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solxamber · 1 month ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want to Retire - Idia Shroud x reader

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it. Now, as the villainess you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

Series Masterlist

You’ve lived a life. A noble life, full of honor, glory, and caffeine-fueled late-night writing sessions.

You're an aspiring author.

An aspiring author who, unfortunately, just created the most stupid novel plot of all time.

At least, that’s how it feels. You sit back, staring at your screen, utterly defeated as your latest creation flickers mockingly before you.

You’ve named it: "The Battle for Genius Prince Idia’s Hand" (working title, don’t judge). And wow, it’s a mess.

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

You’ve got your heroine—a girl so sweet she’s practically made of sugar, like one of those cookies that look good but crumble the second you bite into them. Naturally, she’s fighting for the affection of your male lead, Prince Idia, who is a socially awkward, genius mechanic prince (because you thought it’d be fun to make him hot and bad with people).

Then there’s the villainess. Ah, the villainess. She’s smart, sharp-tongued, and has enough sass to level a small city. Her entire personality? Sabotage. And she’s also after Idia—because apparently, that’s the only thing women in this story care about. (You regret this immensely.)

But oh no! Plot twist! Idia gets kidnapped by some unnamed evil force (you’ll figure it out later). The heroine? Well, instead of rescuing him, she falls for some Bland Prince. You don’t even know why. You think his name might be Greg. Or Gerald. Honestly, he’s that unremarkable.

Meanwhile, the villainess doesn’t even care anymore about Idia. Instead, she’s full-on dedicated to ruining the heroine’s new, bland romance because… well, that’s her whole schtick.

It’s… awful.

You sit back, hands in your hair, groaning aloud. “What is this? Who would even read this?”

You glance at your notes. They’re a chaotic mess of random scribbles: “Idia = genius, but hates people,” “Villainess needs more fire,” and “Heroine? Too boring. Spice her up. Maybe dragons?”

Yeah. This isn’t working.

You slump in your chair, utterly defeated. The characters are good, great even! But the plot? Oh, the plot is a dumpster fire. No, worse. It’s a flaming dumpster floating down a river of bad decisions. You can’t believe you spent hours writing this.

That’s it. You’re scrapping the entire thing. You’ll keep the characters, sure. But the story? Gone. Deleted. No one needs to suffer through this mess.

Determined, you crack your knuckles and reach for the keyboard, ready to hit the big red “DELETE” button on your disasterpiece.

“Say goodbye to this trash heap,” you mutter, “and hello to some actual good writing.”

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

Just as your finger hovers over the delete key, the worst possible thing happens. Your elbow, as if possessed by the forces of chaos itself, nudges the precariously balanced coffee cup on your desk. The liquid inside, which you had so carefully placed right next to your laptop like a ticking time bomb, tips. In slow motion, you watch the dark, caffeinated doom spill over the edge and land directly onto your keyboard.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” you shout, lunging forward, but it’s too late.

The coffee floods your keys like a tidal wave of misfortune. Your laptop makes a sickening little noise, a soft bzzt, and the screen flickers ominously. You sit there, frozen in horror, watching your computer sizzle as if it’s been cursed by the gods of terrible life choices.

And then—just when you think it couldn’t get worse—it gets worse.

There’s a small, but very real, spark. You flinch back, because nothing good ever comes from sparks. The screen flickers violently, the keys start to buzz, and then—before you can even process what’s happening—you feel it.

ZAP!

Electricity courses through your body. Your vision flashes white, your muscles seize, and in one horrifyingly comedic moment, you realize you’re being electrocuted by your own laptop.

You’d scream if you could, but all you manage is a high-pitched whimper before everything goes black.

Dead. You’re dead. Killed by your own coffee and a poorly thought-out novel. Fantastic.

You blink your eyes open, your head pounding like you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks—or, more likely, an electrical charge. Slowly, your vision clears, and you find yourself… staring at an unfamiliar, ornately decorated ceiling.

Where the hell are you?

You sit up with a groan, and that’s when it hits you: the bed. It’s massive, plush, and absurdly luxurious—definitely not your usual ratty mattress. Panic sets in, and you scramble out of bed, only to catch your reflection in a nearby mirror.

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

Staring back at you is her. The villainess. The sharp-tongued, drama-fueled antagonist of your novel. The one with a penchant for ruining lives and stealing the spotlight. The one you made up.

You gasp, gripping the sides of the mirror. “No. NO.” You stare at the dark hair cascading over your shoulders, the perfectly arched brows, and the terrifyingly intense smirk that seems to have a life of its own. “Why am I her? Why this of all characters?”

You step back from the mirror and slap your cheeks, half hoping that’ll wake you up from this fever dream. It doesn’t. You’re still stuck in the body of the villainess, and with each passing second, reality—or whatever twisted version of it this is—sinks in deeper.

“Of course,” you mutter, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Of course this is my life now. I write the dumbest novel in existence, and this is what I get.” You pace in front of the mirror, ranting to no one in particular. “Who even thinks it’s a good idea to make me the villainess? Me?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

After a few minutes of thoroughly berating yourself—and by extension, the cosmic forces that brought you here—you finally stop, resting your hands on your hips.

“Okay. Fine. FINE. I’ll play your stupid game, universe.” You throw one last glare at your reflection. “But I’m not tormenting the heroine. Nope. She can have her stupid one-sided rivalry for all I care. I want nothing to do with this mess.”

The decision made, you shake your head and take a deep breath. “Alright, what’s next?” You glance around the villainess’s extravagant room, trying to figure out your next move. And then, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

Prince Idia.

In your novel, he’s socially awkward, reclusive, and definitely doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this disaster. He’s just collateral damage in your sorry excuse for a plot, and honestly? You feel kinda bad about it.

You snap your fingers. “That’s it. I’ll find Prince Idia. Save him or something. Maybe I can even get a reward for rescuing a royal!” You’re feeling pretty good about this plan—much better than sticking around and causing drama with the heroine, at least.

With a dramatic flourish (you are still the villainess, after all), you head for the door, ready to track down Idia and redeem yourself in whatever twisted way you can manage. Who knows, maybe this whole situation won’t be as bad as you thought.

Or… maybe it’ll be even worse. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

After what feels like hours of arguing with your stubborn, uptight butler—who is absolutely convinced that your decision to head straight for the abandoned palace at the edge of town is the worst idea you’ve ever had—you finally break free.

“If anyone was kidnapped, that’s where they’d be!” you shout over your shoulder as you march toward your carriage, ignoring his protests about "safety" and "reckless behavior."

Butler or not, you’re on a mission. And after a bumpy ride to the palace, here you are, standing at the entrance, waiting for the traps or menacing guards to pounce.

...Nothing.

It’s strangely anticlimactic, actually. You push open the door, expecting maybe a cackle or some ominous fog. But no, just dust and an eerie silence. You frown, stepping cautiously inside.

“What kind of royal abduction is this? Budget cuts?”

Just as you’re about to chalk this whole thing up to a monumental waste of time, you hear it—a low curse, followed by the distinct sound of tinkering. You freeze, listening closer.

Definitely someone messing with something.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your trusty gun (bless past-you for deciding guns belonged in this novel), and with practiced ease, you pull it out and slam open the nearest door.

"Hands up!" you yell, pointing the barrel directly at—

A very, very scared Prince Idia, crouching beside what looks like a half-assembled mechanical gadget. His wide, shocked eyes meet yours, and he lets out a startled yelp, nearly knocking over the tools scattered around him.

"Wh-What the hell?!" you blurt, lowering the gun slightly. This was not the daring rescue scene you imagined.

Idia flinches, awkwardly raising his hands. “I—uh, I don’t know who you are, but how did you even find me?!” he stammers, looking at you like you just kicked his favorite gaming console.

"How did I—? Are you kidding me?" You gesture dramatically with the gun, still in shock. "I’m one of the people you were supposed to choose from! Remember? The whole ‘Battle for the Hand of Prince Idia’ thing?”

He blinks at you, deadpan. “Oh… Oh, no,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Absolutely not. I’m not going back. I staged this whole thing for a reason.” He crosses his arms, stubborn. “I’ll just stay here with my gadgets. You can go back to… whatever you do.”

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you mean you staged this?” You glance around the dusty, decrepit palace. “This is your brilliant escape plan? Hiding out in the palace equivalent of a haunted IKEA?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s quiet, it’s out of the way, and no one bothers me here. I didn’t get kidnapped, okay? I just—didn’t want to deal with all the royal court nonsense.” He shrugs, as if staging a fake kidnapping is the most logical thing in the world.

“You do realize that Ortho is still at the palace, right? Your little brother? Alone? Without you?” You raise an eyebrow, watching the slow dawning horror creep across Idia’s face.

“Yeah, so?” He huffs. “He’s the Crown Prince now. I’m sure he’s fine—"

“Bro,” you interrupt, “have you seen high society? Ortho’s gonna get eaten alive. Not to mention the other princes aren’t just gonna let him waltz around with a crown on his head without making his life miserable.”

Idia’s eyes go wide, his brain clearly working overtime as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “Oh… Oh no. I didn’t think of that.”

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

He stares at the ground, looking like he’s physically shrinking under the weight of his own bad decisions. And then—something unthinkable happens.

“Help me,” he says, his voice desperate. He looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Please. I’ll—I’ll make you anything you want, build you gadgets, whatever you need! Just help me navigate high society while I… hide in the shadows or whatever.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you… Are you asking me to pose as your fake fiancée?”

Idia flushes crimson, his hands flailing. “N-No! Well, maybe? Yes. I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I want to—" He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just… ugh. Yes. Please.”

You cross your arms, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Fake engagement, huh? Alright, but only if you give me a beach house when this farce is over and Ortho officially takes the crown.”

Idia looks up at you, blinking in surprise. “A beach house? That’s your condition?”

You smirk. “Hey, I know what I want. So, do we have a deal?”

He hesitates for a moment, but then sighs, defeated. “Fine. You get the beach house. Just… make sure no one talks to me. Or atleast, you have to handle almost all the talking.”

With a satisfied nod, you extend your hand. “Deal.”

Idia, still red-faced and awkward, shakes your hand. You can’t help but wonder what sort of chaos you’ve just agreed to—but at least you’re getting a beach house out of it.

Sneaking Idia back to your manor wasn’t the most glamorous affair. He insisted on wearing a cloak, “for dramatic effect,” even though the streets were practically empty.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to be a genius, you're real bad at blending in," you deadpan as he stumbles over his own cloak.

"It’s supposed to make me inconspicuous," Idia mutters, pulling the hood down further. "People see a cloak, they assume you’re some weirdo and leave you alone. It’s basic stealth mechanics."

“Uh-huh. And tripping on it helps too?”

“Shut up.”

Once inside the manor, you sit him down to discuss the details of how you’re going to spin this whole ‘rescue’ thing. Idia, now a little more at ease, starts fiddling with some gadget he pulled from one of his cloak’s hidden pockets. You can't tell if he's actually paying attention, but you figure you’d better get started.

"Okay," you say, leaning in like you’re about to hatch the greatest scheme of your life. "We need a story. Something grand. Heroic. Full of intrigue, mystery—"

“Or we could just say I, uh, got lost?” Idia offers halfheartedly. “And you happened to find me by accident. That sounds more plausible.”

You shoot him a look. "Idia, this is high society. No one ‘just gets lost for 3 months.’ We need something more exciting. Like, I fought off a band of rogue kidnappers—"

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

Idia sighs. “Fine, whatever. Make it sound cool, but not too cool. If it’s too impressive, people will start thinking I owe you something.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already have an idea of what you owe me,” you say, smirking.

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

"Alright, so I 'bravely' tracked you down to the abandoned palace—"

"Because obviously that's where I'd be hiding," Idia interrupts sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"—and I singlehandedly defeated a gang of ruthless kidnappers, saving you from a life of captivity. You, overwhelmed by my gallantry, are forever in my debt—"

Idia snorts. "Forever in your debt? Yeah, right. You're more likely to find me dead than in your debt."

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

Eventually, you both settle on a suitably ridiculous tale where you, after days of tireless investigation, heroically rescued him from an evil plot to overthrow the royal family. It's unnecessarily elaborate, full of conveniently absent witnesses and a dramatic escape from a non-existent dungeon. The whole thing’s so ridiculous, you almost feel bad for making anyone listen to it.

“Right,” you say, standing up. “Now we just need to sell this at court.”

When you arrive at the palace, Idia hangs back while you step forward, playing your part as the "heroic rescuer." Ortho’s the first one to spot you, and when his eyes land on Idia, they widen with shock and excitement.

“Brother!” Ortho shouts, practically flying over to tackle Idia in a hug. “I knew you’d come back!”

Idia, not really one for public displays of affection, awkwardly pats Ortho’s head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbles, though you can see the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “I was, uh, working on some top-secret stuff. Y’know, important genius-level projects.”

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

You have to hold back a snicker. Yeah, real “top-secret.” Like avoiding social interaction at all costs.

Soon, you’re ushered into the royal court. The king—who clearly knows something is up—doesn't look remotely surprised by the "revelation" that Idia was never actually kidnapped. But, because royal politics are weird, he plays along.

“So, Prince Idia,” the king says, raising an eyebrow, “I suppose you’ll want the Crown Prince title back now that you’ve returned?”

Idia freezes, panic flashing in his eyes. "Uh, absolutely not. Hard pass. Nope. Ortho’s got it handled, right? He can keep the whole… crown… thing.”

Ortho nods eagerly from behind him. “I’ve got it covered!”

The king sighs but nods. “Very well. And what about you?” He turns to you. “Surely, a brave soul such as yourself deserves a reward.”

Here it comes. You’ve rehearsed this with Idia, but now that you’re on the spot, you can’t help the dramatic flair in your voice as you clasp your hands together and say, “All I ask… is for Prince Idia’s hand.”

The king looks thoroughly amused, while Idia, beside you, is turning a very interesting shade of red.

“What?” Idia hisses under his breath. “That was not the line.”

You grin, leaning closer. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s funnier this way.”

To his credit, Idia doesn’t collapse on the spot, though he does look like he’s reconsidering his life choices.

Meanwhile, from across the room, you catch the third prince—your so-called "male lead"—glaring daggers at you. He looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel, while the heroine next to him is scandalized beyond belief.

“B-but Idia’s hand was supposed to be won!” she protests, clearly flustered.

You tilt your head innocently. “Oh? Not satisfied with the third Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes at her.

Her face goes red, and the Bland Prince—whoever he is—looks equally scandalized.

Next to you, Idia quietly high-fives you behind his back.

“Nice one,” he whispers.

As you both walk away from the court, Idia glances over at you, his usual sarcasm softened by relief. “You know, I really thought I’d end up hating this whole scheme, but you’re not bad at playing the part.”

You chuckle, nudging him. “Told you it’d be fun. And now I get a beach house, so it’s a win-win.”

Idia sighs but can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me go to any more parties, okay?”

“Deal.”

You’re sitting across from Idia in the study, supposedly "spending time together" to prove to the world how deeply smitten you both are. In reality, though, you’re plotting out your beach house retirement plan, while Idia is hunched over his latest gadget, muttering like a mad scientist.

"Okay, so if I tweak this—boom, self-repairing AI drone. Easy. The idiots at court would never get it," he whispers to himself, eyes glued to the wires and gears he's fiddling with.

You’re busy doodling floor plans of your dream beach house, adding an extra pool for fun. “Yeah, totally, sweetheart,” you mumble, pretending to listen. This fake relationship thing is going swimmingly.

That’s when the door flies open, and in waltzes the male lead—of course he doesn't knock. The guy practically drips entitlement as he saunters in, admiring himself in the reflection of a spoon he’s for some reason carrying.

Without missing a beat, you and Idia scramble to look like actual lovers. You slide closer to him, casually tossing an arm over his shoulders, and he—already flustered—just stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap.

“I see you two are enjoying each other’s company,” the male lead says, not even looking up from his spoon reflection. “I came to invite you to the tea party. You know, with all the nobles. The whole ‘Idia’s too traumatized to socialize’ excuse isn’t gonna fly anymore. It’s been three months.”

Idia’s eyes widen, and you can practically hear his soul leave his body. You give him a reassuring nudge.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to sit there, sip tea, maybe nibble on a pastry, and nod at Ortho. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Idia doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Sure, sure, as long as I don’t have to, like, interact.”

The two of you arrive at the tea party, and the moment you step into the garden, you realize you're absolutely screwed. It’s not a tea party at all—it’s some weird medieval Olympics with archery targets set up, and a bunch of nobles are taking turns shooting arrows while their wives cheer them on.

“What… is this?” you whisper, horrified. “Why are there archery targets at a tea party? Is this... a misogyny power trip?”

Idia looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He’s already backing away slowly, trying to make his great escape, but you grab him by the back of his cloak before he can bolt.

He shoots you a look like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal. “This... is not a tea party. You said tea and pastries. Where are the pastries?!”

“I didn’t know!” you hiss back. “I thought we’d just sip tea and gossip about whose cousin married whose horse!”

Before either of you can make another move, the heroine spots you and immediately latches onto your arm, dragging you to the tea table. At the same time, the male lead grabs Idia and hauls him over to the archery side.

"Wait—no—uh—" Idia stammers, but he’s already been thrown into the testosterone-fueled chaos of nobles trying to outdo each other.

Thinking fast, you impulsively declare, “I’ll be the one doing the archery! For my fiancé, of course. You know, because those thugs that kidnapped him? They had bows too!”

Idia, catching on, immediately puts on his best terrified expression. “Y-Yeah! Bows! I’m… I’m still traumatized! Please don’t make me relive it.”

The crowd collectively gasps, and you inwardly pat yourself on the back. Nailed it.

Somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about archery, you end up winning the whole thing. Turns out, none of the nobles have actually seen a bow before. You didn’t even hit the bullseye—you just got the arrow near the target, which was apparently enough to impress them.

The prize? A complex-looking mechanical device, something straight out of Idia’s dream workshop. You look at it, completely clueless, before handing it over to him.

“Uh, here. I have no idea what to do with this.”

Idia stares at the device, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re… giving it to me?” He looks touched but also suspicious. “You’re not gonna ask for some crazy favor in return?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s all yours. Consider it a thank-you for not leaving me to deal with this disaster alone.”

He blinks, clearly not used to receiving gifts without strings attached. “Well… uh, thanks. And… good job on the archery. You, uh, really sold the ‘traumatized fiancé’ bit.”

Before you can respond, the rest of the nobles start talking about "true love," and you can practically feel the heroine’s eyes boring holes into you. She’s fuming, glaring at the male lead—who, by the way, didn’t win—and looks like she’s about five seconds away from tearing out her hair.

You shoot her a smug grin, thoroughly enjoying her frustration. Idia, who’s been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, lightly bumps you with his elbow.

“Thanks for… you know, saving me from whatever that was. And for giving me this… thing,” he says, holding up the device.

“No problem,” you reply, smirking. “I think we’re pulling off this whole ‘smitten lovers’ thing pretty well.”

Idia snorts, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, if you keep dragging me to ‘tea parties’ like this, we’re gonna need to come up with a better plan. Preferably one where I don’t have to socialize with archery-obsessed nobles.”

“Deal,” you laugh. "Next time, I'll find a real tea party."

"Please don't."

You’re lounging on a comfy chair, lazily chatting with Ortho, who’s happily explaining some new contraption he and Idia worked on. You’re half-listening, more focused on sipping tea and enjoying the rare moment of peace in this chaotic castle.

That is, until Idia suddenly appears in front of you, looking unusually determined. He stands there, awkwardly shifting his weight, before thrusting his hand out in front of you.

Without thinking, you blink up at him and, in your confusion, place your chin on his outstretched palm. You give him a questioning look, waiting for further instruction.

Idia’s face immediately flushes a deep red. “W-What are you doing?! That’s not—I didn’t—gah!”

Ortho’s trying not to laugh, but it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.

“What?” you ask innocently. “You held out your hand, so I thought…”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, before spluttering, “I—no, I was asking for your gun!”

“Oh. Right.” Without hesitation, you hand him the trusty weapon you always keep on hand, because at this point, you’ve learned to never question what Idia needs. It’s always better that way.

“Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing it like he’s on a mission and rushing off to whatever secret lair he retreats to.

You glance at Ortho, who’s giggling to himself. “Do you think I should be worried about that?”

“Nah,” Ortho says with a cheerful shrug. “He’s probably just making modifications. He’ll be fine!”

The next day, your luck runs out. Just when you were hoping for another peaceful afternoon, the heroine arrives for a surprise visit, dragging along her little posse of noble followers. You’re seated in a stiff parlor chair, forced to endure the barrage of small talk and fake smiles, feeling as if the universe is punishing you for all the nonsense you wrote in that novel.

One of the heroine’s cronies leans in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Oh my, Lady Heroine, I just love your new gown. You look positively radiant. Unlike some people who seem to… dress for comfort, I suppose.”

You shoot her a withering glare, but it’s hard to focus when the heroine herself joins in, adding with a falsely sympathetic tone, “It must be so difficult for you, pretending to fit into high society. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be, keeping up appearances.”

You’re just about to snap back when, suddenly, the door bursts open. In comes Idia, holding your gun, looking both determined and completely out of his element. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder what kind of chaos he’s about to unleash.

Before you can ask, he walks straight over to you and hands it to you, his expression serious. “Here. I finished the modifications.”

Your jaw drops as Idia starts rattling off a list of improvements. “So, I increased the firepower by 30%, added a cooling mechanism so it doesn’t overheat, and now it’s got an auto-targeting system that can scan multiple threats at once. Oh, and I swapped the trigger to be more responsive, so you won’t have any lag—”

You can’t help but notice how animated he looks. His usual deadpan expression is replaced by a lively spark in his eyes as he talks about all the intricate details. He’s completely in his element, and you find yourself enchanted by the way he speaks. It’s rare to see him so passionate, so alive.

The moment is shattered when he finally notices the others in the room. His face drains of color, and he gives a forced smile that screams I don't want to be here. Without another word, he turns on his heel and flees the room. But you notice something strange—he had been holding your hand the entire time. His grip, tight and warm, leaves a lingering sensation even after he’s gone.

You’re left holding your newly modified gun, your face heating up as you process what just happened. The heroine's entourage are all staring at you with wide eyes, as if they’ve just witnessed the most romantic moment of the century. Even the butler, who’s usually the epitome of professionalism, is grinning like he’s just uncovered the secret to eternal happiness. The maids nearby are giggling behind their hands, clearly entertained.

You glance down at the gun, then back to where Idia disappeared. Great, you think to yourself. How am I supposed to survive this?

As if reading your mind, the heroine gives you a smug smile. “It seems your fiancé is quite… attached. How charming.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of blood to your cheeks. “Yeah, he’s a real romantic,” you mutter sarcastically.

But even as you try to brush it off, your thoughts keep returning to that sparkle in Idia’s eyes, the way he had held your hand, and the way his enthusiasm had made your heart skip a beat. Maybe this royal con is going to be more complicated than you expected… but also, maybe not as bad as you feared.

Dragging Idia to get fitted for the imperial ball is like trying to drag a cat into a bathtub. He’s actively resisting, feet planted as you haul him toward the tailor with all the enthusiasm of a man being led to the gallows.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he groans, leaning back so far you think he might just throw himself on the floor in protest. “An angel loses its wings every time you make me do this. Do you want heaven to be wingless? Is that what you want? To singlehandedly destroy heaven?”

“I’m aiming to open a black market for wings, yes,” you say, deadpan, yanking him forward. “The profits will be incredible.”

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, shuffling along behind you, still resisting like a particularly stubborn mule. “Just put me in a broom closet with a bag of chips and leave me there. I don’t need to go to this ball. No one wants to see me.”

“I do,” you quip. “I’m dragging you into society, one unwilling step at a time.”

By the time you actually manage to get him dressed, you feel like you’ve aged five years. But when you take a step back to admire the result, it’s worth it. Idia looks stunning, even if he’s fidgeting like his clothes are secretly made of fire ants. He’s basically the human version of a rare collectible: usually hidden away, but absolutely jaw-dropping when you finally get to see him.

“Alright, Prince Drama,” you say, exhaling, “I’m going to get dressed. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

When you return, you immediately notice something’s up. Ortho’s whispering something to Idia, and whatever it is, it’s causing a nuclear-level blush to spread across his face. He’s stiff as a board, and when he turns around and sees you in your ball attire, he goes straight from “mildly panicked” to “catastrophic system error.”

Without warning, he chucks a flower at you. Just full-on throws it like it’s a projectile weapon.

“Here,” he croaks out, his voice cracking halfway through.

You blink, catching the flower mid-air with one hand. “Uh, thanks? Were you... trying to plant this on me?”

Idia’s face somehow manages to get even redder. “No—I mean yes—I mean—” He looks around for help, but Ortho just gives him an unhelpful thumbs up from the corner.

You grin, deciding to help the poor guy out. “Why don’t you pin it in my hair instead?”

His hands shake as he fumbles with the pin, and you’re pretty sure he’s using every ounce of self-control not to stab you in the scalp. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the whole situation is just too funny. Especially when Ortho gives you a conspiratorial wink from behind Idia’s back like he’s this close to winning a bet.

The ball itself is, as expected, a social hellscape. You and Idia survive by sticking together like conjoined twins, fending off the waves of nosy nobles and fake smiles. You can practically see the stress radiating off of Idia, his expression one of pure misery.

And then, the king makes his grand address, signaling the start of the first dance. You feel Idia stiffen beside you.

“Oh no,” he mutters, “Oh no. This is where it all goes downhill. I’ll trip, I’ll break my leg, and then they’ll throw me in the royal dungeon for embarrassing the family.”

“Relax,” you say, squeezing his hand. “It’s just one dance. I’ll lead, you follow. Easy.”

“I hate this,” he mumbles as you drag him onto the floor. “I hate everything about this. I should have just set myself on fire and gotten out of it that way.”

But despite his protests, you manage to lead him through the first few steps of the waltz. To your surprise, he’s not completely hopeless. He stumbles a little at first, but with you guiding him, he starts to get the hang of it.

“You’re doing great,” you say encouragingly.

“Stop lying,” he grumbles. “I’m one misstep away from taking us both out like a bowling ball hitting pins.”

The music continues, and with every turn and spin, you notice the room around you fading into the background. For a moment, it’s just you and Idia, navigating the intricate steps of the dance together. He’s still anxious, but he’s keeping up, and more importantly, you can tell he’s starting to trust you. He’s letting you take the lead, and for someone like Idia, that’s huge.

From Idia’s perspective, this entire ball is a waking nightmare. He’s completely out of his element, surrounded by people he’d normally go to great lengths to avoid. But then there’s you. You’re handling everything with this... ease, this grace that he can’t even begin to comprehend. You’re not just dancing with him, you’re actively navigating the minefield of court politics like it’s no big deal.

And you don’t need to do this. This isn’t your problem—it’s Ortho’s succession, not yours. But you’re here, by his side, going all out to make sure Ortho’s future is secure. Idia’s heart twists in his chest. He doesn’t get it. You’re way too cool for this. Too cool for him. You wink at him mid-spin, and he feels like his brain’s short-circuiting.

"Oh no. I like them. Like, really like them. And soon, they’ll be gone. This whole engagement is just for show. After Ortho’s investiture, we’ll go back to our separate lives, right?"

He swallows hard, trying not to freak out, but it’s too late. He’s in way too deep.

After the dance, you lead him off the floor and start mingling with the other nobles, making alliances and doing your whole “political mastermind” thing. Idia stands awkwardly to the side, trying to blend into the wallpaper, but his eyes keep following you. You don’t have to do all this for Ortho, but you are. And that’s... that’s really cool. He admires you, he can’t help it.

And then—oh no. The lower nobles. They spot him and beeline toward him like sharks smelling blood. Before he can make a break for it, they swarm around him, throwing party invitations at him like confetti.

“Prince Idia, you simply must attend our garden soirée next week,” one of them gushes, eyes sparkling.

“And our evening gala!” another pipes up. “You’ll be the guest of honor, of course!”

Idia’s face goes pale, and he shoots you a look that screams, HELP ME.

You swoop in like a knight in shining armor. “Ah, yes, well, unfortunately, Idia can’t attend. He’s... uh... allergic to sunlight.”

The nobles stare at you, blinking in confusion. Idia stares at you too, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Allergic to... sunlight?” one noble repeats, frowning.

You facepalm. Smooth. “I mean... it’s a joke! Ha! Obviously! What I meant to say is... uh...” You scramble for an excuse. “I need a nap.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I—uh—can’t sleep without him,” you blurt out. “It’s, uh, a couple thing.”

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

You grab Idia’s arm, muttering, “We’re leaving,” and make a quick exit, practically dragging him behind you.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, you let out a groan. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. ‘Allergic to sunlight’? Really?”

Idia is doubled over laughing, completely losing it. “You what?!” he howls. “You need a nap? And you can’t sleep without me?!”

“Shut up!” you say, cheeks burning. “I was trying to save you!”

“You saved me? More like doomed me!” He wheezes between laughs, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, you are terrible at this. You make me look good, and that’s saying something.”

You glare at him, but his laughter is so infectious that you can’t stay mad. And honestly? He looks free. Unbridled, even. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, so without reservation, that it almost makes you forget how embarrassing the situation was.

Almost.

It's finally time for Ortho's investiture, and to say you feel unprepared would be an understatement. Not for any political reason—you've long since mastered the art of navigating court intrigue. No, the issue is far more personal, far more heart-wrenching. After today, once Ortho is declared Crown Prince, Idia will no longer have any excuse to stay in the spotlight. He'll retreat, back into the shadows, probably even fake his own kidnapping to get out of any future public events. And you?

You'll finally get that peaceful beach house you’ve been dreaming about.

But the thought doesn’t feel like a reward. It feels bitter. You don’t want that beach house—not if it means losing Idia. The man who’s wormed his way into your heart with his sarcasm, awkwardness, and hidden kindness.

But you know he’s not someone you can tie down. Idia doesn’t do well with permanence. And as much as your heart begged to hold on to him, you also know he’d likely slip through your fingers if you tried.

So you do what any self-respecting person would in this situation: put on a brave face, slip into your formal attire, and prepare to smile your way through heartbreak.

When you walk out to greet Idia, he’s already dressed in his formal robes, looking every bit the reluctant royal. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, but he says nothing, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

You muster up the strength to smile and reach for his hand. “Ready?”

He nods, but neither of you can meet the other’s eyes.

From Idia’s perspective, today should feel like a victory. He’s been planning for Ortho’s investiture for months, and now that the day is finally here, he should be feeling nothing but relief. But no—he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. It’s not about Ortho. His little brother is brilliant, and Idia knows the kingdom is in good hands.

No, what he’s not ready for is letting you go.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would care about someone—want someone—so desperately, he would’ve locked them up in a mental facility. But here he is, standing on the precipice of his worst nightmare.

You, who shine in every public setting, who effortlessly charm everyone around you, are going to move on. He knows he can’t tie you down with his reclusive lifestyle, his constant desire to escape from the world. How could he? You’re everything he’s not—bright, resplendent, beloved. He can’t ask you to give up your life for him.

But when you come out and take his hand, his heart skips a beat. Neither of you are able to look each other in the eye, but the gesture says more than any words could.

The investiture itself goes off without a hitch. Ortho’s speech is flawless, full of the hope and wisdom of a ruler who will no doubt lead the kingdom into a golden age. You’re so proud of him—of the boy who’s become like a little brother to you.

But even as you smile and clap with the rest of the court, you feel a heaviness in your chest that has nothing to do with the political spectacle unfolding before you.

A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you don’t even know if they’re from the overwhelming pride you feel for Ortho or the quiet heartbreak you’ve been trying to suppress all day.

Before you can wipe them away, Idia silently hands you his handkerchief. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, and that just makes the ache in your heart a little worse.

You take it with a quiet, “Thanks,” dabbing at your eyes, and you both stand there in tense silence, watching as the formalities continue around you.

Once the investiture concludes and the guests filter out, you and Idia retreat to a balcony to catch your breath. The sky is darkening, and the cool evening breeze does little to soothe the heaviness you feel in the pit of your stomach.

Idia breaks the silence first. "I've, uh... already arranged the beach house. It’s in your name now."

You blink, looking over at him. His voice cracks slightly, and when you finally turn to face him fully, you realize that he looks like the very picture of heartbreak. He’s not meeting your eyes, staring out into the distance as if it’ll keep him from falling apart.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Idia... do you want me to leave?”

He freezes, still not looking at you. "I... I want you to be happy. I mean, that's the whole point, right? The beach house, everything—you’ve been wanting that for ages."

“I didn’t ask if you wanted me to be happy,” you say quietly. “I asked if you want me to stay or go.”

The silence between you stretches, heavy and suffocating. You hold your breath, waiting for him to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I... I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not here anymore.”

That’s all the confirmation you need. Before he can say anything else, you step forward, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. For a split second, he stiffens, shocked, but then he melts into it, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

It’s everything you needed and more—sweet, desperate, and filled with all the words neither of you have been able to say. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily.

“Come with me,” you whisper. “To the beach house. We can... we can figure everything out from there.”

Idia lets out a watery laugh, one that’s half-disbelief, half-relief. “You really want a shut-in like me hanging around your dream house? You’re gonna get sick of me in a week.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you. So... what do you say?”

He hesitates for a moment, then gives a small nod, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yeah... okay. I’ll come with you.”

And just like that, the weight that’s been pressing down on your chest all day lifts. It’s not the end—it’s a new beginning. One where you and Idia don’t have to part ways, where you can move forward together.

As you both stand there on the balcony, holding each other close, the world feels a little less daunting, and the future a little brighter.

The grand hall is slowly emptying out, nobles drifting away after offering their congratulations to Ortho. You and Idia maneuver through the lingering crowd, dodging overly-friendly dukes and avoiding eye contact with barons hoping to extend the festivities.

Idia clings to your arm like a cat being dragged to the vet, mumbling, “Please tell me we’re not about to be emotionally ambushed again.”

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say before things get sentimental and I have to deal with ‘feelings.’”

You spot Ortho standing near the dais, still wearing the ceremonial robes from his investiture. Despite the long night, he looks bright-eyed, waving cheerfully at some departing courtiers. When he catches sight of you two, his face breaks into the biggest grin, and he hurries over like an eager puppy.

“There you are!” Ortho beams, practically glowing with excitement. “I was worried you left without saying goodbye.”

“Us? Leave without saying goodbye?” you tease. “What kind of villains do you think we are?”

“Exactly the kind who would sneak away in the middle of a banquet,” Idia mutters under his breath. “And you know what? That plan still sounds great.”

Ortho rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible, brother.”

“Only when I’m awake.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, shooting Idia a playful glare before turning back to Ortho, “we wanted to talk to you before we go.”

Ortho’s smile falters, just a bit. “You’re leaving already?”

You nod, squeezing Idia’s arm. “Yeah. We’re heading to the beach house.”

Ortho tilts his head, curious but not upset. “You’re moving there?”

“For a while, yeah,” you explain gently. “Idia and I need a break from all the court politics. But don’t worry. We’ll visit you. Often.”

Idia shifts beside you, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh... It’s not like I’m leaving forever or anything. Just... you know, temporarily escaping society.”

Ortho laughs, but there’s a softness in his gaze now. “I get it. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all this behind for a bit.”

You take a step closer, voice lowering. “And hey... I know you’ve got a lot on your plate now. But we’re still family. If you need anything—anything—we’ll be here for you.”

Ortho’s grin returns, full force. “I know. I’m really glad you two have each other. Honestly, I was worried for a long time that Idia might never find someone willing to put up with him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Idia deadpans. “Glad my personal development arc has been so inspiring for you.”

“But seriously,” Ortho says, his expression softening again. “Thank you. You’ve done more for us than you had to. I know you could have just... gone back to your world or left things as they were. But you stayed. And you helped him.”

Oh no. Not this again. That suspicious prickle starts in your eyes, and you blink rapidly to fend off the tears. Not now. Not in public.

“You’re not... making me cry,” you insist, even as your voice wobbles. “This is just... allergy season.”

“Oh no, it’s happening,” Idia groans dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, Ortho’s gonna cry, and if Ortho cries, the nobles will definitely blame me.”

“Shut up, you big baby,” you sniffle, swatting his arm before pulling Ortho into a hug. “Come here, you. Group hug, now.”

Ortho barely has time to react before you’ve wrapped him up in your arms. He laughs, squeezing you back. You reach out blindly and grab Idia’s sleeve, yanking him into the fray.

“Wait—wait, what—!” Idia stumbles forward, sandwiched awkwardly between you and Ortho. “This is... I don’t...”

“Shhh,” you whisper, patting his back. “Feel the love.”

“This is emotional ambush!” Idia protests, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I want it on record that I was forced into this.”

“Noted,” Ortho says with a laugh, hugging both of you tighter. “But you’re not getting out of it.”

For a moment, the three of you just stand there, huddled together in a ridiculous knot of limbs, nobles glancing your way but tactfully avoiding comment.

Idia mutters into your ear, “This... this is basically treason against introverts.”

You grin. “Consider it penance for being emotionally stunted.”

“You’re both the worst,” he grumbles, but his arms stay wrapped around you.

Eventually, you pull back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “We’ll be back soon, Ortho. I promise.”

“I know.” Ortho smiles warmly, giving you one last squeeze. “And when you do, I’ll make sure you never have to attend another dull court event again.”

Idia perks up at that. “Oh. Now that’s what I call incentive.”

With one last shared laugh, the three of you break apart. Ortho steps back, standing tall and proud in his new role, though his smile still holds all the warmth of a little brother seeing his family off.

“Take care of him,” Ortho says quietly, glancing meaningfully at you.

“I plan to,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a small, reassuring smile.

“And you,” Ortho adds, looking at Idia. “Don’t screw this up.”

Idia gapes, indignant. “I—why does everyone assume I’m the one who’s going to screw it up?!”

You and Ortho exchange amused glances before both of you answer in perfect unison:

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

With that, you bid Ortho one final goodbye, tugging Idia along before anyone else can rope you into small talk. As you leave the grand hall and step out into the cool night air, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

Idia sighs in relief. “Well, that’s over. Time to hibernate for the next decade.”

You chuckle, lacing your fingers through his. “Hibernation in the beach house?”

“Hell yeah.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, leaving the court behind—for now.

Oh, what happened to the heroine and the male lead, you ask? Let’s rewind a few months before Ortho’s investiture—back when they were still blissfully unaware of the elaborate downfall that awaited them.

You knew that the heroine and the male lead would try to make a spectacle of themselves during Ortho’s rise to power. The way they pranced around, flaunting their superficial charm and good looks like they owned the place—it was insufferable. And, of course, they were always scheming in the background, hoping to secure power and glory for themselves. You couldn’t stand it.

So, you set up the perfect trap.

It began at a lavish gala, one of those unnecessarily extravagant events where nobles gathered to network, gossip, and throw subtle insults at each other. You arrived fashionably late, as any proper duchess would, with Idia reluctantly in tow, mumbling under his breath about how every social event felt like “one of those long quests with zero rewards.”

“The rewards are emotional, Idia,” you whisper, linking arms with him.

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

You suppress a smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Tonight is the night. You had planted the seeds weeks ago, a few well-placed rumors, some whispered insinuations, and a letter you’d accidentally left behind in a well-trafficked corridor. It was all coming together like a beautifully chaotic symphony, and now, the climax.

You spot the heroine first, her radiant smile masking the venom beneath. She’s making a grand entrance, arm-in-arm with the male lead, who, as always, looks like he’s stepped straight out of a romance novel. His hair is perfect, his jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. But you know better. They’re both so predictable.

“They’ve arrived,” you murmur to Idia.

He gives you a blank stare. “Yeah, cool, I’m just here to not die of social exhaustion. Whatever you’re planning... don’t tell me. I don’t wanna be involved.”

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

You watch them mingle, waiting for the right moment. And there it is—the heroine, attempting to cozy up to the king, laughing a little too loudly at one of his mediocre jokes. You slip through the crowd, making your way to where a certain nosy noblewoman is holding court. A noblewoman known for her love of gossip and her even greater love of ruining people’s lives with it.

Perfect.

You lean in, feigning concern. “Oh, My Lady... I probably shouldn’t say this, but I heard the strangest thing about the heroine. You won’t believe it.”

Her eyes gleam with curiosity. “Do tell, my dear.”

“Well,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “there’s talk that the heroine and the male lead are involved in some... unsavory business dealings. Something about embezzling funds from the royal coffers for their own gain? I don’t know how true it is, of course... but it would explain some things, wouldn’t it?”

You leave the rest unsaid, letting her imagination do the rest. The best part? It’s all technically true. You had orchestrated it so well, the heroine and the male lead had no idea that their “private” meetings and “innocent” financial maneuvers were anything but secret.

She gasps, her fan snapping shut. “I knew there was something off about them! Oh, the gall! I must inform the king immediately!”

And just like that, the gossip spreads like wildfire. Within minutes, the entire room is buzzing with scandalous whispers. The heroine and the male lead notice the shift, the way people start looking at them, and for the first time, they’re on the back foot. They try to smile, but their unease is palpable.

You sit back, watching the chaos unfold, sipping your wine as nobles begin to distance themselves from the pair, shooting them suspicious glances.

Idia sidles up next to you, looking around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What... what did you do?”

“Who, me?” You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gives you a side-eye. “You’re terrifying.”

“You knew that when you asked me to be your fake fiancée.”

The next day, official inquiries are launched into the heroine and the male lead’s finances, and though they try to clear their names, it’s no use. The damage is done. Their reputations are ruined beyond repair, and they’re forced to withdraw from court life entirely. A fitting end for their ambitions.

Which brings you to the present...

It’s a peaceful morning in your beach house, and you’re sitting on the veranda, enjoying your coffee while the sun rises over the horizon. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is your only company, and for once, there’s no looming political intrigue or royal drama to worry about.

That is, until Idia stumbles out of the bedroom, his hair a messy blue cloud, his eyes half-closed with sleep. He groans as he sees you, one hand on the wall to steady himself. “Why are you up so early? It’s like... the middle of the night.”

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

“Exactly,” he grumbles, shuffling over to you. Without another word, he flops down beside you, his head immediately finding its way to your neck. He nuzzles into you, muttering something unintelligible, and you chuckle softly, patting him on the cheek.

“You’re such a big baby in the morning,” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Despite being married for the past two years, Idia’s face turns tomato-red every time you do something affectionate. He blushes furiously now, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide it.

“Y-You’re unfair,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “Saying stuff like that... it’s embarrassing.”

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m a grown man. And you’re a villain for making me get up before noon.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Maybe, but I’m your villain. So deal with it.”

Idia groans dramatically but makes no effort to move away, too comfortable where he is. You continue sipping your coffee, enjoying the moment of peace, when he finally speaks again, a little softer this time.

“Y’know... you really did a number on the heroine and the male lead. They’re still laying low, huh?”

“Maybe the rumor I spread was truly a masterpiece,” you say with a smirk, remembering how perfectly everything had gone according to plan.

Idia snorts. “A masterpiece of destruction, maybe.”

You chuckle, pressing another kiss to his forehead. He sighs contentedly, the two of you basking in the quiet comfort of your shared life. It’s moments like this that remind you just how far you’ve come together, from court intrigue and scandal to peaceful mornings at your beach house.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x you #idia shroud #idia #idia x you #trash novel chronicles

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deliciousangelfestival · 7 months ago

Text

Did I Make You Proud?

Character: Spy!Bucky x Rogue!Spy Female Reader

Summary: Imagine being a rogue agent, relentlessly pursued by your irresistibly attractive former mentor, Bucky, who is determined to track you down.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky P.O.V

Bucky's gaze flicked up to the intercom as the voice crackled through, laden with stress. "Did you see her?"

He sighed, the weight of the crowded train station bearing down on him. "Too many people here," he muttered, his frustration evident in the terse response.

"I never thought she would betray us. We have to find her before they do," came the voice from the intercom, laden with frustration.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration mirroring the tone on the intercom.

It was understandable why tensions ran high in the spy agency; one of their own had gone rogue, becoming a fugitive and leaving chaos in their wake.

And to make matters worse, the rogue agent is you.

The senior agent, Bucky received a direct order to apprehend the rogue agent. He was the one who had trained and guided you.

The situation's urgency hit him like a wave as he grasped the gravity of the rogue agent's actions. You had obtained sensitive data from a secret base and were planning to sell it to another country, triggering a potential international crisis.

"BANG."

The explosion erupted from the toilet, sending shockwaves through the crowded area.

"KYAA!!!" Panic spread like wildfire as people scrambled everywhere except for Bucky.

He remained calm amidst the chaos, a knowing look in his eyes as he recognized the familiar tactic. He had taught you well – create a distraction but ensure no civilians get hurt. It was a motto they lived by.

As his colleagues and the soldiers mobilized to locate the source of the explosion, Bucky's focus was unwavering. His gaze swept over the frantic crowd until, finally, he spotted you.

There you were, a smirk playing on your lips as you sat inside the cafe directly across from him.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over Bucky – relief at finally finding you, the rogue agent, mingled with disappointment and a touch of regret.

Despite the agencies hot on your trail, you exuded an air of confidence, leisurely sipping your coffee as if you hadn't a care in the world. Bucky's jaw clenched with determination as he observed you from afar, his fist tightening as he made his way towards your location.

As he anticipated, you had vanished from the cafe, but your signature perfume lingered in the air, serving as a tantalizing clue. Trusting his instincts, Bucky followed the scent until he spotted you boarding a train.

With a quickened pace, he hurried to catch up, his steps purposeful as he entered the same carriage as you. The doors closed behind them, sealing their fate within the confines of the train.

"Bucky, what are you doing?" the intercom crackled with concern.

Bucky's hand moved swiftly to remove the device from his ear, slipping it into his pocket as he met your gaze with steely resolve. "I found her," he declared, his voice firm as he prepared to confront the rogue agent face to face.

Bucky quickened his pace, determination driving his strides as he reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to the quiet area of the train.

"Stop what you're doing. Do you want to get caught and be a prisoner in another country?" he pleaded, his voice laced with urgency and concern.

You shrugged nonchalantly, seeming unfazed by the consequences. "As long as I get paid," you replied, a hint of indifference in your tone.

Bucky's grip tightened as he looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of recognition. "This isn't you," he insisted, his voice tinged with desperation.

Pushing away his hand, you retorted, "What happened to 'no strings attached'?"

Bucky grumbled in frustration, feeling the weight of his own words haunting him. Perhaps you were right; he shouldn't have let himself worry about you.

But memories flooded his mind – the nights spent together, sharing warmth on cold evenings, and when you pretended to be husband and wife. Those days held a special place in his heart, now overshadowed by your betrayal.

"You... you were different," he muttered, struggling to reconcile the person he once knew with the rogue agent before him.

With a smirk, you met his gaze defiantly. "Because of you and the agency pushing my limits, I've learned my true value," you declared, your confidence unwavering.

"I'm a good spy."

Bucky couldn't deny the truth in your words. Despite the circumstances, there was no denying your skill as a spy. You had learned from the best – him.

As tension crackled between them, a mixture of frustration, longing, and unresolved emotions hung in the air, a testament to the complex relationship they once shared.

Bucky's voice was stern as he demanded, "Where's the data?"

You met his gaze with defiance, a smirk playing on your lips. "Too late. Before you guys found me at the train station, I already handed it over to the buyer."

The weight of your words hung heavily in the air as Bucky processed the gravity of the situation. "Do you even realize what you've done?" he asked, his tone tinged with disbelief.

You shrugged casually, a flicker of intensity in your eyes. "Can't you see the big picture? If there's only peace, people like us won't exist. I'm just here to keep it alive," you retorted, your confidence palpable, starkly contrasting to the timid and quiet persona he once knew.

Bucky fell silent, taken aback by the transformation before him. You had evolved into someone both confident and alluring, your newfound demeanor leaving him both impressed and unsettled.

You sensed his internal struggle and couldn't resist teasing him further. "Did I make you proud?" you inquired, tilting your head provocatively and adding a coy "Sir?" to the end of your question.

A mischievous glint danced in your eyes as you continued, "Or perhaps you'd rather catch me and handcuff me to your bed?"

Bucky's patience wore thin as he reached out, his fingers pinching your chin to meet his gaze. Leaning in closer, he captured your lips in a passionate kiss filled with unspoken tension.

The kiss spoke volumes, a collision of conflicting emotions – desire, frustration, and longing – all wrapped up in a single moment of intimacy.

As Bucky pulled away, his voice was low and authoritative. "Don't test my patience," he warned, his eyes burning with a mixture of warning and undeniable desire.

You let out a low, almost amused hum. "Hmm... I know."

The train whisked them away, racing across the bridge with breathtaking scenery flashing by. In a different circumstance, perhaps they could have appreciated the view together. But now, they were locked in a tense standoff.

"We should meet again," you remarked, breaking the silence.

Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

You offered no explanation, but a sense of unease prickled at Bucky's senses. He tensed, feeling a presence behind him, and his suspicions were confirmed when he turned to find seven men poised for a fight.

"Really?" Bucky shot you a disbelieving look as you shrugged nonchalantly.

"I need something to stall the time. I'll see you again, Sir." You turned and bolted with that, leaving Bucky to face the onslaught alone. He braced himself, ready to take on the challenge.

The fight was fierce, a whirlwind of punches and kicks as Bucky engaged in a battle of wits and strength. Despite being outnumbered, his training and skill allowed him to emerge victorious.

As he dealt the final blow, the sound of a helicopter overhead drew his attention. Bucky sighed, realizing that this was your escape plan unfolding.

When the train finally came to a halt, Bucky found himself surrounded by his agency colleagues, their expressions a mix of disappointment and frustration.

"She got away?" one of them asked, voicing the collective sentiment.

Bucky could only nod grimly. "Yup."

"Shit."

The frustration simmered within Bucky as he slid his hand into his jacket pocket, feeling something unexpected. With a quick glance, he pulled out a small item, his cheeks flushing crimson as he recognized it. It was undoubtedly your doing, a teasing reminder of your audacity.

Despite his frustration, Bucky couldn't deny the thrill of the chase, the challenge you presented only fueling his determination to catch you.

With a silent vow, Bucky steeled himself for the subsequent encounter. He would find you; this time, you wouldn't slip through his fingers so easily.

🚁

As you reached the top of the stairs, panting slightly from the exhilarating climb from the moving train, thrill and nervousness danced in your veins.

Clara, your partner in crime and the helicopter pilot shook her head in disbelief. "I knew you wanted to make a cool exit for your hot former mentor, but this has to stop," she chided a hint of exasperation in her tone.

"Climbing up from a moving train? You might as well have signed your own death warrant," Clara continued, her eyes wide with concern.

You flashed her a mischievous grin, trying to brush off the seriousness of the situation. "I just wanted to impress him," you admitted, your voice laced with a hint of sheepishness.

Clara sighed, knowing all too well how to handle your impulsive tendencies. "Maybe next time, just kidnap him and live on a private island. Then you two can live happily ever after," she suggested with a playful wink.

You chuckled at the absurdity of her suggestion but couldn't help but entertain the thought. "That's not a bad idea. I should save money to buy an island," you mused, already picturing the two of you lounging on a tropical beach, far away from the chaos of the spy world.

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heartlilith · 1 year ago

Text

Self Care

Self Care for the signs; use your moon sign & house placement (transit moon and house placement work as well, you can even use your venus sign if you're feeling up to it)

*TW: mental health disorders are talked about throughout

ARIES MOON/ARIES VENUS/1H MOON/1H VENUS: For these natives, I imagine a lot of energy swirling around the head and face. Stress can lead to overthinking, headaches, acne breakouts, and in more serious cases; vertigo, migraines, and hair loss. Exercise can really help these placements dispense of all the extra energy. It doesn't have to be something intense like body building or running miles (although it can be), it can be as simple as walking in nature or playing a sport with friends. Playing catch with your dog or playing a game of basketball. Other than exercise, Aries and 1st house placements can benefit from a spa day; whether at an actual spa or at home doing a skin care routine and a face mask. Guided meditation is great for these placements too in order to quiet the mind chatter. One last simple thing these natives can practice is turning off their phone for an hour a day; they're so involved in the world around them and sometimes that's a good thing but other times it can be very draining. Tune out the world and tune into your body.

TAURUS MOON/TAURUS VENUS/2H MOON/2H VENUS: Stressed out Taurus and 2nd house placements can struggle with their self esteem whether that shows up as arrogance or insecurity (Moon and Venus here can signify fluctuating self esteem). They also tend to hold a lot of stress in their shoulders creating soreness or even bad posture. Extreme stress can cause these natives to either withhold or indulge in things; usually in terms of food, money, or material possessions. This can lead to disordered eating, stinginess, overspending or possessiveness over their belongings, they do this to feel a sense of control in the midst of chaos. Taurus/2nd house placements would benefit from a massage either at a spa or from a loved one. Since the 2nd house rules over material possessions it's important for these people to reconnect with their element; Earth. Connecting with the Earth can look like gardening or caring for house plants, playing with animals, a simple walk outside, or nourishing their body with fresh fruits and vegetables. Since the 2nd house and Venus rules all things pleasurable, playing up the senses can really benefit these natives. Soft blankets, nice smelling candles or aromatherapy, listening to relaxing music, eating sweets or drinking warm tea are all things these placements can do to relax.

GEMINI MOON/GEMINI VENUS/3H MOON/3H VENUS: Gemini and 3rd house placements are very efficient people, normally. They are great multitaskers and great socializers. Stress with these placements usually shows up mentally at first then it starts to effect them physically. Their body is directly effected by their emotions, like Virgo. Stress can show up as restlessness, anxiety, shakiness or in more serious cases; anxiety attacks, becoming withdrawn, and dermatillomania (Gemini rules hands). In order for these natives to relax, they must take their air energy and create something tangible with it. Journaling is a great way to do this, also painting or blogging. Since Gemini rules the hands, a lot of stress can be relieved by keeping them busy. Knitting, crocheting, video games, playing instruments (double points if these activities connect the brain and hands in some way). Gemini and 3h placements would also benefit from breathing exercises, reading nonfiction books (Geminis love to learn), or even just venting about their problems to a trusted friend.

CANCER MOON/CANCER VENUS/4H MOON/4H VENUS: For people with Cancer or 4th house placements, stress can show up primarily through emotions (surprising I know). Cancer feels all the feels, good or bad. Stress can show up and create sadness, anger, anxiety, pessimistic behavior and being on edge. In worse cases; depression, an anxiety disorder, and rumination. In terms of self care, it's important for Cancer/4th house placements to get in touch with their inner child. This can be achieved by spending time with children, looking back at photos with happy memories, blowing bubbles, watching their favorite children's movie or eating their favorite meal growing up. Since the 4th house also rules family, spending time with blood or chosen relatives is important too (even pets!). Since Cancer is a water sign, taking a bath and staying hydrated are great forms of self care for these individuals. To cater to their nurturing side, taking care of someone else (a relative, loved one, a pet, even a plant) can help them forget their own problems which is great but if this is the only thing they do it can create a habit of avoidance to their own problems. One last thing Cancer/4th house placements can do for self care is cook themselves a hardy meal since Cancer rules the stomach and because, well, they deserve it.

LEO MOON/LEO VENUS/5H MOON/5H VENUS: For Leo and 5th house natives, stress can show up and drain these peoples' sunny disposition; like clouds covering the Sun. Stress can lead to them becoming uninspired, unmotivated, lazy and even bitter. In more extreme cases, Leo/5th house placements can slip into depression, ice out loved ones and hobbies, and become unsure of themselves - which leads to a lowering of self esteem and makes them second guess who they are. High blood pressure and heart palpitations isn't uncommon when these people deal with extreme stress over a long period of time. In order to relieve this stress, Leo/5th house placements can benefit from acupuncture or cupping (Leo rules the back and spine), a massage, or even reiki as a form of self care in order to move their stagnant energy around. Exploring somewhere new, going to an art museum, or going out with friends to a party or out to eat can inspire these natives and get them motivated to create again. Other forms of self care for Leo/5th house placements is reciting affirmations in the mirror daily, affirmations they know to be true about themselves. Pampering themselves in some way can boost their self esteem; whether that be getting their hair done, going shopping, or treating themselves to their favorite meal. Practicing self care for these natives is extremely important in order to keep their sun shining.

VIRGO MOON/VIRGO VENUS/6H MOON/6H VENUS: Virgo, virgo, virgo, always worrying your pretty little head off. I can say this btw I'm a Virgo moon and know this all too well. This goes for 6th House placements too, they are the busy bodies of the zodiac. Like Gemini and 3rd house placements, Virgo and 6th house placements feel stress mentally first and then physically. Stress can make them physically ill; stomach aches especially. When these natives are stressed, it shows up physically as digestive issues, stomach aches, disordered eating and even skin picking (dermatillomania). Mentally, these people can become cold and short with others. Virgo and 6th house placements can also become reactive to situations and look at things quite negatively. In my opinion, it's hard for Virgos and 6th house placements to get in the habit of self care since they are very sacrificial and put people before themselves. They also have a million and one things to do and want to get them done or else they can't relax. Self care for these people should be activities where they can unwind while still feeling productive. Exercise in any form is great for these natives because they love health and wellness. Yoga in all forms is PERFECT for Virgo/6th house placements since they're the epitome of mind, body, and soul (what effects their mind, effects their body, and then effects their soul). One last self care activity for these people is reading a book. Learning and relaxing? A Virgo/6th house placement's DREAM.

LIBRA MOON/LIBRA VENUS/7H MOON/7H VENUS: Libra and 7th house placements become stressed when things aren't harmonious. Relationships, work, their health - if it's not balanced, they really feel it. Stress for these people can show up as acne breakouts, becoming unmotivated, neglecting their physical appearance, and passive aggressiveness. In more extreme cases, these individuals can isolate themselves, be on the verge of tears all the time, and become volatile. Self care comes in the form of facials, baths, getting dressed up for a date. Libra/7th house placements want to look and feel good. Buying gifts for themselves or receiving gifts (big or small); especially clothes, makeup, skincare products, hair care, jewelry, candles, etc. Like Taurus/2nd house placements, they like things that satisfying their senses. Other forms of self care for these natives are spending time or talking one-on-one with a friend, family member, or partner whether that's for receiving advice, venting, or simply distracting them from their issues.

SCORPIO MOON/SCORPIO VENUS/8H MOON/8H VENUS: Scorpio/8th house placements feel stressed when they're lacking connection; emotional, physical, mental or spiritual. They might not like to admit it but they need a shoulder to cry on too. These people are also prone to mood swings so sometimes it's hard to pinpoint why they're feeling the way they do. These natives feel emotions strongly, just like the other water signs and house placements. Stress can show up as a low libido, dark eye circles from lack of sleep, and anger that comes on fast. In more extreme cases, they can experience depression, intrusive thoughts, and develop phobias. In order for Scorpio/8th house natives to relax, they need to channel their emotional energy. This can be hard, especially because sometimes they don't even know what's wrong or what exactly is stressing them out. Writing, painting, sculpting, any form of art is extremely beneficial to these people because even if they can't put a finger on why they're feeling a certain way, they can still express it in other ways. Other forms of self care can include taking a shower, swimming, taking a bath - anything that connects them back to their element. Having sex, reinventing themselves through dying their hair or changing up their wardrobe, and even witchcraft can help them incredibly. Diving into taboos and embracing them can do wonders for these people.

SAGITTARIUS MOON/SAGITTARIUS VENUS/9H MOON/9H VENUS: Do Sag placements even get stressed out..? Just kidding of course they do! These natives become stressed when they feel trapped, bored, and stagnant. You can always tell when they feel a certain way because they will tell you, bluntly and unapologetically. Sagittarius/9th house placement's symptoms of stress is restlessness, becoming impulsive, and being straight up mean. These placements need stimulation and will do things, good or bad, to get it. Self care comes in forms of traveling, learning, and winning. Whether down the street or to a different country, these natives benefit from exploring somewhere new. To them self care is indulging in their wants, and they WANT to explore new places and learn new things. Eating their favorite country's cuisine, going to a new place (a store or a park or a vacation), or reading a book are all forms of self care for them. Sagittarius/9th house placements would even benefit from planning a vacation even if they never take it. Other forms of self care for these individuals is playing board games or sports with friends, gambling (in moderation), eating good food, having a few drinks, throwing a party. They need to indulge, just a little bit.

CAPRICORN MOON/CAPRICORN VENUS/10H MOON/10H VENUS: These natives will never let you know that they're stressed out because they can handle it, they can handle anything and everything all the time, right? NO, but they want to be able to which creates more stress - they literally stress about stress. For them, stress can show up as feeling tightness and soreness in their body, lack of sleep, and disordered eating from trying to gain a sense of control. In extreme cases they will throw themselves into work because they can't feel the stress if they're distracted... this leads to endless problems which, guess what... leads to MORE STRESS. Capricorns/10h placements, take a day off. The world will still go on if you rest. Other than that, these natives benefit from stretching, yoga, meditation, a nice hot bath or shower. They need to slow their roll. One self care activity that benefits them the most is laughing; funny movies, seeing a comedy show, playing with their kids or telling funny stories are all things that can remind them that play is just as important as work. Have fun you guys, you deserve it the most.

AQUARIUS MOON/AQUARIUS VENUS/11H MOON/11H VENUS: Similar to Capricorn/10th house placements, you guys have a good poker face when it comes to being stressed out. What's different though is that instead of throwing yourself into work, you fake a smile until you're all alone... that's when the symptoms of stress take over. Anxiety, loneliness, sadness are all things these people experience when stressed out. They have plenty of friends and support systems but no really gets them, at least that's how they feel. In extreme cases, Aquarius/11th house placements can experience depression, depersonalization, and feeling more and more alienated and different than everyone else. Self care for these people includes meditation, journaling, walking barefoot outside, even hugging a damn tree - anything that pulls them back down to Earth. Planning a day with friends or loved ones to do something spontaneous or adventurous can really help these people. They need to get out of the "box" they put themselves in. Other forms of self care include things that are wild, fun, and get the blood pumping; playing paintball, video games, snowball/water balloon fight, pranks, partying and letting loose with your friends, and creating silly YouTube videos. The best self care for them is connecting with like minded people and having stimulating conversations or doing things that are crazy and silly.

PISCES MOON/PISCES VENUS/12H MOON/12H VENUS: When these natives feel stress, like Cancer/4th house placements, it comes in the form of emotions. Sadness, passive aggressiveness, and even shutting down emotionally in order to not feel anything at all. Pisces/12th house placements feel things so strongly and on every level - so for them, it's better to shut the emotions off because that's easier than dealing with it head on. But, those suppressed feelings will always come back to bite them. Stress shows up as lack of faith and trust, the inability to focus and stop daydreaming, and mood swings. Since the 12th house rules the subconscious mind, sometimes they don't realize why they feel stressed or unbalanced, like Scorpio/8th house placements. These individuals benefit from swimming, visiting a body of water, jumping in a puddle, or even going outside to feel the rain in order to reconnect with their element. Anything art; painting, sculpting, knitting, singing, creating is probably the best thing they can do to channel emotions. I always joke and say Pisces/12th house placements love "old lady activities" but I think it's true. Knitting, playing bingo, spending time with children, baking are all things that can really help them. Other than that, self care for these natives can be as simple as taking a nap to tune out the world. Or giving yourself alone time in a judgmental free place to do what you want. I think the theme here is to tune out the world and tune into yourself, however you can achieve that.

*Note: No placement in astrology is exempt from experiencing mental health disorders, just because I didn't mention it for every sign doesn't mean it can't happen to them, it can. If anyone ever needs someone to talk to, my ask box is always open.

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thatnonameuser · 1 month ago

Text

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 4.

When things do not go well, they continue to not go well.

This is the feared Dorm Head Riddle Rosehearts. This abridged story's Red Queen, the Rose-Red Tyrant. And to you the most frightening title of all, the Head of a Dorm full of controlling yanderes.

Ace wasn't very smart. That was the first thing. Rule of thumb, don't bad mouth someone when you haven't checked first to make sure they aren't around.

Second thing, of all the ways to officially meet Riddle Rosehearts, this was had to be the worst way. Immediately after Ace's smear campaign. Are you unlucky? You feel unlucky.

Well, here we are, no turning back now.

Whatever you do next, it's all based on Riddle's reaction to Ace's stupidity. Riddle's face is tight in a scowl, arms tightly crossed and you can feel the glare going through Ace right now. Let's hope this doesn't end with an actual beheading.

Cater jumps in to damage control, "Hey Riddle! What's shakin', pal." That was so forced, it might as well have been written by a computer, and not said by a chronically online person. "You're lookin' adorbs, as always!"

Riddle's scowl softens, maybe there's hope. "Hmph, Cater, keep running that mouth and you'll lose it - along with the rest of your head." Nope, no there isn't. When was there ever? Riddle's face may have softened but his temper sure hadn't. Is he always like this?

How can he so casually threaten doing the magician's equivalent of an amputation for an greeting he didn't like!? Maybe your plan was doomed from the start. Does this guy even have friends?

Still, you're not trying to actually be friends. You're looking for allies to use in cases of emergencies. So you'll bite your tongue.

"Sorry, sorry! My bad!" Cater shuts up, faster than you ever seen him so far.

Grim probably seem can't read the room, because he tries to square up with the magic severing Dorm Head with a fuse shorter than Grim himself. "Myah?! You're the guy who put that stupid collar on me at the orientation ceremony!"

Riddle doesn't miss a beat, and throws it back at your foolish feline friend. "And you're the new students who were nearly expelled earlier this week. I'll ask that you not refer to my signature spell as a 'stupid collar" Ok, shitty start so far.....

He glares directly at you next, and you hadn't even said anything yet! "The headmaster's habit of tolerating rulebreakers like you is going to send this entire campus spiraling into chaos one day." You tighten your jaw around your the tip of your tongue. Don't say anything. Just don't say anything.

"Those who break the rules should have their heads removed immediately, without exception." You can taste blood in your mouth, but you won't say a word against his little slander rant. Even if Ace and Grim are sending this plan downhill at the speed of an avalanche, you will persevere.

Unlike you, Ace doesn't seem to know when to shut his big fat mouth, because even after that, and how this conversation started in the first place, he doesn't shut up, "Dude, seriously? This guy looks like a wimp but he sounds like a monster," You hear Ace hiss under his breath. You only hope Riddle didn't hear it.

This polite insult-laden speech finally draws to a close. "The headmaster may have forgiven you, but if you break any further rules, I assure you I will not."

Ace, pulling the idiot card from the deck once again, chooses now to get his collar off his neck. Perfect. "So, uh, listen, Dorm Leader, sir..." Off to a wonderful start, Ace. "Any chance i could get you to remove this collar?"

The response wasn't a surprise. It was expected, really, "I had intended to remove it once you'd taken an opportunity to reflect upon your crimes," So, no. Yay, Ace is stuck in your dorm tonight...."But I've not detected so much as a hint of remorse in the foolishness I've heard you spout today. So I think I'll let you keep that for a while." Saw that coming a mile away.

You tune out the reassurance that he offers regarding school life, more concerned with the fact Ace will be alone with you tonight, again.

"Now, if you've finished your meal, you should quit gossiping and prepare for your next class. Rule 271 is quite clear: One must leave the table within five minutes of completing their lunch."

There are over two hundred rules...? You'd scanned the first fifty rules of the Queen of Hearts, before stopping under the reasonable belief that no one actually followed these insane rules. Was that too much to hope for?

This time his ire is pointed directly at Ace, "You DO understand what happens to rulebreakers I trust?"

Ace sighs, "More insane rules...."

Riddle's eyebrow twitches in irritation, "I believe you mean to say, 'Yes, Dorm Leader!'"

"Yes Dorm Leader," Ace and Deuce yell, and you felt nearly compelled. He's like a dictator threatening his troops.

"Very well then."

Trey tries to calm Riddle down, "Don't worry I'll keep an eye on them."

Riddle eyes Trey with skepticism, "Hmm. As Vice Dorm Leader, I trust you'll avoid any further indiscreet conversation."

Trey is the Vice? Why didn't he tell you guys? Is he trying to hide something. Or, is he trying to separate himself from a certain tyrannical dictator.

Riddle seems satisfied now that he's said, read ordered, his piece. "Now, as per rule 339: The post-meal beverage is to be lemon tea with two sugar cubes. Thus I must go acquire my sugar cubes. Farewell." As he walks away you can hear him mutter under his breath, "Don't even get me started on their violation of running out of sugar cubes....!" Is he ever happy? If you can nitpick every single detail and violation then how do you find any joy in your life? No wonder he's such a jerk to his own dorm mates.

Is it even possible to get him to forgive you? Much less befriend you?

"Yeesh!" Cater exclaims, "That was terrifying."

"That guy......has some serious issues." says Grim. "I don't think serious is enough of a word to describe this...." You agree.

"Hey, we shouldn't disrespect him.." Deuce sounds like wants to agree with you but can't.

You shake your head. "I don't think we're the only ones who think that your Dorm Leader is a bit nuts." You can hear the fearful murmurs of some other Heartslabyul students, relieved that Riddle didn't collar them.

Cater and Trey don't argue against your claim, and that speaks enough in itself. Two upperclassmen are too afraid to even deny what you had said. Trey's smile now feels forced as he explains, "Riddle managed to secure the Dorm Leader title before the end of his very first week at school. I know he can come off a bit harsh, but-"

You cut him off, "Trey, no offense but over half of your dorm mates are cowering in fear because Riddle walked over here. I don't think he comes off a bit harsh. I think he is harsh."

"I know....but" But it doesn't seem like even he believes that, "he's not a bad guy inside. Everything he does, he does because he thinks it'll improve the dorm."

"Would a good guy go around putting collars on strangers' necks?" Trey and Cater laugh awkwardly but they can't deny it. So Grim actually is right.

"So what's this signature spell he mentioned?"

"Hm? You're curious about Riddle's signature spell?"

"That means, like.....it's a spell that only he can cast, right?"

"I doubt he's the only person in the whole world....But yes, a signature spell is a magical ability that is, generally speaking, unique to its user." It might be best you remember this. If there's magic unique to the user, could that magic be dangerous against you? Riddle's own seals off magic, so you're not in immediate danger thanks to that. But you still don't know about the rest of the Heartslabyul students you know. What exactly is their Unique Magic? Does Grim have one?

"Which is why all of us at Heartslabyul House try hard not to violate Riddle's rules." But back to the present issue, Riddle's magic sounds terrifying to magic users. So that does explain why Heartslabyul lives in fear.

"And as long as you are following the rules, Riddle isn't so scary." And that's all you needed to know. If he is kinder to those who follow the rules, then you just had to be a teacher's pet, or a dorm leader's pet. Wait, that sounds wrong either way.

"Speaking of which- are you still not gonna let me into the dorm until I buy a tart, Cater?"

"Don't @ me, but yeah. That's rule 53, so my hands are tied."

"Isn't that taking this too far? Sure, Ace stole something but he still lives in that dorm. Kicking him out is too harsh of a punishment."

"Riddle really looks forward to having the first slice of a tart. So he won't forgive you unless you come back with a whole tart."

Perfect. So all you have to do is find a tart and all will be well. You're starting to realise that that is a whole lot of fat chance served on a plate. Maybe Ace will steal it, and cut you a break.

But as it turns out, Ace is flat broke, so he can't just go buy a tart to replace it with. You would happily just go buy one to save your own ass, but Crowley (the bastard) is yet to give you any money.

Thankfully, Trey offered a solution that would work, make a tart on the cheap and give that to Riddle. You also learned he was a talented baker, which sounds like something you might take advantage of in the future but priorities.

You hope that the tart plan does work, because if you have to do an entire run around for a honestly exhausting wild tart chase is becoming very annoying...

"Riddle wants a chestnut tart next, so I'm gonna need you to gather a ton of chestnuts."

"Like that's any less of a hassle. But.....fine. How many do you need?"

"Well, it's for the unbirthday party, so....Probably two or three hundred?" You choke on your own spit.

"S-Sorry, HUNDRED!?" You splutter.

"And they're all gonna need to be boiled, shelled and pureed." What you do to get Ace out of your house. It may seem that easy to just make a tart and be forgiven, but with how complicated this whole thing had been so far, things will probably be more difficult.

Whatever you have Grim and Deuce to help-

"Alright, I'm gonna head out." "I'm leaving too."

Why are you even surprised. You would have done the same really.

"You heartless cowards!" Ace objects from the abandonment and betrayal. But to be honest, considering he caused this whole mess because he couldn't keep his fingers out of someone's tarts, and the fact he exposed you to another obsessive psycho, you really want to leave him to his own devices.

Before you can jump in with a BS-laden speech to persuade them Cater thankfully jumps in. "Hold up! Haven't you ever heard that food tastes better if you make it with your friends? This'll be a memory to treasure! It could even be your chance to make a splash as a cooking blogger!"

Trey even proves useful, "Don't tell Riddle, but chestnut tarts are at their tastiest when eaten right out if the oven.. And the only people who get to experience that culinary privilege are the ones who make it."

That's enough to convince Grim, "Well, when you put it that way...Come on, humans, let's do this!"but you doubt that's the same for Deuce. But where you'll go, he'll follow.

"I'm only helping because it will mean you're back in your dorm sooner, Ace. You gonna help, Deuce?"

Deuce smiles at you. "S-Sure, Prefect." You're starting to get the hang of this.

Later, you'd focus on Ace's apology tart. Right now, you'd focus on your own. The apology, not the tart part.

After getting the cut in your tongue treated, you'd asked Ace and Deuce to go to class with Grim without you to get something private done. They'd both pushed to go with you but you managed to shut that down.

With what you had planned, you needed Ace, Deuce and Grim away from you. To prevent any unwanted incidents like accidentally sending Riddle off in an angry fit.

You had a plan, so you just needed to start that plan.

So here you were back in the cafeteria, searching for a head of red hair and there he was sipping a cup of lemon tea with exactly two sugars, if you remembered the rules right, completely alone with only thick tomes for company.

You don't bother yourself worrying about the implications of the him sipping tea all on his lonesome. That's not your priority right now.

You tap Riddle's shoulder, "Excuse me? Riddle Rosehearts, was it?" you say as politely as possible.

He first gives you a look of chagrin, only for it to relax when he realises that you're alone. "You are correct. Have you come to cause more trouble and break more rules?"

His suspicion is warranted, but you've prepared for that. "Actually, I'm here to apologize to you specifically for all the trouble I caused." His eyes widen in surprise. He wasn't expecting that. Alright, here we go. "May I sit with you?" You say, allowing a small smile grace your lips.

He snaps out of his surprise at your question, but he doesn't reject you. After a few moments of silence, he finally says, "I-I'll allow it." He motions to the empty seat in front of him, and you accept the seat with another smile and a word of thanks.

Alright, step one of the potentially dangerous plan, apologise the the Heartslabyul Dorm Leader. "I'm sorry about bothering you like this. I'm sure you'd rather spend the time around your friends rather than a troublemaker."

He doesn't answer for a few seconds, "I'd rather spend my time in solitude than in the company of troublemakers," he responds. Does he not have friends? That answer makes you feel that the answer to the question is a yes. "However, you wish to apologise for your violations, so I'll humor your presence." Ok, so far so good. "Well, I should get the apologies out the way. I'm sorry about all the trouble I've caused since I've been here. Grim during the ceremony, accidentally damaging the Great Seven statues and destroying the chandelier. I hadn't meant to."

Riddle frowns, setting aside his teacup to cross his arms, "One should not apologise whilst making excuses." he recites as if he'd heard or said that a thousand times. He really is a stickler for the rules.

"What rule of the Queen of Hearts is that?" You ask, with how many there are you really need to remember them.

He shakes his head, "It isn't one. It's one of my mother's." Let's not touch that, insulting someone's mother is the fastest way to piss someone off.

You take a deep breath before continuing, "Well, then I'm also sorry for making excuses for my behaviour. I hope you can forgive me."

Riddle's silent for another few seconds, as if contemplating the validity of your apology. You feel yourself stop breathing in anticipation.

Finally, he answers, "It's rare for a troublemaker to be genuinely repentant, so I'll accept your apology. However, I won't be as forgiving should you choose to continue breaking the rules." So he is capable of forgiving troublemakers, that means Ace will eventually be back in his own dorm.

"Thank you." you let out a sigh of relief. Alright, time for stage two. Suck up like the worst kind of teacher's pet, "If you don't mind me asking, could you maybe teach about the rules of the Queen of Hearts?"

Riddle chokes on a sip of his tea, and looks at you in incredulity "Y-You what?"

"I want you to teach me about the rules of the Queen of Hearts, so if I ever break any of them I can't use ignorance as an.....excuse?" You trail off as you find Riddle completely stunned, has this never happened before? Has no one bothered to ask him to help them learn the rules so they could avoid breaking them?

"W-Well, it seems you really are trying to atone for your mistakes. If that is the case, then yes." He pauses, before offering you a cup of tea, smelling of sweet citrus, " Would you like some?"

If it's lemon, you don't want to drink it. The citric acid in the lemon will burn your tongue like hell. But there are unfortunately rules. "Are they any rules that say whether I can say yes or no?" You're not failing if this is a test.

Riddle smiles at you, "You learn quickly, Rule 114, One must never reject a cup of tea from the Queen." You, against your better judgement, accept it and take a sip and the tea burns the cut on your tongue but you force it down nonetheless. In the name of Future you's safety you would do what you had to. As long as it goes down without objection, you'll drink as fast as you can to dull the burn.

"Perhaps there is hope for you, even with that unignorable violation." Riddle says and you hesitate in your next sip.

"And what is that?" You ask, before taking another mouthful of tea.

He spares a few glances around as if looking for any eavesdroppers before dropping his voice into a hushed whisper, "That you are a darling attending Night Raven."

You choke, how does everyone keep knowing?! "H-How did you know?!" You ask, your voice barely a whisper.

"I was taught to recognise all the traits your kind has as soon as I was registered." How many of those were there?! Besides all the darlings here can't be exactly like you, that would just be impossible. Right?

Riddle continues, "That and you remind me of my father, kind and bubbly when you are surrounded by people you do think are trustworthy and jumpy and frightful when you think you are surrounded by those you don't. Subtly is not exactly your strong point."

You deflate like a balloon. You carefully set down the teacup before it breaks in your hands. "Are...Are you going to tell anyone?"

He shakes his head, "No, and while I feel your presence at this school is a travesty that Crowley has allowed to happen, you attempting to hide your identity keeps the members of my dorm from killing each other. You must understand it is quite difficult to mix paint in manner that hides the smell of blood." They kill people and mix their blood with the paint. Oh, shit, did...did you paint with blood earlier!?

"So I suggest you figure out how to circumvent your little issue." He finishes.

But that's impossible thanks to that stupid law, "But how do I do that if I can't access any of the things you can?" You ask.

"Your testing papers, all darlings have the legal right to see them after their registered. Headmaster Crowley should be able to give them to you if you request them. You'll be able to tell with those." Riddle gives you the first answer that actually helps you.

All you need to get Crowley to give you those papers and you'll be free to figure out how to save your skin.

You sag in relief, finally some good news. And then you remember, "Wait, why are you helping me?"

"Because it will keep you out of trouble. Speaking of, I expect your attendance at the unbirthday party tomorrow, so that I can keep an eye on you."

"Thank you." You whisper, for once you actually feel relieved. You were wrong about earlier it seems, he isn't as bad as you though he was.

"Now, Rule 71 of the Queen of Hearts states that one must never arrive on time, always early. You should leave now, before the bell rings." You nod, rising from your seat as he does the same.

"Thank you for everything. See you tomorrow, " You say with a smile before turning heel.

If only you hadn't failed to see how his face flushed and how he grabbed his heart as you left.

The woodland behind campus were surprisingly bright and vibrant, like a painting you would see in picture books, even with the change seasons coming up. As it seems the chestnut season is equally vibrant, as hundreds upon hundreds of chestnuts covered the forest floor. But the chestnut spines were too much of a bother to ignore, so here you were in the Botanical Garden looking for a basket and some work gloves.

The gardens are stunning, full of life and thousands of plants. Some you recognise, some you don't. The whole building is enormous. Finding anything here is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Which means you have to split up to find what you need. "We should split up, we'll cover more ground that way."

Ace and Deuce open their mouths to object, "But-"

You're not wasting any time on them coming with you and taking longer. Besides having two bodyguard/friends feels a little suspicious.

"We're going to spend the rest of the night making tarts, we don't exactly have time to waste..." You argue and they don't fight back against this.

".....Sure. Dibs on the right side."

"Then how about I go left, while Prefect and Grim go straight ahead?"

"Sounds good, we'll meet up here at the entrance in 10."

You immediately regretted your decision to split up, as Grim got distracted every ten seconds by all the ripe, sweet smelling fruit. So you spent the five minutes that you were supposed to spend looking for a groundsman, chasing after your 'boss'.

"Hey, come take a look at this!" Grim runs to another bright, ripe fruit. "There's a ton of fruit growing here! Smells like they're ripe."

You grab his tiny body and yank him away from the fruit on the tree. "Grim, we're supposed to find a groundsman, not snacks!" You don't recognise any of the plants in this section. They all look mystical, but that doesn't mean safe. "Don't pick anything."

Grim wriggles loose to run to chase after another bright and shiny fruit. The grasses here are tall enough to reach your waist, and Grim disappears into the long stalks, "Grim. Stop!" Grim doesn't listen to you. "Don't pick anything!" You yell out as you wade through the tall grasses after him.

You stumble over the lush stalks of grass. It's so thick that you can't see your own feet. You hope there aren't any animals-

"Ngh!" A groan of pain fills the air and you feel something underfoot slip out and you reflexively take a few steps back. That didn't sound like an animal...

"Did I just step on something?" You think aloud, looking around for a source as a nearby patch of grass starts to rustle.

"Hey! You got some nerve steppin' on my tail and just walkin' away!" To your surprise, someone rises out of the grass, and he looks angry. Crap.

Originally, your brain had failed to compute the 'tail' part of what he'd said, but it's obvious to you now that you see his ears. He's a beastman. And he's wearing the Savanaclaw colours. Wait, didn't Cater say that Savanaclaw students like fighting. Shit.

"I-I'm sorry!" You say immediately, taking a few more steps backwards. You feel compelled to run.

"Tch. Ain't nothin' worse than bein' in the middle of a good nap and havin' some jerk step on your tail." Ok, no. He's the one who decided to sleep in waist high grass. Be mad at yourself for your bad decision making, buddy.

Despite how you feel, "It was an accident...." is what you mumble instead, but he doesn't seem to care, instead he stalks towards you, with a smirk on his face. "You.....I know you. You're that herbivore from orientation who couldn't use magic."

"What did you call me?!" You demand, outraged. He still ignores you, and he leans forward and..."And why are you smelling me?!"

He ignores you, pulling away with that punchable smirk. "Huh. It's true. You don't smell of magic at all."

"Did you miss the part where the mirror said that to everyone?!" You can feel yourself losing every ounce of your patience. You'd felt apologetic for accidentally stepping on his tail and waking him up, but this guy was being such a jerk, you no longer found it within yourself to care.

"Well, well, well, the little herbivore thinks she has claws. Can't say it'd be much fun to hurt someone like you. Still gonna do it, though."

"Do what?" You spit through gritted teeth. You clench and unclench your fists.

"No one gets to stomp on my tail and just walk away without payin' the price."

Ok, that's fucking it. You aren't a weak darling, and all the earlier rage and anger that you've felt in the last two days.

"Then maybe don't sleep in waist-high grass, and maybe in your dorm next time? That way no one will step on your tail" You say as sarcastically as possible.

"Hm? Herbivore, I'm afraid you're all bark and no bite." Oh? All bark and no bite, mystery animal man? Let's see how he bites your fist when it flies into his-

You tighten your fist before taking a swing aimed at his jaw. With his face so close to yours, he has no way of moving out of the way in time-

He stops your fist just shy of his face. He gives you an unimpressed look, before replacing it with that fucking smirk. He laughs at you, like you were foolish to even think that would work. His grip on your wrist is so tight that you wince as you struggle to twist it away.

"L-Let me go!" He laughs at your pathetic struggles to free yourself.

"Pathetic, like a mouse trying to kill a lion." He's a lion? Well then, what an arrogant asshole he is.

You struggle fruitlessly for a few more moments, before giving up. "Fuck you." You spit.

"You're a brave herbivore, I'll give you that. Still," His already tight grip feels like it's crushing the bones in your wrist. "You woke me up from my nap, that'll cost you a tooth."

"Fine. Take it." You hiss. Maybe you can get him in trouble for darling abuse or something after this. Would Crowley take you to a dentist?

"Leona! There you are!"

"Heh?" Leona turns to someone, and you follow his gaze to another beastman student, wearing the colours from the same house Leona is. His cocky, arrogant face tightens in annoyance.

The new mystery beastman looks like he's spent the time since last bell chasing down Leona. "I knew I'd find you here! We got after-school classes today, remember?"

Leona groans. "And now, I've got this guy on my tail...." You can hear him mutter.

You take the chance to do something stupid, rewarding in the moment but still stupid. Ah, whatever you only live once.

"What's wrong, Carnivore? Too afraid to bite?" You taunt, throwing his own words around and right back at him.

He glares at you. But the beastman speaks up before Leona can actually break your wrist. "Leona, you've already had to repeat one year. If you get held back again, we'll be in the same grade." You snort from repressed laughter, trying to hold back your laughter before the person holding your wrist captive decides killing you is better just breaking your wrist.

"Oh, put a sock in it already. I'm tired of all yer yappin', Ruggie."

Ruggie frowns, "Look, you think I like always being on your case? C'mon man. You act like it'd be hard for you. You could skate through life if you'd just TRY. Come on! Let's go already!"

Leona finally releases your wrist and you wince as blood returns to your fingers. "Hmph...Herbivore, you better not cross me again."

"Oh, I'll be sure not to." You turn, and walk as confident as possible through the tall prairie grass back into the fruit trees.

It was nice to actually be in control for once.

You eventually find Grim half finished eating a dozen multi-coloured unknown fruit. You don't feel as mad as you were earlier. So you don't bother with the scolding that you originally planned on giving him. Instead you scoop him up like a bag a rice.

"Nyeh?!" Grim exclaims in surprise, "Henchman, where'd you come from?!"

"Nowhere, I thought you already ate your weight in lunch earlier?"

Two familiar voices fill your ears.

"Yo, guys, we found the baskets and gloves."

"Prefect, what in the world happened to you?" And you smile.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

You feel a little better now.

You feel worse now.

Not in a bad mood, just tired. A sleepless night would do that, then harvesting about three hundred chestnuts on your hands and knees plus hauling them back to the communal kitchens.

And now here you stood struggling to peel the soft skins of the chestnuts.

Deuce and Grim are lucky because they have the magic that Trey showed them to magically and quickly peel them, but you, a poor magicless human, must fiddle with sticky skins. Ace, forced to do this the old fashioned way, is struggling equally with the much higher pile that he'd been delegated for getting you all into this mess.

Still, it was actually fun to see the 'friendly' competition Ace and Deuce went through as Ace struggled to keep up with the magical efficiency.

Problem was, you were so much slower.

"Need any help?" Trey asks. He'd stopped supervising Deuce with his peeling. And he's looking at you with"You look like your having a hard time."

"Yeah...I've never really done this before...." You reply, still fiddling with the finicky skins.

"Here." He places his hands over your own, directing your fingers into a proper hold. "Like this." You can feel his chest against your back, his head over one of your shoulders. He smells nice, like a bakery right after the oven is opened and the sweet aroma of warm pastries has filled the air. The shell holding the nut finally gives way, done with your hands and guided by Trey's.

"Thanks", you say with a smile.

"It's no problem", he returns with his own smile. "Do you want help with the others?" He feels friendly, and you can't see that glint. Maybe it's his glasses.

"Sure." You respond.

With Trey's help, you start to fly through the pile of chestnuts that you'd once struggled to peel. You can actually keep up with Ace and Deuce in their chestnut peeling, being only a few dozen behind.

It's like painting the roses earlier, you like the serenity that you feel as you do this. The same when you were straining, and pureeing. Despite the fact you were willingly unwillingly roped into this, it's actually quite relaxing maybe you could talk to Trey about teaching you.

After what had to be a good two hours, straining and pureeing three hundred chestnuts, Ace finally groans in relief "There! Finally got 'em all pureed!"

"My arm is killing me..."

"Well at least it's over.." You agree as you massage the ache in your forearms. Deuce and Ace actually did most of the work for you, but you still tried to help. And now your arms hurt more than your legs.

"Nice work. It'll be all the sweeter for your pain!"

"Are you sure about that?" You say with a laugh. But seriously, your muscles hurt. It better be sweet for all the work that it better be.

"The smell alone already has me droolin'." You manage to grab Grim before he sticks his paws into the puree. You're not letting everyone's hard work to waste.

"I just need to add butter and sugar to the chestnut paste, and a sensible splash of oyster sauce- that's my secret ingredient." Oh, cool then you'll be done soon. Wait...

Your brain fills in the blanks. "Did you just say oyster sauce?" You say in utter disbelief. Maybe Trey shouldn't teach you how to bake....

"Yep. The umami of the oysters gives the cream a deep, savory flavor." He can't be serious, can he? Are desserts different here? Because last you checked a sweet dessert wasn't supposed to taste like salt.

"I use this one here: Walrus-brand Young Oyster Sauce. All the best bakers use it in their tarts." Your brain tunes him out in utter disbelief. Was this place just completely fucked? Because you'd have to dig through the mold on the underside of the barrel to actually find this madness. It's not the scariest thing or the most insane thing you heard in this misadventure, but an insane thing nonetheless.

Deuce actually seems to believe him, at least a little, "Really? But isn't oyster sauce like, super salty?"

Apparently so does Ace, "Some folks put chocolate into curry, don't they? Maybe it's the same idea." No, Ace. Whether it's pineapple on pizza or chocolate in curry, whether you like or hate it, it is not a total abomination of the culinary world. Oyster sauce in a chestnut tart cream is.

"You guys......are messing with me right?" You say, still in disbelief.

"Pfft...Ah ha ha ha!" Trey laughs, is he mad? If this dorm is Wonderland, is he actually the Mad Hatter and not the three of clovers.

"I'm totally lying! No one in their right mind would put oyster sauce into a pastry." You breathe a sigh of relief, okay this world wasn't completely far gone.

"Let that be a lesson to you. Don't believe everything you hear."

"Feh. And here I thought that human was actually somewhat decent." Grim murmurs.

"It wasn't that bad." Out of all the things you'd experienced this week, let alone today, this was by far the most tame. At least he revealed the lie, before Ace poured oyster sauce in the cream.

Trey has to be the most tame person you met so far, it's actually hard to connect that he's supposed to be a yandere and not a normal friendly dude with a hidden mischievous side.

That reminder isn't a fun one, but he seems perfectly nice...you hope.

"Next, I'll put in the cream....Oh!"

"What's wrong?"

"You guys gathered so many chestnuts that we may have overdone it with the chestnut paste. I don't think we have enough cream to mix in."

"Then I'll go buy some." Deuce volunteers himself, "Do they sell it at the school store?"

Thankfully, according to Trey, it does. You haven't been there yet, but no better time to find out like the present.

"I don't think I'll be able to carry all that back. ___-"

"I'll go with you." Whatever gets you back here faster. As soon as Ace gives Riddle this tart back tonight, you'll be in the clear. If he doesn't you're stuck with him tonight.

Deuce ended up calling this shop wild. Wild is an understatement. The shop is full of....everything. From fruits to stationary, and crystal skulls to rare plants. There's even a restricted access section, with locked cabinets full of freshly sharpened short and long blades to guns to pre-made potions filled with unknown fluids.

It's a perfect one stop shop for students, and for criminals.

"Do you really think they sell cream in here?" Grim says incredulously. Grim ended up tagging along, and looks equally mystified from all the products this 'school' store as to offer.

"I'm not-"

"Greetings, my stray imps, How fare you today?" You yelp as you reel back in surprise. The shopkeeper appeared quite literally from nowhere. "Welcome to Mr.Sam's Mystery Shop. What among my humble selection interests you? A charm from a secluded land? The mummified remains of an ancient king? A cursed tarot card?"

Ok, a name, the shopkeeper's name is Sam...something. And humble is modest understatement. You're pretty sure that this place makes the mega department stores back home look empty.

"How about some cream...for baking?" With so much stuff here, you feel a little overwhelmed.

"Y-Yeah, we wanted to buy all the items on this list."

"Ring up two cans of tuna while you're at it!"

"With what money, Grim?"

"Yes, Grim! We're not here for tuna!"

"What's this? Cream and eggs and....Quite the sacchariferous list! I'll get everything for you." It's impressive that he even knows that he has everything. With all the stuff here, you wouldn't even notice something strange or normal on these shelves. There's animals skulls, jewellery, weird taxidermy, even a weird shadow hand waving at you.

.......Y'know what, who cares. You wave back just in time for Sam to return with all your groceries. That was fast.

"Here you go. It's pretty heavy.....Are you sure you can carry this?Luckily for you, our 1/100th size flying saucers are 30% off today. Perfect for carrying groceries!"

Grim falls for the advertising, but Deuce stops him before he spends your nonexistent money. "We're fine, thank you. Let's go."

"Myah! I didn't realize today was National No Fun Allowed Day!"

"You're allowed to have fun as long as you don't make a mess." He deflates, "Grim, if it makes you feel better I'll give you an extra can of tuna for dinner." he perks up at that.

You and Deuce take the bags and bid Sam thanks. Deuce pulls you aside on the way out, "That store was amazing."

"Yeah, it was." You make a mental note to inquire about some products before your time of the month comes. That store has everything after all.

Main Street is practically void of any students, though you can see a pair walking up. The two are wearing red vests, Heartslabyul or Scarabia students probably. Besides that it's just, you, Deuce and Grim, who starts whining about his lack of purchases. "Yeah, and you guys are amazingly cheap."

"Hey!"

"Who are you calling cheap?!"

You shake your head, before readjusting the cords of the bags digging into your arms. You wince from the pressure relief, the bruise on your forearm that Leona gave you from earlier still stings. The bags are too heavy but you'll manage the rest of the way back.

"Hm?" Deuce must have seen your struggling, "_____, looks like you got the bag with all the cans. That must be heavy."

"It's not that bad," You shake your head, lying, "I can carry it."

"Here, let me take that one." He takes one of the heavier bags from you. And you breathe a sigh of relief now that the weight is off. "I've got a little trick for carrying heavy bags."

Smiling, you say, "Thank you." He smiles back, balancing all the heavy bags with ease. "You're quite the power shopper."

He nods, "Yeah. My mom always used to stock up at sales, and the bags would get ridiculously heavy. I was the only man in the house, so I got to do all the heavy lifting, and-" He pauses, "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to monopolize the conversation."

You shake your head, "No, it's okay..." Actually, you might be able to learn something useful from this. "Y'know if you want, you could talk about her, you seem to care about your mom a lot."

He deflates, "No, it wasn't like that at all." He takes a deep breath, "The truth is, I-OW!"

The students you saw down the street from earlier, ran directly into Deuce.

The sound of something cracking into bits fills the air. Clear and yellow goop drips out of one of the bags.

"The eggs!"

Deuce hurriedly opens the bag to inspect the damage. "The carton is completely smashed! And now the bag's dripping egg goo everywhere."

"Ugh! Why don't you watch where you're- Hey!"

The offending student turns around infuriated, and then his eyes widen in recognition. You recognise them too. The delinquents from earlier. The ones who through a fit over a broken yolk. Surprisingly, they're wearing the Heartslabyul ribbons. Hard to be delinquent when a tyrant can collar them with ease.

"It's you from earlier."

"Yeah, and you're the jerks who broke the egg yolk on my carbonara!"

"It was just a yolk." You repeat but it's pointless.

The other delinquent stalks up to you, grabbing you by your tie , "I've had enough of you punks. You need to learn your place." They threaten.

You can see Deuce's eyebrow twitch in fury. "You're the ones who darted out at as from around a corner!" He mutters, you can hear the hostility deep in his voice. He's angry. "And you picked a fight with us at lunch over an egg that you were still totally able to eat!"

"And now you've destroyed six of OUR eggs!" That anger in his voice is getting louder, clearer. You've seen Deuce a little angry before, but something's off about this time.

"Yeah, he's right!"

"So what? You sayin' that was our fault?"

"I am. Please reimburse us for the eggs." Deuce is frighteningly calm. He's not yelling or anything. "And then apologise to the chickens."

"Ooh, look who's got his big boy pants on. You sure are makin' a big deal outta some stupid eggs." The one with hold on your tie taunts Deuce.

"You shut your mouth." You hiss at him.

"What?" Deuce is still way too calm.

The idiot delinquent keeps blabbering, "They haven't even touched the ground, so they're still edible. Quit whinin'."

His idiot lackey keeps up the nonsense jabber. "Yeah, you should thank us for savin' ya the trouble of crackin' em."

They laugh and it's mocking and cruel.

"That ain't funny." Deuce's voice has a low growl and very quiet, the delinquents are idiots so they don't notice but....

"Deuce?" You ask, and you can see his eye twitching. He's angry. dangerously so.

"Huh?" Idiot delinquent number one asks.

And then that anger that Deuce was holding back finally bursts forth.

"I said......THAT AIN'T FUNNY!" The yell is so loud, it stuns you. The normally polite and reserved Deuce is replaced with one with a voice so loud, you're surprised that it didn't awaken the statues.

"You don't get to call my eggs stupid! You don't get to call ANY eggs stupid!! Those eggs may not have gotten to be chicks, but they were gonna make some amazing tarts!!"

"And you," Deuce's voice drops low as he rips the second delinquent away from you. "You apologize to her, right now. Do you get it yet!? DO YOU!?" Your tie comes apart in the delinquent's grip, said delinquent too afraid to actually let it go. They looks like he's about to piss himself from fear.

"W-What is with this guy all of a sudden?!"

"You owe me six eggs. If ya ain't gonna pay me for em, then you're gettin' a bruise for each one!" Deuce cracks his knuckles for emphasis.

"A-Are you serious right now?" The other little twerp is shaking in his sneakers.

''Buckle up, jerks!!"

Deuce's fist sails home into the cheek of the red-haired one, and another into the nose of the other. Blood splurts out staining the gloves he's wearing.

Like two pathetic little bitches, the two delinquents scamper and struggle against the one man army Deuce proves to be. And he isn't even using his magic.

"This guy's outta his mind!" The first one stammers.

"Bwah! L-Let's get outta here!" The other squeaks. And they both take off running. You hope Deuce doesn't get in trouble for this.

"Next time you eat an egg, you better apologize a hundred times, you buncha chumps!!" He yells at the retreating duo.

"D-Deuce! You need to calm down." You cup his face with both hands. And the blind rage on his face dissolves completely into calm.

He pants as he tries to calm himself. "....Urk!"

"W-What's wrong?" You let him go. All that anger is replaced with sadness, or actually....It looks like disappointment. "Are you ok?"

"I did it again, didn't I...?" Did what again? Deuce stares at the blood on his gloves, and he looks pained. "ARGH! I was dead-set on becoming an honor student this time, too."

"Huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I was in middle school, I was pretty wild. I cut school all the time and got in fights. I called my teachers names, hung out with bullies, bleached my hair..." Deuce lists off all of his middle school crimes, and honestly....He did sound a lot like the delinquents back in your world, minus the Magic Wheel thing and the magic.

"So you were only a little more annoying than you are now?"

"Grim, not now...." You scold Grim before trying to comfort Deuce. "No offense, but that's kind of hard for me to picture..."

Deuce continues to tell his backstory, "But one night, I saw my mom talking with my grandma. She was trying to hide from me, but I saw her, and I could tell she was in tears. She was saying how she must have been a horrible mom, and that she never should have tried to raise me by herself."

Ouch, that must have been tough to hear, especially from his mom.

"That had nothin' to do with it! She hadn't done anything wrong. It was all me......And when the carriage came to take me to Night Raven, she was so happy for me. I decided then and there that this time, I wouldn't do anything to make her cry. That this time, I'd become an honor student-someone she could be proud of."

"And I messed it all up!"

"No, you didn't." He looks so surprised at what you said.

"But-"

"Deuce, you didn't get into a fight for no reason. You got into to a fight because someone destroyed your stuff, and threatened your friends. Besides, they probably would have attacked me if you hadn't stepped in. And protecting the people you care about is something honor students should do."

"R-really?" You nod.

"Plus the thing an honor student should do....is report this to the Dorm Leader that some of his students tried to get into a fight with two freshmen." You whisper into his ear. "Let's see how they like it when they can't use their magic." You chuckle.

"______....."

"And to be honest....I really enjoyed that."

Deuce cheers up at that, "Heh heh....I guess you're right! I just hope those chicks can rest in peace."

"Uh, Deuce, the eggs were unfertilised..." He blinks at you, he doesn't know what you're talking about. "They were never going to hatch in the first place..."

"Wha-WHAAAAAT?! Are you kidding me?!"

You giggle again whilst shaking your head. He's not very smart, but you don't mind.

"But about your mom, could you tell me about her? She sounds like a really nice lady."

#yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandereverse au

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bvidzsoo · 4 months ago

Text

I know you want me

⨳ Mafia!Hongjoong ⨳

∞ Author: bvidzsoo

∞ Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x female reader

∞ Warning: mentions of drugs, murder and illegal activities ∞ Word count: 3.5k ∞ Genre: non-idol!au, mafia!au, police officer!au, enemies!au ∞ Rating: nc-17 ∞ Summary: Working in the police was no easy feat, especially when you had been chasing after a mafia lord for the past six years. No matter how hard you worked and tried to find evidence, Kim Hongjoong always somehow came clean. But one day you finally get a lead that will help you succeed in your mission...or perhaps you've trusted Kim Hongjoong a little bit too much with your wine.

∞ A/N: Hongjoong's part is here, I hope you enjoy it! I think the tags for Wooyoung's part weren't working and that makes me a bit angry? Anyways, check out the other parts if you're interested! ^^ Next I will be posting Yeosang's part. Let me know what you thought of Hongjoong's part ^^ I'm not starting a taglist for this one, sorry<3 (you'll have to lurk around) Feedback is much appreciated and I hope you enjoy!

⨳ Listen to this before or while reading! ^^

∥ Hongjoong ∥ Seonghwa ∥ Yunho ∥ Yeosang ∥ San ∥ Mingi ∥ Wooyoung ∥ Jongho ∥

In my field of work nothing was handed to you on a silver plate. The fact that I went to work daily was already a risk factor of losing my life—and unfortunately, with the passing of years and the many enemies I have made, I didn’t have to go into the office or out on the field to get killed. It was enough to sip my coffee on the balcony, or to go grocery shopping, or even just lay in my bed while watching a movie to unwind after the long day I’ve had. The city was a chaos, per usual, and the crime lords were on a rampant, wreaking more havoc than usual. There was a big influx of drugs sneaked into clubs and other entertainment areas these past two months that had officers, detectives, and even higher ups working their asses off in order to find the one behind it all, but almost each time we came up empty handed. It seemed like whoever was leading this illegal operation was a mastermind and made sure their steps were untraceable. Except that I wasn’t dense like my colleagues, I had my eyes set on one person since we’ve come across the illegal substances.

Kim Hongjoong.

Biggest mafia lord in the city and possibly wanting to expand his business overseas, it didn’t take long for me to connect the dots. It was Hongjoong’s doing, no doubt, but because he was too good at what he was doing, I couldn’t prove it. Not yet, at least. There were few things that could stop me—death being one of them—and I had been breathing down his neck for the past three months. The Kim Enterprise led by him, on the outside, seemed like an inoffensive car dealership that had multiple deals with overseas companies and collaborations with the biggest existing brands. However, once you looked through the cracks and investigated the Enterprise with a critical eye, you realized everything was hidden in plain sight. The cars they imported and exported often times were filled with either illegal substances or weapons that Mr. Kim should have never gotten his hands on—he also wasn’t shy to admit all the money laundering he’s been doing for the past six years.

But somehow, he always came up clean, without the possibility of directly blaming him for all the mayhem and crime he’s committed. He had great men backing him up, unfortunately, and I had been forced to dig deep and into ugly places in order to finally find something of value, something that would finally put him behind bars and destroy the empire he’s built for himself. He was no stranger to me or my colleagues, but perhaps the most infuriating part of our strictly professional relationship was the fact that he was always eager and happy to let us raid his warehouses and headquarters—perhaps because he knew we’d find nothing of actual value that would finally put an end to this fiasco.

Not tonight though, finally I found a little piece of evidence that fit our puzzle the right way. He wouldn’t be able to argue its authenticity, perhaps because it came from one of his insiders that had grown sick of all of the mistreatment and threats he’d been forced to take. The world of a mafia lord was sick and twisted, dark and unforgiving. The man who had given us a small piece of information had been placed under surveillance for his own safety as we know Mr. Kim too well, he’d definitely kill our informant the second he lays hands on him, and we couldn’t have that right now. We still need this person for further information and insight about Mr. Kim’s thorough plans. We finally had a real lead and we couldn’t let it go to waste.

That is why, in true fashion to myself, I had sent a formal invite to Mr. Kim for a quick dinner to discuss business. He loved being over the top, but he also loved declining our formal requests to meet up, and so, proposing to have dinner together is something I know he never turns down. Perhaps he liked the thrill of sitting at a table with an officer that’s been after his ass for the past six years, perhaps he enjoys the power play and the rush he gets every time one of our evidences get debunked by him. Not tonight, though, tonight will be different. My colleagues have been against me going alone to the fancy restaurant—which definitely wanted to refuse our request as they were fully booked, but upon pulling a few strings, I got us a table. After all, it was Mr. Kim’s favorite restaurant, they couldn’t refuse him if I used his name for our reservation.

“You’ve been just promoted, Y/N,” My colleague and also closest friend, Irene, said with a worried expression on her face, “you’re not supposed to head out onto the field so heedlessly.”

“But it’s not headless, Irene,” I grinned at her as I tidied my desk, feeling triumphant that I managed to book the table for tonight, “It’s necessary.”

“You’re trying to show off to him, and that’s dangerous and headless—”

“It’s an intimidation tactic, and to be honest, I do deserve to show off after everything I had to go through because of him.” I muttered as Irene sighed defeated, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“And if he refuses?” I chuckled as I gave Irene a knowing look.

“Kim Hongjoong refusing a meeting when he thinks he’s still got the upper hand and can humiliate me once again?” I shook my head as I pushed my chair back, “Impossible.”

“Fine,” Irene’s jaw clenched as she shook her head, “But wear a tracker and a camera, and alert me if things get out of hand. I refuse to have a repeat of last time—”

“It was an accident.” I sighed, frowning at the memory, “He didn’t mean to hurt me, the attack was aimed at him and I was there at the wrong time—”

“Whatever narrative you’ve told yourself of him protecting you is pure bullshit, Y/N.” Irene’s tone was harsh and I knew I couldn’t argue with her anymore, “He kills people for a living, he gets innocent people hooked on drugs, and he terrorizes those who refuse to work for him. He did not save you, he wanted you dead. You saved yourself, end of discussion.”

And perhaps Irene was right, but she wasn’t there when it happened. When the fire was opened and aimed at me, had Mr. Kim been a second too slow, I would be lying six feet under now. But Kim Hongjoong sprung up from his hiding place and yanked me behind a wall that kept the bullets from piercing both of our bodies, his eyebrows furrowed and a pissed look on his face as I tried to catch my breath from the sudden adrenaline rush. And Irene wasn’t there when Hongjoong killed every single one man that aimed their weapon towards me. She wasn’t there when he drove me back to the station and waited almost four hours until I was done with reports and a medical check-up and a visit to the higherups to drive me back home. Irene definitely wasn’t there when I noticed two of Hongjoong’s most trusted bodyguards stand the whole night in front of my gates just to keep watch and make sure I wasn’t targeted again. Kim Hongjoong was a criminal and a bad man, but he had an ounce of goodness in his heart somewhere deep down.

The lights in the restaurant were dim and gave the place an intimidating aura, I can see why Hongjoong likes it here. The tables were separated and placed at bigger distance, offering privacy for those who wanted it. The table I had been sat at was a separate booth, more towards the kitchens as I was told it was Mr. Kim’s usual table, and I was surprised to find three red candles placed in the middle of the table and rose petals strewn across the white silky tablecloth. It felt prestige and definitely expensive. The whole setting made me feel a little bit uneasy despite the low murmur of conversations surrounding me, and I tried not to fiddle with my fingers anxiously. I had to appear confident and like I was here for serious business, ready to take down the mafia lord that still hadn’t shown up. He was fifteen minutes late now, and I have started doubting whether he was coming. It also didn’t help that the black spaghetti strap dress was tight as fuck as if it was moulded against my body, forcing me to hide my handgun as it was strapped against my inner thigh where its outline wasn’t visible. It was a little uncomfortable sitting down with it as it dug into my skin, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I’ve had to go through things far worse than this before.

The waiter had served me red wine when I had sat down, but I haven’t touched it yet, keen on waiting for Mr. Kim before consuming anything I was given. I had just started getting disheartened and ready to phone Irene that maybe we should hit a bar since I’m all dressed up, when Mr. Kim finally showed up, looking a little dishevelled. His dyed ginger hair was messy on top of his head and his cheeks rather flushed as he approached the table, sharp cat-like eyes settling on my form with a smirk stretching onto his lips. I gulped and straightened my back, raising my eyebrows questioningly at him once he plopped down in his seat rather unceremoniously.

“Miss Yang, I’m sorry for making you wait.” His voice was velvety as he spoke up, grabbing the white napkin off the table, “Something urgent came up and I had to take immediate care of it, I’m sure you understand with your field of work.”

“Completely, Mr. Kim.” I grinned slyly and Hongjoong hummed as I watched him rub his hands and knuckles against the white napkin, which wasn’t pure white anymore but covered in red spots. My eyes lingered on them knowing that it was most likely blood, and I could feel Hongjoong’s eyes watching me carefully. When I looked up, he had a challenging look in his eyes as he waved his hand lazily towards the waiter who disappeared behind the bar.

“It isn’t a daily occurrence I get asked on a date by a woman like you, Miss Yang.” I huffed in amusement as Hongjoong smirked once again, leaning back in his chair as he spread his legs wide, “May I know how I got so lucky?”

“We should wait for your drink first, Mr. Kim, I feel like making a toast.” I answered with a smug tone as my long red nails tapped against my glass filled with wine, making Hongjoong chuckle as he nodded.

“Very well, I have others things I can chat about either way.” He clicked his tongue, eyes slowly traveling from my eyes down my body, no doubt stopping at my chest as the dress did a shit job at covering my boobs as it should, but for once I didn’t mind, “You look ravishing tonight, Y/N, I wish we met in a setting like this more often.”

“With my field of work I rarely get the chance to dress up all pretty,” I mused, pushing my long hair behind my shoulders, “but tonight’s a special occasion, I had to dress accordingly. And it seems it was a smart choice given that you look handsome yourself, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong chuckled, eyes creasing as he scrunched his nose. For someone who was a dangerous mafia lord, he certainly could look rather cute in a way that seemed almost uncharacteristic, “What a compliment from you, thank you. It’s not often I hear you call me by my name.”

“Casualties need to be put aside when we’re talking about your business.”

“But isn’t that why we’re here?”

I grinned, hand resting on the white envelope placed on the table, “Exactly, but until we get to the business talk, I’ll indulge and play along with you, Hongjoong.”

“I’m afraid I got you wrapped around my finger, Y/N.” I snorted as Hongjoong bit his bottom lip with his eyes boring into mine, one eyebrow raised almost mockingly. But before I could retort anything, the waiter approached us with Hongjoong’s expensive whiskey and bowed upon his departure. Hongjoong hummed and grabbed his glass, raising it as he waited for me to do the same with my glass of wine. As I have said, I intended on making a toast. I couldn’t help but smirk as I raised my glass and titled it towards Hongjoong.

“To the downfall of your enterprise and empire, Mr. Kim.” I couldn’t help but feel elated as Hongjoong’s face fell, eyes hardening as I chuckled and took a long sip of the sweet wine, humming in delict at the expensive taste of the alcohol. Hongjoong almost hesitated for a second, but he took a sip of his whiskey and shook his head as his eyes fell on the envelope. I placed my glass down and traced its surface almost mockingly as I stalled handing the envelope over to him, “You see, Mr. Kim, it’s usually those closest to us that can ruin us the easiest and fastest way.”

“I suppose whatever you have in that envelope won’t be to my liking, Miss Yang.” I chuckled and nodded as I grabbed it and looked at it before handing it over to Hongjoong. I settled back in my seat and grabbed my glass of wine to sip on it as I watched the fearless mafia lord’s jaw clench as he emptied the envelope’s contents and paused as he scattered all the evidence out in front of him. I grinned behind my glass as I took a large gulp of the wine, enjoying the rich taste of it as it bloomed around my taste buds, making me sigh in content as Hongjoong’s neutral mask slipped into one of anger. I chuckled under my breath as I took him in, eyes straying to the exposed skin of his chest as he was leaned forward and wore nothing underneath his jacket. Silver chains hung around his neck and his ears had more than one earring piercing them, his pinkie nails painted black on both hands as a few chunky rings clung to his thick fingers.

He scoffed loudly and I quirked an eyebrow at him as he threw me a glare before looking back down at the papers, his jaw set tight as I swiftly finished my wine. It’s been long I had something as fancy as this one as I usually opted for the cheap beer from the convenience store after a strenuous and challenging day while I sat on my couch in the living room and watched whatever reality show was on at the moment.

“Miss Yang,” I perked up as Hongjoong sighed, tone tight and displeased, “I thought our respect was mutual after all these years of knowing each other and collaborating, yet here you are, meddling with my personal life.”

“Oh, but Mr. Kim,” I interlaced my fingers and placed my elbows on the table as I leaned forward with a fake concerned look on my face, “I thought there were no secrets between the two of us, yet here we are, with proof on our hands of all of your wrongdoings and missteps, Mr. Kim.”

He chuckled as he threw the papers onto the table and tsked, eyeing my empty glass of wine, “I heard you’ve been promoted to Deputy Chief, shouldn’t one of your baboons be sitting here with me instead of you?”

“I couldn’t miss seeing your reaction, Mr. Kim.” I chuckled and he nodded, eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, mirroring my position.

“You should thank me for getting as far as this, Miss Yang, without me you would’ve been useless to the police—”

“If that is what you wish to believe, Mr. Kim, go ahead.” My jaw clenched at his blatant disrespect as I cut him off, “But at least I wasn’t outed by my own brother.”

Hongjoong’s eye twitched as he scoffed and hastily grabbed his glass to throw his whiskey back. I smiled as I enjoyed seeing him in real distress for the first time, seeing him uncapable of stopping me this time. But I also became aware of the subtle thumping of my head, of the immediate effect of the alcohol I had consumed. Could it be so strong that it already got to my head? I thought I had a rather high tolerance for alcoholic drinks.

“I am sure my brother has his own reasons—”

“Like many people I’ve come across, Mr. Kim, your brother grew sick of your schemes and deals, and chose to right his wrongdoings.” I cut him off once again, the headache growing a lot more persistent and disturbing. My body suddenly felt like it was moving a lot slower than it actually was, making me shake out my hands as I leaned back in my seat. Once again, Hongjoong’s eyes fell on the empty glass and my eyes narrowed as he grinned before shaking his head.

“My brother is a fool,” Hongjoong muttered and then gathered the papers and slowly slipped them back in the envelope, “when will you raid my warehouses?”

“Probably tomorrow.” I hummed as I had to blink my eyes a few times to clear the haze that threatened to settle upon my vision, “Can’t let you have too much time at your hands to dispose of all the evidence, can’t I?”

“I appreciate your effort of warning me,” Hongjoong hummed and licked his lips as he paused for a second, watching me closely as my legs started feeling like lead and my arms tingled, “you’ve always been a great asset to my organization, Miss Yang, so aware of everything yet never close enough to prove anything.”

“I’ll do anything it takes to finally take you down,” I hissed, venom coating my voice as I had to force my eyes shut upon the violent headache that seemed to leave me immobile, “I’ve had enough of watching people suffer because of you, Hongjoong.”

“Perhaps you’ll hate me a little more after tonight, Y/N,” Hongjoong chuckled as I tried to gulp but my throat felt parched. I tried to move, but I couldn’t, and I panicked as I realized this wasn’t normal. Whatever this was, it had to be Hongjoong’s doing and as my eyes fell onto my empty wine glass, Hongjoong chuckled and leaned over the table to grab it, “because I have tricked you once again. My brother is my most trusted asset to my organization, I knew we could lure you out if I sent him running to you with forged evidence.”

I tried to sit up and grab for my gun, but even my tongue felt heavy to move as I frowned at Hongjoong, heartrate picking up as I realized I had foolishly fallen into his well-thought-out plan, “Some of my business partners are fed up with you always lurking around our asses, so I had to do something about it if I didn’t want to lose them.”

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a weak sound in the back of my throat making Hongjoong chuckle. My head was pounding and even the dim lights bothered my eyes as I felt dizzy, struggling to stay awake as everything in me was growing soft and calm, “I respect you greatly, Y/N, and quite frankly I like you a lot. It’s hard to find a confident, ambitious, and strong woman that doesn’t abide to my wishes straight away these days. It’s truly a pity that we’re on opposing teams, darling.”

There was a beep coming from his pocket and he grabbed his phone and chuckled as he picked it up, sounding too cheery as I struggled to fight the sleep that was threatening to knock me out for God knows how long, “I told you it would be easy, bring the van to the back.”

I tried to protest as my eyes fluttered open and Hongjoong pushed his seat back and stood with a mischievous smirk on his lips as he slowly approach me, his wide legged pants making him look taller than he was, “You’ve been working hard, Y/N, it’s time for a little vacation, don’t you think? Have you ever been to the Bahamas? I have a really important gig to pull off and I really can’t have you sniffing around my ass like a wild dog.”

I managed to gasp as suddenly Hongjoong’s hands were around and underneath my body, lifting me off the chair as I hung limply in his arms as he stared down at me with pursed lips, “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And with the promise rolling off his tongue in a whisper, the drug that had been infused with my wine kicked in completely and I couldn’t help but surrender to the serene darkness that lulled me to a deep sleep in Hongjoong’s strong arms.

I need to call Irene once I am conscious again. I didn’t wear a tracker.

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thesensteawitch · 4 months ago

Text

WHAT CAREER SUITS YOUR SPIRIT?🧚🏻‍♀️✨

Pick A Pile Reading

Left to Right (Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Hello, SENSTEA Souls!💕

Aah! Such a long time!!!!!!!! How have you all been? Missed me?🥹🫶🏻

I have been healing and purging and focusing on other things so I couldn't make time to write for you. But I will be trying to make one post in a week. 🌜

Now without any delay let's get into your reading. You know the drill right? Just pick one pile intuitively and scroll down to read your pile!🫶🏻

Also, if you wish to book a PERSONAL READING with me you can message me directly. And if not, then I am sharing the links to my rate card and booking form.

BOOKING FORM 🌸 RATE CARD

Tip the blog to keep it going! (It's not mandatory but appreciated!🐈‍⬛✨)

...

Here is your reading:

Pile 1

Tarot Cards- The Moon, 8 of Pentacles, The Hanged Man, Knight of Pentacles, Knight of Wands, 7 of Cups

This pile is intense. I heard, “If you dance, I'll dance. If you don't, I'll dance anyway.” You do not care if people do not believe your truth as long as you know that what you know is made known to you by the divine. Your spirit is magical, and hence it's called to explore mystical subjects. If you are someone who is not interested in mysteries or the intensity of your purpose, then I would suggest you choose a different pile because this group follows the calling of their spirit naturally. You're rebellious when it comes to your career. You are supposed to combine your purpose with your career. Anything related to digging deep, mystical, esoteric subjects, tarot, astrology, metaphysics, science, astronomy, diving, writing, art, detective, law, or surgeon is where you fit the best. You may have strong Scorpio placements. Check if you have Scorpio in your 11th house or if your Mars is in Scorpio because I am picking that strongly. Zodiac signs that are coming off strongly are Aries, Scorpio, Sagittarius, and Capricorn.

You require a lot of silence while working. Your path isn't easy; there are immense transformations in your journey. Your spirit continuously seeks to ascend through what you do. There may be times when your finances come to a halt and you need to do a perspective shift to do better. I can see that your body, mind, and spirit must be aligned with your purpose so that you rise to the top. What you're called to do is so powerful that illusions can easily take over. You are a truth seeker, and truth cannot be multiple, so finding it cannot be a race in your case. You need to move at a pace that is neither too fast nor too slow. Your spirit is like that of a magician walking on Earth. To the world, you may seem alluring, but you know what it costs you to follow your purpose. Every loss, death, and transformation that you come across drastically shifts your life. Speak more. Speak the truth. Your words will shock the public in a good way. You're here to open people's eyes to the truth through your work. Express often. Your power and your purpose are not scary; it's divine! You may also hold multiple degrees.

Pile 2

Tarot Cards- Justice, 3 of Pentacles, Queen of Swords, The Chariot, The Emperor

This pile is really intelligent. Anything that allows you to make use of your mind the most is something that will suit your spirit the best. A career where you'll be continuously learning and enhancing your skills. Teaching, medical (dentist I heard in my mind), law, business, accountant, marine officer/captain, and research are what I can think of looking at your cards. Your spirit demands and deserves to be the leader in your field. There will be challenges in your journey, which you will have the courage to overcome if you keep your emotions in balance. Your spirit will make you start from the basics. You are supposed to study a lot to be able to reach the top. You seem to be a multitasker or interested in multiple subjects, but that can bring a lot of chaos into your life. So your spirit is encouraging you to master one subject. If you throw yourself in multiple concepts, you will waver from the truth. Don't let your intellect go against you.

You're supposed to continuously research in your particular field and stand firm on your beliefs, so choose wisely and make sure you enjoy it for the rest of your life. Zodiac signs that I can sense are Gemini, Aquarius, Cancer, Aries, Capricorn, and Libra. In your particular field, you need to find a perfect teacher or organization that suits you and can help you achieve your goals. Learning through all the sources again will not be good for you. Pick one source and commit to it for at least a good amount of time. Your spirit feels at peace when you speak your truth without fearing what others may think of you. It's very important for you to have strong boundaries to do good in your career. Not having boundaries and sharing your business with everyone can do more harm than good to your career. Your brain is like a sponge. It absorbs everything without filtering the information. Rather than stimulating yourself with so much information, pick one path and find your truth. Talk to yourself more than you talk to others. You'll find your answer.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards- Page of Swords, The Star, Nine of Wands, 6 of Swords, 7 of Wands

Oh my God, pile 3, your cards were just not coming out. What are you so afraid of? There are two opposing thoughts going on in your mind when it comes to your career. You want to do something but you're doing something else. Your heart is at another place while your mind is at another. Your spirit wants you to get over this fear of the worst. There's no room for instant gratification when it comes to following your dreams. Believe me, you're not late when it comes to pursuing your dreams. You've definitely struggled in your career or are still struggling. Every day feels like another battle. Stop living like that. A new beginning lies on the other side of closing the door behind you. Be willing to let go of the old ways. So you're afraid of the challenges and the mountains you are supposed to climb to catch your dream? Well, aren't there struggles in what you are currently doing? Believe me, from where I see these challenges will refine your spirit and will take you closer and closer to your dream life.

Follow your heart, sweet soul. Believe me, it's all in your head. You have it in you to pass the tests that will come your way to achieve your dreams. Don't keep drinking poison just because you've gotten accustomed to the taste of it. Your taste buds can compromise, but your body will remember the damage that the poison is doing. Zodiac signs that I am picking up are Gemini, Aquarius, Leo, and Sagittarius. Either you can lead with courage or with fear. The choice is yours! Honestly, nothing is strongly coming off as to what career will suit you the best because right now your energy is guiding you to first free yourself of your own limitations. After that, you can think of what you want to do. But one thing I can say is that you're being called to do something that frees your spirit. There's such a deep desire in you to be someone else and do something else, but somewhere there's a thought that you won't ever reach there, so why even try? My goodness, you really need to talk to someone regarding this or just have a day of silence and be brutally honest to yourself. You are literally going opposite of your destiny, and that's why you don't feel the sense of accomplishment. I hear, “Old friend, why are you so shy? Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light.”

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bippot · 7 days ago

Note

Hi hun 💜

I have a request for a smut fic with Bob Floyd

(This isn’t compliant with top gun maverick btw x)

ok so, Bob and the reader are in college together and the reader is a huge bookworm

Bob just like admires her from afar until he finally plucks up the courage to talk to her about a book she’s reading after class

She flirts with him and his lil brain can’t compute so he just stands there like 😳

anyway long story short they go back to her place and she seduces him

thought I’d leave it up to you bc you’re so talented 🩵🩵

Ducky's

Story Summary -> After leaving the Navy, Bob enrols in college to experience what he missed. At a café, he meets Y/N, a fellow bookworm who quickly becomes more than just a friend in more ways than one.

Tags -> Fluff and Smut, College, Teacher-Student Relationship, Strangers to Lovers, cafe setting, First Kiss, First Meetings, Study Date

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

The small bell above the door chimed as Bob Floyd walked into Ducky’s Café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. He scanned the cosy, dimly lit space, noting the clusters of students, artists, and locals deep in conversation or study. It was a sight that felt new and foreign.

Just days ago, he’d been stepping off his last Navy deployment, wrapping up a career that had spanned more than a decade. Now, here he was: a thirty-four-year-old freshman, feeling both out of place and oddly hopeful.

It was weird. He'd spent years in the Navy, living through it's strict rules and structure until they became second nature. He'd always wanted to fly planes and be an aviator adjacent, but he failed to realise how much it frayed his nerves. His mind had to be constantly alert, constantly be whirring, constantly be worrying, and it was a lot of mental strain.

As soon as his contract was up, he declined to renew it. He wanted a slower life, one where he could focus solely on bettering himself without having to constantly deal with the pressures that came with a government job. And now, here he was at the cafe directly opposite the university he was enrolled at, living it up.

And living it up meant that he was audited every class he possibly could. He had the drive to be a Renaissance man, full of knowledge and talent and passion for the world that he’d never had before. Officially he was a creative writing major, but the psychology that he was carrying under his arm pointed to a different subject.

Sitting at an empty table, Bob spread out his materials, trying to arrange the chaos of notebooks, pencils, and highlighters so he didn't seem so unorganised in front of all of the other students around him. He wanted to make a good impression, after all. These eighteen-year-olds were his peers in academia, and if he made any mistakes, they would surely laugh at him behind his back for being so old and inept.

He'd been working for around half an hour when the lady behind the counter very loudly greeted, "Ah, she finally makes an appearance," and his head lifted to see the most beautiful woman he'd ever had the pleasure of looking at walk into the cafe.

The beautiful woman replied, "Mama, my class ran late, okay?" She flashed a smile as her mother handed her a large coffee and looked around the packed cafe. "Didn't save me a seat? You must not love me any more."

"You're spoilt, and you know it," her mother laughed. "I'm sure that handsome man over there will let you sit with him."

As if by magic, Y/N's mother pointed directly at Bob's table, and he smiled shyly and pretended that he hadn't heard their whole conversation. He hoped to God he hadn't blushed too obviously. Yes, he wanted her to sit somewhere near him, but, no, he would have no idea what to say to start a conversation. To his benefit, she started the conversation for him with a simple, "Hi, do you mind if I sit here? You look kind of busy, so it's okay if not."

"Uh...sure. Go ahead," Bob said awkwardly. "I can tidy up if you need some space; just say the word."

Quickly, she shook her head with a smirk and sat down next to him, crossing one leg over another as she settled herself into her chair and brought out a book from her bag. Glancing over the top of his glasses, he read the cover of her book, Room, and realised that he had a way in. He'd kept a reading list for the past few years, and for some reason, despite the fact that Room had always been on the list, he'd never actually gotten around to reading it.

"I've been meaning to read Room; how are you finding it so far? Would you recommend?"

She tilted her head as she came up with a response, and Bob couldn't help the way he let his head rest on his hand as he admired the profile of her face. She had an air of thoughtfulness about her, and her hair was pulled back loosely into a ponytail, framing her face and neck and giving her a very studious look. But then she opened her mouth to respond, and Bob found that he loved the way those lips curved as she spoke about what she was passionate about: books.

The detail she went into was insane; Bob was impressed and intrigued. It was fascinating to watch. There was passion, yes, but also humour and immense empathy. Her eyes were expressive as she told him all about the case the story was based on. It was a harrowing tale - they both knew that - and a little light-hearted comment every now and then helped to ease the discomfort that came along with discussing such a topic.

"... so, yeah, it's an intense read," she finished, her final words rushing into one. She'd gone on a full rant and, while Bob had added the occasional sentence or two, had taken the reins of the conversation without realising it.

Suddenly self-conscious, she mumbled, "Sorry for rambling like that; I didn't even ask your name." She gave him a sheepish smile. "And I'm keeping you from your work."

"No, no, please, keep talking," Bob said quickly, hoping that she wouldn't notice how he was staring at her lips. He held out a hand for a handshake, which she returned, unable to take his eyes from hers as he did so. "I'm Bob, Bob Floyd."

"I'm Y/N. If you hear my mother call me Ducky, please pretend you didn't hear it."

"You're the eponymous Ducky?!" he teased, his blue eyes flashing playfully. "You didn't tell me I was in the presence of cafe royalty!"

She lightly smacked him on the bicep. "Shut up," she chided softly. "It's a childhood nickname; my mom loves to embarrass me with it."

They laughed together, their voices soft in the chatter around them, and a gentle warmth washed over them as they gazed at one another. It was so comfortable and easy to talk to Y/N; a sense of familiarity overcame him, and he began to feel that this was exactly where he belonged. It was weird. They just met; they hardly knew anything about each other. Yet they felt so connected already. A bond seemed to develop between them that was almost instinctual, as if they were drawn towards one another in some mystical way.

They talked and talked and talked. Their shared fascination for literature led to discussions about various genres of fiction and poetry, and, before they knew it, time flew away. He mentioned being in the Navy briefly, just as a bit of flavour in a story, and he watched as Y/N's eyes roamed over his frame.

She interrupted him midsentence by mumbling to herself, "Oh, that's why you're so hot."

Bob stopped. His voice abruptly cut out.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"...yeah," he replied, his cheeks burning at her compliment. In his life, he'd never really considered himself as hot. He was in shape - that's essential in the Navy - but he'd always been around other pilots like Hangman and Rooster, who were 'hunkier' by society's standards.

That insecure nerd he was as a kid was still inside of him, and it was times like this that made his insecurity resurface. He wasn't vain - his ego was never big enough to allow him to consider himself that - but he knew for a fact that he was definitely a catch. He was kind and polite (his mama made sure of that), yet he didn't consider himself as 'hot'.

"You're incredibly pretty," Bob blurted out after a moment's hesitation. "I didn't expect to meet anyone as beautiful, inside and out, when I woke up this morning."

Y/N giggled, covering her lips. "Flatterer," she teased, though there was no bite to her words, just fondness.

"I'm just saying it like it is, Ducky."

The nickname slipped out so easily. For some reason, it felt right. So naturally, it felt like something that should fit perfectly on his tongue. And maybe it did. Maybe it did indeed belong.

The conversation continued to flow between them, yet this time there was a hint of flirtation that neither had felt before. There were touches and looks exchanged across the table. The air became heavier and more intimate, and it became obvious that this wasn't just casual flirting that passed between strangers.

"Hey Duck, I'm going to close in 5 mins. Get your butt moving," Y/N's mother suddenly called from behind the counter. "I love you, but I'm not extending my shift any further today."

"Okay mom!"

"Take your new 'friend' with you."

With that, Y/N rolled her eyes good naturedly and turned to look at Bob, who was slightly red in the cheeks and trying to suppress a huge grin as Y/N stood up. "You heard the woman; get a move on."

Bob hurried to pack his stuff away and follow Y/N to the door until they were outside. "Did you walk?" Bob asked as the door was locked behind them and Y/N's mother turned the hanging sign to CLOSED.

"I don't live that far away, so, yeah, I walked."

"Would... uh, is it okay if I walk you home?"

"I'd like that, Bob."

They made it to her front door in no time. They lingered for a second once they reached her doorstep, staring at each other for what felt like ages, feeling the energy build and grow between them. Then, Y/N gave up on the whole tip-toeing around the issue thing. "You should come inside. Someone might’ve broken in while I was out. I might need a strong Navy man to help me out," she stated plainly, looking him straight in the eye, daring him to refuse.

He didn't want to refuse. He simply couldn't, so instead, he nodded slowly and followed her inside the house with a blush high on his cheeks. "Strange, it doesn't look like a break-in has happened here. Maybe I should just -"

She silenced his joke by tugging his hand and, consequently, bringing him closer towards her. Bob looked down and smiled shyly at the sudden proximity between them.

"I mean, I'm gonna stay. I want to stay. It's just... I don't usually do, uh, this," he explained, his hand coming up to cup her cheek and his thumb stroking the skin beneath her lower lip. "So..."

His words hung in the air, a little awkward and a lot nervous, but she understood nonetheless. She leaned into his touch, her eyes half-lidded and lips curling upwards in a small smirk.

"Me neither," she whispered teasingly, leaning forward slightly and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. Her fingers brushed his jaw, and for the briefest of moments they were suspended in silence, their breath mingling as they looked into each other's eyes.

Bob swallowed hard, his mind buzzing with questions. Was this wise? Was this a smart idea? He'd never moved this quickly before, but with Y/N, it was different. She was different. He liked the way she made his stomach flip flop, the butterflies in his stomach, her lips on his cheek, and the way she looked at him as if she wanted nothing else but to kiss him again.

"Are you sure? We can go slower if you want?" He asked quietly, breaking the spell they'd fallen under. She shook her head and placed her hand gently on the back of his neck, caressing him ever so gently, sending a pleasant tingle down his spine.

In a blink of an eye, her lips were on his. They were soft, pliant, and warm against his, and, within seconds, everything else faded away, leaving only her, the feeling of her soft lips against his, and the feeling of her hands running through his hair.

As they smooched, Y/N walked their connected bodies into her room. If they happened to be more than an inch apart at any point, one of them was closing the distance as soon as possible. Even when Y/N pushed Bob down on the bed, she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist, and pressed herself against him within 5 seconds.

She could feel the smile spreading onto her face as he groaned softly into her mouth as she began to trail kisses across his cheek and down along his jawline to his neck. Bob grabbed hold of her shoulders tightly, his breathing growing uneven as his desire rose. As he let his hands wander underneath her shirt, tracing soft circles around her back, he pulled away and looked up into her eyes.

"Do you have a condom? I'd usually be prepared, but I didn't leave the house this morning thinking I'd be, uh, needing one, to be completely honest," he said nervously, biting his lip slightly, his eyes darting from hers down to her lips, and back up again.

"Yeah, of course," Y/N replied, sitting upright and reaching into her dresser drawer and rummaging through a bunch of items, eventually finding what she was searching for and pulling out an unopened box of condoms. "Bought these when I moved here, still haven't had the occasional to take the Saran off."

"Been a while?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Same here."

Their clothes were thrown off and fell into a heap on the floor somewhere in the midst of things. As soon as she felt his hands exploring the expanse of her back, Y/N gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. He took the opportunity to trail light kisses down her chest and neck, pausing whenever a gasp escaped her mouth to revel in the sound. Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, arching her back slightly as she felt him nip at her hip. "Bob, please…" She pleaded quietly, barely able to keep quiet, the heat building between them rising higher with every passing second.

He grinned against her skin as he bit down harder on her hip bone than before, eliciting a moan from her throat. "I know, I know," he murmured. "Let me savour you properly, darlin'. Then, you better believe I will make you scream my name like nobody's business."

"Oh god..."

It sounded more like a whimper than anything, and he chuckled against her and kissed his way along her stomach and down her thighs. The feeling of being touched so deliciously and tenderly was almost too much to bear. His hands travelled all over her, tracing patterns, caresses, even kisses, and then, finally, he found her sweet spot. One gentle swipe of his tongue, and she was clutching at his hair and arching upward, moaning loudly, begging him to give it a little more attention.

"Yes, baby," he whispered against her skin. "I'll give it to you. But we're going to take it slow, darlin'. I promise," he reassured, and then, after getting comfy on his stomach, he dipped a single finger into her.

After all, Bob was a patient man. He waited for her to adjust to him first; to get used to how he touched her before he dared to move another centimetre, and, even if she was aching now, he would wait. He would try and ease her body back into the rhythm, slowly increasing his pace until it felt right, until she was screaming his name, till he got the reaction that he needed.

Foreplay had always been his favourite part of intimacy, and this was no exception either. He was careful and gentle, giving her the chance to adjust to him and teasing her just enough for her toes to curl, until her brain was fuzzy and her heart was pounding, until she was falling deeper and deeper into the haze of passion, her fingers digging desperately into his scalp and her breaths shallow and rapid.

It was all in order to prolong the pleasure and, hopefully, cause her to come back another day for more. And, oh, did he intend to make that happen.

Who knows how long Bob spent with his head between Y/N's thighs, kissing and licking his way along the insides of her legs until the sensation became too much to bear? Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her moans turning into cries as she begged, "Bob, Bob, Bobby, please! Please! Fuck me! Need you, need your cock in me, fuck -"

And, oh boy, was she about to find out just how much he needed her too. The desperation in her voice spurred him on, making him lose control and finally give in. With a heavy, panting sigh, he slid deep into her, filling her perfectly with all he was, all she was, and all he could be. All they were together.

The moment he started to move, she threw her head back and cried out his name in a hoarse voice, grasping his biceps with both hands as if they were life preservers. "That's it, baby, that's it," he breathed, pulling himself out once again and repeating the process over and over again.

"You're doing such a good job, darlin', so very, very good..." he praised huskily and kissed the side of her neck repeatedly as he continued moving in her. "So, so good..."

Her nails dug painfully into his flesh, drawing small beads of blood from his body, and he gritted his teeth, pushing his weight down on her so she couldn't possibly move. She couldn't squirm away from him though; he was holding her too tightly. It was driving her crazy.

With each thrust, Y/N's intelligence dropped until she was left as a sweaty, dumb mess beneath him, gasping and sobbing and pleading and cursing. "Oh, pretty girl," he smirked, burying his nose in her cheek. "You look so beautifully stupid right now. Am I fucking your brains out?"

It was a rhetorical question, but if it needed an answer, the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she came was the answer Y/N gave. She let out a silent scream of his name one final time as her walls clenched around Bob, squeezing tight, and tipped him over the edge too.

They lay there, in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, listening to the sounds of their breathing fill the space around them.

"...Holy shit," Y/N breathed.

At the same time, their heads turned to make eye contact, and a laugh erupted from their lungs. Neither was able to stop giggling as they tried to calm themselves down and make sense of what had just happened. Slowly, Bob lifted himself and hopped out of bed.

"Where's your bathroom and kitchen?"

"Door opposite the bathroom; the kitchen is left of the living room."

Within 2 minutes, he came back with a warm flannel and a bottle of water. He helped Y/N sit up, wiped the sweat from her forehead before cleaning up the mess down below, and then wrapped her in his arms as she rehydrated.

"Can you pass me your phone?" she asked him, looking up towards him through half-closed eyes. Bob was quick to rifle through the pockets of his discarded jeans and hand her his phone. Y/N added her number to his phone and took a selfie of their post bliss faces to use as her contact picture. "You better not ghost me or you're dead meat, capiche?"

"I wouldn't dare to, darlin'," he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. Well, it was supposed to be quick, but when he felt Y/N's hand come into contact with his jaw, stroking softly across his stubble, he lost any intention of stopping. He pressed his lips against hers hungrily, his other arm coming around her waist to pull her closer, and they kissed slowly, tenderly.

When the morning came, their parting was bittersweet. Both of them were reluctant to leave, but Y/N had a job to go to, and Bob had already missed one of the lectures he was planning to go to. Plus, he had his first creative writing lecture - y'know, the one for the major he'd chosen - at lunch, and, as much as he wanted to be around Y/N, he didn't want to miss that lesson.

He knew it was silly to feel this way after one night, but he couldn’t help it. Y/N had a warmth about her that made him feel like he’d known her forever. He thought about texting her but decided against it, not wanting to come off as too eager.

Bob stepped into the classroom with a spring in his step, the remnants of a whirlwind night with Y/N still buzzing in his veins. The morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over the rows of desks, and for a brief moment, he felt invincible. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him. As he slid into an empty seat, the door creaked open once more, and his heart nearly stilled in his chest. There she was — Y/N L/N. She strode in with an air of authority, her demeanour polished and professional, a stark contrast to the intimate whirlwind of the previous night. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes as they locked, a spark of shared secrets that sent a rush of heat through him.

Her confidence radiated as she introduced herself to the class, her voice smooth like silk, but Bob caught that fleeting glint in her eyes whenever she looked in his direction. His mind raced, processing the surreal scenario: he had done what most frat boys only fantasise about—he had crossed that line and succeeded in banging his professor, all before the semester had even begun.

Bob tried to focus as she outlined the syllabus, yet every time she turned to face him or glanced away, his thoughts derailed. The air in the room felt charged with unspoken tension, a delicate dance of professionalism clashing against the wild intimacy they had shared. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders today, soft and inviting, and Bob's gaze inadvertently drifted toward her collarbones, and he caught a glimpse of faint marks that still lingered—a testament to their passionate night together. His heart thumped wildly as he fought to maintain his composure, a mix of pride and sheer disbelief bubbling within him. Could it really be that he was sitting in a class, learning from the very woman who had wrapped around him so tightly just hours before?

As the class finally emptied, a rush of relief washed over him. He lingered, letting the last stragglers filter out, the echo of chairs scraping against the floor fading into the background. Bob stepped forward and approached her desk, the thrill of their secret coursing through his veins. “Well, this is a surprise,” he said, a grin spreading across his face, unable to contain the playful lightness of the moment.

Y/N chuckled, a delightful sound that danced in the air between them. She seemed to gather herself, a hint of embarrassment flickering across her features. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Small world.”

“Look, if this is going to be an issue, I can—”

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted, her voice steady and assured. “We’re both adults. I see that you're actually enrolled in this class and not just auditing, and if this is the course you want and as long as we keep things professional, I don’t see a problem."

“Right. Totally professional,” he replied, the teasing lilt in his tone betraying the gravity of the situation. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips, the memory of her beneath him fresh in his mind. "I guess I should wait until the end of the semester to ask you on a date."

“Probably for the best, yes,” she laughed, the sound rich and warm, her laughter drawing him closer despite the tension. Her eyes sparkled with playful defiance. Then she stood up straighter, a subtle shift that reminded him of the professional façade she wore so effortlessly. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you during class, by the way.”

“Good,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing. “Because I’m not exactly the type to settle for less than perfection.”

The air thickened with unspoken promise, an electric connection that pulsated between them, holding the weight of their shared experiences. Bob felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years, invigorated by the thrill of the unexpected and the rush of possibilities. As he left the classroom, a smile plastered on his face, he felt the eyes of fate watching him. What had started as a night of reckless passion was transforming into a tangled web of feelings he was only beginning to understand. The world outside bustled with the chaos of students and faculty, but for Bob, the universe had narrowed down to one singular thought: he couldn’t wait for the semester to end.

She was an exceptional teacher, guiding discussions with a skill and insight that made literature come alive. He watched her command the room and admired the way she could turn a simple line of poetry into a profound discussion on life, love, and human nature. And every so often, he’d catch her looking at him with a hint of a smile, a glint in her eye that reminded him of their night at Ducky’s.

They developed an unspoken understanding, exchanging glances that held layers of meaning. He often stayed after class to ask questions, sometimes just to hear her talk. And though they kept their conversations professional, there was always a tension lingering beneath the surface, a shared recognition that they both wanted more. Sure, they’d agreed to boundaries, and Bob respected that, but he was counting down the days till he could hold and touch her again. Their amorous exchange had been a blip in the grand scheme of his life, and he was determined to expand it with no more delay than was necessary.

Fortunately for Bob, time went by in a flash. Thanks to his extensive study schedule, he was always busy. It was necessary. Whenever he slowed down, his brain would flash back to that night—her soft gasps, her sweet taste, their intertwined bodies, entangled in passion. Being busy ensured that he could wait it out, that he wouldn't interrupt his lecturer half way through her lesson to snog her face off, that he wouldn't get distracted, because he knew if he did, the day would take so long to come.

He had done a good job at suppressing his desires until one fateful library session. With only a few days left until all her students had to submit their writing portfolios, Y/N held a study session in the library to help them refine their work. This session wasn't anything unusual; it was simply a teacher helping her students prepare for the upcoming exam, and by the time they got to Bob's work, he'd completely forgotten that the subject of all of his poems and prose was her.

Obviously, some part of his brain understood that, yeah, she was his lecturer, so, duh, she'd have to read and analyse his work. Each student got a private 1-1 with Mrs. L/N (as the younglings knew her as) in one of the quiet rooms, and Bob was dreading his session. Whenever they had academic meetings, Y/N always saved Bob for last. He knew it was so he couldn't distract her halfway through her shift, but it always left him sat twiddling his thumbs in anticipation as he watched everyone else go before him.

Once it was his turn, he walked briskly toward the table, pulling out his chair and setting his folder down next to her. "Hi Y/N," he said breathlessly, his palms becoming clammy as he gripped the edge of the table. He forced himself to calm down as she peered at him curiously, her brow wrinkling slightly as she noticed the beads of perspiration forming along his forehead.

"Hi." She reached out to wipe a bead away, a tender gesture that caused his insides to stir. "What's up?"

"Ah, nothing really, just… uh…" The words came out awkwardly, his mouth moving faster than his brain. He sighed heavily, attempting to push through his nerves. He leaned over the table towards Y/N, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can you pretend to not know that all of these poems are about you?" Bob asked shyly, gesturing to the papers. A slight flush coloured Y/N's cheeks, a coy smile curling onto her lips, and she tilted the folder so she could read what was inside.

Beneath cold waves and navy blues,

He holds secrets in tight-lipped views.

In cockpits, sky-bound, firm and sure,

A warrior, honed, clean, and pure.

But here, she breathes with ink-stained hands,

Weaving worlds like soft, dark sands.

Her voice, a rhythm, raw and deep,

Stirs dreams he'd hidden, locked to keep.

His uniform, his life’s firm chain,

Feels lighter now with her in frame.

Her words unfurl like silken thread,

Untangling thoughts he'd left unsaid.

In every story that she spins,

He finds a place his heart begins.

Though bound by orders, flight, and tide,

For once, he feels alive inside.

And as she speaks in gentle prose,

A warmth inside him blooms and grows.

The warrior leans close to learn,

While letters smolder, pulse, and burn.

She flipped to the next page.

In shadows deep, where pages softly turn,

A quiet soul with ink-stained hands does seek,

The whispered call of words, where passions burn,

A bookworm’s grace, her thoughts both pure and sleek.

Her gaze is lost in realms of untold dreams,

Each line a kiss upon her trembling lips,

While I, entranced, watch every quiet gleam

Of knowledge wrapped in the softest fingertips.

Yet though her mind is bound to tomes she’s known,

Her heart, like mine, still seeks what words can't say,

For in her eyes, a warmth I’ve never grown,

A yearning deep that pulls me in each day.

Oh, let me trace the secrets she may keep,

And in her world of words, my soul to steep.

And the next.

In shadows deep where passion clings,

I wait, as silent longing sings,

For her whose touch once set aflame

A heart now bound to her sweet name.

She taught me words, but not the art

Of keeping still my wild, torn heart,

A glance, a breath, a fleeting kiss,

And now the night is void of bliss.

The fragrant pages know the tale,

Of stolen hours where senses sail—

Her lips, a promise, soft, divine,

And every sin that calls her mine.

But cursed be this love so frail,

Where tender fingers weave a veil,

For though the flame within me burns,

Her absence leaves the world to churn.

I ache to feel her near once more,

To know the taste of that sweet lore,

But now, I am but shadows cast,

Forever bound to the lessons past.

And the next and next.

Then, when she raised her head to meet his gaze, she found his seat empty, the only sign of him being his jacket draped over the wooden back. With a sigh, she set the folder back on the desk with a small frown marring her features and went in search of him. It didn't take long before she made her way outside, as some of the younger ones had swore they saw Bob dart to get some fresh air. He hadn't made it far.

In the purple of the evening, Bob sat on the bench right at the side of the building, staring blankly ahead. The sound of her approaching footsteps drew him away from his reverie, turning towards her with wide eyes, his face pale with shock and worry. Luckily, most students had already left campus or were cramming in the library, so despite the fact that they were out in the open, they had some semblance of privacy.

"Do you want comfort or space?"

"... I don't know." His voice trembled. “Both, maybe?”

Y/N nodded in understanding and sat down beside him, not too close or too far apart, giving him the space to breathe and compose himself. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet, taking a moment before raising his eyes to hers.

"I'm not used to putting everything out there like that," he admitted quietly, running a hand through his hair anxiously. "I know that you know that I'm infatuated with you, but... well, now you know that I'm totally in love with you. Like, writing bad sonnets about you kind of love."

"I quite liked your sonnet," she said with a reassuring smile, placing her hand atop his own gently as she offered him an encouraging squeeze. "Your poems were beautiful and heartfelt and full of so much emotion and passion that I was moved beyond words, and though it's currently irresponsible for me to say, the feeling is mutual."

He smiled bashfully in response, then turned his attention to her hand, studying the smooth skin, her graceful fingers, her delicate nails trimmed short and neat, and the silver ring on her finger shining brightly. Without thinking, his index finger ran across the surface of her hand, brushing the top of the ring with his thumb."Bobby," she murmured softly, turning her palm upward and allowing him to caress her skin. He did so slowly, reverently, as if it were something sacred and fragile, something which he may never have the pleasure to touch again if he weren't careful.

Once he made contact, he began tracing circles around her wrist, following the lines of her veins and mapping the contours of her skin with featherlight touches, drawing shapes and words into her flesh wherever possible. She remained still and patient and silent, letting him draw as many hearts and roses as he wanted to let him calm himself down enough to speak again.

When his breathing eventually evened out somewhat, he lifted his hand from her arm and looked up at her again, smiling shyly. He brushed his knuckles against her cheekbone in greeting, and she giggled, her eyes crinkling and filling with mirth, before they both realised that maybe this wasn't the place for this amount of affection. "Sorry," he muttered, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson as he stood up hastily. "Um, let's go back inside?"

"Yeah, good idea."

Y/N had only taken two steps before Bob caught her wrist and tugged her back towards him. Before she had time to react, he yanked her body closer to him until their lips met and all thought flew out of her mind. Their lips collided in a hungry rush, tongues tangling together as if their lives depended upon it. Her hand clutched onto the front of his jacket while Bob's hand went to the back of her head, cushioning it so she wasn't concussed when he pushed her up against the cool brick wall of the library. Their kisses grew heavier and more frantic with each passing second, desperate and needy.

Their chests pressed against each other tightly, leaving no room between them; their bodies moulding against each other with ease and familiarity like two halves of a whole. He gripped at her hips tighter than ever, pulling her impossibly closer and deeper into the kiss. Their mouths moved together feverishly, their tongues tangling with the taste of mint and salt and everything nice in the universe. They kissed and kissed until her back was flush against the wall, and her legs felt like jelly beneath her.

The only thing that broke them apart was the signature chatter of her class quoting brainrot memes as they began to get closer and closer to the library exit. They stepped away from the wall reluctantly, trying hard to hide their flushed faces as they tried their best to calm themselves and gather their wits in the minute before they were found out. But it was hard when you could barely think straight.

As they walked, Y/N kept glancing towards him, her eyes full of questions, her lips curled into an amused grin. He knew exactly what she was asking: Are we really okay? He answered with a nod as he took a deep, cleansing breath.

“Hey everyone, I'm sure you're all going to do brilliantly. Please don't overwork yourself. Sleep. Stay hydrated. Eat. And, pretty please, don't worry too much! You've done the work, you got feedback to think about, and a whole semester of notes to fall back on," she instructed, giving a little wave as they passed by her class. "Good luck. Let me know if anything goes awry before next Friday and I will do my best to help you!

With a last smile and a wave, they returned to the study room with the knowledge that they were truly alone in there. Only the librarian was there, reading a book behind the counter, her face devoid of its usual stern countenance as she snoozed in her chair. They had no plans to do anything salacious, not today anyway, but they didn't have to have that student/teacher pretence anymore. Today was just theirs, theirs to enjoy, and they could have an open and honest discussion about his poetry without having to ignore the context behind them.

Bob, his heart racing with a blend of joy and mischief, slid his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer as they strolled side by side. The world around them blurred into a backdrop as he pressed a tender kiss against the crown of her head, a gentle act of affection that sent a shiver of warmth cascading down her spine. “If I take you home and fuck you stupid again, will you give me extra credit?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

Y/N’s eyes widened in mock outrage, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink that could rival the evening sky. “Robert Floyd!” she exclaimed, delivering a playful punch to his shoulder, the impact barely registering through the haze of laughter enveloping them.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” he laughed, his laughter infectious, echoing against the brick buildings surrounding them. But the teasing wasn’t done; he leaned in closer, a smirk playing on his lips. “Although...” he trailed off, leaving the words hanging in the air like a promise, and was rewarded with a flurry of soft hits from her.

He tightened his hold around her waist, stopping in his tracks and squeezing her tighter, their laughter mingling in a melody of youthful abandon. Y/N, unable to resist the magnetic pull between them, buried her face against his chest, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in her ears, enveloping her in a cocoon of safety and warmth.

“Thanks to that comment, I’m going to give your assignment to another professor to grade,” she said, lifting her head to meet his gaze, her expression feigning seriousness, yet a spark of amusement lingered in her eyes.

Bob’s smirk widened, his confidence soaring. “That’s understandable. You are very, very biased towards me, ducky,” he replied, leaning forward to plant another quick peck on her lips, their mouths brushing together in a soft and intimate connection that set her heart racing.

“Oh, I am indeed,” she agreed, her voice a mock solemnity that was impossible to take seriously. With a playful tug on his hand, she continued, “Shall we go home so I can show you how biased I am?” The sultry tone slipped from her lips like honey, sweet and tempting, causing the tips of his ears to burn a bright crimson as he stole a glance at her.

Suddenly, he found himself in a rush—the desire to be alone with her, to explore the depths of their connection, propelling him forward. The thought of returning to her apartment filled with shared laughter, whispered secrets, and the thrill of their newfound intimacy made his heart race.

As they weaved through the familiar streets, the golden light of the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows on the pavement, each step taking them closer to their sanctuary. Bob felt like he was walking on air, buoyed by the weight of Y/N’s presence beside him. With every shared glance, every soft touch, he was reminded of the warmth and brightness she had brought into his life, a light that pierced through the fog of his worries and anxieties.

Weeks turned into months, and when the semester finally commenced and all the assignments had been graded, a wave of euphoria washed over Bob. He learnt that Y/N’s lecturer friend had awarded him a high score, a testament to his growth and effort, and in that moment, he felt like he was soaring through the skies in his beloved F/A-18F Super Hornet.

Bob cradled the subject of his poetry in his thoughts every morning, realising she was not just a muse but his sun itself, illuminating every dark corner of his mind and guiding him through the clouds of uncertainty. The world was suddenly a canvas painted with their shared moments, laughter echoing in the hallways of his heart, and he knew he would do anything to keep that light shining brightly.

*Click here for my Bob Floyd masterlist (including Rhett Abbott and Miles Miller), or here for the entire masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt @adriansboyfriend

#bob floyd x female reader #robert bob floyd #bob fucks #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction

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outmakingmoonshine · 5 months ago

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I was just writing a post about the Carmy/Faks scene & how it's really just Carmy talking to himself. For this scene the two Faks represent his inner voices/subconscious (which might only apply to this scene idk), but then I decided to see what all these scenes looked like together and wow am I glad I did!! Seeing these 4 scenes side by side is very interesting.

The first two scenes in 3x05 & 3x07 mirror each other, the last two scenes in 3x09 mirror each other and all 4 of them tell their own story together. The first scene is Carmy's talking to himself but shouting & aiming it at anyone who's listening. The 2nd is Syd talking to herself but mostly mumbling so only she can hear. In the Faks scene Carmy's having an "imaginary" conversation out loud with two people, just like Syd's doing in the last scene rehearsing what she might say to both Adam Shapiro and Carmy.

And if you rearrange these scenes & put the first 2 after the Faks scene, if we saw/heard those sarcastic "that makes sense" comments after we saw the "Claire is peace" scene in that exact same location, it would've been a lot easier to figure out what they're really referring to!

There are lots of layers to unpack here but I'm gonna talk about the main things that jump out at me. This is probably gonna be a bit chaotic with different ideas and breakdowns of what things could mean so I hope it's not too confusing. Anyone else feel free to jump in with your thoughts.

Below the cut

Notice how in all these scenes, except one, Carmy and Syd are alone talking out loud to themselves, vocalizing their inner thoughts. Mute the video and just read the subtitles if you need to. The scene with the Faks reads like a conversation with imaginary friends or like the two funny inner voices of a character in a comedy movie. All these scenes are like they're from a comedy movie tbh.

In the first two scenes Carmy & Syd act the same way they both deal with their problems (Carmy shouting about it to anyone who'll listen and Syd pissed but mostly keeping it quiet/to herself). They're the only ones actually inside the dumpster in all the scenes which makes me think it represents their minds and the boxes are the mental chaos & thoughts they're trying to sort through. The Faks are technically outside Carmy's mind/the dumpster so they don't speak from the mind or for the mind but they're close to it, communicating with it & "helping" sort through the chaos. Maybe the dumpster represents the conscious mind and the Faks are Carmy's subconscious. It sounds like The Faks are encouraging Carmy to fall back into his base programming, which people often tend to do when they're lost and don't know what to do. They're trying to convince him to call Claire bc Carmy's base programming from his family is "Claire is good". That's what safe to him bc it's a "truth" he's always known & believed. Idk there's many possibilities. It's also Interesting how later this episode The Faks go to Claire and speak directly for Carmy like they know for sure what he's thinking & feeling.

Lets get into the dialogue of the first two scenes:

"[Carmy] That makes sense. [box clatters] Boxes full of bullshit. Put it on the f*cking list. Oh, it's good. I'll do it. I got it. I got it."

Just a side note: The next line in the script is "I don't know wha-what I'm supposed to do with all this stuff" from Marcus in the next scene where he's clearing out all his mum's stuff with Syd.

"[Syd] 'Cause why would you do it? I mean, you're supposed to do it. This is-- This is fine. This is good. This makes sense. This is f*cking… F*ck. F*ck. [pants] [muttering] F*ck. [growls] fcking-- Where are the fcking Faks? F*ck!"

I don't even know where to start, there's so many ways to read this!

Carmy said one specific thing in the Faks scene that very clearly "didn't make sense"...Claire is peace. He knows that's not true but I think the point is he's been avoiding thinking about who his peace actually is all S3*. Carmy & Syd are both sarcastically saying "that makes sense" like it's subtly referring to that scene later in the same place. Was the panic attack scene by the same dumpsters? Idk someone let me know please.

*Carmy said in 3x07 he tries to avoid thinking about legacy. The only legacy we know of is the one he's trying to build with Syd both professionally and personally. His realization that Syd's brings him peace in the panic attack in 2x09 is the reality of his legacy that he's been trying to avoid all S3. He's working to get her his star and creating dishes inspired by her so Syd's cearly on his mind but the one thing he should be thinking about and talking to her about, he's avoiding.

There are many different layers of possible meaning and/or foreshadowing in this dialogue, but one layer it can be read is how they're both thinking/feeling about the Claire situation bc even tho Syd didn't mention it all season it's still there between them. Maybe none of this is about Claire, but if it was:

Carmy: "[sarcastically] that makes sense"...claire is "peace". "Boxes full of bullsh*t"...he's full of bullshit that Claire's his peace?!! Or maybe Claire is in the boxes of bullshit aka his baggage and past trauma he needs to sort through? "Put it on the "f*cking list"...put Claire on the list of his stress & baggage? And a very sarcastic "Oh it's good. I'll do it. I got it. I got it." He'll do what he's "supposed to do" with Claire & call her/apologize/maybe even be with her even tho it clearly sounds like he doesn't want to..?? He's "got it"...even though he clearly doesn't. "It's good" but she's clearly not The Good Thing™.

Syd: "Cause why wouldn't you do it? I mean you're supposed to do it"...why won't carmy just sort himself out? why wont he just call claire/be with claire since Syd thinks that's what he wants & she acts in front of him like "it's not her place to be [beside him on a personal level]" almost direct quote from her in 3x09. She's probabaly confused why Carm just wont be with Claire. From Syd's perspective he changed his mind about her and chose Claire in S2, so the next logical step is he'd be with Claire. "This is fine. This is good. This makes sense."...carmy saying claire is peace & also probably how she'll react out loud if carmy/claire get back together. "This is f*cking… F*ck. F*ck. [pants] [muttering] F*ck. [growls] fcking--"...this is how she really feels about the whole Claire situation & Carmy just ditching her & "changing shit" (that came up a lot this season), which ultimately led to him not treating her like a partner in their professional relationship. "Where are the fcking Faks? F*ck!"...a direct lead in to Carmy's scene in the exact same place 2 episodes later.

Sydney's dialogue in 3x07 scene also reads like a run-on of Carmy's dialogue in 3x05, continuing his thoughts trying to convince himself of what he should do with Claire but he's panicking so he calls for the Fak's, his imaginary friends/inner voices, who are there with him the next time we see him in that spot. From the dialogue it makes sense but idk if we've ever seen the show do that with Syd before so idk. Sydney is clearly definied as her own character but she is definied as a mirror of Carmy too so it's a possibility.

Of course this is all interpretation, some or none of this could be directly about Claire but idk. The location (esp if it's in the same place he had the 2x09 panic attack), all the "coincidental" dialogue, the way all these scenes tie together...and with the panic attack scene and the opposing realizations Carmy comes to about Syd & Claire in 2x09 & 3x09. It wasn't a "realization" about Claire in 3x09, he didn't even look like he believed what he was saying tbh. It looked like he just made it up on the spot.

It's also interesting that these scenes by the dumpsters are the quivalent of S1 & 2's walk in scenes where both Syd & Carmy go for a moment of peace to clear their thoughts and "cool off". We don't see those this season but we do get these which is more like them sorting out all the chaotic thoughts & feelings inside them, separating the "trash" from the good stuff, "the bad from the good" like Carmy said he wanted/needed to do to achieve his legacy in 3x07.

In the Faks scene listen to all the "we" and "us" talk;

"If we did it when it was scheduled. We do though. We do it, Carm. All we do is break down boxes. We break 'em down and we have to do it again. Who would wanna haunt us? Who's pissed at us? Sammy's pissed at us."

Until Claire is mentioned (a sobering thought for Carmy) and it's suddenly "Not us. Just you. Not us." Reality hit for a moment and the imaginary friends want to separate themselves from him because they're not "real" & they didn't upset Claire so she can't be mad at them. I think Carmy is the only "real" one in this scene. The Faks are the imaginary friends/inner voices that seem like they're helping the main character but they're really just causing more chaos and leading him down the wrong path because they're misunderstanding what he wants based on what he's forcing himself to think about; Claire. (I lowkey think Carmy's forcing memories of Claire to stop himself from thinking about Sydney.)

The transition of Carmy talking to himself with The Fak's representing two parts of his mind aka "two minds" going straight into Syd talking to herself & voicing out loud what she'd say to both Shapiro and Carmy like she's having a mental conversation with two different people and that she's in "two minds". "I wanted to start off by saying I'm grateful" sounds formal and directed at Adam Shapiro. "Ok so I wanted to talk to you..." sounds more personal and directed at Carmy. It's a similar concept of being in two minds used in a slightly different context but in this show and the writing specifically, context is all over the place anyway.

Also the transition into the Syd scene is to drive home the point that Carmy was just having a conversation with himself, trying to convince himself that Claire is peace, she's "good" etc. For this scene (and possibly this scene only) Theodore is the stubborn part of Carmy that doesn't like to be pushed around who thinks stuff like "Yeah but I'd see his ass" about Sammy Fak. And you know there's a part of Carmy that would have that attitude but the conscious part of him is smarter than that. Neil is the more sweet, anxious side of Carmy that is kind of "away with the fairies" a little bit, in his own head a lot. Carmy is the regular, conscious, "real" Carmy trying to figure out the mental mess he's in.

I think transitioning into that Syd scene was also to callback to the only other times Syd or Carmy spoke aloud to themselves. I might be forgetting something but I think all these scenes are the only times we see either of them have full conversations with themselves out loud in S3..? Someone let me know if that's wrong please.

Side note- From one perscpective: Carmy's reaction to Theodore calling Claire "a piece of ass" was so...unaffected??! Could you imagine if someone said that about Syd?? He bit Richie's head off for calling her "sweetheart" in 1x01 and physically put himself between them so I can't imagine he'd take it that lightly if it was about Syd...From another perpective, if this scene is all about Carmy's inner thoughts, is he asking himself if that's how he sees Claire? I don't think he does intentionally but it's a valid question considering the show seems to use physical intimacy as a substitute for any real connection between them. If Claire & Carmy never kissed or had sex, would anyone see that relationship as a romance?? I really don't think so tbh, the physical initmacy is the only thing about their scenes that confirms it's supposed to be seen as a romance. Meanwhile SydCarmy are drowning in real connection before any physical intimacy.

Anyone please feel free to jump in and add your thoughts, I'd love to know your perspectives on seeing all these scenes together @thoughtfulchaos773 @sydcarmyfan @yannaryartside @currymanganese @vacationship @afrofairysblog @greekyogurttragedy @tvfantic87 @moodyeucalyptus @gingergofastboatsmojito @ambeauty @whenmemorydies @brokenwinebox and anyone else who wants to jump in is welcome to.

#sydcarmy #sydcarmy meta #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #neil fak #theodore fak #the bear meta #the bear fx #carmy x sydney #anti claire bear #the bear season 3 #carmy berzatto

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daisyblog · 1 year ago

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"I'm here for your girlfriend"

Our Story Masterlist A/N: Read Love At Wembley first Summary: Harry reads a sign about YN during Wembley Night 3

YN was stood to the side of the stage with Anne, Gemma and Des, along with Brad and Jeff. Since Harry and YN had returned backstage, with YN wearing an engagement ring Anne hadn't stopped hugging her or gushing over her ring. The whole atmosphere was different tonight, Harry was beaming on stage, YN's smile hadn't left her face, Harry's family felt extra proud and even more proud that their son and brother had finally popped the big question.

We've been doin' all this late night talkin' 'Bout anythin' you want until the mornin' Now you're in my life I can't get you off my mind

Can't get you off my mind Can't get you off my mind I won't even try Can't get you off my All this late night talkin'

After Harry had finished performing Late Night Talking, the fans cheered and tried grabbing his attention by waving, to which he would smile, wave, and give them a thumbs up as he walked around the stage. YN watched from her position between Anne and Gemma, wondering how she got so lucky in life with Harry, and now she got to marry and spend the rest of her life with the man she fell in love with at eighteen.

Taking the microphone from the stand, Harry began walking closer to the edge of the large stage. "This is the part of the show where if you have a sign...now's the time to hold them up". The fans began to cheer and hold up different signs, and tried to get Harry's attention to read theirs. Harry looked around until he saw one that caught his eye.

"Hello..what's your name?...Yeh you" Harry spoke directly at a fan that was near the front of the stage, causing the fans around her to jump with excitement. "Emmy?..No..Emily?...Give it up for Emily everyone". The stadium cheered in response, before Harry began to speak again. "Emily your sign says..I'm here for your girlfriend" Harry read the sign, a big smirk covering his face, before he looks over in the direction where YN is standing and he can see her laughing along with his Mum and Gemma.

"I have some news for you Emily...I actually don't have a girlfriend anymore" Harry spoke out to the crowd in front of him, causing the fans in front of him to look wide eyed and Emily's jaw dropped. "I arrived here this afternoon with a girlfriend...but I'm leaving with a fiancée". Harry never predicted the chaos and the cheer that sentence would cause, but here he was standing in front of thousands at Wembley Stadium announcing his engagement.

"Sorry..I can't hear you Emily...How did I propose?" Emily had asked Harry from where she was stood at the front of the barricade. Harry chuckled to himself "Do you all want to know?". The crowd went wild, obviously wanting to know how the couple got engaged. "Okay..okay..I'll tell you". Harry walked to the opposite side of the stage where he could see YN, standing with his family. "I'd actually had the ring a while...but the moment never seemed right..yah know...but Wembley has always been special to me..to us...If I didn't audition that, I would have never met the girl of my dreams" making the crowd cheer and awe. "So before you all joined us tonight...YN and I were sharing this special moment on the stage, where I'm currently standing...and I asked her to marry me...so after this tour, I'm gonna go on a little break and who knows..maybe I'll be a husband when I return" Harry smirked after his lengthy speech, to which he ended with blowing a kiss in YN's direction and sending her a cheeky wink. "I want to dedicate this next song to my future Mrs Styles...everybody this is..Love of My Life...sing it with me"

YN's Stories:

Tag List: (let me know if you would like to be added) @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney fanfictioncafe lilfreakjez jerseygirlinca iamahallucinationnn @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @indierockgirrl @hittiesontour @or-was-it-just-a-dream

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solxamber · 13 days ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: My Consort Calls Me Shrimpy || Floyd Leech

You get isekaid into a novel where the perfect Empress got absolutely wrecked by the plot, and now you have to juggle a bland heroine, a traitorous consort, and a delightfully unhinged eel who’s oddly good at solving your problems.

Series Masterlist

You’re about three hours deep in line, squashed between a woman wearing an unsettling amount of dragon-themed jewelry and some dude intensely vaping in front of you. The line inches forward at the pace of continental drift, and you’re in no mood to be here.

You're here out of pure, misguided loyalty to your best friend, who’s practically shaking with excitement at the idea of meeting their favourite author—the world-renowned queen of girlboss fantasy.

In a valiant effort to distract yourself from your eternal boredom, you pull up her previous novels on your phone. Maybe, if you understood her work better, you’d understand why people would willingly spend this many hours standing on asphalt.

After skimming through some of her top titles, you can barely believe these are real book plots: Slaying the Patriarchy with My Stilettos? Lipstick and Blood Magic? Each one more ridiculous than the last, filled with protagonists who blast their enemies with a "feminine fury" and, honestly, you're just not buying it.

Why did I agree to this? you think, suppressing the urge to gnaw on your own hand out of boredom.

Suddenly, you spot a stray bird above—a pigeon, wobbling through the sky like it's had one too many lattes. You barely register the bird's existence until it lets out an alarming squawk and, in a tragic twist of fate, plummets from the heavens right towards your head.

In a perfect shot, it bonks you directly in the face, knocking you backward with an impressively dramatic flair. You spiral down, your vision blurring as you fall in slow motion, gasping.

In the last seconds of your consciousness, as chaos erupts around you, one solemn thought echoes through your mind: I hate pigeons.

And with that, you drift off into oblivion, serenaded by the panicked cries of your best friend and the distant wail of someone’s Lipstick and Blood Magic audiobook playing on full blast nearby.

You wake up, blink, and immediately realize that your bed is both way too luxurious and way too large. Rich, velvet curtains drape around you, shimmering with gold embroidery.

A chandelier overhead sparkles with enough jewels to fund at least three public libraries. The air smells like a mixture of incense, rose petals, and maybe faint hints of… burning tyranny?

Oh, dear God. You’ve been isekai’d.

Straight into that novel you were doom-scrolling through to survive the crushing boredom of line-waiting.

Your mind reels back to the summary you’d read. The heroine, a weepy maid with all the emotional range of wet toast. The consort, a charming traitor with “dreamy eyes” who betrays his own Empress for said toast. And then, of course, the villainess.

That poor, genius Empress who actually had talent and ambition, who could annihilate anyone with a flick of her wrist and yet was somehow destined to lose it all because of a love triangle involving a glorified housekeeper.

And now—you are that Empress. The Villainess Extraordinaire, Scourge of Kingdoms, War-Waging Prodigy, Mary Sue on Steroids… and now you're stuck in this tragic play of bad romance tropes.

You shoot upright in bed, taking it all in. Lavish room. Silk sheets. Jewels littered around like confetti. And then you notice a presence by your bedside. You whip your head to see… her. The heroine.

She's standing there, looking down at you with the wide-eyed wonder of someone who hasn’t yet discovered a single personality trait. Her face is soft, angelic, and you already know that beneath those doe eyes lies… absolutely nothing.

She's here to dress you, a task that apparently requires thirty minutes of excessive hair-braiding, enough layers to construct a mattress, and endless, mind-numbing conversation about the consort.

Oh, right. The consort. Your dear, disloyal boy toy who’ll soon be scheming against you. He’s probably off somewhere sharpening his cheekbones in a mirror, wondering if he can pull off “soulful yet traitorous” in the same expression.

The heroine starts tugging on your hair, a bit too enthusiastically for your taste. "Your Majesty," she coos, “Your consort was asking for you yesterday. He misses your attention."

You mentally scream. I'm running an empire, Susan! Who cares about his feelings right now? You're barely awake, freshly isekai'd, and trying to mentally tally your enemies, not exactly in the mood for his fragile ego.

And, technically, aren’t you the one in need of support here? Not the consort, who apparently needs a throne, a palace, and a shoulder to cry on every two hours.

"Oh," you manage to reply, voice dripping with an irritation that you pray she interprets as imperial grace. "Tell him… I’m thinking about military reforms."

The heroine’s eyes flicker in confusion. "Military reforms?"

"Yes. Reforms. Vital to the stability of our empire." You wave a hand, and she clearly has no idea what you're talking about. This maid was not hired for her intellectual curiosity, that’s for sure.

Then comes the worst part: her doe eyes start misting over. Great. You forgot. Crying is, apparently, her most crucial skill set. She clutches a sleeve to her chest, looking at you as if you’ve announced the arrival of a natural disaster. "Your Majesty… but what about your consort?"

You take a deep breath. Focus. How did this woman end up so crucial to the plot? What was it about her that was supposed to outshine an entire empire? It’s as if she’s constructed entirely from damp tissues and vague romantic inclinations. And this is the girl who’s going to take you down?

But you’re already devising a plan. You’ll keep tabs on her. Outwardly, you’ll play the role of the intimidating yet graceful Empress, while inwardly making sure that neither she nor the consort gets a single chance to stab you in the back. And as for the consort himself…

Well, when he finally arrives for his “audience,” you’ll be sure to give him the warmest, most menacing smile in your arsenal. For now, you’ll have to endure the heroine’s dramatic sniffles and the hundred layers of fabric she’s convinced you need.

As she fiddles with a particularly elaborate golden sash, you look at her with an eyebrow raised. “Tell me,” you say, feigning curiosity. “What would you do if the palace were to… burn down?”

Her face goes blank for a second. Then, she frowns and wrinkles her nose as if this question is somehow unsolvable. “Um… cry?”

Of course. Absolutely riveting. You sigh and try to look satisfied, which is hard when you’re mentally questioning how this woman has a heartbeat, let alone plot armor thick enough to take you down.

By the time she finishes with your dress, you've already come up with about sixteen ways to save the empire and seventy-two reasons why this love triangle is absolutely ridiculous.

In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. You’re the picture of beauty and deadly grace, an unstoppable Empress who could wield the fate of kingdoms.

And they want to reduce you to a footnote in the saga of this girl’s whimpering romance?

Well, that’s not happening. You’ve read the novel; you know how this story ends. And now that you’re here, you’re rewriting that ridiculous fate.

You try to keep a dignified expression, but inside, you’re screaming.

The entire reason you’ve gathered the harem is to graciously cut them loose and rid yourself of the ongoing melodrama. Because if there are no consorts, there’s no backstabbing love triangle, no tearful betrayals, and no doomed political coups.

You can practically taste the freedom already—so you clear your throat and begin, putting on your most diplomatic voice:

"Esteemed consorts,” you say, hands clasped. “Thank you for your service and devotion. You are now free to leave and may claim land and titles if you wish to remain in the empire.”

You pause, waiting for cheers or at least some relieved sighs. Instead, dead silence. You glance around and spot the heroine sneaking glances at the traitor consort, eyes brimming with pure unadulterated… something.

She looks like she’s five seconds away from throwing herself across a fainting couch. The consort looks at her for a moment and then back at you, entirely unimpressed.

Maybe they’re just in shock, you think, trying to keep it together. Maybe they need a moment to process the incredible gift of freedom you’ve just given them.

But then, from the back of the room, someone clears their throat—Floyd Leech. He raises his hand, a gleeful glint in his eye that makes your stomach churn.

See, Floyd was not a character that should’ve belonged in this novel. The man was unhinged. Slightly terrifying, if you’re being honest. He treated warfare like a casual hobby and had a grin that said I could absolutely cause problems on purpose.

And the worst part? Floyd was actually one of the few who stuck around in the original plot. After the Empress dies on the battlefield, he takes her body back to his home country, out of sheer love.

He's also the only one who got to call the Empress Regnant herself "Shrimpy" and lived to tell the tale. You'd swoon over the romantic implications if you weren't that same Empress who had bigger problems right now.

You steel yourself. “Yes, Floyd?”

“Can I stay?” he says, looking entirely too happy. “These other guys are boring, but you’re kinda fun to watch.” He stares at you like you’re some sort of exotic animal in a zoo. “Besides,” he adds, throwing an arm over a very uncomfortable-looking consort, “who’s gonna protect you if I leave? These losers?”

God help you.

Before you can even answer, the traitor consort steps forward, expression so intense you can feel it from across the hall. He clears his throat dramatically. “My Empress,” he says, taking a deep, tragic breath. “My heart is bound to you, like—like the tides to the moon. Like—”

In the background, the heroine lets out an audible, swooning sigh. Oh, please, you think. You’ve seen better monologues in toothpaste commercials. The consort glances at the heroine, clearly confused, then goes back to gazing at you with what he probably thinks is soulful longing.

Meanwhile, Floyd is grinning at him, shark-like. “Nice speech, buddy,” he says, clapping the guy on the back hard enough that the consort nearly goes sprawling. “But I think she liked mine better.” He leans in to whisper, loudly, “Besides, I bet you don’t even know her favorite food.”

The consort’s face scrunches. “Do you?”

“Nope!” Floyd beams, looking at you as if expecting some kind of reward. “But I’m gonna figure it out.”

The consort looks like he wants to protest, but before he can, another one of the harem—Lord Something-or-Other—steps forward, visibly shaking with emotion. He kneels, clutching a hand to his heart as if he’s about to propose.

“My Empress,” he says, voice wobbling with way too much sincerity. “Without you, my life is a barren wasteland. I would rather endure the endless, scorching sands of—”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Floyd groans. “Do you guys hear yourselves?”

“Can you not mock me while I pour my heart out?” Lord Something-or-Other snaps back.

“Sure I can. I’m multi-talented,” Floyd replies with a grin that’s somehow both playful and threatening. He leans against the throne, looking completely at home while you fight the urge to dive out the nearest window.

Now everyone’s in a frenzy. Every last one of these men—your so-called “consorts”—are lining up to deliver heartfelt soliloquies, tragic metaphors, and similes so flowery they might as well be a bouquet. You can barely keep a straight face as the next one steps forward, proclaiming that he would “gladly suffer a thousand winters if only to see her smile.”

As if on cue, the heroine wipes a tear from her eye, sighing dreamily. The consort she’s apparently in love with looks at her again, this time with an expression somewhere between pity and terror. But she doesn’t seem to notice, too busy whispering to herself, “Oh, how romantic…”

And then Floyd leans down and whispers in your ear, voice gleeful. “Y’know, if you let ‘em keep going, they might just start fighting each other for you. Free entertainment. Whaddaya think?”

You feel a headache coming on. “Floyd, please, I’m begging you—”

“What?” he asks, grinning wider. “I thought this was fun. C’mon, Empress,” he drawls, giving the title an absurd little flourish. “Let me stay. I promise I won’t let any of these guys stage a rebellion.” He smirks at the traitor consort. “Unless you feel like rebelling, huh?”

The traitor consort scoffs, bristling. “Unlike some of us,” he says, glaring at Floyd, “my devotion is genuine.”

“And boring,” Floyd mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine, Floyd. You can stay,” you say, hoping that giving him what he wants will end this disaster. You’re immediately filled with regret as his grin widens.

“Awesome! And you know what? Since everyone’s so devoted, why don’t we all stay? Make it a real party.” Floyd tosses an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the death glares from half the room.

Now you’re stuck with fifteen poets, one unhinged eel, and a heroine who’s still making heart eyes at a man who clearly isn’t interested. And as you sit there, feeling your last shreds of sanity slip away, you think, This is going to be a very, very long reign.

You’re making your way through the moonlit palace corridors, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the… experience that spending the night with Floyd Leech is sure to be.

Mostly, you’ve chosen him because, unhinged or not, he’s at least the most loyal out of this whole ridiculous lineup. Plus, there’s a kind of chaotic charm about him, like a very large, very untrained puppy with fangs.

But before you can even make it to his side palace, you’re intercepted.

“My Empress…” It’s the traitor consort. You sigh as he blocks your path, looking like he’s about to burst into tears. He’s clutching his chest dramatically, as if he’s seconds from fainting, and his voice wobbles with pure tragedy.

“Do you not love me anymore?” he blubbers, eyes shining with tears. “Why do you never choose me? Have I done something wrong? Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve graced my chambers?” He’s practically sobbing at this point, clutching at your sleeves like some tragic hero in a soap opera.

You stand there, blinking. “Uh… dude. I… what? ”

He looks at you with the heartbreak of a thousand rom-coms. “I thought you cared about me. I thought I meant something to you…”

You’re trying to process what exactly is happening (and failing spectacularly) when you hear an all-too-familiar voice.

“Yoo-hoo~!” Floyd’s voice echoes down the hall as he appears at the other end, looking like he’s just won the lottery. He practically skips toward you, a grin stretched across his face, his shark-like teeth glinting in the moonlight.

“Shrimpy!” he calls out cheerfully, giving you an exaggerated wave. But his cheerful demeanor drops like a rock the moment he sees the traitor consort clinging to you, tears streaming down his face.

Floyd’s grin turns into a much darker smirk, and his eyes narrow dangerously. He tilts his head, sizing up the blubbering man like he’s something he might enjoy crunching on for a midnight snack.

“Oi,” Floyd says, stepping closer, voice dropping into a lower, much more menacing tone. “What’re you doin’, crybaby? Gettin’ all snotty in front of my Shrimpy? That doesn’t seem real respectful, y’know?”

The traitor consort pales instantly, his tear-streaked face going from tragic to terrified in half a second flat. “I—I was just…” he stammers, trying to find an escape route.

“You were just what?” Floyd grins, but there’s absolutely nothing friendly about it now. “You got somethin’ you wanna say to her? ‘Cause I could help you say it better, y’know.” He cracks his knuckles for emphasis, and you swear the traitor consort’s soul nearly leaves his body.

And you? You’re exhausted. Normally, you’re pretty sure the original Empress would step in, say something appropriately royal and dignified to diffuse the situation. But at this point? You’re too tired to deal with either of them, and honestly, watching Floyd scare this guy senseless is a little too satisfying. So you just sigh and cross your arms, waiting it out.

“Look, I— I didn’t mean anything by it,” the traitor consort mutters, eyes darting between Floyd’s unsettling grin and your unimpressed stare. “I’ll… I’ll just go…”

And before you know it, he’s stumbling off, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to escape Floyd’s glare. You can still hear his sniffles echoing down the hall as he disappears.

Floyd watches him go, then turns back to you with an exaggerated pout. “He didn’t even say bye. Rude, huh?” Then, just as quickly, his mood switches back, and he gives you a toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy! Let’s go. You’re finally here!”

And without another word, he loops an arm around you, practically dragging you the rest of the way to his palace. By the time you arrive, you’re half-expecting him to start a monologue or make a big romantic speech, but instead, he plops down on the massive, plush couch, pulling you down next to him with surprising gentleness.

“There we go! See? Ain’t this way better than dealin’ with crybabies?” He laughs, leaning back and throwing an arm over your shoulders.

You give him a look. “Do you actually scare all of them off on purpose?”

Floyd grins, showing all his teeth. “Only the boring ones.” He taps his temple like he’s sharing some brilliant secret. “Can’t have anyone else thinkin’ they’re more special than me, right?”

Honestly, you’re too tired to argue. So you just lean back, letting Floyd prattle on about his grand plans for “getting rid of the competition.” At least, you think to yourself, you’ve successfully survived another day of being Empress.

The banquet table stretches out in front of you, each seat filled by one of your fifteen consorts, who are locked in an elaborate battle of “who’s the cutest?” You watch, sipping your wine like it’s medicinal, as they coo, flirt, and — at least in one unfortunate case — attempt a juggling act.

A consort on your left even starts singing a heartfelt ballad he very obviously wrote himself. You silently make a note to ask Heroine if it’s possible to declare some sort of moratorium on public serenades.

Just when you think the evening can’t get any more surreal, the doors burst open. Floyd strides in, late as usual, with all the grace and subtlety of a pirate commandeering the dinner table.

Without breaking stride, he makes a beeline for the coveted King Consort chair, ignoring the man who’s been trying to occupy it and who now looks as if he’s about to faint.

Floyd’s “gentle” suggestion to move aside comes in the form of a rather forceful nudge, and the poor consort goes skidding two seats down, clutching his untouched plate of tiny hors d’oeuvres.

Floyd plops into the seat, throws his legs up on the table, and proceeds to grab a handful of grapes like he’s claiming territory.

Instantly, fifteen men start having what can only be described as a collective meltdown. One consort gapes at Floyd, cheeks puffing like an indignant chipmunk; another begins audibly hyperventilating. Somewhere on the far end of the table, a man has already shed a single, dramatic tear.

Your maid Heroine sidles up to you, wide-eyed. She whispers loudly, as if she’s sharing a forbidden secret, “Your Majesty! You’ve broken their hearts!”

You stare at her, bewildered. “How? By letting Floyd sit down?”

Heroine nods, lip quivering. “They think you’ve… chosen! That’s the King Consort’s seat!”

“What? ” You glance at Floyd, who’s now lying back, casually chomping on a drumstick he must have acquired from who-knows-where. He doesn’t seem perturbed in the least.

“Yes!” Heroine sniffles, pulling out a lacy handkerchief. “It’s the sacred chair of royal favoritism!” She dabs at her eyes, gazing at you with something akin to heartbreak. “And here I thought you were a romantic.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” You rub your temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I just wanted a quiet dinner!”

One of the consorts, evidently hearing this, begins to wail, “But why, Your Majesty? We loved you!” It’s clear he’s already going to be composing several tragic stanzas about this moment.

Then Floyd — who’s been watching this entire scene with the amused look of someone who’s just discovered he’s won the jackpot — clears his throat, aiming a rather shark-like grin at Heroine. “Hey, little miss servant girl,” he says, his voice sugary sweet with a terrifying edge. “Maybe stop making Shrimpy feel guilty, hmm? Unless you want to join ‘em in the Royal Seat Shuffle?”

Heroine squeaks, as if he’s just offered to turn her into a garden gnome, and stammers an apology, hands fluttering as she edges away.

In the silence that follows, you decide enough is enough. “Thank you all for coming,” you announce, giving your consorts a forced smile. “This has been… lovely. But we’re done for tonight.”

The consorts hesitate, as if they want to protest. But when Floyd gives them one of his very special grins — the kind that says he just might take a whole different seat next — they practically stampede out of the dining hall, leaving behind a trail of emotional debris: teardrops, wilted roses, and a half-eaten plate of pastries.

As the door closes, Floyd leans back with a smirk, throwing an arm casually over the back of his new favorite chair. ��So, looks like Shrimpy’s all mine tonight.”

You chuckle, half-exasperated, half-relieved. “Well, seems you chased everyone else off.”

“Don’t be like that,” he purrs, clearly pleased. “You know, you’re different now. Last time, you’d have been practically begging those guys to come back.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I’m just too tired to care anymore.”

He leans in, gaze softening. “Nah. You’ve just gotten tougher. And it looks good on you. The new Shrimpy’s got a spine.”

You smile, almost despite yourself, as Floyd raises his glass, winking. “To the new Shrimpy: long may she rule.”

The annual Talent Showcase Extravaganza for the Empress’s Affections has begun, and your consorts are pouring every ounce of drama and flair they possess into their performances, each desperate to secure that exclusive week at the countryside villa with you.

Unfortunately, it seems that the traitor consort — Mr. ‘I-know-the-theme-because-Heroine-can’t-resist-my-cheekbones’ — is dominating the competition. He’s wowing the audience with a perfectly themed tapestry, and you can already hear the maid giggling over in his cheering section.

This calls for drastic action.

You glance over to where Floyd is occupying himself by tormenting a pair of unfortunate ministers with tales of his more “creative” fishing techniques. With a sigh, you snap your fingers. He looks over, feigning annoyance at being interrupted in what he surely sees as “Minister Horror Story Hour.”

“Shrimpy, what gives? This is the first fun I’ve had since I got here,” he says, hands on his hips.

You clear your throat. “Actually, Floyd, I need you to… win this competition.”

He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “What, by doing some fancy painting or something? Boring. If you want something painted, Shrimpy, I’ll fish out an octopus to do it for me.”

You take a deep breath. “If you do this, I’ll grant you any wish you want. Plus… an extra reward.”

Floyd pauses, smirking as he steps closer, his voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper. “Any wish, huh? Dangerous promise, Shrimpy.”

You raise an eyebrow, undeterred. “You in or not?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he sighs. “Fine. But I’m not painting. I’ve got something much better planned. Just try not to faint in awe, yeah?”

When Floyd finally unveils his “masterpiece,” the room falls silent. Somehow, he’s cobbled together a mosaic made entirely out of shiny rocks he probably pilfered from the palace’s prize garden.

The piece is of you, looking bold and triumphant, wielding what can only be described as a “battle spoon” against some sea monster (you’re guessing it’s supposed to be a shark, but it might just be a rock that looked vaguely fish-like).

“Ta-da!” Floyd announces, throwing his arms out. “The Empress: Rock ‘n’ Roll Edition. I call it, ‘Shrimpy, Queen of the Waves.’”

Despite yourself, you’re mildly… no, very swoony. Somehow, it’s both absurd and… kind of amazing. Floyd’s grin is pure mischief as he winks at you. “Like it, Shrimpy? Don’t worry, I can make one for the garden too.”

But your moment is interrupted by a loud sniffle from across the room. The traitor consort, clearly irate at being outshone, is tearing up, looking at you with big, watery eyes as if you’re the villain in this scenario. Heroine looks one step away from bolting to his side, but he raises a hand, his voice trembling as he murmurs, “No, I only want the Empress to comfort me.”

You shoot a silent plea to the universe, practically chanting, “Please, mercy, mercy…”

Floyd, never one to ignore an opportunity, steps up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Sorry, bud. Shrimpy’s already spoken for tonight. You’ll have to get in line. Oh, and try not to tear up over her rock portrait, yeah? Not all of us can handle the majesty.”

The crowd erupts in applause, one point to you and Floyd — and you’re pretty sure Heroine’s sulking in the corner, still staring longingly at the sobbing traitor consort, but that’s a future problem. For now, you’ve got a mildly unhinged art piece to hang up and a certain mischievous consort to thank.

It’s another late night in the study when you notice the Heroine, your ever-loyal (if not a little clueless) maid, lingering by the doorway, watching you with an odd expression. At first, you chalk it up to her usual eccentricities. But as the minutes tick by, she doesn’t move, just stands there with a faraway look in her eyes. Finally, you set down your work and gesture for her to come in.

“Hey,” you say gently, “what’s on your mind?”

She hesitates, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s nothing, really…” Then, in a small voice, “It’s just… I never got to study like this.”

Your brow furrows, and as she opens up, the full picture starts to form. The Heroine, despite her noble blood, was barred by her father from studying—her dreams of an education crushed under his outdated beliefs.

She clung to the traitor consort, she confesses, because he seemed like an escape, even if a flimsy one. He was a nobleman with some level of authority, and for her, he felt like the only ticket to a different life.

Understanding sinks in. It’s not love she feels for him at all. It’s desperation, something almost like a distorted version of Stockholm syndrome.

She’s convinced herself he’s her only way out, though it’s clear as day that he doesn’t deserve her loyalty. The man’s barely got two brain cells, but he’s got freedom—and for her, he must have looked like her only way out.

The realization hits you hard, like finding out your favorite dessert is made with broccoli. No wonder she’s been swooning over that guy. She’s not “in love”—she’s just starved for any path out of her cage. Your heart softens, and you give her a gentle, if slightly exasperated, smile.

“Well, that won’t do,” you say firmly. “How about this? I’ll teach you myself. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll get you the education you deserve.”

Her face goes through a series of hilarious expressions, from shock to joy to the kind of wide-eyed, wobbly-lipped excitement normally reserved for puppies seeing their owner after a long day. And so, your lessons begin.

Over the next few weeks, you teach the Heroine to read, and she devours each lesson like a kid in a candy store. She’s throwing herself into her education with such energy, it’s like she’s forgotten the traitor consort entirely.

And you’re thrilled—partly for her growth and partly because it means your coup odds have just dropped by a solid 90%.

Soon, Heroine’s loyalty to you is ironclad, her former starry-eyed infatuation with the traitor consort completely extinguished. You’re so relieved you could dance, and, maybe more importantly, you realize that the kingdom’s other daughters deserve the same chance.

In a flash of imperial inspiration, you draft a new law requiring all daughters, noble or otherwise, to attend the academy. The state will foot the bill, so no one has an excuse to hold their daughters back.

Later that night, feeling unexpectedly sentimental, you return to your room to find Floyd sprawled on your bed, grinning like he’s just heard the world’s juiciest gossip.

“You look smug,” you say, arching an eyebrow.

“Nah, just… pleased,” he drawls, giving you that signature mischievous smirk. And before you know it, he pulls you into a surprisingly tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with unexpected warmth. “Look at my Shrimpy, changing the world one law at a time.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks despite yourself. “Oh, stop it,” you mutter, though you don’t pull away.

He chuckles, giving you an affectionate squeeze. “Nah. You’re doing great, Empress. I’m proud of you.”

You’re speechless. Floyd? Sentimental? But as he holds you, laughing at your stunned expression, you can’t help but feel a little…smitten.

You’re reviewing reports in the study, savoring the rare, blissful calm, when the double doors burst open like some villain from a badly written romance novel. There stands the traitor consort, dressed in what looks like…a suit made of loose, strategically placed peacock feathers, a sequined sash, and—oh, yes—face glitter.

He strikes a pose, does a dramatic hand flip, and announces, “Behold! My love for you is eternal, as boundless as the stars, and as bold as my outfit!”

You're thinking about ordering Floyd to chase him out with a chair, when you catch Heroine’s expression—somewhere between horror and volcanic rage.

With a fierce gleam in her eye, she steps in front of you, looking like she’s about to deliver an exorcism. “You…” she begins, her voice so cold even the peacock feathers on his shoulders look like they might molt in fear. “You miserable, egotistical, fashion-disaster-in-waiting!”

He’s stunned, blinking like a child caught sneaking candy. “W-what? Heroine, you used to help me with my plans!”

“Yeah, well, that was before I got a brain cell,” she snaps. “I actually know my worth now, and it’s definitely not tied to whatever fever-dream cape situation you’ve got going on.” She points to his glittering sash. “What, did you rob an arts-and-crafts store on the way here? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

He stammers, visibly shrinking, feathers quivering with fear. “Y-you were always there for me…”

“That was when I was too naive to realize you were the human equivalent of a trash fire!” She’s in full swing now, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, spitting out insults that would make the court jester blush. “Please, the Empress has standards, and you’re down there with questionable cabbage soup.”

He reels back, totally caught off-guard. By this point, you’re honestly not sure if you should applaud or slowly back away.

With a smirk, you lean forward and say, “Well, since you’re dressed for the occasion, why don’t you strut that ridiculous ensemble back to your own country?”

He opens his mouth, gapes like a fish, and finally closes it, completely defeated. Without another word, he shuffles out, feathers dragging behind him in a sad little pile.

The second he’s out of earshot, you sigh, look up, and thank the universe for finally sparing you from that headache. The Heroine just dusts her hands off, grinning like she’s just won the greatest battle of her life, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how terrifyingly competent she’s become.

Floyd has been hounding you about his reward for days now, showing up at all hours with the persistence of a cat at dinner time. You’re mid-sentence in a policy meeting, mid-sip at dinner, even mid-bath when you hear him shout from outside the door, “Hey, Shrimpy! Remember my prize? Don’t forget now!”

Finally, in a moment of resignation, you sigh and wave him in. “Fine, Floyd. What do you actually want?”

He grins, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that should probably have you worried. “Make me king consort.”

You open your mouth, ready to laugh and then say something like, “No chance,” but then…you pause. Because—why not? He’s loyal, he’s your particular brand of chaos, and honestly, the idea of using it as an excuse to disband the harem is almost too good.

You’d get to tell everyone you’d found the “love of your life” and keep your mornings free of peacock-feathered declarations of eternal devotion.

“Alright, Floyd,” you say, shrugging as if you just agreed to a dinner plan and not a royal title. “You’re king consort.”

For a solid five seconds, he’s frozen, blinking like he’s not sure if you just announced the best prank of the century or an actual royal decision.

Then, with a roar of laughter, he picks you up, actually tossing you in the air like a sack of grain. “SHRIMPY, I’M KING CONSORT! WOOOO!”

Ministers nearby practically leap out of their chairs in terror, and one drops his teacup with a spectacular crash.

“Oh, and by the way,” he says, setting you down but keeping a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t think I forgot—I still get that week alone with you in the countryside. Just you, me, and the great outdoors.”

You’d expected to feel dread, but instead…you’re kind of excited? Because it turns out, when there’s no glittered consort in sight, Floyd’s brand of mayhem might just be exactly what you needed.

You’re slumped on the throne, staring into the void as a minister drones on about the scandalous rise in scarf-wearing among the commoners.

The man is red-faced and foaming at the mouth as if he’s narrating the downfall of civilization itself instead of just… knitted accessories. With each drawn-out sentence, your urge to grab his own scarf and dramatically tie it around his face grows stronger.

“And, Your Majesty, don’t you agree that such… frivolousness undermines the dignity of the empire?” he sputters.

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, one mental toe dangling into the sweet abyss of existential crisis. How did your life get to this point? Did the previous Empress really deal with scarf politics? You contemplate just passing the crown to the nearest potted plant. Surely it couldn’t do worse.

Then, like a savior bathed in sunlight, Floyd appears. He slinks in casually, eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of glee and malice. He takes one look at Wedgeworth’s scarf-induced fervor and rolls his eyes. “Oh, I see the scarf issue is really eating away at the Empire,” Floyd deadpans, clearly unamused at the absurdity.

The minister stammers, blinking like he’s never been interrupted in his life. “Well, actually, I was explaining to Her Majesty—”

Floyd raises a hand. “I’ll take it from here, Lord Scarfington. Very urgent royal matters, wouldn’t want to keep the Empress from them, now would we, hmm?”

The ministers exchange horrified looks, but when Floyd locks eyes with them, his expression darkens into a gaze that could probably scare the teeth off a shark. Ministers shuffle out, muttering about “the sanctity of scarves” and how they “never liked those shellfish folk anyway.”

When you’re finally alone, you look at Floyd, and he gives you a grin. “Come on, Shrimpy, I’ve got a surprise.”

He leads you through a series of narrow, winding hallways you didn’t even know existed until you arrive at a small, hidden courtyard surrounded by high walls and shaded by some flowering trees.

In the middle of it is a picnic spread that looks… questionable. There’s food you don’t recognize: odd, glistening items that could pass as snacks in a very brave galaxy.

“I brought some delicacies from the Coral Sea,” Floyd announces, looking way too proud. “I even cooked some of this myself.”

You smile, hoping he means the less suspicious dishes, but as you take a bite of one of the “unique” items, you immediately realize your error. It’s a taste explosion, and not in a good way; you’re fairly certain you just ate something alive. Floyd’s already laughing, watching you try to hold back a gag.

“Oh, that’s rich, look at your face!” He claps his hands, doubled over with laughter.

But then you try the food he actually cooked, and it’s… it’s really good. Your eyes widen. “Floyd, you didn’t tell me you could cook!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Guess you just have that effect on me, Shrimpy.”

As you eat, you feel the weight of scarf debates and mundane ministerial crises slip away. Floyd’s teasing you about your reaction to the Coral Sea snacks, you’re pretending to smack him, and somewhere between the laughter and the food, you realize you’re completely relaxed. You’re even… happy.

Then he casually picks up a pillow, eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey, Shrimpy,” he says slowly, “bet I can take you down.”

“Bring it, fish-boy,” you fire back, grabbing a pillow.

A feather flies. Then another. In no time, the two of you are engaged in a full-on pillow war, feathers floating through the air in chaotic puffs. You swing a pillow with all your might, narrowly missing Floyd, who dodges and counters with a playful shove, sending you sprawling onto the blanket, laughing so hard you’re almost crying.

In the flurry of feathers and laughter, you realize just how much you care about him. And as if reading your mind, Floyd suddenly stops, pinning you down, his face hovering just inches above yours. His usual playful grin fades into something softer, more serious, and you find yourself staring up at him, completely captivated.

You kiss him, right there, surrounded by scattered feathers and half-eaten snacks. “I think I’m in love with you, Floyd,” you whisper.

He grins, looking almost smug. “Knew you’d come around eventually, Shrimpy. You’re a smart one.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, and pull him into another kiss, feeling lighter than you have in ages. Whatever royal nonsense tomorrow brings, you know you’ve got him—and for now, that’s more than enough.

Vacation plans with Floyd start out so simple in theory, but the minute he said, “Countryside? Nah, Shrimpy, we’re going under the sea,” you just nodded because, hey, you did promise a reward. Plus, how bad could it be?

Bad, it turns out, is relative. Upon arrival, Jade, Floyd’s brother, gives you a grin that says welcome, poor soul. “So, my brother’s finally gone and gotten himself an Empress. How unexpected,” he says with a glint in his eye that suggests he’s got a bet running on how long you’ll last.

But you’ve barely survived Jade’s interrogation when Azul, Coral Sea’s resident business octopus, swims up with an entire briefcase of contracts and a grin that spells danger.

“Welcome, Your Majesty! I thought we might discuss a mutually beneficial agreement,” he says smoothly, his tone so charming you almost miss that the contract slides in a 50-year lease on your kingdom’s fishing industry.

“So that’s how it is here,” you think, snapping back to business mode. You haggle until both sides are happy, but the second you reach across to shake Azul’s hand, Floyd swoops in, sighing dramatically. He grabs your hand, practically prying it out of Azul’s. “Alright, Shrimpy, enough time with the fish dealer. You’re mine this week.”

Before you can blink, he’s thrown you over his shoulder like you’re a stray potato sack, striding away from an open-mouthed Azul and an utterly delighted Jade who looks like he's a minute away from bursting out popcorn.

By the time he hauls you to your guest room and plops you on the bed, his usual grin has given way to an expression you’ve only seen on annoyed cats. He’s holding your hand in a grip that could rival steel, not letting go even as he sulks like a kid who just lost his favorite toy.

“Floyd,” you say slowly, “is something wrong?”

He looks away, puffing out his cheeks, refusing to answer. It's downright adorable in an overgrown, slightly unhinged eel sort of way. You squint at him, reaching over to grab his face, smushing his cheeks together until he finally makes eye contact. “Hey, I can’t read your mind, Floyd. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He mutters something too low to hear, and you lean closer, arching a brow. “What was that?”

“You’re my Shrimpy,” he grumbles louder, still not meeting your eyes. “And the handshake with that fish scammer went on too long.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to burst into laughter. “So that’s it, huh?” A laugh slips out despite your efforts, and his pout deepens, though his grip on your hand stays as firm as ever. “You silly eel,” you chuckle, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “As if anyone could match me like you do?”

That does it. His expression softens, the pout melting into that slightly unhinged, overly excited Floyd smile you know too well. “See, Shrimpy, that’s why you’re the only one for me!” he practically shouts before pulling you into a spin that has you clinging to him for dear life.

He kisses you again, and you’re so breathless you half-expect a storm outside to rise to match.

But it doesn’t matter—he’s too busy swearing up and down that he’s not letting anyone else get a “single fin” on you. And somehow, as you laugh together, it feels like you really are on a vacation you never knew you needed.

The ceremony for crowning Floyd as your King Consort goes all-out, much to your delight—and, judging by the expressions around the room, their absolute horror. The whole throne room is so packed with flowers and banners it might as well be a festival.

You’ve made sure that this is a spectacle the diplomats and ministers will never forget. After all, the more smitten you look with Floyd, the less they’ll try to “reason” you out of it. And if they have any opinions about your choice, well, they can keep it to themselves—or they can talk to Floyd.

As you lean in to place the crown on Floyd’s head, he’s giving you a smirk so bright you swear it’s practically a stage light. The second the crown touches his head, he dips you into a kiss that is equal parts “fairytale ending” and “scandalized gasp from the old guard.” The ministers are barely holding in a collective gasp. Someone clutches their chest like they might need medical attention.

Over on the sidelines, you can see Jade and Azul clapping way too enthusiastically for the room’s mood. Meanwhile, everyone else looks like they’re watching you deface a holy artifact. You pull back with a satisfied smile, fully aware of the whispers swirling through the room.

Now, to seal this newfound reign in your own… unique way.

You turn to the front rows where your now-ex-harem stands, looking various shades of awkward and confused. These “prizes” will be going back to their respective nations, and it’s about time. “Ambassadors,” you announce, your tone absolutely oozing sincerity, “I believe you’ll be taking back your… prizes. Enjoy.”

The diplomats exchange looks, clearly unsure if they should feel insulted or relieved. You give them a regal wave and watch as they shuffle out with the ex-consorts in tow, one of whom lets out a dramatic sigh loud enough to reach the rafters.

Just as the room finally starts calming down, you glance over at the row of your ministers—many of whom look like they’d rather have run off with the consorts.

These are the ancient relics of nepotism who have only ever accomplished growing their own egos and possibly a few money-siphoning schemes. You decide now’s the time to deal with them, too.

Smiling so politely it almost looks sweet, you say, “Ministers, thank you for your service. But I’m sure you’ll understand when I say…” You pause, voice dropping to an icy sweetness, “You’re dismissed. Please kindly fuck right off.”

Several of the men freeze, as if unsure they heard you correctly. One or two start spluttering, “But—Your Majesty—this is—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Floyd cuts in, grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re free to go! You wouldn’t want to disappoint the Empress, would ya?”

It takes a second, but the room clears of protesting ministers soon enough. Then you turn to the waiting group of young scholars, women who fought their way up to the top on pure merit, many of them owing their presence here to your recently passed education reforms. “Welcome,” you say with a genuine smile. "Your interviews will be conducted tomorrow"

Their reactions are priceless. Several tear up on the spot, whispering thank-yous so heartfelt you nearly tear up yourself. One of them murmurs, “This is a dream come true. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

You feel a swell of pride. This is what you’ve wanted to see—a competent court, fresh talent, and the chance to make a real difference. Just as you’re soaking in the satisfaction of this triumph, Floyd leans over, clearly up to something.

“You’re done now, yeah?” he asks with a conspiratorial grin.

“Uh, yes?” You've barely said the words, only for him to suddenly scoop you up and throw you over his shoulder, entirely ignoring the royal dignity of it all. The young scholars stare, completely unsure of whether to salute or run.

“Floyd!” you half-laugh, half-scold. “You could at least let me walk out on my own!”

“Nah,” he says, casually strolling down the hall with you like you’re a sack of potatoes. “You’re mine now, Shrimpy. And besides, it’s tradition for the King Consort to carry his Empress, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t,” you mutter, but you wave cheerfully at everyone as you’re carried off.

As he strides out of the throne room, ignoring the horrified gasps and protests behind you both, Floyd grins. “Any more old men to fire? ‘Cause I’m having a great time.”

You shake your head, smiling. After all, you’re the Empress—who’s going to stop you now?

Your empire has transformed. The old guard, once weighed down by nothing but scarves and scandals, has finally given way to a bright-eyed group of scholars and ministers, most of whom—much to the old ministers' horror—are brilliant young women now leading the realm.

Among them is your ex-maid, the heroine herself, newly appointed as Minister of Diplomatic Affairs and already so intimidatingly competent that foreign diplomats quake just a bit when she enters the room.

And the grandest twist of all: you declare that your successor will not be by blood but by merit. The heir to the throne will be the sharpest, most capable mind in the empire, regardless of their birth.

You’re already giddy as you imagine the ambitious parents prepping their offspring for the grueling tests you’re planning—challenges you’ll design alongside your newly assembled council.

After hours of being regal and respectable, you finally get back to your chambers, ready for a night of blissfully ignoring politics. Floyd, your beloved eel, is already sprawled on the couch like he’s conquered half the known world, arms open and ready to receive you. You practically collapse into his embrace, sighing as you burrow against him.

“So, Shrimpy,” he drawls, smirking. “Fix the whole empire yet?”

“Almost,” you laugh. “At least I’ve retired the Scarf Parliament. That’s enough for today.”

You snuggle closer, closing your eyes, and for a second, you think back to the ridiculous, drama-filled story that threw you into this life. Maybe the original author had a point, or maybe she just really liked throwing you curveballs.

Either way, cuddled up with the love of your life while your empire flourishes, you can’t help but think, yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech x you #floyd x reader #floyd x you #floyd leech #floyd #trash novel chronicles

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robot-roadtrip-rants · 6 months ago

Text

My Headcanon for Why Emps Banned Religion

I have read none of the books with a heavy Emps focus but I have read a lot about them, including various excerpts, and obviously that's enough to qualify me for making headcanons about him. So here's my big theory:

The religion ban had nothing to do with Chaos, and everything to do with the Emperor himself.

Listen. Listen. We have three facts:

The Emperor is a 38,000-year-old psyker created to defend humanity against Chaos who has dealt directly with the gods. There is no way he doesn't understand how they work.

The Emperor made a deal with Chaos but failed to keep his end of the bargain. This bargain allowed him to create the primarchs, but it also empowered him personally.

The Emperor is the entity prophesied to become the Dark King, the fifth Chaos God.

I think the Emperor was trying to prevent his own ascension by banning religion.

Humanity has a fairly strong connection to the Warp; it's slowly evolving into a psyker species. A single, non-psyker human won't have much effect, but if billions and billions of humans believe the same thing, it will affect the Warp.

Now, pause for a moment and think about what it would be like to encounter the Emperor. I don't just mean walking up to the guy and shaking his hand, I mean just seeing him and being in his vicinity. You're gonna get knocked on your ass by the most intense Warp aura you will ever feel in your life. To put things in perspective, in one of the HH books, Lion makes an entire room of men kneel just by walking in the room. The Emperor is exponentially more powerful than any of the primarchs. The dude hangs out with blanks because they're just too weak to hurt him.

A lot of people are going to process that encounter as a religious experience.

Now, obviously the vast majority of the Imperium's population are never going to see the Emperor. But millions and millions of people will still go through this experience. We don't see much of this because the HH series takes place when the Emperor retreats to Terra to work on the Webway. Prior to that, he would have been a public figure--giving speeches, holding triumphs, leading armies, going to summits, etc etc etc. There would be a steady stream of people walking away shaken to the core because they decided to go to a big parade or whatever.

Now, add to that his utopian mission (the Imperium will unify the galaxy and create a golden age of humanity! yay!), the cult of personality, and the fact that some planets really would have greeted the Imperium's arrival with joy...

Look, someone's gonna start a new religion. Maybe multiple someones. And you had better believe it's gonna spread because "huh that there is some kind of divine being" is a pretty understandable response to Big E and his Slightly Less Big Sons.

Thing is, the Big E in question knows about the Dark King prophecy, knows how the warp works, and knows he's as much a Warp entity as he is human. If increasing number of humans believe that he's a god, all that belief is gonna pour into the Warp, and eventually it's gonna affect the very nature of his being. Him, who already has prophecies about a divine ascension floating around. GEE WOW COULD THESE THINGS BE RELATED, WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN NEXT.

The Emperor really, really doesn't want to become a Chaos god. The Emperor is extremely anti-Chaos. So it is absolutely vital that no one starts worshipping him because the risk is too great, and too much is at stake.

The solution? Ban religion.

See, he can't just allow freedom of religion because statistically speaking, someone's gonna start worshipping him. And he can't start a state religion, because that associates his person with the official religion, and then he'll get turned into a saint or a minor god or something. For fucks sake, the Catherics still venerate St. Vladimir and they don't even know what Russia is! Yeah, official religion is straight out. Honestly, the big problem here is the whole tendency to worship giant miracle-working people with overwhelming Warp signatures. That's what really needs to be targeted. A vigorous program of rationality combined with a strict ban on religion will discourage both the practices and the thought processes that lead to Emperor worship. Humanity will learn to trust SCIENCE and FACTS rather than seeking comfort from silly old superstitions. That is definitely how human psychology works.

The downside of this policy is that he cannot acknowledge Chaos. Acknowledging that big spooky supernatural entities with godlike powers exist severely undermines the whole premise. But the aftershocks of Slaanesh's birth have mostly worn off by now, the Warp is pretty quiet these days, and frankly speaking there is so much Weird Shit in the Materium that the occasional daemon can be written off as wacky xenos hijinks. Plus, the general drive away from religion will also drive humanity away from Chaos worship. It's a bit of a gamble to deny Chaos, but all things considered it's a safe one.

So Emps bans religion and starts his totally-not-a-religious Crusade to unify the galaxy and find his sons. Everything is going great! Chaos has barely made a peep and rationality is blossoming on all the human planets. The way things are going, Emps might even get a head start on that Webway--

Uhhhhhhh. That's. That's a nice religion you invented there, newly-found son. You know it's gonna have to go in the trash, right? Atheism is kind of our thing.

what is this what are you writing about

LORGAR WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?

Yeah so Emps flips the fuck out. This is literally what he was trying to avoid, and it is the worst case scenario. Not only has an Emperor-worshipping religion sprung up, but one of his sons--y'know, the insanely charismatic monstrosities with crazy Warp signatures that he made--is the one who started it! This has to be stopped, and it has to be stopped HARD. Breaking Lorgar isn't enough. Emps has to break his religion.

And you know the rest.

************************************************************************

LINGERING QUESTIONS:

Q: If Emps was so hellbent on preventing a religion from springing up around him, why did he build a cult of personality?

A: He's an authoritarian dick, of course he's going to build a cult of personality. And of course he's going to convince himself that the cult of personality is necessary, and that it won't conflict with his anti-religion agenda. That's how authoritarian dicks think.

Q: Then why was he ready to become the Dark Lord in TEatD II?

A: Damage control. Emps didn't have the power to take on All Of Chaos Wearing Horus. So if he didn't ascend, he'd be consigning humanity to subservience at best to extremely hostile entities. But if he did ascend, then he might still be able protect humanity even as a horrifying Warp monstrosity. The Emperor will always choose the option that (he thinks) is best for humanity even at the cost of himself. But that's a whole other post.

LAST TIME: Emps has a really fucked up sense of time.

NEXT TIME: Why is the Emperor Like That?

#warhammer 40k #the emperor 40k #i am hellbent on giving emps more characterization #he's so often reduced to Bad Dad #but if you're willing to accept that the primarchs are complicated people with interesting motivations #then you should be open to the Emperor being the same

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fishsticksloser · 10 months ago

Note

hello!! I'm starving for more x male readers 💔💔 I was wondering if I could request leo X male reader? basically the reader is overwhelmed with school. He's usually ambitious with his grades but lately he's been feeling burnout. So leo offers him some cuddles and fluff to relieve the readers stress and i think it would be very cute <33 especially if the reader is touch starved!!

I've Got You

Leo x male!reader

Warnings: stressed reader, comfort, fluff, kisses, post movie

A/N: Could technically be gn!reader. My break starts in 2 days and I'm stressing about completing all the requests I have before then... I'm also gonna lose my mind if someone tells me to rest...

Leo sits in his bed, casually reading a comic when you come in. He looks up, smiling when he sees you come in. His smile falters seeing your tired expression. He sets his comic aside, patting the space next to him. "What's up?" He asks softly as you drop your backpack next to the door.

"College... Work... I've done like nothing else for months." You pout, turning your head to look at him. "I'm so tired..." You walk farther into the room, plopping onto the bed next to him.

Leo glanced over at you, concern etched on his face. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, and it reminded him of the countless sleepless nights he had from his nightmares following the invasion. He sighed heavily, his voice tinged with a mix of empathy and weariness. "I get it, babe. Life can be a real drain sometimes. But you gotta keep pushing through. You're stronger than you think."

He reached over and ruffled your hair gently, a small gesture of affection. "You've been working hard, and I'm proud of you. But remember to take care of yourself too." Leo leaned back against the headboard and pillows. He turned his head to face you fully, his eyes searching yours. "So, tell me, what's been keeping you up at night? College stress? Work deadlines? Or is it something else?"

"Everything... I've been working so hard and I feel like I have nothing to show for it." You sigh, laying your head on his shoulder. "I wish I had a break."

Leo let out a sympathetic sigh, his arm instinctively wrapping around your shoulders in a comforting gesture. The weight of responsibility can be crushing, and he knew firsthand how it could wear down even the strongest of individuals. "I know, amour," Leo murmured softly, his voice filled with understanding. "Sometimes it feels like you're running on empty, like all your efforts aren't making a damn difference. But trust me, it's not about the immediate results. It's about the journey, the growth along the way."

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, his voice filled with a mixture of reassurance and wisdom. "You're doin' great, even if it doesn't feel like it right now. Take a moment to breathe, to rest, and to remind yourself why you're doing all this in the first place. And hey, if you need a break, I'm here for you. We could use some quality time together, huh?" A playful grin tugged at the corner of Leo's lips as he nudged you lightly. "Maybe we could even plan a little getaway, just the two of us. Somewhere quiet, away from the chaos. How does that sound?"

"That would be nice..." You hum softly, taking one of his hands and tracing his fingers and palm. Leo's heart skipped a beat as you traced your fingers along his hand. He couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth and affection stir within him. The gentle touch and the prospect of spending quality time with you ignited a spark of excitement in his eyes. "Won't be able to that until summer break though..."

"Summer, huh?" Leo mused, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. "Well, I suppose it'll give us something to look forward to, won't it? We can plan something special, make sure it's a break worth waiting for." He shifted slightly, turning his body to face you more directly, his eyes locked onto yours. "But in the meantime, we can still find ways to unwind and enjoy each other's company, right here, right now. What do ya say? How 'bout a little relaxation to take the edge off?" Leo's hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin tenderly. "I can give you a massage, help you ease those tensions away. Or we can just cuddle up and watch a movie together. Whatever you need. I'm here for you."

"Is all of the above an option?" You ask softly, your tone a bit playful, leaning into his touch. You close your eyes, sighing in relief.

A soft chuckle escaped Leo's lips as he gazed at you, his eyes filled with affection. "Sweetheart, you know me, I'm always up for a challenge. All of the above it is."

He shifted on the bed, making room for you to lie down comfortably. With gentle yet firm hands, he began to knead the tension from your shoulders and neck, his touch expertly skilled from years of medical training and self-care. His fingers worked their magic, applying just the right amount of pressure to ease the knots and knots of stress that had built up within you.

As he continued the massage, Leo's voice carried a soothing tone, his words laced with care. "Just relax, amour. Let go of all the worries and responsibilities for now. This time is for you, to recharge and find some peace."

With each stroke and caress, Leo's touch conveyed not only a desire to alleviate your physical tension but also a deep-rooted affection. He wanted to show you that you were valued, cherished, and deserving of this moment of respite.

Once he felt the knots begin to loosen, Leo moved to lie beside you on the bed, pulling you gently into his arms. He wrapped his arms around your waist, his body providing a sense of security and warmth. With the TV playing in the background, he held you close, content in the simple act of being together.

As his lips brushed against your forehead, Leo whispered softly, his voice filled with tenderness. "You're doing amazing. I know it's tough, but you're stronger than you realize. And I'm right here with you, every step of the way."

"I know... I need to learn to lean on others a bit more... But... I'm glad your here. I dunno what I would do without you." You mumble, your fingers tracing over his facial features, especially the red bananas around his eyes.

Leo's eyes softened as he listened to your words, his heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and affection. He understood the struggle of wanting to be self-reliant, to carry the weight of the world on your own shoulders. But he also knew the importance of leaning on others, of allowing them to support you in times of need.

"I'm glad I'm here too, baby," Leo whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "You don't have to do it all alone. We're a team, and that means we're there for each other, no matter what. So lean on me, I've got your back." His hand caressed your cheek, his thumb gently tracing the outline of your lips. His gaze met yours, filled with an unspoken promise. "I'll be by your side, through the highs and lows, the ups and downs. You can always count on me."

Leo's lips met yours in a tender kiss, a mixture of love and reassurance. In that moment, he hoped to convey just how much you meant to him, how deeply he cared for you. Breaking the kiss, Leo leaned his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're important to me, sweetheart. Never forget that."

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thankskenpenders · 1 year ago

Text

So I wrote a whole long thing about Amy's tarot cards, but what about, you know... the rest of the Sonic Frontiers DLC? The new alternate story route, the hours of new gameplay, all that?

Having now played it, I'm not sure Sonic has ever had this specific combination of good ideas that make the future of the series look bright, and execution that I fucking hate.

(Full spoilers ahead.)

The good

There's a lot to like here, conceptually.

First and foremost, Tails, Knuckles, and Amy are finally playable in a new mainline 3D Sonic game for the first time since 2006! Seventeen years! We've been begging for this for so very, very long. Nature is finally truly healing from the fallout of Sonic '06. Early on I hedged my bets and expected them to be locked to Cyber Space or something like that, assuming that there was no way they'd be fully playable in the Open Zone. But sure enough, while they're a bit limited compared to Sonic, they're still all full-blown characters with skill trees to unlock and lots of exploration to do.

We also got a more bombastic alternate final boss fight, after the first take on The End kind of underwhelmed. And it's obvious that Sonic Team has listened to our pleas to focus on the 3D platforming over the forced 2D sections, and to reduce the amount of automation in the level design. This update is chock full of Actual Platforming. Wow! I can only pray this means we never get an area as agonizing to explore as Chaos Island again.

Sure, there's still some jank - especially with Knuckles' movement, which is kinda rough. But if this is the stuff they're trying out so that they can refine it further for the next game, then I'm really excited.

On the other hand, good fucking lord is The Final Horizon tedious. And that tedium sapped most of the fun out of it for me.

The frustrating

The new scenario massively increases the difficulty over the base game, seemingly out of a desire to give the hardcore players who were posting speedrun videos and whatnot more of a challenge. It's the Super Mario Bros.: The Lost Levels of Sonic. This difficulty comes in many forms throughout your playtime, some worse than others, and continues to ramp up over time.

Rather than giving you a tutorial level, the new scenario dumps you directly into a remixed version of the final island and makes you do some fairly precise platforming with Amy, Knuckles, and Tails - new characters with new movesets that you won't have any experience with. You'll also need to find character-specific Koco that give you free levels, because Sonic's friends all start at level one and certain locked moves in their skill trees will be mandatory to progress. They don't even have Cyloop unlocked at the start. And because they're all low level, that means you'd better steer clear of the beefed-up bosses scattered around the map, which will absolutely annihilate Sonic's friends. (I honestly just avoided them and never bothered beating any of them, not even with my high-level Sonic. I have no idea if they're beatable with the others.)

None of this is explained to you particularly well. I spent my first few minutes with Amy wondering why the attack button did nothing, only to eventually think to check her skill tree and realize that I had to unlock her basic attack. If you don't bother to take the time to read through the skill trees, you'll very quickly find obstacles you have no way of getting past with no clues as to what exactly you're supposed to do.

Adding to this confusion is the fact that objective markers often tell you to go half a kilometer into the sky, and you'll have no idea how to get up there because all of the relevant platforms are out of your draw distance. Many objects seem to only pop in for me when I'm within about 60 meters of them, which isn't a long distance for a high-speed open world platformer like this. I was having this problem running the game with high graphics on PC, so I can only imagine how obnoxious it is on Switch. I'd frequently find myself poking around nearby clusters of platforming objects and praying that they'd lead me to a spring, rail, or cannon that would eventually point me in the direction of the floating objective marker.

There were always complaints about the art direction in Frontiers and the way it relies on floating rails and prefab platforms that are visually disconnected from the natural scenery of the islands, but it's even more dire here. The new platforming sections are dense and complex, but they seemingly didn't have the budget to change the topography of Ouranos Island at all, so it all takes the form of these prefabs. It very strongly gives the vibe of a Forge creation in Halo 3, back when there were no blank canvas maps and people just had to make "new maps" by jamming a bunch of shipping containers and barricades together in the sky above one of the default arenas.

I was still more or less having fun, though, despite the jank. It's a big creative swing, I told myself! They're trying stuff out! They're experimenting!

And then I hit the towers.

The towers are agonizing because they're SO close to being great. The logical part of my brain understands why some people love them, but god, I just fucking hate them. The platforming there IS cool! These layouts are cool! The individual challenges along the way are a bit tough, but totally doable. You know what's not cool? Making one mistake and slowly falling 800 meters all the way back down to the ground, forcing you to start over. Because none of these towers have checkpoints. For me, this one decision transforms what should have been a fun set of platforming challenges into a massive, unfun difficulty spike.

I enjoy some masocore platformers, but those are typically games with quick deaths and restarts like Celeste, Super Meat Boy, or VVVVVV. Hell, the Mario games tend to get way more difficult than the average Sonic game, and those are obviously all great. Quite frankly, unlike those games, Sonic Frontiers is nowhere near tight or polished enough to make this difficulty feel fair. Bits of jank that I could ignore in the base game due to its lower difficulty are now matters of life or death. Missing a jump because I boosted off an incline in a way the game didn't like for reasons I don't understand is not fun. Falling off a tower because the camera was pointing in the wrong direction while I was in midair and I couldn't see the next thing I was expected to homing attack is not fun.

And it's such a jarring spike when moving from the base game to the DLC that it feels like the game is suddenly quizzing me on skills it never bothered to instill in me. Maybe if you've spent the last year labbing out the movement tech in this game this is all a no brainer, but for the average returning player it's a kick in the dick.

I'm sure I could've beaten these towers normally if I gave them enough tries. They aren't the hardest thing in the world. But I very quickly decided I had better things to do with my life and turned on easy mode, which adds tons of extra springs and homing attack balloons to make all of the platforming piss easy. I wish there was a middle option between Only Up: Sonic Edition and this extreme hand holding, but when given the choice between the two I gladly picked baby mode. I just wanted to see the story.

(The new Cyber Space levels are also long, challenging, and devoid of checkpoints, not unlike the towers. But I only ever found the entrances to two of them. So I only did two. They're theoretically required, because they give you "Lookout Koco" that you need for... some reason? But in a rare act of mercy, Sonic Team put Cyloop treasure spots that give you free Lookout Koco all over the map.)

As I continued, so many little things started adding up to piss me off. Why do you only reveal like five tiny squares of the map at a time? I would've loved to find all the new 1-on-1 dialogue scenes, but not if I had to do dozens of hard mode versions of the stupid little puzzles and challenges to reveal the whole map. Why does every character need their own unique collectibles? What is this, Donkey Kong 64? Why can't I just grab this EXP for Amy when I find it as Tails? Why can I only manually swap characters by talking to an out-of-the-way NPC unlocked right before the final boss? Why is fast travel disabled? Why are the new vocal themes you hear when playing as Amy, Knuckles, and Tails so monotonous, with a single verse repeating over lo-fi beats ad nauseum? Why is the jukebox feature completely disabled throughout the DLC, even after rolling the credits? Why can't Tails homing attack? Why do I have to wrestle with the camera so much while also holding the jump button to fly as Knuckles and Tails? How many right thumbs do they think I have? Why is this animation for picking up animals in the Cyber Space levels so incredibly slow, and why can I still take damage while it's playing? Why does the stupid starfall event have to make it so hard to see what I'm doing when climbing these towers? Why does this shitty combat trial have a popup that makes it seem like I should be using the Cyloop when the actual strategy revolves around repeated parries? And on and on and on...

The story

What about the new story? Well, there sadly isn't much to chew on here. Most of the DLC has the cast running around and finding different macguffins for arbitrary reasons, as part of some sort of plan to divide up the work on the last island so that Sonic can go train with the spirits of the Ancients and harness the power of his cyber corruption. What the fuck is an Impact Form? I don't know, but Knuckles needs something to do, so go find one.

It's a thin excuse plot meant to make you do platforming challenges around Ouranos Island, with little room for Ian to add any real flavor of his own, even though he certainly tries. Having Sonic meet the spirits of the Ancients who controlled the Titans, who are revealed to directly parallel the personalities of him and his friends, is kinda neat, I guess? It's something. The optional conversations seem to have some fun bits, including both conversations between the supporting cast and additional lore. But again, I only found a few of those because of how tedious filling out the map was.

The writing is also let down by the voice acting - or I guess the voice direction, because I know this cast can do better. Roger's voice continues to be weirdly, distractingly deep as Sonic, which was clearly something that was requested of him just for this game. (For a recent example of him going back to his regular Sonic voice, see this LEGO trailer.) The performances of Sonic's friends are also WILDLY mismatched. This is most clear when they start feeling the effects of the cyber corruption. Knuckles seems to be barely affected at all, Tails sounds like he's moderately hurt and low on energy, and Amy starts completely overselling her pain out of nowhere. The extremely strained performance makes it sound like Cindy's literally being tortured in the fucking booth. I have no idea what's going on over there.

The final challenges

People have debated whether or not things like the towers and the new Cyber Space levels are fair challenges. What's not up for debate is the fact that Master King Koco's Trial is complete and utter bullshit, and I can't believe they shipped this.

Before you can fight the new final boss, the game forces you to do a boss rush of the first three Titans - INCLUDING the pre-Super Sonic climbing sections - with a hard limit of 400 rings. For all three lengthy, heavily scripted fights. Back to back. You can't even cheese it with the leveling system, because you're forced to do this at level 1. This all but forces you to look up speedrun strats for the Super Sonic fights so that you don't run out of rings and fail the trial.

And the real kicker? They changed the parry just for this trial! Originally, you could just hold down the bumpers endlessly and Sonic would ready himself to parry the next attack, whenever that may hit. Now it requires you to do a "Perfect Parry" with specific timing. And you HAVE to hit those parries if you wanna clear this trial and get to the new ending. Miss a few and you're probably fucked. You just have to reset. Time to go through all those fights, all those climbing sequences, all those QTEs, and all those unskippable mid-fight cutscenes all over again. This is by far the most egregious example of the DLC deciding to quiz you on new skills that the base game never required of you, and it's one of the most absurdly unfair things I have ever seen in a Sonic game.

Easy mode does make this trial easier by making the timing window for Perfect Parries much more generous, but that's all the help you get. It's still easy to lose time failing to parry Wyvern's hard-to-read animations, or to lose rings by getting hit on the climb sections, or for things to just fuck up because these fights were always kinda jank. I gave it a few shots. I looked up guide videos. I tried the Quick Cyloop and stomp combo strat that seems all but mandatory. But I quickly decided that, again, this wasn't a worthwhile use of my time. It just sucks. And I really, REALLY didn't want to overwrite all my fond memories of these Titan fights, some of my favorite setpiece moments in any Sonic game, with memories of this shit ass boss rush.

So I cheated! And if you're on PC, you should too.

With the worst hurdle out of the way, I turned cheats back off and moved on to the new final boss. It was pretty cool. It's much flashier than the original fight against The End, that's for sure. It's still kinda annoying, and it requires you to do very specific shit without properly telegraphing it, but it's nowhere near as bad as the preceding challenges. I was hoping for one last new metalcore song to go with the new fight, which we sadly didn't get, but at least the new version of I'm Here is good.

The ending is... mostly the same, with a couple altered scenes that don't really change anything in the long run. But overall the new finale was pretty good. I just wish it hadn't been such a slog to get there.

Closing thoughts

Sonic Frontiers: The Final Horizon wants to be three things:

A patch that adds a new alternate ending that was probably supposed to be in the base game in the first place.

An experimental take on making Tails, Knuckles, and Amy playable again, presumably testing things for the next game. And...

An official Kaizo Sonic Frontiers mod for the sickos.

The thing is, the people showing up for #1 and #2, the main things that Sega hyped up about the update, are not necessarily going to be down for #3. If they had announced some uber-hard new Cyber Space levels for the arcade mode or whatever, I'd be like, neat! And then not play them. I would never touch Master King Koco's Trial if it was an optional challenge. I would leave that for the sickos. But instead, they made the hardest content mandatory for anyone who wants to see the new Good Ending where the final boss gets an actual budget.

I'm mostly left in a state of shock that it shipped like this. I cannot believe they playtested this and decided this was the state The Final Horizon should be released in. That this should be the note Frontiers ends on. That this should be how we remember those Titan fights. That this should be the lingering taste in our mouths as we wait however many years for the next 3D game.

Armchair devs always love to say that things would be "easy to fix," but like... there really would be easy fixes for the insane difficulty and general tedium here! Add a few more tutorial popups explaining what the game expects of you with Sonic's friends. Give the Cyber Space stages and the towers a couple checkpoints. Give the combat trials more generous time limits, especially on the lower difficulties. Remove half of the map puzzles, and make the ones that remain uncover twice as many squares. Skip the startup animation for Knuckles' glide. Let me turn on the goddamn jukebox. Since so much of this update was designed around fan feedback, I can only pray that Sonic Team is still listening, and that they tweak at least a few of these things with a balance patch.

But still, after those many, many paragraphs of complaining... this still somehow makes the future of 3D Sonic seem pretty promising?

Sonic's friends are FINALLY playable again, and the focus is back to proper 3D platforming, rather than railroading players into awkward forced 2D sections in what's otherwise an open world. These are the things that they hopefully want to carry over to the next game. The difficulty? Well, that's just because it's the postgame DLC that's supposed to be the toughest challenge in the game. It's just an unreasonably cruel one of those - an example of how designing and balancing for a vocal minority of your fanbase can really hurt your game. But Sonic Team is onto something here, and I hope that they can learn the right lessons from this expansion and not throw the baby out with the bathwater.

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