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strawberrystepmom · 7 months

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hyoga (dr stone) x f!reader. canon au, reader is an agriculturalist. mutual pining. my usual, served hot. wc 1.2k. divider by cafekitsune as always.

“Not this again.”

Hyoga groans and frustratedly thrusts his spear through the air, tipping his head upward toward the oranges of the dawn sky when the head of the weapon lands inches away from where he intended it to - a true pain to a man as exacting as he tends to be. Perfection isn’t an option he gives himself, it’s an expectation, but something keeps getting in his way. He takes a centering breath and it only lasts for a few beats, his chest heaving from the exertion of his early morning practice.

The spearman visits the training area just as the sun rises to have time to practice, welcome the day, and think alone. However, for the third day in a row, he can hear you singing to yourself while inspecting your plant.

Turning to look over his shoulder, he groans. At this distance, he can make out the vaguest silhouette of you. If he were to be honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he is silently annoyed that his mind easily fills in the blanks he can’t visualize through his squinted eyes. The sun is only beginning to beat down although if it’s bothersome, you don’t show it and your outline steps between rows of vegetables, still singing happily to yourself.

Looking around the arena and the camp both, Hyoga notices how empty the spaces are and decides now is the time to go talk to you if he’s going to. You are well-liked enough by the other members of the Kingdom of Strength you’ve unwittingly found yourself a part of that he risks a bit of ostracization if he is perceived as picking on you, something that should not bother him but does for inexplicable reasons. It’s not that he particularly cares what anyone else thinks, fear is more valuable than respect in this new world anyway, but he is distinctly bothered by the notion that other people are protective of you.

Placing his treasured spear aside, he scrubs a hand over his face and crosses the small dirt path between your world and his. Your treasured fields, thoughtfully planned since the day you were handed the reigns of growing food for the kingdom you serve, and his place of violence. The two of you are so different yet he finds himself increasingly curious about you and how unabashedly yourself you tend to be.

Since the first day you were depetrified, you offered yourself in full despite any fear. Your time, expertise, and ability are going to improve the lives of everyone. You hate praise on a wide scale but beam when receiving it one on one. You smile brightly and offer plentiful hugs if someone needs support. Everyone likes you, it’s not difficult to understand why despite his own opinion.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs at himself for even pondering your likability. All his mind has done is conjure ridiculous imagery of a ridiculous woman and he refuses to entertain it any longer. Each step of his boots leaves a mark in the dirt below it and Hyoga attempts to quiet his steps when he approaches you but if the way you stop singing abruptly is any indication, has already been spotted.

“You are incredibly obnoxious.”

Smiling at his greeting before you even glance in his direction, you wipe your hands across the brown canvas of your work pants and rise to your full stature. The mask he always wears covers his mouth which leaves you unable to tell if he is snarling or frowning but you assume from the tone of his voice he isn’t quite seething, just annoyed.

“Good morning to you too, Hyoga. How are you?”

Midnight colored eyes flit briefly over the entirety of your figure and his eyes shift downward at the rows of planted soil instead of continuing to look at you, taking stock of how quickly the carrots have started growing. Their green tops have sprouted and if he were less annoyed by the inconvenience of you interrupting his training, he would acknowledge that you are impressive at what you do.

“I would be far better if you hadn’t interrupted my morning training.” He spits and you offer an apologetic frown, folding your arms over your chest and tilting your head to the side. “Why are you out here so early? I train every day at sunrise to be alone so feel free to stay in bed tomorrow.”

Laughing to yourself, you shake your head and raise your eyebrows. You’re likely the only person bold enough to actually talk back to him, the fear he has stricken in the rest of his loyal subjects seemingly lost on you. It’s not that you don’t respect him or take him seriously, you do, but merely that you enjoy pushing his buttons more than anything else.

“You don’t own the dawn,” the petulant note in your voice is rewarded with a low warning hum from the man standing on the other side of your tubers. You have to force yourself not to smile, pressing your lips together although if he were to take a good look he’d see the faintest trace of a curve across them. “And besides, there is no way I can take a good look at everything without being interrupted at any other time of the day. In two hours people will be out here and asking questions and..ugh!”

You throw your hands up and sigh, eyes wide. There’s no hiding the fact you are laying it on thick this morning and Hyoga almost certainly sees through it garnering no sympathy for you. Despite this, there’s a slight relaxation to his shoulders you would miss if you weren’t staring at him so intently. There’s no challenge in your gaze, only curiosity, and it frustrates him that he can never tell what your true intentions are. Is your kindness self preservation? Are the smiles faked in an effort to keep yourself less threatening? He can never tell.

Luckily for you, he doesn’t feel like getting into it right now. A low hum precedes his words and you keep your eyes glued to him.

“Fine but keep the singing to a minimum. Some of us have actual work to do.”

Smiling, you nod and his posture stiffens again.

“Sorry for distracting you.”

Rolling his eyes, he turns on his heel to cross the dirt path back toward the practice arena but stops himself long enough to look over his shoulder. Another glance at you, raking over your face and body.

“You didn’t.”

Satisfied with his ability to get the last word, he heads off in the opposite direction of where you stand. That went far better than expected and your difficult disposition is clearly subdued this early in the day.

Hyoga considers this a victory in the battle of wills between the two of you and entering his designated area, he reaches for his spear again. Examining the tip and the handle carefully, he squints and loses himself in thought about how he could possibly improve the weapon with the rudimentary tools he has access to now. Running his thumb along the sharpened tip, gloves protecting him from any injury, he catches himself humming a fragmented version of the song you were singing moments earlier.

“Enough,” he tells himself aloud. Grateful to be alone, the word leaves him in a weak whisper a second time. Enough of your songs, enough of your smile, enough of you.

Narrowing his eyes once more, he glances across the dirt path to see you working alone, quietly. The sun has risen higher in the sky and illuminates you, the shine of your hair and the round of your cheeks and he blows air out of his nostrils tensely.

Distraction indeed.

#hyoga x reader #akatsuki hyoga x reader #dcst x reader #dr stone x reader #kendall writes #hyoken

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theroyalhouseofwindenburg · 1 year

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Following the execution of Queen Fiona, King Wilhelm wasted no time in pursuing his new path. In just a week's time, the regal bells of Westsimster Abbey rang out to mark a grand and illustrious ceremony. It was the 2nd day of summer in the year 1336 when King Wilhelm and Princess Cordelia stood at the altar to exchange their vows.

Cordelia, radiant in a resplendent red satin gown adorned with intricate gold trimmings, wore her hair elegantly pinned up, reflecting her regal status. The Abbey was filled to the brim with nobles, dignitaries, and commoners alike who had come to witness this powerful union. The atmosphere was alive with the promise of a new beginning.

As the couple continued their procession towards the coronation chair, where Cordelia would be anointed and declared Queen, they were met with the thunderous applause and jubilation of the crowd. It was a joyous affirmation of their union and the start of a hopeful era for Windenburg. Cordelia, now Queen, received her crown and regalia, symbolizing her ascent to the throne, and as she gazed upon her subjects, the weight of her newfound responsibilities mingled with her determination to rule wisely and justly. King Wilhelm and Queen Cordelia graciously waved to the adoring throngs who had gathered in the Abbey to celebrate this momentous occasion.

On the night of their wedding, King Thomas, thrilled by the powerful alliance formed between his daughter and King Wilhelm, bestowed upon them an extraordinary gift - a vast tract of land south of Bagley. This land, once the original location of Burdley, had fallen into a state of barren neglect. Yet to Cordelia and Wilhelm, it presented an opportunity for revival and transformation. Cordelia's joy knew no bounds as she jubilantly embraced her father, overwhelmed by his generosity and his confidence in their union.

Wilhelm and Cordelia's marriage was marked by a harmonious and respectful partnership. It seemed that their bond grew stronger with each passing day, offering the kingdom a promise of peace and prosperity that had long eluded them. Their union was not merely political; it was a testament to their shared vision for Windenburg.

Almost two years after their wedding, on the evening of New Year's Day in 1338, the pregnant Queen Cordelia went into labor at Windenburg Castle. Guided by her trusted midwife, she was led to her chambers. After hours of painful labor, Cordelia's ears were graced by the cries of a healthy child. With a smile on her face, she looked at her midwife who delivered the long-awaited news - Queen Cordelia had given birth to King Wilhelm's first legitimate son, an heir to the throne that had been fervently hoped for. Despite the exhaustion of childbirth, Cordelia summoned her remaining strength to stand, cradling her precious son in her arms. She looked into the child's innocent eyes with a sense of wonder and immense pride, fully aware of the promising future that lay ahead for her firstborn.

In no time at all, King Wilhelm arrived at Cordelia's chambers, flanked by his ever-loyal advisor, Matthias. The King's face was aglow with the unmistakable light of joy as he beheld his legitimate son for the first time. As he approached the cradle, he radiated a deep sense of pride, and with unwavering confidence, he presented the newborn to Matthias. This act conveyed the overwhelming relief and triumphant elation that accompanied the arrival of his long-awaited heir.

King Wilhelm then moved to the bedside of his beloved wife, Cordelia, who, though quite exhausted, possessed a radiant beauty. As he gazed into her eyes, a profound mixture of passion and gratitude filled his own. He openly expressed his boundless love and admiration for her, recognizing the profound gift she had bestowed upon both him and the entire kingdom. The child, born of their union and bearing the name Wilhelm Edward, represented the promise of a united future under their reign.

In the days that followed, King Wilhelm held a grand assembly at court, presenting his son to the other royals and nobles of the kingdom. The birth of this legitimate heir brought great hope to Windenburg, a symbol of continuity and strength in the royal line.

King Wilhelm and Queen Cordelia's rule began to solidify, and their influence over the people of Windenburg grew stronger. For the first time in his reign, there was an aura of peace and optimism throughout the kingdom. Under their joint rule, a brighter future seemed to beckon, and the promise of a prosperous era shone on the horizon.

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marztheincredible · 2 years

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The Calendar of the Boiling Isles!

A mistake needing to be rectified! I’ve realized that I haven’t posted about the Calendar in Titan’s Blessing here on Tumblr! So buckle up and get ready for some juicy world-building!

“The history of the Boiling Isles is a muddled and confusing one. After Emperor Belos’ claim and making the Isles into an Empire, much was lost. We know for certain one thing. The years marked A.C or After Covens, denote the time since Belos’ reign. Anything before, or known as the Savage Ages, are marked as B.C Before Covens.”

There are 10 months in a Boiling Isles Year, also called a Cycle. Days are also called Rhythms. Proper documentation of the date goes as such: 5th Rhythm of New Callus, 52 A.C. On average there are at least 36 days in a month. Because the Isles are quite dangerous and unpredictable, until they reach maturity (21) children announce their age as how many summers they survived.

“You both are sixteen summers, are you not? And I’m sure you're able to snag some Palistrom wood from the Plant Coven with your parents' money.” -Eda to the Blight Twins in Chapter 15

Celestial Alignment and the moon also take an important role when it comes to certain holidays and celebrations as well as the effects of magic. The moon in the Boiling Isles is also called The Titan’s Eye. As the story is told every year on the final day of The Week of Celestial Observation, the moon is the Titan’s Eye, gouged and thrown into the void after an act of deception from the Titan’s Sister, Hel.

Each rotational cycle is 10 days. Meaning there are 10 days between each New Moon. The phases are also named differently, it goes as so:

Birth Eye=New Moon

Young Eye=Waxing Crescent

First Gaze=First Quarter

Hooded Gaze= Half-Waxing Gibbous

Blinking Eye (Closing)=Full-Waxing Gibbous

Full=Full moon

Blinking Eye (Opening)=Full Waning Gibbous

Tired Gaze=Half-Waning Gibbous

Last Gaze=Third Quarter

Dead/Old Eye=Waning Crescent

Now lets move on to Months!

New Callus (36 Days-Winter)

“The Cycle of a new year begins anew. Old bonds wither away or strengthen. New ones are formed. New Callus can also be considered a month of rebirth, where many witches seek forgiveness to go into the new year with a clean slate. The Rhythm of Reflection falls on the end of the last week of this month, encouraging Witches to seek out the ones they have wronged to make amends.”

Scabuary (42 Days-Winter)

“Winter ends on this month! The harsh cold that travels down the knee, crawls back up to its isolated joint. The dead floral resuscitate and rise from their dried husk, indicating warm months to come. On the 40th Rhythm of Scabuary, the Empire of the Isles celebrates is anniversary since Belos claimed the lands under the 'Titan's Will'. This anniversary is known as "Salvation Day."”

Trudge (45 Days-Spring)

“Boiling rain season. Keep alert for rolling storm clouds and watch where you step! Witches tend to keep indoors as much as they can this month. No one wants to be caught by a stray pain-bow after the rains let up!”

First Till (45 Days-Spring)

“First Till is one of the three farmer months that's name has not been changed or altered since the beginning of the Savage Ages. It is to remind farmers and other denizens of the Isles to plant their crop. This is the time where the weather is consistent and predictable. Druids (Now absorbed, absolved, and known as the 'Plant Coven') celebrate this month in its entirety. It was once known that during the Savage Ages, a wandering Druid would stop by a farmer's field and help them produce a wonderous bounty to collect during The Grand Harvest. Witches would celebrate and respect these Druids though tributes and offerings, hoping to gain favor for their village or town.”

Julymph (42 Days-Summer)

“Summer has begun and it. Is. HOT. The Boiling Isles are not just aptly named because of the Boiling Sea alone. Heat rolls over the land like a dragon's hot breath in waves. Latissa's bogs steam from the weather and if you aren't careful the haze can become as thick and sticky as a spider's web.”

The Grand Harvest (39 Days-Summer)

“The Grand Harvest is here! The Titan's body and the steady hands of the Isle's farmers produce food to last until the next First Till. To celebrate the successful growth of crops the Feast of Abundance is celebrated! This always falls on the last Rhythm of the month, ensuring that any excess crops gathered are used for the holiday. We're not done yet, every three years the Week of Celestial Observation falls on this month. It cycles back and forth between The Grand Harvest and Sun's Smite. The Week of Celestial Observation is a time where the stars and the moon fall in line with the Titan. Demon's and Witch's magic are in tune with the Others, making it a time to cast powerful spells or brew strong potions.”

Sun’s Smite (36 Days-Summer/Fall)

“Summer wanes into Fall and if the heat hasn't destroyed the last of the farmer's crops, the blinding sun will. This is the brightest month on the Isles, giving way to longer days well into the first have of the month. It is here where the Smiths of Old would produce the finest blades or other metal work. Using the glaring sun and their magic to warp metal harnessing its energy for power. The Week of Celestial Observation falls on this month every three years.”

Auguts (36 Days-Fall)

“Fall has arrived! Verdant floral wither and die, while some fauna may begin their hibernation. The Cycle has almost ended, it is time to make way for the colder months and warmer magic to come forth once more.”

Hacktober (39 Days-Winter)

“The snow storms upon the Knee have trailed down its mountainous peak! Bundle up Demons and Witches, Winter is here! You’ll need your best Enchanters and Weavers to intertwine the warmth of the Hearth within your clothes. If you aren’t so lucky to find such a Witch, perhaps a Bard will do. The second Dead Eye of the month can call forth a bitter chill if one is unaware. In the days of old, as a warning, a Bard would sing for the eight days leading up to the moon’s final phase. These melodies were known as The Frigid Refrains.”

Dismember (42 Days-Winter)

“The coldest month of the year! For young witchlings its the most exciting! The Winter Solstice, marks the shortest day of the year and follows into the Long Night. Always falling on a Birth (New) Moon, the Long Night consists of exchanging gifts and celebration of another year lived. Deeper meanings of this holiday indicate that this may be the day the Titan fell into his eternal slumber, creating the Boiling Isles.”

And there you have it! It’s alot! Luckily young witchlets learn this helpful rhyme to serve as a reminder for their months in order!

"Ten months will turn and a Cycle is complete!

Round and round they go with Holidays they meet!

New Callus marks the start of every new year!

Scabuary marks the day every Wild Witch should fear!

Trudge comes next with colors of pain!

Then First Till with gifts from the rain!

Julymph is hot, your skin will rot!

The Grand Harvest is here, let's fill our pots!

Sun's Smite draws near with blinding rays!

Auguts follows with shorter days!

Hacktober brings forth the snow from the Knee!

Then with Dismember, the year secedes!"

#Titan’s Blessing #thats one thing about tumblr #i can post so much more information here!#The Owl House #Toh fic #Toh fanfic #the owl house fanfiction #fanfic #worldbuilding #Calendar #Boiling Isles

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horizon-verizon · 4 months

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Elizabeth I's equivalences with Rhaenyra and Dany are not 1:1. For example, Elizabeth's success was due in part to her own insight and cunning (Dany) and knowing how to choose good advisors (I think they both chose well with the information they had).

What I find a little strange is the way they are trying to present Elizabeth's level of education. Daenerys has hardly been educated, everything he knows is based on observation and intuition, but like Rhaenyra Elizabeth also received good education.

"Elizabeth did not enjoy a happy family home until her father's sixth and final marriage, in July 1543, to Catherine Parr (ca. 1512-1548), who took charge of the welfare and education of her stepchildren, which for Isabel included the study of French, Italian, Latin and Greek, as well as theology, music, moral philosophy and rhetoric (which would later be useful for her speeches as queen, written by herself)."Mark Cartwright, 2020

She was separated from her during her brother's reign and imprisoned during much of her sister's, yes but it is not fair to Dany to compare her to Elizabeth. because although she was not raised with the intention that she would govern in the future, she had a very, very good foundation.

The glorious thing about Elizabeth's speech is as the other anon pointed out the way she empowers herself, I can think of other women who gave speeches during battles But they were fighting not for themselves but for their fathers or children, because part of their duties was to give these speeches. They may not have been expected to lead on their own, but most expected these women to be eloquent.

Anon talks about this anon/post.

Hmmm, yes this was niggling at my head but I didn't put it into words. Thanks. I wasn't trying to make as if Dany was the exact same sort of person as to Elizabeth, bec as you said, different available resources, diff values even with the a good level of cunning is shared between them. I was thinking more Rhaenyra vs Elizabeth, how Elizabeth follows through with her words through her own actions whereas Rhaenyra "I will have my throne or I will have his head" does not build onto her own words with her own actions. Elizabeth at least presented herself in armor at the back of the battle and stirred her followers. Rhaenyra? As this anon states:

There’s no sense of balance to her, she does basically nothing but the wrong political moves, when she’s supposed to be the protagonist of this story.

And this anon:

GRRM in part wrote Rhaenyra as a litmus test for the readers’s misogyny but in my opinion it falls flat because he gets caught up in doing that and forgets to give Rhaenyra some dignity or respect as an individual character. And it’s honestly the same issue he has in the main series. Pathologizing motherhood in particular, esp. in relation to women who are also in politics while being mothers. Fathers are never “too mad with grief” to rule competently or make good decisions; only mothers are.

And it's GRRM's fault. The presence and loss of kids do not preclude women from militant projects or being, to be repetitive, active in their own campaigns.

So yeah, I don't have or blame people for not liking Rhaenyra even taking into account how F&B is written to discourage female rule. Because even with that being true, we know about histograhpies about Queens (of all kinds) like Olga of Kiev, Urraca of Castile, etc. who were both praised and reviled and had probable truths twisted about them but a few of both interpreters of their lives and actions still included and explained how these women were beginning wars, leading armies, or were heavily involved for their own interests. GRRM definitely could have had an imperfect victim who also did impactful logistical or strategic or tactical moments as she is also having to face the pressures of having her kids killed. They don't even have to always succeed, but be there!

(And some kind of can't bc again Rhaenrya has to die & for it to be a little her own fault [Nettles] for this story to work.)

Letters, journal entries, etc. just as Daemon and Otto did in the Rogue Prince--those letters, or their excerpts rather, were also included/referenced by Gyldayn in F&B. GRRM had his options. He chose otherwise.

#asoiaf asks to me #daenerys stormborn #daenerys targaryen #fiction vs reality #elizabeth i #english history #european history #grrm critical #fire and blood writing #fire and blood characters #fire and blood #asoiaf writing #asoiaf

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ask-lord-morgarath · 7 months

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With Exquisite Taste And Unyielding Ambition

Greetings, inferiors! At the recent behest of @peapodsinspace of the Tumblr realm, I, Lord Morgarath of the Mountains of Rain and Night, have deigned to grace you with a guide upon mastering the art of attire befitting a true sovereign of darkness. Know that this guide merely scratches the surface of a topic that is as boundless as the abyss itself, for each facet discussed herein deserves an entire tome of its own. But for now, prepare to elevate your sinister presence to unprecedented heights- a transformation that will leave even the most stalwart of peasants trembling in awe.

Let us begin with the foundation of any distinguished ensemble: fabrics. Only the most exquisite materials should be considered. Velvet murmurs of opulence and refinement, while leather proclaims dominion and vigor. Silk, satin, and brocade drip with extravagance and decadence, while chainmail and armor exude the icy breath of mortality itself.

When it comes to colors, one must fully embrace the myriad shades of darkness in both heart and wardrobe. Deep, commanding hues such as obsidian black, blood red, royal purple, and midnight blue are essential staples of the discerning dark lord's palette.

But let us not forget the importance of lines and silhouettes, for they are the language of fashion, speaking volumes without uttering a word. Broad shoulders, tapered waistlines, and elongated contours create an aura of strength and dominance while asymmetry, sharp angles, and clean lines imbue your ensemble with a sense of ruthless precision. Remember that every stitch and seam must be executed with the utmost care, for even the slightest imperfection is a stain upon the canvas of your impeccable image.

A true connoisseur must be astute in discerning the appropriate garments for every occasion and possess a wardrobe suited to all eventualities. Apparel for the palace should be sumptuous yet pragmatic, allowing for fluid movement while still projecting an aura of regal authority. Opt for luxurious fabrics such as velvet or silk, and don't shy away from bold embellishments such as intricate embroidery, high collars, and flowing sleeves, trains, and cloaks.

For occasions requiring a more overt display of power, practicality must take precedence over pomp. To venture onto the battlefield is to embrace the use of leather and chainmail. Your garb must be plated and reinforced, your armor forged from the finest steel, meticulously crafted to withstand the onslaught of your adversaries while striking fear into their hearts.

Lords or otherwise, we must all take heed of the elements when selecting attire. Cloaks of fur-lined velvet shield against winter's chill, while lightweight silk garments protect from the sun's searing rays, ensuring comfort and resilience in any climate.

Even the ground upon which you tread should tremble in awe of your presence. Choose footwear that commands respect, whether striding through the corridors of your stronghold or trampling over the vanquished on the field of battle. Polished black leather boots are suitable for traversing both castle halls and treacherous terrain. Spiked heels, high and imposing, shall elevate you above the common rabble and leave indelible marks upon the earth, a reminder that you walk where others fear to venture.

For those brave enough to gaze upon your countenance, let your makeup be a testament to your unearthly charm. With a subtle touch, employ deep and dramatic tones to highlight your features, commanding attention to eyes ablaze with the fires of ambition and lips, crimson as spilled lifeblood, that murmur of dominion. You shall simultaneously intimidate and captivate, ensnaring all who behold you in the spell of your allure.

Next, we turn our focus to accessories to complete the ensemble. Leave behind trinkets and baubles fit for peasants- your ornaments should be as formidable and majestic as your reign. Beautifully-wrought jewelry crafted from precious metals and gemstones. Rings adorned with the sigils of one's house. Chains of blackened silver, each link a testament to the bonds of servitude that bind your subjects to your will. A finely wrought dagger, besides making a statement of elegance, can be a captivating plaything and an instrument of coercion. The ever-effective poison ring, a subtle yet stylish tool for dispatching adversaries with a mere flick of the wrist.

As a ruler of darkness, it is only fitting that you acquire for yourself a crown befitting your station. Choose one crafted from the finest materials, adorned with menacing spikes and intricate filigree. Whether it be decorated with faceted jewels or fashioned from the bones of your fallen foes, let it be synonymous with exquisite taste and unyielding ambition, and wear it with the aloof dignity befitting one who holds dominion over all they survey.

Lastly, but perhaps most importantly, never allow your façade to slip. Keep your garments immaculately tailored, your accessories polished and gleaming, and your demeanor calculating and elegant. Remember, it is not enough simply to look the part of a dark lord- you must live and breathe it, until even the shadows themselves dare not cross your path.

In conclusion, my dear acolytes, remember that true power lies not only in the wielding of swords and sorcery but also in the mastery of one's own image. Embrace the darkness within, let your wardrobe serve as testament to your malevolent magnificence, and revel in the fear and awe that your presence inspires. Now, go forth and conquer the world of fashion with the same ruthless determination with which you seek to conquer all else.

#lord morgarath's guide to everything #lord morgarath #morgarath #ranger's apprentice #rangers apprentice

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lifeofkaze · 1 year

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A Search for Balance

CHAPTER 39: ONE LAST SHOT

Find the masterlist with all chapters of this story here, the previous chapter here, and the next one here.

After Lizzie’s speech, it was with renewed fire that the Wigtown Wanderers rose into the air.

With Skye being taken out of the game, the Montrose Magpies’ dominance became almost crushing. They had the advantage in numbers, and with a manoeuvre as spectacular as the Quaffle Cutback used against them, the team from Montrose was even more intent on proving they were the reigning champions for a reason.

At least for now, where Lizzie and her team were concerned, who fought against the Magpies’ onslaught tooth and nail. Time was playing into their hands; they were a few hours into the match, and the sun that had stood high in the sky in the beginning was slowly edging its way toward the horizon. It shone directly into the face of Montrose’s Keeper, forcing Anthony O’Leary to shield his eyes from its light with one hand at all times.

Lizzie and Orion quickly figured out how to use the changed conditions to their advantage. They advanced on the squinting O’Leary simultaneously, swooping in on him with the sun directly in their backs and passing the Quaffle to the other at the very last moment. O’Leary stood no chance against them that way, having to watch helplessly as the Quaffle soared past him and through the goalposts time and time again.

The Wanderers quickly racked up points that way, their Beaters working overtime to make sure the Quaffle stayed in Wigtown’s possession. When Lizzie and Orion advanced on the goalposts yet again, the Beaters from Montrose had enough; they made short work of a Bludger flying past them, simultaneously hitting it with both their bats and hurtling it toward Orion. Lizzie saw the spinning iron sphere in time and called out, giving Orion just enough time to fly a swerve and let the Bludger shoot past him.

Having missed its intended mark, the Bludger spun onwards. It passed into the Magpies’ scoring zone, coming at Anthony O’Leary straight in line with the sun. A collective gasp went through the stands as it collided with his helmet, knocking both the Keeper and his broom against the goalposts. O’Leary crumpled on his broomstick and, all tension having left his body, spiralled slowly towards the ground.

Like the Wanderers had before, the Magpies gathered around their injured Keeper, and after a quick conversation between their captain and the umpire, the match resumed with evened out numbers.

Lizzie had observed the situation with a mixture of worry and hope. Her mind was racing; she felt bad for even thinking it, but O’Leary’s knock-out was more than fortunate for them. She caught Orion’s eye, who nodded at her briefly; he seemed to be thinking the same. Feeling a little less guilty, Lizzie steered her broomstick back to the centre circle, where the Quaffle would be released again. It was time to turn the tide for good.

With O’Leary gone, the Montrose Beaters now focused most of their attention on Lizzie and Orion to keep them from scoring. Bethany Tweed and Dougal Docherty did their best to keep their remaining two Chasers out of harm’s way, but even so outflying the Bludgers sent after them was no easy feat.

All the while, the Seekers were fighting their own battle. Being left without support from their respective Beaters, they zoomed across the Quidditch pitch both horizontally, vertically, and in wild spirals, trying to outsmart each other with flying manoeuvres that became both more desperate and reckless by the second.

Lizzie paid their antics little mind. Her mind was focused on scoring, and with Montrose’s goalposts abandoned, she and Orion managed to do so more than once. She was just flying by the hollering stands in celebration when two broomsticks shot past her so quickly that her ponytail was whipped into her face.

Scout Sheridan lay flat on her broom, her hand outstretched and only inches away from the blurred fleck of gold racing to evade her grasp. Hawk Huntington, the Magpies’ Seeker, was close on her broomstick bristles, his black-and-white robes billowing behind him as he tried gaining ground. He was fuelled by sheer desperation. If the Wanderers caught the Snitch now, the match would be over and they would win. If the Magpies caught it, however, there was still a chance for them. The Wanderers were leading with 150 points. If Montrose caught the Snitch, there would be a shoot-out.

The hunt for the Quaffle forgotten, Lizzie, the stands, and the rest of the assembled players watched as Scout and Huntington raced for the championship. Huntington urged his broomstick on, ever so slowly inching closer. Lizzie held her breath. Scout was still ahead, and so close to catching the Snitch, but Huntington was taller, and with a better reach. Scout’s fingers were just moments away from triumph, her fingertips almost grazing the rapidly beating wings of the Snitch, when Huntington lurched forward, pushed her arm aside, and closed his fist around the fluttering golden ball.

Singled-out cheers came from the Montrose fans as apprehensive silence settled over the stadium. The announcer cleared his throat.

“Huntington catches the Golden Snitch in a spectacular head-to-head race with Sheridan and secures 150 points for the Montrose Magpies.” His voice quivered with excitement. “That makes the score even, ladies and gentlemen. The unthinkable has happened - the match is not finished. The new champion of the British and Irish Quidditch League will be determined in a shoot-out!”

Lizzie tried in vain to push away the anxiety building in her stomach as the announcer went on to explain the rules. Substitutions for injured players still weren’t allowed, but different to the regular playtime, every player on the pitch could try and score. Gathering her team around her, she let her eyes wander over their tired but determined faces. Her gaze lingered on Warren Porter, their Keeper, in particular. The bulk of the pressure was resting on his broad shoulders now.

From out of nowhere, the last time she had won a trophy popped up in Lizzie’s mind. Hufflepuff had played Gryffindor for the House Cup, and their Keeper had been knocked unconscious pretty early in the game. Everything had looked like they were headed into a shoot-out as well, and it had only been thanks to a veritable last-second goal from Skye that they had been able to secure the deciding points before the match had ended.

Back then, Lizzie had been relieved that they had avoided having to go into a shoot-out. This time, everything was different. This time, they still had a Keeper.

“Everything’s settled, then,” she smiled at her team encouragingly after all technicalities had been sorted. All, but one. “Who wants to go last?”

Her question was met with awkward silence. Lizzie had expected no different. The rules had both teams taking turns, and Montrose would be going first. Being the follow-up added an additional layer of pressure; the first team set the bar, the second could do nothing but react. The last player to score mostly had it worst. Usually, one team or another would have failed at least one shot at this point, so the responsibility of either getting their team into a second round or securing the win rested solely on their shoulders.

Lizzie waited for anyone to speak up, but unsurprisingly, no one did. Presently, Orion took heart.

“The last of us will need shoulders strong enough to carry the result of everyone preceding him. It is no easy task. It should be someone used to handling the Quaffle and the pressure. You led us well to this point, Captain. It’d be an honour to relieve you of the responsibility, if you want me to.”

Lizzie gave him a grateful look, but she could tell that Orion wasn’t actually keen on the job. He had a point, though. She had led their team through the better part of this match. She had done what was expected of her, but her task wasn’t over yet. She swallowed heavily.

“We need to start off on the right foot, so I want you to go first.” Gripping the handle of her broomstick tighter, she did her best to quell the dropping feeling in her stomach. “The last shot’s gonna be mine.”

They all nodded at each other once, then joined the Magpies and the referee at the centre circle. The shoot-out began. The first player to go was one of the Magpies’ Beaters, a stocky, dark-skinned wizard who came at Warren hovering before the goalposts with force. He made his shot with strength but little precision, but still it went past Warren’s outstretched hands. Lizzie held her breath as the Quaffle bounced off the metal of the leftmost hoop and fell through it on the other side a moment later. Trying to mask her disappointment, she scoffed.

“A weak shot if I’ve ever seen one. Hitting the rings is such a rookie mistake.”

“For you maybe,” Bethany Tweed replied. She was hovering next in line to Lizzie, her face having taken on a greyish tint. “I’ll be happy to score, no matter how.”

Lizzie made a non-committal noise, her mind already elsewhere. It was Orion’s turn now. He took position a short distance from the scoring zone, looking neither left nor right as he focused on the goalposts gleaming and the Magpies’ Seeker - who filled in for their missing Keeper - in front of him.

When the umpire blew his whistle, Orion leaned forward and accelerated. As soon as he was within shooting range he leaned to the right, and as Huntington dived in the same direction, Orion whipped his Nimbus around, took aim, and threw the Quaffle through the now unguarded left ring. Lizzie and the other Wanderers cheered and clapped for him together with the rest of the stadium as Orion returned to where they were hovering with their arms around each other's shoulders. Giving her a taut smile, he took his place next to her.

The shoot-out carried on in much the same fashion. The Chasers from Montrose did their job well, as did Warren and Huntington. Defending a penalty shot was difficult, however, and despite Warren’s skill and Huntington’s luck, both of them managed to only save a single shot each.

When it was Warren’s turn to score, his frustration was almost palpable. With the encouraging words of his teammates in his back, he positively ripped the Quaffle from the referee’s hands. He shot towards the goalposts fast as a Bludger, throwing the Quaffle with so much force that it almost flew right over the top of the hoops. Lizzie’s heart gave a squeeze when it grazed the inner circle of the middle ring, but then it dropped through and fell to the other side regardless.

With every player taking their turn while she was forced to wait, the knot in Lizzie’s stomach tightened. By the time the Magpies’ captain drew up to make her goal, her breathing had become shallow, her skin feeling like ants were crawling beneath the surface. When Montrose had made their final goal, Lizzie took hold of the handle of her Silverswift. She held onto it with a lot more force than necessary, and found that beneath her Quidditch gloves, her palms were sweaty.

“Fly with calm and confidence, shoot with courage and fire,” Orion told her so quietly that only she could hear him.

Lizzie nodded at him briefly, and after giving her shoulder an encouraging squeeze, he let her go. She flew to where the referee was waiting for her, hoping he wouldn’t see how badly her hands were shaking. She hovered there, between the centre circle and the scoring zone, her heart pounding in her ears.

A hush had fallen over the stadium. Lizzie was the last player to fly, and Montrose in the lead with one goal. If she failed her shot, the shoot-out would be over. If she scored, they would go into a second round. This was it, the defining moment of the match, of the last three years of her life. The moment she’d been waiting for. The moment people would remember.

She had one shot, and she intended on using it well.

Drawing a shaky breath, Lizzie glanced over her shoulder to where her team was hovering. Her eyes found Orion, who gave her a small nod, and as Lizzie turned from him, finally, she felt calm descend on her. It would be Orion’s turn next, and his first goal had been unsaveable. There was no way the Montrose Beater would score a second time. Orion would win the championship for them, Lizzie was sure of it. She could feel it. All she needed to do was make sure he got the chance to.

The thought carried her as the whistle blew and she sped up, racing her Silverswift towards the scoring zone. The noise in her mind faded, as did the stands that were reduced to a colourful blur at the edge of her vision. There was nothing left but the beating of her heart and the sound of wind rushing past her.

Her eyes fixed on Huntington, hovering in front of the goalposts and waiting for her to give him a clue about what she was going to do. Lizzie didn’t give him one. She waited for the last possible moment, until Huntington had no choice but to take a guess. Putting all on one card, he leaned toward the right goalpost, just like Lizzie had expected. She shifted her weight, swerved, and threw the Quaffle at the middle ring. Her lips curved into a relieved smile as her opponent reached for the ball and failed. It went right past him, dropped just the way Lizzie had calculated it would, and…

The dull, metallic ring as the Quaffle bounced against the base of the hoop and dropped down in front of it echoed through the stadium. Lizzie’s smile froze. She stared at the goalposts, not quite able to comprehend what had just happened.

For an awfully long moment, everything was silent.

Then, every witch and wizard in back-and-white erupted into screams. The stands were heaving, the commentator announcing the final score with a broken voice. The Montrose Magpies flew past Lizzie in a blur, hugging both their Seeker and each other, screaming, shouting, singing, none of them minding Lizzie, who stood still in the air next to them, frozen, shocked, and utterly empty inside.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #quidditch #orion amari #orion amari x mc #lizzie jameson #balance series #search for balance #sfb

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carewyncromwell · 2 years

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“I haven't been running from my problems -- I've been running from you! What kind of parents would rather see their daughter dead Than be married to a man from the wrong family?!”

~“Stronger” from & Juliet

x~x~x~x

tw: physical and emotional abuse

x~x~x~x

The Cromwell estate was a very large property in the outskirts of Yorkshire. It was honestly remarkable that such an old and beautiful manor house could live in such isolation, but the cloaking spells around the house were virtually impregnable. It warded off not only Muggles, but all creatures as well. No one could Apparate onto or Disapparate out of the property -- instead one would either have to use the very well-guarded Floo Network grate in Charles’s office or Apparate outside the house and come through an enchanted gate that only a member of the Cromwell family could open. There were times that the enchantments around the house were so strong that it was even impervious to the elements outside, warding off rainstorms before they could go any further than the back gardens.

Marilyn Cromwell would say it made her family’s home a sanctuary, safely detached from the normal mess and noise of everyday life. For Lane, however, not being able to go out and play in puddles, hear any birds singing outside, or even watch frost crystallize over the windowpane was just one more mark of how like a prison this house was.

Now, of course, Lane hadn’t always seen it that way. In the beginning, she didn’t give the arrangement much thought at all, aside from her usual discontent at being forced to attend social gatherings and entertain her father’s coworkers. She’d contented herself with the contents of her father’s library for most of her life, escaping onto the pages of A History of Magic, Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, and biographies about Cornelius Agrippa and Uric the Oddball. Charles had actually encouraged Lane’s escapism in his own weird way, generously giving her free reign to borrow and read whatever book she wished from his library. It was a freedom Lane had cherished at the time, before realizing just how many subjects were censored from Charles’s collection. How many authors were censored from it...

It was largely thanks to the love of learning Charles had encouraged in Lane by reading in his library that resulted in her being sorted into Ravenclaw house. And sure enough, it was here -- and at Hogwarts itself -- that Lane saw starkly just how many things had been denied her at home.

Not having to wake up at the same time every single day.

Having a pet.

Choosing what you wanted to wear, no matter what was scheduled for the day.

Being allowed to eat whatever and as much as you wanted, when you wanted.

Making real friends.

Having actual privacy -- being allowed to write, do and say whatever you wanted, without being afraid that your father would somehow immediately know you’d done wrong no matter how much you might try to hide it.

Even being able to sit back in a comfy chair and just look out the window! At school Lane had multiple windows in her dormroom -- ones tall as the ceiling and completely uncovered, which let in both sunlight and moonlight that lit up the whole room, and yet also looked out toward the entire Hogwarts grounds, thanks to the height of Ravenclaw Tower. At home Lane had to settle for one very tiny window mounted high on the wall over her bed, which overlooked nothing but the flower-trimmed hedges in the back garden. She could barely even see the sky, the hedges grew so high.

And then there was the library. Hogwarts’s library was the place of dreams, for Lane Cromwell. Compared to her father’s admittedly rather respectable collection at home, Hogwarts’s library was nirvana -- endless rows of shelves, all a mile high, full of books about every subject: even ones Lane hadn’t known were subjects before! Books about scrying and Flesh-Eating Trees -- scholarly journals about new and developing Potions research -- even a few fictional stories written by Muggles! David Copperfield by Charles Dickens -- Animal Farm by George Orwell -- Treasure Island and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson...all books Lane hid safely under her pillow in her dormroom, half out of fear of her siblings seeing her with them and half to sneak a few more chapters after curfew while everyone else was asleep.

After reading those, she actually sought out other books written by Muggles -- this time regarding her favorite subject, history. Thanks to her dormmates, who were all thoroughly charmed by softspoken Lane getting so excited about something, the third-eldest Cromwell got her hands on even more interesting books, including The Diary of Anne Frank and biographies for Muggles like Elizabeth I and William Wilberforce. Lane’s dormmates also introduced her to other interesting Muggle things, like soda pop and roller-skates. And from there, Lane’s love of Muggles and the world they’d created only grew, to the point that she’d even fallen hard for a Muggle she’d collided with in her best friend Judy Castine’s neighborhood -- a protective, upright young man named Evan Bach.

At school Lane truly was happier than she’d ever been in her life. And Charles Cromwell most assuredly had noticed. That was made very clear to Lane when one day, during the winter break of her seventh year, Charles asked to speak to Lane privately in his study.

Charles’s study was a room no Cromwell child ever liked visiting. From the time they were very small, it was a place they were expected to stay away from, whenever the door was closed -- it meant that their father was busy, whether because he was speaking privately to some Ministry official he’d invited over or because he was speaking privately to one of them. And you did not interrupt Charles Cromwell when he was speaking to one of his children. No matter what you might hear -- no matter how much crying or pleading, no matter what kind of sounds might echo from behind that door, you never interrupted. You never tried to intervene. After all, it was just about always just a simple talk -- Charles never raised a hand or wand against his children, unless they really made him. And there was no reason for anyone to cry about something as normal as a talk with one’s father...

Lane’s hands were freezing cold at her sides as she approached her father’s study. The door was open -- she could see Charles sitting at his desk, his reading glasses on as he consulted some papers. Before she could even think of speaking, Charles looked up, greeting her with a cold smile as he slid his glasses off with one hand.

“Lane, my dear. Come in and close the door.”

Lane glanced down at the doorknob under her hand. She did not want to do that. She didn’t like being in a room alone with her father -- she’d never liked it, especially when he was angry --

But she knew she had no choice. With a swallow, Lane very reluctantly did as she was told. She closed the door behind her and wordlessly approached her father’s desk.

Charles considered his third daughter for a very long moment. It was a detached, and yet thoroughly penetrating stare -- one that made Lane feel exposed beyond belief. Like every flit of his eyes along her lightly freckled cheek and long, loose blond hair was a needle poking at every tiny, seemingly most insignificant flaw.

“You seem apprehensive, child,” said Charles.

His voice should��ve been concerned, and yet, for some reason, it didn’t sound that way, to Lane. Instead it sounded perfunctory -- rehearsed, somehow.

“I’m sorry,” Lane mumbled at once.

Judy’s father’s warm, reassuring face rippled over her memory.

“Oh, now, don’t fret -- we won’t bite you. Go ahead, take off your coat -- ”

Charles’s eyebrows seemed to twitch. Lane felt her heart skip a beat anxiously.

“I...I just...I hope I haven’t upset you,” she said very quickly. Her voice was a frail, breathy shadow of what her siblings’ were, even more so due to the slight strain that came from her nerves. “I’ve been studying very hard -- I’ll make sure to pass all my NEWTs...”

Charles didn’t respond to Lane’s nerves. Instead he merely gave a very slow nod of muted approval.

“As is proper. With a brain like yours, I would expect nothing less.”

Lane attempted a weak smile. “...Th-thank you, Father.”

Charles, however, did not smile in return. He merely watched her, his bue eyes boring into her with singular focus. Lane could feel a cold chill running along the back of her head, almost like a claw -- it made her stiffen despite herself.

“I’ve summoned you here so that we may discuss your future,” Charles said airily.

Lane faltered. “...My future?”

“Yes. After your schooling has ended. Surely you’ve considered it -- how you intend to be useful to the Cromwell Clan?”

The claw seemed to scratch at the inside of her brain. Lane flinched.

“...I...I did, yes,” said Lane meekly.

Memories of her Career Advice session with her Head of House flitted over her mind. Pleasant conversation by a sunny window, alongside a cup of tea and some fairy cakes --

Lane suddenly felt like the claw poke a single, sharp nail right into her brain. She gave a soft cry as it scraped across her skull, dragging that memory up to the forefront of her mind --

“It’s your life, Miss Cromwell -- may as well live it! So? What is it that you want to do?”

“...I...I want to be a Historian. Like Bathilda Bagshot. I want to travel, and study dig sites...maybe even write a book, someday -- ”

“If that’s what you want to do, then I say you should do it! And don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise -- ”

“A Magical Historian?” Charles’s low Bass tone seemed to echo through Lane’s brain, warping the memory she’d been forced to relive.

Lane felt like her head had been roughly thrown backward. She choked, blinking back tears as she tried to orient herself. The room was spinning...

“Lane, my dear, I’m disappointed,” Charles pressed on as if nothing had happened. “Magical Historians have always been severely undervalued, from an economic standpoint -- why, even Bathilda Bagshot herself only just barely stays afloat, on the back of her book sales. You know full well you can’t support a husband and children of your own, with so pitiful a salary.”

Lane swallowed, trying to catch her breath.

“Yes, but...won’t it be all right, for a little while?” she said timidly. “At least...while I’m unmarried? Mother said I’d stay at home, a-after graduation...a-at least until then...so I won’t need to find a home, just yet. I...I could save up whatever I don’t spend on food and necessities -- ”

“That won’t be necessary,” Charles cut her off. “I’ve already made arrangements to ensure you’ll be well-provided for.”

Lane’s shoulders tensed.

“...What arrangements?” she said very softly.

Charles offered Lane a very cold smile. “Come now, Lane, my dear...what other kind of arrangements could I mean? You’ve grown into a very pretty, well-read, obedient young lady -- it’s high time that we capitalize on those favorable qualities, while your bloom is still new.”

“But -- but I thought that Pearl and Claire would -- ”

Lane’s voice was naturally so quiet and insubstantial that Charles was able to talk over her without even having to raise his voice.

“Your lack of enthusiasm during our most recent gathering was rather troublesome, for your mother. Fortunately I’ve been in contact with Elias Urquart, and he believes his son Claude would do very well in the company of a quiet, patient young lady like you...”

“F-Father -- ”

Lane felt the claw sinking its claws into her head again, latching onto the fear in her brain. She gave a weak cry as that ball of fear inside of her was seemingly slammed down into her throat, forcing her into choked, suffocated silence.

“And I must agree,” said Charles, seemingly not even noticing his daughter’s distress. “Why, a lady so soft-spoken and frail as you needs a proper husband to provide for her, if she’s going to make it in a cut-throat world like this. And with Claude’s wealth and the size of his family’s estate, you would be able to raise quite a respectable family, there. A son or two -- a daughter, perhaps. All within a stone’s throw of Cromwell Manor, as well. Your mother and I will never be far away...”

Fear. All Lane could feel was fear. Over her eyes, she could see Cromwell Manor -- the endless halls, lonely and dark -- the dining hall, underscored by Marilyn’s digs at her posture and table manners -- the windows never touched by frost or rain --

No -- no --

Lane felt her knees give way, but it was like she couldn’t even feel the floor. Both it and the room she’d been in were invisible to her eyes, through the pain in her mind.

Locked doors. Barred windows and high hedges. Those would be her future, for the rest of her life. The thought made her intestines snake out around her nauseously pumping heart and stomach and squeeze. In her mind, she was back in her room right after her first year, miserably peeking out through that tiny window in a vain attempt to see the sky -- missing Judy and Simon and Carol -- all of her professors -- Evan -- Evan, oh, Evan -- me, married, Evan --

Then, all at once, the fear suffocating her throat seemed to slowly dissipate.

Lane gasped for air. Her knees were throbbing with pain from the impact with the floor -- her hair was wet with sweat and her pale hands clutching the carpet were trembling. She tried to take several deep breathes, even as her father’s shadow engulfed her.

“Lane,” he said in a strange, almost paternal manner. “My poor child...there’s no need to be frightened...”

Lane felt her father bring his hands under her arms and gently hoist her up as if she were a child. She blinked up at him, trying to see through the teary blur that had overtaken her vision.

When she made direct eye contact with Charles, however, she instantly knew she’d made a mistake.

At once, the claw had seized hold of her brain again, making her crumple up in her father’s arms. Her frail voice came out in a weak, pitiful scream, more akin to a badly wounded animal, as the claw tore into her mind with force.

“Who is he, Lane?” her father’s voice rumbled through her head like some kind of distant thunder.

Lane could see Professor Slughorn, in her mind -- Professor Dumbledore -- Judy’s and her father Roy’s smiling faces --

Her father was searching. He was searching for him.

Evan’s silhouette in the diner, by the jukebox, was brought to the front of her mind -- he’d be turning around any moment -- introducing himself --

No!

Lane shoved Evan to the back of her mind. The claw seemed to dig in further, shoving things crassly aside trying to get to the memory, but Lane tried to push it back.

No -- no, you can’t have him!

“Who is he, Lane?” Charles’s voice rumbled more forebodingly than ever.

No!

The claw slammed down into her brain with the force of knives. Lane could hear her own screams echoing endlessly in her ears. Still, however terrified she was and however numb with pain her body was, she still weakly tried to keep Evan obscured.

Don’t think of his face -- don’t let Father hear him say his name --

Lane had read about Legilimency in the Library. Sure, none of the books gave much guidance about how it worked or how to prevent it, but she still immediately knew that that had to be how her father was so able to see through her and her siblings, when they were young. That had to be how he was able to hurt them like this, without ever raising his wand.

Legilimency is a magic that allows a magic user to view someone else’s thoughts or memories.

That was what the book had said. And so that is what Lane focused on -- however much Charles tried to shove the thought and memory aside to reach Evan, Lane desperately tried to stay locked on the memory of reading that book, while kicking and writhing to try to get out of her father’s arms --

You can’t have him -- you can’t hurt him --

Evan’s hand, holding hers -- no, not his face -- “your parents -- they shouldn’t say stuff like that to you” -- his comforting smile -- “I’d look after you -- I mean -- ”

Lane felt both the claw and her father throw her roughly to the floor. She collided with the side table, making the glass lamp on it smash on top of her with a loud CRASH, before she crumpled to the floor, shaking and breathing heavily as she blinked back both tears and blood. The glass must’ve collided with her head...

“So it seems you’ve read up on my particular talent,” Charles murmured. “I must wonder if Blaise prompted that...”

He bent down beside Lane. Rather than help her up, however, the head of the Cromwell Clan merely looked down at her with such an emotionless, uncaring look that he resembled one of the china dolls Lane had seen in Judy’s room at her house.

“I do not know who that boy is,” he said, his Bass voice so low and hushed with displeasure, it was like a demon bitterly whispering his terms to his latest target, “but you will discard him immediately, or else I shall have to make pointed inquiries to Hogwarts’s school governors, regarding his identity. We don’t need you getting distracted, do we?”

Charles’s voice grew darker still as he leaned his hand on the floor right beside Lane’s head.

“Never forget that your life -- your future -- everything you are and ever will be -- has been written to serve the Clan’s interests. My interests. It is I who has paid for your home, comfort, and safety -- the clothes you wear and the food you eat -- and it is I whom you shall have to pay that back for, with interest. I wished to be generous -- allowing you the freedom to be a bit more selfish at school, if just for a short while...but sadly, the clock has run out, and playtime is over. It’s high time that you grow up and accept your duty as a member of the Cromwell Clan. Your duty to your father and leader.”

Charles’s almond-shaped blue eyes grew a little smaller.

“Have I made myself clear?”

Lane’s face had lost all its color. Her long blond hair fell into her face as she crumpled up on the floor, bowing her head.

“...Yes, sir,” she whispered.

Charles seemed to relax a bit. Lane could hear the floor creak a bit under him as he got up off the floor.

“Good,” he said, his curt voice feigning gentility again. “Now then -- go clean yourself up and get ready for supper. Your mother plans to serve a lovely roast goose.”

Lane heard the door of Charles’s office open and -- without seemingly any hesitation -- his footsteps down the hall.

Lane remained still on the floor, bleeding and weak, for what felt like ages. When the clock chimed the hour, though, she knew it was in truth only about fifteen minutes.

It was right as the clock chimed that Lane felt someone hoist her up off the floor.

“Lane,” she heard Pearl sigh in aggravation, “why do you always have to be such a thorn in our sides...?”

Despite muttering this, her older sister nonetheless hoisted Lane up onto her back and carried her to her room.

Lane didn’t speak at all while Pearl carried her -- her older sister likewise didn’t say anything to her, though she did have to fend off Blaise at one point, when he saw Lane on her back.

“You need to support her head better!” Blaise said, his petulant voice nonetheless betraying some genuine upset. “See, you’re getting her blood on your shoulder -- ”

“I’ll clean up her mess myself, thank you,” Pearl spat at her youngest sibling. “That’s what I always have to do, for you lot -- ”

“You?” Blaise shot back vindictively. The last Cromwell sibling, Claire, stayed off to the side, timidly watching, as Blaise tried and failed to yank Lane out of Pearl’s arms. “Please! You don’t know the first thing about taking care of someone -- all you ever do is tell us to shut up and stop complaining -- ”

“Maybe if you did shut your trap and stop whining, I wouldn’t have to say it so much!” snapped Pearl.

With a not-so-pleasant kick, she forced Blaise back away enough to reach Lane’s bedroom door, which she lightly kicked open and then slammed behind her. She then dropped her sister down on the bed like dead weight.

“Mother and Father still expect you on time for supper,” Pearl said harshly as she turned to the door. “Keep your mouth shut and your head down until it’s over, and maybe Father won’t see the need to do anything else.”

With this, she opened the door again and shut it firmly behind her. Lane could hear her shooing Blaise and Claire away outside the door -- Blaise was taking it much less well than Claire did, since Lane could hear him obnoxiously arguing the point as their voices faded away down the hall.

Very weakly Lane tried to pick herself up off the mattress. She only managed to hoist herself up enough to lean against the wall under her window -- but it was as she leaned back, her blond hair sliding out of her face again at last, that her pale face was fully visible once again.

And anyone who could’ve seen Lane’s face would’ve known...that face was not that of someone who had decided to surrender.

Lane knew there was only one way in or out of Cromwell Manor -- through Charles’s fireplace, which he would never let her near in a million years, especially now that she’d managed to hide Evan’s identity from him. But Lane would have to return to Hogwarts, in order to graduate -- she was much less valuable to him, if she didn’t. That had to be why he had made these marriage arrangements so abruptly and why he’d called her into his office to tell her about them. He wanted to make sure she knew she was trapped -- alone, penniless, and powerless -- that he still had control over her life, and that he would keep that control for the rest of his.

But even with this...while she was at Hogwarts, Charles could not access her. He could not monitor or guard her or read her thoughts. Most important of all, while she was there, he could not stop her from making her own choices.

And after Hogwarts, Lane decided...after she was a legal adult, with her education complete...he never would again. After graduation, she would steal a chance of freedom for herself, and leave Charles Cromwell and his Clan behind her, once and for all.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #lane cromwell #charles cromwell #pearl cromwell #blaise cromwell #claire cromwell #marilyn cromwell #my writing #yes that adaptation of the song really did inspire this whole thing #I listened to it and just went 'YES' because I already associated the original song with lane breaking away from her toxic family #but this one just leans even more into that idea and I love it #lane I'm so proud of you bb break away from that prat charles!!

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eddieredmayneargentinablog · 2 years

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New post: Oscar winners Jessica Chastain and Eddie Redmayne collaborate on The Good Nurse, the true story of a nurse who helped catch a serial killer.

By Krista Smith

Photography by Emily Soto

11 October 2022

"Eddie Redmayne and Jessica Chastain are easily two of the most widely respected, tremendously skilled actors of their generation. Oscar winners both, the performers have demonstrated an astonishing chameleonic ability to disappear into almost any role, building impressively diverse resumes over the past two decades. Redmayne has starred in such films as The Theory of Everything, The Danish Girl, and The Trial of the Chicago 7, while Chastain’s credits include Interstellar, Zero Dark Thirty, and The Eyes of Tammy Faye, to name just a few. They also happen to be friends offscreen. So, when the opportunity arose to star opposite one another in the true-crime drama The Good Nurse, a story about the woman who helped bring serial killer Charles Cullen to justice, both eagerly agreed.

Looking back now, though, both Chastain and Redmayne admit that they’d privately wondered how their real-life rapport might be affected by long hours on set. “It’s complicated because you don’t know,” Chastain tells Queue. “You really like someone in real life and then all of a sudden you show up on set and you go, Oh wait, everyone’s process is different. And Eddie’s playing a character that kills people. If he was Method, it could be quite a complicated work relationship, but he was just as lovely as he is every day.” Adds Redmayne, “For the darkness of this movie, we had an extraordinary time making it. We both have young families. We were in New York. I adore her husband; she gets on very well with my wife. The storytelling was so intense that to be able to have that [familiarity] outside of it was wonderful — but also the thing is, she’s fucking good.”

To be fair, both actors prove their talents yet again in the gripping new thriller, which marks the English-language debut of Danish writer-director Tobias Lindholm (A War, Another Round) and is adapted for screen by Krysty Wilson-Cairns (Last Night in Soho, 1917) from Charles Graeber’s nonfiction book The Good Nurse: A True Story of Medicine, Madness, and Murder. Chastain plays Amy Loughren, a New Jersey nurse and single mom struggling with a life-threatening heart condition, who befriends the affable Cullen, portrayed by Redmayne, after he starts his new position at her hospital. But Loughren begins to wonder about her quiet, unassuming co-worker after the death of one patient draws the interest of law enforcement. Before long, she notices mounting irregularities and errors in Cullen’s charting, which, taken together, point toward a deeply disturbing truth.

Cullen confessed to 40 murders but is believed to have killed more than 400 people between 1987 and 2003 while working in hospitals in the northeastern U.S., making him one of the twentieth century’s most prolific serial murderers. That he was able to operate within the medical establishment undetected for so long is the stuff of nightmares. “Nurses are extraordinary, and they work phenomenally hard, and they get paid far too little,” Redmayne says. “And there was a shortage at the time as well, in the nineties, so Charlie Cullen was able to slip through the net. He was a very good nurse, so there was a brilliance to his capability, but then that was weaponized, and that’s what’s so frightening.”

Prior to working on The Good Nurse, Chastain had been unfamiliar with Cullen’s reign of terror and Loughren’s courageous efforts to expose his crimes. For her, the opportunity to bring deserved attention to such a heroic woman made the role irresistible. “I play a lot of complicated female characters, but I also like to show how incredible women are, and Amy absolutely is incredible,” Chastain says. “She’s a real-life superhero. There are so many stories out there that aren’t being told about people who work every single day to keep us safe and healthy — Amy’s story was so moving to me that I really wanted to celebrate her.”

Before filming began, both actors went through nursing training set up by the production, learning everything from the history of nursing to the proper technique for inserting an IV, practicing on mannequins. “For me, it was very important because so much of Amy is that she loves her job and she doesn’t even think about it,” Chastain says. “You don’t want to think about it when you’re doing something you’ve done hundreds of times a week. I needed to get to the point that I was just so comfortable in the [hospital] scenes it just felt like she was breathing.”

In addition to focusing on mastering the movements required to appear convincing as a nurse, Redmayne also developed a specific manner of speaking and a physicality to inhabit the character of Cullen. “One of the things I found most useful was that Charles Graeber describes having spent a lot of time with the real Charlie Cullen, and how he had the shape of a question mark,” Redmayne says. “That was his interpretation, but I found that very helpful, both in a physical element, but also in an emotional one. This person was this weird hybrid of being translucent and skinless and vulnerable, while also being a total closed book. Anonymity was his tool, and he got great power and a kick out of being sort of anonymous. So, how do you make a character present while also being anonymous? That was the conflict for me.”

As captivating as Redmayne is in the role, both the actors and Lindholm took care to ensure that the story always remained firmly rooted in Loughren’s perspective — the real Loughren even visited the set to advise the stars and offer any input the filmmakers required. “I wanted to put viewers in Amy’s shoes to allow them to understand the emotional connection between Amy and Charlie and have them doubt things as they happened as Amy did because of that connection,” Lindholm says. “We didn’t want to go too deeply into Charlie’s secrets. A lot of serial killer movies try to provide a logic behind the killings, but I don’t believe any logic or reason can be found in Charlie’s motives. The only thing we could do was to give honest moments and turn the sum of those beats into a kind of truth.

Remarkably, Redmayne transformed into Cullen only when required during filming — a gift for which Chastain felt especially thankful. “Everything changes about Eddie in this film, but he didn’t torture me when he was doing it,” she says. “It wasn’t like, Oh, I have to be in this character the whole time. He didn’t slip into Charlie until [Lindholm called ‘Action’] and we were actually doing the scene. I found it to be such a generous way of working because he could still show up and do it and not have to hurt us with the negativity of the character . . . I know he’s always afraid things can go wrong, and he does get quite nervous. He’s hardest on himself, but I think that’s maybe why his work is so good".

Redmayne says his performance wouldn’t have been the same without Chastain’s support. “Jess’s effortlessness and optimism and confidence really changed the way that I approached it,” Redmayne says. “She’s so assured and she is such an optimist, and I am the opposite of those things. She wouldn’t let me self-doubt, which is something that quite often creeps in when I’m working. She’s like, Don’t be ridiculous. She galvanized me and gave me the confidence to really play, and I’m so grateful for that.”.-

#Eddie Redmayne #eddie redmayne #eddieredmayne #redmayne #jessica chastain #the good nurse #october 2022 #netflix

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frontproofmedia · 4 days

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Canelo Alvarez: The Undisputed King Of Boxing

By: Joseph Correa

Canelo Alvarez: The Undisputed King of the Ring

In the neon-lit heart of Las Vegas, where dreams are made and broken in the blink of an eye, Saul "Canelo" Alvarez once again proved why he's the undisputed monarch of the boxing world. The Mexican superstar's latest conquest? A dominant victory over Edgar Berlanga, adding another jewel to his already glittering crown.

The Fight: A Display of Mastery

The air crackled with anticipation as the bell rang to signal the start of the bout. The crowd, a sea of red, white, and green - the colors of the Mexican flag - roared as their hero made his way to the ring. Berlanga, the young lion from Brooklyn with dynamite in his fists, entered with dreams of dethroning the king. But Canelo, as he has done time and time again, had other plans.

The fight was a masterclass in the sweet science. Canelo's footwork was poetry in motion, his defense impenetrable, and his offense surgically precise. In the third round, a left hook crashed into Berlanga's chin with the force of a freight train, sending the challenger to the canvas. The crowd erupted, their collective gasp turning into a thunderous cheer. It was a moment that encapsulated Canelo's career – power, timing, and technique, all rolled into one devastating punch.

Berlanga, to his credit, showed heart. He rose from the canvas, determination etched on his face, and adjusted his strategy. The Brooklyn native managed to hear the final bell, earning respect from both Canelo and the crowd. But the outcome was never in doubt. Canelo's victory was comprehensive, a unanimous decision that left no room for debate.

The Reign Continues

This victory marks Canelo's fourth consecutive win since his lone setback against Dmitry Bivol in 2022. At 34 years old, when many fighters begin to decline, Canelo seems to be aging like fine wine. His skills are sharper than ever, his ring IQ unmatched, and his hunger for greatness undiminished.

"Now what are they going to say?" Canelo asked defiantly in his post-fight interview, a mix of pride and frustration in his voice. "I fight younger fighters. They say I fight older fighters. They always talk. ... My experience, my talent, my hard work, my intelligence, everything together [makes me the best]."

Indeed, what more can be said about a man who has conquered four weight divisions, held multiple world championships, and consistently taken on all comers? Canelo's resume reads like a who's who of boxing's elite – Floyd Mayweather Jr., Gennadiy Golovkin, Miguel Cotto, Amir Khan, and now Edgar Berlanga. Each fight and victory has been another brick in the monument to his greatness.

The Road to Greatness

To truly appreciate Canelo's dominance, one must understand his journey. Born in Guadalajara, Mexico, Saul Alvarez began boxing at the tender age of 13. His distinctive red hair earned him the nickname "Canelo," Spanish for cinnamon. Little did anyone know that this redheaded teenager would grow to become one of the most feared and respected fighters in the world.

Canelo turned pro at 15, fighting grown men when most boys his age were worried about high school dances. He honed his craft in the unforgiving rings of Mexico, developing the granite chin, thunderous body shots, and relentless work ethic that would become his trademarks.

His ascent through the ranks was meteoric. By 20, he had captured his first world title. By 23, he faced the legendary Floyd Mayweather in a super fight that shattered pay-per-view records. Though he lost that night, Canelo used the experience as fuel, transforming himself from a good fighter into a great one.

The Future: New Challenges and Fan Demands

Even as Canelo basks in the glow of his latest triumph, new challenges loom on the horizon. The boxing world is abuzz with potential matchups that could further cement his legacy.

A rematch with Dmitry Bivol, the only man to defeat Canelo in recent years, is a tantalizing prospect. If Bivol can overcome the fearsome Artur Beterbiev in their upcoming light heavyweight unification bout, a second clash with Canelo could be one for the ages. The first fight saw Bivol outbox Canelo, handing him a rare defeat. A rematch would offer Canelo a chance at redemption and the opportunity to prove he can adapt and overcome a stylistic nightmare.

Then there's the intriguing possibility of a showdown with Terence Crawford, the pound-for-pound king of the welterweight division. Crawford, who was ringside for Canelo's victory over Berlanga, has made no secret of his desire to move up in weight and challenge the Mexican superstar.

"I feel like it's a legacy fight and I feel like it's a fight that I can actually win," Crawford said of a potential bout with Canelo. "I've always been a smaller guy. In every weight class that I ever competed in, everybody always said I was too small for this guy, too small for that guy, and I always been successful in the fight. Being bigger don't win fights. So my skills pay the bills and my skills got me this far."

A Canelo-Crawford fight would be a boxing purist's dream, pitting two of the sport's most skilled technicians against each other in a battle for supremacy. It would also offer Canelo a chance to prove he can handle an elite boxer with supreme skills, even if Crawford would be moving up in weight for the bout.

The People's Fight: The Clamor for Benavidez

However, there's another name on the lips of many boxing fans – David Benavidez, the undefeated former super middleweight champion known as the "Mexican Monster." With each passing fight, the clamor for a Canelo-Benavidez showdown has grown louder.

"Benavidez is the fight the fans want to see," says Jose Ramirez, a boxing trainer from Los Angeles. "He's young, he's undefeated, and he's got that Mexican style that would make for an all-out war with Canelo. It's the kind of fight that could define both men's legacies."

Social media has been ablaze with calls for the fight. One viral tweet read: "Canelo vs Benavidez. Make it happen. For the culture. For the fans. For boxing."

Benavidez himself has been vocal about wanting the fight. "I've earned my shot," he said in a recent interview. "I'm not afraid of Canelo. I respect him, but I believe I have what it takes to beat him. The fans deserve this fight."

For his part, Canelo has been noncommittal about a potential Benavidez bout. When asked about it in the post-fight press conference, he said, "I'll fight whoever my team thinks is the best option. I've never ducked anyone, and I never will."

This response has only fueled the debate among fans and pundits alike. Some see it as Canelo being strategic, while others interpret it as hesitation to face a younger, hungry challenger.

The Legacy of a Champion

As Canelo continues to etch his name in the annals of boxing history, comparisons to the all-time greats become inevitable. Is he the best Mexican fighter ever, surpassing legends like Julio Cesar Chavez and Salvador Sanchez? Has he already secured his place on boxing's Mount Rushmore alongside Muhammad Ali, Sugar Ray Robinson, and Roberto Duran?

These questions will be debated in bars, gyms, and living rooms for years to come. But what's undeniable is the impact Canelo has had on the sport. He's not just a fighter; he's a cultural icon, a source of pride for millions of Mexicans and Mexican-Americans, and a global superstar who transcends boxing.

In an era where many bemoan the decline of boxing, Canelo Alvarez stands as a beacon of hope. His combination of skill, power, and charisma harks back to the sport's golden ages, reminding us why they call it the sweet science.

The Human Behind the Champion

Behind the accolades and the championships, Canelo remains grounded. Those close to him speak of a man dedicated to his family, passionate about giving back to his community, and always striving to improve.

"People see the glamour, the titles, the money," says his longtime trainer, Eddy Reynoso. "But they don't see the 5 AM runs, the grueling sparring sessions, the sacrifices he makes every day. Canelo's success isn't an accident. It's the result of relentless dedication."

This dedication extends beyond the ring. Canelo has established foundations to help underprivileged youth in Mexico, providing educational and athletic opportunities. "I remember what it was like to have nothing," Canelo once said. "If I can help even one kid achieve their dreams, then all of this has been worth it."

The Reign Continues

As the sun sets on another victorious night in Las Vegas, one thing is clear: the reign of Canelo Alvarez is far from over. The king of the ring still sits firmly on his throne, daring anyone brave enough to try and take his crown. And for fight fans worldwide, that means many more nights of boxing brilliance.

In the ever-evolving saga of boxing, Canelo Alvarez continues to write new chapters, each more compelling than the last. Whether his next opponent is Bivol in a high-stakes rematch, Crawford in a clash of pound-for-pound greats, Benavidez in a fan-demanded showdown, or someone else entirely, one thing is sure – the boxing world will be watching, holding its collective breath, as the redheaded kid from Guadalajara steps into the ring once more.

Long may he reign. But as the calls for new challenges grow louder, particularly for a showdown with Benavidez, Canelo knows that to remain on top, he must continue to prove himself against the best. The next chapter in his storied career promises to be as thrilling as the last.

Feature Photo: Rey Del Rio/Premier Boxing Champions

#Canelo Alvarez #Edgar Berlanga #PBC #Matchroom Boxing #Dmitry Bivol #Terence Crawford #Boxing on Fox #Puerto Rico vs. Mexico #Boxeo #JC

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ozzyscollectiblehub · 14 days

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World Featherweight Champion Davey Moore: A Legacy of Grit and Grace

Davey Moore, an illustrious name in the annals of boxing history, carved out a remarkable legacy in the world of sports. Known for his speed, agility, and technical prowess, Moore’s rise to the pinnacle of the featherweight division is a tale of dedication, resilience, and extraordinary skill. This blog delves into the life and career of the World Featherweight Champion who left an indelible mark on the sport.

Early Life and Boxing Beginnings

Davey Moore was born on December 1, 1933, in New York City. Growing up in a tough neighborhood, Moore channeled his energies into boxing, a sport that would soon become his passion and profession. His amateur career was marked by impressive performances, setting the stage for a professional career that would bring him recognition and accolades.

The Rise to Prominence

Moore’s transition to professional boxing began in 1952. His early bouts demonstrated a natural aptitude for the sport, and it wasn’t long before he caught the attention of boxing aficionados and critics alike. Known for his sharp punches and elusive footwork, Moore quickly established himself as a formidable opponent in the featherweight division.

In 1956, Moore’s hard work and perseverance paid off when he secured a shot at the World Featherweight title. He faced off against the reigning champion, Hogan “Kid” Bassey, in a bout that would define his career. On April 1, 1956, Moore defeated Bassey with a decisive knockout, claiming the World Featherweight Championship and etching his name in boxing history.

The Championship Era

As the World Featherweight Champion, Moore’s reign was marked by a series of impressive defenses. His technical skill, combined with his ability to adapt during fights, made him a challenging opponent for anyone in the division. Moore’s success in the ring was not only a testament to his physical abilities but also to his strategic acumen and mental toughness.

During his time as champion, Moore defended his title against several notable challengers. His fights were characterized by their intensity and the high level of skill displayed by both Moore and his opponents. Each bout further solidified Moore’s reputation as a world-class fighter and a dominant force in the featherweight division.

Challenges and Legacy

Despite his success, Moore’s career was not without challenges. The pressures of maintaining championship status and the physical demands of the sport took their toll. However, Moore’s resilience and determination shone through, and he continued to fight with the same passion and skill that had brought him to the top.

Moore’s legacy extends beyond his achievements in the ring. He is remembered for his sportsmanship, humility, and the respect he garnered from peers and fans alike. His contributions to the sport of boxing are celebrated, and his career serves as an inspiration for aspiring fighters.

Life After Boxing

After retiring from professional boxing in 1961, Moore transitioned to life outside the ring. He remained connected to the sport through various roles, including as a commentator and trainer. Moore’s insights and experiences continued to influence the boxing world, and he remained a respected figure in the community.

The Final Round

Tragically, Davey Moore’s life was cut short when he passed away on February 20, 1963, at the age of 29. His death was a significant loss to the boxing world, but his legacy endures through his achievements and the impact he had on the sport.

Davey Moore’s journey from a young boxer in New York City to World Featherweight Champion is a testament to his extraordinary talent and dedication. His career, marked by thrilling bouts and impressive victories, continues to be remembered and celebrated by boxing enthusiasts around the world. Moore’s story is a reminder of the passion and perseverance required to reach the heights of professional sports and the enduring legacy that can be built through hard work and determination.

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alertfacts · 20 days

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How Long Has Roman Reigns Been WWE Champion?

In the world of professional wrestling, few names resonate as powerfully as Roman Reigns. The Tribal Chief, as he’s often called, has become the face of WWE, dominating the ring with his imposing presence, unparalleled athleticism, and sheer charisma. But there's one question that keeps fans buzzing—how long has Roman Reigns been champion? The answer is more than just a number; it’s a testament to his legacy, his evolution, and the seismic shifts he’s brought to WWE. So, let's dive into the incredible journey of Roman Reigns' championship reign, exploring the milestones, challenges, and what the future might hold for the Head of the Table.

The Beginning of the Reign

Roman Reigns captured the WWE Universal Championship on August 30, 2020, at the Payback pay-per-view event. This victory wasn't just another title win; it marked the start of an era. Reigns, having aligned himself with Paul Heyman, adopted a new persona—one that was ruthless, strategic, and unyielding. This wasn't the Roman Reigns who had struggled to win over fans as a babyface; this was a new, darker, more dangerous Reigns. Since then, the question of "how long has Roman Reigns been champion" has become a point of pride for his fans and a source of frustration for his opponents.

The Dominance of the Tribal Chief

From the moment he seized the title, Roman Reigns embarked on a path of dominance that has redefined what it means to be a champion in WWE. But how has he managed to stay on top for so long? The answer lies in his ability to adapt, evolve, and outthink his opponents. Reigns’ reign (pun intended!) has seen him face and defeat some of WWE’s biggest names, including Kevin Owens, Daniel Bryan, Edge, and John Cena. Each of these victories solidified his status as not just a champion, but the champion.

Consistency: Reigns has been a constant presence at the top of the card, defending his title in high-stakes matches across various pay-per-views.

Allies and Rivals: The presence of Paul Heyman as his advocate and the formation of The Bloodline with his cousins, The Usos, have fortified his position, turning what could have been a solo act into a compelling storyline about family, loyalty, and power.

Adaptation: Whether it's adapting his in-ring style to counter different opponents or using psychological warfare to get inside the heads of his challengers, Reigns has shown a versatility that few can match.

Key Milestones in Reigns’ Championship Reign

When exploring how long Roman Reigns has been champion, it's essential to highlight some of the key moments that have defined his reign. These aren’t just victories; they’re events that have shaped the narrative of WWE over the past years.

Clash of Champions 2020: Reigns faced his cousin, Jey Uso, in a match that wasn't just about the title but about respect and family hierarchy. This match saw Reigns truly embrace his role as the Tribal Chief, asserting his dominance in a brutal and emotional contest.

WrestleMania 37: Reigns defended his title in a Triple Threat match against Edge and Daniel Bryan, a match that many believed would be the end of his reign. Instead, Reigns emerged victorious, pinning both men simultaneously—a moment that cemented his legacy as one of the greatest champions in WWE history.

Survivor Series 2021: Facing WWE Champion Big E, Reigns proved that he was not just the best on SmackDown but the best in WWE. This champion vs. champion match was a clash of titans, and Reigns’ victory solidified his position as the face of the company.

The Length of Reigns' Reign: A Historical Perspective

So, how long has Roman Reigns been champion? As of today, Reigns has held the WWE Universal Championship for over four years, making his reign one of the longest in modern WWE history. To put this in perspective, his reign has surpassed that of legends like John Cena, Hulk Hogan, and even Brock Lesnar in terms of consecutive days as champion. But it’s not just about the numbers; it’s about the impact. Reigns' reign has been characterized by compelling storylines, unforgettable matches, and a level of dominance that hasn’t been seen in WWE in years.

Challenges Along the Way

Of course, no reign is without its challenges. Throughout his tenure as champion, Reigns has faced adversity both in and out of the ring. From intense rivalries with superstars like Seth Rollins and Drew McIntyre to the constant threat of up-and-coming talent looking to make a name for themselves, Reigns has had to stay sharp. And let's not forget the personal challenges, including his battles with leukemia, which have only added to his narrative as a resilient and determined champion.

The Future of Roman Reigns' Reign

As we ponder the question, “how long has Roman Reigns been champion?” it’s natural to wonder how much longer he can hold onto the title. While Reigns shows no signs of slowing down, the WWE landscape is ever-changing. New challengers emerge, storylines evolve, and the demands of being champion can take a toll on even the most formidable competitors. But if Reigns has shown us anything, it’s that he thrives under pressure. Whether it’s a returning legend or a rising star, whoever steps up to challenge Reigns will face a champion who’s more determined than ever to maintain his grip on the title.

Will Anyone End the Reign?

One of the most intriguing aspects of Roman Reigns’ title run is the question of who, if anyone, will finally dethrone him. Some fans speculate that it could be a returning megastar like The Rock, while others believe it might be someone unexpected, like a breakout star from NXT. Whoever it is, they will have to contend with a Roman Reigns who is at the peak of his powers, both physically and mentally.

Conclusion

Roman Reigns' championship reign is more than just a record; it’s a revolution. From the moment he won the title in 2020 to his ongoing dominance in 2024, Reigns has redefined what it means to be a WWE champion. His reign has been marked by unforgettable moments, relentless competition, and a narrative that has kept fans on the edge of their seats. So, how long has Roman Reigns been champion? Long enough to leave an indelible mark on the history of professional wrestling, and as we look to the future, there’s no telling just how much longer his reign will last. But one thing is certain: Roman Reigns is a champion like no other, and his legacy will be felt for years to come.

#RomanReigns #WWEChampion #TribalChief

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