#Challenging Winding Up Petitions

[lexlawuk]

Companies Winding Up Cause List (16 April 2025)

ROLLS BUILDING BEFORE CHIEF INSOLVENCY AND COMPANIES COURT JUDGE BRIGGS List updated: 15 April 2025 1:16pm JudgeTimeVenueTypeCase  numberCase nameChief Insolvency and Companies   Court Judge Briggs10:30amRolls Building, Court 1Winding up petitionsCR-2024-002985 Ariston Development LtdChief Insolvency and Companies   Court Judge Briggs10:30amRolls Building, Court 1Winding up…

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Timid Flames

Summary - In a politically arranged marriage, they unexpectedly find solace in each other. As they navigate the storm of familial conflict, a night of celebration reveals desires and bravery, challenging the bounds of their union and the roles they play in a dangerous game of power.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2759

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had only been wed for three moons—a union born out of political necessity, carefully arranged to forge a fragile peace. 

The bride, Alicent Hightower's youngest daughter, had been offered as part of King Viserys's latest attempt to mend the rift tearing apart his divided family. 

After the bitter fallout from the petition for Driftmark, this marriage had been the king's insistence, hoping it might soothe the growing tensions.

Surprisingly, the match had not been as cold and distant as some feared. 

In fact, much to Jace's amusement, our marriage had become rather... agreeable. 

Unlike my more impulsive and outspoken brothers, I shared Jace's temperament—thoughtful, measured, and often preferring quiet contemplation over conflict. 

This similarity made it easy for us to find common ground, and more often than not, we ended up agreeing with one another on most matters.

Jace, though shy at times, had grown fond of me quicker than he expected. In quiet moments, when he allowed himself to reflect on our marriage, he felt grateful. 

"You know," he once remarked with a soft chuckle as we shared a private dinner in Dragonstone, "I expected our union to be just another duty. But it hasn't felt like that at all." 

He reached across the table, lightly clasping my hand. "I enjoy this... us."

I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. "As do I. It's strange, isn't it? To be at ease in a marriage forged by others."

We were now bound for King's Landing, a return prompted by the upcoming wedding of my elder brother, Aemond. 

Though I could sense Jace and his brothers were not particularly eager to make the journey back to the capital so soon after leaving it, I longed to see my family again. 

I missed them—Helaena most of all, with her gentle spirit and enigmatic ways.

Standing at the ship's edge, I watched the shimmering blue waters stretch out before us, occasionally lifting my gaze to the sky. 

There, Silverwing, Vermax, and Arrax flew overhead, their gleeful screeches piercing the air as they relished the freedom of the open skies. The sight of the dragons always stirred something in me—a mix of awe and pride.

"Are you happy to be returning?" Jace's voice came from behind me, softer than the wind that tugged at our hair. 

I turned to find him watching me with that familiar, shy look on his face. I nodded, sighing with contentment.

"I am," I said, offering him a small smile before glancing down. "I apologize if you're not."

Jace shook his head and joined me at the railing, his shoulder brushing against mine as he leaned beside me. 

His fingers, warm and calloused from dragon riding, lightly grazed mine, sending a wave of warmth rushing through me.

"I'm fine," he assured me, though I could sense the faint unease in his tone. "It's Luke who's not faring well with the journey." 

He nodded towards his younger brother, who stood further down the ship's deck, looking paler than usual, his face scrunched with discomfort.

I chuckled softly. "Poor Luke."

Jace smiled at that, but there was a quietness between us now, a lingering tension not easily dismissed. 

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The grand hall of the Keep was filled with the sound of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets as the celebrations for Aemond's wedding reached full swing. 

My brother looked every bit the proud groom, standing tall with his new bride by his side, but my focus wasn't on him. 

Instead, I was hyper-aware of the tension swirling around Jace and Luke, who sat beside me at our family's table, enduring a barrage of thinly veiled insults from my brothers.

Aegon, as usual, was at the centre of it, his words dipped in honeyed sarcasm as he spoke just loud enough for all of us to hear.

"How's the sea voyage treating you these days, Luke? Not planning on visiting Driftmark anytime soon, I hope," Aegon remarked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

The implication was clear—he was deliberately fanning the flames of the bitter conflict over Driftmark's succession, each word dripping with sarcasm designed to ignite tempers and deepen rifts, a cruel game that felt all too familiar.

Luke's jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes fixed on his plate, refusing to rise to the bait.

Jace, seated beside him, wasn't faring much better. He sat rigid, his shoulders tense, clearly biting his tongue to keep from responding.

"Must be difficult, sharing the same roof with those who think you don't belong," Aegon continued, his grin widening as he lifted his goblet to his lips.

I shot a sharp glance at Aegon, my irritation bubbling beneath the surface. 

Helaena, seated to my left, tried to offer me a reassuring smile, but even her calming presence wasn't enough to quell the frustration building inside me. I hated this constant tension, this incessant prodding from my brothers, who refused to let old wounds heal.

To drown out their jabs, I did the only thing I could think of at the moment, I reached for my goblet and took a deep sip of the rich wine. 

The warmth spread quickly through my body, dulling the edge of Aegon's words.

But one sip wasn't enough.

As the evening dragged on and the taunts kept coming—Aemond, more subtle but no less pointed in his barbed remarks—I found myself reaching for the goblet again and again, the wine a welcome escape. 

It made everything seem a little softer, a little less sharp. Even Jace, who sat brooding beside me, looked more relaxed in the golden glow of the torchlight as the alcohol dulled my senses.

By the time the feast was at its height, I was no longer just drinking to forget. I was enjoying the lightness in my limbs, the freedom of inhibition. 

The wine had worked its magic, and I found myself smiling at Jace—really smiling, more freely than I had in moons.

"You're too tense," I teased, my voice soft and slightly slurred as I leaned toward him with a grin. 

My fingers toyed with the rim of my goblet as I looked at him with a mischievous glint in my eyes.

Jace blinked, clearly taken aback by my sudden shift in demeanour. His eyes widened, and I saw a flush creep up his neck. 

He wasn't used to this—me, this playful, open side of myself that rarely came out. 

Normally, I was thoughtful and composed, matching his temperament. But tonight, I felt like throwing caution to the wind.

"Relax a little, husband," I whispered, leaning closer than I normally would, my lips grazing the shell of his ear as I spoke. 

My hand drifted lazily to his arm, fingers trailing along the fabric of his sleeve. "We're at a wedding. Let yourself enjoy it."

Jace stiffened, his entire body going rigid as he struggled to process what was happening. He wasn't accustomed to this kind of open flirtation from me, and certainly not in public. 

His cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink, and he swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape.

"I—uh, I'm fine," he stammered, though his voice betrayed him. He sounded anything but fine. His face was a mix of confusion, surprise, and something else I couldn't quite place.

I laughed softly, delighted at his reaction. It was rare to see Jace flustered, but here he was—blushing, his carefully composed demeanour slipping with each teasing word I threw his way. 

 The way he tried so hard to remain serious only made it more fun.

"No, you're not," I teased again, my voice taking on a singsong quality as I leaned even closer, my breath warm against his ear. "You're all stiff and serious. You should loosen up a bit."

Jace's gaze flickered to the goblet in my hand, his concern growing. "I think you've had enough," he said gently, his fingers brushing against mine as he tried to take the goblet from me.

But I wasn't having it. I laughed, pulling the goblet back with a grin. 

"Don't be such a bore, Jace," I teased, the wine making me bolder than I'd ever been. "Don't tell me what to do, not when I'm having so much fun."

The way his face flushed deeper and his eyes widened at the playful lilt of my voice sent a thrill through me. 

For a moment, I forgot about the barbed comments from Aegon and Aemond, the lingering tension in the room. 

All I cared about was the way Jace was looking at me—flustered, surprised, and just a little bit helpless.

"I—I think you should rest," Jace tried again, his voice now tinged with nervous laughter. He was still trying to be the responsible one, the composed husband. 

But his usual control was slipping, and I could see the internal struggle in his eyes.

Instead of listening, I giggled and leaned even closer, letting my fingers dance up his arm. "Or..." I purred, a wicked smile curling my lips, "maybe you should dance with me."

Before Jace could protest, I was on my feet, pulling him up with me. He let out a startled laugh as I dragged him onto the dance floor, his hand clasped tightly in mine. 

His surprise was clear, but I was already spinning him into the centre of the hall, the music and wine making my movements feel light and carefree.

"Wait—what—" Jace stammered, completely caught off guard. He stumbled slightly as I twirled him, clearly not expecting me to take the lead so boldly. 

His eyes darted around the room, and I could see the mix of amusement and mortification on his face.

The people around us watched with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement, but I barely noticed. 

All I could focus on was Jace—how out of sorts he was, how flustered he looked, and how much fun it was to see him like this.

"I think I'm going to regret this," Jace muttered under his breath, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

He looked at me with a mixture of exasperation and affection, clearly at a loss for how to handle this version of me.

"Not if you have fun," I whispered, pulling him close as the music swelled. 

The wine had made me bold, and I relished the way he seemed to falter under my touch. For once, Jace was the one who couldn't keep his composure.

As the night wore on, I continued to flirt, to tease, to dance. Jace was a blushing mess by the end of it, his usual stoic demeanour completely shattered.

He loved the extra attention—I could tell by the way he kept stealing glances at me, his eyes lingering just a bit too long, his lips twitching into an almost smile every time I laughed or teased him.

Even though he tried to be the responsible one, I knew he secretly enjoyed it—the way I made him feel tonight, how I drew him out of his shell. 

"Are you even trying to enjoy yourself?" I teased, glancing up at Jace as I pulled him onto the dance floor once again.

He gave me a small, shy smile, his hand resting on the small of my back as he followed my lead. 

"I am. Just... keeping an eye on you," he said gently, though I could sense his amusement beneath the worry.

"Keeping an eye on me? I'm your wife, not some unruly dragon," I said with a smirk, spinning away from him with a playful twirl. 

He caught me again, steadying me with the ease of someone well-practised in handling situations beyond his control. 

I leaned in closer, speaking just loud enough for him to hear, "But I like it when you watch me."

Jace's blush was immediate, his gaze dropping for a brief moment before he met my eyes again. He looked as if he wanted to say something—something meaningful—but just then, a familiar voice interrupted us.

"Seems you've had quite a bit of wine tonight," a deep, smooth voice said from behind me.

I turned, finding myself face-to-face with Lord Ormund Hightower, one of my distant cousins on my mother's side. His smile was easy, but there was something in his gaze that felt too familiar, too lingering as it settled on me.

"Perhaps," I replied, trying to maintain my composure as I felt his eyes linger a bit too long. "But it's a wedding. Surely a bit of wine and dancing is expected."

"Of course, princess," Lord Ormund said with a chuckle, his gaze sliding between Jace and me. 

"Though one might say your enthusiasm tonight stands out." His tone was light, but the implication was clear. 

His gaze flicked back to me, lingering in a way that made me uncomfortable, a hint of something more than politeness in his look. "I didn't realize you were so... spirited."

Jace's expression shifted beside me, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He moved closer, his hand settling protectively at my waist, but still, he said nothing.

"Spirited, perhaps," I said, trying to brush off the comment with a smile. "But no more than any other on a night like this."

Lord Ormund gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering on me a beat longer before he added, "It's good to see you enjoying yourself. Though, if you're not careful, some might get the wrong impression of your... exuberance." 

His smile widened, a teasing glint in his eye. "Not everyone will see it as harmless fun."

Before I could react, Jace stepped forward, his posture straight and his tone steady, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice.

"I think you've made your point, my lord," Jace said calmly, though his grip on my waist tightened ever so slightly. "And it's noted. But I would remind you that my wife's behaviour is of no concern to anyone here, except perhaps me."

The subtle warning in his voice wasn't lost on Lord Ormund, who raised his hands in mock surrender, the smile never leaving his face. 

"No offence meant, Prince Jacaerys. Merely a friendly observation."

Jace's gaze didn't waver, his expression unyielding. "Of course. But observations, when unnecessary, can sometimes be mistaken for something else." 

His voice remained level, but there was a quiet protectiveness in his tone that made it clear the conversation was over.

Lord Ormund hesitated, then gave a slight bow. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, both of you," he said before turning on his heel and walking away, though I could feel the weight of his gaze still lingering behind him.

As soon as Lord Ormund was out of earshot, I turned to Jace, my heart pounding not from fear but from the rush of the moment. I wasn't used to seeing him like this—so firm, so sure of himself. 

There was something deeply reassuring in the way he had stepped in, calmly but assertively.

"You didn't have to do that," I said softly, though I couldn't deny the warmth spreading through my chest.

Jace met my gaze, the tension in his expression softening now that we were alone again. "Yes, I did," he replied simply. "You shouldn't have to put up with that. Especially not from him."

I looked at him for a long moment, taking in the way his jaw was still set, the way his hand remained at my waist as if he wasn't quite ready to let go. 

His protectiveness stirred something deep within me—a mixture of gratitude and something else, something more intense.

"You don't usually speak up like that," I said, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. "I rather like it."

Jace looked slightly embarrassed, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

"Someone has to look out for you, especially when you seem determined to cause a scene," he said, though his tone was light, playful.

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Perhaps I'm more trouble than you bargained for."

Jace's smile grew, and this time, it was genuine and warm, the blush fading from his cheeks as his confidence returned. 

"I knew what I was getting into. And, if I'm being honest, I don't mind it."

The confession, quiet and simple, hung in the air between us. It wasn't grand or dramatic, but it meant something. Jace didn't just tolerate my boldness tonight—he liked it. 

He liked me, in all my messiness and unpredictability.

For the rest of the night, his hand remained at my waist, steady and reassuring, a quiet but constant reminder that I wasn't alone.

That no matter what happened, Jace would always be there, standing by my side, ready to protect me from whatever—or whomever—tried to push me too far.

A/n - I need to stop with the marriage of convenience trope x

[insomniac4000]

Three Peaks-ChrisMD

I had to write this after the video yesterday despite having some requests still in and writing a Charity match fic....

The brisk morning air bit at Chris’s cheeks as he tightened the straps on his hiking backpack. Standing in the shadow of Ben Nevis, the highest peak in Scotland, the mountain loomed like a gray giant, its summit lost in a wisp of cloud. Chris had his hands clasped in front of him as he always did when he did the introductions to his video, addressing the camera ready to capture the beginning of what he hoped would be one of his second channel’s most ambitious videos yet. He was slightly nervous as it was a shift from his usual football content.

“Alright, lads and lady,” Chris called, spinning to face the group with his usual boyish grin. “Let’s get the obligatory intro out of the way before we regret ever agreeing to this.”

“That’s just every ChrisMD video ever,” ArthurTV clapped back causing laughs and jeers from the group, the group being; Harry Lewis who had already taken the role of morale officer, cracking jokes about the group’s preparedness—or lack thereof. Arthur Hill, visibly unsure about what he’d signed up for, leaned heavily on his walking poles, a sheepish smile on his face. ArthurTV and George Clarkeey exchanged knowing glances, already anticipating chaos. ReevHD was characteristically quiet, scanning the trail ahead with determination like he did with every challenge.

And then there was Y/n.

Chris tried not to let his gaze linger on her, but it was impossible not to notice how effortlessly she seemed to fit into the moment. At 5'2", she was dwarfed by the towering peaks around them, but her petite frame radiated confidence. Her auburn curls were tied up in a high pony tail but already a slight bit of frizz was poking out from the tie, showing her imperfections she embarced and her hazel eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and mischief.

“Ready to prove short people can climb mountains too?” Y/n teased, catching Chris’s eye.

“Short people?” Harry cut in with mock horror. “You and Chris barely make one normal-sized person!”

The others burst into laughter as Chris groaned. “Here we go,” he muttered, though he couldn’t help but smile.

“Team Hobbit in full force,” George added, slinging an arm around Chris’s shoulders. “Shire squad, reporting for duty.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but played along, giving Chris a playful nudge. “Come on, Frodo, let’s show them how it’s done.”

The group set off, their boots crunching against the ground. The first leg of the journey was deceptively easy, winding through forests and open meadows. Chris found himself falling into step beside Y/n, their conversation flowing as naturally as the babbling brooks they passed.

“This should be a doddle for you considering your videos,” Chris said, stealing a sideways glance at her. “Any near-death experiences you haven’t told me about yet?”

Y/n chuckled, adjusting her backpack. “Oh, plenty. But I’ll save those stories for when we’re at the summit. You know, motivation to keep climbing.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Chris replied, his smile lingering.

Behind them, Harry and George were already trying to outpace each other, their competitive streaks on full display. Arthur Hill lagged slightly, his breath coming in short gasps.

“You alright back there, Arthur?” Reev called, slowing his pace to check on him.

“Still alive,” Arthur wheezed, earning a round of good-natured laughs.

As the group ascended, the trail grew steeper and more rugged, rocks jutted out at awkward angles.Y/n, used to navigating tricky terrain from her travels, moved with practiced ease, her short legs propelling her upward with surprising speed.

“Alright, we get it,” George said, feigning exasperation as Y/n waited for the rest of them at a particularly steep section. “You’re secretly a mountain goat.”

“Just embrace your inner hobbit,” Y/n shot back, grinning.

“Speaking of hobbits,” Harry said, glancing at Chris, “you keeping up, mate? Or do we need to carry you?”

“Funny,” Chris replied, though he was grateful for the excuse to slow his pace. Y/n waited for him, her expression softening.

“You’re doing great,” she said quietly, her voice carrying only to him.

Chris felt his chest tighten, but he pushed the feeling aside. “Thanks,” he managed, giving her a small smile.

By the time they reached the halfway point, the group was a mix of exhilaration and exhaustion. They paused to refuel, pulling out energy bars and water bottles. The wind whipped around them, colder and more insistent as they climbed higher.

Arthur Hill collapsed onto a rock, his face red but determined. “This is... definitely harder than I thought,” he admitted between gulps of water.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” Y/n encouraged, earning a grateful smile from him.

The teasing eased for a while as the group focused on the gruelling climb. The summit felt tantalizingly close yet maddeningly out of reach as the trail grew steeper and the air thinner. Y/n took the lead, her smaller frame navigating the rocky terrain with agility that left the others scrambling to keep up.

Chris stayed close behind her, his own shorter stature making the climb a little easier compared to the taller guys, who were visibly struggling.

“Bet you’re glad to have another hobbit around now,” Y/n teased over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion.

Chris laughed, shaking his head. “Never thought I’d say this, but yeah, maybe it’s not so bad.”

The summit finally came into view, on a good day it probably would have been an incredible view but the British weather was typical and as the group had looked out all they could see was fog. Still though, this was the tallest peak and they were at the top.

“We did it!” Harry yelled, throwing his arms in the air.

Y/n grinned, pulling out her camera to capture the moment. She turned it toward Chris, who was leaning on his trekking pole, looking both exhilarated and exhausted.

“How does it feel to conquer peak one?” she asked, the camera trained on him.

“Cold,” Chris deadpanned, earning a laugh from the group.

They spent a few precious minutes taking in the view, snapping photos, and catching their breath. But the celebration was short-lived as Chris checked his watch.

“We’re behind schedule,” he announced, his tone regretful. “We’ve got to get moving if we’re going to stay on track.”

As they began their descent, the mood remained light despite the ticking clock. The banter continued, with the group teasing Arthur Hill for his earlier struggles and Chris and Y/n for their so-called “hobbit couple” status.

Chris found himself walking beside Y/n again, their shoulders brushing as they navigated the narrow trail.

“Think we’ll survive the next two peaks?” he asked, his tone half-joking.

Y/n glanced at him, her hazel eyes warm. “If you stick with me, Frodo, I think we’ll be alright.”

Chris felt a flicker of hope, small but persistent, that maybe, just maybe, this challenge would lead to more than just a great video.

As the group reached the base of Ben Nevis and prepared to drive to Scafell Pike, the teasing continued, but so did the camaraderie. And for Chris, the chemistry he felt with Y/n was becoming harder to ignore.

Chris adjusted the camera, framing himself in the shadow of Scafell Pike, the tallest mountain in England. The crisp afternoon sunlight bathed the rolling hills of the Lake District, a stark contrast to the biting wind they had endured on Ben Nevis.

"Alright, peak two," Chris’s voiceover rang out. “Quick update: we’ve just finished a very cosy van ride—by cosy, I mean crammed—with practically no leg room. But that wasn’t a problem for two of the members of the group.”

The screen then filled with a picture of Chris and Y/n squeezed into a corner of the van, her head resting sleepily on his shoulder while they both grinned. Their legs, stretched toward the camera, showed just how much space the pair had, still having some room to swing their smaller legs, in stark contrast to the rest of the group.

The video then continued and now it showed the group gathered around, fastening their jackets and strapping on their backpacks. Harry stretched dramatically, groaning about his sore legs, while George filmed Arthur Hill struggling to zip his jacket.

"You alright there, mate?" George teased.

"Not really," Arthur Hill admitted, but his grin betrayed his determination to keep going.

As they started the climb, the monumental task settled on everyone once again, time was ticking away from them. The steep incline and rocky path demanded focus, and the chatter from the Ben Nevis climb faded into heavy breaths and occasional bursts of laughter. Y/n, as usual, took the lead, her smaller frame navigating the terrain with ease. Chris stuck close to her, their steps often falling into sync.

It wasn’t long until Arthur Hill faltered, wincing as he leaned against his trekking pole.

"Hold up," Reev called, motioning for the group to stop. "Arthur, you good?"

Arthur shook his head. "I’ve got an old injury and it was worse yesterday, I work up this morning thinking that I was okay but it’s really not good at all,” the musician whined a little, he was well aware he was the one who was slowing everyone down and he was in a considering amount of pain now too.

The group exchanged concerned glances.

"Are you going to sit this one out?" Chris said gently, resting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur hesitated, his face a mix of frustration and relief. "Yeah, I think I have to."

They helped him set up a small camp just off the path, ensuring he had water, snacks, and a comfortable spot to rest.

"Don’t worry about me," Arthur said, waving them off. "I’ll cheer you on from here. Just make sure to take loads of embarrassing photos for me to miss out on."

With a final round of reassurances, the group continued upward, joking at Arthur’s position as he laid still on the grass by a rock. As the group continued the summit grew closer with every step. Chris felt his chest tighten, but this time it wasn’t just the exertion.

His parents were waiting at the top.

They had moved to the Lake District from Jersey recently, and while he loved seeing them, introducing them to his friends—especially Y/n—brought a mix of excitement and nerves.

As they reached the peak George and ArthurTV tried to lighten the mood and keep morale up by making jokes about Chris’s mother.

When the group finally crested the summit, they were greeted by Chris’s mum and dad, both bundled in warm coats and waving enthusiastically.

Harry and ArthurTV greeted Chris’s parents like old friends, their laughter and inside jokes echoing across the mountaintop. Y/n, however, hung back, fidgeting with her gloves wondering why she felt so nervous, Chris was only a friend.

Chris noticed and leaned closer to her. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Y/n said quickly, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I just… don’t want to make a bad impression."

Chris chuckled. "You’ve got nothing to worry about. They’ll love you."

As if to prove his point, his mum approached Y/n with open arms. "You must be Y/n," she said warmly. "Chris has told us so much about you."

Y/n’s cheeks flushed, but she returned the hug. "All good things, I hope."

"Of course," Chris’s mum replied with a wink.

To Y/n’s relief, the conversation flowed naturally. She found herself laughing with Chris’s parents, sharing stories about her travels and listening to tales from their new life in the Lake District.

"You’ve got a good group here," Chris’s dad said, clapping him on the back.

"The best," Chris agreed, his gaze flicking to Y/n.

After a round of photos and a quick snack break, they began their descent. The steep path required concentration, but Chris took the opportunity to start a conversation he’d been mulling over for weeks.

The voiceover took over again, this time the tone changing to a more serious one as Chris explained he wanted to do more videos talking about mental health he explained his struggles with anxiety for years, ruminating thoughts, intrusive stuff but also what had helped him try and get through it so he was now in a much better place. One by one he spoke to each of his friends about mental health, opening up to each other and it was a change of pace from their usual jokes and banter.

Y/n was someone who had also been very opened about her mental health and their conversation could have lasted for days.

Y/n, walking beside Chris, glanced at him thoughtfully. "How different is it for men, though?" she asked. "I mean, society’s expectations and all that."

Chris paused, considering her question. "It’s hard. There’s this pressure to be… strong, or like, unemotional. But that’s changing. Slowly. What about you? You’ve been really open about your journey, haven’t you?"

Y/n nodded, adjusting her grip on her trekking pole. "I try to be. It’s not easy, though. There’s still so much stigma. But I think the more we talk about it, the more we help people feel less alone."

Chris smiled at her. "You’ve helped me, you know. Just by being so honest."

Y/n’s cheeks turned pink, and she looked away. "You’ve helped me too."

Their conversation was interrupted when Y/n’s foot slipped on a loose rock. She gasped, her arms flailing, but Chris caught her hand just in time.

"You alright?" he asked, steadying her.

"Yeah, just my dignity taking a hit," she said, laughing as she regained her balance.

Chris didn’t let go of her hand right away, and when he did, it was with a lingering warmth that neither of them acknowledged.

The rest of the descent was filled with lighter conversations, the group joking about their shared exhaustion and Arthur Hill’s missed summit.

As they reached the base of Scafell Pike, Chris felt a renewed sense of purpose. Two peaks down, one to go. They had decided that twenty four hours was now long gone but they were going to enjoy the journey for what it is.

The glow of determination fueled the group as they loaded into the van, but the energy from the morning had shifted. Arthur Hill, sitting on a bench with his leg propped up and wrapped in a bandage, waved them off with Harry by his side.

"Be safe!" Arthur called. "And don’t forget to take a victory photo at the top of Snowdon—preferably one where Jamie doesn’t look like he’s about to pass out!"

Jamie, who had also been struggling a little shot him a mock glare.

With the group a little smaller now, the drive to Snowdonia was quieter. Chris glanced back at Y/n, who had claimed the backseat corner. Her head leaned against the window, her auburn curls falling softly over her face as she watched the scenery blur into darkness.

“You alright back there, Y/n?” Chris asked, his voice low.

She turned and smiled, though it was softer than usual. “Yeah, just thinking about how this’ll feel tomorrow when my legs refuse to work.”

The van erupted into knowing laughter.

 “This isn’t about the time,” Chris said as they stretched at the base of the mountain, the cold night air biting at their exposed skin. “It’s about finishing what we started.”

Y/n gave him an approving nod. “That’s what it’s all about. Let’s do it.”

The climb up Snowdon was quieter than the others, the fatigue settling deep in their muscles. The darkness added a layer of challenge, with headlamps and flashlights casting eerie shadows across the rocky path.

“Watch your step,” Reev warned as they navigated a narrow ridge.

There were a few stumbles—George slipping onto his hands and knees, ArthurTV catching himself on a low rock—but no injuries. Every so often, the group paused, catching their breath and sipping water, their chatter growing lighter with every stop.

At last, the summit came into view. The cold wind whipped around them as they reached the peak, and for a moment, no one said a word.

Then Reev broke the silence. “We actually did it.”

“Almost,” Chris corrected. “We still have to get down.”

“Oh, don’t ruin the moment,” Y/n teased, nudging him lightly.

The group broke into hugs, laughing through their exhaustion as they celebrated. Chris lingered in Y/n’s embrace, feeling the warmth of her against the cold air.

Someone snapped a photo, capturing their silhouettes against the starry sky.

The descent was slow and careful especially as night was falling now and torches were failing. The rocks, slick with evening dew, made each step treacherous. Y/n stuck close to Chris, their headlamps bobbing in unison as they navigated the terrain.

“I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Y/n joked, her voice hushed in the quiet of the night.

“You’re the challenge queen,” Chris replied. “I thought this would be your idea of fun.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I usually have better planning, fewer risks of breaking an ankle in the dark.”

Chris smiled but noticed her pensive expression. “You okay?”

Y/n hesitated before answering. “Yeah. I just… I’ve been thinking a lot on this trip. About where I’m going, what I want. It’s hard not to when you’re staring down mountains, you know?”

“I get that,” Chris said, his voice thoughtful. “Climbing a mountain does have a way of putting things in perspective.”

They walked in silence for a moment before Y/n continued. “I’ve been doing YouTube for over a decade. I love it, but sometimes I wonder if I’m just… running away from things by traveling so much. Like, maybe if I stop, I’ll have to face everything I’ve been avoiding.”

Chris’s chest tightened at her honesty. “I don’t think you’re running away,” he said softly. “I think you’re just searching for what makes you happy. And that’s not a bad thing.”

Y/n looked at him, her hazel eyes reflecting the beam of his headlamp. “You really think that?”

“Yeah, I do,” Chris replied. “You’ve inspired so many people—including me. You’ve got this way of making even the toughest situations seem like an adventure.”

Y/n smiled, a genuine, heartfelt expression that made Chris’s stomach flip. “Thanks, Chris. That means a lot.”

They walked a little further before Y/n asked, “What about you? What are you searching for?”

Chris exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I’ve spent so much time focusing on work, on videos, that I’ve kind of lost sight of what’s next. But being here, with you guys, it reminds me of what’s important. It’s not just about the videos or the views—it’s about the connections we make along the way.”

Y/n reached out, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “That’s a good answer.”

Chris chuckled, his heart racing at the contact. “Glad you approve.”

As they continued down the mountain, Chris couldn’t help but glance at Y/n every so often. She looked tired but content, her curls glowing faintly in the moonlight. Chris couldn’t help but think this trip was very special for a multitude for reasons.

In the comments, viewers had plenty to say.

“Y/n and Chris definitely have something going on. The chemistry is undeniable!” “Chris catching Y/n when she slipped? Literal couple goals.” “The ‘hobbit couple’ strikes again! Just admit you’re perfect for each other already.” “Loved the mental health chat. So important to hear men like Chris opening up. Thanks for this, mate.”

Chris scrolled through the comments later that night, a smile tugging at his lips. He glanced at his phone, debating whether to message Y/n.

Before he could decide, his phone buzzed with a message from her.

Y/n: “Can’t believe we actually did it. Thanks for being my rock on the trip. (Haha get it?) 😊”

Chris grinned, his fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing a response.

Chris: “That was awful, but really couldn’t have done it without you. Hobbit squad for life. 🏔️”

Chris bit his lip as he then typed out the message “Dinner?” three times before deleting it each time. Something had changed in him one day but was he ready for another challenge?

[atinyslittleworld]

Size doesn’t matter

mingi x f!reader ft. ateez

Summary: Mingi’s tiny girlfriend drives expertly his massive SUV, saving Ateez from a chaotic road trip, proving that size doesn’t matter in driving

Word Count: 753

Genre: humour

Warnings: none

Mingi, the tallest and most confident member of ATEEZ, was proud of his massive SUV. It was as grand and imposing as he was. However, his driving skills were... not exactly up to par. His girlfriend, Y/N, though petite, had an uncanny talent for driving the beast of a vehicle with grace and precision.

One sunny afternoon, Mingi decided to take his girlfriend and bandmates—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Wooyoung, and Jongho—on a road trip to the beach. The plan was simple: get there, have fun, and return before sunset. Little did they know, this trip would become an adventure of epic proportions.

As they piled into the SUV, Mingi took the driver’s seat with an air of confidence. Seonghwa claimed the passenger seat, while the rest of the bandmates squeezed into the back. Due to the limited space, they ended up sitting on top of each other, like a human game of Tetris.

"Alright, everyone, buckle up. This is going to be a smooth ride," Mingi declared, starting the engine with an overly enthusiastic grin.

Barely five minutes into the journey, Mingi took a wrong turn, steering them onto a narrow, winding road that seemed to shrink with every passing minute. The SUV lurched and bounced, causing everyone in the back to clutch at whatever they could for support.

"Uh, Mingi, are you sure we’re going the right way?" Seonghwa asked, gripping the door handle tightly.

"Of course! I have a great sense of direction," Mingi replied, though the beads of sweat on his forehead told a different story.

After what felt like an eternity of bouncing along the wrong road, they finally found a spot wide enough to turn around. Mingi attempted a three-point turn, but the SUV seemed to have a mind of its own. He was either too close to the ditch on one side or scraping the bushes on the other.

Y/N, squeezed between San and Wooyoung, finally spoke up. "Mingi, maybe I should drive?"

The car fell silent. The bandmates exchanged glances, and San let out a barely contained snicker.

"Really, babe? I can handle this," Mingi insisted, looking less certain with each failed attempt to turn the SUV.

Y/N gave him a reassuring smile. "Trust me, I’ve got this."

With no other options in sight, Mingi reluctantly agreed. Now came the challenge of getting Y/N to the front seat. Practically wedged in the back, she had to climb off San’s lap, then over Wooyoung, who yelped as she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs.

"Watch it, Y/N!" Wooyoung whined playfully, while San tried to help her maintain balance.

Finally, Y/N managed to extract herself from the human puzzle, clambering over Yunho’s long legs and squeezing past Jongho to reach the front. Seonghwa unbuckled and slid out, letting Y/N take the driver’s seat.

Adjusting the mirrors and scooting the seat forward to accommodate her petite frame, Y/N took the wheel. With a gentle but firm touch, she maneuvered the SUV with a precision that left everyone, including Mingi, in awe. In no time, she had them back on the main road.

The rest of the drive was smooth and uneventful. Y/N expertly navigated the twists and turns, handled the traffic, and even managed to parallel park the beast of a vehicle at the beach, earning a round of applause from the bandmates.

"You know, Mingi, I think Y/N should be our official driver from now on," Wooyoung joked, patting Mingi on the back.

Mingi chuckled, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I guess size doesn’t matter when it comes to driving."

Jongho, always the practical one, chimed in. "At least now we know we can get to our destinations safely and without detours!"

As they enjoyed their day at the beach, Mingi couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for his girlfriend. Sure, he might be the one with the impressive height and stage presence, but Y/N had shown everyone that true skill and capability came in all sizes.

On the way back, Mingi didn’t even protest when Y/N took the wheel again. Instead, he relaxed in the passenger seat, enjoying the smooth ride and the laughter of his bandmates filling the car. It was a lesson in humility, teamwork, and the surprising strengths hidden in the most unexpected places.

And so, the legend of Y/N, the tiny SUV master, became a favorite tale among ATEEZ, always good for a laugh and a reminder that sometimes, the best driver isn’t the one you’d expect.

[justhereforxreaders]

The Prince and the Dragon Rider - Part Five: Precipice

Jacaerys Velaryon x dragon rider!reader

Summary: the news of Vaemond Velaryon’s petition to rob Luke of his inheritance makes its way to Dragonstone and you are invited to your first venture to the capital city.

Warnings: none

Authors note: hi! Hope y’all are enjoying the journey so far! We’re taking a bit of a leap forward in time for this chapter to align with the later half of season one, starting with 1x08 “Lord of the Tides.” I do plan to circle back to blurbs covering the three years the reader spent on Dragonstone but I’m very excited to start weaving this story into the canon seen on screen. Enjoy!

soundtrack

part one: the oath

part two: tempest

part three: the dawn

part four: the test

part six: pieces and players

part seven: the rift

The winds whip up from the sea over the cliff face and through your hair as you turn your face to the rising sun. You breathe deeply, leaning your back onto the warm scales of your dragon’s neck, both of you basking in the morning glow. Tempest’s steady breaths and the sound of the waves soothing your unease as your mind had been plagued with nightmares for nearly a fortnight. Although you could never remember them when you awoke, the terror would stick to your bones long into the day.

This peace is interrupted when the dragon beneath you suddenly stands and walks away to stretch her wings. You are pushed forward ever so slightly when she does this and you let out a deep sigh. Slowly lowering your back to the ground in her absence, you stare up at the pink clouds above.

As you lie there, you feel the chill of the morning creep over your skin as the sunlight is briefly cut off by the shape of Arrax approaching. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as the small white dragon lands among the grass.

“Kirimvos, Arrax,” Lucerys mutters as he dismounts his dragon.

“Good morrow, Lucerys.” You say with a grunt as you pick yourself up from the ground, turning to see the young Prince approaching with his crossbow slung over his shoulder. “No Jace again?” You ask, unsurprised but with a slight pang of hurt.

“No, he went to a lesson with Grand Maester.” He says with a roll of his eyes.

“Well,” you say with a sigh and bitter smile, “he’ll be sorry he missed this one.”

Lucerys perks up.

“You were able to mend the targets?” He asks enthusiastically.

“They have been mended and I’ve added more. Some in the rocks and some on rafts.” You say with a wicked grin. “Try not to miss because we’ll never get those bolts back.”

“What’s the challenge?” He nearly bounces with excitement.

“It was meant to be a race between you and your brother with Tempest and I in pursuit but I suppose my aim could use some practice.” You say, flipping a small blade in the air. “Most hits wins?”

In response he turns heel and sprints back to Arrax, shouting “sōvēs” as he clambers onto the saddle. The young Prince and his dragon soar over the ledge to begin your training circuit around the island. You chuckle to yourself and stride over to Tempest, who waits for you eagerly.

Though a saddle now sits between her shoulder blades, you still opt to ride in your usual position behind her horns, using the same cord that Jace gifted to you nearly 3 years ago. You had tried to use the saddle when it was first placed on her back but found it too disorienting as anticipating Tempest’s movements became nearly impossible. It also made communicating with her much more difficult. Thankfully the saddle-makers assisted in crafting footholds for you to use that were attached to a collar, placed high on her neck, to allow you more safety and stability.

The pair of you waste little time in catching up to Luke and Arrax as they approach the first target that you have affixed to the cliff side. Lucerys fires his crossbow and the bolt finds purchase in the rusted, old shield with a satisfying thunk that echoes off the cliffs. He whips his head around to look towards you and raises a fist in the air in celebration before rushing off to find the next target.

Lucerys was a welcome addition to your flying drills with Jacaerys, begging to join the moment Arrax was large enough to ride. His pure joy for dragon riding brought some levity to his brother’s intensity. The three of you spent a great deal of time together, whether on dragonback or training yard. Even in your free time, most of it was spent in Jace’s company. Though, in recent months, his attention had been pulled towards studying with Rhaenyra or Grand Maester Geradrys.

There was a surprising ache that arose when your time together began to dwindle but you tried your best to be understanding. Your friendship had only grown stronger in the years you lived beside him on Dragonstone and you had come to know that Jace wanted nothing more than to prove himself in every avenue available to him. However, this knowledge combined with his sudden absence came with the unfortunate side effect of insecurity about his relationship to you.

Was dragon riding just another task to check off his list? Were you simply another teacher that he’d abandon once he felt he’d mastered the skill?

As Jace’s company became scarcer that thought became louder, though you desperately tried to drown it out. Trying always to put on a brave face for Lucerys, who also expressed pain at brother’s absence. Concocting new exercises to distract the young Prince was, in itself, a grateful distraction to you.

You send one of your small daggers sailing through the air at the target, only for it to clatter and vanish among the rocks.

“Damn,” you utter in frustration as Tempest charges onward.

The circuit is over faster than you’d wish and the dragons land back in the field where you’d begun. Lucerys practically leaps from Arrax and rushes over to you and Tempest.

“Got at least 14!” He shouts.

“I’ll be lucky if I even hit half a dozen,” you laugh.

“What’s next?” He asks as you slide of your dragon’s neck.

“We can go collect the bolts and daggers and run the circuit again or we could try swimming?”

His excitement dies down instantly.

“Arrax has no love for the water,” he says disgruntled, “I don’t think he’ll ever try swimming again.”

“Shall we find the Master at Arms instead? I am apparently in need of more practice than I imagined.” You jest, trying to keep both your spirits high.

He shakes his head no.

“I don’t want him to see that I’m already in need of more bolts.” He gestures to his empty quiver. “Let’s go break fast then we can return for the ones in targets.”

You sigh quietly before nodding with a smile.

“Beat you to the dragonmont.” You call and signal to Tempest to take wing, quickly climbing back up to your position before she takes off.

When you make your way into the dragonmont, Grand Maester Gerardys waits anxiously near the columns at the other end of the landing platform. His face alights briefly when he hears you enter the cavern but immediately falls when he recognizes the dark shape of Tempest.

“Grand Maester?” You inquire after dismounting your dragon. “Are you alright?”

“I do not know if this yet concerns you, Dragon Rider.” He asserts dryly. “Is Lucerys with you?”

“He should be following shortly,” you gesture towards the entrance.

He nods and returns to his anxious pacing.

“Return to your chambers so we can find you quickly if needed.”

You begin to protest but Arrax makes his entrance behind you and Gerardys takes hold of your wrist, guiding you to the exit.

“Go!” He shouts then makes haste to meet Lucerys on the platform.

Without another word, you run through the pillars, looking down at your wrist in confusion. You slow your pace as you enter the crowded hallways leading to your room, discreetly analyzing those that pass you for any indication about what is happening. Finding no answers, you focus on weaving through the crowd, hoping to receive word in your chambers.

Out of breath, you burst through your own door, into your empty room. With no messengers or visitors waiting for you, you flop onto your bed to catch your breath. You stare up at the once barren stone walls, now alive with trinkets and tokens from your adventures. The red banner from Daemon’s test is fastened to the wall, displayed prominently when you enter the room.

Your stomach begins to grumble and you sit up to watch the door, willing it to open with some news. After a few moments, you stand with a sigh and move to change out of your riding clothes. With whatever excitement is stirring, you imagine you and Luke will not be returning to those shields anytime soon. Once you have changed into your day uniform, you pull a book from the wall and sit beneath your window, hoping to distract yourself from the growing hunger.

However, after rereading the same page four times over, you close the book with a huff and resort to staring out the window. You watch as a thin layer of clouds roll in from the sea. Just as the clouds begin to block out the morning sun, a knock reverberates throughout the room and you stand at attention.

A kingsguard pulls open the door and Rhaenyra steps through, a troubled look upon her face.

“Princess,” you bow, “are you well?”

The door closes behind her, leaving the two of you alone. She inhales sharply, bringing her hand to her swollen belly, before releasing the breath slowly, gently shaking her head side to side.

“Luke’s grandsire has been grievously wounded and in response, his inheritance is being challenged.” She looks to your eyes to measure your understanding. You nod and she continues, though as she speaks, a chill begins to creep up your spine.

“We must travel to King’s Landing to petition against these claims before the Queen Regent.” An unabashed grimace crosses over her face as she moves to stand beside the empty fireplace. She takes a moment to look about the room thoughtfully before continuing.

“I should like you and Tempest to escort Luke and Jace on dragonback. We wish to portray the strength of our house as we enter this arena after so many years away.”

You tilt your head in confusion at the Princess. Her and Daemon had expressed the need for discretion after you were sworn into their service, but rumors of a new dragon and rider were hard to squash, especially as Tempest continued to grow. With such a request for you to join them, on dragonback no less, the seriousness of this journey is made clear to you.

“When do we depart?” You ask, standing up straight to speak with confidence.

She smiles at you tenderly and gestures for you to approach. Reaching out to hold your hand between hers before speaking again.

“I have been very pleased by your service to my family thus far,” her voice becomes grave and she grips your hand a little tighter, “but The Red Keep will be a challenge unlike any you have yet faced. Holdfast to all that you have learned here and remember your oath.”

“I will be ready, my Princess.”

“We will be glad of your company.” She releases your hand and strides towards the door, “We leave at daybreak.”

And with that, you are left alone in your chambers once more. You busy yourself with packing your belongings while attempting to process the Princess’s words. Both Jace and Luke had told stories of their time in The Red Keep, and though you initially took them with a grain of salt given how young they were when they resided there. However, with Rhaenyra’s foreboding words, you begin to understand the world you will soon be entering.

You throw your bag upon your bed once it is filled with your clothing and weapons and sit beside it. Despite how comfortable you have made yourself in this chamber over the last three years, it is surprising to you how quickly you can prepare for a hasty departure. The muscle memory of so many narrow escapes still lingers in your being. A quiet sigh leaves your lips and you make for the door. You briefly consider seeking out the Princes but think better of it, knowing they are likely preparing for the journey ahead. Instead, you let your feet carry you where they will, wandering the castle corridors aimlessly until you enter the garden of Aegon the Conqueror.

You’re unsure how much time passes as you sit at the edge of pool within the cave that you and Tempest once inhabited. Watching the water swirl beneath your feet, you find yourself wondering what your life might have looked like if you and Jace hadn’t been caught in that storm. Although you are certainly grateful for the opportunities you have been given, a simple existence with Tempest, Jacaerys, and Vermax was all you truly desired.

When you took your oath, you knew your life would change in ways you could not fully understand, but what kept you persevering through every new challenge was Jacaerys. His presence felt like an anchor in the chaos all around you, but now you feel the tether wearing thin.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. The life you had envisioned, side by side with your friend, will become nothing but a childish memory. Jacaerys will be King and you will become the Dragon Rider that must train his heirs.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” a familiar voice calls from the opposite end of the cave and you frantically wipe the tears from your eyes.

The footsteps approach but you keep your gaze fixed on the water.

“What are you doing down here?” Jace asks as he joins you on the ground.

You turn to him and his smile fades as he sees the remnants of tears upon your face.

“Are you alright?” He asks and his eyebrows knit together in concern.

“I am,” you say turning back to the water, “I needed to find somewhere quiet to think is all. You seem in good spirits considering the circumstances. How is Luke?” You continue quickly before he can probe any further.

Jace hesitates a moment then quietly follows your gaze and watches the water as well.

“He worries but he need not trouble himself. They have no grounds to take Driftmark from him.” He states, anger seeping through his words.

“I hope you’re right,” you say as you pull your knees up to your chest.

“You have no need to worry either,” his voice softens and he nudges you with his shoulder.

“Why do you say that?” You ask with a raise of your brow.

“You seem distressed,” he mutters, instinctively inching closer to press his shoulder against yours, “I want you to enjoy your first visit to The Red Keep. It was my first home, I’m excited to show it to you.” He flashes a smile, “It’ll be your home too sooner rather than later.”

“Will it?“ You scoff.

“Of course,” he says slightly confused, “why would you not be coming with us when my mother takes the throne?”

“I assumed I’d remain here, training whatever dragon riders are sent my way next. That’s all I seem to be good for these days.” You say dryly.

“That’s ridiculous, you’re a part of our house.” His voice raises slightly and he pulls away to look at you face on.

“I am in service to your house,” you correct, “I am not myself the blood of the dragon. And when you inherit The Red Keep and Lucerys takes his place at Driftmark, I imagine I will be left here alone.”

The tears begin forming again and you look up at the ceiling of the cavern to keep them from falling.

“Y/n,” he says tenderly and places a hand atop your knee, “you are a masterful Dragon Rider, a skilled warrior, and you have proven yourself to be a loyal member of our house. I have every intention to make you a member of my small council if my mother does not find a seat for you in her’s. But more than that, you are my dearest friend. And I will always have a seat for you at my table.”

You sit stunned for a moment, the tears still threatening to pour over, until he gives your knee a gentle squeeze. You a shaky breath and turn to face him.

“I have missed you, Jace,” you say quietly, the tears finally falling.

“I am sorry I have been distant, it was not my intention to abandon you,” He stands and offers you his hand. “I am the reason you have been pulled into this life and I have no desire to let you face it alone.”

You wipe the tears from your face then take his hand to pull yourself up beside him.

“Would you like to go for a ride this evening?” You ask sheepishly as he pulls you towards the exit before releasing your hand. “Make sure Tempest and Vermax still enjoy flying together before we embark on such a long journey?” You smirk.

He breathes a quiet laugh.

“I’d love nothing more.”

• @eywas-heir

[maypiles]

Can you do a reading about Jackson Wang love life for 2025 ? Thankkks

Jackson Wang's Love Life 2025

Jackson Wang’s love life for 2025, you say? My dear anonymous, you’ve truly brought me a challenge worthy of my attention. The cards are practically trembling in anticipation—what juicy revelations shall they spill about our international heartthrob?

OH BABY, BUCKLE UP, WE'RE GOIN' FULL-ON SOAP OPERA WITH THIS ONE—SPIRIT DID NOT COME TO PLAY! Jackson Wang’s 2025 is giving me heartbreak, betrayal, career glow-up, and just a sprinkle of Thailand drama. Like, the spirit tea is piping hot, and I’m about to spill every last drop for you, because whew, honey, we’re talking Oscar-level plot twists. LET’S GO.

Jackson’s Love Life: Betrayal in a Penthouse™

Okay, picture this: Jackson Wang, our man of the hour, standing in his THAILAND penthouse, the kind of place with floor-to-ceiling windows, lush foliage on the balcony, vibes immaculate. He’s out here thinking he’s in his “this is my person” era, sipping tea in silk pajamas (don’t argue, this is canon now), dreaming of kids and a future. Baby’s in his Two of Cups and Four of Wands fantasy—soulmate connection, commitment, maybe even a secret marriage. A SECRET MARRIAGE, HONEY?!

BUT WAIT. Cue the record scratch sound effect—we’re talking full-blown Three of Swords drama stabbing right through that dream like a plot twist from hell. Betrayal. Unrequited love. HEART. SHATTERED. Spirit said, “Oh, you thought this was endgame? Think again.” The divine feminine in question? Petite, black-haired, rocking a short white dress. BUT OH, she’s hiding something. Birth control pills, girl?! Like, Jackson wanted kids, and she’s out here on the DL not even entertaining the thought. And when he finds out? BABE. His world is CRACKED.

Now, let me paint you this closure scene because the visuals are DRAMATIC. They’re back in that same penthouse (because Thailand is a whole character in this novella). She’s holding his fingers, head bowed, full of guilt. And Jackson? He’s not even looking at her! HIS EYES ARE RED-RIMMED. He’s staring straight ahead, hurt but stoic, shoulders so tense (10 of wands) you can practically hear the stress in the air. He doesn’t hate her, no, but he’s done. Spirit said, “Closure, not a second chance.” Cue a single tear falling dramatically down his cheek.

Thailand: Betrayal Capital™

Let’s TALK ABOUT THAILAND, because spirit is SCREAMING about it. This isn’t just a location, babe; it’s the set piece for his heartbreak era. Foliage, balconies, luxury everywhere. Spirit keeps showing me 2022, like this whole relationship might’ve started then. But things got serious—like “secret marriage” serious—and then imploded.

OH, and don’t think we’re done with the drama. There’s also a mention of a case. LEGAL DRAMA, BABY. Maybe the breakup leaks (which I doubt), maybe there’s a contract involved, maybe the media catches wind and BOOM—chaos. Spirit is waving the Tower card at me like, “Girl, THIS is the moment everything crumbles.”

Career Glow-Up: Turning Pain into Platinum™

Now let me tell you, Jackson doesn’t sit around crying in his penthouse forever (although, let’s be real, he probably had a good five-star cry session first). Oh no, babe—he’s going straight into Chariot mode. MAN. GETS. TO. WORK.

Spirit shows me the King of Wands and World—he’s taking this heartbreak and spinning it into a career renaissance. Like, oh, you hurt me? Cool, let me drop an album so fire it sets the charts ablaze. He’s collaborating with none other than Taemin (yes, THAT Taemin), and spirit shows me IG exploding with Jackson under the spotlight. Reels, TikToks, fans losing their minds: “Is Jackson okay?! Why is he working so hard?!” Sweetie, he’s turning his pain into ART.

Spirit is also screaming Eight of Pentacles at me—Jackson is laser-focused. He’s building his empire brick by brick, pouring every ounce of heartbreak into his craft. And honey, the Six of Wands is LOUD—by the end of the year, he’s out here winning awards, dropping bangers, and proving to the world that you cannot keep Jackson Wang down. PERIOD.

Spiritual Glow-Up: The Phoenix Rises™

But wait, there’s more! This heartbreak isn’t just about career fuel—it’s a whole Judgment moment. Spirit said, “Jackson, baby, this is your wake-up call.” He’s reflecting, reevaluating, and releasing what doesn’t serve him. The Hanged Man is here like, “Pause, process, heal, and then thrive.”

And guess what? There’s future soulmate energy lingering in the cards. Spirit whispers, “Very soon,” but not before he goes through this transformation. He’s stepping into his King of Pentacles era—stable, grounded, and ready for something REAL.

Instagram Chaos: Media Mayhem™

Ohhhh, let’s TALK ABOUT IG because spirit is SCREAMING about it. The breakup Public? The media eating it up? Who knows? Fans are dissecting his every post, trying to figure out what went down. Cryptic captions, maybe some unfollows—who knows, maybe a subtweet or two. And then the Taemin collab? BABY. Fans are going WILD. Spirit shows me the Five of Wands—drama, speculation, chaos—but Jackson? He’s unbothered. The Six of Wands says he’s rising above it all like the KING he is.

Reconciliation Scene: Closure, Not Rekindling™

Spirit won’t stop replaying this closure moment for me, so let me give you every detail. They’re back in Thailand (yes, AGAIN, because this is basically a Netflix special at this point). She’s holding his fingers, head bowed, trying to apologize, trying to reconcile. But Jackson? Oh, he’s stone cold. Eyes red, staring into the distance. He doesn’t hate her—he’s too evolved for that—but he’s not going back. Spirit said, “This chapter is CLOSED.”

Final Thoughts: Jackson’s 2025 Cinematic Universe™

Listen, 2025 is NOT a chill year for Jackson Wang. It’s heartbreak, betrayal, secret marriages, and penthouse drama, but it’s ALSO healing, career domination, and a full-on spiritual awakening. By the end of the year, he’s stronger, wiser, and thriving like never before.

Jackson’s story this year is proof that even in the worst moments, you can rise like a phoenix, honey. And let’s be real—he’s not just surviving; he’s out here WINNING. Stay tuned, babe, because the Jackson Wang Cinematic Universe is only getting started.

💀😭 OkAY but hold up, y’all, I don’t even KNOW how to start this one! So, like, a reader—a full-on tarot reader (yes, ME, babe)—gets a random ask on Tumblr, like, “Hey, what’s up with Jackson Wang from GOT7’s love life in 2025?” And I’m thinking, “Who? Ohhhh, GOT7, I mean…K-pop...I used to listen to that years ago…” BUT THEN, I tap into this energy and—hold the phone, y’all—I START CHANNELLING HIS ENTIRE LIFE???? Like, WTH is going on?! 😳👀 So here’s the tea, honey: it’s like spirit was like “Oh, babe, I got you!” and boom—I was seeing details I had no business knowing about. We’re talking secret marriages, heartbreak, betrayal, emotional ripples from his IG posts, and even shoulder pain (yes, I'm telling you, the man’s burdened with the weight of his emotions, literally 😭💀). And don't even get me started on the three of swords energy, 'cause... girl, we know he's been hurt but, like, is this him walking away from something that no longer serves him? Betrayal? Some wild energy of wanting closure but, like, not being able to move on, you feel me?? 😳 Then comes the entire storyline of him going from this secret love, all the way to a transformation (like, the Wheel of Fortune is flipping right now—soul growth, HONEY). Did I see a break-up? YES. It’s heartbreaking, but it's the thing that shifts him into focusing on his career—hello, collaborations with Taemin, that IG drama? Oh yes, the media is going CRAZY about him. I’m picturing him like...in Thailand? YEAH, Thailand, fam. And then we get a reconciliation vibe. Closure... but also that divine feminine energy? She’s wearing a short white dress, standing there, giving the most healing vibes but also a little distant. He's hurting. This is one big emotional transformative moment that I’m here for (death card)😩🔥 Did I just channel this man’s life like I’m a spirit medium?? 😱💀 Maybe?? But I’m saying right now—this reading is NOT just some random thing—nope. Spirit wanted me to see all these details for a reason. I’m so extra with this reading, and now here I am typing out a full-on novella about his life, like, hello? He’s not even MY problem but I feel like I’m living his emotional rollercoaster. 😳💖 AND THEN, to wrap it all up, let’s talk about the vibe of this reading: The Tower moment dropped when I saw the whole divine feminine in the balcony of a house in Thailand scene! 🏡🌿 Literally all the pieces fit together like a movie script. There’s a lot of emotional intensity here, but also a serious transformation for him. If you're into the chaos, the growth, the heartbreak... then this reading is for YOU. 2025? Get ready for the glow-up, Jackson. 🤩🔥🛐🥵 Moral of the story: Spirit don’t care who you are, if it wants to drop a truth bomb on you, it WILL. And here I am thinking my little tarot deck’s about to read some normal love life stuff, and BOOM, I'm channeling the whole damn K-pop industry! 😭💅 Someone call TMZ, I need my own reality show. If you feel the vibe, drop me a like, a reblog, or just tell me how crazy this is in the comments because—HONEY, I can’t be the only one obsessed with this wild-ass reading right now. 😩🔥 P.S:

👀💅 Okayyy, so I know this is super random, but I'm not really keeping up with the latest K-pop news (I know, I know, I’m living under a rock, lol my K-pop fan girl era was ten years ago lmfao 😭😅) BUT... if something from this reading actually came true, like, Jackson Wang and Taemin collabing or any of that juicy media drama, definitely come back to this post and hit me up! 😏🔥 Like, I got a whole download from spirit and gave you the scoop on what was up with his love life in 2025 and if any of this stuff actually happens? I NEED TO KNOW. 😩✨ It would honestly be crazy to see it come full circle! So, if Jackson really ends up working with Taemin or, I don’t know, the drama starts bubbling over on his IG? Tag me, reblog me, or drop a comment, cause I’m so curious to know how it unfolds in the 3D world!! 🤯💖 Just know, spirit never misses and I’m here for the tea... so, like, let’s see how this plays out! 😏✨💋💅🏻

[cas-readsandwrites]

~~ Masterlist ~~

Thank you for stopping by! This blog and my writing projects are a giant work in progress since starting up writing again about six months ago. I don't keep a posting schedule though I do try to stick around and be active, but it comes and goes with seasons of life. Feel free to peruse, drop me a message, or suggest something new for me to read!

The Last Of Us

Lavender: Interludes

Set in Jackson post TLOU S1 in the Lavender universe by @justagalwhowrites, a few little scenes of Joel, Doc, and the fam in Jackson. Listen I am not pregnant, I have no desire to be pregnant, so I don’t know WHERE this came from, but I love soft Joel healing from his trauma and finding love and joy in his family! Many thanks to Kit for being totally cool with this fanfic of her fanfic and encouraging me to post! All character credit, plot, and setting to her. Content: Reader is described as pregnant. There is smut. And fluff. And love. Grab some ice cream and your heating pads if you’re in the same time of the month as me. Minors DNI. 3.6k words One-shot, complete.

Traipse - in progress!

For @justagalwhowrites Birthday Challenge for our favorite TLOU main character. Prompts: Nightmares and Feral Joel. Setting: TLOU HBO series, set within the period of 5-20 years after the outbreak.��Characters: Joel x OC Female, Tommy, Tess. Projected length: 10k+ Author’s note: This is literally the worst birthday present I could give anyone. Content warnings for canon-typical violence, character deaths, suicidal ideation, substance use. It is not a happy ending. It’s gonna be kind of long. Someone toss me down a well after this.  Credit to the lyrics of Traipse by Tremonti for story title and chapter titles 🖤 AO3 link

Welcome

Setting: TLOU, right after S1 finale, back in Jackson Characters: Joel x OC reader, Ellie Length: 2.5k Rating: This one is all-ages fluff (…for now?) Stands as a one-shot for now, might grow in the future!

[untitled] - prompted by a reblog *shrug*

‘Verse: TLOU, TV series, set before the show timeline Characters: Joel x Female Reader, only physical description is “not petite” so all you smol Joel lovelies can just imagine him effortlessly handling you. Length: 1.7k Rating: M, 18+ only, unprotected P in V, consent is sexy, practice safe sex IRL friends! One-shot, complete

death on the wind - a 600 word ficlet set immediately after s2e2

The Mandalorian

Tiny Chaos, Big Love: a holiday fic challenge with Hallmark-levels of cheesiness, featuring The Mandalorian x reader, their favorite little green sidekick, and a community holiday celebration.

Grogu's Dream - my very first fic shared here, dedicated to my subreddit friends and those who encouraged me to get back into writing and fanfic <3

Here

Setting: The Mandalorian, doesn’t matter when, Din exists, that’s all we need to know for now! Characters: The Mandalorian x female reader (AFAB, no mention of breasts) Length: 1.8k Rating: Minors do not enter! M for mature. Here be smut. That’s all it is. One-shot, complete

Prospect

To Leave The Green - Ezra & Cee, for @burntheedges roll-a-trope challenge prompt: groundhog day

Setting: Prospect. Set between the shootout where Ezra and Cee first meet and the end of the film… and how do we know it didn’t actually happen? That the Ezra we see in the film hasn’t already lived it a millenniary of times? “I like to think about what happens between what’s already been written, so I add new scenes sometimes, because then I get to spend more time in their world.” -Cee  Rating: PG-13, not quite as bad as the movie’s R, less language, similar content. Length: 2k One-shot, complete AO3 link

Due : King of Hearts (unaired pilot), 500 word challenge for @itwasntimethatdidit40 . new 3.16.25

Narcos - coming soon, see WIPs below :)

Star Wars misc

May the Fourth challenge

‘Verse: Star Wars, Rebels, set within S2 finale Characters: Chopper, Kanan, Ezra Length: 1.4k Rating: PG Oneshot, complete

The Old Guard

Nile

A slice-of-life dive into the characters' lives, following Nile's 3rd-person POV. Set immediately after the end of the movie and will stretch a few decades into the future as Nile settles into her new life and we see a glimpse of how the guard adjusts to gains, losses, and life between harrowing conflicts. There will be a few nods to the graphic novels throughout but this is mostly my "what happens next" after immediately finishing the movie. Series complete. Rating: We'll stick with the movie's R for language, canon-typical action/violence. AO3 link

A Sleep Token Collection: An anthology, very much a work in progress. new 2.21.25

Originals

Bravery - poetry prompt from @arianathepoet : Write about someone who taught you to be brave; what does bravery mean to you and how did that person teach you to embody it?

Collections

@pascalsanctuary fics of the day

WIPs and sneaky-peekies

Upcoming Joel Birthday Challenge ; and more ; another

I Won't Leave You

If Javi Calls ; and more ; a little more at the end here

WIP Tag Game ; another round

TLOU Music AU

Firefly/Mando crossover

Triple Frontier... Frankie afterwards, more

[indigo-graves]

This Dance | Joe Liebgott

It wasn’t often that the bulk of Easy Company had privileges on a weekend. Evelyn convinced herself it was absolutely because she had threatened all of the men within an inch of their life. If she had to spend one more weekend at camp, she would surely short circuit. So when they made it through the end of training on Friday, she was able to let out what felt like a breath she had been holding all week. 

When she exited her separate living quarters, several of the company’s other members were waiting for her. Talbert let out a whistle, earning himself a smack in the back of the head from Toye. Evelyn rolled her eyes in response, giving Toye a smile of approval. 

“Ready, darlin’?” Bull Randleman, her dearest friend, questioned. She nodded. Briefly, her eyes locked with Liebgott, who was biting back a smirk, quickly distracting himself with the cigarette he could put between his lips.

“Ready,” she said, smoothing her skirt decisively and turning on her heel. She had hoped they would mistake the blush rising in her cheeks as rouge. 

Three drinks in, the blush in her cheeks was permanent. The bar they had found themselves comfortable in was hot. The Georgia heat mingled with the warmth of too many bodies in a small venue. The wafting clouds of smoke from cigarettes only thickened the air. She was thankful to sit lower than the rest of them in her seat due to her petite stature, most of it traveled over her head. 

“Fifty bucks says I get the first Kraut kill when we hit Europe,” Guarnere spoke confidently. His accent only seemed to get thicker with each beer he downed. 

“Bullshit,” Toye challenged, slammed a hand down on the table, causing all of their drinks to rattle. Chuckles echoed in response. 

“Yeah?” Guarnere grinned, “you gonna get to ‘em before me?” 

“There’s not a doubt,” Toye lit a cigarette casually. “One gust of wind and your ass will end up in the middle of the Atlantic while I’m on Hitler’s doorstep.” He jabbed at the smaller man. The table roared with laughter and Guarnere chuckled through gritted teeth. 

“I’ll take both your money and take your broads out to dinner with it,” Luz spoke confidently, throwing his hat in the ring. 

“Whatdya say we get a dance in while these boys get out their measuring tape?” Bull nudged Evelyn with a smile. She chuckled, threw back the rest of her drink, and got to her feet. 

As the next song started to play on the jukebox, the two of them found space in the section of the room that was being used by a few other soldiers and their female partners. She felt Bull pull her close, surprised that he was so keen on dancing. 

When Liebgott surveyed the room, he felt a drop in his guts. Through the haze of cigarette smoke and crowd of patrons, he watched as Evelyn moved gracefully in the arms of Bull Randleman. He watched Bull’s hand, splayed at the small of her back, and remembered what it felt like the first time she let him touch her. He thought about the way her breath tickled his ear and neck when he held her that close. The things she had told him. Even more, the noises he had drawn out of her when they were flush against one another in that same way. 

He watched her rhythm, knowing it so intimately himself. The way he held those same hips as he guided her into that same rhythm in their most passionate moments. He thought about what it sounded like when she stifled herself, bit at her lips, his shoulder, the pillow, in attempts to keep their dance so secret. And here, he had to sit back and watch as she so publicly danced with someone else. 

“Liebgott,” there was an elbow in his lower ribs. 

He turned to Talbert, realizing the cigarette in his hand had burned down to a nub in neglect. Talbert furrowed a brow but asked now questions. Liebgott got to his feet and excused himself from the table, leaving his fourth beer nearly untouched behind him. 

When the song ended, Bull let go of her waist and thanked her for the dance. She scrunched her nose with a smile at him. He tried to escort her back to their table, stating that surely some of their other company members would want a chance to dance with her. She provided him with a kind excuse, letting him know she was going to get some air and she’d be right back. Only twice did she have to argue that she would be just outside the door, where she had seen both Winters and Nixon standing. He agreed, only content when knowing she had chaperones. Rolling her eyes at the endearing concern, she navigated the compact crowd of people toward the door. 

Anyone in their sober mind would have clearly observed the level of intent she had seen in Liebgott’s stare for the majority of her dance with Bull. There was an anger that had ignited in her that made it difficult to focus on Bull in those moments. Liebgott had made her a lot of promises, many of them in the throws of passion, that she had not taken with more than a grain of salt. But when she made him promise to keep the extent to which they had become acquainted to himself, she was sure he understood the severity of the matter. 

Liebgott stood outside of the bar, his back resting against the building next door at the mouth of an alley. He knew he could only get away with a few minutes away from the company. Someone would come shouting for him before too long. 

He was surprised when he saw Evelyn exit the bar with a relieved sigh. She nodded to Winters and Nixon, who were standing just to the right of the entrance, enjoying the much less congested air. They addressed her in kind, Nixon held up a glass toward her with a small smile. A less raw version of himself would not have had the intrusive image of himself taking a set of brass knuckles to Nixon’s straight, white, Yale-boy grin. A better version of himself, maybe. 

When Evelyn’s eyes connected with his, her smile fell. The hard line that set along her lips let him know that whatever it was that she was going to share with him, it was not going to provide any solace to his bruised ego. 

“You,” she gritted her teeth as she got closer to him. She glanced over her shoulder to assure herself that there were no interested ears. “You have got to get it together, Joe.” Liebgott bit the inside of his cheek at the sound of his name on her lips. He had only heard it when it bubbled up from deep in her chest in her most vulnerable, passionate moments. God damn, she was so fucking beautiful. 

“What?” He was genuinely confused. How was it that he was getting in trouble for her dancing with Bull? 

“You,” she shoved his shoulder. It was then that he smelled the liquor on her breath. She had been close enough to him that he had also caught the sweetness of her perfume. Something in him ached. “Looking at me like that.” 

He chuckled a little at her. How threatening she was, how powerful. But he knew her soft edges. He knew those vulnerable moments. He knew her fear. He had swallowed it whole for her with the slip of her tongue. He knew her. 

“Looking at you like what?” He asked. His voice teased her in a way that drew goosebumps to the surface of her skin. He stepped forward, daring her to close the distance between them. Her eyes fluttered in response, her tongue tied. She did not respond. He smiled slyly, not able to help the shift between them. This was his place. Standing before her, teasing her, flustering her. Did Bull fucking Randleman do that? 

“Don’t do that to me,” she snapped out of her daze. She steeled herself, squared her shoulders, put a step of distance between their bodies. The haze of the moment passed and she remembered just how public a venue he had started this dance in. 

“Do what?” Those coy responses were what got Evelyn into this mess in the first place. He wanted her to get drunk on him. Addicted to him. 

“If you get us caught, you know what will happen,” she threatened. Joe nodded in response. There were no playful replies to bite back when the reality of what they had gotten themselves into was brought up. She had told him the conditions of her presence with the company. Should anyone catch wind of anything unsavory, she was done. 

She knew he understood how much her career meant to her. She knew he respected it. Respected her. He, however, knew that maybe his deepest fear was that he did not know if he would ever see her again. And that reality was even more frightening than what he had waiting for him on the other side of the ocean. 

Joe nodded, clenching his jaw. They stood at the mouth of that alley, wordlessly standing in the mud of their own making. She reached over, the softness of her fingers against his, caused him to jerk his head up in response, looking over her shoulder at the officers just ten feet from them. She boldly stroked the inside of his palm with her delicate fingers. The same way she did when they laid lazily in her bed under the cover of darkness, sweaty, glowing, and drunk on one another. 

“Don’t make this end before it has to,” she squeezed his hand. “Please.” 

Joe met her eyes. The dimensions of light and dark in them were picked up by the streetlamp. He wanted desperately to wrap his arms around her, tighter than Bull or any man could ever fucking hold her. He wanted to kiss her, taste every unsaid word on her lips. To touch her in ways that would leave her gasping, begging, crying out for more of him. He wanted to tell her that his days started and ended with her. Every single one of them since the moment his mouth tasted hers.

“Evie!” There was a shout from behind them. She pulled away from him with a jolt, her curtain of dark hair whipped around her shoulders. 

“You’ve got a line of men in here wondering when they’re getting their dance!” Nixon called, speaking for the masses he was gesturing to inside the building. 

“Yes, sir!” She responded, smiling brightly. She turned to Joe briefly. He swallowed the ball of fire making its way up from his belly. ‘Be good,’ she mouthed at him. She turned on her heel, the sweet smell of her perfume wafting behind her as she made her way back to the bar. Joe let out an exasperated sigh and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. 

[sadsongsandstories]

I love that the BOSBAS book sets up Snow as having this sudden and violent hatred towards Mockingjays as soon as he sees them. And like, there are thematic reasons, they represent a failure of the capitol, challenging its assumed superiority. They also pose a threat to his world view, singing for no vested interest other than the pleasure of singing. In a world of cruelty and chaos, how could anything sing so freely??

But aside from all the brilliant meaningful themes, it's just hilarious to think of Snow having random beef with some birds. And proceeding to petition for them all to be shot down and killed, which they then attempt and fail at. And of course, it is the Mockingjays that haunt him from the trees with echoes of Lucy Grey's song.

More hilarious still, is the idea that some 65 years later, as an established president with a firm grip on the entire nation, some girl shows up at the annual child murder games you've been running wearing a Mockingjay pin. Then the same girl becomes a nuisance and challenges your world order, only to ignore your attempt to control and suppress her, and, when you create a quarter quell to destroy her, her designer burns away the wedding dress you made her wear to turn her into an ornate Mockingjay, standing on stage for the nation to see. Then she somehow survives the second games, joins the rebellion and fully embraces the Mockingjay persona, ultimately destroying you and your capitol.

Oh and best of all, she uses your dead loves song to do so, repeating it once again like all good Mockingjays should.

He must have been pissed!! And I for one, am all for that!!

Also Lucy Grey was definitely laughing from through the trees and across the wind.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hi! I know your busy so here’s my request. Take your time, no need to rush. Yandere Beelzebub.

Fem! Reader who is Lilith younger sister. After Y/n saw her sister died by Beelzebub because of satan curse, she is angry so she join the humanity to avenge her sister death by defeating Beelzebub. When Beelzebub meet a cloak figure as his opponent, he didn’t except see the figure familiar face when Y/n cloak was destroy by his ability. Y/n almost died but Beelzebub forfeit the match and carry unconscious Y/n to his lab to heal her. Y/n yell at him but he knock her out and erase her memories and change her memories as Beelzebub wife.

-He took her- he killed her! Your big sister, the most important person in your life and he took her from you!

-You knew he was cursed, but he’s had that curse for so long- why couldn’t he control it?! He was a scientist and constantly experimenting, why couldn’t he control it?!

-Why… why was it Lilith who had to pay the price?

-There was a little voice in the back of your head telling you not to blame him, but you wanted to blame someone- your big sister was dead!!

-Beelzebub’s opponent was a hooded figure, you hid yourself well, telling Brunnhilde that you were going to fight for humanity so you could avenge your sister.

-While she was hesitant at first, Brunnhilde allowed you to take Nikola’s spot, sensing your anger, your power.

-He was unsure of who you were, you were petite, a female, but he couldn’t get close enough to get a good look, you were very fast, and while not overly strong, you did give him a good challenge.

-You slashed your hands across his cheek and he managed to grab your cloak and it started to disintegrate, leaving you exposed to all, seeing that it was you fighting.

-He froze, seeing that you were crying, and you looked so similar to Lilith, his eyes widened as you charged again, anguish in your voice, “Give me back my sister!”

-He punched you hard in the gut, making you gag as you fell to the ground hard, getting the wind knocked out of you, quickly falling unconscious.

-Many were cheering for Beelzebub to kill you, to win the match, but he felt so much pain, so much anguish, seeing your tears and he stunned all by forfeiting the match, giving the win to humanity.

-He picked you up, cradling you carefully, as if you were made of glass, he didn’t know you, but he couldn’t look away from you, you were so beautiful, so much like Lilith. He lost Lilith, he wasn’t going to lose you too.

-You were definitely feistier compared to Lilith, he brought you back to his lab to heal both yours and his wounds, and when you woke up and saw him looking down at you, you lunged at him like a wildcat, trying to claw his eyes out.

-Once you were unconscious again he had to sit in his chair to take a breather, you were not to be underestimated by any means.

-After tending to his new wounds, Beelzebub got to work, using his magic and science to alter your memories, making it look like someone else killed your sister and Beelzebub tried to save her and that you were in love with him.

-He wasn’t above manipulation, wanting you to be completely devoted to him, however he did like your feisty personality, keeping that intact, but only for the bedroom.

-When you woke up, you were hazy, your memory and vision both fuzzy as he was quickly by your side, looking down at you in worry, “Y/N?”

-Your smile was stunning as you beamed up at him, “Did I win?” he snorted in laughter, turning away with a hand over his mouth as he chuckled, “Yes my love, you beat me. You’re quite the little hellion.” You grinned brightly, as he had altered your memories of the fight, that you were fighting him in an exhibition match, just for fun, but neither one of you held back, hence why you were so sore right now.

-He found you to be a wonderful person, as he hadn’t alerted your personality any, only your memories, and you were different from Lilith, who was elegant and mature, you were feisty, fun, but also warm and caring.

-Beelzebub was very quick to fall hard for you, it was hard not to, and he did everything in his power to keep you safe from his curse, which wasn’t acting up for some reason.

-He learned why in a dream one night, when Satan spoke to him, telling him that he would not kill his new lover, after seeing what he did to get you to love him, finding it corrupt, so who was he to ruin such delicious corruption.

-Beelzebub only felt guilt in the beginning, feeling like he was betraying Lilith, but once he fell for you, his guilt left, but he never forgot Lilith, she always remained as a reminder to protect you, to keep you safe so he didn’t lose you as well.

-He kept you close, never leaving the house without you and you never left without him, the two of you were never seen without each other, but that’s how it should be as husband and wife.

-The moment he could, he married you, to keep you even closer and your elation made him so happy, he felt so warm when you tackled him in sheer joy.

-Now his days were spent being doted on by you when he wasn’t working on his research and his night were…. Definitely a workout, but that’s the price he decided to pay, marrying a succubus.

[shadowphoenixrider]

(So I maybe got a teeny tiny bit inspired by my friend @driftinglightofthewoods 's fic Floral Language and accidentally my own fic in her universe. Oops? It's fluff because apparently I haven't written enough of that. Enjoy!)

The tree boughs were heavy with their spring blossoms, the air around them equally dense with scent.

Shadow wandered among them, occasionally stopping to stand on tip-toe, pulling branches down to briefly smell the flowers before continuing on her way. She was grateful for this peace she'd found, glad that she'd managed to wriggle out of refereeing the basketball game going back on at the mansion. She might not have Drifting's powers of invisibility, but as her name suggested, she could slip away and vanish from company if she wanted to.

She paused under a tree so festooned with small white blossoms that it was if it was covered in snow, the odd petal fluttering down to rest on the forest floor. Its branches were higher above her head, stretching for the light with its other fellows, its fat knobbly trunk suggesting its great age.

How many springs had it seen? The tree was probably as old as Logan, perhaps even older. Despite her curiosity, Shadow knew better than to ask him about the past - not that he would be forthcoming anyway. She could understand that. Yet she still wondered what the tree could tell her if they could talk. Even if their interests would be widely different, Shadow wanted to know. How did a creature whose life easily stretched into the centuries perceive time compared to her, who lived in a mere fraction of that? To it she was probably no more than an elderly bug.

Completely absorbed by her thoughts, Shadow didn't notice someone was approaching until a deep, smooth voice sounded about behind her.

"So this is where ya got to, petite."

Shadow jumped, spinning around to see Gambit, hands in his pockets and that easy smirk on his face.

"Fuck, Gambit!" She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "Don't scare me like that." He chuckled, unrepentant. "Well...Yeah. You know me, I'm not one for basketball. Or sports in general." She replied, folding her arms. "Did you win?"

"Of course." Was his response, slowly walking up next to her. Shadow made a note to check that later. "Woulda been nice to see ya. Even Drifting was dere."

"Ironic that you managed to find the one mutant who you'd think would have hiding down pat," said Shadow wryly.

"Ah, but Rogue don't know ya like I do." Gambit commented, the smirk on his features widening. "Gambit found you de day of de storm, an' he found you now." He stepped a little closer. Shadow arched an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah well, I was a stationary target back then. Think you could track a moving one without Logan's nose, Cajun?"

"Dat sounds like a challenge, mon amie." His smirk turned into a grin, and he lowered his head to her. "Dere a reward if Gambit finds you?"

"The reward is finding me and getting to be smug about it." Shadow replied, flicking his nose. "I didn't come out here for cat and mouse games anyway. I needed some calm."

Gambit pulled back, his ardour immediately cooling. His gaze flicked up the tree towering above them, a slight wisp of wind knocking a drizzle of petals to tumble to the floor.

"Beautiful time o' year." He murmured softly. "Few times dat make me miss New Orleans."

Shadow glanced over to him.

"How so?" She quietly asked.

"Springtime be beautiful even down in de bayou, chère." He explained gently. "Dese big pink flowers from de bushes and trees, dere be so much colour..." His gaze was far away, in another lifetime.

"You ever want to go back someday?" She ventured.

Gambit's face fell and for a moment, she saw indecision flicker across his features, just before a mask slipped over the top.

"No. Gambit can't go back, even if he want to," he said. "Not dat he want too. Too much bad blood." He turned to her, that knowing smirk on his face, for once completely fake. "'Sides, Gambit got de X-men an' you now, non?"

Shadow nodded.

"I can understand that," she said, smiling softly. "Sometimes it's just best to push forward, right? Find joy in the blossoms of other places."

Gambit watched her for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, a small smile tugged at his lips.

"Yeah, could say that, petite." He agreed, his eyes following her gaze back to the tree she was looking up at. "Any reason ya picked dis one?"

"Oh! No real reason." Shadow smiled shyly. "Just...thinking. And admiring it."

"Certainly be a pretty one." Gambit agreed, stepping closer to it. "Ya like de white ones?"

"I don't mind pink or white." Shadow replied, watching the Cajun eyeing the flowers above them. "I've always preferred the white ones, though. I guess I think the pink can look a bit sickly sweet, if you know what I mean?"

"Too much?" He suggested, glancing back at her.

"A little, yeah. I mean, I do love cherry blossoms, that light pink colour, but some can get too vivid for me..." She chuckled ruefully. "Not that these flowers are grown for me anyway."

"Jus' cos dey be for bees don't mean you can't have an opinion on dem." Gambit spoke, raising up on his feet to grasp one of the heavily laden branches, gently pulling it down with him. "Hey chère, c'mere," he said softly.

Shadow moved over to his side, gently taking hold of the branch full of small white flowers, their petals rounded, no bigger than her thumbnail. Leaning forward, she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. The blossoms were sweet smelling, yet not overpowering, despite their density. They reminded her of the pretty blackthorn blooms of her childhood, such sweet flowers for such a fiercesome thorny bush. That could also be said of several mutants of the X-Mansion...

When her eyes flickered back open, she saw Gambit watching her, a fond smile on his face and a softness to his red and black eyes that made her heart skip a beat. He was already a good-looking man, but framed by the flowers of the branch he was holding - he was beautiful.

"Had ya fill, Shadow?" Gambit asked, his deep voice soft and tender.

"Yeah, thank you." She smiled back at him.

He carefully released his grip, the branch springing back up into the crown with a hissing rustle. In so doing, it shook a large number of petals free, and they showered down onto the pair below.

"Oh hey Cajun, looks like you got a few little somethings on you." Shadow giggled, reaching up to sweep them off Gambit's broad shoulders.

"Could say de same for you too, mon amie!" He grinned, doing the same for her.

He reached up to brush them from her hair, before he hesitated, hand frozen in the air over her cheek.

"May I?" He asked, softly.

Shadow nodded slightly.

"Yeah, of course."

Even with permission, Gambit delicately plucked each petal free of her curls, dropping them to the side to fall around her. When he was done, his hand remained, hovering by the side of her head as if he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

Gambit gently reached forward, brushing back some of Shadow's hair that was trying to fall into her eyes with his finger. When his hand lingered, she leaned into it, letting their skin touch. His eyes widened, his hand jerking with the instinctive need to pull away, but he overcame it, opening it up to cup her cheek.

Most of his large hand was clad in black fingerless gloves, but his touch was gentle, calloused fingertips grazing over soft pale skin. Shadow gazed up into his dark eyes, wide in wonder and surprise, before they softened, a look in them that filled her with warmth from the core of her chest to the tips of her toes.

Gambit stepped closer, lowering his head towards her. Shadow moved closer too, tilting her chin up to meet the Cajun, reaching up to cup the back of his neck. There was a heartbeat, maybe two, where they were so close the tips of their noses nearly brushed.

And then they leaned in, pressing their lips together.

Time stopped, for a moment. The outside world fell away; in these seconds that felt like minutes, all that mattered was just them, together.

An indeterminate about of seconds later, they pulled away, eyes flickering open. Charcoal black with crimson red met bone white and teal blue, gazing deeply into one another, both a little stunned by what had just happened.

Shadow smiled shyly, an answering smile growing across Gambit's lips as well.

Suddenly the sound of someone clearing their throat sounded out, and the pair recoiled from one other. They whipped their heads around to see Drifting standing there, her arms folded, alongside Nightcrawler, a mischievous grin playing on his dark, furry face.

"'Just friends', huh?" Drifting said, arching an eyebrow. Shadow blushed bright red, glancing away from the equally awkward blushing Cajun, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So this is where you got to, Shadow." Nightcrawler spoke. "Perhaps Rogue should check the forest for you first next time."

"I coulda told ya that." Gambit grumbled, trying to regain some sort of initiative.

This was not to be when Nightcrawler grinned widely, poofing right next to Gambit's side in a flash of purple smoke.

"Ah, of course mein freund! I have heard of your expertise in tracking her down!" He leant against Gambit's shoulder, fixing the pouting Cajun with his golden eyes. "It makes sense for a man of your profession to be familiar with shadows, after all."

"I-Is there a reason you guys came out here?" Shadow stuttered, trying to find her composure.

"We have Danger Room simulations in half an hour." Drifting replied flatly. "Remember?"

"Oh, shit!" Shadow cursed, stepping over to her. "Sorry Drifting, it completely slipped my mind!"

"I wonder why." Drifting smirked, her green eyes flicking briefly over to Gambit.

"Allow me to help you both get back to the mansion." Nightcrawler smiled, appearing next to the two women. He glanced over his shoulder. "Are you coming with us, Gambit?"

"Ah, I'll take de scenic route." He replied, looking away from them. "Gambit got a lot to think about."

"I'm sure you do." Commented Drifting, resulting in Gambit grumbling something under his breath, and Shadow rolling her eyes.

"We will see you soon!" Nightcrawler said, and in a blast of purple smoke, the trio was gone.

Gambit groaned, resting his forehead against the tree's trunk.

He wasn't going to live this down any time soon...

[petit-papillion]

FP1: Carlos drove despite a fever and "suffering from the consequences of a bout of food poisoning" (according to Ferrari). Charles vacuumed up some plastic bags and commented it was like Mario Kart out there. Charles ended up in P5, Carlos P6, with VER, ALO and PER as the top 3.

FP2: The wind died down somewhat for the evening practice. The session had a delayed start due to.. surprise, securing loose drain covers. Charles finished P4, Carlos P7. Top 3: ALO, RUS, VER.

FP3: Overnight Carlos was diagnosed with appendicitis. He underwent surgery, which thankfully went well. Speedy recovery, Carlos! Ollie Bearman will replace Carlos for the rest of the weekend. After getting pole in F2 yesterday, today, he made his debut in an F1 car as the youngest driver ever for Ferari. Zhou crashed with about 20 minutes left, causing a red flag. Ollie finished P10, Charles P2 in between the Red Bulls.

Petit's Race Notes:

Carlos showed up in the paddock, walking very gingerly, allegedly against doctor's orders, to support Charles and Ollie.

Pierre reported mechanical issues on the formation lap and Alpine retired the car almost immediately after the race start

Lando had a jump start, it seemed, but because no transponder was triggered, he didn't get a penalty

Early in the race, Lance clipped the wall, broke his suspension and slammed into the wall. Thankfully he was okay - the car not so much.

Everyone, except a handful of drivers, pitted under the safety car, leading to a very busy pitlane, and some penalties for impeding for Checo and Yuki.

Oscar (who had pitted for hards) got stuck behind Lewis (on mediums, not pitted) for 28 laps, even passing him twice but having to give back the position. He only got rid of him when HAM pitted at last.

Kevin Magnussen earned himself 20 seconds in penalties (causing a collision, gaining a position off-track) and decided to hold up the DRS train to allow Hulk enough time to pit and not lose his P10 position. Nice team work there, K-Mag.

Ollie Bearman did a phenomenal job. After starting P11, he was stuck behind a slow Haas for a while, but eventually finished P7 on his F1 debut. 👏👏👏

Max, whose only challenge was passing Lando early on, and then lapping backmarkers, tried to get the fastest at the end of the race, but was beaten by Charles who cleverly used DRS.

Fastest lap: Charles Leclerc

Driver of the Day: Oliver Bearman

Fastest pit stop: 2.44 by Red Bull/Max Verstappen

[nightsprung]

bee has brainstormed new ocs! here's the short rundown:

sloane kelly, 20, cis female, diana silvers. sloane has always been a relatively quiet and unassuming person. little does her sleepy town of yellowknife, ohio know that she's the mysterious voice of the observer, the host of semi-hit nighttime radio show the watch. the show delves into stories of the paranormal, supernatural and occult, and especially puts the town of yellowknife under a critical lens when it demands to find answers to several inexplicable disappearances over the years.

julie mason, 28, cis female samantha logan. julie mason is a well-enough known name to the public. one of the most promising and revered athletic talents to come through UCLA's women's basketball team with sights set on a professional career with the WNBA, those dreams were ripped away cruelly in a collision with a drunk driver on the way home from a championship victory party when she was 22 years old. since then, julie completed her schooling in psychology, obtained her masters and now works in mental health therapy, specializing with athletes.

harlow olson, 22, cis female, maya hawke. spontaneous is one way to describe harlow's childhood. turbulent is another. she never knew much about her father, and her mother was always free-spirited to a fault that forced harlow to grow up faster than she should have. multiple new schools, multiple new cities and towns, multiple new places decorated her childhood and teen years but none of them ever felt enough like home. she'd balance her dreams of attending film school with the realities of having to work countless hours in her spare time to help cover bills; and even then, it wouldn't stop debt collectors from finding them. in the midst of her adolescence, harlow tracked down her birth father and found he could offer her something her mother never could - stability. she petitioned to move in with him in an effort to have a more "normal" life as a teenager - a job to cover her own whims instead of bills, the same teachers semester to semester, a consistent group of friends. after high school, she finds herself studying film at NYU as she had always dreamed, but there's still some pieces of her that feel fractured. missing.

skyler cauldwell, 23, nonbinary (she/they), ayo edebiri. skyler has always been adept with technology; growing up in the digital age certainly helped with that. it's no wonder she ended up studying computer engineering in college, with the hopes of a promising career in cybersecurity. life is relatively normal for them; they have challenging courses, a core group of friends, several extracurriculars that eat up their time, debate team included. she's set to go to nationals with the rest of the team her senior year, but comes down with a nasty case of bronchitis days before the team is set to fly out to the competition and has to concede her spot to the alternate. the guilt they feel when the top news story a few days from that point is on the missing flight the team was on. months later it'd be discovered that the plane had crashed on an uninhabited island, and only a few members from the team survived.

summer beaumont, 19, cis female, sadie stanley. summer beaumont is your quintessential girl-next-door type. she's never had a bad thing to say about anybody and you're more likely to find her getting a cat out of a tree than doing anything particularly thrilling. it's no wonder that she's celebrating finishing her first year of undergrad by spending two months of her summer as a counselor at camp pinewood. she's great with the campers, especially the younger ones, and is always happy to cover for her fellow counselors, so long as they extend the same courtesy when she needs it. she will need it, by the way - typically on nights when the moon is full and the wind is howling. yeah, definitely the wind. don't mind the fact that she spends most of the next day in her bunk, or that her favorite pair of keds have been discarded completely for a fresh pair.

(reading this back summer sounds like a werewolf - she's not lmao. but she hunts them, and other monsters! a girl needs hobbies, after all!)

melanie ford, eternally 27, cis female, ella purnell. melanie ford has been dead for years now. the definitive story is a drug overdose, but she swears she'd never touch the hard stuff. no, this wannabe socialite has standards! the truth of the matter is melanie's death was far from an accident, and until the mystery around her demise is solved, she's cursed to continue walking the earth. in the meantime, she's trying to bide her time in limbo by doing good deeds, in the hope that it'll balance out some of the less than savory things she did while she was alive and secure her a spot in the good place.

[goth-apoca-lips]

| 🤍 Starstruck | Character Intro: Felicity DuNoir |

.

.

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/ I bet on Losing dogs / I know they're losing and I pay for my place / By the ring / where I'll be looking in their eyes as they fall / I'll be there on their side / I'm losing on their side /

Thirty-two consecutive fouettés. 

The black floor of the dance hall was littered with lounging bodies. All whispering amongst themselves, giggling over inside jokes, earbuds plugged into their ears. 

The instructor had announced that today of all days would be individual, one on one instruction. Most dancers had already taken their turns and were now basking in the rare gift of down time.

Thirty-two consecutive fouettés. 

The giant mirror flickered with fluid shadow. A leg whipped around, propelling the shadow in a controlled spin. A single, dark braid snapped through the air like a black flag caught in a gust.  

Thirty-two consecutive fouettés. 

That was how many spins Felicity needed to achieve to perfect Odile’s variation. As any ballerina could attest, even the professionals, the dance of the Black Swan was no easy feat. Especially not for a seventeen year old who wasn’t even out of secondary school. 

So… that was all the more reason to do it, and do it right. 

Her head snapped back into place with each turn, staring her own reflection down and she forced herself to ignore the buzzing nausea licking at the edges of her brain. Her nerves told her body “just one more time,” every time and her body was starting to doubt their lies. Her shins burned, toes ached, and every muscle in her legs and glutes protested her steely resolve in true Francais fashion. But she refused to give into their demands. 

Thirteen… 

Fourteen… 

Fifteen… 

The lights grew colder, sparks of red and yellow flaring up like fire as her breaths strained to stay even. With each new spin, her chiffon skirt thrashed with brand new feathers that she could almost hear flutter as the wind whipped in her ear. The whine of a distant melody laced the gusts, an echo of her very soul. 

A shadow eclipsed the mirror. 

Her breath began to shake, muscles trembling. Her skin pricked when a chill passed through her. Just past her reflection… she could’ve sworn she’d seen his harsh eyes staring back. His heavy brow furrowed as he counted each fouetté she completed. His bulbous nose wrinkled with disapproval. The music lacing the wind in her ears coiled into a critical hiss. 

Suddenly it wasn’t her own voice counting. 

Twenty-three…

Twenty-four…

The chill seized her heart, stomach twisting with dread—

“Regarde la… She’s trying to win Jaskier back.” 

The maliciously sharp giggle cut through her concentration, her foot dropping back onto the black floor. She seethed as if it’d burnt, instantly raising her pointe again to try and save it… but as she looked back at her reflection she knew it was too late. 

She darted a bruised look from the corner of her eye at the source of the covert snicker. Claire… Her skin flushed, heart clutching at the sight of the petite girl. Claire’s caramel hair she insisted still counted as blonde glinted in the harsh lights of the dance hall, her lips wide to bear her teeth as she giggled politely with her cluster of friends. 

They weren’t looking at Felicity… or were they? Were those fleeting looks beneath thick lashes for her? Those private murmurs… sharp grins? 

Claire sent Felicity another, bright-eyed look and smiled sweetly at her. Felicity’s heart stole another quiet beat and her stomach pooled with nauseous uncertainty. That sugar coated smile… it leered at her. Challenging her to defy it. Oh she wanted to… She almost narrowed her gaze but before her eyes could twitch, her instincts panicked and she smiled back instead. Some cowardly, submissive smile that made her cheeks flush with shame.  

The exchange seemed to satisfy Claire, maybe even amuse her, and she darted another grin at her friend lounging on the gym floor with her. 

Their attention strayed away from Felicity, leaving her drained… or maybe that was just her body begging to collapse after such an extraneous workout. 

She’d made it to twenty-five. 

Unacceptable. 

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.

.

[cerisesakurainspring]

Hinata Shōyō

~~Heads and a Tail~~

Shoyo is notoriously known by his teammates for his nervous jitters during volleyball matches. His occasional trips to the washroom were no longer a surprise but rather an expectation.

It was a routine.

The events leading up to the washroom doors were always the same, for trouble always followed him.

It's as if the universe knew how to taunt him by distressing him during what is supposedly a simple task.

He wanted to curse fate, but he knew what to expect now. He knew what to do with it.

All he needed to do was go to the right washroom at a very specific time to avoid the same old issues. If he did it right, he would effectively avoid confrontation with a hulky guy called "Japan" from Shiratorizawa or even The Great King of the Blue Castle.

This time, he'll avoid them.

He wasn't going to follow the same disturbing script. He will break the routine.

And so, Shoyo resolved himself and readied his petite body like a soldier going for battle.

Today, he will conquer it all.

He treaded carefully towards the washroom. He looked to the left, to the right, to the back, to the front—all with uneasiness unfurling in his stomach, already laden with discomfort.

Still, he kept walking with a purpose. What's the secret to a successful washroom trip, you ask? Shoyo thinks it's going to the furthest one.

Once he had arrived, he paused and surveyed his surroundings with eyes like an eagle. It was relatively devoid of people. That's to be expected if you are on the other side of the building, where most of the crowd is near the gym.

The orange-head took a deep breath and tip-toed his way in. Once inside the washroom, he slowly poked his head on every stall and went for the last one to go about his business.

His trip was surprisingly uneventful, and he managed to avoid mishaps this time around.

Today must be an extraordinary day for Shoyo.

No intimidating people towering over his height. No menacing aura challenging him.

It was just him and his quiet trip to the washroom—just as it was supposed to be.

The gods so love him, no?

Everything seems to be working so well for him. Too damn well.

But who cares? Shoyo thought nothing of it and triumphantly left the stall. He was feeling victorious to have had his journey stripped of trouble.

Ah, but alas! To his misfortune, a trail of tissue hitched a ride on the back of his joggers.

He was too delighted to notice, of course.

After washing his hands, he stared at his reflection in the mirror before him and patted his unknowing self on the shoulder.

I did it! He thought to himself then walked out of the washroom.

The tissue train dangled innocently and then fluttered in the wind as he marched back toward his team. Each step was overflowing with confidence. 

His next battle was to reach his teammates without encountering intimidating volleyball players. But with his gleeful mood, nothing could rain on his parade.

Or so he thought.

The closer he got to his team, the more people stared. Were they silently applauding him for his successful trip to the washroom? The thought made Shoyo feel giddy and proud. He was on cloud 9.

His obliviousness was his only fault, and he smiled at every passing figure, not knowing they were gawking at the parade of tissue behind him, their heads focused on the gliding tail.

Some snickered. Some took photos. Some pitied him and wanted to tell Shoyo, but the innocent smile on his face just made it unbearable to break his fragile heart.

The burning stares slowly made him feel uneasy, and his smile faltered. The anxiety creeping in made him speed-walk his way toward the end of the hallway where his team was.

Oh, but the woeful orange head's luck was nearly inexistent, for he bumped into two tall figures towering over his surprised one. Their white and turquoise uniform was indicative of whose team they belonged to.

Poor Shoyo must have done something to upset the goddess Benzaiten for he has crossed paths with the very same people he wanted to avoid.

A clear of the throat made Shoyo look up, his eyes wide as saucers.

The brown-haired setter tittered at the trail of tissue swaying behind the orange-head like a bridal train. "All you are missing is a wedding dress, chibi-chan."

His comment earned him a smack in the head from his vice-captain, "Crappykawa, stop tyrannizing the juniors."

"But Iwa-chan, look! Chibi Shoyo here has grown a tail!" Tooru continued to snicker.

The remark froze Karasuno's middle blocker. He has a tail??

Shoyo frantically looked behind him, and to his horror, he did grow a tail! It was a tail of mocking tissue that dangled tauntingly behind his joggers.

He was mortified at the sight.

He pointed at the offending tissue accusingly, his face and neck now a bright shade of red.

The people around them laughed at Shoyo's predicament, and he felt he could melt from shame.

Amid this sudden series of unfortunate events, Seijoh's wing spiker plucked the tissue and crumpled it in his pocket—a well-meaning gesture that he hoped would somehow comfort the orange head. It seemed to do the trick, for Hajime's benevolent smile eased the embarrassment that pricked Shoyo's skin, and he bowed gratefully at the 3rd year.

Just as the middle blocker turned to leave, a yellow tracksuit blocked his vision, and Johzenji's captain, Terushima, waved his phone, a photo with a tissue on his back stared at him glaringly.

"Thanks for the amusement, shorty!"

Shoyo bit his lip in shame and ran for his life, leaving behind no longer a train of tissue but a trail of humiliation.

Will he ever escape this troubled routine?

~~~

Haikyuu Imagines on AO3

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Here is ~2500 words of Petit-Gervais and the Conventionist’s shepherd boy fic. There may be more at some point, if I ever write it, but my current writing pace suggests that it’ll be a while, if it happens at all. So I thought I’d share this chunk, for posterity and because I quite like it.

@pilferingapples​

~*~

The week after the prime part of Petit-Gervais' fortune had been stolen from him, a storm raged through the area. Petit-Gervais had lingered, ashamed to go home without his money and hoping against hope that the gendarmes would bring in the villain who had robbed him. But as the days went by this seemed less and less likely, and Petit-Gervais had resolved to be on his way the very day the tempest hit.

The rain quickly tore through the shelter he had built, and he wasted only a few moments staring mournfully at the wreckage before setting off to find something sturdier. There was a town nearby; perhaps someone would take pity on him and let him inside. Perhaps they would even have food to share! The thought bolstered his step and made him nearly cheerful as the marmot on his back screamed into the wind.

Unlike in Paris, the rain in this country fell hard but not long. By the time Petit-Gervais finally stumbled across a dwelling-place, the worst had passed and only a drizzle remained. Petit-Gervais and his marmot were soaked to the bone.

He nearly tripped over the hut before he noticed it. It was a rude structure, built into a hillside and hidden from view by a strategic thicket. Petit-Gervais wouldn't have found it at all save for the slight break in the vegetation that signaled a path branching off of the main road.

"Maybe a hermit," he said aloud in his own language. The marmot chittered unhappily on his back and Petit-Gervais laughed. "There's only one way to find out," he declared, and took the path.

It was not a hermit who answered Petit-Gervais' knock but a boy, no older than Petit-Gervais, with a mop of sandy hair falling into his eyes. His face, furrowed with wariness, cleared into honest surprise when he saw Petit-Gervais. "What were you doing out in the storm?" he asked, in French. He had an accent Petit-Gervais had never heard before.

"Trying to find shelter from it," Petit-Gervais said. "I'm Petit-Gervais. Can I come inside and dry off? I can make her dance for you." He half turned, showing off the marmot.

The boy considered this request, then nodded and stepped aside to let Petit-Gervais inside. "Welcome to my home," he said. "I'm called Jean-la-Liberté." This last pronouncement held a note of challenge.

Petit-Gervais burst out laughing. "What are you, a Revolutionist?"

"Yes." Jean-la-Liberty spoke stiffly, coldly even. He'd drawn himself up to his full height, barely taller than Petit-Gervais. "Is that a problem?"

Petit-Gervais shrugged. "It's all politics," he said. "King, no King, it doesn't affect me."

"Under the Republic we were free." His voice was still stiff. "Good men spilled blood to deliver us from tyranny."

"And I was robbed last week," Petit-Gervais countered, the insult to both pride and livelihood still fresh enough to sting. "Would the Republic have stopped that?"

Jean-la-Liberté hesitated. "All men were held to the same laws," he said finally. "A rich man who robbed you would be punished just as harshly as a poor one."

"Well this one wasn't rich," Petit-Gervais said. "So I guess it doesn't matter. Can I still come in?"

Jean-la-Liberté hesitated a moment longer, muttered something to himself that Petit-Gervais didn't catch, and nodded.

"Thank you," Petit-Gervais said.

It took a moment or two for his eyes to adjust to the gloom inside. When they did, Petit-Gervais saw a rough-hewn table, with crumbs liberally scattered across its surface, and two chairs. A bed sat in one corner, with a sort of chair on wheels next to it and a straw pallet on the floor at its feet. The other side of the room held a crude kitchen, more than Petit-Gervais and his comrades had had in Paris but less than what he remembered his mother having at home. Apart from a half loaf of bread sitting out, it didn't seem to have been used in a while.

"Are you on your own here?" Petit-Gervais asked, taking it all in.

Jean-la-Liberté nodded. "My teacher passed into the care of the Supreme Being two years ago."

"And you've been here ever since? Alone?" Petit-Gervais couldn't hide his horror at this prospect. All his life he had been in company, first among his family and then, in Paris, among his fellow migrants. Even the trip home had been mostly spent with others, fellow workers going home or rival urchins to be merrily insulted. To be alone seemed to him a fate almost worse than death. At least in Heaven you had company.

"I have the sheep." Jean-la-Liberté sounded defensive again, and this time Petit-Gervais' heart filled with pity. No wonder he was so prickly, with only sheep for company.

"Well I'm glad I came by then," Petit-Gervais said. He moved towards the hearth, where a smoldering fire gave off more heat than light. He swung the marmot cage off his back and set it down in front of the hearth, then held out his own frozen hands towards the warmth.

Jean-la-Liberté hadn't answered, and when Petit-Gervais glanced over he found the other boy looking at him with an odd expression. "What?" he asked.

"No one's been glad to come here in a long time," Jean-la-Liberté said finally.

Petit-Gervais shrugged philosophically. "There's a first time for everything," he said, and, for the first time, Jean-la-Liberté smiled.

They stayed silent for a time, Petit-Gervais drying off and Jean-la-Liberté watching him, until Petit-Gervais' stomach loudly reminded him of the other thing he'd been hoping to find that evening.

Jean-la-Liberty jumped. "I'm sorry!" he said. "I've been a bad host. Are you hungry?"

"Always," Petit-Gervais said cheerfully.

Jean-la-Liberté moved to the kitchen corner and took out half a loaf of bread and a piece of cheese. These he put on the table, then went back for a jug of something and two cups to complete the meal. He paused, as thought realizing something, and looked over at the marmot. "Does it..." he began.

"She eats what I do," Petit-Gervais assured him. Jean-la-Liberté relaxed.

"Will you join me for a meal?" he asked. Petit-Gervais, now warmly damp rather than soaked and frozen, did not need to be asked twice.

"Where are you traveling from?" Jean-la-Liberté asked as they sat. He tore off a piece of bread for himself and passed Petit-Gervais the loaf. It was several days old, by the feel of it, but nowhere near the hardest loaf Petit-Gervais had ever eaten. He took a piece for himself and passed part of it down to the marmot, who grabbed for it eagerly.

"Paris," Petit-Gervais said. He peered into the jug, found it to be filled with wine, and poured himself a generous serving. Through a mouthful of bread he added, "Do you want to hear about it?"

Jean-la-Liberté did, and so Petit-Gervais launched into stories, telling Jean-la-Liberté about living in the city, about the adventures he'd had and the fights he'd been in and, laughing at his own stupidity, about the bumbling mistakes he'd made when arriving as an ignorant four-year-old fresh from the mountains. Jean-la-Liberté was an avid listener. He asked questions at all the right times and was suitably impressed by Petit-Gervais' worldliness. He himself had never gone farther than his summer pastures, and his sheep were far less interesting companions than Petit-Gervais' fellows. After they'd finished eating, Petit-Gervais pulled out his hurdy-gurdy and the marmot, rejuvenated by warmth and food, danced willingly to its melody. Jean-la-Liberté laughed with delight at the spectacle. Eventually the last light of the fire sputtered out, and the two boys retired, pressed together to conserve warmth on Jean-la-Liberté's pallet, Petit-Gervais' ragged blanket added to the top for extra insulation.

*

Petit-Gervais woke late the next morning. The winter sun had already been up for an hour, melting the night's frost coat. His head ached from the undiluted wine and his throat felt scratchy from sleep, but he rose anyway. Jean-la-Liberté was nowhere to be seen, and so Petit-Gervais busied himself with redoing his pack, pausing often to wipe his nose with the back of his hand.

Jean-la-Liberté came back inside just as Petit-Gervais was finishing his packing. "You're awake!" he said. Then, seeing the packed bag, "You're leaving already?"

"Won't get anywhere if I don't," Petit-Gervais said.

"There's another storm brewing," Jean-la-Liberté said, frowning. "You'll be far from anywhere when it hits."

"Not much that can be done about that," Petit-Gervais pointed out.

"You could stay here until it passes," Jean-la-Liberté suggested. "The house is sturdy enough to keep out the weather."

It was a tempting offer. Still. "There's likely another storm tomorrow too. I can't stay here forever."

Jean-la-Liberté shook his head confidently. "It won't rain tomorrow."

"How do you know that?"

"The sheep."

Petit-Gervais considered this. He wasn't so far removed from his roots that he disbelieved in animals' ability to divine the weather, nor so used to life on the road to turn down a roof when one was offered. "All right," he said. "I'll stay."

They spent the day idly. Jean-la-Liberté, who had already been to see his sheep, fiddled with a half finished wood carving, while Petit-Gervais, less hungry than usual, tried to teach his marmot new tricks with some of his uneaten bread. As Jean-la-Liberté had predicted, thunder started booming in early afternoon, and soon enough they heard the sound of another downpour.

"Does it always do this?" Petit-Gervais asked as the rain pounded down like pelting stones.

"Often enough," Jean-la-Liberté said. "Why, how does it rain in your country?"

Petit-Gervais started to answer, then stopped, struck. "You know," he said, "I don't remember." Then, because this seemed unsatisfactory, he added, "In Paris it stays grey and raining for days. It turns the soot to mud."

Jean-la-Liberté made a face. "That sounds unpleasant."

Petit-Gervais shrugged. "You get used to it."

They lapsed into silence, Jean-la-Liberté going back to his carving and Petit-Gervais staring at the fire. He hadn't thought much about what it would be like to go home. He'd known he would, of course, if his work didn't kill him or cripple him first, but it had always been an abstract thought. Home was a legend kept alive by boys who hadn't seen their villages since they were five or six, or by men who'd left for Paris at that same age and never gone back. Petit-Gervais carried the name of his village in his mind like a talisman, but it wasn't much more than a name. If he concentrated, he could recall his mother's face; he'd lost her voice long ago.

At last, Jean-la-Liberté broke the silence. "If I wasn't a shepherd, I'd go to Paris." From his tone, Petit-Gervais wasn't the only one whose thoughts had turned maudlin.

"What does being a shepherd have to do with it?" Petit-Gervais asked. "Surely there are others who could take your sheep."

"I have no other trade," Jean-la-Liberté said. "I can't very well herd a flock down the boulevards."

"There's plenty who'd pay to see that," Petit-Gervais said, grinning as he pictured it. Jean-la-Liberté didn't smile, and Petit-Gervais sobered. "You could learn a trade. You're too old for the chimneys, but you could apprentice to someone." He nodded at the piece of wood in Jean-la-Liberté's hands. "Carpenters take on boys your age."

Jean-la-Liberté snorted. "This? It's taken a year just to get this far. My teacher tried, but I have no talent for artisanry."

"Then what can you do?"

"I can mind sheep. I can read and write French. I can make cheese." He sounded disgusted with what, to Petit-Gervais, sounded like a perfectly reasonable skillset. Jean-la-Liberté grimaced when he said as much. "No one needs extra shepherds," he said. "Why would they take a foreigner when they have plenty of their own to mind their flocks?"

"Why leave here if you don't have to? You have a home, a livelihood, I'm sure you'll be able to find a wife without too much trouble when you want one. Are you restless?"

Jean-la-Liberté snorted. "I couldn't find a wife here," he said.

"Are all the girls around here really that ugly?"

"It's not that." Jean-la-Liberté sighed. "I suppose you might as well know. My teacher was a member of the Convention."

He spoke the word as though it ought to be self-explanatory, but Petit-Gervais only frowned. "Of... shepherds?"

Jean-la-Liberté stared at him. "This isn't a joking matter," he said, tone somewhere between severe and hurt.

"I'm not, but I also don't know what you're talking about. What Convention?"

"The Revolution? The Assembly of Citizens?"

Petit-Gervais shook his head.

Jean-la-Liberté seemed stunned. "But... you were in Paris!" he said.

"I told you, politics don't make any difference to me," Petit-Gervais said. He was beginning to regret pursuing this line of conversation.

"In 1789, as reckoned by the old calendar, the people rose up against tyranny," Jean-la-Liberté said. He sounded as though he were reciting a lesson learned by heart.

"I know that," Petit-Gervais said, although he wouldn't have been able to name the year, in any calendar. Jean-la-Liberté ignored him.

"Having freed themselves, the people formed their own government, headed by a Convention of elected citizens, who..."

"They killed the King!" Petit-Gervais interrupted, having finally figured out where this was going. "Your teacher was a King killer!"

"He wasn't!" Jean-la-Liberté snapped, his voice slipping back into its normal cadence. "Anyway, the King was plotting to overthrow the Republic!" He scowled. "I shouldn't have told you. You're no better than anyone else."

"Why did you tell me then?" Petit-Gervais demanded. His headache had intensified throughout the day rather than fading, and he had no patience to spare for Jean-la-Liberté's defensive streak. "How did you think I was going to react? And what does this have to do with not getting married?"

"Because everyone here also knows," Jean-la-Liberté said. "And they don't want anything to do with me."

This brought Petit-Gervais up short. "Oh."

"You understand now?" Jean-la-Liberté asked. He reminded Petit-Gervais of a threatened street cat, fur all puffed up to disguise how skinny it really was.

"I understand," he said. "But why do you expect anywhere else to be different? Will you change your name? It does give you away, you know."

"Of course I won't! But I thought maybe Paris remembered better. The peasants here don't know anything. Even the Bishop, the one everyone loves, he never came here until my teacher was dying, and all he did was insult us."

This, to Petit-Gervais, seemed about right for a Bishop, but that didn't feel like the right thing to say. He stayed silent.

"I thought Paris would be different. But you've just come from there, and you're just like the peasants."

"I am a peasant," Petit-Gervais said, mildly affronted. Then, because he was starting to like Jean-la-Liberté despite his prickliness -- and because Jean-la-Liberté was letting him stay in his home -- he added, "Although I'm not upset that he was a King killer. I was just surprised."

Jean-la-Liberté laughed a little. "He voted no," he said. "But thank you." They lapsed back into silence. When conversation started up again, it was about the weather.