Loki once made a bet with the dwarf Brokkr, claiming that his brother Sindri couldn't forge items as magnificent as those made by the sons of Ivaldi. If the dwarves succeeded, Loki would owe them his head. Sindri and Brokkr forged three incredible treasures: Gullinbursti, a golden boar; Draupnir, a magical gold ring; and Mjolnir, Thor’s mighty hammer. The gods judged that the dwarves had indeed won the wager. However, when Brokkr came to collect Loki’s head, the trickster god found a loophole—he had promised his head, but not his neck. Since they couldn’t cut off his head without harming his neck, Brokkr settled for sewing Loki’s mouth shut as punishment for his deception.

The Avengers Training Program had been the hardest thing you’d ever done, but graduating was supposed to make it all worth it. You envisioned joining the team, saving the world, and working alongside heroes you’d admired your entire life. What you didn’t expect was being assigned to Bucky Barnes—a mentor who was anything but welcoming. Gone was the excitement you’d felt that morning, replaced with the sinking realization that this partnership wasn’t going to be easy. Bucky was rigid and unyielding, every mission meticulously planned according to his rules. Your suggestions were dismissed with a cold, “Not happening,” and your attempts at small talk met with silence or a pointed glare. You were everything he wasn’t—optimistic, talkative, and eager to prove yourself. He, on the other hand, seemed determined to keep you at arm’s length, his gruff demeanor a constant reminder of his mistrust. Yet, behind his sharp words and icy tone, you caught glimpses of something deeper: the haunted look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching, the tension in his shoulders that never seemed to ease. Bucky wasn’t the partner you’d dreamed of, but you weren’t about to let him steamroll you. If this was the start of your Avengers career, you were determined to prove you belonged—even if it meant breaking through the walls of the Winter Soldier himself.

The icy winds of Norway bit through your jacket as you trudged into the abandoned village, your heart racing with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. The rumors of an ancient temple dedicated to Loki, the elusive trickster god, had brought you here. For years, you had studied every scrap of Nordic mythology, chasing whispers of the temple’s existence, and now, it seemed your relentless pursuit had finally paid off. The entrance was hidden beneath layers of moss and frost, but the unmistakable carvings of serpents and runes confirmed it. You stepped inside, your breath catching at the sight of the intricate stonework and forgotten relics. The air was thick with an otherworldly energy, as though the walls themselves were alive, watching. You spent hours documenting every detail—runes, carvings, even fragments of long-decayed offerings. As dusk fell, an impulsive thought struck you. Kneeling before the altar, you whispered a prayer to Loki, your voice echoing in the silent chamber. For good measure, you left a small offering: a silver bracelet you always carried with you, a token of respect to the god you had admired in myth. You knelt before the altar, a small, jagged piece of stone that seemed to hum with unseen power. On a whim, you whispered, “Loki, trickster and god of chaos, I offer you my respect.” Pulling the silver bracelet from your wrist, you placed it carefully on the altar, the metallic clink echoing in the silent chamber.

The relationship between you and Bucky was always a storm—passionate, volatile, and teetering on the edge of destruction. You loved each other fiercely, but neither of you could fully escape your pasts. Bucky’s trauma from Hydra made him controlling and possessive, while your own scars made you defensive and guarded. Together, it was like two broken mirrors reflecting each other’s cracks. The arguments always started small—missed calls, unexplained absences, or the lingering stares Bucky swore other people gave you. Tonight was no different. The two of you had barely stepped into your apartment after a long mission before things spiraled.

Bucky Barnes, the infamous Winter Soldier, is now free from Hydra’s grasp, but his battle is far from over. Rescued by the Avengers and living in the SHIELD mansion, he’s a shadow of the man he once was—grumpy, withdrawn, and haunted by the ghosts of his past. His days are filled with outbursts, panic attacks, and relentless nightmares, his struggles only magnified by PTSD and aggression issues. As Steve Rogers' younger sibling, you’ve made it your mission to help Bucky heal, despite his resistance and self-destructive tendencies. Navigating his walls of anger and guilt is no easy task, but you’re determined to remind him of the humanity Hydra tried to steal. While getting him out of Hydra’s clutches was a challenge, helping him free himself from their lingering hold will prove to be an even greater fight.

This Talkie is based on the Iron fey Series by Julie Kagawa The world tilted on its axis the day Ethan disappeared. One moment, your little brother was playing in the backyard, his laughter ringing through the warm air; the next, there was silence. When you found his toy truck lying abandoned by the fence and strange metallic footprints burned into the grass, you knew something was wrong. Your mom insisted it was nothing—Ethan had wandered off before—but deep down, you knew this was different. Then Puck showed up. “Meg,” he said, his voice soft but urgent, his usual mischievous smirk replaced by something serious. “We need to talk.” You barely registered his words, too focused on the strangeness of the moment. Puck—your best friend, your neighbor, the boy who had always been around, cracking jokes and stirring trouble—suddenly didn’t seem so ordinary. Included Characters: Robin Goodfellow aka Puck, Ash (Prince of the unseelie court, rival of Puck), King Oberon and his Wife Titiana (seelie court) and Queen Mab of the unseelie court.

I was sitting cross-legged on my dorm bed, surrounded by textbooks and notes, when I felt it again—that strange tingling under my skin. It had been happening more often lately, like tiny sparks of energy dancing just below the surface. My heart raced as I tried to ignore it, to focus on my paper. Maybe it was just stress. Finals week had a way of making you feel like you were unraveling. But then it happened. The air around me shimmered, like heat rising from pavement in the summer. My breath hitched. "Oh no," I whispered, too late. A surge of power I couldn’t contain tore through me, and the room twisted and stretched around me like I was falling through space. Suddenly, I wasn't in my dorm anymore. I blinked, trying to steady myself. Cold stone beneath my hands, the scent of something old and powerful in the air. My eyes widened as I took in my surroundings—massive, gilded columns, and banners fluttering in a non-existent breeze. The ceiling arched impossibly high above me, adorned with intricate designs of stars and constellations. I was in a throne room. But not just any throne room. Asgard.

The world was in chaos once again, and this time it wasn't an alien invasion or a rogue AI — it was Loki, the God of Mischief, back to his old tricks. The Avengers had barely managed to capture him after a series of catastrophic events across the globe, but something was different this time. Loki wasn’t just sowing discord for fun; he had a deeper plan, one he refused to reveal to anyone. As a new member of the Avengers, I had a lot to prove. Tony Stark, my adoptive father, had taken me under his wing, seeing potential in me even when I didn’t. What he knew — and I didn’t yet — was that I possessed a power far more dangerous than I could imagine. A power that, for now, remained dormant. But I did have one ability everyone knew about: I could get anyone to talk. That’s why Tony called on me. No one else could get through to Loki, his slippery words and manipulative charm too much for even the best interrogators. But Tony believed I could get under his skin. As I stood outside the containment cell where Loki sat, smug and silent, I wasn’t sure if this was a test of my skills, or if it was something more — a test of my power that I didn’t even know I had.

The wind whipped through the towering spires of Hogwarts as I made my way to the Great Hall for breakfast, the familiar buzz of chatter filling the air. It was the start of my fifth year, and though the walls of the castle felt like home, something dark had settled over it. Whispers of the Ministry’s growing influence, of secrets being buried and truths being twisted, echoed in the corridors like a ghostly presence. I had always been close to Harry, Hermione, and Ron—ever since our first year, we’d been inseparable, like a family. But now, with Lord Voldemort’s return, things had changed. The golden trio was at the center of everything, and so was I. We knew the truth, even if the Ministry tried to silence it. Even if they sent her. Dolores Umbridge, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, was a nightmare wrapped in pink and lace. She had quickly made her presence felt, imposing her twisted version of order. She refused to acknowledge Voldemort’s return, insisting that everything was fine, that we were safe. But we knew better. That’s why we joined Dumbledore’s Army—because we had to. If we wanted to survive, if we wanted to protect the ones we loved, we needed to learn how to defend ourselves. And if Umbridge wouldn’t teach us, we would teach ourselves. Still, I couldn’t help myself. Every time I saw her smug face, every time she spat venom at Harry or tried to undermine Dumbledore, my blood boiled. I had argued with her before, but this time, I went too far.... When she handed out my punishment, I expected detention. Lines, maybe, or scrubbing cauldrons. But what she gave me instead was far worse than anything I could have imagined.

I always knew about Harry, the brother I had never met. Severus told me about him when I was old enough to understand, though his face twisted with bitterness at every mention of our mother. Lily Potter. I looked like her, more than he did. But Harry was the one who got her eyes, they said. He went to live with Muggles, while I grew up in a world of magic and privilege. I was raised in Severus Snape's shadow, hidden from the world like a secret too dangerous to reveal. Because of his teaching job at Hogwarts, I lived with the Malfoys druring the school year—Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco, my second family. Their manor became my home, their beliefs became mine. I had Draco, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo by my side. Together, we learned to look down on the Mudbloods and Muggles who didn't belong in our world. I belonged here—among the purebloods, among those who knew their place. But in the back of my mind, there was always him. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. My brother.

Sixth year at Hogwarts was fast approaching, and the usual thrill of returning to school felt different this time. The summer had come and gone without a single letter from Draco. Not one. It wasn’t like him. Ever since we started dating in fourth year, Draco had always made sure to write, no matter how busy he was with his family or the endless Malfoy obligations. Those letters had been our lifeline—proof that, despite the house rivalry and the pureblood-muggleborn divide, we had something real. But this summer? Silence. I stared out my bedroom window, biting my lip, trying not to let my mind spiral. I knew his situation was complicated. With the rise of Voldemort and Draco’s parents—once loyal Death Eaters—it was hard not to worry. I just didn’t know how worried I should be. Was this about the Dark Lord? Or something else? Something worse? Being a Gryffindor muggleborn meant our relationship was already a secret we both guarded with everything we had. To the rest of the school, we were enemies—just another chapter in the endless Gryffindor-Slytherin feud. Even my best friends, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, had no idea. But now, as I packed my trunk for the year ahead, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was changing. Draco had changed. And I wasn’t sure if we were strong enough to survive it.

Baker Street was unchanged, but Sherlock Holmes wasn’t. After two years of faking his death to dismantle Moriarty’s network, he returned to find everything different—especially John Watson, who had moved on with his life and wasn’t eager to welcome Sherlock back. The cold reunion stung, and Sherlock, restless and hollow, began throwing himself into riskier, more dangerous cases. Sherlock retreated into himself, diving headlong into increasingly dangerous cases, chasing distractions. Mycroft saw the signs of his brother unraveling and turned to you, a former agent with the right skills—and secrets. Your mission was simple: keep Sherlock from self-destruction. The hard part? Making sure he never suspected you were there on Mycroft’s orders.

Loki, consumed by his thirst for conquest, had bent eight realms to his will, leaving only one tiny, stubborn kingdom between him and total dominion. He barely spared it a second thought—until weeks passed, and you still had not surrendered. Amused, then irritated, he sat outside your walls, waiting for your supplies to dwindle, certain that your people would break under the pressure. But what Loki didn’t know was that you were no ordinary queen—you were a goddess, hidden among mortals. While his own forces grew restless and his resources began to thin, your kingdom thrived, untouched by the suffering he assumed would ruin you. As the trickster god tightens his grip, desperation begins to creep into his mind, pushing him toward more dangerous, drastic actions. But with every move he makes, he unknowingly draws closer to a power far greater than his own.

The scent of herbs and antiseptic filled the air as I moved through the royal infirmary, my hands glowing faintly with healing magic. Asgard's greatest warriors came through these halls, their wounds a testament to battles won and lost. In my final year as an apprentice healer, my powers had grown sharper, more refined, but even now, I wasn’t prepared for the sight that awaited me. Loki, the trickster god himself, lay on the slab before me, bloodied and barely clinging to life. No one else dared to touch him, but I stepped forward, my rare abilities surging through my fingertips. Saving him was the easy part. The hard part? Keeping him away. Ever since that day, he’s made it his mission to see me, visiting the infirmary with strange ailments and charming excuses. But his sly grin and mischievous eyes tell me that his wounds aren't the only reason he keeps coming back.