She closed her eyes, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through her. “You’re serious about this,” she whispered.

“Completely,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m not afraid of starting over, not if it’s with you.”

For a moment, she let herself believe it could be possible—this crazy, impossible dream of theirs.

“When?” she asked softly.

“Tomorrow,” he said, his voice full of quiet resolve. “After I sign the abdication papers.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, searching eyes. “And then what?”

He smiled, his expression both calm and full of determination. “And then we start the life we’ve always wanted.”

She didn’t want to be vulgar, she really didn’t but she had to be honest.

She was shitting herself at the thought of being summoned into the King’s office with the entire family.

The office was uncharacteristically quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the palace muffled by the thick doors. Charles sat at the massive oak desk, the official abdication papers spread out before him. Arthur stood off to the side, his arms crossed, watching the scene with a mix of bewilderment and unease while his parents stood by the desk with a clear look of disdain etched on their faces.

She stood near the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked smaller than usual, her nerves evident in the way her fingers twisted together. Her wide eyes darted between Charles and the papers, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of them.

Arthur broke the silence first. “Are you sure about what you’re doing, Cha?”

Charles’s pen hovered over the signature line, but he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at her. She met his gaze, and in that instant, the rest of the room faded away. The worry in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together as if she was holding back words—it was as if he was falling in love all over again.

“You don’t have to do this for me, Cha,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He smiled at her, then, without hesitation, he bent his head and signed his name in bold strokes across the paper.

The moment was electric, the scratch of the pen on parchment the only sound in the room. When he finally set the pen down, it felt as if the world had shifted, as if something monumental had been set into motion.

Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Well, there it is,” he muttered, his voice carrying a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “You’re officially insane.”

Charles stood, his movements deliberate as he turned to face her. “Go back to your house,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that made her breath hitch. “Pack your things. Tell your brother. We’re leaving at six.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting as if to protest, but before she could say a word, Arthur muttered something about needing air and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone, his parents following shortly behind.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, their gazes locked as the gravity of what had just happened sank in.

“You…” she began, her voice trembling. “You really did it.”

“I did,” he said, stepping closer to her.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, he cupped her face gently in his hands. The world seemed to pause, the space between them charged with an intensity that neither of them could deny any longer.

And then he kissed her.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if he was savouring the moment he had dreamed of for so long. But when she leaned into him, her hands clutching his jacket as if to anchor herself, the kiss deepened, becoming a silent promise of everything they were about to face together.

When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. He rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.

She blinked, her eyes shining as she searched his face. “I love you too,” she said softly, her voice breaking slightly. Because she did, she didn’t know when she exactly fell in love with him. Maybe it was when he first came to her house and looked at it with wonder rather than judgement or maybe it was when they shared that intimate moment in the wardrobe.

He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Then go,” he said. “Pack your things. This time tomorrow, we’ll be miles away from here. Together.”

She nodded, her resolve strengthening as she stepped back, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned and slipped out of the office.

Charles stood there for a moment, the weight of what he’d just done settling in his chest. But for the first time in his life, he felt truly free.

the end.

[tuulikki]

The funny thing about Jesus shipping is it literally drops us into about 2000 years of Biblical interpretation. Which disciple we pick is an exegesis/headcanon. And, in the most literal sense, it even depends on what texts we decide to count as canon.

Like, if we want to focus on John, we have to note that John is the only gospel that uses "beloved disciple" in the first place. So our source for John is... John.

And obviously "'The Gospel of X' says that X is the most important disciple" is the best fun you can have.

That's why I use "The Gospel of Judas" (c. 2nd-century CE) as my canon, even though it's Gnostic fuckery. tbh I think the "kiss" is the least compelling bit of J/J, because the anachronism of reading anything into that kiss makes it the weakest bullet point in the Jesus/Judas Shipper Manifesto. And the idea of Judas as a zealot is pretty indefensible unless we're just having fun (and we are).

Peter sources are all from the Synoptic Gospels (the oldest Gospels, in chronological order: Mark, Matthew, Luke). We can cherry pick gospels for shipping, but let's be real... Synoptics have Word of God energy lol. We kinda have to concede first place to Peter and then squabble (in good fun) about every other spot on the podium. Peter sure did deny Jesus three times but hey, he didn't betray him to his death.

(Long post, I decided to ramble. Just for my own amusement. Because this was my undergrad degree.)

Judas:

"The Gospel of Judas" is probably the ur-source for Jesus/Judas girlies and I just gotta infodump. Is it canonical to any Christian tradition? No, it’s docetist tomfoolery. But it's a really fun text to pull in because, as you'd expect from "The Gospel of Judas," Judas is Jesus' specialist little disciple:

(Jesus said to the disciples) “[Let] any one of you who is [strong enough] among human beings bring out the perfect human and stand before my face.” They all said, “We have the strength.” But their spirits did not dare to stand before [him], except for Judas Iscariot. He was able to stand before him, but he could not look him in the eyes, and he turned his face away.

You get Jesus selecting Judas as the only one who was worthy while also being enigmatic and fucking off when Judas asks questions:

Knowing that Judas was reflecting upon something that was exalted, Jesus said to him, “Step away from the others and I shall tell you the mysteries of the kingdom. It is possible for you to reach it, but you will grieve a great deal. For someone else will replace you, in order that the twelve [disciples] may again come to completion with their god.” Judas said to him, “When will you tell me these things, and [when] will the great day of light dawn for the generation?” But when he said this, Jesus left him.

You also get an enigmatic nickname and weird lovingly condescending divinity:

Judas said, “Master, as you have listened to all of them, now also listen to me. For I have seen a great vision.” When Jesus heard this, he laughed and said to him, “You thirteenth spirit, why do you try so hard? But speak up, and I shall bear with you.”

And we can’t emphasise enough that while Judas is special and the only one Jesus confides the truth in, Jesus tells him he’ll be reviled pretty much until the End Times. Poor little meow meow Judas:

When he heard this, Judas said to him, “What good is it that I have received it? For you have set me apart for that generation.” Jesus answered and said, “You will become the thirteenth, and you will be cursed by the other generations—and you will come to rule over them. In the last days they will curse your ascent to the holy [generation].”

And although The Last Temptation of Christ was written well before we found the Gospel of Judas, we get the same dynamic where Jesus and Judas both know beforehand that Judas will enable Jesus’ sacrifice, which has a tragic weird intimacy about it:

“But you will exceed all of them. For you will sacrifice the man that clothes me.”

This bit really almost reads like fanfic already:

“Look, you have been told everything. Lift up your eyes and look at the cloud and the light within it and the stars surrounding it. The star that leads the way is your star.”

Speaking of The Last Temptation of Christ, I personally find it to be a better, weirder J/J source than "Jesus Christ Superstar." Not least because it tries to reconcile the gospels the most of I've seen in any other piece of media. Side note: When I say "reconcile," I mean narratively dealing with contradictions. E.g., how Nativity plays put both magi (Matthew) and shepherds (Luke) in the same story.

And "The Last Temptation of Christ" film adaptation really brings in the unsettling chaotic energy that I think a story about an incarnate deity destined to die requires. Apart from "Goncharov," it's my favourite Scorsese:

John:

If we ditch the Synoptic gospels and focus on John, of course John will give us John as the "disciple whom Jesus loved," since John is the only gospel that uses that term. And John is the best-written gospel, hands-down, so it's just a winner of a text.

Though, just to clarify for anyone who might have misread what OP said: the word "philtatos" is not in the Bible. The closest concept is the "ho mathētēs hon ēgapā ho Iēsous"/"disciple whom Jesus loved" term that the John author invented to describe John. And since John is the last of the canonical Gospels, it would be absolutely bugfuck crazy Dan-Brownery to make historical claims. But I hope Jesus/John shippers are out there pulling in the Apocryphon of John just because the opening is pretty poignant. And obviously John 13:23 with John leaning on Jesus' chest is tremendously good.

Peter:

For Peter, I feel like having the Synoptics backing up your ship will always give the superior claim to, uh, your ship being canon. But the full bit of Matt 26:33-35 kinda ruins my fun:

Peter replied, “Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will.” Truly I tell you, Jesus answered, “this very night, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.” But Peter declared, “Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you.” And all the other disciples said the same.

All the other disciples chiming in makes it less special. And the fact that he does disown Jesus is a bit... :(

I think my problem is that Peter gives me Kronk energy by running about hopping out of boats and swinging his sword about. It's giving "Peter, dumb as a rock". But I'd be lying if that didn't make for good material.

Tangentially: I'm also in the camp that The Secret Gospel of Mark was a forgery (it's too damn convenient to find an intensely controversial "gay gospel" and then whoops! we lose the gospel à la Joseph Smith's golden tablets) but I respect Morton Smith for giving us this:

“The youth, looking upon [Jesus], loved him and began to beseech him that he might be with him,” it read. “And after six days Jesus told him what to do and in the evening the youth comes to him, wearing a linen cloth over his naked body. And he remained with him that night, for Jesus taught him the mystery of the kingdom of God.”

If only he'd had access to AO3...

jesus/judas isn't even the best jesus yaoi. the betrayal kiss is a powerful symbol for sure and judas killing himself after jesus' crucifixion is of course hugely significant (see: jesus christ superstar). but in biblical canon there is literally a disciple described as jesus' most beloved. his favourite disciple. his philtatos, for the song of achilles girlies. he was the last disciple to die, he leans his head on jesus' shoulder at the last supper (and some scholars believe he was the only one jesus told of the nature of judas' betrayal). and lest we forget peter, who also betrayed/rejected jesus after swearing his eternal love for him, threatened to kill and die for him, was all like "i'll follow you anywhere" and "i'll be with you forever". straight up tried to walk on water for jesus. He was crazy. it was yaoi central in there

[msfantasy-anime]

No way! Luffy has a Wife?!

Monkey D. Luffy x Wife!Reader

Summary: an amalgamation of many requests on others finding out Luffy is married.

A/n: Thanks @matronofthevoid for the prompt of Boa Hancock and to the other anonymous DM’s requesting others

Part VII

After a few weeks of Monkey Y/n’s Wanted posters circulating, the world government has issued a retraction after being unable to locate the marriage certificate of Luffy and Y/n.

The marines have since issued new Wanted posters, removing the family name ‘Monkey’ followed by the following description.

‘Y/n, Wanted Dead or Alive for 200 million berries after assaulting a marine officer for insulting childhood friend Monkey D. Luffy. The bounty has been increased as Y/n is confirmed to be an official member of the strawhat pirates after eye-witness testify Y/n claiming allegiance to the strawhat captain in wholecake Island. The World Government would also like to retract any claims or statements of the marriage between the pair due to lack of evidence to support claim.’

Whilst it true the new posters and description have been issued- not everyone has received the new news.

Shanks - Receiving the original poster

“Hey captain! Check this out!” Yassop howls in laughter with Lucky Roux, throwing a newly issued bounty down into their captains lap.

Wanted Dead or Alive. Monkey. Y/n. 100m berries.

Shanks eyes widen slightly at the name.

“Luffy’s a grown man now, wife and all…” Shanks mutters, his eyes shining with pride before quickly faltering to horror. “That little twerp got married and didn’t even invite me?! Can you believe that?!”

Silvers Rayleigh - Receiving the original poster

Shakuyaku smirks down at the news paper below her, taking a good long drag from the cigarette sitting loosely between her fingers.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Rayleigh steals a glance at the papers. “Well would you look at that… the boys not completely hopeless after all.”

Boa Hancock - Receives the new posters

As all of the Kuja warriors suspected. Their beautiful loving Empress has been bedridden for weeks.

The wanted poster…

The description of Luffy’s marital status…

It was all far too much for the tender hearted empress.

But as soon as Gloriosa received the newest issue, she figuratively bolted to the empresses bed chamber. “I’ve come bearing great news!” Gloriosa announces, pulling the blanket off of the rotting figure that is Boa Hancock.

He matted hair remains tangled, her swollen eyes pinching together tighter at the exposure of light. “Leave at once you old hag! Leave me to my suffering!” Hancock wails, pulling weakly at the bedcovers.

“He isn’t married!” Gloriosa announces as Hancock sits up rapidly. “Luffy! He isn’t married- it was just a false report! They’re only childhood friends!” The angelic expression that follow was so blindingly beautiful, Gloriosa’s memory lapsed at the beauty that is her Empress.

“Luffy my love! I knew it! You shall be mine! No woman is qualified for his affections!” Hancock swoons.

Monkey D. Garp - Receives the new poster

“See Koby?! I knew it wasn’t true!” Helmeppo scrutinises the posters hung up on the wall.

‘Y/n Wanted Dead or Alive’

Koby shrugs indifferently. Whilst it might be true Luffy and Y/n aren’t married, is it really so crazy to believe Luffy has romantic interests? Well according to Helmeppo, such a statement is ridiculous.

“What are you two bickering about now?” Garp grumbles, shoving his hand into the bucket of popcorn and into his mouth by the fist fulls.

“Sir- you would know more than that Luffy couldn’t possibly be married.” Helmeppo guestures to Y/n’s new poster.

There was a moment of silence before Garp dropped his bucket of popcorn to the floor, snatching the poster as his eyes widen in horror. “Huh?! So that little brat went and became a pirate after all?! Does anyone listen to me?! First Ace, then my idiot grandson and now my angel?!” Storming to his desk, Garp continues to mutter to himself under his breath, riffling through the papers until he is able to extract a report pertaining to your bounty from the pile.

You were Garp’s one saving grace.

The one and only rambunctious child that didn’t go over to the dark side, but based off the report- it’s still his idiot grandsons fault.

If he didn’t become a pirate then you wouldn’t have gained a wanted poster defending his honour like the noble angel you are.

“Sir - you would know more than anyone. Is Luffy and Y/n married or not?” Koby asks, only for Garps eyes to remain dark and downcast in angst.

“Unofficially.” He mutters only for Helmeppo to cringe at the confirmation.

“So it’s true then?! Strawhat really does have a wife?!” Helmeppo shouts in horror, needing desperately for Garp to tell him the honest truth.

“Huh?” Garp picks his nose mindlessly as he thinks back. “That idiot has been claiming they’ve been married for years… guess he just finally wore her down.”

Bartolomeo - Receives the new poster

“And Y/n defended Sir Luffy by knocking that filthy marine out in one hard punch!” Bartolomeo praises, dabbing a moist tissue to his eyes. “It’s just so beautiful! Sir Luffy deserves nothing less than a devoted wife to defend his honour.” Bartolomeo throws himself onto the floor as he continues to sob hysterically. “And - to think- they’re childhood friends! Truely a romantic story for the ages!”

The crew begin to cry in unison. “How can people deny their marriage?!” Some sobbing crewman questions, blowing his nose into his own shirt.

“They don’t need no stink’in piece of paper! We will help sir Luffy by spreading their grand love story far and wide for all to hear!”

Y/n - Receives the new poster

“Hey have you guys seen Y/n?” Luffy questions, scratching his head absentmindedly.

Zoro points lazily towards the head of the Thousand Sunny where you appear to be sitting glumly. You begin to make the face you always do when you are sad.

“I’m sorry Luffy- I didn’t mean to upset her.” Chopper mutters sadly. But Zoro only drops his heavy hand on Choppers head. “Y/n’s bounty went up, I went to show her, but then she got really upset.“ Chopper holds up the newly issued Wanted poster of Y/n.

“Hey it’s not your fault, all you did was show her the new poster.” Zoro reassures but Choppers shoulders sink further.

Luffy snatches Nami’s pen from her hand and begins to scribble on the Wanted poster.

“Luffy! What the hell-“ Luffy tosses the pen back on the table and stalks back off towards his gloomy wife.

“Oi! Have you seen your new wanted poster? Looks like your bounty went up since you’re officially in my crew now.” Luffy announces ecstatically, shoving the wrinkly paper into your hands.

You begin to slouch into yourself. You knew it was silly but it was heart wrenching to finally have a family name only of it to be taken at a moments notice. ‘Monkey’ was not a last name you even earnt. But even so, it was nice to feeling like you belonged somewhere.

“Yeah, what about it?“ Your voice shrivels up on the spot.

Looking down at the wanted poster you see your name haphazardly scribbled ‘Monkey Y/n’

Tears threatened to well-up. Without you even admitting out loud - Luffy somehow knew exactly what upset you and how to fix it. “You’re so dumb sometimes ya’know?” Luffy states rhetorically, which only makes you begin to boom with laughter. “How many more times do I have to remind you? You’re my wife. You don’t need some piece of paper to give you a last name. Because I already gave you my last name.” You begin to grin at your sweet loveable doofus. “But if you need a piece of paper, then take that. I wrote it myself and everything- Kay?” He asks only for you to spring on top of Luffy, pulling him into a lethal tight hug.

[demonic0angel]

"If you give me a prompt I'll write it 😈" - Aight Bet.

Danny didn't expect his sister to have a pen pal, she said it's someone from nanda Parbat?? Danny doesn't know where the Fuck that is but everytime he sees the letter that was sent(those are some fancy lookin envelopes) he could feel rancid Ectoplasm lingering around them.

Jazz has already noticed but took no caution about it, Jazz said that she had a son, her name was Talia (No Mentioned Last name) and she was a very odd woman.

Danny listened to Jazz ramble on about her new "friend", Her son Damian which her pen pal had talked about and even sent a drawing of(how fancy). Danny WOULD investigate and dig deep into it since he's the ghost king and all but jazz explicitly told him not to.

....

Meanwhile, Jazz plans to meet her 'Penpal Friend' soon. She's very excited but still cautious, The way her friend talked about her situations was... Concerning to say the least and jazz shall use her psychiatrical expertise to help her!

[Danny is very concerned, Dan is Very Concerned 2.0, Dani says "Yuri."]

-A.E. 👻

(I’m gonna change the context of your ask a little so Jazz already knows Talia’s identity before she meets her again in person. Also, this got really long lmaooo)

Talia gave her a small nod when she saw her. She lifted her head to meet Jazz’s gaze as Jazz gave her a dazzling smile.

“Hello, Talia,” Jazz said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “You look lovely.”

Talia avoided her gaze and just hummed. She cleared her throat lightly and then said, gesturing to the hallway, “This way.”

Jazz followed her at a set pace and said, “It’s good seeing you again. How are you? Did you enjoy the candy I shipped over?”

Talia nodded. “Yes. I gave them to my son and he enjoyed them. Thank you very much.”

Jazz beamed. She did not ask the burning question in her heart. Was Talia alright? Her letters to her had become less and less frequent in the past year before the most recent message to her had been a barely disguised begging for Jazz to come see her.

Jazz didn’t mind; she loved seeing Talia, who was startlingly dangerous and hauntingly beautiful, but it still worried her. Talia was a strong woman, but she wasn’t invincible, even with that pool of rancid ectoplasmic bath water. (She shuddered just thinking about it. She needed to ask Danny to wipe them out before Talia could hurt herself again using them.)

“Where are we going?” Jazz asked, glancing around. They were inside of a nice, expensive looking condo in Spain.

Talia paused in front of a door. She hesitated before she said slowly, “Jazz… I have valued your friendship greatly. In the last few years, you have become someone very dear to me. However, as you are already aware, I am in a dangerous position in my home. I do not wish to endanger you, especially since you are a civilian. If you do not wish to take this journey with me, then… you should turn around now.”

Jazz chuckled. How cute that Talia thought that Jazz was a helpless civilian. However, it had been Jazz who had accidentally enforced that idea within Talia’s mind. It was a little too late to correct that notion though, so Jazz just shook her head softly and tried to look reassuring for Talia.

“It’s too late for that.” She reached out to hold Talia’s hand, scarred and weathered from fighting, squeezing slightly. “I will accompany you and help you however I can.”

Talia nodded again, looking away. “Thank you… beloved.”

Jazz tilted her head curiously at the title, but did not say a word. Talia then opened the door and Jazz’s eyebrows rose as she stared at a young boy with similar features to the woman beside her. He scowled at her, but it just looked cute with his round cheeks.

Jazz turned to Talia. She already had an inkling, but she wanted to confirm. “This is…?”

“My son,” Talia said, “His name is Damian. And I earnestly beg you to take him in for me.”

“What! But mother!” Damian stood up and shouted, while Jazz’s eyebrows shot up again.

Talia gave him a light glare. She turned back to Jazz and it was cute how she had to look up at her. “My father is increasing pressure on us, and he is training Damian even harder. If this continues, Damian’s life could be in danger. I would’ve left him with his father, but Bruce’s lifestyle is… not what I want for Damian. Please, could you take him in, beloved?”

Damian shut his mouth with a click and both Al Ghuls stared at Jazz with wide eyes, one beseeching and one shocked.

Jazz smiled and reached out to hold Talia’s hand again. It was really nice to hold, and warm too. “Of course. You don’t have to worry, Talia. Like I’ve said, you can depend on me.”

Talia beamed. “Thank you, beloved.” She flipped Jazz’s hand and kissed the back of it softly. Jazz blushed. It felt strangely… intimate? But who was Jazz to judge? Maybe it was a League of Assassins custom! Or something! She didn’t get to meet Talia often, usually just exchanging weekly letters, so how would she know?

Talia turned back to Damian, still holding Jazz’s hand and said, “She will be your new caretaker. She is very important to me and you can trust her with your life. Call her… mom.”

Jazz side eyed Talia, but did not dispute it. Maybe it was some sort of spy plan? Like a code name? It would make more sense when a woman and a young boy were together for them to be mother and son.

Jazz also turned to Damian and let go of Talia’s hand to walk over to him slowly, keeping an open posture and friendly smile on her face.

Damian eyed Jazz as she approached and then knelt down respectfully before him. She smiled. “Hello, Damian. I’m Jazz, and I hope we can get along.”

Damian looked at his mother. They had some sort of silent conversation that Jazz did not understand, before Damian turned back to her. “Yes… it’s nice to meet you too… mom.”

Jazz smiled. “I’ll take care of you.”

Damian sniffed. “I certainly hope so.” He tried to look haughty, but he was so short compared to Jazz that it once again looked adorable and pouty.

Yep. It was official. Her siblings were going to eat him alive.

Jazz looked back at Talia, who was staring at them both with a soft expression. Strangely, the gentle look made Jazz’s stomach flutter.

Weird. Was she growing sick?

Talia blinked, noticing her gaze. “Is there something wrong, beloved?”

Jazz coughed at the nickname again. Damian eyed her like she was a walking disease and Talia just looked more and more worried. “Nope! So, uh, what’s the official plan?”

She stared at Talia, who just blinked and hummed, pursing her red, kissable lips.

Yep. Definitely sick.

(Talia: Heh! Cool, calm, and collected, with a dash of vulnerability! I’m definitely showing my best side to my beloved, Jazz! She’s so much better than that emotionally constipated Bruce!

Jazz: *completely and utterly oblivious to any advances made by another woman* Wow, Talia is so pretty today too. Surely, it is normal to want to hold hands and kiss another girl because she’s so pretty 😃 I wonder why she wants her kid to call me mom? 😃

Damian: …. Two moms? Is this my birthday?)

[isabelawritesthings]

Mortal Kombat 1 dialogues with Loki reader

characters included: Liu Kang, Raiden, Johnny Cage and Shang Tsung

notes: The dialogues will be with both the male and female versions of Loki, and since Loki is a canonically gender fluid bisexual character, there will be flirting in both forms.

a/n: Loki and women are my new obsession, maybe I'll do more dialogues with Marvel or even DC characters.

Liu Kang

MALE VERSION –

Liu Kang: You're causing a mess in the timelines!

Reader: What? Is it so wrong to travel through the multiverse?

-

Reader: Are you as powerful as He Who Remains?

Liu Kang: Who is this, Loki Laufeyson?

-

Reader: Do I remind you of a sorcerer?

Liu Kang: Unfortunately, yes.

-

Liu Kang: Make peace with Thor.

Reader: Why? Isn't it enough to live in his shadow all my life?!

-

FEMALE VERSION

Reader: You're quite handsome for a Fire God.

Liu Kang: Focus, Loki (Sylvie).

-

Liu Kang: You need to stop with the time travel!

Reader: Why? Are you afraid I'll break your perfect timeline?

-

Liu Kang: Shang Tsung is seduced by you.

Reader: Tell him I won't be a concubine!

-

Reader: Does Johnny Cage know there is a difference between flirting and sexual harassment?

Liu Kang: I'll talk to him later.

Raiden

MALE READER –

Raiden: Does your brother have lightning powers too?

Reader: Believe me, creating illusions is more impressive!

-

Raiden: Have you allied yourself with the sorcerers?

Reader: Come on, Raiden, you know I'm greedy.

-

Reader: Is your amulet your mjonir?

Raiden: What is a mjonir?

-

Reader: Come back to Fengjian, farmer boy!

Raiden: Not while you're out there causing chaos!

-

FEMALE READER –

Raiden: Is Shang Tsung jealous of me?

Reader: He thinks you're my boyfriend or something like that.

-

Raiden: How many gods are there in Asgard?

Reader: Our pantheon is as numerous as the stars in the sky.

-

Reader: What does Hela want with you?

Raiden: I don't know, but I hope it's nothing bad.

-

Reader: Very handsome for a shaolin

Raiden: This isn't going to... Wait, are you flirting with me?

Johnny Cage

MALE READER –

Johnny: Thor is more badass!

Reader: And why should I listen to the opinion of a mediocre actor like you?!

-

Johnny: That Sylvie has no right to be so hot!

Reader: You know she's technically me, right?

-

Reader: You're a womanizer, right? Have you ever tried something different?

Johnny: Look, I respect people with different tastes, but that's definitely not my case.

-

Reader: I also had problems with my father.

Johnny: This isn't going to make me sympathize with you, superhero movie villain!

-

FEMALE READER –

Johnny: Are you sure Hela is the goddess of death? Because you can kill with this look!

Reader: It's not too hard to see why your wife left you!

-

Johnny: I bet Asgard doesn't have gods as beautiful as me.

Reader: Please, have you seen my brother?

-

Reader: Who is this Madam Bo?

Johnny: You would have to go to Fengjian one day to know, do you like Chinese food?

-

Reader: I think Liu Kang is mad at me.

Johnny: Of course! You and your variants have wreaked havoc on the timelines!

-

Shang Tsung

MALE READER –

Shang Tsung: We could both benefit from an alliance.

Reader: HA! I am a God! I make no alliances with mortals who came from poverty!

-

Shang Tsung: *laughs* shall we start, God of lies?

Reader: As you wish, sorcerer...

-

Reader: I invaded Earth once, it will be easy to dominate Outworld!

Shang Tsung: Good luck facing Liu Kang and Mileena's forces!

-

Reader: You are as evil as I am.

Shang Tsung: Correct statement, Loki.

-

FEMALE READER –

Shang Tsung: Think, Loki (Sylvie)! You could-

Reader: Be your consort? May Odin protect me from this cruel fate!

-

Shang Tsung: Your body, so beautiful I could-

Reader: Ewww... Keep your perverted thoughts to yourself, sorcerer!

-

Reader: What did you see in me?

Shang Tsung: Power, beauty and cunning... Everything I admire in a woman.

-

Reader: You took advantage of Sindel's desperation to manipulate her!

Shang Tsung: *laughs* and the idiot fell right into my plan!

-

[aiambia]

Okay hear me out: the answer is honesty.

Lucanis claims to be bad at romance and flirting but then tends to be rather charming in his romance scenes.

Why is that?

I don’t think he’s flirting on purpose and just thinks he’s bad at it. I think he’s just being honest and stumbles into being suave and charming by accident. Yes, some of his lines sound very flirty, but I think taking them at face value, as Lucanis just saying what’s on his mind rather than making an attempt to flirt, makes his romance feel much more genuine.

There’s a moment in his final romance scene (that I talk about here) that solidifies this idea of honesty for me: Rook can set Lucanis up for an easy flirty sex joke when they say:

“Stay up? All night? However shall we pass the time?”

But instead of making the joke or being flirty about it, Lucanis says:

“Would you talk to me? Your voice is a comfort.”

It’s an incredibly vulnerable moment packed into a single line of dialogue. It reaffirms Lucanis’s earlier desire to spend time with Rook now that they’re here, now that they’re back. It’s also an admission of how vulnerable he feels. He’s an assassin facing the hardest contract he will ever have to complete, knowing that if he fails to (help) kill Elger’nan, then the world ends. Under all of that pressure, the one thing that he wants as a stress reliever and to calm him, ground him, is not sex or romance or any sort of grand display. All he wants is to spend time with Rook and listen to their voice.

So then, taking what we’ve learned from his last romance scene and retroactively applying it to his earlier romance scenes, you can feel how genuine and vulnerable Lucanis is when you just take him at face value. Of course he doesn’t get why Rook likes him—he’s just being himself and doesn’t think he is or has done anything special to deserve their affection.

Now compare the idea of an honest and vulnerable Lucanis to the one time he actually does try to be flirty:

He pins Rook against the wall and he’s talking all suave, but then he panics and can’t commit to a kiss. He’s certainly charming, but trying to be so alluring puts him waaaayyy out of his element. It freaks him out (in combination with his self-doubt and issues he has yet to work out with Spite at that point), and he can’t continue. And then we never see him attempt to be flirty again.

When you lock in his romance, Lucanis implies that the dessert is a form of apology. He’s doing something special, not to flirt or charm, but to apologize and make up for everything he’s put Rook through. He says that the dessert “[is] nothing. Or not enough.” He can’t figure out any other way to express his gratitude and appreciation for all that Rook has done for him, except to cook something that they might enjoy.

During a Lucanis and Neve banter, she teases him saying that “Rook is good for you” and (if you get the banter while you’re not at the lighthouse) Lucanis doesn’t take the opportunity to flirt with Rook. He just says that Neve is right.

And then at the post-dealing with Illario cafe date, the most romantic thing he says in the entire scene is him saying that he never expected to be there with Rook, “…but here we are.”

None of this is flirting, and yet when he talks, it’s still charming. Why? Because honesty is charming. It’s vulnerable and the fact that Lucanis repeatedly trust Rook enough to be vulnerable with them is why he comes across as alluring.

It all culminates to a rather impactful “I love you” at the because he’s been so honest and genuine throughout the rest of the game. He says it and you know he means it. You can see the devotion in his eyes. There is no teasing or coyness because he doesn’t know how to do that (in a romantic sense).

Lucanis himself, in all of his honesty, genuine care for Rook, and appreciation for all that Rook has done is what makes him charming. He is a violently swinging pendulum of awkward and rizz god because he’s just saying what’s on his mind. Sometimes that honesty is going to come out sounding awkward as hell and sometimes he’s going to sound like he’s jumped out of a romance novel.

Lucanis doesn’t present himself to Rook as anything other than who he is, even when he tries to hide and protect Rook (and the team) from Spite. It makes his romance so genuine. You’re not falling for flirty and suave seduction from a professional assassin. You’re falling in love with a guy who expresses his feelings through food and tells Rook the truth because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Lucanis is a violently swinging pendulum of awkward and literal rizz god. How is he so bad but the coffee date cute af, and that scene in the pantry soooo goooood!?!?!

How does his confession never involve actually saying anything or physical intimacy of any kind and just him making a dessert (before you come for me, yes, I know most of his conversations are layered with romantic subtext), then later says he loves you with his whole chest?

Why does he consistently fumble when talking about romance or giving advice when with companions, but will pull mad suave lines on Rook?

This man has no idea why you like him but will turn around and say the cutest shit and demand to snuggle.

Sir... SIR...SIIIIIRRRRR!!!!!!

Listen here, babygirl. I WILL marry you. Don't try me.

[cabinetofquriosities]

From Persephone, Part 1

Agatha x Rio || Warnings: Smut, abusive violence (parental abuse)

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Agatha splashed water from a rinsing bowl into her face, washing the remnants of slumber from it. She jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. Newly twenty and she was still completely under her thumb. She threw her dress on and ran downstairs.

The house was a cabin like the rest of Salem, but more opulent than the average one. Evanora’s coven had taken the village over after the villagers tried and failed to destroy them. The trials had just opened the door to a war the other colonizers lost.

She found her mother at the bottom, dressed in silken robes.

“I expect you to wake with the dawn,” her mother said with a look of exasperation.

“I tried, but we spent so long at the ritual in the woods last night…”

“I do not wish to hear your excuses, child. Your instructor has canceled for today, so I will have you practicing in the fields.”

“Mother-“

Evanora held up a finger, silencing her daughter.

“You shall practice until every flower in that field has bloomed,” she said, “You are the reason so many have wilted already. The selfishness of your very being knows no bounds. Even your magic takes for itself. It is time for you to learn how to fix your mistakes.”

Agatha willed away the unshed tears in her eyes. Her mother, for as long as she could remember, hated the way her magic worked. She called her a succubus, a leech on the world. As a young girl child, a witch tried to attack her mother in front of her. A seven year old Agatha leapt in front of her, trying to protect the only family she had. The blast of magic hit her, much to her mother’s horror.

However, instead of it killing her, Agatha’s body took hold of it. It gave her a feeling of euphoria, drawing a stream of power from the attacker. Her purple overtook the other woman’s teal, burning through the connection until it reached her. The woman shriveled and fell to the ground as a grey husk. Agatha smiled at the feeling before seeing what she had done. Her stomach dropped at the sight of the dead, shriveled witch. She turned to the mother she had just saved for comfort, but Evanora pushed her back, sending the small child falling to the dirt.

“Stay back, you monster,” she hissed.

Her mother had never looked at her the same way after that day. Evanora had deemed her as being inherently evil. Someone who needed to learn to repress her true nature for the sake of being acceptable.

Now, even as a grown woman, Evanora was forcing her to train with the express purpose of reversing the way her magic worked. Every time she tried to infuse life into anything, she ended up draining everything from it. She left dead flowers, plants, and animals in her wake.

She walked out into the fields of flowers her mother nourished with her magic. Her mother, while she couldn’t create life, was able to encourage it to health with her spells and enchantments. The village learned to go from fearing Evanora following the trials to loving her when she ensured the growth of abundant crops.

Her magic bridged the gap between magic and non magic, allowing both groups to coexist. People now respected and relied on healers, divination witches, and protection witches to survive in their colony. Evanora always made it clear to Agatha that her deadly magic could undo all of that good will.

Agatha desperately wanted to be good. She wanted to help the village rather than siphon it of all life. Everyone, even her fellow witches, were terrified of her. They respected her mother and coven, but always kept her at arm’s length. Some nights, she considered leaving altogether for the safety of everyone within. However, Evanora made it clear that it wasn’t an option. She needed the Harkness line to continue. Since she was never able to have another child, that only left Agatha.

Agatha knelt down, finding one of the dead flowers. She focused, a purple mist forming around it. She pictured it regaining color and life. The flower crumbled into dust while the healthy flowers around it wilted and died. She sighed and tried again. And again. and again. For hours, she felt her frustration building, her mother’s voice in her head.

She failed again and rage bubbled up. A plume of purple smoke bloomed and took all life within its radius. For twenty feet in each direction, there were the ashes of beauty that Agatha ruined. She fell to her knees, planting her hands on the lifeless dust and began sobbing. Her mother was right. All she was good for was destruction.

Behind her, she could hear one of the lifeless stems crack, snapping her out of her misery. She readied a ball of energy in case the sound was a threat. Rather than some belligerent man or wild animal, it was a woman. She wore a long, tight black dress. Her dark hair fell to her waist and her eyes were painted with wings that looked like the glittering, starry night.

“Hello,” the woman said, snapping her fingers.

The orb of magic in Agatha’s palm was extinguished. Agatha looked panicked, unsure of what to do in the presence of someone who didn’t fear her.

“Who are you?” Agatha asked, looking up at her, her knees still in the dirt.

“That was quite the display of power,” she said with a smile.

“You… are not afraid?” Agatha asked with a shaky voice.

“Why would I be afraid?” She asked.

“You must not be from here. I am-“

“Agatha Harkness. Daughter of Evanora Harkness, the leader of Salem’s coven. Your mother is known as the ‘life of Salem’ while you,” she reached down and cupped her chin, guiding her to stand, “Are known as ‘the Death of Salem’.”

Agatha’s face heated as it was touched by this stranger. She felt hypnotized, gazing into her eyes and put under her thrall.

“How did you know-“

“I like to know the most powerful witches wherever I go. It makes my job easier when one of them begins to interfere in my work,” she said, her annoyance showing in a snarl.

“Is my mother…?”

“In a way, yes. She is depriving the universe of one of its greatest witches. Of one who can maintain the balance of life and death,” she said, playing absentmindedly with Agatha’s hair, twirling a lock around her fingers.

“Who?” she asked, not able to believe the obvious answer.

“You, Agatha. Your power is being smothered when it should be allowed to grow.”

“My… What? No…” Agatha stepped back, looking confused and suspicious, “My power is not one that is useful or desirable.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” the other woman said, “You gifts are enviable.”

“Look around you,” Agatha said, sweeping her hand to motion to the dead flowers surrounding them, “I kill everything I touch! My power is a burden. Not a gift.”

“It is simply misunderstood,” the woman said, reaching out and taking her hand in hers.

Agatha felt things that she was told never to feel for a woman. For anyone, really. Witches in her mother’s coven never married. They would deprive themselves to focus on the craft. Baby girls would be conjured through magic in their wombs, leading to men being irrelevant to the survival of their society.

Along with that was discouragement of relations with women as well, the act being seen as sullying the bonds of sisterhood. Whether it be Puritanical values or the coven’s strict beliefs, Agatha’s desire was something to be ashamed of. A blush rose in her cheeks as she looked down, trying to gather her senses.

“Scarlet suits you,” the woman said, cupping her burning cheek and rubbing her thumb over it.

“I-I am not… uh… Who are you?” Agatha sputtered out.

“Rio,” she said, her gaze traveling over every detail of her face, “The green witch.”

“W-What do you want from me, Rio?” she asked, finding herself leaning into her touch.

“Your power. Your presence,” Rio said, leaning in close enough for her breath to brush over Agatha’s lips, “Your companionship.”

Agatha’s heart was at a sprint within her chest. She was frozen where she stood, unsure of what to say. No one had ever wanted her.

“I… do not even know you. My coven… I cannot become anyone’s companion. Much less a woman’s,” Agatha said, trying to look away.

“Forget everyone else. What do you want?”

“What I want is irrelevant,” she said.

“Who told you that?”

“My mother,” she said without thinking, “Forgive me, I should not speak ill of her.”

“Why not?” Rio asked, “She does not seem like a pleasant woman.”

“She helps others…”

“She does not help you.”

“She tries to.”

“By berating you? By making you deny your purpose?”

“You do not know anything about our lives,” Agatha countered defensively.

“I know more than you think,” Rio said.

“Who do you think you are?!”

“Lady Death.”

Agatha’s blood ran cold. Her mouth gaped open as she realized that Rio was not just a green witch. She was THE green witch. The witch only spoken of in children’s bedrooms as part of cautionary tales told at bedtime. The keeper of the underworld and all of the souls within. The witch who existed long before humans came into being and would still exist long after they went extinct.

She lost all color in her face as she fell to her knees again. To speak out of turn to a higher witch was a huge transgression. To speak that way to a celestial being was unthinkable.

“Forgive me,” she said, hoping it would be enough to spare her, “I did not know.”

Rio reached down, taking her hand.

“Stand,” she ordered.

Agatha did as she was told, shaking in fear of what was about to happen. She was certain that whatever Lady Death had in store for her would make her mother’s punishments look like paradise.

“I understand. I insulted your mother and you defended her. However, loyalty is admirable, but misplaced. Someone who rejects you at every turn does not deserve your devotion.”

Agatha opened her mouth to argue, but found nothing to say in her mother’s defense. Perhaps Rio had a point.

“I will be back to visit you later. I am not giving up on you. I want to see you flourish,” Rio said, “In a way that fits who you are.”

Rio’s magic circled them. New plants and buds grew from beneath the ashes of the flowers. Verdant leaves and technicolor petals bloomed around them.

“Without letting the past plants die out, the new ones cannot grow. Your magic is a gift, Agatha. It allows nature to take its course.”

A purple flower grew from Rio’s palm. She held it out to Agatha, curtsying to her. Agatha smiled shyly as she took it from her.

“Until we meet again.”

Agatha found herself feeling lighter than she ever had. She playfully spun the flower between her fingers by the stem. She smelled it, the aroma matching Rio’s. She took care to tuck it away in her satchel before making her way into her house.

Once she was in her room, she took the flower back out, taking in its scent again. She thought back to the way Rio’s hand felt on her cheek. The way she looked at her was unlike anyone else. It was unbelievable to Agatha that Lady Death would endure her presence, much less curtsy to her.

For the next few weeks, Agatha would meet Rio at the edge of the fields. The fields went for miles and the other witch would appear at random places along the perimeter. Agatha would always feel a strange pull towards wherever Rio would be.

The two witches spent their time training. Rio would answer Agatha’s questions about spells and incantations while Agatha would answer questions about her day to day life. While Agatha was focused on knowledge and skill, Rio seemed more interested in getting to know Agatha as a person. At the end of each lesson, Agatha would leave with a flower that never wilted. A flower that smelt of Rio.

Agatha began learning how to control her siphoning abilities. She was able to drain half a tree before stopping herself. Even though it was not comparable to doing that with an attacking witch, it was a start. Agatha squealed and jumped up and down, never having taken pride in her own magic. Rio smiled more freely than Agatha had seen while watching the newer witch’s reaction. She handed her another flower bloomed from her hand.

“Good girl,” Rio said, the words making Agatha breathless for some reason.

“Thank you. For teaching me,” she said.

“It is my pleasure,” Rio said with a nod.

“I am not complaining, but why do you waste time every day on me?”

Rio cocked her head, looking completely stunned.

“I am not wasting anything. Agatha, I want to spend this time with you.”

Agatha took a shaky breath, her mind reeling as she found any excuse as to why Rio would want that.

“For my powers?” she asked.

“No,” Rio said with an air of offense, “Your powers are formidable, but I come here every day to be with you. Your distinct and wonderful spirit. In fact, your power is just a sign of something bigger.”

“What?” Agatha asked.

“This… it will sound mad, but I need for you to listen all of the way through,” Rio said, “I have walked this planet for eons with the knowledge that there was another half of me out there. It slipped from person to person, the power always the same. This same soul would never rest on the other side. It would be reborn with every death of its host. Just as I would catch up, it would escape me. The other hosts were either too afraid of the situation or would allow their own earthly personalities to hold them back. You, though. You are the home of this soul now. The soul of my other half. You are favorite form by far. You are intelligent, compassionate, strong, and devoted to those around you.”

“I-I am at a loss for words… Thank you. I am very fond of you as well. All of this seems so strange. What is my purpose in it?”

Rio took her hands in hers, holding them firmly.

“Every form of you had a chance to cross over, but it must be your choice.”

“Wait… do you mean… die?”

“No, no,” Rio said, “The opposite, actually. You have already died a million deaths throughout all of time. What you have the chance to do is to cross into the underworld as a ruler who keeps the balance, holding dominion over the dead. You will be reborn as an eternal being. I want you to be my queen.”

Agatha’s lips parted and her eyes were wide in shock. She could hardly process the fact that she was inextricably connected to Rio throughout time. She couldn’t even begin to broach the subject of marriage or queendom.

“I… do not know. Forgive me,” she said, shaking like a leaf.

Rio felt as if she had revealed too much too soon. She remembered getting so close with Agatha’s past selves only to have them panic and turn their backs on her. They had been the same soul, but molded by their environment and the experiences of their particular life. Celestial beings needed to work for their soulmates when those mates were trapped in the world of humans.

Rio’s sisters and brothers were engaged in the same struggle concerning their own fated loves. Adonis, the leader of human vanity and bodily health, had just lost the current version of his soulmate to a marriage to a man. He would need to wait until this vessel passed on and the soul migrated to another. Etheria, the essence of creativity and ruler of imagination, had lost her soulmate before she could even speak to her. The woman’s current life was ended when she was killed by a fever. Etheria now needed to find the new person the soul had reincarnated in and wait patiently.

Even if they found them, their soulmate would need to make the conscious choice to cross over to their kingdoms, often on another plane of existence where they would have an entirely new connection with humanity. They, in turn, would need to give up their humanity in order to become transcendent. That was a terrifying choice to make. It was so incomprehensible to mortal beings that it chased so many of them away.

Her siblings who had finally found and successfully wooed their partners had a wholeness and peace that Rio could only dream of. Each one had a soulmate whose power was the inverse of their own. Their magic complemented their partner’s in a way that struck a balance in their corner of the universe. The amount of time, effort, and pure chance it took each of them to find their loves felt cruel.

“Not to worry,” Rio said, “We have all the time in the world. Please do not worry.”

-Please don’t leave me. Not again- Rio thought.

She grew an orange and red flower in her hand and tucked it behind Agatha’s ear. Agatha was disoriented by the situation, but felt something undeniable when she looked into those dark eyes.

“I will see you again tomorrow,” Agatha promised.

She could see the visible relief in Rio’s form. As unbelievable as it all sounded, she knew what she was saying was the truth. A being this powerful would not show so much anxiety over the attention of a lowly human witch unless there was a reason like the one Rio had given.

Agatha also felt the unrelenting pull towards Rio. She had dreamt of those eyes since she was a girl. She had also dreamt of different lives. One as an artisan in Egypt. Another as a warrior in Greece. One in a nondescript savannah, living in a cave with some animal that had long since become extinct. She remembered resting beneath a leafless tree, her head resting on the belly of that animal, the two breathing in tandem before a shadow of a woman fell over her.

The woman appeared in each dream, but Agatha never remembered any distinguishing features apart from her eyes. As she woke each morning, the dream would sink into the back of her mind, fleeting as most dreams were.

Everything made more sense now that she connected the woman in front of her to the dreams that plagued her throughout her life. Regardless, it was not a clear choice for her. Even with her cruel mother and terrible reputation, giving away her place in this world was giving up everything she knew.

She squeezed Rio’s hand.

“Tomorrow when the first rays of daylight emerge. I will come and see you,” Agatha said.

Agatha leaned in, touching Rio’s face. It felt odd to be acting so familiar with her. She pressed her lips to her cheek, hoping it wasn’t too forward. Then again, the woman had more or less just proposed to her. Rio felt something come alive within her at the simple display of affection. She was more aware of her need for Agatha more than ever before.

Agatha took her time walking through the fields. She took in the smell of the flower, of Rio, as grass folded underfoot. She looked up at the sunset, wondering if she would ever have a better chance at happiness than this. In the distance, she noticed one of the younger girls from the coven sprinting through the fields toward her house. Her brow knit as she followed after, walking as the girl sped ahead.

Once Agatha made her way back, she saw the young girl standing next to her mother, looking pale and terrified. Agatha was used to the look of fear on the faces of others when she was near, but this was a different atmosphere altogether. The girl sprinted past her, running outside to return home.

Agatha looked up at her mother, unable to open her mouth to speak before a hand came down and slapped her hard enough to send her to the floor.

“How DARE you!” Evanora bellowed.

Her mother always had an edge to her appearance. Nothing about her looked welcoming or kind, but her anger transformed her into something absolutely terrifying. Her long grey hair was as wild as her eyes. Her fists were clenched by her sides, orbs of blue magic threatening to escape them.

“Mother, what did I do?!” Agatha whimpered.

“Oh, Agatha. You are many things, but you are not stupid. So, do not claim ignorance.”

“Of what? I do not understand!”

Evanora grabbed the flower from Agatha’s hand. She had forgotten to hide it away.

“All of those afternoons ‘training’ in the fields, you were just with some whore,” Evanora spat out.

Agatha’s heart stopped for a moment. How did she know? That little brat had seen them and told her.

“She was teaching me! I have been kept away from anyone who could help me learn how to use my power. Please, Mother! I speak the truth!” Agatha begged.

“USE YOUR POWER? You should be training to keep that power at bay! All it does is destroy. All YOU do is bring pain and suffering. I should have killed you the moment you left my body,” Evanora stated with a look of pure loathing.

Agatha’s eyes showed every emotion flooding through her. She was terrified and shattered all at once. However, she looked frozen to anyone who could see her, her face painting a portrait of pure devastation.

“Please Mother… I love you,” she managed to whisper out.

Evanora laughed bitterly before saying, “Evil like you could never know love.”

Agatha broke down crying, her face looking like that of her as a little girl. It was yet another instance of the familiar experience of being rejected by the one person who brought her into this world. However, this time was more brutal than those in the past.

“And the fact that you are out there gallivanting with some woman out there, perverting what is supposed to be sisterhood among our gender is laughable. You really think that anyone would love you once they see you for what you truly are?”

“I… I…”

“At a loss for words? Is your lying tongue now tied?”

Evanora took her by the hair and yanked her to her feet. Agatha screamed as she was roughly pulled up the stairs to her room. Her mother flung her down, raining more blows, even contributing a kick to Agatha as she was groaning in pain on the floor.

“You will never see that bitch again. Do you understand me, girl?”

Agatha wheezed for air, her entire body in pain.

“Yes, Mother,” she said, resigned.

“Good. You will stay in this room until I say you can leave.”

“N-no, please,” she whimpered, remembering times where she had been confined for months at a time, being intermittently starved and driven mad by the isolation.

“You should feel lucky that I cannot use my magic directly on you. You would not be breathing if I could. Here is your parting gift from your poor example of a lover,” she said.

Evanora crushed Rio’s flower and threw it on the floor. The destroyed bloom landed beside Agatha’s face, deformed but still alive. As the door closed, Agatha desperately tried to crawl towards it. She lost all hope as it locked and the enchantment surrounded the room. Anyone else could come and go as they pleased, but Agatha was trapped within its confines.

For several days, Agatha wasted away in her room. She was unable to leave for any reason. Her mother sent servants to bathe her once for “the wretched smell of my loathsome child”. She woke up to fewer and fewer books in her room, which were the only things keeping her sane. Her journals had not been found, but Agatha was too afraid of prying eyes to use them. She sat by the window, breathing in the scent of the undying flowers looking desperately for Rio. The aroma of those hidden gifts were her only comfort. As long as she stayed living, Rio had a chance of finding her. However, her hope waned as the days passed by.

Rio had been showing up at the edges of the fields for nearly three weeks. That first morning, she feared that Agatha had fled from her. She blamed herself for revealing too much too quickly. She found herself thinking of nothing but her as she spent her nights reaping souls.

Often, she would send fragments of herself to do the actual work of escorting souls to the underworld. One physical form could not be in so many places at once. She used magic and fractured herself into functional copies, all of them projections of the original. Regardless of this, she relieved some of them by personally attending to the dead to distract herself from the hole left in her life by Agatha.

As Death, Rio was accustomed to the rejection and hatred of others. No one enjoyed her presence. No one truly understood the need for an ending. Instead of seeing it as the culmination of the raw beauty and terror of life, the transformation into something pure, they saw it as annihilation. The hope that Agatha would see her differently slipped from her mind, leaving her numb.

After a long day of Evanora forcing Agatha to kneel on rice while reading from the coven’s writings, her mother instructed her to stand. Agatha cringed as she shakily rose to her feet, the dry rice embedded in her knees falling from small reddened indents. She was fed one meal that day which had been more than she had for the past six as well as being given a bath before her mother entered the room.

“Hand it back,” Evanora ordered, taking the books from her daughter.

She walked slowly around the perimeter of Agatha’s room as if searching for a weapon or a hidden familiar. Suddenly, she stopped short. Her eyes fell upon something red peeking out from beneath Agatha’s pillow.

Agatha’s heart dropped as she realized what she had found. Evanora ripped the pillow off to reveal a small pile of flowers. The same ones Agatha would hold to her chest and smell when she missed the outside world. The ones that held the scent of Lady Death.

Evanora scoffed, saying, “Are these enchanted? I know you could not have picked them since I have eyes on you every moment of every day. I assume SHE enchanted them since they are alive and not drained to dust.”

“Please…” Agatha practically squeaked out, her sorrow overwhelming her, “They are all I have…”

“All you have? You ungrateful brat. You have the Harkness title, but you continue to shame it with your malevolence and your foolish whims. You do not deserve sunlight. You do not deserve the spring breeze. You certainly do not deserve flowers.”

With that, flames sparked from Evanora’s palms. Fire engulfed the flowers, destroying them entirely. The ashes fell to the floor. Agatha ran her hand through them, mourning the final scrap of happiness she had.

Evanora then expanded her destruction in an explosion of magic with her as its epicenter. Though she fancied herself as not being emotion-driven, anger often took control. A tidal wave of magic swept across every field apart from her own, destroying the crops in their wake. Along with Agatha, the rest of Salem was now being starved.

Miles away, Rio felt a burning sensation rolling through her body. Something she had given life had just been destroyed. While this occasionally happened with vegetation she grew, this was something she had poured her heart into.

Agatha.

She needed to return to her. A plume of Green and black smoke surrounded her. She was transported to the doors of the Harkness estate. She could feel strong spells protecting it, but they balked under the power of Rio. She flicked her hand, causing the doors to splinter and explode. She was unsure if Agatha had destroyed the flowers herself or if someone else had. Her confusion was cleared up the moment she heart Evanora screaming at a sobbing Agatha who was begging her to just let her go. She had just assumed that Agatha had rejected her, not once considering she was being punished or even held against her will.

Rio saw red.

Evanora froze at the sound downstairs. She was about to open the door when she felt heat emanating from it. The door was set ablaze, falling away as a silhouette formed within the fire. A woman who was untouched by the inferno.

Agatha was standing again, backing up against the wall. She was terrified of dying before she could return to Rio, of being reborn in some unknown place where she couldn’t find her. Where Agatha wouldn’t remember her.

Then, she saw her. Rio was standing in the doorway wearing black silk that wrapped tightly around her body, starting in a hood over her head and ending just above the middle of her thighs. Her eyes were determined and deadly. Agatha had never been so happy to see someone so murderous.

“I missed you,” Rio said with a little wave of her fingers.

Agatha looked at her in awe, unable to respond in the middle of so much chaos. Evanora, on the other hand, had plenty to say. She whispered an incantation that extinguished the flames, the destruction left behind on the charred walls.

“GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE, YOU HEATHEN!” she bellowed.

Rio simply smirked, calmly saying, “Make. Me.”

Evanora let out a roar as she shot every bit of magic she had at the woman. Rio stumbled back a bit, but easily deflected it.

“My turn,” she said, blowing Evanora into the ceiling with a sweep of her hand, keeping her pinned.

“You will NOT TAKE HER!” Evanora yelled.

“Oh, hush,” Rio said, turning to Agatha.

She is walked over to her, taking Agatha’s hands in her own. She saw the bruises, the black eye, the signs of malnourishment. She kissed her knuckles before letting Evanora go, dropping her like a ragdoll on the floor.

“Temptress,” Evanora said, blood dripping from her lips as she sat herself up, “Harlot…”

“Do you,” Rio began, turning to face Evanora, “Have any clue who I am?”

“You are the scarlet woman who is foolish enough to scrape the bottom of the barrel with Agatha,” she spat.

Rio’s eyes flashed with fury.

“Agatha is more consequential than you will ever be, you peon,” Rio said slowly and calmly.

“You really are quite stupid,” she said with a laugh as she stood on shaky legs.

“Look at me, Evanora. Look closer and tell me who I am…” Rio said, stepping toward her.

Evanora rolled her eyes with a sardonic smile. That is, until the moonlight that filtered through the window hit the other woman’s face. The light revealed the face of death, a skull in place of skin. A grotesque, bony smile. She fell back against the wall, her eyes full of more fear than Agatha had ever seen her show.

“Lady Death…” she whispered, “Just take her. Agatha has not deserved to live since the day she was born. Take her to the underworld, to whatever hell awaits her. I shall not interfere.”

Rio knew that once this bitch died, she would ensure that her afterlife would be worse than whatever humans believed hell to be.

“So quick to relinquish your only child to such a horrible fate. You truly are a waste of breath. To have a child like her and treat her like a demon.”

She stepped closer to the cowering woman.

“Oh, nothing to say? No more cruel words to throw my way? Let me explain just how much you have erred in your ways. Agatha is the fated leader of the underworld, along with me. She is the keeper of the soul that is connected to mine.”

“What?” Evanora managed to say.

“Let me restate it in more direct terms. You, Evanora Harkness, have hurt, starved, and tortured my queen. For that, you will not pay with your life, but with your afterlife.”

“No… I did not know!” Evanora yelled, “You must be mistaken. Agatha is not a blessing, she is a deadly curse!”

“AND I AM DEATH. So, I would say that we are very well matched,” Rio said, her unhinged side coming out.

“You do not know her as I do,” Evanora said.

“I know her better than she knows herself. One thing you certainly do not know is your place.”

Knowing she was already doomed to eternal torment, Evanora allowed a bout of madness to take over.

“If you want her so badly, let me help shepherd her to the other side,” she hissed, firing her magic at a support beam. The beam fell directly onto Agatha, pinning her beneath. Rio lifted it off of her, her face the vision of panic and concern as Agatha screamed in pain. She rested a hand on her torso, feeling the cracked ribs and sensing the internal bleeding. She would not lose her. Not again.

Rio leaned down and opened the front of Agatha’s nightgown, tearing it down to her waist. Without regard for modesty, she pressed her lips to the bruising skin. She lightly kissed along the exposed flesh, healing everything she touched. Agatha’s ribs shifted back into place, the bleeding within her body stopped. Her eyes opened, taking in the sight of Rio kissing along her bare front. She went from being broken and dying to the surreal experience of being healed by the intimate affection of the woman who had filled every one of her thoughts.

Rio stood, offering her hand to Agatha. Agatha took it and was pulled up to stand. She looked from Rio to her mother. She no longer showed any love for the woman who had just tried to kill her. Agatha’s glare was as full of hate as Evanora’s.

Agatha wrapped purple chords of magic around her wrists, flinging her into the wall. Evanora threw every heavy object she could get a hold of, using her magic for send an armoire, a chair, a bed at her daughter. Agatha managed to break or magically deflect each one.

When Evanora was about to use her magic once again to take down another beam, Agatha made a fateful decision. She rapidly moved into the path of the cerulean beam of her mother’s magic. Evanora’s spiteful determination morphed into horror as violet stretched over it. Her energy, her life force was painfully pulled from every cell of her body.

Rio watched Agatha, thinking to herself that she could never look more beautiful than she did right now wrapped in a purple glow, consuming the life of someone else. Agatha’s fingers swirled, extracting more power with their movement. Tears streamed down her face as she released all of the pain her mother caused her throughout her life.

Unable and unwilling to stop, Agatha drained every drop. Evanora was left frozen, her mouth stretched open in a silent scream. Her grey form was so dry and lifeless that it fell in pieces to the floor. Agatha watched both in horror and satisfaction.

Rio could see the gears beginning to turn in Agatha’s mind and refused to allow her to blame herself. She took her face in her hands, wiping salty streaks of emotion from Agatha’s skin.

“This was not your fault,” she said firmly, “This was survival. She wanted you dead. She nearly succeeded. You did what you needed to do.”

Agatha looked at the beautiful woman before her and then back down at what remained of her mother. She broke away, kneeling down to the pile of bone and dust. Reaching in, she took her mother’s locket, wiping every bit of her off of it. She put it on, wearing the heirloom in opposition to her mother’s wishes.

She turned and, in the dark, saw Rio’s true face illuminated partially by the light from the moon. She jumped a bit, signaling to Rio that she had forgotten to mask it. Before having a chance to, Agatha approached her, taking her hand in hers, cupping her cheekbone. Lady Death leaned into her touch. She felt more accepted by Agatha than she had by anyone else. She managed to see the beauty of the necessary stage of life in its barest form.

Rio transported them to the fields where they met, standing beneath the stars. Agatha felt an overwhelming barrage of emotions. The grief of being orphaned, rage at her mother’s actions causing her own, and excitement at the newfound freedom. In the center of her warring sentiments was one that held firm.

“I want to cross over with you,” Agatha said.

Rio was stunned. She had been so concerned with Agatha’s safety that she had forgotten what she herself desired. She wanted nothing more than to seize the opportunity to finally claim her love, but she needed to be sure that this was fully accepted by her for what it was.

“You do know what that will mean for you.”

“I do.”

“You will give up your human mortality, any reincarnations, and stay with me for eternity. You will be bound to the realm of the dead and rule at my side for the rest of existence. Are you prepared to make such a commitment?” Rio asked.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” Agatha said.

Rio’s eyes welled with tears, a rare show of vulnerability from the embodiment of death. Her face had shifted back to the one Agatha knew. She cradled her face in her hands, marveling at how beautiful her new bride was.

Agatha memorized every detail of the face she would gaze upon for eons to come. She surged up, capturing Rio’s lips in her own first kiss. The other woman wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. Rio feverishly kissed down her neck, ravenous for the witch. She pulled her dirtied nightgown from Agatha, leaving her naked in the soft light of the night sky. She removed her own dress, the fabric unwinding and falling from her form. Agatha held her breath at the vision standing before her. Rio did the same, her eyes devouring her. She pulled her back into a passionate embrace.

Agatha let out a whimper with Rio’s forceful kiss. She reveled in her own shamelessness of being disrobed out in nature while being defiled for the first time. She led them to lay in the grass and flowers, pulling Rio atop her. Her face was surrounded by tendrils of hair.

Rio’s face lit up, looking down at Agatha. She took a moment to pause and take her in. She was already consumed with so much love after such a long pursuit and the few months of getting to know her. Agatha had not seen the usually stoic figure smile very often. Now, it was as if she couldn’t help herself.

Rio kissed down her body, stopping to lavish attention on each breast, sucking and biting at the tender skin. Agatha gasped sharply, tangling her fingers in Rio’s hair. Rio moved lower, leaving marks along her abdomen. She moved her hands down to her thighs, looping her arms around them. She pulled her close, pressing her lips to her core.

Agatha moaned as she felt the overwhelming sensation of a woman’s tongue working its way into her. She rolled her hips and tugged her hair. Whimpers and moans tore from her throat as her pleasure built. Rio slid two fingers within her and explored every sensitive spot she could find. Once she found the one that made Agatha’s toes curl, she made sure to grind her fingertips over it with every thrust.

“Look at my queen… you truly are a vision,” she breathed before wrapping her lips around the bundle of nerves above her sex.

“Rio!” Agatha sobbed out as she pulled her in by her dark tresses, rutting against her mouth until pleasure overwhelmed her.

As her body went taut, the flowers crumbled around her glowing violet form. Rio slid her fingers from her, licking her clean through her aftershocks. She crawled up her form and had a look of adoration adorning her face. She swept down and kissed Agatha, letting her have a taste of herself. Agatha hummed into the kiss, shivering from the pleasure still thrumming in her body.

“I want to please you too,” Agatha whispered with a dark blush on her cheeks.

Rio smiled and tucked a curl behind Agatha’s ear.

“That is not necessary. Your pleasure is my pleasure.”

“I want to,” she said, looking desperately into Rio’s eyes.

“Okay,” Rio said, her mouth going dry from Agatha’s need to have her, “Lie back.”

Agatha did as she was told. Rio moved up to her shoulders and straddled Agatha’s face.

“Just listen to the sounds that I make and you will know what to do. Oh, and the bump above the… opening… is important. Trust me on that. Just remember to let me know if you would like to stop. I will not be ups-Aaah!”

Rio broke off as Agatha interrupted her in the best way possible. She gripped Rio’s hips and leaned up, diving into her. She ran her tongue along her slit messily, searching for the spot she described. Once she swiped over one that caused Rio to gasp, she sucked and teased it with the tip of her tongue.

Rio, for her part, tried and failed to keep her composure. Her panting sighs became loud moans in minutes. Agatha was clearly a quick study.

“Ah! Yes… Good girl…” Rio moaned as her hips stuttered, her cunt pulsing with her climax.

The praise lit a flame in Agatha’s chest. Rather than stopping after one, Agatha latched onto her. She was still in shock over the younger witch giving her so much pleasure during Agatha’s first time.

The ministrations on her sensitive clit made her double over, catching herself on her hands. She was bent over, grinding against Agatha’s face. She could feel Agatha’s hands move to clutch her ass. She trembled again with an unexpectedly fast climax. However, it seemed like Agatha wanted to go back for thirds.

“I-Inside me,” she panted, nearly unable to speak.

Rio rode her tongue, at the point where she was not so much talking than incoherently babbling and whining. No one in history had ever seen her this weak or out of control, even her other sexual partners never gave her this much pleasure.

As her hips sped, magic flowed from her hands into the dirt below them. Over the ground that Agatha had cleared of all flowers bloomed new ones. Life washed over the fields of Salem, bringing back to life the crops Evanora had destroyed. Flowers opened up around them, the petals tickling Agatha’s face. She cried out and nearly fainted. She fell to her side, hugging her knees and shivering at the feeling of overstimulation.

“Are you alright? Did I do alright?” Agatha asked with doe eyes.

“I am. And of course you did. You damn near killed death,” she said with a shit-eating grin on her face.

Agatha laughed and tucked her face into the crook of Rio’s neck.

“Are you ready to see your kingdom?” she asked.

Agatha sat up as she was offered a scarlet pomegranate.

[shiratamahatsumiyo]

Azul Ashengrotto with a Bad Genius reader (Part 3)

• Azul didn't want to be cruel, no, that would be so insulting! An honor student like him? Cheat and blackmail? Haha! Oh, like aren't you any different. He hated you. No... He loathed even mentioning you.

• How could someone in his dorm, who's in lower status, be this much of a threat to him? You are the epitome of a behaved and well-mannered model student. Not only that, you have grades and intelligence far higher than anyone in class. Possibly surpassing Azul's. Now that is what's bothering him.

• The way you don't even need time to study about a certain subject for you already memorized the contents beforehand. The way you made zero effort during the physical activities in class for you already have learned sports. The way you just stood there quietly and minding your own business was enough for teachers to call you a model student... Azul despised that. He despised you.

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{Ramshackle Dorm – Lounge}

BadGenius! Yuu: "Guys, what did I tell you about meetups? We almost got caught by Azul!"

Deuce: "W-we're so sorry!"

Ace: "I thought you said we'll meet you at your place!"

BadGenius! Yuu: "By my place I meant Ramshackle!"

Ace: "Why didn't you say so? We came all the way to Octavinelle just for you to kick us out?"

Deuce: "You should know better, Ace. They warned us about Azul."

Ace: "Like you're one to talk! You tagged along. Doesn't sound so honorable to me, Mr. Honor Student!"

Deuce: "Th-this is just only one time! It won't happen again..."

Grim: "Are we gonna start or what? I'm gettin' sleepy here 😾!"

BadGenius! Yuu: "I guess it can't be helped. Sorry for the misunderstanding, guys."

Random Heartslabyul Student: "Don't worry about it, BadGenius! Yuu 😅!"

Random Scarabia Student: "We should've back read the group chat 😓."

Random Pomefiore Student: "W-w-what if we get caught 😱?!"

Random Savanaclaw Student: "Geez, if you're so paranoid then don't come here in the first place 🙄."

Random Octavinelle Student: "Azul's already suspicious of us. Should we be alarmed 😦?"

BadGenius! Yuu: "No, I managed to convince him. Now that the issue's out of the way, let's get started, shall we?"

• The test was going to be hard, you knew it. All you did was help a classmate with their homework in exchange for money. When they finally understand the material, they gave you a suggestion – to start your own business. That business specifically involved memorizing answers in a much more simpler way. In fact, you don't need to memorize all of them, they just wait and you'll provide it. Even during the test, under watchful eyes.

• The Ramshackle Ghosts were kind enough to let you stay in the rundown dormitory. They also did you a favor of bringing an old unused piano, but it still works despite the harsh conditions. Your friends wondered why you brought them here to teach them piano lessons late at night instead of studying for the exam tomorrow. The students- or rather clients you have gathered, have asked you for tons of help that you can't teach all of them at the same time. So you just came up with an alternative.

BadGenius! Yuu: "Look, see this piano? I'll make small sequences of a song and you'll have to memorize all of it. At least four of them since the other half of the test is in multiple choice form."

Deuce: "......."

Ace: "....Hah?"

Grim: "Fnyagh... I thought you said there won't be any memorizing!"

BadGenius! Yuu: "There won't be any memorizing. Just familiarize the sounds. We will be given one hour to finish the test, yes? And we can't finish it at the same time. So I came up with a solution... The first half of the test paper will contain enumeration, identification, and a few equations. You will have to memorize only the first half of the test... The other half of the test paper will contain multiple choice questions, which means you'll be choosing which is the right answer."

• The students listened intently to your plan, some were yawning from how long your explanation is. You intend to wrap this up quickly so that all of you will at least have a decent amount of rest.

BadGenius! Yuu: "If you're either done answering the first half or not, wait until the long arm of the clock hits twelve. I'll automatically provide answers for you in the other half of the paper to write down during the test. Do not to tilt or turn your head in my direction. Just carefully listen to the tapping of my fingers on the desk. Memorize the sound sequence like the one I will play on this piano. And then identify which one is A, B, C, or D."

Random Octavinelle Student: "Ohh! I think I get it now 😮!"

Random Scarabia Student: "This is waaay more easier than signing a contract with Azul 😯!"

Random Pomefiore Student: "What if we'll get caught looking though 😰?"

Random Savanaclaw Student: "They just told you, DO NOT LOOK, JUST LISTEN. You're such an airhead 😑."

Random Pomefiore Student: "O-Oh right 😓."

Random Heartslabyul Student: "Wait a sec, won't the tapping sound the same 😧?"

BadGenius! Yuu: "They won't. I've tried it before on the classroom desks. Each desk give a clear sound. I've also cut the tips of of my fingernails to adjust the sound of the tapping. Here's an example..."

• You made yourself comfortable on a chair and thought of a simple song to play on the piano keys. You decided to play Für Elise by Beethoven and then tapped your fingers on the wood for comparison. Not a lot of people know about the song so it should be safe if the teacher doesn't recognize it.

BadGenius! Yuu: "The highest pitch is A.... This one is B.... This is C..... And lastly, the lowest pitch is D....."

• The students listened and observed the simple sequences. Their eyes lit up by how easy the sounds can be memorized. Soon, they were able to recognize each of them with their eyes closed. However, Grim and ADeuce were struggling.

BadGenius! Yuu: "Alright, now that you've familiarized the sequences, let's discuss the seating arrangements."

Deuce: "Huh?! There's more?!"

BadGenius! Yuu: "Yes. Everyone's level of hearing varies from person to person depending on the distance. If we can't hear the sounds correctly in case another student coughs or sneezes, we'll write the wrong answers."

Deuce: "U-Umm... I guess that makes sense."

BadGenius! Yuu: "There's also a drawback, we're gonna have to wake up early to occupy the seats before the others. Okay, now everybody grab your chairs. We'll start with... You. Since you're a beastman, your hearing is better."

Random Savanaclaw Student: "Naturally 😌."

BadGenius! Yuu: "So you'll be a bit farther from me tooo... There.... And you..."

Random Pomefiore Student: "Eh... Me 😧?"

BadGenius! Yuu: "Yes, you. You didn't hear me when I said not to turn or tilt your head during the exam, so obviously you'll be sitting near me.... Riiight here."

• As you begin placing everyone to their order of seating arrangements accordingly with everyone finally agreeing with you, the ADeuce and Grim were completely having trouble to understand and were left behind. They exited the lounge and went outside.

Ace: "... Did you get any of that?"

Deuce: "Yeah... no."

Grim: "Fnyagh... I thought this was gonna be easy."

Deuce: "It is easy. Just memorize the sounds. There's only four of them!"

Ace: "They'll only provide HALF of the test. We still have to do the other half on our own."

Deuce: "Hey, it's the least we could do. They've made the effort to arrange all of this so we might as well lift ourselves up."

Grim: "Great. I thought there wouldn't be any familiarizing cuz I thought they'll give the answers for the entire thing, not half of it! Fnyagh... It's too hard!"

Deuce: "I think they said something about our answers in the first half combined with the memorized other will equal to a passing score."

Ace: "If we can get it right! We don't have enough time to memorize the answers in the first half!"

Deuce: "Why don't we stop complaining and at least try--"

! F L I C K E R !

Deuce: "H-HUH?! GUYS, DID YOU SEE THAT?!"

Grim: "See what?"

Ace: "How can you even see anything? It's dark out here."

Deuce: "I could've sworn...!"

• Before Deuce can finish his sentence, you called out to them to get inside so you can properly seat them. Ace and Grim walked back with Deuce following behind. The boy glanced outside last time and went in the dorm. He could've swore he saw a flicker of something shiny...

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Jade: "That was close one."

Floyd: "Eh~ so little Shrimpy wanna play games, huh Jade?"

Jade: "It seems so. I think it's time to report back to Azul, wouldn't you say?"

Floyd: "Yeah~ I'm gettin' bored."

• Unknowing to the students inside, a certain pair of eels cackled quietly, they've come to enjoy observing you but sadly this espionage has to end. Satisfied that they've gathered enough evidence, they shut the video camera, its lens shining in the dark, and left.

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{Octavinelle Dorm – VIP Room}

• Azul was in a spiral. Getting paranoid by the minute, constantly overthinking things. Counting the contracts again and again did not help at all. But at the same time, he's getting impatient. Azul has to admit, he's come to like you and admires how your efforts made you come this far, but he likes the title of honor student more.

Floyd: "Azuuuul~ we're baaaack~!!"

Jade: "We're back."

Azul: "Good. Now where is it?"

Jade: "Oya? Is that how you thank us right after doing the work for you?"

Azul: "It doesn't matter now give it."

Floyd: "uughh, fiiine~!"

Jade: "How selfish of you, Azul 😊."

Floyd: "Yeah, how selfish~"

Azul: "Shut it."

• Jade handed over the video camera to Azul. The man snatched it and sat down. He rewind the footage from the day he ordered the Tweels to spy on you to the night before the exam. Jade and Floyd watched as a growing smile plastered itself on Azul's face. After the video ends, he let out a hysterical laugh. The twins grinned to themselves. Oh, this is going to be fun, they think.

Azul: "...ha... haha.... AHAHAHAHAHAHA!! FINALLY! NOW I'LL GET RID OF THEM ONCE AND FOR ALL!!! AHAHAHAHA!! EVERYTHING. WILL. BE. MINE!!!"

• Azul never should have given you that advice in the first place. Never in a thousand years did he think you would act that fast and now you've become a hindrance to his plans. It was a miscalculation, a big one. And he'll stop at nothing to bring you down. He needs to get rid of you before all of his own efforts go down the drain.

• Now what shall we do about those friends of yours, hm? How unfair of you to leave them out of your studies. Why don't he give them a hand?

To Be Continued...

[lunaroseblake]

Adrenaline - Chapter 4 'Explanations And Answers'

Summary: Xavier struggles and Zayne learns why you missed your date.

“Clear!” They watched as your body spasmed from the shock that coursed through you, trying to restart your damaged heart. Paramedics working quickly and efficiently, listening as the constant beep of the heart monitor continued whilst one went back to performing CPR, the defibrillator monitoring if there was any output and letting them know when another shock would be needed.

With both you having sent out a backup call and Xavier having sent out his distress signal two black armoured trucks had turned up each carrying five high levelled hunters, Jenna and Tara in one of them. Though when they arrived prepared for a fight, all they found were fragments of smashed protocores, two men covered in blood and paramedics already at work on your damaged body. Tara had gasped when she’d got out of the vehicle and saw you, tears brimming in her eyes as she immediately ran over to offer her aid. As the paramedics had arrived before the hunters did, they had enlisted a couple of them as well as Tara to help with you, giving them bags of fluid and blood to hold above you and asking a couple of them to stand by Rafayel so he wouldn’t intervene.

As soon as Jenna saw the state of you, saw the amount of blood that had pooled around you staining the street, she had radioed in for air assistance to be able to get you to Akso hospital sooner. Turning to Xavier she could tell he was upset, his eyes had never left you since they’d arrived “What happe-” She began before being abruptly cut off “Where were you?” His voice was quiet but firm, filled with anger “Why did it take so long for you to get here?” Finally he tore his gaze away to stare accusingly at her, his deep blue eyes boring in to hers.

It momentarily took her aback as she’d never seen him like this before “There was more than one attack” She stated, trying to keep her voice calm “You two seemed like you got the worse out of the two and thankfully managed to clear civilians away. The other area wasn’t so lucky. By the time the hunters had arrived, two civilians had been killed and others injured. Someone had been around trying to break the flux stabilisers and succeeded with two of them, allowing this.” She gestured around them with her hands “We have people already looking in to finding the culprit. So, I shall try again. What happened?”

She watched as anger sparked in his eyes at hearing someone had wanted to cause this on purpose, that you were now in the state you were because of someones foolish actions. “Xavier” She placed a hand on his arm “I know you’re upset but Y/N is getting the best possible care at the moment” She saw the anger fade, replaced by despair as he glanced back to you. Another shout of ‘clear,’ another shock administered, but the continual flatline of the monitor made his hope dwindle that little bit more. His shoulders slumped slightly and he let out a long staggered sigh before he began explaining.

“It took us a while to find the source, at first it was just a Luminivore, stronger than normal but we could have managed. Y/N cleared the civilians away, making sure they wouldn’t get harmed. Then another one appeared. I drew their attention until Y/N got back but she was being followed, there were maybe 5? 6 Knaves? I don’t quite remember but there was a wanderer I’d never seen before, a monster of a thing.” As he spoke his hands clenched in to fists remembering it, his knuckles turning white before he felt warmth seep between his fingers. He’d completely forgotten about the shard clutched in his hands, he’d grabbed one of the ones next to your body when he’d stood to flag down the paramedics, knowing that he’d destroyed the protocore but they could perhaps gain some insight from whatever this was made of.

He lifted his hand, uncurling his fingers from the razor sharp edges that had dug in to his flesh before wiping it on his uniform, he didn’t care about getting blood on it, it was already smeared with yours so what was a little more? He held it out for Jenna to take who placed it in to an evidence bag before waiting for him to continue “It was covered with those, was able to produce them in a matter of seconds.” He nodded in the direction of Rafayel who had sunk to his knees between the two hunters that were watching him, tears still streaking his face. “It started going for him, “Y/N gave chase as I took down the other Luminivore and then it just stopped, as though it had baited her to follow and then… And then…” He paused, struggling to continue as he closed his eyes against the memories still fresh in his mind, trying to block out the awful sounds of your bones breaking “I couldn’t stop it…” He murmured as a single tear slipped past his resolve before he hastily wiped it away, trying to compose himself.

Jenna nodded silently as she’d listened, it was quite clear what had happened next and she didn’t need him to delve any further in to the details. The thrumming of helicopter blades slicing through the air was getting closer, though his ears were still hyper focused on the noise of the heart monitor, the constant beeeeeep finally breaking it’s continuous tone as your heart began to beat once more making his head snap up, watching the medics try to get you more stable again.

Rafayel had gotten to his feet now at hearing your heart start again and Xavier could hear the barrage of questions he directed at the medics “Is she going to be okay? Where will you take her? Can I go with you?” Rather than answer him, the hunters gently persuaded him to move away so you could be treated without interference and they needed to move anyway as the helicopter overhead began its descent. Other hunters moved to shield your body, holding up a blanket between them as the force of the wind from the blades above began whipping up various items around it.

Jenna shielded her eyes from the wind before glancing towards Xavier “You should get your wounds seen to as well, I’ll drive us to the hospital” He nodded at that, the sting of his hand more prominent as it continued to bleed. The cut above his eyebrow had stopped bleeding for the most part but he knew that it would need stitches, a headache beginning to set in from both the blow to his head and the emotional rollercoaster he’d been on. Focusing more on himself for the first time since the fight began he felt the way his muscles burned from the intense activity and could feel the dull ache of new bruises beginning to form underneath his clothes.

Running his uninjured hand through his hair he sighed as he gestured to Rafayel “We should probably take him with us as well, otherwise he’ll just make a scene” He stated tiredly, letting his gaze fall on you one more time at as you were carefully bundled on to the awaiting helicopter before he started walking to one of the trucks.

————

Zayne ignored the looks that came his way and the pitying eyes of the waitstaff at seeing that he was still alone, thinking that his date had obviously stood him up. Looking at his watch it told him that he’d been waiting for 45 minutes now and there was still no sign of you, your phone still going to voicemail whenever he tried and messages still left unread. A gnawing sense of worry filled him, sinking slowly in to the pit of his stomach as each second ticked away. With his dignity still mainly in tact, not that he really cared he gathered his things and stood up, going to settle the bill for the untouched wine and adding a little extra for the waste of a table.

It was dark when he went outside, the inky blue clouds above slowly moving along giving way to freckles of twinkling lights spattered across the sky. The temperature had dropped considerably as he put his blazer on, it didn’t usually affect him too much as his evol was ice but an involuntary shiver still made it’s way down his spine making him frown. Picking his way back towards his car, a million scenarios raced through his mind as to what could have happened to make you miss this date, especially since as you had seemed excited about it just hours prior. His anxiety was getting the better of him, were you just saying that for his benefit? Did you not want to be with him anymore and this was the first step of you trying to distance yourself from him? No. He gripped his car keys tighter and shook his head trying to rid that awful little voice in his mind making accusatory claims towards you. He knew you better than that, if there was an issue you would have come to him about it and you would have talked through it together. Something else had happened, the knot in his stomach tightening at a thought he was trying desperately to avoid delving in to.

That you were injured. That you were injured and alone and no one was coming to help you. He released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, his heart aching as that thought consumed him, little ice crystals were beginning to form along his fingers as he made it to his car, getting in quickly he leaned back against the soft black leather of the seat as he tried to rein his emotions back in check to stop his evol from getting out of control. He clung on to a sliver of solace in that he hadn’t been contacted by anyone else to let him know that you were injured or missing so tried to convince himself that you’d what? Fallen asleep after work and slept through all his messages and phone calls? Perhaps your phone had been on silent? He knew he was reaching but it managed to calm his rapidly beating heart to a more steadying degree.

Just as he started to turn his key in the ignition with the intention of driving to your home, his phone began ringing. He’d never moved so fast in his life as he grabbed his phone, a surge of relief flooding through him at the prospect that It would be you on the call screen, only to flip his phone over and have the relief suffocate and fizzle out in a near instant to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread. The hospitals number lit up the screen and he hesitated before sliding the green accept button “Dr. Zayne?” A female voice on the other end spoke and he recognised her as one of the receptionists to the ER.

“Speaking” He replied, having collected himself now, letting his professional manner kick in as he awaited to be delivered with bad news. “Doctor, a major incident has been declared signalling for a code red. All available specialists, doctors and nurses have been asked to come in if they are able to do so. We’re expecting up to two dozen casualties. A few of them have major injuries and there’s one patient who’s critical, currently receiving emergency treatment before being airlifted in.” He tensed, his fingers squeezing around his phone at the news “I’m on my way” Was all he said before hanging up and quickly getting up the news on his phone to see what had happened.

Being a very new and developing news article there wasn’t too much for him to read up on other than there had been two separate wanderer attacks, the one in more of the centre of the city being the one that had sustained the largest amount of casualties. The second one he saw had been near the outskirts of the city towards the coast which stated that only three people had been involved.

Throwing his phone in to the passenger seat he started the ignition and quickly pulled out of the parking space, praying that one of the casualties wasn’t you. The drive only took him ten minutes, the roads being relatively quiet after the news of the attacks. It was plenty of time for him to get in to the right mindset for treating patients to the best of his capabilities and by the time he’d changed in to his uniform and stepped through to the trauma unit he was fully focused, calm in the sea of organised chaos around him.

The head of the department filled him in on the varying severity of injuries. Around 60% of them were minor, meaning cuts or lacerations that needed stitching, sprains and bruising. Then there were a few people with bone breaks, their pained cries filling the bays as either legs or arms were straightened back in to position ready to be put in splints or casts, a couple potentially needing surgery and then some casualties with more severe wounds. However the man had led him to an empty bay where other doctors and nurses were waiting and Zayne spotted Greyson standing by with them. They’d been called in to deal with the patient who was being airlifted to them as he began to brief them on what they knew so far “The patient is a female in her late 20’s, had to be resuscitated and intubated on scene due to severe internal and external haemorrhaging. Suspected pneumothorax, clavicle break and multiple rib fractures also possible cardiac injury. ETA is two minutes”

Greyson whistled lowly hearing the list “And that’s without the scans” He murmured before clapping his hands together “Right everyone we need to be on our A game, I want blood on standby, CT and MRI ready to go” He glanced at Zayne who was struggling to breathe. Zayne had seen all the patients in the ER and none of them had been you which meant one of two things, one, you had nothing to do with this whatsoever and he was working himself up over nothing or two, you were currently being flown to them in a life threatening condition. Greyson moved to stand next to him “Zayne, if anyone is going to save this patient then it’s you” He paused, noticing Zayne’s abnormal persona “Are you alright?” Zayne closed his eyes, deep breath in one, two, three deep breath out one, two, three opening his eyes he saw Greyson was looking at him concerned “I’m fine” He said, standing a little straighter and letting his icy resolve take over.

If it was you then he needed to save you no matter what and if it wasn’t then it’d just be another patient he’d do everything he could for. “ETA one minute!” A nurse called out to them. The helicopter had landed, whoever it may be was being wheeled down to them. Zayne glanced around at the staff before him “Is everybody ready?” He asked, his voice authoritative earning him nods from his colleagues. He needed to keep calm, keep himself composed no matter what. He turned to the doors when they opened, a stretcher being rushed forward accompanied by two advanced paramedics and two nurses. One of the advanced paramedics began retelling the other medical team of their notes and what had transpired, filling anything else in that had happened on route.

Zayne froze when he saw you. He’d tried to prepare himself for the worst, let his rational doctor side take charge but in the end he was only human. He felt his resolve slip and he tried frantically to keep ahold of it as he stared at your marred chest. Blood was everywhere, it dripped on to the floor as nurses moved you from the stretcher on to the bed and began connecting you up to various machines, the alarms beginning to ding and screech nearly immediately with alerts to problems. You were so pale, the veins beneath your skin a vibrant blue contrast snaking beneath the visible areas of skin that weren’t t smeared with scarlet.

“BP is crashing! We need to get to surgery now! Zayne!” Greyson shouted. He snapped out of it then, beginning to order the other doctors and nurses on their next course of action “Get the anaesthetist to surgery now, our main priority is to stop the bleeding, find out where it’s coming from. When she’s more stable we can order the scans.” He looked towards your pale face, promising to himself that he would help you, determined to make sure that you’d live as he turned and began to make his way to the operating theatre.

[katerinaaqu]

One can argue that modernity is by definition the absence of form and that everything can change but either way again I completely disagree with the notion that there is no other way it could be successful. And many fans even got disappointed at the changes and all. Again we have so much connected the idea of "retelling" with "forget the plot" sometimes and it shows to all the "modern retellings" how they miss the point of the material they ellegedly adapt by a mile. Is your opinion and good for you to have it but again I disagree big time. It is a matter of marketing sometimes and like I said many people got disappointed at the changes as well. Many even said "we ignored the changes because music was good" and again i disagree. You might claim that and I can counter we shall never know again I disagree that you cannot be lore accurate. That is my opinion that's all.

I never meant to say over 3 hours although i see why it comes out this way. I meant 3 hours is a length that one expects a performance to have. And again I said many times over that he doesn't need to adapt every single moment of the Odyssey and turn it into a 5 hour thing. I said it would be better to be lore accurate. I literally said nothing of speeding up. Where on earth did that come from? On the contrary. In fact the last saga WAS sped up and it showed to the narrative.

Actually they were not to the Odyssey but to epic cycle and AGAIN that is exactly what I said. I said the first two sagas proved that you can have a LOOSE ADAPTATION (not 100% acurate) and STILL be lore-acurate. Astyanax incident was spoken in just one line in the Iliou Persis. It was given a reason in the musical. THAT is what I expect to see in an adaptation; liberties that work WITH the plot and fill in some gaps. Not something that says "fuck the plot I'll do whatever" that is not an adaptation in my mind or at least not a good one but it also depends on the media.

And I never said you did?! 🤷‍♀️ I said that is the feeling I got from some people who loved the musical who couldn't understand my dislike for it. Where did I say you said that? I said that they state their opinion on THAT matter like you express your opinion on THIS matter. And again why can't you accept that someone has a different idea on what a retelling is? You can say it is. I say it isn't because I do not agree in this method and a story that ignores the most basic parts of a plot does not count as a retelling in my book. It is an original story inspired by a material.

I put the emoji for a reason my friend. I was only half serious on that answer. I am honored you enjoyed my posts which is why also I engage with you and I express my opinion sincerely and directly because I believe we can be honest with each other. And when I said "don't expect me to change my mind" I meant that as an emphasis that I respect your opinion but I would continue to express the same thought and say that I disagree. If that offended you in any way that was not my intention. I see that you are passionate on your subject and I am on mine so I only "warned you" that my answer will still be the same. I NEVER said you are trying to push your opinion on me now I believe YOU shouldn't misunderstand me. I only mention that my opinion will continue to be the same.

And I said a hundred times already that I do not say you try to do the same and I also said that I didn't feel like that with most of fans either. You keep insisting on that but again all I said was that I disagree with you. Why do you feel attacked? If my previous reply seemed harsh I am sorry but again I didn't say you tried to push your opinion I only state what I do with mine.

Okay right back at you. I feel that you are not listening what I say. I again said I do not consider it a retelling because it literally respects nothing of the plot. It is not re-telling the story it is a writing of a new one (again that is my opinion). You disagreed and I disagree. Why do you keep saying that I accuse you of something? Also I said a million times you do not need a word for word thing to have a loyal adaptation. I also stated it a hundred times. Cutting is inevitable. THIS amount of change was optional.

I see. You definitely are free to do so. Honestly it is sad that it comes this way but you absolutely can and you have the right to do so. I am sorry you felt this way perhaps that is because I express my opinion too passionately the same as you. It happens. I am sorry that it comes this way. No I do not block people. If others wish to block me is up to them. It wouldn't be the first time. It is up to you. You do not need to earn Mr for it and I do not live for followers or people who block me

I know I am not a pleasant person and never claimed to be. I am who I am. If that is so unpleasant to you that you wish nothing to do with me is up to you really. No need to warn me about it.

You realize that a fandom has gone off the rails or that it has REALLY taken over when you see "Epic the Musical" tagged under images of Achilles and Patroclus! Like...how are two characters who were both dead by the taking of Troy, yet alone by Odyssey who do not appear not even as a mention for the Underworld as they were in the Odyssey, relatable to this?!

Sorry! XD

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Some villains are all your unspoken sins personified.

The sins you didn’t commit out of fear and better knowing, the sins you regret thinking about,

the sins that scare you.

The late night thoughts you fear, the fits of rage you’ve learnt to contain.

The words you never speak out loud, the things you could be but actively chose not to become.

You fear that part of you, and you’re aware.

That villain is you, what you could have been. You fear that thought… you’re frightened, but also curious. What does that say about you? Does it mean anything? Is that yet another part of you that should be feared, the curiosity?

The genuine interest, the questioning? The wonder?

You tell yourself you never want to find out what kind of person you could be, but is that true? Is it fear or excitement keeping you up at night? The voices in the back of your head when that one person did you wrong… are they truthful, are they right, are they wrong, are they even there?

Is this you? The madness hidden within, is that more you than the person you are now? Is it somebody else whispering these things to you, telling you to do things?

Does it matter? The real question is, are you going to answer?

Are you going to do it? Or is it safer to pretend that part of you never existed and never will?

The villains… are they to fear? To blame? Take a look on yourself, and answer honestly: the things you did and the things you never did, what do they make you?

And now, the villain… an active choice or a scream for help? Would you do the same they did? No, would you? If there was no control?

What do you know about the madness within and the thoughts before and behind the actions? What do you know about the motive and the great scheme of it all?

Who knows what you’re capable of?

Who knows if you’re the right person to come with such statements, blaming others… who are you to blame them? Who are you to blame?

Who knows? How would they know? Don’t let them find out. Take that as you will.

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Maedhros built up a high pain resistance from Angband; particularly to the burning sensation. Considering how low he thinks of himself, it’s likely he expected the Silmaril to burn him. He didn’t think he was redemptive, he thought I can take it.

Part of why Maedhros acts so viciously is because that’s how life treated him. I can take it if my brothers die. I can take it if I’m damned for eternity. I can take it if everybody thinks I’m a monster.

He’s proud, and he’s suffering. He won’t back down, he will succeed or be martyred.

[foxgloveinspace]

People jumping ship cause of the new masks is very ahhhh. Telling. Tbh.

[ladysunbite]

"Then we would succeed in a venture, that even the universe itself only dream of. We would set our eyes upon perfection. For the only true perfection is... nothingness," Orianna repeated to the sacred words, gently as if it was a lover's confession, and for the first time they fitted the reality. The price of understanding was a trip to yet another alien world, full of dim decay and loneliness in the everlasting light. If there was a beauty in it, the cultured vampiress could not see it. She felt for the darkness, clinging at her skirts, but it was pity and not sympathy, the same one felt for a dying animal before running it through the heart and putting it out of misery. Reasonable, cold, merciful. The only beautiful thing was the little witcher beside her. The only living colour was the colour of her eyes, or even the hollow light could not wither the shade of emeralds. Her slender, frail human body was drowning in memories, fear seemed to rob her of her bright, bold voice, but Orianna did not pry. Some stories were not meant to be asked after and some were not meant to be told at all. If Cirilla decided to share the burdens with her, she would share the cup and drink the full for her sake, a good listener. For now she offered a chilled, steady embrace against the sleepless city and a lullaby of her rich, low lying voice. "You can not fail me, silly lasa. Not you, nor I shall know the end of our story before it's too late. How can you judge the ending beforehand?" They might travel many worlds and by an error trip over into one that was dying of a gruesome, orchestrated malady. The streets of the city swarmed with rats, a dark, bristling carpet unfurled underneath majestic silent buildings. They walked through empty apartments, trying to guess what their inhabitants thought of before turning into a mere husk, a raving body. There was bits of poetry scrawled on the walls. Terrible wishes. Tender memories. The city was terrifying and beautiful, and in itself a poem. The songs of the whales filled the skies and the pastel sun played against a gilded picture frame, a dressing table and and ivory handle of a brush, golden hair still clinging to it, as if the unnamed beauty its proprietor would return any moment. It was a place of orphaned assasins, mad artists and whimsical, cruel gods with eyes of jet. The city held a masquerade amidst the chaos of plague, and that very gallant, cruel god walked Orianna among the guests, whispering the horrible secrets of each and every one into her ear, as if he was showing off a carefully collected picture gallery. He entertained her with history in the making and urged to place a bet - would his hero win or loose, would the noble murder guess the right mask and slay the right sister? Even gods were lonely children at heart, and his like called to hers. Again it could have been just a dream, for later she woke up upon the snow-white mattress in one of the endless empty chambers, with stucco cupids barring their smiles from the ceiling and the little witcher softly breathing in her arms. They might have merely fallen asleep.

By they were in the present, at the crossroads atop of the world. "It is time for us to return...home, Ciri."

@fallesto

She remained seated, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the moon. The witchers quietude was a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts racing within her. She had seen so much, felt so much, and yet, this was a choice she never expected to face. 

"What if we find nothing?" she whispered, the words barely audible over the distant murmur of the city that never truly slept.

Her thoughts drifted back to her jumps through the portals. Each world she had visited was a tapestry of colors and sounds that still haunted her dreams. Some were serene, with rolling hills and clear skies, while others were stark and cold, with the echoes of forgotten battles still lingering in the air. Each place had a scent, a taste, that was uniquely its own. The bitterness of a world where plants had turned to stone, the sweetness of a realm where rivers flowed with nectar, and the metallic tang of a place where machines were born.

One memory surfaced above the rest, a world where the gleaming city of Rapture lay beneath a vast, unyielding ocean. The sight of it, a testament to human ambition, had filled her with a mix of awe and sorrow. A city built on the backs of the weak, now reclaimed by the depths, its silent buildings whispering tales of greed and despair. It was there she had encountered the splicers, the twisted remnants of men and women who had embraced the power of the sea, only to lose themselves to it. Their eyes had held a madness that even she, a child of chaos, had found unsettling.

Another world lingered in her thoughts, one where a city named Columbia had ascended into the heavens. It had been a place of wonder, a floating utopia that danced among the clouds. Yet beneath its gleaming façade, Ciri had discovered a society built on the back of fear and oppression. The Vox Populi, the voice of the people, had fought valiantly against their tyrannical overlords. She had felt their pain, their anger, and their hope, as she wove in and out of their battles, a ghostly presence bringing small moments of respite to those who dared to dream of a better life.

Then another world. The neon lights of Night City pierced the eternal night like a million shards of a broken dream. The streets were a maze of chrome and shadow, where humans were as much a rarity as the natural sky she had left behind. Cybernetic limbs gleamed in the artificial light, a stark contrast to the grime and despair that coated every surface. The hum of the city was a symphony of life support systems, the whirring of augmentations that had become a twisted necessity for survival in this digital jungle. It was a place where the rich lived in gleaming towers, while the poor clawed out a living in the sprawling underbelly, surrounded by the ever-present hum of the neon advertisements that promised a future of augmented perfection.

But it was the memory of Raccoon City that sent a shiver down Ciri's spine. A world where the line between life and death had blurred into a twisted macabre dance. The streets she once knew, the places where she had laughed and played, now overrun with the shambling dead. Their eyes, once filled with the spark of life, had been replaced with a hunger that could never be satiated. The buildings stood tall, their windows shattered and their doors left gaping, revealing the horrors that lurked within. The air was thick with the stench of decay, a stark reminder of the fragility of existence.

In that hellish place, Ciri had encountered the Umbrella Corporation's dark experiments. Creatures of unspeakable horror that had once been human, now twisted beyond all recognition by the viral cocktails that coursed through their veins. The sight of a Licker, a creature that had once been a person, brought bile to her throat. Its elongated tongue, tasting the air for the scent of the living, was a constant reminder of the fear that had ruled her when she was trapped in that city of nightmares. The thought of facing something like that again made her hand tighten around Orianna's wrist.

“I have been to a thousand worlds, and all of them can be awful, filled with problems, with people who need help, and I help them.” She said. The point was this. “I want to help you, even if it ends in failure, I have to try.”

[nixie-deangel]

Hi. I've never done this before, but I've been eagerly reading everything since weekend started.

So if it's okey for me to ask I would love to request 💔💔🔥🔥🔥🥹🥹 ( hope it's not to much. I'm totally hooked on all of them but writing down every single emoji felt a bit crazy 😅)

🥰🥰🥰🥰 Please know I am bestowing the gentlest kiss to your temple and giving you the biggest hug! It is absolutely okay! (and I won't be mad if you wanna send in more or others asks for my stories!) 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

💔 icemav break up / icedad

this is directly continuing from this ask!

“No! Of course not! But come on, Ice, you have to see-” “I don’t have to see shit,” Tom explodes, cutting Mav off before he can start trying to justify his, and Carole’s as well most likely, actions. “You hurt him. Do you get that? Does she get that? Bradley is here. He is living and breathing and you both are hurting him.” Scoffing, Mav rolled his eyes as Tom continued on. “Do you have any idea what your actions almost did? You both almost drove him away! I’ve had to stop Bradley from running off to do it all on his own three, three goddamn times! And I’m the only one who’s shown him even an ounce of support, Pete, and he still keeps trying to run off and do it all on his own because he thinks he can’t trust me!”

🔥 virgin jake - hangster

“You confused me,” Bradley blurts out. “You confused me and enticed me and I didn’t know what I was feeling. What I was meant to be feeling the first time I laid eyes upon you.” Snapping his mouth shut, he turns his gaze away from Jake to stare down at the floor. Scoffing, Jake huffs at his half thought out explanation. But before he could open his mouth to call him on it, Bradley continued on. “I was raised knowing I would have a courtesan. I knew what that all entailed,” he powered on. “But then…but then I saw you. I saw who would be mine and I lost my damn mind. I know I did. I broke tradition because I could not bear the thought of anyone but me guarding you until you were officially mine.” Jake flinched back, eyes going wide in surprise as he stared at Bradley. “What? What do you mean broke tradition"?”

🥺 chap2 of helper - a/b/o hangster

“Sweetheart, come here,” the voice calls, soft and soothing and like a balm to the raw nerve Jake’s worked himself up into being. “That’s right baby, I got you, okay? Just listen to me, okay, Jake?” He thinks he nods or maybe he mumbles out a yes or noise of agreement. He’s not sure, not really but what he does know is that suddenly he’s not pressed against the cold unyielding side of his tub or bathroom floor. Suddenly he’s pressed against warmth.  Wrapped up in it really. In warmth and love and feeling like he’s once again tethered to something. But that can’t be right, Jake thinks, because he’s not supposed to be wrapped up in warmth and love.  Because he doesn’t deserve that after what he did to Bradley.

Make Nixie Write This Weekend!

[ratatatastic]

"When you guys are playing and, like, we all got podcasts and there are big podcasts out there, you know, are going from series to series, and they're critiquing teams and what not—like, at the end, do you know who's chirping you? Do you pay attention to that shit? Do you know who's on your side? Do you know who's, you know, rooting against you? Do you guys pay attention to that kind-of stuff? I'm just curious." "Yeah, I think this might be the first podcast I've ever done—I'm not the biggest fan of podcasts to be honest. I think—I'm friends with that, you know, [Shane] O'Brien, and [Scottie] Upshall (2 out of the 3 cohosts of the Missin' Curfew podcast), I love those guys... so if they ask I would do it but... again they, I think—I think negativity flows through media so much that it just kind-of disgusts me and I want nothing to do with it to be honest. So I hate the negativity, I think it's crazy, I think negativity in media steers guys away from certain teams... it's like, 'Why do you want that?' right? So I don't know, I'm a huge fan of the positivity, finding the positives in players and not putting guys down especially in podcasts and stuff like that where it should be for the players, right? It should be a positive thing, something that we rally around. Especially as ex-players!" "Yeah! We're gonna pump your tires!" "That's it!" "Well, you still gotta be real though!" "No, I know!" "You know if you have a bad game—" "It's gotta be real! For sure!" "—You gotta be real! You can't fake out your audience either so it's still a business." "One hundred percent! One hundred percent, one hundred percent... and I get that but—Yeah, I mean, I saw all those Spittin' Chiclets guys all over Edmonton's bandwagon so..." "That really bothered you guys, eh? Like, I mean, you guys were paying attention to that. I mean, as evidence as well on what took place on the ice after the game... you guys weren't, like, fucking around, you were being serious, right? You guys—that really bothered you guys?" "Hundred percent." "What was it? Like, the most that bothered you about it? Just the fact that, 'Hey, you guys are rooting for them... why are you trying to celebrate with us?' I mean, was it—is it that simple?" "Exactly. Yeah, get the f—we won, get off... right? Get out of here. That's uh, yeah. I don't know, I don't want to be too controversial or anything like that. I'm a happy guy, I like everybody so... whatever." "They're all good dudes, man. Listen if they're into hockey and they're talking about hockey thats a positive one way or the other!" "Oh, they're growing the game! They're growing the game! Huge! And they're doing a great job and I've spoke with Biz [Paul Bissonnette] a few times and I know Whit [Ryan Whitney] (Cohosts of Spittin' Chiclets) and I've got no issues with any of 'em. Truly."

The Cam & Strick Podcast | 7.30.24 (x)