she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.
he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.
my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship.
we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair.
in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me.
my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul.
and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.
i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me.
i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty.
i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.
the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill.
when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.
for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.
i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.
i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.
at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.
after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.
i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.
but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.
and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.
i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?
it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.
i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.
when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.
my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.
this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.
the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.
even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i askthe ocean “why do you do this to me.”
i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.
in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.
the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.
i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.
the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something.
a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”
i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.
by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.
it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake.
i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly.
the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me.
i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.
i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch.
when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her.
this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.
and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.
Collision Course; Voltron Legendary Defender AU: Dads of Marmora; gen; 5,300+ words; PG-13; mentions of violence, tiny hints of Ulaz/Thace, but so little you have to squint with a telescope or something
Credit for this AU goes to @drisrt and this amazing picture that inspired this story. Also some lines of the dialogue are taken from the Blades of Marmora episode of Voltron.
Keith gets adopted by the Galra empire rebellion, basically.
Keith has barely three years of life on his cells, has
barely grown up to his Father’s knees and into his Mother’s laugh when he’s
thrown into the first sense of flying, of fleeing, of his Father solemnly
reading through the coordinates Keith doesn’t understand, that Keith thinks are
just a pretty game of lights, lights that remind him of his Mom’s knife.
He’s holding it, holding onto it, tries to find the
connection between the numbers and the faintest of glows, illuminating the
insides of his fingers, misses how his Dad flinches when he asks: “When will
Mom catch up to us?” already sleepy, already curling up beneath the safety
straps of his seat.
Gently, his Father’s jacket is tucked around him and
the scent is the lullaby that sings him into dazed, motionless dreams, the
remnants of home, the flickers of the unknown.
(He sleeps through the harsh descent, the crib of his
Father’s arms, the hushed ambush, the quietest of heists.)
Author’s Note: You ever forget that you’re a fanfic writer then you write a fic so bad you remember how much of a hack you are? Yeah welcome to my fic :’D
dom!jungkook- fuckboi!jungkook- fuckbuddy relationship- dirty talk- thigh riding mention because damn even I am not immune to his thighs- inspired by Sia’s song and part of the song drabble game. You can find links to the rest of them on my masterlist
There he was with his hands up some girl’s skirt, grinding on her like he was trying to fuck her through their clothes, the fucking pig. You huff and turn to your friend who gives you an exasperated look, “___, just go and grab him by the dick and tell him he can’t fucking do that.”
“He can do whatever the fuck he wants to do, even if that is a bleach blonde bitch with a tan that makes her look like an Oompa Loompa.” That was pretty low, you admit. It wasn’t the girl’s fault that Jungkook had chosen her for the night. But seriously, there was a limit to tanning, this was just harmful to the eyes.
“No, he can’t because you’re together.” Your friend, Hwasa, sounds pretty fed up with you.
“No, we’re not. We’re just fuck buddies and we agreed that we’re not exclusive right from the start.” Why wasn’t she understanding this? You’d explained it to her a thousand times.
“I don’t care what bullshit you told each other. All I care about is what I see, and that is two idiots constantly doing all they can to piss each other off because they can’t communicate like adults.”
“What are you even talking about? Jungkook is not trying to piss me off. He’s just being himself. Which is admittedly annoying in and of itself but you know…”
“Then why did he do nothing the past three days but play video games while you were off galavanting with Jin, only to start making out with some girl the minute you make an appearance?”
“He did?” You asked surprised, only to check yourself back and shrug it off. “I don’t know, he must have just not felt like it.”
“Oh my god, save me from these two idiots.” Hwasa cries then takes you by the shoulder and starts shaking you, “He’s fucking jealous because you took Jin to meet your family and not him so he’s trying to piss you off. Why? Because he likes you. And you’re pissed off. Why? Because you like him. Now can you get that through your thick skull or do I have to beat it into you?”
Summary: Jimin is your landlord’s son. After one stressful day he comes to fix your shower for you. You find yourself constantly thinking about him. Could he be the perfect submissive? (here’s some lovely Jimin moans for the occasion: credit to owner)
I’ve been working on this for forever so i’m excited about it! :)
you want to paint the underside of your coffin with glow in the dark stars so you’ve got something to look at. when you were in mass last sunday god spoke to you directly and asked you to please stop it. you’ve been trying to stop it.
she’s wearing a red dress that hugs her waist so tight that you picture your hands searching for your sanity somewhere in the folds of that body. between thighs like that. is this objectifying her? you worry to yourself, smashing lipstick on.
your head already hurts, and there’s a girl who is puking in the corner. you ask her if she needs anything, and she tells you she likes your dress, and you say thank you do you need water, and she says, it’s okay i’m going to die here, and you say, okay let me bring you water. so you bring her water, even though the other girls look nasty at you when you cut the line. it’s not for me, you try to explain, weakly, over bass that is breaking your eardrums. nobody likes a hero. the girl is surprised you’re back. she spits up daintily, almost neatly, and drinks the water in a single chug. she tells you to go back to partying, so you do, because she tells you to.
where the hell is your friend. it’s not like she promised she’d stay next to you but here you are and here she isn’t, which is either rude for both of you or just the average way of things.
nervous hands bring you back to the bar where at least you can linger and pout and think about god, and his hands, and the sun coming up tomorrow on the bones of your body. where if you keep your eyes down and don’t look up you won’t remember that all places of worship are churches and here you are, nursing a vodka tonic you finished five minutes ago, praying about hell while women cagedance not more than six yards from where you sit.
a man in a suit - an honest-to-god suit - comes up to you. the cloth is powder blue. he asks if you want a drink. you don’t. you say yes because your mother taught you not to turn down free things. he orders you something you don’t like and you lean across the bar and tell the bartender nicely that unless he wants you to die you will be drinking a shot of fireball and nothing else, thank you. the bartender says, i don’t want you to die.
you don’t say, okay, but, what if someone would finally let me die. that’s dark. that’s something you stow for your friend who has a good enough sense of humor.
you smile at the man, take the shot, wave at him, ask him to come dance, melt away into the crowd with that ability you learned somewhere in high school. now you’re alone again and can’t go back to the bar because the man will be looking. you remember you’ve got a phone finally.
you ask your friend where she is. she doesn’t reply coherently, but you like the addition of the cat emoji.
some terrible part of you slips into your skin now, the ache of wanting out. so you go out.
and there’s the girl in the red dress.
you feel yourself choke like a car engine and it’s gosh dang embarrassing.
she’s laughing, blowing smoke up at the building. a man is standing next to her, but she makes eye contact with you. you ask her if she’s willing to bum you one. you’ve never smoked in your life and you’re terrified of them like guns. she nods and slips you a clover. you don’t let your hands shake in the glow of the lighter, only after, only when she smiles at you and asks you how you’re doing.
how am i doing? i’m very lonely and i think god abandoned me and it feels like a train wreck inside me. i feel myself reversing. my headlights are going out. tomorrow already hurts.
instead you shrug and say something inconsequential. you say, that’s a nice dress. even manage to keep how hard your heart is pounding out of it.
isn’t it? asks the man. you now remember he’s here. you have the urge to smoke suddenly. inhale deeply.
sorry to bother you, you say, just got too loud in there.
she nods, looking at you, mouth in a pretty smile. not bothering, she says, it’s okay. want to go back in with me?
her outstretched hand is soft and cold. you drop the clover. once inside she shouts over the music to you about how men are creeps. her lip touches your ear while she speaks. her hand doesn’t leave yours. she pulls you to the dance floor. your heart feels like a carousel.
she dances. your throat is dry. she takes your other hand and makes you dance with her, a silly little twisting thing. your palms are sweaty and she is laughing. she leans in to speak with you, pressing up against your body. there is lightning shooting out over your skin. she smells like roses. her hair seems soft.
she’s whispering something and for a second, the sound of corroding stops in your brain. like the train finally derailed and now it’s dead and can leave you out of it. like stuff gets quiet even though you’re drunk in public on a friday night.
so this is worship, then, you think.
you say, sorry, and she says ? for what? and you can’t speak.
for the first few trembling years of her life, she is a
princess. she is the daughter to the king, born of his beloved wife and of her
visage. her dark eyes have the appearance of a smoky quarts and her mother
carefully twists her mass of black hair into a hundred small braids down her
back. she is a beautiful, quiet child, and for a while all is well. they call
her princess maleen.
then her mother dies. it seems as if the king is determined
to bury his love for his daughter along with his queen. he moves her to a
different wing of the castle, and refuses to see her. her tutors are let go,
and the nobles’ children are no longer allowed to play with her. only the maids
look after her now.
the king remarries. the new queen gives birth to a son, and
maleen is forgotten completely, banished from a home she still resides in and a
life she can now only watch unfold.
the maids take care of her, braid her hair and kiss the
blisters on her fingers, teach her to scrub at porcelain and polish silver, to
clean a fireplace and mop polished marble floors.
they call her maid maleen.
the king has a son by his new wife, and then a daughter.
they are pale and fair-haired like their mother, with only their dark eyes to
show they are the king’s children. but they inherit none of their parents’ beauty, have faces that don’t look quite right
and bodies that get stuck between gangly and chubby and never settle into one
or the other. princess gisella and prince jan are privately regarded as
unfortunate products of a lovely union.
maid maleen spends long hours working, and has neither the
time nor funds for creams to soften her skin or oils to care for her hair, has
never used face powder or lip color.
maid maleen is twenty three years old, and the most
beautiful woman in the kingdom.
her braids are wrapped carefully atop her head, but when she
lets them loose they hang past her hips. her dark skin is made even darker thanks
to long hours working in the palace garden, and her eyes have never lost that
same curious light. she walks straight and strong, years of hard labor giving
her muscles and definition to her body that she never would have had as a
princess. boys and girls give her long, considering looks and flirtatious
smiles, and nobles have to double-take when she passes them by.
no one speaks of it anymore. but maid maleen looks ever more
like her beautiful late mother, has the same eyes as her father, and dressing in
ill-fitting cast offs and running her ragged can’t hide the truth.
maid maleen is the king’s daughter.
she has accepted her life as a maid in the palace she was
one day set to inherit, and tries to see it as a gift. she sleeps with who she
likes, may marry whichever of the charming boys from the city who’s smile she
likes best. in the maids who raised her she has more mothers than she has
fingers, and perhaps she longs for the days when she was a small princess, when
she was the apple of her parents’ eye, when the whole of their nation was to be
hers to inherit.
but then the blacksmith’s daughter lets her hands linger a
little too long on her wrists, and maleen knows that she won’t be sleeping
alone tonight. there are some things that worth more to her than a throne she
was born to. she doesn’t miss the little girl she used to be.
tensions have always run high between their kingdom and the
neighboring one – too many squabbles over borders, over trade agreements, over
patrols, over anything and everything the kings can find a reason to be upset
about, it seems like. so when prince wolfgang is sent over, the whole palace is
abuzz. the prince seems determined to inherit a peaceful land, and is coming
over to talk with the king to do it.
maleen does not care for princes. nor for nobles of any
rank, in fact. she remembers how they turned on her, she sees the small acts of
pettiness and cruelty they thoughtlessly inflict on their servants, and she
wants nothing to do with it. commoners may not be as educated as nobles, may
not have as many objects to call their own, but maleen finds she prefers their
company to that of lords. she’s uninterested in this prince, which is perhaps
why she’s the one that gets sent to his rooms. her moms can trust that she at
least won’t fawn over him.
“sir wolfgang,” she murmurs, pushing open his door and
giving a low curtsy, keeping her eyes trained on his mud covered boots. “is
there anything you require?”
silence. she can only stay bent in a curtsey so long before
she loses patience. she’s almost given up on him, is about to cut her losses
and call it a night when he says, hesitant, “queen sabine?”
her mother’s name is punch to her gut, and her head snaps up
at the sound of it, the rolling fire of her temper bubbling just below her
skin. “i am maid maleen,” she snaps, then tacks on “your highness,” after a
his cloak is half unbuttoned as he stares at her with a
slack mouth. she supposes he would not look unhandsome if he were not currently
doing his best to imitate a frog. he appears to be only a handful of years
older than she is, and if she were not furious she would be impressed that he
remembers her mother well enough to see sabine in her.
“maleen,” he repeats, and for a moment she wonders if he
will recognize her as well, but he only says, “my apologies. if you would help
me with my cloak, i would be much obliged.”
she’s instantly suspicious. she’s met nice nobles before,
ones that were considerate and remembered her name and thanked her when she
brought them wine. but she’s never met a nice prince before – they’re always of
the worst sort. “yes, your highness,” she says, and the cloak is soaked through
and clinging, it’s no wonder he’s struggling with it. once she’s gotten it off
she hangs it to dry, then goes back to him. she slaps away his numb, struggling
fingers and undoes the rest of the buckles and loops of his overly complicated clothing.
she’s gotten down him down to an undershirt and pants when his hands grab hers.
she blinks and looks up. he has freckles dusting across his nose.
“this is inappropriate,” he says, but honestly she’s
stripped a lot of nobles, it wasn’t weird until he took her hands and looked at
her like no one’s ever looked at her before.
“yes, your highness,” she agrees, and takes a step back. she
places his clothes in front of a fire, curtsies, and leaves. she can feel the
weight of his gaze on her all the way back to her room.
wolfgang continues his diplomatic agenda, having long
meetings with the royal family. after, maleen goes and tends to him, setting
out his food and taking care of his clothes, straightening up any mess that he’s
made. at first he’s quiet, and he just watches her, but he quickly discovers
that maleen has opinions and thoughts and isn’t afraid to share them. soon they’re
debating the finer points of trade routes and arguing the effectiveness of a
sliding tax scale, and maleen comes to cherish the evenings she spends with the
prince, likes the way he speaks to her and looks at her, likes the shape of his
weeks in she enters his room, dinner steaming in her hands
and eager to continue their conversation about state funded orphanages versus a
state funded foster system. he’s pacing and tense, shoulder stiff. “wolfgang,”
she sets down the food and wipes her hands on her apron, “is something wrong?”
“is it true?” he asks, and he’s not looking at her. he’s
always looked at her before.
“is what true?” she flinches away from his coldness, is
already preparing to retreat and hide and beg someone else to watch over him.
he turns to her, and she’s baffled by the mixture of hope
and anger on his face. “are you the king’s daughter? are you princess maleen?”
she takes a step back, “i am maid maleen.”
“please,” he follows her as she steps away from him, and her
back hits the wall. he stops when he’s almost close enough to touch. “my father
sent me here with the goal to seal our new treaty with a marriage. he expects
me to marry princess gisella. but if you are the daughter of the king – then he
will allow me to marry you instead!”
“who says i want to marry you?” she retorts, but he gets on
bended knee and she freezes.
he holds a hand for her own, and against every bit of logic,
she gives it to him. “maleen, i’ve never felt this way about anyone. i was
willing enough to enter a loveless marriage before i knew what true love is,
but now i do, and i can’t go back. marry me.”
she wants to. she thinks she loves him. she hadn’t been
planning to fall in love with anyone. “i am the king’s daughter,” she tells
him, “but i am no princess. i haven’t been a princess in a long time.”
he brings her hand to his mouth so he can kiss each one of
her knuckles, “then we’ll have to change that.”
wolfgang goes to the king to make his case, to return maleen
to her birthright and allow her to marry him.
it goes even worse than maleen had feared.
her father is furious. he’s so angry at the audacity of this
request that prince wolfgang is thrown from the kingdom. so incensed is he,
that guards drag maleen from her bed in the middle of the night and throw her
into a tower. the door closes shut behind them, and she bangs on it and screams
but no one comes for her.
there are no windows, and only one door with a sliding metal
grate in the bottom. she’s high in the tower, she thinks, from the number of
steps she’d been forced to climb, but she stands on a dirt floor. the room
contains only the bare minimum needed for survival, and nothing more.
once a week food is slid through the slot in the door. she
has to be careful, because if she eats it too fast they will not provide more,
she will just starve. days turn to weeks turn to months, and she despairs of
ever being let out of this tower. months turn to years, and she gives up hope
entirely of leaving this tower. she considers refusing to eat, killing herself
slowly through starvation, because death is preferable to life locked in this
one night there’s a scuffle, and shouting, and for the first
time since she was shoved inside the door opens. there’s a guard standing
there, and princess gisella tentatively steps inside. “maid ma – i mean,
maleen stares. this is the first time she’s seen another
person in years, and suddenly for all the screaming she’d done she can’t find
her voice. gisella takes another cautious step forward, “maleen, please – we don’t
have much time.” she holds out her hand, “come with me.”
gisella is sixteen now. although she’ll never be a great
beauty, she’s grown into many of the features that she was once mocked for. “where?”
she asks, but takes gisella’s hand and lets her lead them down the twisting
staircase. anyplace is better than the tower.
“i’m to be married in a week’s time to prince wolfgang.”
maleen feels a sharp pain go through her chest. had wolfgang forgotten her?
their farce of a romance was such a quick, shallow thing. she was a fool to
fall for it in the first place. “i’m not going to show up. you are.”
she stares, “what?”
“wolfgang started a war over father locking you in the
tower,” she explains, “but eventually it got to a point where neither could
justify it, so our father and wolfgang’s decided our union would mean peace between
our countries, as intended. but i don’t want to marry prince wolfgang, and he
does not want to marry me.”
“i don’t understand,” she hadn’t paid much attention to the
girl when they were in the palace together, and she’s regretting that now.
they finally reach the end of the tower. it’s the first time
she’s breathed fresh air in years. she tries not to get distracted by it, and
instead focuses on the carriage to her left, and the pure black mare laden like
a pack mule on her right. “i’m leaving,” gisella says, “i don’t want to be
wolfgang’s bride because i want to be klaus’s,” the guard smiles, and he must
be klaus, the princess is rejecting a prince to run away with a commoner. “there’s
a map and everything you need in the saddlebags. the wedding dress is waiting
for you at the castle. no one will know you’re not me until wolfgang unveils
you, and by then it will be too late. he will marry you, and i will be gone.”
“why are you doing this?” she asks.
gisella shrugs, “you’re my sister, and father is an idiot. i
want you to be happy, and i want wolfgang to be happy, and i want to be happy
too. this way we all get what we want. our brother will be waiting for you in
wolfgang’s castle. he’ll help you.”
maleen is speechless. gisella grabs her in a quick hug – the
only one they’ve ever shared – and then goes to the carriage with klaus
trailing behind her. “i’ll see you again, princess maleen!”
she doesn’t have time for tears. she gets on the mare, and
rides for the palace of the neighboring land.
she makes it just in time. she sneaks into the castle the
night before the wedding, ducking around servants until she find her way to jan’s
door. she knocks, tentative, wondering if this was a mistake and all one elaborate
trap. but the door opens and his face slackens in relief, “finally!” he pulls her inside, and sits her down. there’s lukewarm water
waiting for her so she can clean herself, and jan stands with his back to her
the whole time, outlining the wedding and how it will go so she knows what to
expect the next day. “father isn’t here,” he assures her, “he didn’t want to
leave the kingdom, so i’m here in his stead.”
“won’t you miss your sister?” maleen finishes washing
and wraps herself in a soft blanket.
“when i am king, gisella will return,” he says confidently, “she
will come home and bring klaus, and you will rule here with wolfgang, and all
will be well. our countries shall be great allies when it is me and wolfgang on
he’s only a year older than gisella, just seventeen, and
maleen feels oddly old next to them, feels old next to these children who know
what they want and take it and don’t let anything stand in their way.
“we need to get your hair rebraided,” he says, “you should
look perfect tomorrow. it’s your wedding day.”
she stares, aghast. “that will take all night!”
“i’ve brought help,” he says, and sends a servant down the
hall. the servant returns with a half dozen of the maids who raised her, and
who crowd forward and hug her and kiss her cheeks and say how much they’ve
missed her. princess or not, bride or not, to them she will always be their
little maid maleen.
it’s clear gisella picked her wedding dress with maleen in
mind. it fits her for one thing, and is clinging and heavy, and it must have
looked awful on gisella, but on her it’s perfect. her dress is accompanied by
white silk gloves and a thick veil so that no one can see her, so that no one
will know she’s not the daughter of the king they’re expecting to be there.
wolfgang is at the end of the aisle, looking like he’s going
to an execution, and it takes more self control than maleen was anticipating not
to go running to him. she turns to him, and he lifts her veil. he sees her and
freezes, mouth sliding open. she winks at him, because they just need to keep
it together until they’re married, he just has to keep his cool for a few
minutes and they’ll have won it all. wolfgang closes his mouth and says nothing
about how this is clearly not the bride he was supposed to marry. they turn so
none of the guests can see them, and the priest gives maleen a confused look,
but with a glare from wolfgang he continues on with the ceremony as if nothing is
out of place.
“you may now kiss the bride,” the priest says, after what
seems like an eternity.
wolfgang grabs her about the waist, dips her, and kisses her
soundly on the mouth. her veil falls off and she can hear the horrified and
shocked gasps of the guests, and under that jan’s laughter. when they break
apart, foreheads still pressed together, she whispers, “hello, prince wolfgang.”
he kisses her again, quick and sweet, and does nothing at
all to disguise the joy in his face. “hello, princess maleen.”
Requests: I just read The Fourth Musketeer and I’m in
love! Will you release the next part soon? I can’t wait ❤❤❤
Can u please do a part
2 of “the four musketeer” please?
I know requests are
closed and so please don’t even rush with this request like honestly take
however long you want to, but I actually need a 2nd part of ‘the fourth
musketeer’ your writing is so amazing!
Pairing: Archie x
has become invested in (Y/N)’s story, and so she seeks out those who knew her.
A/N: I have been
having so much fun writing this series, hope you guys enjoy this part!
“(Y/N)” was the only word that came out
of Veronica’s mouth as she sat down at the lunch table. Jughead, Betty, and
Kevin’s heads all snapped up.
“How do you know about (Y/N)?” Kevin
questioned. Veronica shrugged.
“Archie was kind of having a meltdown at
Jughead’s party,” she answered. Betty and Jughead shared a concerned look.
“God, what happened?” Betty asked.
“He was screaming her name when I came
up,” Veronica explained. "He
babbled on about how much he loved her and that he should’ve told her and that
he kissed her.“
“Wait, he kissed her?” Kevin
interrupted, his eyes doubling in size. He
glanced over at Jughead and Betty who appeared to be just as shocked as he was.
“You didn’t know?” Veronica’s eyes
“No,” Jughead muttered, shaking his
head. "He never told us.“
“We always knew they had a thing for each
other,” Kevin elaborated. "But
we never knew that something actually happened between them.“
"When did she move?”
“Two years ago,” Jughead answered. "The summer before eighth grade.“
"There was this dance,” Betty reminisced,
“in the fall of our eighth grade year.”
“Archie was gonna ask (Y/N),” Jughead
frowned. "He was preparing himself
ever since he first heard about the dance.“
"And he never got the chance,” Kevin
“Do you know why she moved?” Veronica
inquired. The rest of her table
“Probably her dad,” Betty replied. "He was a really intense lawyer, and he
got relocated to some big city firm.“
”(Y/N) was gonna try and stay with the
Andrews,“ said Jughead. "They
were more than willing to take her in, too. But-”
“But, of course, her parents wanted her to
go with them,” Veronica finished. Jughead grimly nodded. "So two whole years, and Archie still
isn’t over this girl?“
"Well the thing is,” Betty grimaced,
“he never coped well with her leaving. After (Y/N) left he was… strange. He practically denied her existence.”
"Yeah,” Kevin chimed in. "He never talked about her or anything. It was pretty frightening, actually. It seemed like he had completely forgotten
"And if you’re wondering why Archie can’t
get over her,” Jughead answered Veronica’s unasked question, “it’s
because he was always in love with her.”
“Yeah, he told me that,” she mumbled.
“I don’t think you understand though,”
he said. "They were both so in
love. They were always there for each
other, caring for each other. When
Archie’s parents were fighting, (Y/N) was there; whenever (Y/N)’s dog died,
Archie was there. You couldn’t find one
without the other. Betty and I were also
good friends with them, but those two? They
Maybe it was Veronica’s fascination with dramatic
love stories; maybe it was her desire for an explanation as to why Archie
didn’t return her feelings for him. Either way, she found herself searching for
more information about (Y/N). That was
how she ended up at the Andrews household. Archie wasn’t home.
”(Y/N)?“ Fred Andrews repeated, holding
a beer as he sat across from Veronica. "I
haven’t heard that name in a while.”
“I, on the contrary, have been hearing her
name quite a lot lately,” Veronica shrugged, sipping on a glass of water. "So what happened between her and
"Oh, I don’t think it’s my place to
say,” Mr. Andrews sighed. "It’s
Archie’s tale to tell.“
"He already told me about her,”
Veronica quickly explained. "But
only the happy parts. Only the parts he
wants to remember.“ Mr. Andrews
exhaled and took another swig of beer. He
stared at Veronica for a moment in silence.
"Why do you want to know?” he finally
“I like hearing stories,” she shrugged.
“This sounds like a good
book.” Fred Andrews laughed.
“If this was a book,” he responded,
“my son would’ve had a happy ending with that girl.”
“Maybe he will,” Veronica offered. "I don’t think the story’s over
yet.“ Fred’s laughter shrunk into a
smile. He cleared his throat.
"If there’s one thing you should know about
(Y/N),” he started, “it’s that she is the purest soul you will ever
meet. She was kind and gentle, and she
was exactly what Archie needed.” Veronica
quietly nodded, intrigued. "I knew
both her father and mother quite well. So,
of course, when our children were born around the same time, we knew we wanted
them to be best friends. A couple years
later, we realized we wanted them to get married.“ Fred Andrews and Veronica both laughed. "Sometimes in the movies you see the boy
and girl resisting each other because when you’re little, it’s gross to talk to
someone who’s the opposite gender. That
was never the case with Archie and (Y/N). They were both sweet on each other.”
“That’s so cute,” Veronica cooed.
“It was,” Mr. Andrews sighed. "I remember this one day; I think Archie
was eleven at the time. He and (Y/N)
were at the park all day, as they usually were. That night, he came running home and swung the
door open. His mouth was going at a mile
per minute. When I finally got him to
slow down, he told me that he was in love with (Y/N). He had the biggest grin on his face.“
"The day he kissed her?” Veronica
clarified. Mr. Andrews chuckled.
“Yeah. God, it made me so happy. I knew that he sometimes overheard his mom and
I fighting, and I was worried that it would somehow affect his relationships. That kind of stuff damages a kid, you know? But he had stars in his eyes as he talked
about (Y/N), and I don’t think I’ve seen him that happy since then.”
“I heard you offered to take her in,”
Veronica changed the subject, “when she was going to move.” Fred Andrews stiffly nodded.
“Archie’s mom and I fought a lot. But (Y/N)’s parents? That poor kid. She slept over here so many times because the
screaming was keeping her awake. And the
saddest part was she never cried or appeared to be sad. She would just come in here, clutching
Archie’s hand, looking up at me with big sad eyes and politely asked me to
stay. Of course, I never refused.” Veronica frowned. "When I heard she was moving, I was
concerned about how crushed Archie was, sure, but I couldn’t bear to let (Y/N)
go off on her own with her parents. At
least when she was in Riverdale, I knew she had a safe place here. Now, I don’t know if she has one.“ He took a long swig of beer before continuing.
”(Y/N) was like a daughter to me. Archie isn’t the only one who loved her.“
"Sounds like a special girl,” Veronica
commented. Fred nodded.
“Have you ever considered writing a book
about this?” Veronica sat across
from Jughead in Pop’s. He lightly glared
at her, lowering his laptop lid.
“Write about what?” he snapped. She had interrupted his writing when he was in
“(Y/N),” she answered. Jughead shot a glance at Betty.
“You know before Jason Blossom was shot,
(Y/N) and Archie were the most interesting things in Riverdale.”
“Wasn’t there a two-year gap between (Y/N)
leaving and Jason getting shot?” Veronica inquired.
“Isn’t it interesting that someone so in
love could just pretend that the person they loved never existed?” Betty
countered on Jughead’s behalf.
“Touché,” Veronica muttered.
“Anyways, to answer your question, of course
I’ve considered it,” Jughead said. "In
fact, I already wrote a whole novel.“
"Seriously?” Betty and Veronica
exclaimed simultaneously. Jughead nodded
“Of course. But I do think something is missing,” he
responded. Veronica furrowed her
“What do you mean?”
“Well I kept it non-fiction,” he
elaborated. "I didn’t add anything
that didn’t happen. Although, I guess
now I’ll have to put in the kiss. Anyways,
I don’t have a plot twist.“
”(Y/N) moving isn’t plot twist enough for
you?“ Betty asked a question this time.
"That’s the climax,” he explained. "Everything that happened after that was
the falling action. I have no plot twist
and no resolution.“ All three
sitting at the table furrowed their eyebrows. A faint jingle alerted the diner that there
was a new customer. Betty casually
glanced up and then did a double take at what she saw. She gripped Jughead’s arm.
"Is that plot twist enough for you?”
she whispered, gesturing towards the entrance. Jughead and Veronica’s gaze both snapped
towards the front, their focus attaching to the figure who just walked in.
“No way,” Jughead breathed.
“Is that…” Veronica trailed off,
unable to form a sentence. Jughead and
Betty both nodded, confirming her suspicions.
Roman knew you were reaching your breaking point. As much as you tried to stay cool and collected under the gaze of his bedroom eyes, he could tell it was all an act. Being an upir had its advantages. One of them being how he could catch your eye and sense your body remembering every welcomed violation he performed on your pleasure deprived body only a few hours prior. He could hear your heart race and he could all but taste the blood rushing to his favorite spot between your thighs. He wanted you again the moment he watched you fall into euphoria in his arms.
In your household nothing was truly what it seemed; your mother was having an affair with her business partner, leaving your stepfather to work himself into a pit of denial. The only person who had real feelings under that roof was you. You felt disgust when your mother would blatantly lie to her husband, you felt overwhelmed and stressed because of university, and you felt the euphoria of your late night rendezvous with Taehyung.
Prompt: When Thor brings Loki to stay with the Avengers, the team decides to prove just how much the God of Mischief has changed by assigning you to earn his trust; but you end up earning more than that. NO RAGNAROK SPOILERS!
Word Count: 3700
A/N: Ok so I saw Thor Ragnarok when it first came out and I absolutely loved it. For some reason, I fell in love with Loki. Not gonna lie, I feel like Loki deserves redemption and the MCU is not giving him that at all (which is why I disliked him in previous movies). Before Ragnarok, I only liked Loki because he was funny and Tom Hiddleston is beautiful. So, yeah, with this new found love for Loki, I have decided to expand my characters by adding him to the list of people I will write of. Fair warning: this is not a good imagine at all.
“But why me?” You let out an exasperated whine, “He knows me the least.”
“It’s not just that.” Steve nodded, “You weren’t there when he tried taking over the world, so you’re the best candidate.”
“So what? I’m chosen just because he’s never tried to kill me directly before?”
“Basically. Plus, you’re a hot, young girl that Loki would totally mess with.” Tony added, making Natasha hit him over the back of his head and you roll your eyes. “I’m just saying that you have more assets than I do when it comes to gaining the God of Mischief’s trust.”
“Thanks, Tony.” You replied in a flat tone.
“Will you do it, Y/N? It’s the best way to see if he has changed and if we can actually trust him.” Steve said.
“If I’m our only hope, then sure, but, I swear, if Loki tries anything on me, Thor, you will no longer have a brother.”
“Get in line.” Clint laughed dryly.
“Yeah, you’ll have to wait your turn for that.” Bruce said.
“Hey, now, no one will be killing my brother. He has changed.” Thor said. When the mighty God of Thunder first approached the Avengers about his brother staying in the compound with them, they were all quick to say no. Thor then went into detail about Loki’s redeeming actions while his brother walked into the room. After putting away their drawn weapons, Tony locked Loki in one of the cells, so that the team could discuss the issue at hand. That’s when Tony, Natasha, and Steve came up with the brilliant idea of using you as bait. You, the newest Avenger that has never even formally met Loki before, were chosen as the person to draw him out. You would somehow gain his trust and learn whether or not he has truly changed. If he never trusted you, then he was the same Loki as years ago; if he trusted you, then he had changed.
With your decision made, the Avengers left their meeting room to the cells. You all stood before Loki as he beamed mischievously at the sight before him. Tony opened the cell up and allowed the God to step out.
“Alright, reindeer games, we’ve got some rules that you must comply to- if you are to stay here.” Tony stated.
“Ah, rules- don’t you just love them and the chaos they bring?” Loki replied and Steve scolded Natasha as she began to curl her fists.
“Look,” Steve said, stepping up, “You’re not allowed to leave the compound unless one of us agrees to go with you; you cannot create any chaos inside or outside of the compound; you’re not allowed anywhere near the ships or weaponry-”
“I get it. I’m under house arrest. I’ve been in trouble before.” He stated, “Now, where is my bedroom? I’d like to catch up on some sleep.”
“Follow me, brother.” Thor said, leading Loki up the stairs as everyone dismantled from their protective stances. You watched as the two brother headed up the spiral staircase and you caught how Loki peered over his shoulder at you. You were quick to turn your head and invest yourself in a conversation with Steve.
That night, Loki did not come downstairs for dinner. Thor offered to take him a plate, but you insisted on doing it- that way, you could introduce yourself properly to him. Thor, knowing your intentions well, allowed you to take his place in serving his brother. You stood outside of Loki’s room and knocked lightly on the door, holding his plate of food with the other hand.
“Come in.” Loki said dryly. You slowly opened the door to find him sitting on his bed with a disinterested look in his eyes.
“I brought you dinner.” You gestured to the plate of steak and potatoes.
“I’m not hungry.” He replied and you shook your head with a laugh.
“You haven’t eaten all day. Please, eat this. Sam makes the best steaks.” You held it out to him and placed the book in his hands on his lap, before taking the plate.
“Yeah, Sam, he’s the Falcon. He’s super cool and there are no steaks that compare to his- well, actually there’s a really nice restaurant in Upper Manhattan that has the best steaks. Sam’s are still amazing.”
“I’m dying to try it.” Loki replied sarcastically as he poked it with his fork.
“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You said, holding a hand out to him.
“Loki, but you already knew that.” He shook your hand almost timidly. He felt that there was something off about you- why were you so kind compared to the others? He expected Thor to be the only one to treat him as a normal person- not some random Midgardian that he’s never met.
“What book are you reading?”
“Excuse me?” Loki asked and you nodded toward the stray book on his bed. “It’s just a story my mother used to tell me. It’s a part of Norse mythology, as you humans call it.”
“It sounds interesting. I’ve always enjoyed learning about mythology.” You said, genuinely.
“Well, as good of a book it is, it does get boring after a while. I should have brought more books with me.”
“You know, Loki, we’ve got a library.”
“A library?” Loki asked, his whole stance perking up at the word.
“Yeah, I’d offer to show you it tonight, but I’ve got dishes to do. I’ll show it to you tomorrow.” You paused and then nodded, “I’ll see you later then. Good night, Loki.”
“Good night, YN.” Loki replied as you quickly retreated from his room. He looked at the plate in his hands and set it on his bedside table. He picked up his book and began to read it once more. He couldn’t help but think about you and how you were so intriguing to him. As much as he’d appreciate you showing him the library tomorrow, Loki got up and made it his mission to find the library on his own.
The next day, you went to find Loki in his room, but found that it was empty. You then decided that the library would be the next best place to look, knowing that he had shown a level of interest in it. You found him as expected; he was comfortably lounging in a chair with his nose stuck in a different book.
“I see you found Steve’s Shakespeare.” You said with a short laugh. Loki jumped, startled at your sudden presence. He lowered the book and looked over at you as you stood in between two shelves.
“It is quite entertaining to read.” He replied, glancing down at Macbeth in his hands.
“I know. It’s one of my favorite Shakespeare plays.” You nodded.
“If you’ll forgive me, I’d like to continue it.”
“I’ll be quiet, but I want to do some reading of my own.” You replied. You searched in the shelves for a book as Loki continued his reading.
This happened once everyday for the next two weeks. You would enter the library to read in peace, and Loki would already be sitting at a chair by the fire with a different book in his hand than the day before. You would both make small talk for a few minutes when you arrived. You felt, over this time period, that your feelings for the God were growing, and growing romantic. You also felt that there had been no progress on your part- Loki still treated you as if you were just another Avenger, as if you were on the same level as his brother for trust.
“Just give it some more time.” Natasha told you as you complained to her in her room.
“Time won’t do anything, Nat. Nothing is working. We just sit in a library and read as communication.” You let out an exasperated sigh and she shrugged. You watched as she focused on painting her toenails a light shade of purple almost more than she focused on your complaints.
“At least he bears being in the same room as you. He makes every meal incredibly awkward.” She replied. You remembered back to just this morning- Loki was silent, like he always was, and, as soon as he finished eating, he left the room. His presence filled the entire room with tension.
“That’s one thing, though.” You huffed.
“Aren’t you usually reading by now?” Natasha asked, peering at the clock on her wall.
“I’m quitting this mission. It’s stupid and it’s pointless. The guy has been here for two weeks and he’s done nothing. Isn’t that reason enough to trust him?”
“Look who you’re talking to and think who you’re talking about- guess again.” Natasha laughed. She had been on so many missions where she was undercovers for weeks, and Loki most likely had no problem with committing to fooling someone for long periods of time.
“That doesn’t matter. What I mean to say is this whole idea is corrupt and I’m done with it.”
“Corrupt? As in it isn’t good on Loki?”
“That’s not what I-”
“Ohhhh,” Natasha let out sinister laugh followed by a knowing smirk, “You like him, don’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” You tried to defend yourself.
“Sweetheart, you can lie to yourself and to him all you want, but you cannot lie to me. You are totally into him!”
“Fine, so what if I am? Why are you so happy about it?” You asked, referring to her blatant hatred of him.
“I don’t agree with you, but I think you liking him is cute. Maybe you could end up changing him.” She shrugged hopefully, “Plus, if he hurts you, it gives me even more motivation to kill him.”
“Like you need anymore of that.” You said, making her chuckle.
“Fine, if you’re giving up this mission, then you can go make me a sandwich. I’m starving.” Natasha said and you playfully rolled your eyes at her.
“Turkey or ham?” You asked as you headed towards her bedroom door.
“Turkey please!” She called from her spot.
You left her room and went straight to the kitchen to make up her snack. You finished her sandwich and then decided to make one for yourself. Just as you were about to top off your own with the final piece of bread, you heard a voice, announcing the presence of someone else in the room.
“Could you make me one too, please?” It was Loki and the sincerity in his voice was something almost unusual. He seemed quieter and mellower in his demeanor today.
“Would you like turkey or ham?” You asked as he stepped into the kitchen completely and began to watch you work.
“Either will be fine.” He said, “You didn’t come to the library today.”
“Oh, you noticed that.” You stated, awkwardly fumbling with the sliced meat before you.
“Why, yes, I did.” Loki stated, taking a cautious step towards you, “I do notice when the one person who does not alienate me leaves me alone.” You turned to him to see him being completely genuine- his soft eyes telling you everything. He looked away and took the sandwich from your hands, “Pardon my directness.” He left the room with the sandwich and without another word.
You sighed at his retreating figure. Maybe you shouldn’t quit- at least not yet. He had shown some feeling in that moment; he had shown that he cared about you. You wouldn’t jump to saying he thought of you in a romantic way like you thought of him, but you could conclude that he felt connected to you.
You took the last two sandwiches to Natasha’s room. You dared not speak of the recent events to her. She munched happily on her sandwich as you two watched reality shows and as he toes dried.
The next day was completely lovely. The sky was blue and the leaves were in the middle of changing colors. You absolutely loved it and you figured Loli would too. You quietly entered the library and saw him exactly where you had planned to: sitting in that same arm chair with yet another book.
“Loki,” You said, making your presence known to him. He peered over his book at you and offered a smile, “I was wondering if you’d like to go outside- since, you know, you’ve kind of lived in this room for the past couple of weeks.”
“Outside? You would accompany me outside?” He asked, completely thrown off by your question.
“Yes. It’s a beautiful day. I was going to visit the park and I thought that you might like to join me.” You explained yourself.
“I would like that.” Loki said. He set the book on the table and stood up. Using his magic, he changed his clothes from Asgardian wear to Midgardian casual attire. You smiled at him, admiring his change.
You took Loki to the nearest park, much to the dismay of some of your fellow teammates. Thor offered to tag along, but Natasha quickly shut that down. Thor was far too recognizable and anyone could recognize Loki if they had seen his brother. You were pleased about introducing Loki to feeding the ducks with the few pieces of bread that you had smuggled from the compound. From what you could tell, he enjoyed it. It was the simplest thing, yet it displayed Loki’s humaneness in such a strong way. He never really stopped genuinely smiling while at the park and all of it was because of you.
Loki was pacing around in his room the next day, rehearsing how he should ask you out. He wanted to take you to that restaurant that served the steak you loved, but he didn’t know how Midgardian dating worked.
“Brother!” Thor greeted, walking into Loki’s room unannounced and startling him.
“Thor, have you forgotten how to knock?” He asked with a sigh.
“I heard you pacing. Is anything on your mind?”
“Why would anything be on my mind? I’m fine.” His reply was defensive as he attempted to conceal his emotions. As the God of Mischief, he is normally much better at it, but his feelings for you had grown too great for him to easily cope with.
“Does this have anything to do with Lady Y/N?” Thor inquired.
“What are you on about, brother? This has nothing to do with her. Nothing is wrong.” Loki stated.
“Whatever you say, I shall believe, but I do think you should ask her sooner than later. Unlike us, Lady Y/N does not have thousands of years.” He spoke with a calm smile.
“Is that all?”
“Well, I was originally sent to ask if you were joining us for dinner, so will you?”
“It depends if I am hungry or not. You can leave now, Thor.” Loki said and his brother exited with his hands up in surrender. Loki looked at himself in the mirror and cast an illusion so that he was in casual clothing for the second day in a row. He left his room and headed straight to yours. As he was about to knock, he realized your door was cracked open and that you were speaking to someone in your room.
“I’m actually glad I didn’t quit.”
“I’m glad you didn’t, too.” Natasha said, “It seems to be working.”
“I learned from the best.” You laughed, referring to your best friend before you.
“Do you think he’s changed?”
“I think Loki has.” He froze hearing you mention his name. His heart hammered in his chest, “He seems kinder and gentler. I still feel bad though. A part of me wishes I gave up, but a part of me is proud that I’m going through with this mission.”
‘Mission?’ Loki thought. He felt a stinging pain build up in his heart. No, it couldn’t be. He was the God of Mischief. There was no way you, a mere Midgardian, could have tricked him- and there was no way you could have tricked him into falling in love with you.
“Going undercover is hard, but you have done it well, even if your target was the God of Mischief.” Natasha replied proudly. Loki heard you two come closer to the door, but he wasn’t quick enough to move. His feet were planted in that moment- replaying your words in his head. As you opened the door to reveal him, he used his magic to transform him back to his Asgardian self.
“Loki-“ you started. Natasha looked at you with concern, knowing fully well that he had heard the two of you.
“Don’t.” Loki spoke with a firm shake of his head. The smile that you had grown fond of over the past few weeks was completely gone. “Congratulations, you succeeded in fooling the God of Mischief.” He sarcastically raised his hands and did a partial bow for you, before he left without another word.
You watched his retreating figure in pain. You had never wanted to hurt him- that was never the plan, but, yet again, falling in love with the trickster was never a part of the plan either. You started to walk in the direction of his room when Natasha caught your hand.
“Y/N,” she sighed, “Leave him be for a bit. C’mon, we should tell the others.” Agreeing with her, you quietly followed her down the hall to the lab, opposite of Loki’s direction.
“Well, this is-“ Tony started after taking a deep breath, but was cut off by Steve.
“Bad. This is bad.” He stated. You could feel all of their eyes watching you, as you kept your eyes focused on the ground beneath you. “Thor, what do you suggest we do?”
“I do not know.” The God replied, “I have never seen my brother act the way he was with Y/N before. He showed a whole different level of respect and compassion for her-“
“Could it be that he was playing her as well?” Clint asked.
“No.” Thor shook his head, “Loki is mischievous and he is great at pretending, but not like this. I have never seen him so vulnerable.”
“You think he actually loves her?”
“I don’t know if I would call it love quite yet, but I do believe it could have become that.”
“Should I talk to him?” You asked quietly. Guilt and pain was all you could feel. Loki was upset with you, and, now, Thor believed you to have broken his heart.
“Maybe I shall speak with him first, Lady Y/N.” Thor said. “I know my brother best and I fear he is too unpredictable at the moment.”
“Very well then. Thor, go see him.” Natasha stated and he nodded. The room was silent as all of you watched Thor leave the room.
Thor entered Loki’s room to find his brother casually sitting on his bed, a book in his hand. Loki lowered the book and looked at the other God. He answered, “Yes?”
“Do you love her?” Thor asked.
“That mortal? Please.” Loki said, rolling his eyes lightly.
“Loki, drop this act. Do you love her?” He asked again. Thor stepped into the room and a bright gold burst came from the room as Loki’s magic disappeared. The seemingly normal bedroom was an illusion and shifted into the remains of a bedroom. The bed was torn apart with the mattress falling into the wall; the opposite wall had a few fist holes in it; and the bedside table was smashed, bits of it splattered around the room. Loki sat in the far corner and lifted his head from hands.
“See for yourself, brother.” Loki said, slowly looking up at the other God. His eyes were red and his hair was a mess from his recent angry motions.
“Loki-“ Thor was speechless. He had never seen his brother so broken and hurt. The last time Thor walked in on Loki in a state like this was when their mother died; and, now, Loki was broken once more.
“Surprised? This is what one look like when they are upset.” He stated.
“This is far more than upset.”
“It’s against my nature to call myself heartbroken.”
“Y/N would like to speak with you.”
“And I would not like to speak with her, or anyone for that matter, so, brother, you may leave now.”
“I will not leave you here to swallow yourself into a hole of despair.” Thor said as Loki stood.
“Despair? How would you feel if the mortal you loved betrayed you? How would you feel if you loved her and she had been lying to you this whole time?” His voice raised in anger.
“You have it all wrong, brother. Y/N has not betrayed you.”
“Leave! You know nothing of her lies!” He stepped towards his brother and Thor straightened up to his full height, preparing for any violence that may come.
“Loki,” You spoke from the doorway. Both Gods turned to you in surprise and Loki’s heavy breathing seemed to calm.
“Lady Y/N-” Thor started.
“I’d like to speak to Loki alone.” You said. The blond looked between the two of you and then left the room without another word.
“I do not wish to speak to you right now.” Loki turned his back to you and you took in his destroyed room. You sighed softly and stepped towards him.
“Please, allow me to explain myself.”
“I don’t need any further explanation. I understand your actions- you don’t trust me, none of you do.” He stated with a firm shake of his head, making you stop in your tracks.
“Loki, I can’t speak for the others, but I trust you. What I did was wrong, but I was doing what was best for the team. They wanted me to earn your trust-”
“Well, you earned more than that. Congratulations.” He said.
“If it is love that you’re speaking of, then I feel it too.” You replied and he slowly turned to you.
“Pardon me?” Loki questioned and you continued your walk to him until you were directly in front of the God.
“I love you, Loki, and I’m so sorry that I made you feel betrayed. It was never my intentions.”
“Is this the truth?” He asked and you delicately took his hands in yours. You nodded, causing a grin to form on his face. He leaned down to kiss you softly. He pulled away and whispered to you, “Good. I love you too, and it frightens me.”
PAIRING: Harry/Y/N RATING: R WORD COUNT: 2900+ REQUESTED: nope !
hello! this is just a quick one shot that i churned out bc i loved the concept and i was rly motivated! i hope u enjoy it! if u do, feedback is greatly appreciated (it rly motivates me) and here’s my masterlist if u want more lol :-)
Summary: Steve comes to your door on Halloween night looking completely distressed, and you have no idea what to do.
Word Count: 1690
Warnings: None, maybe OOC Steve again because I’m not too sure how to write a sad Steve
Note:A note for all my future imagines, if the gender isn’t specified in the title it’s neutral! Also, I guess this more of like minor Steve/reader. Anywho Enjoy my second Steve imagine :)
Halloween was probably one of your favorite times of the year, you loved the feeling, and seeing all the trick or treaters in their costumes. It was also the only night of the year you got to be home alone to just relax and hand out candy while your parents went out to an office party that usually lasted until about 2 am. You wondered how they had so much energy.
As the night went on, the trick or treaters were starting to thin out. But you knew very well that some kids stick around because some people handing out candy would get tired and just pour the rest of their candy into their candy bags.
You weren’t that kind of person. It wasn’t everyday you could get your hands on so much candy, and those children have enough anyway. So you kept it hidden behind the door as you gave the rest of the trick or treaters a candy or two so they wouldn’t see just how much your parents had left you with when they left for their party.
I mean, you had a party too,Tina had literally invited the entire school, but like the last year you didn’t attend it because you’d much rather stay home, even though your friend, Jonathan Byers, had told you that if you go, he will. You doubted he’d even go, so you didn’t even bother telling him you weren’t. You preferred to stay in then go to a party with pissed-drunk teenagers.
So, you laid on the couch, some horror film playing on the screen. It was late now, passed curfew late, so you decided to turn off the porch light, blow out the candles in the pumpkins, and call it a night for Halloween.
After you turned off all the lights, and took the bright orange bowl half full of candy, there was a sudden knock on the door. You paused in your step, thinking “did I just turn off the lights on a bunch of kids” You turned around, eying the small window on your door before there was another knock. You could see a shadow, a tall shadow, and you safely assumed it wasn’t a kid.
Taking precaution, you stayed still and silent, whoever it was would go away…you hoped. You watched the shadow try to look through the covered window, before knocking again, this time more than three knocks.
You hear someone curse, then knock again, this time harder. You jumped slightly, before frowning and setting down the bowl on the side table to answer the door and tell whoever it was to go away and that if it was a prank you were definitely going to call the oh so great cops of Hawkins.
“Look I don’t know what you want but trick or treating and pranks are-” you cut off your words as you realized who it was at your door this late at night. It was Steve Harrington. You knew Steve through mutual friends, which is basically you knew Jonathan, and Jonathan knew Nancy who was dating Steve.
You also knew that Steve was supposed to be at Tina’s Halloween Party.
“Oh-Steve…what are you doing here?” You asked, noticing that he looked a bit…well for a better word drunk and upset. You looked around him, seeing if you could find Nancy or Jonathan, but it was just his car parked in front of your house.
“I was just in the neighborhood,” was all he said before his eyes went straight over yours to take a look in your house, “…no I lied…I need someone to talk to, and you were the first person I thought of (y/n),”
Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.
Warning(s): Sensitive topics ahead, a few characters are ooc, acts of violence
A/N: 1 part left ! aLSO credit to @nonbinaryreddie aka QUEN for helping me out throughout this series with lil bits im stuck on, i love you! sorry for any mistakes i-
Everything was hazed, Richie felt distant as ever; almost as if his own soul was lingering outside of his skin. His skin was pricked by cold sensations, with his heart beat flickering in his ears.
Where was he?
His eyes almost felt as if someone was holding them shut, everything aching all over his body and he felt his blood strike though his veins icily. Something was terribly wrong, not to mention the sense of dread that pierced his core.
AN: Ok so this is my first fic and i’m super nervous to post this. I just wanna thank @ninja-stiles for helping keep me motivated and helping edit.
Best friends are supposed to be with you no matter what, they’re supposed to be there for you through everything, always be happy for you and support you.
Dylan was exactly that. We have been friends since we were little, neither of us can actually remember a time when we didn’t know each other, but our moms tell us we’ve been friends since the womb. Dylan has been there for me through everything crappy that life has decided to throw my way, and I have done the same for him. But not once did I ever think that being happy for him would kill me inside.
Imagine – You are forced into an arranged marriage
“We need this Y/N. Our family needs it”. My mother spoke, standing in front of me at her desk with my father. They wanted me to marry this wealthy Shadowhunter that came from a well known family tree.
“And what happens to what I want?”. I said, not lifting my head to look at them.
“Oh don’t be so selfish! We have given you wonderful opportunities and have gotten you so far in this institute, you owe this to us”. My mother snapped.
My father blinked nervously until he spoke, “Anyway it’s done. He’s coming to the institute tomorrow where you will be married immediately. Everything will be set up, you just have to show up, do you think you could do that?”, he was so patronising.
I glared at them but there was nothing I could do. I had to do this for my family, “Just tell me the time and I’ll be there”.
I walked out of their office to be greeted by Izzy and Clary walking down the corridor, “Hey, what was that emergency meeting all about?”, Izzy asked whilst both of them linked each of my arms. I was training with her when I got ushered to my parents.
“Oh just stupid family drama, wanna go into town for drinks?”, I asked the both of them needing one last night out with my girls before my freedom would be taken away.
“Of course, give us half an hour and we’ll be ready!”. They both ran off to get all dolled up whilst I just went back to my room.
I sat on my bed and just went over what my parents had said to me, ‘Don’t be so selfish’. I’ve been everything but selfish. I have always put everyone before myself. A knock snapped me out of my thoughts. I got up to answer it, “Izzy I thought you said half an-”. I opened the door to Alec. “Sorry I thought you might have been Izzy and Clary”. I held the door open and motioned for him to come in.
“So what can I help you with?”. Me and Alec had been close for a while, we had a flirty relationship, it was playful, we knew we both liked each other.
“Erm…this sounds stupid but I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight…for dinner…just me and you?”. I was so happy, the big grin on my face supported this.
“Alec I would-“, then I remembered. “but I can’t”, I didn’t want to tell anyone of the marriage yet. “I’m going out with Clary and Izzy tonight around town”. I saw the disappointment on his face which broke me. “But you can come too, you can bring Jace and Simon as well if you want”. His famous smirk was now visible, obviously pleased with the invitation.
“Sounds great, I’ll go get the others”. He left, grazing my arm with his hand as he walked past. I walked over to my wardrobe looking at the options for me to wear. I wasn’t in a mood to make an effort so black jeans and a T it was.
I lay down and waited for someone to come and get me. The next thing I knew I opened my eyes to Jace leaning over me at my bedside.
“Finally! I’ve been shouting you for like 10 minutes!”. I sat up and let my eyes adjust.
“I’m sorry I must have dozed off”.
Jace looked at me worriedly, “What is wrong with you lately?”.
“I’m just exhausted, and stressed with all the mission reports I’m so behind on. The clave is on my back a lot these past few weeks”.
“Well we don’t have to go out tonight we can always-“.
I cut him off, “NO no….I need this”. He nodded with a look of concern and put an arm around me as we walked to go and meet the others.
We arrived at the club. I walked in with Clary and Izzy by my side whilst the other guys followed us in as we had more experience with mundane clubs.
Three hours, 7 shots, 4 vodka & cokes and a bottle of Malibu later….lets just say I was a little more than tipsy. We were all sat in a booth on the far side of the club right next to the dance floor. Jace and Clary were in the middle of a make out session whilst Simon was watching star wars on his phone as Izzy had passed out with her legs across Simon and her head on my lap. Me and Alec were talking…well, he was talking, I was slurring, although I could feel the room gradually starting to spin slower. Then all of a sudden Alec kissed me. It was long, passionate and so overdue. The second we pulled apart my lips did something before my brain could think about it.
“I’m getting married tomorrow”. My eyes were still closed from the kiss and they stayed closed for a few more seconds as I was scared to see what his reaction would be. All of a sudden I felt completely sober. I opened my eyes and regretted it immediately. He looked heartbroken, confused, vulnerable and angry. All those emotions were showing on one face and I was the reason why. Before I could say anything else he was gone, running out of the club faster than I’ve ever seen someone move.
“ALEC-“, I called out but the music was too loud and he was too far away, he wouldn’t have even come back even if he did hear me. Jace must have heard me though as he broke apart from Clary and chased after Alec. I looked down at my lap, tears fell from my face and onto Izzy but she was dead to the world to notice. When I looked up I saw Clary and Simon look at me with an expression that said ‘you have some explaining to do’.
I woke up in Clary’s room. She didn’t want to be on my own because of the state I was in last night, drunk and hysterical. After Simon took Izzy back to his I cried to Clary trying to get everything out whilst I still could. She was so supportive and was furious with what I was forced into but she understood that I felt like I had to do it, not for me but for my family. Jace had text Clary late last night to tell her he was back at the institute with Alec. They had just walked around the streets he said in the text and just talked. Alec had told Jace about the marriage, Clary explained it to Jace over the phone in which he told Alec but Jace was still pissed with me and Alec was still harbouring the same feelings from last night.
“They’ll both understand soon enough”. Clary must have noticed me staring into space and she must have knew that I was worrying about it all. I nodded.
“What time is it?”.
She checked her phone, “9:30 AM”.
I jumped up out of the bed and raced to the door, “I was meant to be in the chapel half an hour ago!”.
I ran into the chapel to find my mother pacing and my father talking to the silent brother who would be initiating the wedding.
“I’m sorry, I was out late and I lost track of time this morning”.
My mother walked towards me, “Enough with your excuses!”. I felt the tears build up behind my eyes threatening to run down my cheeks but I fought them back. She dragged me to the front of the room where I was met by my father and the silent brother. As I stood not listening to a word they were saying the door swung open. I clenched my jaw in anticipation for my future partner to walk in but to my relief it was Clary, Simon and Izzy. I hadn’t asked them to come and I didn’t want them to but right now I knew I really needed them. A tear escaped as I smiled at them. They sat at the very back not wanting to disturb any family business. Since what felt like forever I finally felt relaxed knowing that whatever happened today I had people who truly loved me just a couple of footsteps away. Then the door opened again and suddenly my anxiety went from 0 to 100 real fast. In he walked, the person I presumed I was getting married off to. The closer he came the more I realised he wasn’t the worst looking, I mean he was kinda cute; dark hair, tall, skinny yet muscle-y…I was literally describing Alec. Did this mean I had a type? No one could compare to how I felt about Alec. He was the one I truly wanted to be with, but my feelings didn’t matter.
The vows had been said, the runes had been drawn and the rings had been given. The wedding was over. Everyone dispersed until there was just me at the front of the room. Still stood in the place I had been stood throughout. My freedom had been taken…my future had been written. As I watched my family leave I let my guard down and all tears rushed out. Clary, Simon and Izzy raced to me. I didn’t know what to do anymore or what would happen to me now. For the first time in my life I felt lost and had no idea what I was going to do.
After the wedding I had gone straight to my room. The others wanted me to hang out with them so I could take my mind off of things for a few hours but I just wanted to be alone. I jumped straight in the shower and just stood there for what felt like hours under the hot water. I eventually got out and started to get changed when I heard noises coming from outside the bathroom door. I walked out, expecting to see Izzy gathering clothes so I could come and escape to Simon’s place with them but it wasn’t. It was my hubby…William I think his name was. I payed no attention throughout the ceremony so I avoided saying his name during the vows.
“What are you doing?”. I asked as he was putting everything from my room into boxes.
He looked back at me with what I can only describe as disgust on his face. “You are to be moved into my room on the East wing, if we want to make this believable”. The minute he turned back around anger rushed through me. How dare he come in here. How dare he take my things and look at me like that. I walked over to him and started unpacking all of my stuff.
“I’m not moving anywhere, my things are staying in this room and so am I”. I didn’t look at him. It felt good, it felt like I was getting control back over my life. This feeling stopped when he spun me around and slapped me across the face. His force was so strong that it knocked me to the ground. He grabbed the remaining boxes and left the room. I just lay there. Shocked at what had just happened.
I eventually composed myself and headed towards William’s wing, as I didn’t want to find out what would happen if I stayed in my room, when I bumped into Clary. She gasped and touched the side of my face, “Oh my god what did you do?”. I know she didn’t mean to say it the way I took it and she had no idea what had happened but all I heard coming from her voice was her saying it was my fault. Maybe it was my fault.
“Oh I was just stupid and hit my head on my bedside table from my nap before”. I didn’t want people to know and start gossiping. The wedding had already made me the topic of conversation on every mission so this would just make things worse. She just laughed, “What are you like!”. Then she left. I was just stood in an empty corridor.
•5 DAYS PASSED•
I gently pulled on an oversized jumper, for the purpose of no one seeing my bruises, and my sweatpants. I hadn’t spoken to anyone for days. I hadn’t even left the room in days because I couldn’t bare to see people so they could congratulate me on my wonderful new marriage, but I knew I had to train.
As I got to the training room I saw that half of the room was already occupied by Jace. Just him and a punch bag. I hadn’t spoken to him since the night at the bar, as well as Alec.
He saw me walk in, rolled his eyes and carried on punching. I grabbed my throwing knives and my seraph blade and went over to the dummies to practise my fighting skills.
After an hour Jace came over and threw a duel stick towards my feet, “Lets go”. The way he said it was so cold. I picked up the stick and walked to the centre of the room where he was stood and without being ready he struck the back of my legs and I fell to the ground. I gasped loudly and Jace looked at me like I was being dramatic but the pain was more than it usually was.
“How could you do it? How could you hurt him like that?”.
I slowly got back to my feet and steadied myself, “I didn’t want any of this to happen! I had to do this, my parents-“. He cut me off.
“NO”, he yelled. “There was no excuse, everyone has a choice and you chose to break my brothers heart. That night you told him at the club I could feel his heartbreak, there’s just no excuse for that”.
“HEY”, this time I yelled which threw him off guard. “I love Alec…so much”, tears started to build up and a lump was lodged in my throat. “I wanted to be with him and the night he asked me out was one of the happiest moments of my life. But no one understands. No one understands the pressure I was under”. I couldn’t hold back anymore and the tears fell. Jace was stood looking down at the floor, silent. I began to walk away when he gabbed my wrist. I screamed and fell down because of the pain. Jace stood back in shock not knowing what he had done. He knelt down beside me, “What is with you today? And why are you dressed like winter for training”. I caressed my wrist, he pulled my sleeve up and saw all the bruises. He pulled up my other sleeve where more were hidden.
“Where the hell did you get these from?!”. I quickly got out of his grip and pulled down my sleeves and stood up.
I turned my back to him, “T-they’re from m-my missions”. I stuttered, not knowing what excuse seemed best.
“No they’re not because I’m always on your missions and we haven’t had one since last week, these are new bruises”.
A new set of tears came to the surface and when I turned to face him and he noticed.
“Is he hurting you?”.
At first I didn’t say anything, I just looked at the floor refusing to make eye contact with him. But the second I looked into his eyes I started hysterically crying and that’s when he knew.
He immediately came to my side and gently pulled my into a hug. It felt good to get it off my chest. After what felt like an hour he loosened he grip. “I’m gonna kill him”. He was began to walk off but I ran in front of him pleading not to. “Please don’t! Please Jace”.
“Give me one good reason not to”.
“Because if he knows I’ve told people then I’m dead Jace. He lashes out when the tiniest things happen, so god only knows what he’s going to do if you beat him!”.
He nodded, hands still in tight fists but he understood.
If requests are open, could you make a jughead x fem Reader where he never asked what her real name was (everyone just calls her by a nick name and has been doing so for years.) and when he finally figures it out and calls her by that name, the reader falls in love with the way it sounds when he says it. Sorry if it’s confusing, I just thought it’d be cute :)
Y/N/N = Your Nick Name
Y/N = Your (real/full) Name
L/N = Your Last Name
I loved this idea so much! I hope you like the way I wrote it!
The first time it was brought up was at the diner. You sat next to Jughead, and the two of you were sitting across from Betty and Veronica. You all were sharing stories from your childhoods, including Jughead, when it finally got to you.
“Y/N/N, did you ever have a nickname?” You smiled at Veronica, who had admitted a few of her own embarrassing nicknames.
“Y/N/N,” you replied, sipping at your milkshake.
“What,” Jughead asked and you laughed while turning to face him.
“Y/N/N is my nickname,” you said, but he still looked confused, “I’ve gone by Y/N/N my whole life. Even my parents use it rather than my actual name.”
“No, I get that,” he said, meeting your eyes, “but what’s your real name?” Veronica raised an eyebrow and Betty let out a laugh. “You’ve been best friends with Y/N/N for how long, and yet you still don’t know her full name?” Jughead squinted his eyes at Veronica and you let out a small giggle. “Now I have to know,” he said, turning to face you, but you just stared at him. “You’re a smart, independent, young man,” you said, causing Jughead to smile at you, “you can figure it out.” Betty rolled her eyes, “stop flirting you two, we’re trying to be nostalgic.” You felt a blush creep up onto your cheeks and with a glance at Jughead, you saw he was blushing too.
The second time it was brought up was at your locker door. School had ended and you were grabbing your jacket and text book out of your locker. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Jughead walking towards you, looking annoyed.
“What’s up Juggie,” you asked as he leaned against the lockers next to yours.
“So I went to the library during my free period,” he said and you started to close your locker door.
“Sounds adventurous,” you said, looking up and smiling at him.
“Ha! Very funny,” he said, “I went there looking to check out some yearbooks. When I asked for them she said, and I quote, ‘they’ve all been checked out.’”
You gave him a smug smile, “Hmm, how strange.” He nodded, “isn’t it?”
-When Harley told her Puddin she was pregnant, he was not happy. He actully growled at her to get rid of it. She got so mad at his request she walked out on him, and planned on never talking to him again.
-He had completely forgotten about Harley’s reasoning for leaving, convinced she left to be with another man. That was until the day you were born, when she broke her own promise and sent him on picture of you, sleeping in the nursery.
-It was love at first sight, and he immediately got in the lambo, speeding to the hospital, and shooting anyone who tried to stop him as he advanced towards the nursery. When he saw you laying there, he broke the glass, took you in his arms and left. He later texted Harley telling her to meet him at the condo they once shared. She was there in 15 minutes.
-Harley was pissed that he took you, but when she saw him cradling you in his arms, looking at you with nothing but affection, all the anger melted away.
-When you were little the duo went on less crime sprees, the dirty work was mostly left for the henchmen to do, with one of the two attending every once in a while. However it wasn’t until you were 17 that they went back to their normal routines of mischief.
-You were Daddy’s little monster, no matter what you wanted Joker always tried to get it for you, he even took you to the park once a week.
-You were Mommy’s little vexor. You defiantly had her tongue, and sense of humor. Her proudest moment was when you were six and scared a girl in your class by saying, “The voice told me to ruin your tower, since you stole my crayons.”
-Most of the staff at the school knew who your parents were, and not to mess with either of them. So most of the stuff you did was overlooked, and you always got good grades (Which you did earn, since you were one of the smartest kids in the class)
-When Harley and Joker would fight, Joker would lock you in your room. They would scream and throw shit and sometimes one of them would leave. You would be sitting on your bed and listening to everything, until one of them (Normally Harley) opened the door, and scooped you into her lap to wipe your tears.
-Harley tried to leave with you once after a fight, you just remember seeing broken dishes on the floor, holes in the wall from gun fire, and punches, the whole house was a mess. When Joker saw her carrying you out though he sharply hissed, “Oh no no no Kitten, you aren’t taking my princess.”
“Oh no Mr. J I am, and you will leave us alone.” And then Harley ran from the condo, hot wired a car and drove you both to a hotel in a neighboring town.
-Of course Joker came looking for you both, and it was agreed after that fight, that he would be the one leaving the house if it got that bad, and Harley would stay home with you. He didn’t like the idea of an emotional Harley taking you into the dangers of Gotham without protection
-Your mother used to tell you the story of her falling in love with Joker as a bed time story sometimes. She told it as different characters, like sometimes they were royalty, other times mythical gods, but it was always the same plot.
-Your Father told you tales of his crimes for bed, sparing no detail from them. He left nothing out, and enjoyed how when he talked about killing people your eyes would light up slightly. He also told you his adventures with Batman, but those were only told when Harley was in the room with him. (His bedtime stories were your little secrets)
-Everyone in your school was scared to be friends with you, mostly because you were the princess of Gotham, and everyone knew that your parents would not hesitate killing them if they didn’t like the kid, or hurt you.
-When he shared this with you, you decked him. The impact of your fist to his face left a bruise over his eye, then proceeded to bruise, cut and bloody the rest of his face. You went home that day with bruised knuckles, an attitude, and a 3 day suspension. Joker had never been prouder.
-You wore the shortest, most low cut dress to your prom, courtesy of Harley, who also did your makeup and hair. Joker protested at first however you interjected, “My father is the most scary man in Gotham, trust me, no boy, or girl or professor wants to fuck with me.”
-Just to ease his fears, you hid a small pistol in your bra. Harley laughing slightly when you pulled the small weapon from your black lace bra.
-You once told Joker you hated him while arguing. He was so offended he left the house for three weeks. When he came back you ran into his arms, tears running down your face as you apologized. He forgave you
-You always had quiet nights in on your birthday, even though Joker always wanted to throw you the largest parties.
-Most times you would retire the normal action movie for a comedy movie, and the condo would quickly fill with the evil laughter of all three of you.
-Joker would still carry you to bed if you were to fall asleep on the couch, or in their bed, even when you were a teenager. He also would tuck you in and when you woke up, you always found a red lipstick shape on your head. It was proof of the rare affection your father would show.
-Harley always let you dye your hair crazy colors, and she would do your makeup and nails whenever she had free time.
-When you were 17 you became the new villain of Gotham. Of course your parents had no idea, and you never planned on them finding out.
-That was until your father ran into you while on a heist. His normal smile feel as he growled deeper then he ever had, “Car…now”
-When you got home your father called for Harley and told her everything. Harley just smiled and gave you a high five, for keeping up the family name. Joker was furious.
-So he accepted the fact that you were now a villain, and soon started inviting you on his heist,
-Even though both of your parents were certifiably insane, and the most wanted couple in Gotham, you would have wanted no one else in the city to be your parents.