Hey Just So You Know Deepesttragedyprince Is A Scam Blog Pretending To Be Palestinian And Diabetic, Kyra45

hey just so you know deepesttragedyprince is a scam blog pretending to be Palestinian and diabetic, kyra45 has posted abt it

Im aware, I figured they probably were (thank you for looking out for me though) I haven't donated anything, but I will also not stay silent about Palestine yk? Even though that person is a scam, there are probably diabetic children and elders in Palestine that really need help.

Im not going to lie- I didn't see the baby at first and I audibly screamed WHAT

Thor - eh, smash. Id do it for $5

Tony - pass, couldn't pay me enough (no offense Stark..)

Clint - also no offense, Pass, I'm sure Laura wouldn't be pleased with either of us.

Natasha - SMMAAASHHH

Steve - smash, but only out of spite. Id only do it so I could say I smacked America's ass

Bruce/hulk - Bruce: pass, hulk: pass. Both of y'all are giant marshmallows, of just prefer a movie night or something.

The honorable mentions:

Loki: SMMMMMMMAAAAAASSSSHHHHH

Bucky: smash, why not. I don't really have a reason for it

Sam: also smash.

I got 6/9, how about you guys?

SMASH OR PASS (Avengers Edition)

The rules are simple. Would you, or would you not? (be hawnest!) OG 6: Thor Odinson - PASS Tony Stark - SMASH Clint Barton - PASS Natasha Romanoff - SMASH Steve Rogers - SMASH!!!! Bruce Banner / Hulk - Bruce SMASH / Hulk PASS Honourable Others: Loki Laufeyson - SMASH Bucky Barnes - SMASH Sam Wilson - SMASH 7/9 for me. Tagging @simplyholl to get us started!!

OK BUT THIS IS HOW I ACTUALLY LIVE!!

I love for this shit. (Compliment)

Expecting to march to your death, you're instead greeted as a royal bride by the Allfather, but not everything seems to be a 'happy ending,' with only the Queen giving you any hope of belonging.

CONTENT WARNING: none WORD COUNT: 2.2k

Praying for a swift sentencing and execution, you paced your cell restlessly for five days and four nights. Odin seemed to be taking his time with you, perhaps adding torment to your finals hours as further punishment for the sin of Seeing. 

You spent many of those hours re-visiting the prophecy in your mind. Nothing added up to you. You’d seen a small group of thieves, not Olympian soldiers. You’d seen the Princes victorious and side-by-side. Every manner of interpretation aligned to the same conclusion: your vision was inaccurate, and it ultimately became a fatal error. 

Subsisting on stale, grainy bread and water for the duration of your imprisonment, your muscles grew weary, and soon even pacing for more than a few moments became strenuous exercise. “They…they plan to starve me to death,” you realized on the fourth evening of your captivity. “Slowly. Over months!” A beheading would have been kinder. Perhaps the King thought it was too kind for the likes of you. 

Your terrifying thought was interrupted as someone was let into the row of cells by a guard. You were the only prisoner on the row, so whoever this was, they surely were here for you. Was it your executioner? It was tradition for an executioner to beg pardon from their victim the night before the event. Somehow, this idea came as a relief to you as a figure drew toward you. It meant your suffering and years in the darkness were over. 

As the figure stepped into the dim, red torchlight, you saw that it was Mistress Unn. 

“You’re a long way from the Sanctum,” you said quietly, turning toward the visitor. Mistress Unn wore a heavy, opaque veil that she’d only lifted upon being left alone with you. When she didn’t answer you immediately, you added in wistful longing, “What do you think daylight is like?”

Mistress Unn rolled her eyes. “I suppose the dramatics you were always so predisposed toward finally suit you.” 

“Will they take me outside? Or will they do it before the King? I just want one minute with wind on my face,” you endured. “Before I…well…no longer have one.” 

Your visitor twisted her lip in disapproval. “I am to bring you before His Majesty tomorrow evening, at dusk.” 

This was odd news. Executions were always a dawn affair, without exception. You had no idea as to why. It was simply how things were done. 

“I don’t understand,” you mumbled. 

“That is all I have been told myself, I know not why they are breaking tradition,” said the Mistress coldly. “But now that I have completed tonight’s task, I will leave you until tomorrow.” 

The guard blew out the torchlight after her departure, leaving you in the darkness you were entirely used to. 

Within the dungeon, you had no sense of time. After what felt like both years and seconds, Mistress Unn returned, a bundle of opal-white cloth tucked under her arm. As she held out the cloth to you through the bars, it unraveled to reveal that it was a gown. Though very simply cut, it was more elegant than anything you’d ever worn in your life. 

“I suppose the King doesn’t want to lay his lone eye on your hideous Seer’s robes,” mused the Mistress. “And being white…”

She cut herself off upon seeing your fearful face. White was Asgard’s most significant color. It could mean any sort of formality was happening, be it a funeral or a marriage, a birth or a victory parade. Nobles wore the hue every year on their birthdate. In this case, it was your shroud. The beautiful silken fabric would soon be dripping rubies. 

“Shall I don it now?” you asked. Mistress Unn nodded silently and turned away, giving you the slightest dignity as you undressed. 

It was funny to you how well the dress seemed to fit. There was something woefully elegant to the gown that made it seem a waste on a dead woman. It didn’t make sense. This had to be some additional form of last-minute torture on your way to the block. You’d often heard of Odin being a cruel despot, but here he was playing with a mouse already trapped. Why was it that only the worst brutes ever wielded power?

You were desperate for some of Mistress Nanna’s mind-numbing tea, but you were not offered such a mercy. Instead, you could only feel your skin quake harder with every step you took through the palace. Frantically, you mind searched for a set of reasonable last words, but nothing came to you. 

When the doors to the throne room parted for you, Mistress Unn (fully veiled, of course), and the entourage of guards, you were greeted with two long rows of spectators, dressed to the nines in  gold and silver. They looked at you not with pity, but curiosity. You’d expected the telltale drumbeat that escorted every condemned to the block, but no such drumming went up. Instead, a light harp and flute duet fluttered into the air around your ears, a pleasant lullaby to sing you off to eternal sleep.

At the head of the aisle, the Royal Family stood in a row, also in their finest garments (much too grand for an execution). 

You were dreaming. This made no sense. 

“Mistress? What--?”

“--I don’t know!”

You were led up the aisle, ahead of the soldier escorts and Mistress Unn. Ahead of you was a beam of light, and when it struck your face, the immediate warmth brought a resigned tear to your eye. You wished you could carry that momentary feeling with you as you reached the foot of The Allfather’s throne, where you fell to your knees in a humble bow.

“Stop shaking, little maiden, it is the happiest day of your life.”

“Truly, my Lord, for I have seen daylight at last,” you replied sadly, before adding, “And now I can die having seen it. I accept my fate as consequence for my prophecy and will not fight it--” 

“--she cannot control them, she is a naturlig!” cried Mistress Unn, her pleas for your life touching you. “Mercy, Dear Lord!” 

Norns, Mistress Unn, where was this motherly affection for me before today? Sweeping the toilets? 

The King frowned and leaned back on his throne. “So I have heard from her…attorney,” he said, looking warily at Heimdall, who stood against a column to the left of Odin’s throne.

Attorney? Who of any sway is here speaking for me? Who can defend me when it was I who led Prince Thor to his death?

You allowed yourself a longer look at Loki. He was standing freely and widely-posed, his stoic face bearing down on you with the weight of a miller’s stone. His arrayment was ornamental, shining gold plates shimmered from his breast and arms, a bright green tunic underneath. Why was he in ceremonial armor, and yet looking like he was shackled to the wall himself?

Something wasn’t correct. 

Odin continued. “I am told she is the only naturlig of her generation, and therefore, the only one of her youth and years who could have offspring with her same powers.”

“Y…yes, that is true, Majesty,” Mistress Unn mumbled. 

“Girl, rise and meet my eye,” Odin commanded. “I am told your name is Y/N.”

“Yes, my King,” you said, your voice barely audible. 

“There has been a proposal for your hand to be given to my son’s in marriage,” he said, almost too casually. “And I have declared it must be so.” 

Your skin went cold with further confusion. The bouncing torchlight began to fuzz and blur your vision. “I…I beg pardon, Your Majesty?”

“While you may have an egregious sin against the crown on your hands, it is apparently a greater sin to spill the blood of a naturlig Seer. Your punishment will be eternal indentured servitude to the Royal Family through marriage to the Prince Loki, to pass on your gift to your heirs, and to be constantly under my watchful eye until the natural end of your days.” 

Your mouth fell open. Were you hearing correctly? 

“And so, little maiden, take the hand of your groom as Heimdall lights a cauldron of eternal fire,” Odin declared. Queen Frigga made a gesture with her hands in your direction, and a crown of cherry blossoms sprouted across your forehead in a modest tiara, bringing at least a little beauty to your homely appearance. 

Loki took one step forward and stiffly offered his hand. Having no choice but to obey, you took it, caught off-guard by how cold it was against your palm. You expected a prince’s skin to be warm. When you looked up into his eyes, your heart stilled. He was glaring at you with a look you couldn’t match an emotion to.

Was he the one who stood up for me? you thought, unable to concentrate on Odin’s words as he recited the Marriage Rite. You doubted it from the look on his face. Loki looked unhappy to be there. I imagine he expected a princess bride, and I am anything but. 

A few moments later, after a chaste kiss on the lips that held all of the affection of a molding statue, you found yourself the newest royal of Asgard, standing before the applauding nobility, a far cry from the grave you’d expected to be falling into by now.

Frigga applauded with the crowd. Odin stood between you and Loki with a straight face. For his part, Loki looked about the most miserable groom to ever live. Something on your new husband’s face chilled you. 

You suddenly got the feeling that you were about to trade one prison for another. 

You may have been the lowest-ranked royal bride in Asgardian history, but Odin still had the kitchen spare no expense for the wedding feast. It was truly awful that tradition dictated that the bride and groom were served last, for being in the dungeon and subsisting on bread and water had made you weak and hungry. Your head spun and your stomach howled. It was all you could do to stand by your husband’s side silently for nearly an hour and a half as the multitude of guests filed through the smorgasbord and left it in ruins. 

He was cold. Not just emotionally distant, but he almost had a tactile aura of freezing air expanding past his personal space and laying dots of frost on your arm. You were cooler than if you were standing in the middle of an ice house. 

Should I speak to him? 

He hadn’t said a word to you, nor even addressed you indirectly. For being known for having a silver tongue, Loki must’ve set it away in a closet somewhere, for he was silent as stone once his vows were recited. As a group of nobles danced, Loki watched from his seat at your table, mindlessly swirling a goblet of wine in his hand, occasionally addressing one of his friends when they walked past. 

The only warmth you felt all night was from Queen Frigga, who sought you out toward the end of the evening. You bowed lowly, but she immediately dismissed it. “Only in Court will you ever need to bow to me. Here, you may address me as Mother.” 

“My Lady--Mother, I am most aggrieved…and confused…no one is telling me anything!” you said with worry. 

“I suspect not,” the Queen frowned. “I think I will send for you at tea time tomorrow. I will summon you every day, and while there, I will hold finishing lessons for you. Perhaps this won’t simply be an ‘acquisition’ after all. You do need to fill the role of ‘Princess’ now that you’re here.”

You managed a half-smile. “You are too kind.” 

“Surely it won’t be difficult for you to learn our ways. You have, after all, lived in the palace since girlhood.” 

Yes, but I spent nearly every moment of it sequestered in a prison of old biddies and hags, you wanted to say. 

“And,” the Queen went on, “I also believe your gift could use a little fine-tuning. I was Loki’s magic tutor as well.”

You shook your head. “My gift is as is and will always be. It is weak and imperfect, and cannot be changed.” 

Frigga nodded. “I’ve always held a suspicion that wasn’t entirely true. Not being directly connected to The Sight myself, I could never say so with certainty.”

Not saying anything, you looked back over at Loki, who was speaking now to one of his closest friends, a blonde man whose name you had yet to know. He was certainly handsome, your new husband. Sleeping with him would be a penance most pleasurable to pay. Perhaps the Norns were smiling upon you. One thing was for certain, you shouldn’t question this blessing you were handed. 

Sleeping with him…oh Norns…

“What worries you?” asked the Queen, taking your hand. 

“I’m sorry, Mother,” you said quietly. “I just…I was expected to remain chaste for my entire life. Thus, I never learned how to--”

“--ah!” Frigga nodded, knowingly. She looked over her shoulder at a small door behind the throne. “Well, if you would like to take a stroll into the open air with me, perhaps I can set your mind at ease.”

To think, three hours prior, you were expecting to lose your head. Now, you were about to have a talk regarding the most forbidden of subjects with the Queen of the Realm herself! 

Don't question your blessing, you repeated to yourself. Just walk with it and make it matter. 

Series Masterlist Tags in the comments!