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kalims · 7 months ago

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⭒ㅤwith a disney princess

premise. surely there's been a mistake, cause there's no way someone out of place like you ended up at nrc, right? (spoiler alert: months later and they will fight whoever might drag you to rsa)

featuring. dorm leaders (from diasomnia to heartslabyul)

content. at best this might imply a female reader, given they're based of a 'princess' but I tried to take the gender vague and focused mainly on the qualities of them! mc has hair in the rapunzel part lol

note. no beta we die lol. I worked on this by group so i honestly don't remember if I accidentally gendered mc. I absolutely love idias part lmaoooo

malleus (aurora)

ooh intimidating x soft couple.

you look way out of place in somewhere like nrc of all places, given your mother is the infamous sleeping beauty (infamous, in the college’s standards that is.) your kindness is easily taken advantage of, even if you do realize it there is always forgiveness spared for the undeserving.

said kindness was extended to the quiet malleus.

surprise no surprise. he’s impeccably drawn to the sparkling aura you seem to exclude. malleus feels as though there are traces of familiar magic always hovering around you, like its embowed into your very being. a blessing would be a better word for it.

well, he’s just curious but if he were to ever ask he’d be met with the confirmation that you were, indeed blessed by the same three fairies your mother was blessed by (minus the curse… ironically he’s quite similar to the same lady that your mother loved and looked up to.)

he’s just fascinated. something as glittery as you, shiny like gold would’ve been whisked away to his nice tower, homey. he’d tell you. almost as if making its image seem heavenly. (lowkey highkey getting your consent for kidnapping)

animals always seem to flock around you everywhere you go, they sneak around to reach you. in your dorm, during lunch, even in class. there’s either a bird on your shoulder or a squirrel making itself comfortable atop your head. its a curious sight, critters don’t really like him much.

in short they run away, humans or animals alike are both afraid of his presence it seems.

so he’s incredibly still when you nudge an adorably round bird in his palm, peering at it with cautious eyes. tense as a statue lest it flies away.

cue staring contest.

he felt incredibly accomplished that day, and immersed him in the role of making this creature like him. leaving seeds, offering it the most sought off food from the valley, literally conjuring a small home for it. everything.

HE’S SO HAPPY.

malleus often asks of you to sing, perhaps its the blessing talking but its the most unique form of sound he’d ever heard in his life, the more he sings the more he wants to imbue his very being with the loveliness of your song.

always following you around like a lost puppy (lizard?) any evil that actually wants to take advantage of your unfortunate naive desire for peace and kindness is scared away. although malleus would never want your interactions to be reduced entirely because of him, he only starts looking like a demon one he figures out their motive is less than fitting for you.

“yeah, the ingredients were to complicated for me to remember—”

“oh! perhaps i can help you?”

spots the demon behind you (just your lovely giant staring them to their grave.)

“you know what i actually got it— sorry for wasting your time.” you watch them, confused as they dip.

you look to him, as though to ask what just happened but he merely casts you an oblivious glance and shrugs.

favorite past time → coddling you in his dragon form.

he was doubtful whether he should pull through in actually showing it to you, since you were already such an angel towards him. would it be a stretch if he let a selfish desire get in the way? perhaps you’d get scared if you see how large he is there—or if he’s—

idia (rapunzel)

okay that amazed smile on you was totally worth it.

wow your hair is fire.

he should have never made a comment about it in the first place because now you’re completely confused about his reference, were you living in like… in isolation? a cave? you’re a little less worse than the scarabia’s dorm leader when it comes to being oblivious.

just two idiots miscommunicating, he atleast is trying to make an effort to explain that he doesn’t mean it literally but his wording is so bad that you get absolutely nothing from what he is trying to infer.

okay your hair though.

“why is that person stuck in that square!?”

good thing ortho was near cause you almost charged towards a television and judging by the, pan!? in your grip you definitely would have smashed the screen trying to be righteous and rescue the character.

okay then. 1. don’t let you near electronics, specifically when its playing something.

you are a literal danger to his society. shivers

you’re always asking something like “what are those glowing balls on the ceiling?” those are lights… “why is that thing speaking?!” that’s a speaker… “why is it on fire?” oh that’s his hair, he doesn’t really know either it was just like that.

it does feel a little nice to get asked like that and he’d know the answer (its literally the most common knowledge ever but whtv)

EPIC! idia is now trying to figure out how resistant your hair is. its literally like, the most OP shield there is!

at first he had some reservations. like, used a knife once and was flabbergasted when it came back in half. your hair didn’t even move an inch. then he got motivated and tried a sharper sword, longer, and larger of course. he let ortho handle it cause he probably would have stabbed himself.

“wtf.”

flinches cause the half of the sharp end came completely off and stabbed right beside his head onto the wall.

what are the limits of it?! had some doubts before using one of the tech he came up with, it could literally cut through a diamond and he isn’t sure if its entirely safe but you’re all for it cause you were always curious whether your hair could even get cut in the first place.

anyway you’re way too happy to be near a lazer that could obliterate you and its kinda infecting him. yikes.

less than happy cause the lazer literally got reflected by your hair and hit itself so it’s just gone.

on the bright side he can use you as a scapegoat (in a good way)

alright. 2. don’t enrage you unless he wants to experience getting hit by a pan really hard.

wow. he felt that for days.

maybe its the hit or he’s just feeling a little woozy whenever you’re around.

definitely the pan.

vil (mulan)

bold x shy couple

pretty x pretty defender

he’s used to people heeding his suggestions but damn, are you a stubborn one.

not only have you not listened to his propositions for becoming a more refined person (cause the way you held yourself was too.. much for him to ignore, and it bothered him for a long time until he decided to help you.) but he can respect you, he supposes. not a lot of people can stay true to themselves.

it seems like epel, the boy himself has taking a liking to you. no wonder he’s been becoming more rebellious lately.

vil would never stoop so low to purposely direct someone advice that would change their entire self, decimate their unique traits. but all he told you was out of the goodness of his heart, if you’d be less clumsy of your ways your reputation would be better for the long run.

not being respected amongst nrc is never a good thing.

still, you’re still headstrong. never too overconfident, nor cocky. just a humble soul, that’s rare so he tends to stick by you if he ever wanted an honest opinion cause people just tell him what he wants to nowadays. vil never enjoyed the biased remarks.

more often than not he enjoys making your already pretty face, prettier than it is.

finds out you’re no bark and all bite, he never even knew you could take down someone who has an advantage over you in physical terms. come on, its savanaclaw. apparently the guy had spared him an unsavory comment and (apparently, in your defense. only told him a few words, got attacked so it was self defense.)

it came a surprise to him. seeing as you’re generally relaxed in nature, your military prowess a mystery to most since you seemed content with resorting matters with peace. though you seem to lack more restraint when it comes to your close relationships.

vil scolding you in the infirmary (you don’t have a scratch, and the guy whose pride you handed back to is in some corner lamenting cause he can hear you guys.) and you just taking it.

contrary to how you first treated to each other. you seem to be more prone to his opinions, or suggestions the more you progress with each other. he admits maybe he was too outright in his manner of speaking the first time, but it only highlights the change you’d gone through with each other.

you’re the perfect doll, in a way. not in a demeaning way or anything but its so satisfying to him to use products on your face just for the sole reason that you sit so still. his absolute favorite past time is skin care together even if you mostly just follow his lead.

you and epel must be kindred spirits, once he was on his way to retire to the indoors of pomefiore. seeing as it started raining, heavy so it meant it would stay for a while. and then paused when he spotted you both sharing words.

and planting apple seeds in the rain? both of you are stained with the rain, some dirt and mud alike. and vil had never looked so mortified. so just cause you don’t protest when he cares for you doesn’t mean you’re bothered by getting dirty he guesses.

“you both… clean yourselves up, i’ll brew medicine lest you fall under the weather.” ← disappointed sigh.

kalim (jasmine)

ended up waiting for you both to finish under the covers and ushered you both to baths.

you have a tiger!

just living char x their absolute biggest stan

wow you have a tiger.

did he mention you have a tiger?

majority of nrc knows not to mess with you haha, if it’s not obvious already with the seemingly lax tiger that behaves like some sort of overgrown cat following you around and growls at someone when you aren’t looking.

then you always raise a brow at the people who tell you otherwise. “bab doesn’t bite.”

kalim is lowkey highkey their biggest fan, i mean. jamil is having the worst year of his life dragging kalim away wherever you seem to be because the first apparent instinct of the boy is to try to pet the tiger cause it’s ‘cute’.

at some point jamil had to investigate your routine throughout the day, what you do, where you go at specific times like after classes conclude to make sure kalim doesn’t cross path with you.

well, not necessarily you but rather your… tiger. which is hard, honestly. you seem to visit scarabia a lot for a reason unknown. jamil would be suspicious you’d be planning something but all you really do is stay out on the balcony with your companion.

but alas, fate would have it otherwise.

“hi,” kalim blurts before he could remember his friend’s warning. you turn, along with your… also friend who watches him closely. you blurt out a greeting back, seeing as it’s courtesy, you seem to be amused at his fascinated eyes staring at your tiger.

“want a pet?” you offer, bab making sounds of protest.

jamil almost had a heart attack seeing the two of you attached by the hip, only calming down a few weeks later. seeing as your companion wouldn’t pose as much danger as he assumed, seeing as the tiger’s protectiveness started extending to the ray of sunshine.

rich couple ig. everyone overhears your conversations and doubles over. “i had a small statue of gold made for bab, for you.” and then a; “oh, thanks. but we already have a lot at home. hmm…”

actually it’s not really the manner of being attached, more like two following you. kalim, and then your cutie pie tiger.

your reserved nature in particular greatly contrasts kalim, yapper x listener i guess. although the object of his interest was initially because of bab, he might as well be another overgrown cat of yours cause he seems to love touch.

its concerning cause bab themselves felt challenged for your affection and when they spotted kalim’s head nestled on your lap they ‘accidentally’ kick him off.

in a way you seemed untouchable, pet included. you don’t seem to mind kalim much, people might even go as far as to say you enjoy his company. occasionally the vice of his dorm as well, the three of you have this sort of aura that screams ‘don’t approach’

said aura is in the form of a very big cat.

azul (ariel)

one time you admitted to having not much friends and three heads turned towards you. face twisted incredulously.

he doesn’t know why but you looked like you went through ten stages of grief (3 more cause the 7 definitely wasn’t enough.) when you took a glance at him, during the time you were looking around, you almost went past him, actually. but then doubled back immediately.

that’s concerning.

morally suspicious (devil in disguise) x angel

azul often asks your opinions out of habit, he himself isn’t even sure when it started but he considers you a factor in decisions. though he does prefer to keep you out certain… endeavors of his away entirely, no need to concern your innocence in his doings.

as such he often uses the twins to steer you away from trouble cause you seem to have no sense for it whatsoever, whenever there’s a fight brewing instead of walking off you stride closer. curious to whatever was happening.

and, you believe too easily apparently.

jade had held you by your shoulders and directed you away from the fight before the dispute reached you and inevitably dragged you in. “why are they fighting?”

he replied. “ah, well. they inhaled an unpleasant shroom and got affected.” your mortified face spoke you believed him. human culture! you thought.

your brain should be inspected honestly. floyd told him all about the pile of stuff you had “found” in your dorm, ranging from innocent collectibles to items that brought the question of whether or not they were really yours but you didn’t really claim otherwise, just that you found em’ so no more questioning.

azul doesn’t even wanna know why you started staring at mushrooms like they were a mortal enemy of all living forms. speaking of, the three of them didn’t even consider that you could be from the sea as well. seeing as, well. you have two feet, even if they have the same.

besides the fact you’re too clumsy for your own good you sure had no fear when you leapt overboard during a field trip cause a trinket that caught your eye fell and gave the entirety of the attendants a heart attack. floyd had patted him on the back and wishes him condolences.

also the shock of the century when you emerged, pretty tail and all. holding it the trinket up like you just found it the most fascinating thing on the globe.

since then underwater dates were a thing. which took a lot of prompting honestly, you didn’t know he was a merman either, curiously asking him what kind he was. in nature, you were persistent. like a need to sate your questions so he eventually relented.

even then, it took a while before he let you see the form. ← to his fluster you seemed engrossed in this form of his. swimming around him and asking questions.

now azul also have a small pile of items hidden in a box beneath his bed, all from you. which, upon being opened would be mistaken for unused items since its literally random stuff, and a concerning favor towards forks.

oh yeah. sometimes the tweels crash your date.

you could be in his office, going about your business. chilling on his couch and playing with one of your treasures and be completely unaware of the ominous discussion ongoing within the three about anemones? contracts?

“what are you guys talking about?”

“hairstyles for azul.”

“what—”

“ooh. i can brush his hair so you can style it!” pulls out a fork.

leona (belle)

“oh my sevens, WAIT—”

i was having a crisis trying to think of a dynamic so why not just, beauty x beast.

leona is less than pleased to admit he doesn’t like you much. or atleast, he used to. it was clear his feelings of you was reciprocated, based on the uninterested side glances you cast him. your type, well liked, pristine, proper, and informed reminds him all to well of what mold he was forced into. though it never really fit.

you on the other hand, just dislike him in general. more pointedly as to how he acted, too self righteous in your opinion. he sure spends a lot of time moping about how he could have been king when he’s acting like he’d be a terrible one. you’d say it to his face but even you aren’t too crude.

if you’re both looking at the bright side though, you’d probably prefer each other’s company above others. you’re quiet, perfect for napping around. he’s surprisingly true to himself, his morals aren’t too bad either.

as such, to your disdain he now naps in the library. which you had titled your own space, but he didn’t really just care.

relatively you’re a lot more cool headed than he is, you told him concerns about his laziness which he weaved through. after opening up with each other… well you know how it goes.

okay, fine. you no longer berate leona for napping at the public space, quickly shut up when he threatened you. “i’m gonna tell you the real reason ‘m here nowadays if you don’t calm down. and it ain’t the peace i’m here for.” he eyes you, and you shut up after that.

leona doesn’t know if he should be amused or annoyed at the fact that you stand up to whatever he says. ‘that’s rude,’ this. ‘are you out of your mind?’ that. at some point where he doesn’t wanna admit, leona had disliked seeing you upset (particularly towards him) that he started listening.

at others is a different story though. he will gladly watch you shut down someone else.

sometimes he makes weird remarks, like. “throw an egg at them, who knows might hatch into a chick and give them the company they’ve been lacking.” ← just bullies random people while you defend them. “what? don’t be stupid, eggs that are sold don’t hatch into chicks.”

you often lament in his arms, regretting ever coming near his sleeping frame cause next thing you know you’re subjected to prison, and you had accidentally dropped the book you were reading so even if you try to reach for it he’s pulling you back.

will reach for it if you ask tho lol.

just one look from you has him suddenly behaved tbh.

bothers your productive time by crashing it with his opposite word of productive idk im to lazy to check. more often than not tramples over your things, but always looks dead to life when you end up scolding him heavily.

also kicks out the animals that gravitate towards you for some reason, got jealous of a bird nestled in your hair once cause apparently you paid too much attention to it.

apparently told ruggie to fetch books for you when you’re running out, at that point you might actually milk the nrc library with how fast you burn through them.

“you’re not even from here, what do—”

“actually. originally from times before, they—”

riddle (cinderella)

got lectured about history, eugh.

easy to fluster x enthusiastic and sweet

how are you so nice.

you’ve got most of the population of nrc enamored with your natural charm alone, though some do tend to mock you. unfortunately they aren’t wrong, you really do fit in more at a different school like rsa with your personality.

i mean you fit the bill, kind, pretty, talks to animals.

good for you though. cause riddle would prefer a behaved student than a troublesome one anyway so he would definitely dig you lmao.

speaking of. he definitely goes to you whenever the hedgehogs are lost in the maze, or the flamingos just don't wanna step out the farther spot from the pond, somehow they love you in whatever you do.

as in, you spoke to the hedgehogs with a lower tone. almost like a coo, and he almost tells you to stop because that's the universal worse tone to talk to hedgehogs until... it nuzzles into you?!

flabbergasted, he can only watch.

sevens... you're just so pleasant to be around he could die.

at some point it felt like you were the epitome of being kind. riddle understand that the virtue was just embedded into you, letting others berate you for whatever... he even thought you were too kind for a place like nrc where the complete opposite traits are admired.

you are, but only to those who deserve it. riddle had the pleasure to spot you nitpicking a crude student and they looked like they were gonna burst into tears.

so... you knew what to say almost always. when troubled, he'd learn that it's best to talk to you cause you'd know what to say to ease his worries, when you're treated wrongly? sevens.. you also know what to say.

but, in a putting whoever in their place way?

(idk man I'm just rambling at this point lmao idk how to write a cinderella reader.)

riddle has grown accustomed to random critters breaking in the door. well, he was used to animals in the first place. or atleast thought he was when he opened a door in the dorm and almost yelled at the sight of a group of mice looking like they were having conspiracies.

a few weeks after that he knocked on doors before opening them.

was also very disturbed when you announced they were your friends.

I don't know. I feel like he'd lowkey be the type to write your name in a heart on the back of his notebook and straighten his face like: 'what in the world am I doing' but not erasing it anyways.

over time, your little 'friends' got used to him, and vice versa. at the very least he isn't screaming at their sudden visits, be it flying through the window or just popping out of something they climbed on.

who's screaming though are his dorm members, and he's found humors in the encounters.

"ah, thank you, myrcella." he nods gingerly, toward the very tiny white mice who seems to twirl around, touched by the thanks. the little thing was nice enough to carry the pen he'd been using to scribble down the main definitions he'd been copying from the textbook.

in the middle of reaching for a glass of water the door opens, riddle watches one of his residents striding in rambling. probably about to be exposed to the sight of a group of mice sleeping on top of each other atop a cushion he'd personally placed for them.

and maybe the birds. whom seemed comfortable by his small collection of plants.

"dorm leader, octavinelle stude—GAHHHH—"

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prokopetz · 9 months ago

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On the one hand, it's true that the way Dungeons & Dragons defines terms like "sorcerer" and "warlock" and "wizard" is really only relevant to Dungeons & Dragons and its associated media – indeed, how these terms are used isn't even consistent between editions of D&D! – and trying to apply them in other contexts is rarely productive.

On the other hand, it's not true that these sorts of fine-grained taxonomies of types of magic are strictly a D&D-ism and never occur elsewhere. That folks make this argument is typically a symptom of being unfamiliar with Dungeons & Dragons' source material. D&D's main inspirations are American literary sword and sorcery fantasy spanning roughly the 1930s through the early 1980s, and fine-grained taxonomies of magic users absolutely do appear in these sources; they just aren't anything like as consistent as the folks who try to cram everything into the sorcerer/warlock/wizard model would prefer.

For example, in Lyndon Hardy's "Five Magics" series, the five types of magical practitioners are:

Alchemists: Drawing forth the hidden virtues of common materials to craft magic potions; limited by the fact that the outcomes of their formulas are partially random.

Magicians: Crafting enchanted items through complex manufacturing procedures; limited by the fact that each step in the procedure must be performed perfectly with no margin for error.

Sorcerers: Speaking verbal formulas to basically hack other people's minds, permitting illusion-craft and mind control; limited by the fact that the exercise of their art eventually kills them.

Thaumaturges: Shaping matter by manipulating miniature models; limited by the need to draw on outside sources like fires or flywheels to make up the resulting kinetic energy deficit.

Wizards: Summoning and binding demons from other dimensions; limited by the fact that the binding ritual exposes them to mental domination by the summoned demon if their will is weak.

"Warlock", meanwhile, isn't a type of practitioner, but does appear as pejorative term for a wizard who's lost a contest of wills with one of their own summoned demons.

Conversely, Lawrence Watt-Evans' "Legends of Ethshar" series includes such types of magic-users as:

Sorcerers: Channelling power through metal talismans to produce fixed effects; in the time of the novels, talisman-craft is largely a lost art, and most sorcerers use found or inherited talismans.

Theurges: Summoning gods; the setting's gods have no interest in human worship, but are bound not to interfere in the mortal world unless summoned, and are thus amenable to cutting deals.

Warlocks: Wielding X-Men style psychokinesis by virtue of their attunement to the telepathic whispers emanating from the wreckage of a crashed alien starship. (They're the edgy ones!)

Witches: Producing improvisational effects mostly related to healing, telepathy, precognition, and minor telekinesis by drawing on their own internal energy.

Wizards: Drawing down the infinite power of Chaos and shaping it with complex rituals. Basically D&D wizards, albeit with a much greater propensity for exploding.

You'll note that both taxonomies include something called a "sorcerer", something called a "warlock", and something called a "wizard", but what those terms mean in their respective contexts agrees neither with the Dungeons & Dragons definitions, nor with each other.

(Admittedly, these examples are from the 1980s, and are thus not free of D&D's influence; I picked them because they both happened to use all three of the terms in question in ways that are at odds with how D&D uses them. You can find similar taxonomies of magic use in earlier works, but I would have had to use many more examples to offer multiple competing definitions of each of "sorcerer", "warlock" and "wizard", and this post is already long enough!)

So basically what I'm saying is giving people a hard time about using these terms "wrong" – particularly if your objection is that they're not using them in a way that's congruent with however D&D's flavour of the week uses them – makes you a dick, but simply having this sort of taxonomy has a rich history within the genre. Wizard phylogeny is a time-honoured tradition!

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #dungeons & dragons #d&d #worldbuilding #taxonomy #phylogeny #media #literature #history #literary history #death mention

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obsessivevoidkitten · 3 months ago

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Your Knight in Shining Armor

Kinktober 2024 Day 1: Whump Yandere Male Royal x Male Reader AND (separately) Yandere Male Dragon Hybrid x Male Reader CW: Painful noncon, blowjobs, minor physical abuse, verbal abuse, homophobia, internalized homophobia, bullying, kidnapping, minor character death, implied minor character murder, non-human genitalia, emotional trauma, angst, hurt with little comfort, humiliation, degradation, shame, a lot of crying, general yandere behavior, possessive yandere, whump, Dead Dove: DO NOT EAT Word Count: 3.5k (I decided to make my own list of kinks/scenarios for kinktober. I am only posting every other day and not everything is a full fic, though there are several full fics in the mix. This has been a labor of love for you my beautiful readers, please enjoy!)

The Prince of Thornhollow, Percival, was pampered and spoiled by his royal upbringing. He seemed to have been almost blessed. Not just by birth but also in ability. In contests with his knights, he was always the victor, and in his hunts, he had always been successful. The skill he possessed only served to grow his sense of superiority.

He also delighted in cruelty. All of this was unleashed upon castle servants. Since you were his personal servant, you suffered the most abuse by far. The prince tripped you, made fun of you, ridiculed you for the smallest things, and smacked you around whenever he was upset.

A few times he forced you to jerk him off and look at him while you licked the cum from his cock. He loved the humiliation in your eyes.

"You should be thanking me for letting you taste the royal seed with your peasant mouth."

It wasn't a suggestion. You had to thank him. He berated you afterward for being a girl and liking dick. It was an open secret that you fancied other men, and it was a favorite subject for Percival to pick at.

Sadly his sexual abuse didn’t end there. One time, when he was drunk on wine and you had been cleaning his chambers, he suddenly pinned you against the wall and kissed you roughly on the mouth. Sloppy and uncoordinated, you could taste the wine.

You flinched from his touch, sure that it was a cruel joke. And even if it wasn't your first kiss, you should have been from someone you loved, not someone you feared.

Percival grabbed your wrists to stop your squirming.

"Stop fighting, slut."

His words were harsh but his voice had a certain softness that you were not accustomed to from him. It was obviously the alcohol.

"You're gay, I'm an attractive man, I know you want this."

You yelped as he spun you around and grinded against your ass. You had no choice but to comply with his every whim... he was royalty. He nuzzled your neck and cooed into your ear.

"You're shaking so much, I bet your trembles will feel so good from inside you."

Percival pulled your pants down, followed by his. He took a gob of precum from his cock and massaged it into your hole.

"I bet you can't believe your luck, having the prince do this to you."

He slid a finger into you, followed by another. You wept silently as he squirmed inside your ass to stretch you out.

"I'm not a gay freak like you, this is just your reward for being such a good servant all these years. You deserve it."

The prince sucked and kissed your neck as he slowly pierced you with his cock.

You gasped for breath as the pain made you speechless. You would have fallen to the ground had Percival not been propping you up with his strong hands. There was a resounding smack as his nuts hit your ass with every thrust. You tried to squirm free, instinct overriding the attempt to obey a superior, but Percival wrapped his arms around you tightly.

"Just try to relax. You'll love it. I know you'll love my cock."

He nibbled on your ear and trailed kisses down your neck.

"Stop crying, you're being really ungrateful... it's starting to annoy me..."

He began going at a crueler pace in his frustration. He felt between your legs and you were barely even hard. He thought you'd love this, there were prevalent rumors that several knights had used you as a convenient cumdump and he was obviously better than they were. Of course, you were a virgin, and the prince was robbing you of your first time in the most brutal fashion.

After filling you with his cum he let you slump to the floor as he sneered.

He was still drunk, but his orgasm brought a bit of clarity, letting his elitism and internalized homophobia bubble back to the surface where it mingled with his disappointment and insecurity at the fact that sex with him wasn't enjoyable for you.

He was too ignorant to know that much better lube and stretching needed to be used while you were more relaxed. Percival wiped himself off with a rag and then threw it at you with a look of disgust.

"Clean yourself up, then get the hell out and don't let anyone know, or I'll cut out your tongue."

You wiped the cum and blood from you quickly and staggered to your feet before hobbling away while sniffling. He didn't do anything like that again, not even force you to suck him, but he did treat you worse for weeks.

His disposition finally went back to his normal level of disdain when he finally got his new set of enchanted armor. It was white and black, with silver and gold filigree. It became your most important set of tasks, fetching, polishing, and putting away his armor as well as helping him into it. Though even when it was perfectly polished, it was not unheard of for you to get a minor thrashing at the hands of the prince.

The life you had was pretty miserable. Even though the prince acted as a tyrant to his personal servant, you, he protected his and the crown’s image. It helped that the royal family's policies and skills at governing resulted in a fairly content lower class. Percival, especially, was beloved by many. The handsome prince with his blood red hair and muscular physique. He was quite charming and had drawn the affection of many noble ladies. This meant you couldn't find an escape or even speak badly about the prince because you would surely be ratted out.

So you went about tending to the prince as best you could and just hoping that he wasn't in a foul mood at any given time. But the prince wasn't the only thing you had to worry about.

There was a dragon-man hybrid, Rinvir, that had been attracted by a certain shiny gleam. He found that it was the valuable armor of the prince.

Of course, it may be good to have someone tend to the armor sometimes. Maybe they could polish other treasures for him. When he watched you shine the armor, he couldn't help but think how nice it would be to have your delicate human hands tend to his "sword" too. And maybe how good it would feel "sheathed" inside of you.

Rinvir wouldn't just mate with a human for such a flimsy reason, so he stalked you and the prince. Whenever he was hunting with you as his assistant, whenever you were in the training fields helping him put on his armor, whenever you were alone and tending to your outdoor duties.

He hated the prince but fell deeply in love with you. You were so kind and soft-spoken, so diligent with your work no matter what the task.

Rinvir wanted you even more than the immensely valuable armor. He still wanted the armor in his hoard, though, too. It would spite the prince nicely.

The dragon-man waited until a lovely clear day when you were just about to help Percival into his armor. He was screaming at you to hurry up as you were struggling with its immense weight. Rinvir swooped down and snatched you right up, armor and all. A flash of shiny blue scales was all the prince saw before you were gone. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment before collecting himself.

"But... that one was... mine..."

He had to have yo-, no, his... armor back. It was so valuable and had been forged partly by magical means. Luckily, his father, the king, agreed. It was an insult to their rule to let such a slight go unpunished.

Dragon-men were strong, but the prince had a good number under his command, his own talents, and the magic of the court wizard backing him up. He'd have his precious peasant back by any means! And this time, he'd not let silly shit like fear of rumors and homophobia stop him from holding you close in bed while rearranging your guts.

Oh, uh... and he'd have his fancy enchanted armor back... that was what he was really worried about... the armor... yeah...

Meanwhile, at the formerly abandoned lakeside temple that Rinvir called home, you were crying. A giant man with shaggy unkempt hair, huge blue wings, horns, and scales up and down his arms and legs had just made off with you. Surely he would eat you or kill you for sport.

"Shhh, calm down, delicate thing."

He took you to his underground treasure room and put the armor on a stand then gave his undivided attention to you.

"You're my new favorite treasure!"

He nuzzled into your neck and licked your cheek, causing you to shudder.

"I-I'm not a treasure... j-just take me back home!"

He laughed. That wasn't happening.

"And go back to that abusive royal? Not a chance. You're gonna be my mate."

At first, you were borderline hostile. Then you were extremely reluctant. But as the days and weeks turned into months, you became more and more amicable to your self-appointed boyfriend. Rinvir did so much for you. He set up a little garden so you could enjoy outside time because you always looked at peace during your brief moments in the palace gardens.

He caught food for you. Though you did have to prepare it, he was no chef. But you had to prepare fresh meat on the prince's hunts all the time. But now you got to cook it how you preferred and Rinvir left you the best bits.

When you were sore, he gave the best massages.

When you slept, he held you tight to provide warmth.

When it came to sex Rinvir was a patient and gentle lover. So far, you had only pleased him with your mouth and hands, and he had returned the favor. His cock was thick and slimy but you actually enjoyed how it felt in your hands and the taste wasn’t bad either. He never pressured you into anything and was content with letting you explore what you liked at your own pace.

He really was your savior. Your dragon in shining scales.

It had been three months. Three agonizing months without his manservant. His beloved. His father had ordered him to give up the search because at this point, it was getting costly, and the prince had matters of state that needed attending. They could always make new armor and still investigate in smaller numbers if there were solid leads about the dragon.

That wasn't acceptable to Percival. His servant was probably dead or, at the very least, being tortured by a beast. It had been so long, and there were no guarantees that you were still alive. Percival had to have closure and revenge. Even if you were alive, he'd need revenge for having to endure without you, and you had surely missed him. If you were still hanging on you probably felt abandoned.

His father wouldn't budge. And when, in desperation, Percival had told him he valued and needed your friendship, his father had laughed him out of the throne room.

Unfortunately for you, his father came down with a sudden case of "died in the middle of the night." It was assumed he had succumbed to his advanced age, though that wasn’t the case.

King Percival redoubled the efforts into finding that thief of a dragon. It took an extra month after his ascension to the throne, but he had discovered rumors of a shimmering blue dragon-man. Percival spared no expense. Took no chances. He surrounded the entire area with well over 100 troops and had hired an additional two mercenary mages to work alongside the court wizard. They had used great magic to keep the approach silent.

It was the middle of the night when they made their move. Rinvir heard them approach and woke you up quickly.

"I think the prince found us! There's a lot of them. I can't believe they got so close without me noticing!"

He held you in his arms and planned to fly off with you through the temple's tower window.

You were too frightened to speak, but you had confidence in Rinvir's ability to get you to safety.

Rinvir spread his wings and leapt from the window. But a beam of light made by the combined magic of the King's sorcerers pulled the two of you to the ground.

Percival's heart leapt at the sight of you. He could scarcely believe you were still alive. This was amazing. He'd take you back, marry you at once, keep you safe, and heal you from whatever trauma this brute subjected you to.

"SLOWLY!!! He has my betrothed!!"

Yes, he was quickly paralyzed with powerful magic, and you were pried from his grasp.

Your knightly king would have you soon. Percival would make up for every bad word he ever uttered to you, for every humiliation, for hurting you the first time the two of you had made love because he had assumed you were more experienced.

He felt silly for having brought a small army when all he had needed were a few powerful magic users. They brought you to him, and he hoisted you into one of the wagons that had been brought to take back the dragon's treasures.

Percival removed his replacement armor and pulled you right into his lap. You had been shocked into silence with everything having moved so fast. One moment, you were snuggled up with Rinvir, your love, and suddenly, you found yourself in the lap of the man who made you hate life. Who's touch made you want to vomit.

You tried to shake him off and escape his hold.

"M-my Rinvir... I got to see Rinvir..."

"Who? That glorified lizard? Has he brainwashed you!? They say the best way to break such magic is with the touch of a loved one."

His hands were all over you as he peppered you with small kisses.

"Forget that monster, you're safe now, I promise."

"Y-you don't understand! I love him! Please let us go!"

He held you tightly with one arm as he began stripping you down with the other.

"I know just the thing to break this bewitchment."

Percival figured even if you weren't under the power of a spell that giving you his cock and making you feel good would still help you get over your overgrown lizard. The king kept you on his lap but turned you to face him. He swallowed up all of your protests with a deep hungry kiss, his tongue rolling around your mouth as it invaded you.

You started thrashing more as his finger grazed your hole. He held you tight as he leaned over and grabbed a vial from a box underneath his seat. He had this wagon prepared for your rescue if it was successful.

“Please don't. J-just let me go back...”

He put the contents on his fingers and massaged them diligently into your hole, slowly adding more digits until you could handle four of them with ease. Then he slicked up his large cock.

"Don't worry. This will be so much better than last time. I'll be the only man you ever think of after this."

His mouth attended to your neck as he slid into you slowly, going at a slow pace and making sure he hit a spot in you with each thrust that made you shudder and keen.

Percival had to admit that it was his fault your first time was awful. But he had consulted books since then. If he had been this attentive the first time, he could have been bedding you for a long time. You wept silently as your body betrayed you entirely, Percival assumed that the pleasure was just too much for you. You came intensely, spurting cum all over his hard abs and chest.

He went faster, still careful to go at a pace that wouldn't hurt you, as he chased his own climax. Being inside you finally and seeing your face as it was so ruined by pleasure sent him over the edge, and he filled your bowels with his semen.

"See!? Isn't that so much better? We can do it all the time now! I forgot to tell you! I'm the king!!!"

He held you close, burying your face in his pecs as he rubbed your back.

"If anyone gives us shit for being gay I'll cut their tongue out."

Percival was worried because you kept shaking and sobbing, but when you cried about wanting to go back to Rinvir, his attitude went icy. He peeled you off of his dick and cleaned you up roughly but then sat you across from him.

He had to remind himself that you had suffered great trauma, and it would likely take time to heal since it clearly wasn't a mere spell that had been laid upon you. He had to remain kind to you because it wasn't your fault, and a king shouldn't treat his betrothed too harshly.

Besides, he still had to make up for all the torture he put you through.

But he was not known for his patience. As the weeks passed, he grew increasingly irritable and could no longer handle your ceaseless whingeing about Rinvir.

Percival arranged for you to meet the piece of trash.

He took you down to the dungeon where you saw Rinvir. He was encased in a solid block of some type of enchanted glass or maybe even magical ice, completely unable to move. You fell to your knees and pressed your hands to the surface of the material as you cried his name. You hadn't seen him since you were ripped from his arms, you hadn't even known whether or not he survived!

"He's still alive, you know?"

Percival leaned down and spoke softly into your ear.

"I was going to have him displayed in the throne room, but that would have been too cruel to you, and I do love you so."

The depraved king applied a special lube to his fingers. One that was guaranteed to make you cum hard.

"He can see and hear everything. Since you cry for him so much in my presence, it is only fair that he hears how I make you moan and cry in pleasure."

You were crying so desperately that Percival's words hardly registered at all. Only when he pulled down your leggings did you realize his intent. You squirmed and writhed as he put the lube in you, feeling a strange heat inside you as he rubbed it in.

He gripped your hips and lined up with your hole, your crying face looking down shamefully to avoid seeing Rinvir as Percival took you.

His cock kissed that spot inside you and instantly you started moaning. It was like he was pumping a surge of ecstasy into you with every thrust. Though tears fell to the cold dungeon floor as he fucked into you, you couldn't help arching your back and moving against every thrust in an effort to feel it more deeply.

It was something you had never done before while Percival "made love" to you.

Percival greatly increased the pace. He wanted Rinvir to hear the smack every single time he drove into you, wanted you to hear the squelch from the precum and lube as he pressed into you, and most of all wanted him to hear all the pretty little gasps and moans HIS fiancé was making that HE had caused.

Percival's throbbing cock spilled rope after rope of semen into you, causing you to practically collapse to the floor in a riot of bliss as you came. You buried your head in your arms in humiliation and guilt. Your loving king angled your head up and forced you to look at Rinvir.

"It probably hurts him a great deal to see you like this, don't you think? From now on, anytime you mention his name, I am going to bring you down here and breed you right in front of him."

Percival sneered evilly at Rinvir. He knew from your defeated expression that he had won. The king kissed and comforted you as he picked you up to take you to bed. You had a long day, and tomorrow there was a wedding to start planning... now that you were over your ex...

He left the mess that had pooled out of you right where it had fallen. Rinvir could look at all the cum he had put into you for a while as a reminder of what Percival did to those who would dare take what was his.

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solxamber · 3 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: Love Triangles and Royal Rumbles - Leona Kingscholar x Reader

When you get isekai'd as the male lead in the novel where your favorite character, Leona Kingscholar is the second male lead, all that's left to do is rewrite the romance!

Series Masterlist

You're just an average person, doing normal human things like eating, sleeping, and, of course, staring at your poster of Leona Kingscholar for three hours straight. Totally healthy behavior. People have hobbies, right? Some knit, some jog, and you…? You defend your fictional lion husband from slander on the internet. You’re practically a digital knight in shining armor.

The story that has consumed your very soul? Oh, just your typical Cliché Villainess Academy Novel: Revenge Edition™. The plot is so by-the-book, it’s basically a war crime against creativity. Female lead? She’s been in love with the male lead since he gave some boring welcome speech that apparently hit her so hard, her brain rewired itself into a romantic mess.

The villainess? Obviously in love with the male lead too, but her one and only goal in life is making the heroine’s existence a never-ending trainwreck of public embarrassment. And the male lead? Sweet summer child. He just wants to get his degree and avoid eye contact with all of these lunatics.

Enter: Leona Kingscholar, the second male lead. The man, the myth, the walking sarcasm machine. He’s there purely to fuel jealousy in everyone else’s love story, but for you? He’s everything. The brooding, lazy, hot second male lead who rolls his eyes at every plot point like he’s just as done with this novel as you are. He has better things to do, like nap, but here he is, dragged into this mess by proximity.

If it were up to you, he and the male lead would run off together, leave the heroine and villainess to start their own hobby club about emotional devastation, and the two guys would live happily ever after in matching beach chairs somewhere.

But no. Instead, you’re stuck reading about her fawning over him while Leona is just… there. Existing. The only thing keeping your interest alive.

And now? Now, your loyalty to Leona Kingscholar is about to pay off. The fan event of the century is just days away. It’s going to be glorious. A whole day dedicated to Leona—merch, fan contests, life-sized cardboard cutouts (which, let’s be honest, you’re ready to risk it all for). You've cleared your schedule, mentally prepared yourself for the inevitable squealing, and created a battle plan for acquiring the best merch before everyone else.

But fate? Fate’s cruel.

You’re casually defending Leona’s honor online as usual, battling some no-name troll who dares to claim that the male lead is "better written." (HA! You laugh in their wrong face.) But then—what’s this? A an likes your tweet about Leona! And not just any author. THE ONE YOU LOVE. The serotonin shoots through you like an adrenaline shot straight to the brain.

Your heart’s racing. You’re vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear. You leap out of your chair like some majestic gazelle—or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you promptly trip over the plushie army that guards your floor.

Before you know it, you’re tumbling, body flailing like a noodle, bouncing down the stairs in what feels like slow motion. The world spins. Your merch shelves mock you from the distance. You land at the bottom in a heap, your soul floating just above your body.

"Is this… how it ends?" you wheeze, gasping for breath, more in shock than pain. As your vision starts to fade, all you can think is: I never made it to the Leona event….

And with that, you die. Crushed under the weight of fandom.

You wake up, and your first thought isn’t the usual, “Oh, I’ve been isekai’d into a new world, how fascinating, I’ll have time to adjust in a moment of peace and reflection.” No. You wake up and it hits you like a brick: Oh no. Female lead.

But then, a beam of hope breaks through the clouds of despair and shines down on you like a heavenly spotlight: Wait. Leona Kingscholar is here.

Before you can even revel in the thought of being in the same universe as your broody lion crush, reality smacks you upside the head. Loud voices are pulling you back to the scene unfolding right in front of your very eyes.

You blink. Hold on. This is not a bedroom, and this is definitely not a private moment to gather your thoughts like in every other isekai novel. Oh no, you’ve been thrown directly into the group project scene.

You know, the one where the villainess is sharpening her claws on the heroine while Leona watches from the sidelines like he’s two seconds away from a permanent nap? Yeah, you’re smack in the middle of it.

The villainess, looking as pissed off as usual, is glaring daggers at the trembling heroine, who is staring at you with those wide, teary eyes like you’re supposed to swoop in and save her from this verbal smackdown.

And that’s when it hits you: you’re the male lead. The original goody-two-shoes, justice-loving male lead who always stepped in to defend the heroine. The one who got suckered into every cliché moment, complete with sparkles and heroic speeches about morality and blah blah blah.

Not you, though.

You take one look at the heroine. She’s giving you this look like you’re her knight in shining armor, expecting you to throw yourself in front of her and deliver some dramatic monologue about kindness and decency. And you? You're mentally checking out of this scene faster than the speed of light.

Nah. You’re not about that life.

Your gaze drifts to Leona, sitting on the far side of the room, slouched over like he’s wondering why he’s being subjected to this emotional soap opera when he could be napping. His face screams "done," and honestly? Same. He meets your gaze, eyes half-lidded and bored, probably hoping you’ll do the usual male lead routine and put an end to this nonsense.

But oh no, today’s different.

You casually stroll over to where Leona is sitting, ignoring the drama unfolding behind you. With the swagger of someone who knows exactly what they’re about to do is going to blow some minds, you hold out your hand to him. "So, uh… you want to ditch this disaster and go take a nap? Or maybe raid the kitchens? I’m thinking we play hooky and pretend this never happened."

Leona’s eyes flicker with surprise for half a second. The male lead? The goody-two-shoes-moral-compass of the entire plot? The guy who literally lived to stop drama in its tracks? Is offering to blow off this whole mess? He raises an eyebrow, smirking like the cat who caught the canary.

"Didn’t think you had it in you," Leona drawls, but you can tell he’s already down for this. "Alright. Let’s go. If anyone asks, I’m gonna say you dragged me out."

"Deal," you say, trying not to look too smug. And with that, you turn on your heel, and with Leona at your side, you head for the door, leaving behind a shell-shocked villainess and a teary-eyed heroine who’s probably still processing the fact that her supposed knight in shining armor just dipped.

As you and Leona stroll out, you hear the villainess mutter, “What… just happened?” and you can’t help but grin. You may have just turned the plot upside down, but at least you’re doing it in style.

"Hey, Leona," you say, nudging him, "think we can find some of those fancy desserts in the kitchen? I’m starving."

Leona snorts, shoving his hands into his pockets. "If you’re buying, sure."

And just like that, the male lead and the second male lead walk off into the sunset—or rather, the campus courtyard—hand in hand with a new mission: Avoiding all future plot nonsense at all costs.

You’re not sure how you got here, staring at the over-the-top ball decorations like you’ve stepped into a bargain bin fairytale, but hey, life has taken a weird turn lately. You, of all people, are living out the plot of a novel so cliché it makes your head hurt.

But you guess that’s what happens when you get isekai’d into a second-rate villainess story. The only thing missing is a glass slipper and some woodland creatures to sing with.

And of course, surprise! The ball isn’t just some casual evening of sipping punch and avoiding the villainess’s death stares. No, if you don’t nail the ball, you don’t graduate. Because nothing says "academic achievement" like knowing how to waltz while dressed like a background character from Bridgerton.

So here you are, in ball lessons, where everyone is nervously pairing off while you’re trying not to roll your eyes into another dimension. The heroine, with her usual doe-eyed sparkle, gets paired with you first. And let’s be real: she’s either terrible at dancing, or she’s using this as an excuse to get you to hold her close.

But you? Oh no. You’ve read enough of this garbage to know where that’s going, and you have zero interest in playing out the “close embrace, sparks flying, almost-kiss” trope. Absolutely not.

As soon as the music starts, you decide it’s time to act. You let your feet stumble—deliberately, of course—and flail around like you’ve never seen a ballroom floor in your life. The heroine, bless her clueless heart, giggles like she thinks you’re just being cute, but you’re not about to humor this. When the instructor’s eyes lock onto you, you seize the opportunity.

"Oh no!" you say dramatically, throwing a hand over your forehead like you’re in some kind of soap opera. "I’m so bad at this. Could someone please teach me how to dance?"

You pause, glance around the room, and then lock eyes with Leona Kingscholar.

"Leona!" you shout, loud enough that the whole room freezes. "You’re the second prince! You must’ve had etiquette lessons, right? Teach me how to dance!"

The room collectively loses its mind. The heroine looks like you’ve just slapped her with a glove and challenged her to a duel. The villainess is staring at you like you’ve lost your marbles. And Leona? Leona’s expression is somewhere between utter confusion and why me.

Leona leans back, crossing his arms, visibly annoyed. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, but there’s no denying the faint twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth when he sees the heroine and villainess get shoved into an awkward dancing pair together.

Despite his clear irritation, Leona steps forward, because let’s face it, he’s the kind of guy who’ll humor you if it means avoiding worse drama. You slide into position with him, and honestly? You’re in heaven. You can barely focus on your feet, too busy trying to hide your grin while you imagine all the drama this is causing behind you.

Meanwhile, the heroine and the villainess are floundering around, tripping over each other like they’ve got two left feet each. The villainess is grinding her teeth, and the heroine keeps stepping on her toes. It’s a glorious disaster.

Leona, despite his annoyance, is surprisingly good at this. He’s leading with the kind of effortless grace that makes you wonder how someone so lazy can still be so competent at everything. You’re definitely not staring at his sharp features while he dances, not at all.

"You do realize this is a waste of time, right?" Leona grumbles under his breath, his eyes flicking to the chaos unfolding behind you. "Why me, herbivore? You could’ve asked anyone else."

You just shrug, trying not to sound too smug. "What can I say? I have excellent taste in dance partners."

Leona’s brow twitches like he’s torn between smirking and rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night." But the smirk wins out, especially when the villainess and heroine fumble yet again, nearly toppling over each other.

You glance up at him, beaming. Leona Kingscholar might be annoyed, but he’s not stopping anytime soon. And you? You’re just here for the ride, watching the heroine and villainess self-destruct from the safety of Leona’s arms.

Ball lessons? Piece of cake.

You’ve been doing everything humanly possible to avoid the female lead like she’s a carrier of the medieval plague. You thought you’d be safe here, hiding behind your “I’m too busy and mysterious for romance” persona, but no—somehow—the more you avoid her, the more she’s convinced that you’re the dark, brooding, irresistible male lead she’s always dreamed of.

You know, the type who avoids emotional connections but secretly harbors a heart of gold. But the truth is, you’re just a guy trying to get through the day so you can swoon over Leona Kingscholar in peace.

It’s not like you’ve been subtle about it either. You’ve been dropping hints left and right, hoping the universe would give you a break and let the female lead fall in love with literally anyone else. But no. Somehow, everyone is ignoring your very obvious affection for Leona.

It’s like you’re stuck in a tragic comedy where the female lead falls harder for you the more you try to disappear, and Leona just… well, he’s just living his best life, completely unaware of your internal screaming.

Take the latest tea party, for example. You were just trying to enjoy some pastries, maybe steal a glance at Leona from across the table, when the heroine decides to make her move. She picks up a delicate slice of cake and holds it out to you, eyes sparkling with that innocent-yet-hopeful look that says, “This is our moment.”

You? You’re not having any of that. Nope. No way. You’re not about to be part of this rom-com narrative. So, without missing a beat, you casually take the cake from her and, in one smooth motion, turn and offer it to Leona, who’s lounging lazily next to you, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Leona raises an eyebrow at you, clearly baffled by why you’re holding out cake like he’s some sort of royal who expects to be hand-fed. “What are you doing?” he mutters, looking suspiciously between you and the cake.

“Just thought you’d like some,” you say with a straight face, ignoring the heroine’s stunned expression. She’s sitting there, fork still poised in the air, blinking rapidly like you’ve just committed the greatest betrayal of the century.

Leona huffs, looking mildly irritated but mostly confused. After a pause, he shrugs and leans forward, taking a bite of the cake without even bothering to lift his own hand. “Whatever,” he mutters between chews. “Tastes fine.”

You nod, satisfied. Meanwhile, the heroine looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and the villainess is smirking in the background like she’s about to take out popcorn and enjoy the drama.

Later that day, you find a nice, quiet spot under a tree to relax. You’ve managed to avoid any major incidents so far, and for once, you’re not being dragged into some dramatic showdown. You lie back, close your eyes, and just let yourself chill. But, of course, the universe doesn’t want you to have peace.

Enter Leona.

Without a word, he flops down next to you, takes one look at your position, and decides—out of all the places he could sit—that your lap is the best pillow option available. You feel his head plop down on your lap like this is the most normal thing in the world. You stare down at him, completely dumbfounded, while he just closes his eyes and lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Leona?” you start, voice half bewildered, half amused. “You good?”

“Shut up,” he mutters without opening his eyes. “You’re more comfortable than the grass.”

You blink at him, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Meanwhile, the villainess strolls by, spots the two of you under the tree, and comes to an immediate halt. Her face contorts into a mix of disbelief and confusion, like she’s just witnessed something unholy. You can almost hear her mental scream of, what the hell is going on here?!

She doesn’t say anything, though. Just stands there, hands clenched, before turning on her heel and storming off. You don’t even care. You’re too busy reveling in the fact that Leona chose your lap as his personal resting place. If that isn’t a win, you don’t know what is.

And then, of course, there’s the infamous hallway incident. The heroine—who, by this point, you’re pretty sure has developed some kind of radar for finding you—comes running toward you. She trips over something (the air? her own foot? you don’t know) and launches herself straight into your arms in what is clearly an attempt to trigger some rom-com, slow-motion embrace.

But you? You’re not here for this.

With the reflexes of a seasoned avoider, you sidestep her dramatic fall, and she goes face-first into the floor. There’s a stunned silence as she lies there, unmoving, probably processing how she ended up eating dirt.

You glance over at Leona, who’s watching the whole thing with a lazy smirk, clearly enjoying the trainwreck. You give him a slight nod of approval, and he just rolls his eyes, a small grin still tugging at his lips.

The villainess, standing a few feet away, is laughing her head off. She’s doubled over, clutching her stomach, while the heroine’s dignity is scattered all over the floor. But you? You’re just staring at Leona, completely ignoring the chaos around you.

Somehow, despite all the madness, you can’t help but think: this is fine.

The day of the big spelldrive match arrives, and the heroine has never looked more confident in her life. She’s decked out in her team’s colors, standing tall at the edge of the field, waiting for you to join her in your usual spot. You know, like a loyal dog. A loyal, obedient dog who always does what she expects.

But not today.

Today, you roll up to the game decked out head to toe in full Savanaclaw merch. We're talking a custom jersey with Leona’s name on the back, a headband, face paint, and—just to really emphasize the point—a Savanaclaw banner tied around your neck like you’ve decided to cosplay as Captain Lion Fang.

You take your seat in the Savanaclaw section and immediately start hyping up the crowd like you’re getting paid for it. The heroine spots you from across the field and stares like she’s watching a crime scene unfold in real-time. Meanwhile, Leona’s already spotted you, and the smug smirk on his face tells you he’s LOVING the attention.

The game kicks off, and with each goal Leona scores, you’re going feral.

You’re screaming your lungs out, waving your banner around like you’re auditioning for some weird mascot gig. People are looking at you like you’ve lost your mind, but you don’t care. This is YOUR moment.

Leona, on the field, is living for it. Every time he glances your way, he adds a little extra flair to his plays, just to make you scream louder. He scores, and you’re on your feet, jumping up and down like you’ve won the lottery.

At this point, the heroine is practically catatonic. Her world is crumbling before her eyes. You can practically see her brain struggling to process what she’s witnessing: you, her loyal supporter, decked out in Savanaclaw gear and cheering for her rival.

“I... I don’t understand…” she whispers, her voice trembling like she’s been betrayed by the universe itself. “Why aren’t you cheering for us?”

You turn to her with all the nonchalance of someone who’s just ordered fries at a drive-thru. “Uh… Leona’s hot?”

It’s like you slapped her across the face with a wet fish. She stands there, frozen, her eyes wide, like she’s witnessing the fall of an empire. "B-But... you're supposed to support me!"

Before you can reply with another devastating truth bomb, Leona casually strolls over after winning the game, looking like he just walked out of a perfume ad. His hair’s tousled, a thin sheen of sweat making him look even more annoyingly handsome. He stops in front of you, smirking like he’s been planning this moment his entire life.

"Didn’t know you were my biggest fan," he drawls, voice low and lazy. “Gotta say, I’m impressed with your enthusiasm. Screamin’ my name like that… kinda hard to ignore.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but what comes out is more of a high-pitched squeak, followed by, “Hahaha, Y-Yeah… you’re welcome?”

And then, the words that break you: “How ‘bout we celebrate with a nap?”

Your brain freezes. A nap? You? With Leona? Your heart is doing cartwheels while the rest of your organs are busy melting into a puddle. Your mouth is moving, but all that comes out is an unintelligible “Uhhuhmm.”

Leona chuckles, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. He reaches out, grabbing your wrist, and starts dragging you off with him—right in front of everyone. He doesn’t even care that the entire field is watching. He’s already made up his mind.

The heroine, meanwhile, is standing there in stunned silence, her brain fully blue-screening as she watches you and Leona disappear. She’s still processing the Leona’s comment when the villainess, who has been observing this whole disaster unfold, finally chimes in from the sidelines with a shrug.

“Well, as long as it’s not the heroine,” she says, flicking her hair back with an air of satisfaction. “This is fine.”

And off you go, being dragged to a nap date you’re definitely not mentally prepared for, your face burning hotter than the sun. Leona glances back at you, that smug smirk still plastered on his face. "You’re lookin’ a little red there. You sure you’re up for this?"

You sputter, tripping over your own words. "I-I’m fine! Totally fine! Nap? Cool! Casual napping! No big deal!”

Leona just chuckles again, clearly entertained by how much you're floundering. “If you say so. Just don’t pass out before we get there.”

Yeah. Don’t pass out. Easier said than done when the man of your dreams is casually dragging you off to nap like it's no big deal while your brain screams at you in ten different languages.

This is fine. Totally fine. You’re fine.

Maybe.

You were sitting with Jack and Ruggie at the cafeteria, chatting about nothing in particular—well, Jack was chatting. Ruggie was there purely because you promised to pay for his lunch. Still, you’d like to think that maybe, just maybe, he stuck around because he actually enjoyed your company. Maybe.

“So, any tips on how to deal with midterms?” Jack asked, ears twitching as he looked at you with that wide-eyed eagerness that only first-years ever had. He was honestly like a giant puppy, trying so hard to be good.

You leaned back in your chair, doing your best impression of a wise and worldly senior, which mostly involved pretending you weren’t sweating about your own midterms. “My advice? Caffeine. And if you have the chance to sleep, take it. Oh, and don’t forget to eat. I learned that one the hard way.”

Jack nodded seriously, committing it all to memory like you were passing down sacred knowledge. Meanwhile, Ruggie was on his third helping of food, barely acknowledging the conversation.

"Hey, if you're handing out wisdom, how ‘bout you tell me how to get free food more often?” Ruggie said between bites, shooting you a cheeky grin.

“Isn’t that already your specialty?” you shot back, eyeing the mountain of food in front of him.

He just laughed. “Can’t argue with that, but having backup plans never hurt.”

Before you could respond, you felt a shadow fall over the table. You looked up, half expecting it to be the heroine or some random classmate, but nope. It was Leona. Leona, who you were 99% sure had skipped class because he always skips class. And he looked… annoyed?

Oh no.

He ignored Jack and Ruggie completely, his sharp gaze zeroing in on you like you’d committed some grave crime. “Oi, herbivore,” he drawled, hands in his pockets like this wasn’t weird at all. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” you asked, blinking up at him. Leona never approached people unless he wanted something.

“To the tree,” he said flatly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“The tree?” Jack echoed, ears perking up in confusion.

Ruggie, on the other hand, was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Oho~ Someone’s in demand.”

Leona shot Ruggie a look that could’ve curdled milk. “Shut it, Ruggie.”

Your brain was still trying to process the situation. You were sitting here, minding your own business, giving sage advice about caffeine and survival, and now Leona was dragging you off to his tree like it was completely normal?

He didn’t wait for an answer. He just grabbed your wrist, yanking you up from your seat as if this was some kind of kidnap situation, and started walking toward the courtyard.

“Uh—Leona? What’s going on?” you asked, doing your best to keep up without tripping over your own feet.

Leona didn’t even look back. “You’re talkin’ too much. Need some peace and quiet.”

You blinked, thoroughly confused but not necessarily mad about being dragged off. It’s just… “Why am I involved in your nap plans?”

“’Cause I said so.”

Wow, cryptic. You were about to ask again when you reached the tree. The infamous Leona nap spot. He plopped down against the trunk and, before you could protest, pulled you down next to him. Without another word, he stretched out and—because apparently boundaries didn’t exist—rested his head on your lap.

This was… This was happening.

You glanced around, half expecting to see a camera crew pop out and tell you this was some elaborate prank, but nope. Leona was lounging on you like it was the most natural thing in the world, eyes already closed, arms crossed behind his head.

“Uh, Leona?”

“Shut up. M’ tryin’ to sleep.”

You stared down at him, your brain short-circuiting. This was the third time this week he’d done this. Just… kidnapped you for a nap. What was his deal? Was your lap particularly comfortable? Did you radiate some kind of sleepy aura? What was going on here?

Meanwhile, from the distance, you spotted her. The villainess. Watching. For the third time in as many days. And you could see it. You could see the moment she put the pieces together. Her eyes widened in slow realization, her lips twitching into a smirk. She knew. She finally knew.

When Leona finally woke up—after what felt like hours of you sitting there, too dazed to move—you were free. For now. He stretched lazily and gave you a casual “Thanks,” as if this wasn’t the most bizarre situation you’d ever been in, and you quickly scrambled away, making your way back to the dorms with your head spinning.

And that’s when the villainess cornered you.

Oh no.

There she was, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing look, her sharp gaze trained on you like a predator sizing up its prey. You swallowed nervously. She was about to confront you about the heroine, wasn’t she? This was it. This was the moment. Was she going to declare some rivalry? Challenge you to a duel? Confess to you? Make this whole thing painfully awkward?

She smiled, and it was not the evil grin you were expecting. “I’m on your side.”

You blinked. “…What?”

She pushed off the wall, stepping closer, her eyes gleaming with a new kind of intensity. “Leona. I know you’re after him.”

Your heart stopped. This was it. She was going to call you out and—wait, what did she just say?

“I’ll help you confess to Leona,” she said, matter-of-factly. “On one condition.”

You were staring at her like she’d just sprouted wings and started speaking in tongues. “You… will?”

She nodded. “Yes. If you help me become more influential than that heroine, I’ll help you get Leona to notice you more.”

You blinked again, processing her words. She wanted your help to outshine the heroine, and in exchange, she’d be your wingwoman? Wingwoman?!

You grinned, holding out your hand for a dramatic shake. “Hell yeah.”

She clasped your hand, her smile mirroring yours. "Consider it a deal."

And just like that, you walked away from the most unexpected alliance of your life, fully equipped with a villainess-turned-wingwoman and a new plan to win over Leona.

Honestly? Life was getting weirder by the day.

“Okay, so just to confirm,” Ruggie’s eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “You want us to sit through this poetry reading,” he said, drawing out the word like it was some cursed phrase, “and cheer for the villainess. And in return, I get all the food left over?”

“Yup,” you nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

“And Jack’s here because…?”

“I asked him nicely.”

Jack shrugged, tail flicking behind him. “I’m just here to help.”

Ruggie snorted, glancing at you with a grin. “This better be some damn good poetry then. And the food better be worth it.”

“Oh, trust me,” you said, patting Ruggie on the back. “It will be.”

Little did you know, this was going to be a disaster of epic proportions.

The poetry reading started as expected—with the heroine striding up to the front of the room, practically glowing under the dim spotlight. She cleared her throat, clasped her hands dramatically, and began.

“It was a night… much like tonight…”

Your first instinct was to cringe, but you held it in, glancing sideways at Jack and Ruggie. Jack was doing his best to stay stoic, but you could see his ears twitching in discomfort. Ruggie had his hand over his mouth, clearly biting back laughter.

The poem continued, painfully dragging on about stars and roses and something about “destiny’s kiss.” By the time she reached the end, there was a collective sigh of relief from the audience. You weren’t even sure what you had just listened to, but you knew it wasn’t good.

Jack… Jack was crying. You stared at him, horrified. “Are you okay?”

“It’s… it’s so bad,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes. “I didn’t know poetry could be this bad.”

Ruggie had his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “This is better than I thought,” he wheezed.

You shot him a look, but even you had to admit, this was pure comedy gold. Poor Jack had no idea what hit him.

The villainess, bless her heart, was watching all of this unfold with a look of shock and confusion, but when it was finally her turn to read, she stepped up like a queen. Her voice was smooth, the words flowing like silk, and you couldn’t help but be genuinely impressed. She absolutely killed it.

The plan was working perfectly. You and your crew started clapping, cheering like you were at a rock concert. Jack, who was still recovering from the emotional trauma of the heroine’s poem, clapped too, albeit more quietly.

But just as you were about to get even louder, you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Oi, sit down,” Leona grumbled, pulling you back into your seat.

“What—?”

He didn’t offer any explanation, just kept you firmly seated next to him, his face set in a bored expression. You blinked in confusion but decided not to argue. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy sitting next to Leona… it was just weird.

And by the grin the villainess was sporting, it seems like everything went exactly according to plan. Both for her and you.

After the poetry reading wrapped up, you gathered the leftovers like you promised. Ruggie was already hovering around, practically drooling over the spread.

“Here, take it all,” you said, handing the basket over. “Deal’s a deal.”

Ruggie beamed, clutching the food to his chest like a treasure hoard. “Pleasure doing business with ya!”

Jack was much more polite, bowing his head slightly. “Thanks for the notes. They’ll be a big help.”

“Anytime,” you replied with a smile, watching the two of them head off. Ruggie was already halfway through a sandwich, talking a mile a minute, while Jack followed along, still looking like he might need therapy after the heroine’s performance.

That left you alone… with Leona, who had been standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“What?” you asked, half-expecting him to complain about something. He always had something to complain about.

“You mind explaining what the hell that was?”

“Uh… what do you mean?”

Leona’s tail flicked in irritation, his eyes narrowing. “I’m talking about you, whispering and giggling with that villainess all the time. What, you after her now that you ditched the heroine?”

You blinked at him, utterly baffled. “What? No, of course not. Why would I be after her?”

Leona’s jaw clenched. “You tell me. All I’ve seen is you hangin’ around with her, whispering, plottin’... I’ve seen how you look at her.”

It took a moment for your brain to catch up, but then it hit you like a ton of bricks.

Oh my god. He was jealous.

A slow grin spread across your face as the realization sunk in. Leona, Leona Kingscholar, was jealous. And over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’re jealous~.”

Leona froze, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing dangerously. “What?”

“You’re jealous,” you repeated, giddiness bubbling up inside you. You could barely contain your excitement. “You’re jealous of me hanging out with the villainess!”

Leona’s lips pulled into a thin line. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh no, no, no,” you grinned even wider, poking him in the chest. “You’re totally jealous!”

Leona growled, looking thoroughly annoyed now, but before he could snap back, you quickly explained. “Look, I made a deal with her. I help her become more influential than the heroine, and she helps me… confess to you.”

Leona blinked, taken aback, his tail flicking behind him as if processing the information. Then, in true Leona fashion, his expression shifted from irritation to smugness in record time.

“Oh?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Yeah, so you don’t have to worry about me chasing after anyone else.”

Leona stepped closer, his voice dropping low, that usual lazy drawl making your heart do a little flip. “Good. But just so you know, cheek kisses aren’t real kisses.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Leona leaned in and kissed you—properly kissed you. Your eyes went wide for a second before you melted into it, feeling the heat of his lips against yours. He pulled back after what felt like forever, a smirk on his face as he watched you try to catch your breath.

“There. That’s a real kiss,” he murmured, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

You stared at him, dazed, and then a sudden realization hit you.

You left your entire life behind, all for this moment.

And you were so, so glad that stupid plushie was on the floor, because this? This was totally worth it.

The heroine’s voice was as sweet as it was grating, like sugar poured directly into your ears. She fluttered her eyelashes at you, her smile stretched painfully wide. “So, I was thinking,” she began, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “You would make the perfect knight for my family! Don’t you think so?”

You blinked, trying to figure out a way to escape. “Uh… I’m kind of busy with, you know, my own life?”

“Oh, but imagine!” she gushed, not hearing a word you said. “We’d be so close all the time—like, so close. You could protect me, and maybe… we could have a picnic under the stars? Very romantic, right?”

Your soul was trying to leave your body. You were pretty sure Jack’s ears twitched somewhere nearby, sensing your pain telepathically. And then, like a gift from the heavens, the villainess—your beloved accomplice in all things anti-heroine—made her appearance.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, stepping between you and the heroine with the grace of someone who had seen this movie before and knew exactly how to cut to the good parts. “But I need them for an urgent matter. A very important, not-at-all-romantic-but-very-necessary mission.”

You shot her a look of pure gratitude, but before she could fully rescue you from the heroine’s death trap of unwanted flirting, a shadow loomed over the scene. A very familiar shadow.

Leona.

Without saying a word, he strode up behind you and casually wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest with an ease that had your heart skipping a beat. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his sharp green eyes fixed on the heroine.

“Oh no, carry on,” he said lazily, but his tone was anything but. “I’m just here to see what my mate is up to.”

The heroine blinked in shock, her hands hovering mid-air as if she had no idea what to do with this development. “Y-Your mate?”

“Yeah,” Leona said, tightening his grip around you, his smirk downright feral. “So whatever little fantasy you’re cooking up about romantic picnics or whatever—cut it out. This one’s mine.”

You felt Leona’s lips brush against your temple before he leaned in and, in full view of the now-utterly-horrified heroine, kissed the side of your neck. Slowly. Possessively.

You could almost hear the villainess muffling a laugh behind her hand.

The heroine’s face turned several shades of red as she stammered. “B-But I—”

“You,” Leona said, his tone dripping with amusement, “can fuck right off.”

The heroine gasped, her hand flying to her chest like she’d been physically struck. “You can’t just say that to me!”

Leona raised a brow, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m literally the second prince. I can say whatever the hell I want.”

The heroine opened her mouth to argue, but then realized that, no, actually, she couldn’t argue with the literal second prince staking his claim. She sputtered for a moment before storming off, no doubt to sob dramatically about her dashed romantic hopes.

Once she was out of sight, the villainess finally let out a snort of laughter. “That was beautiful.”

Leona ignored her, his grip still firm around you as he leaned down to whisper, “Next time, you won’t need her to help you out. Just say my name, and I’ll be there to deal with the pests.”

You stared at him, a little dazed from the whole whirlwind of possessiveness, public displays of affection, and telling someone to ‘fuck right off.’ “You really went for it, huh?”

Leona smirked, leaning in for another kiss. “Damn right I did. And don’t you forget it.”

Somewhere behind you, the villainess was still giggling. You were pretty sure this was going to be gossip for weeks.

But honestly? Totally worth it.

Graduation day—the moment where everyone’s future plans would be declared, and all the chess pieces would fall into place. Or, in your case, the moment where you’d cause absolute chaos.

The grand hall was filled with eager anticipation. Everyone was dressed in their formal graduation robes, students buzzing with excitement over their new titles and responsibilities.

Leona, as expected, lounged at the back like a lion who had better things to do, half-asleep. Villainess stood tall and composed, already plotting her return to her family's estate. Heroine was in full glowing mode, ready to take her place as the beloved of the Grand Duchy.

And you? You stood at the podium, trying not to laugh. You knew what you were about to say would flip this graduation upside down.

One by one, people made their announcements.

When it was finally your turn, all eyes turned to you. The entire hall seemed to hold its breath, knowing the original male lead—you—was supposed to be the retainer of the heroine. It was all set, all according to plan, right?

Wrong.

You cleared your throat, glanced briefly at Leona who smirked lazily, and then made the declaration that would throw this script straight out the window. “I’ve decided to serve as Prince Leona’s right-hand man, personal secretary, and...well, whatever he needs.”

The silence that followed was glorious. Pure, dumbfounded silence.

King Falena, sitting in the front row, visibly blinked. Once. Twice. He tilted his head slightly, confusion written all over his usually composed face. “What?” he muttered, looking like someone just told him a desert hyena had enrolled in ballet school.

Leona, however, didn’t even open his eyes. He just smirked, crossing his arms smugly. “Told ya he’d choose me,” he murmured, almost too casually for someone who’d just stolen the original male lead’s entire plotline.

Falena’s gaze flicked between you and Leona, still processing. Then, slowly, realization dawned. He saw that look on Leona’s face—the one that said “mine, and I dare anyone to challenge it.” King Falena’s confusion morphed into surprise and then, with the subtlety of a royal diplomat, resignation. “Oh…” he whispered, finally understanding. “He’s down bad.”

Leona cracked an eye open just to catch his brother’s expression and grinned wider, like a cat who knew exactly what kind of bird it had in its claws.

Your parents, bless them, were in the crowd with expressions of supportive confusion. Your mother was squinting as if trying to work out if this was some sort of royal prank. Your father leaned in toward her, whispering loudly enough for the entire row to hear, “It’s a royal job, right? That’s prestigious?”

“Yeah, but… Leona?” your mom whispered back.

At this point, the heroine stood up, ready to throw a wrench into the works. “Wait! You’re supposed to be my—"

Before she could finish, the villainess, in all her dramatic glory, made her move. With the grace of a queen and the audacity of a mastermind, she stepped right up to the heroine, flipped her luxurious hair, and said, “Actually, I was going to ask you out.”

You blinked. Wait, what?

The entire room gasped. You could almost hear heads snapping toward the villainess like a collective whip crack.

Heroine’s mouth opened and closed like she was a fish drowning in air. “I—what?”

“Dinner. Candlelight. Maybe a picnic. You and me, a date. Sound good?” The villainess winked with such charm that even the professors in the back were wide-eyed.

Heroine blinked rapidly, as if trying to reboot her brain. “Uh… sure?” she squeaked, still reeling from the fact that her entire romantic arc had just gotten hijacked.

You stared at the villainess in pure confusion. “What just happened?” you whispered, looking at her for an explanation.

The villainess simply turned to you with a mischievous grin, giving you a sly thumbs-up like this had been part of her master plan all along.

You were still processing the fact that you were witnessing the greatest plot twist of all time. You returned a half-hearted, bewildered thumbs-up, unsure if this was a win or not.

Meanwhile, the professors up front were clearly on their last thread of patience. The head of the academy rubbed his temples, sighing deeply as if this whole day had aged him a decade. “That’s it,” he said, voice strained with exhaustion. “Everyone’s graduated. Just...leave. Please.”

And with that, the ceremony abruptly ended. You couldn’t help but laugh at the professor’s exasperation as the crowd started to disperse, still buzzing with gossip.

Leona slid up next to you, his hand casually resting on your waist as you walked out of the hall together. “So, my right-hand man, huh?”

You shrugged. “Figured I might as well make it official.”

Leona smirked, leaning down to murmur in your ear, “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then he kissed you. In front of everyone.

King Falena, witnessing this public display of territorial claims, just shook his head with a resigned sigh. “Well, as long as it’s official…” he muttered, casting an approving glance toward you. “Congratulations, I guess.”

Your parents were still in shock, but when they saw that it was a royal seal of approval, they immediately switched gears. “A royal job!” your mom whispered excitedly. “That’s so prestigious!”

With that, Leona tugged you away from the chaos, his arm never leaving your waist as you walked toward the exit. You glanced back one last time to see the heroine still staring blankly at the villainess, who had now looped her arm around her like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The head of the academy, now red in the face, shouted after you as you reached the door, “I SAID EVERYONE GO, FOR THE LOVE OF THE GREAT SEVEN!”

You walked out into the sunlight, trying not to laugh, while Leona leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured smugly, “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

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

It was a day like any other, except you were meeting the villainess in her newly acquired estate. She had officially taken over as the head of her family, and the new title suited her all too well. The whole place screamed, I am in charge, with a side of don’t even think about challenging me unless you want to cry in public. You admired the aesthetic.

The villainess greeted you with her usual regal flair, sweeping into the room like she’d been born to dominate it—which, to be fair, she had. She offered you tea, which you politely declined, sensing that this wasn’t just a casual catch-up.

"So, what's new with you, Lady Villainess?” you asked, leaning back, fully expecting some grand declaration about her political conquests or business victories.

She smiled—a dangerous, knowing smile that made you immediately suspicious. "Well, I wanted to tell you something rather... unexpected."

You raised an eyebrow. Unexpected? Coming from her? That had to be good.

"I'm dating the heroine," she said casually, sipping her tea as if she hadn't just dropped the biggest plot twist since the whole 'villainess takes over' arc.

You nearly choked on absolutely nothing, mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. "Wait. What?"

She smiled serenely, her expression the perfect picture of innocence—which made it all the more ridiculous. “Yes, darling. The heroine and I are officially a couple.”

You blinked. “The same heroine who couldn’t tell a poisoned apple from a regular one if her life depended on it?”

“The very same.”

“The one who gets lost in her own estate if she turns too many corners?”

“Yes, that one.”

You couldn't help it. The sheer absurdity of the situation hit you, and you burst out laughing. "Oh, that is rich. How in the world did that happen?”

The villainess leaned back, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “Oh, it was simple, really. I realized I was always drawn to her... naiveté. And once I stopped trying to sabotage her every move, well, things just fell into place.”

You were still laughing, shaking your head in disbelief. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you two, but this is the best thing I’ve heard in weeks.”

The villainess gave you a mock glare. “Don’t act so surprised. I’ve always had impeccable taste.”

“Oh, impeccable taste, huh?” you teased. “I just didn’t expect it to lead you straight to a walking ball of sunshine.”

“Well, someone needs to keep her from wandering into traffic.”

Still snickering, you stood up. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re a saint for dealing with her.”

“I know,” she sighed dramatically, “but love makes us do ridiculous things.”

"Tell me about it," you muttered, still amused. You waved goodbye and promised to catch up later, your mind reeling from this new, absolutely hilarious development.

When you got back to the palace, you found Leona lounging in his usual spot, sprawled out on a couch like a lion that had just taken over the whole savannah. He barely glanced up as you walked in, already sensing the amused energy radiating off you.

“You’re grinning like an idiot,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “What happened?”

You plopped down next to him, barely containing your laughter. “You won’t believe this. The villainess is dating the heroine now.”

Leona’s eyes flicked open, and for a split second, he looked like he didn’t believe you. Then, slowly, a smirk spread across his face as he processed the information. “You’re messing with me.”

“Nope. Dead serious. They’re a couple now. In love.” You leaned in, grinning. “The villainess—ice queen herself—is head over heels for Miss Pure Sunshine.”

Leona actually chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. Never saw that one coming.”

“I know, right? It’s the most chaotic thing ever, and I am living for it.”

Leona’s smirk turned into a full-on grin, which was rare enough to be considered a national treasure. He shifted, sitting up slightly. “You think we’ll get an invite to the wedding?”

You snorted. “Oh, you bet. I’m going to be front row just to see how she manages to keep the heroine from accidentally setting her own dress on fire.”

Leona’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, and he reached out, grabbing your wrist. “Come here,” he ordered, tugging you toward him.

“What? No, I’ve got work to do,” you protested weakly, but your protests didn’t mean much when he effortlessly pulled you into his lap.

“Work can wait. This is more important,” he grumbled, wrapping his arms around you in a possessive hug that made it very clear you weren’t going anywhere.

You sighed, leaning into him. “You just want to cuddle, don’t you?”

“I want you to stop running around and actually relax for once,” he retorted, resting his chin on top of your head. “Besides, it’s not like the kingdom’s gonna fall apart if we take a break.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “I should get a promotion. I’m basically doing all the work around here.”

Leona chuckled again, his grip tightening just slightly. “Yeah, well, don’t let Falena hear that. He might actually make you his advisor, and then I’ll never get any alone time with you.”

You snorted. “Oh please, you’d just kidnap me from work if that happened.”

“Damn right,” he muttered, his voice low and satisfied. “You’re mine, remember?”

You felt your heart do that annoying flutter thing as Leona’s possessive tone settled over you. Even when he was being a lazy lion, he made you feel like the most important thing in his life. It was comforting—and kind of hilarious, considering how little he cared about everything else.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, and for once, you actually allowed yourself to relax, leaning into Leona’s warmth. His arms tightened around you again, and you could feel the soft rise and fall of his chest as he started to drift off into a nap, his grip never loosening.

As you closed your eyes, you couldn’t help but think that, despite all the absurdities in your life—from slipping on a plushie to your best friend falling in love with her former rival—you wouldn’t trade any of it. Not for the world.

And as Leona’s breath slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep, you allowed yourself a small, contented smile.

Life was chaotic. But it was also perfect.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Idia won the previous poll! Now for the next,

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x you #leona kingscholar #leona #trash novel chronicles #isekai #m!reader

1K notes · View notes

jimvasta · 1 year ago

Text

Humans are average at everything

And that makes other species crazy

"You swim well for your limb configuration but you will never be as fast in water as a Majoriranji."

Mo agreed with a nod. "They have fins, it's an unfair contest really."

"Nacbaqurs climb cliffs better than humans."

"Longer limbs, more fingers, that's no surprise. I know some elite climbers who could keep up but mostly ture enough."

"Chexits run much faster."

"Ah," Mo raised a finger. "They run on four legs, different configuration, unfair comparison. "

"My point is still valid. And you don't fly either."

"Mmm, no," Mo stopped to consider that one. "I don't think we have a winged ancestor. I have been sky diving, though, so I'm sure we missed out there."

"Sky diving? No, I have no wish to know. My question is this, why are you so feared? You cannot swim like a Majoriranji, or climb like a Nacbaqur, or run like a Chexit. Can you do anything special? Why should anyone be scared of humans?"

"Is that why you captured us? That's what you want to know?" Mo smiled as he leaned back in his chair. He had been afraid. Now he was amused.

He knew rescue was on the way. Just before the invaders managed to grab him and the other researchers, they were able to send a distress call. The Earth Alliance took attacks on their people seriously, they knew swift responses discouraged casual piracy.

"Okay, you'll probably be dead soon anyway so I'll give you a freebie. We're not the fastest swimmers, but most of us can swim and dive, and we can all hold our breath. We're not the fastest climbers, but our ancestors lived in trees, tall canopy plants, we can all climb. We're not the fastest runners, but we're not bad in a sprint, and we'll still be going hours after your fancy fast runners have collapsed and died of exhaustion. We don't have to be the best at one thing when we can be pretty good at just about everything."

#humans are space orcs #haso #writer #writers on tumblr #humans are space australians #humans are joats #jack of all trades

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rapplesart · 8 months ago

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Random fic idea

Tim drake but instead of loosing his spleen he lost part of his leg.

Tim thought it was obvious he was missing his right leg from the knee down. It was a whole leg that was missing after all. Sure he was wearing a prosthetic made by Ra's' best people.

One he painfully earned after that crazy fucker made him fight a bunch of his assassins one legged in order to "proof himself as the true heir of the bat he saw in him" or something. So sure, the leg might be more advanced than most, and it imitated natural steps a lot easier and even made it possible to easily run without switching to a different leg. Truly it was a perfect leg be vigilante with. But he never even bothered to give it human like appearances.

But apparently the Fam didn't notice. When he returned with Bruce everyone was too reliefed to give Tim a closer look and it just never came up afterwards.

Tim thought they just didn't want to ask about it in a weird attempt of being polite or even caring. Bruce surely did enough research on how it happened on his own. The man spend the whole travel back to Gotham with Tim after all. Tim truly believed the world's greatest detective would have noticed his missing leg.

Except he didn't. Not if he interpreted the way they looked so incredibly disturbed by is nonchalant way of handlinh the boiling hot chemicals that landed on his metal leg. He just brushed it off, the battle continued and since nothing seemed to be injured no one pressed him when he said "Must've missed me after all"

Now, how do you deal with a family that didn't notice you're missing a leg? That's right you fuck with them.

First thing he did was buy himself a few more realistic looking prosthetic leg. It had to be custom made to fit his stump so it took a whole but it was a worthwhile investment.

The first one was Jason. Call it a twisted revenge for trying to kill him but Tim just really wanted him to be messed with the most. So one day when he knew it was only Jason and him on patrol he strategically set himself down to fall. Crunching some spaghettis to ass in a sickening way only to stand up and walk away as if nothing ever happened.... With his foot toned the wrong way around. Insisting on nothing being wrong and Jason being delusional whenever the older boy tried to get him to get medical treatment. He switched it up the whole evening, whenever he was out of sight he turned the fool right and wrong. Driving the guy insane.

Jason did not sleep well that night. He was also top weirded out and unsure if what he saw was real to talk about it with anyone else.

Then, he challenged dick to a flexibility contest seeing how far they han bend their knees and feet. Even Mr bones are a social construct gymnast Richard Grayson looked horrified as Tim stood there, food bend almost in half, knee twisted to the impossible and what looked lihe a bend in the middle of his leg. Dick claimed cheating except the thing that greeted him when he demanded Tim to puch up his pant leg to expose his trick was a normal looking leg. The first Robin did lots of stretches in the following weeks. His pride was hurt after all.

Finding a way to mess with Damian was a bit more difficult. The brat still made a bunch of harsh comments again and again and he really wasn't close enough with Tim to be easily gaslit. The kid was a trained assassin and was probably used to a bunch of weird shit considering everything Ra's. So Tim decided he could go a bit more gory on Robin than the others. So one night he sat in front of Damians room, in the dark hallway and waited till one of his pets passed him. Once Alfred the Cat came along he made some louder coping noise that would Definetly make the kid look out to check on his animals. It worked just as planned, Damian peeked out his door to see Tim, crosslegged and barefoot on the floor, seemingly cutting off his toe to feed the cat. In reality it was nothing more than a cat treat and carefully picked, animal safe food coloring.

The kid scremed at him, threatened to stab him, punched him real good for harming his cat and took off with said cat to find Alfred so the older man could check on the poor kitten. Of course not beforeaking sure Tim was in an adequate amount of pain on the floor, with his 'injured' food secured to the floor with another knife. Only to return with a worried Alfred on tow to see Tim, standing two whole bare feet with a confused expression and a bag of cat treats in the hall.

Tim got a broken nose for it but it surely was worth it. Especially once he quietly whispered a 'no one will ever belief you' to the kid in passing. He might have traumatised the boy a little but Tim fought it justified for all the attempted murder he suffered.

#batman #batfam #tim drake #red robin #fic drabble #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #crack fic #fanfiction #fic draft #brain fart

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atrophiedemotion · 1 month ago

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escapism vs reality in alien stage

in this post (elaborated greatly by geo's tags as well) i mentioned a big sua/till parallel i noticed (but didn't go into much detail because i didn't want to derail the post lol), and i wanted to go into more detail on that and the overall reality vs fantasy theme alnst has going.

sua & till both use their love for mizi as a form of escapism. sua's love for mizi and the weight of her knowledge of their universe causes her to create a safe (fake) bubble for her and mizi to exist in & makes it as perfect as it can be before they're out of time. till uses his love & admiration for mizi as a beacon of hope, as motivation to go on despite how horribly he's treated in day to day life. mizi is the brightness in both of their dull lives.

this view of mizi as a hopeful, optimistic sort-of deity sheds light onto an entire theme of alien stage, escapism vs reality. it also shows that mizi & ivan, in this specific instance, are antitheses of each other.

mizi, as a character, symbolizes hope and escapism. she is the only character out of the main four that didn't understand the exact conditions of their world due to how she was raised. she does not fully grasp how horrifying the alnst universe is until she watches sua die, which is the inciting incident for the entire series. escapism isn't possible anymore, but hope is still there when she gets rescued by hyuna and joins the rebellion.

ivan, on the other hand, literally symbolizes truth and the reality of their world. since he was born he understood the cruelty the segyein are capable of and knows exactly where he stands in the world. he is seen to be fatalistic and even nihilistic. his death, which he sees as an inevitability, is the second inciting incident (the one where everything goes to shit chaos afterward). it is a brutal reminder of the truth of alien stage to both the characters and the audience.

sua & till actively seek out mizi as solace in their pain, and they both actively avoid ivan (in their own ways) and the connections he has to reality.

sua avoids ivan because, well, he's mean to her, but mostly because he's not even trying to be mean, he's just objectively right and she doesn't want to hear it. he is a reminder not only of the cruel world they live in but her own 'twistedness'. he reminds her that she is not solely the fantasy she's created with mizi, but someone with unavoidable knowledge of the inevitable (as well as someone who is willfully keeping this information from an unknowing mizi).

till avoids confronting his feelings for ivan and confronting ivan in general because ivan confuses him. his feelings for ivan aren't cut and dry in the way his feelings for mizi are, because ivan is and always will be tied to pain and suffering for till (their first meeting in the auction shop, their miscommunication/strange relationship, the fact that ivan is the only one who sees him at his most vulnerable, etc). ivan's death forces him to confront these feelings (for ivan & about their world in general) but even then he's repressing them until he physically can't anymore.

mizi is escapism & hope, literally realized because she escapes. ivan is reality & a representation of the fate of alnst contestants, literally realized through his death.

it doesn't end there, though. sua & till are escapists running from reality (with diverging paths that are both narratively important in their own ways), while mizi represents escapism & ivan represents reality. along similar lines, but going a step further, hyuna & luka showcase these exact themes.

hyuna is the legitimate showcase of hope, of freedom. she is a free human (as free as you can get in the alnst universe) and the leader of a human rebellion focused on uprising as a race against the segyein.

luka is the perfect example of compliance within reality. he is now a two time alien stage champion and the definition of a pet, no matter how he actually feels.

hyuna & luka are similar to, but a step beyond, mizi & ivan. mizi symbolizes escapism, but she is faced with reality and must grapple it, while hyuna is freedom personified (albeit with demons of her own). ivan symbolizes reality, but he still yearns for something he thinks he'll never have, while luka completely shuts off those emotions because he knows they will only jeopardize his chances of survival.

the characters of alien stage perfectly embody one of the core themes of alien stage, the discrepancy between fantasy and truth, and the way those can coincide in a world.

#alien stage #alnst #alnst meta #alnst sua #alnst till #alnst mizi #alnst ivan #alnst hyuna #alnst luka #media analysis #alien stage analysis #alnst analysis #cast's analyses #this took me so long idk i got possessed or smth and two hours later i had a post

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minus-plus-zer0 · 3 months ago

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Staring Contest, GO!

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

"Staring contest, GO!"

Bakugou glowered at you like the apex predator he assuredly wasn't. You peered up at him meekly, doe-eyed and innocent. Neither of you were willing to back down, to do so meant forfeiting your dignity as a human being.

"Stop giving me those puppy-dog eyes!" Bakugou yelled.

"This is just how I look..."

"STOP LOOKING SADDER YOU'RE MAKING IT WORSE!"

Bakugou grit his teeth. He couldn't stare into those puppy-dog eyes forever. Eventually, he'd feel so guilty he'd have to throw himself off of five decently sized cliffs. You just had that effect on him sometimes.

The rest of the class spectated from around the classroom, with some students piling themselves on a limited amount of desks just to watch the most infamous duo duke it out, staring contest style. Only Iida protested against this development, with yelling drowned out by everyone else's lack of giving a fuck.

Bakugou couldn't continue staring at you forever, because eventually something you said or did would make him blush in front of the entire class and he needed to keep his feelings for you a secret. It was his worst kept secret, because everybody already knew, but he tried all the same.

So he had to do something before your curious hand reached out and touched his fluffy hair.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, catching your wrist like his hand was a handcuff.

"I got bored, so I wanted to play with your hair again!"

You looked at him oh so innocently from across the desk. Your classmates snickered.

"Again?" Kirishima asked, while sitting on top of a nearby desk. "So you've done this before?"

"Does it hurt to touch because of the spikes?" Sero asked, sitting in the seat of that same desk.

"It's surprisingly soft and nice and--"

"Don't tell them everything!" Bakugou snapped, his voice a growl as his hand still glued itself to your wrist. "That's none of their business."

"Sorry..." you said, smiling. "Can you stop clenching my wrist now? You're gonna make me flinch!"

You dropped your wrist onto the desk like a dead fish. You picked it back up and nursed it close to your chest. He didn't hurt you (he would never hurt you) but you liked to play up the vulnerable sweetie pie act sometimes.

"Sorry," he said.

"He said sorry for once!" Denki cried. "You hear that, class?"

"Shut. Up."

"Does it actually hurt?" Asui asked, standing beside your chair.

"Only a whole lot," you said, with a sniffle. "Gosh, you really--"

"Hey!" Bakugou pointed at you. "You fucking blinked!"

"What?"

"You blinked when you sniffled," Asui said.

"Oh darn!"

"HA HA!" Bakugou stood from his seat, pumping his fists. "Ya see that? Ya fucking see that?! That's what ya get for teasing me all the damn time!"

The rest of the class did not join in on his gloating, for they were too often on the receiving end of his arrogance and insults. Some students passed around money, having bet on your results. Others just sighed.

Bakugou still kept challenging you to extra staring contests afterwards just for an excuse to continue looking at you. He often commented on every part of your appearance and checked to see if you noticed his in turn. You would giggle and get embarrassed, causing you to blink. Then you would restart the staring contest all over again and Bakugou would continue riling you up just to see your sweet smile one more time. He could never get enough of you. The staring contests were all a convenient excuse to hang out with you more, so long as you allowed it.

And even after the contests, Bakugou really couldn't stop staring at your pretty face.

(At some point you probably need to take a picture together so he'd have something else to look at for once gosh darn it...)

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hiveswap · 1 year ago

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Summary of The Cat of The Year poll atrocities of 2023/2024

I'm sure that most people on this side of tumblr have seen the Jellie vs. Nefarious Anglerfish poll going around with like 60k votes at this point, and I'd really like clear up some of what happened since I was around for the whole thing.

Url blocked out for op's privacy. They have already left but don't look for it if you haven't seen it/don't harrass them if you already have.

1. The previous round (preparation)

I discovered the poll in its previous round, needless to say she beat Jort's ass severely. This was around the 3rd of january, meaning that this round finished before jellie's passing with only about 7k votes. Op did add their own piece of propaganda from their main:

...which was FINE. (except for stuff we'll see later) Of course running a poll while biased isn't ideal but I for one didn't even know they were the op until much later. I also added my own piece in a separate thread, and they didn't interact with it at all. There was no drama.

2. The Finale

Jellie unfortunately passed away right before the starting of this poll, which was the catalyst for what happened next. Op did exactly as last time and added a slightly more mean spirited encouragement to vote for the other contestant. This is the point where I believe that i fucked up personally.

I added this thinkpiece accusing op of associating all mcyters with Dream (who we all hate for the record) despite them not alluding to him at all. This is because tumblr has a history of disimissing all mcyters as... everything that dream was been accused of. Op did allude to not caring for mcyt. but they didn't say what i accused them of. This is important to point out because this reblog of mine is still being spread. Jellie was in the lead at the time, but not by the time i woke up next morning.

I won't be including anyone else's additions because I don't want to put blame on any specific person. Just felt like clearing up mine.

3. The Fuckening

Some time later op made this post to their personal blog:

which is insanely shitty because, as other people have pointed out, the "lame ass youtube cat" didn't die to inconvinience op or ruin their fun, and people would have probably voted for her anyway because jelly is universally beloved in the mcyt community. This isn't anti democratic. This post was added to the poll with a caption saying op should not be running this poll, and it took off. Op later went on to say that this was a joke:

This apology was not taken well by people, (including me) because "you were not meant to see it" isn't an apology and they still very much made fun of someone's pet dying. Safe to say this did not make the drama stop and only added fuel to the flame. I believe this was the point where the conversation of mcyt fans being unjustly sent hate to was reignited.

We should discuss that! it's a real thing that happens often and is equal to childish bullying. However, in this case, OP was the only one getting sent hate to my knowledge. The notes were mostly saturated by mcyt fans, and even now i can only find one or two hateful stance towards us under the whole 20k notes post.

4. Conclusions

Op posted a second apology to the catoftheyear blog to try and calm people down (i believe this is comprehensive and a lot better than the previous one) The blog was deactivated shortly after, so i only have my phone screenshots of it that i also added to the poll itself at some point:

(Edit) Here's proof that op did not write the justification they got criticised for, from the notes of the original poll:

This apology didn't get seen, or get accepted by enough people, so op made this statement on their personal:

Needless to say I am deeply dissapointed (and guilty) that it's come to this. Yes, op said tasteless things that made us all angry, but telling a human being to commit suicide is worse than being insensitive about a stranger's pet dying. Even after I posted about the blog being decatived i had someone come into my notes to wish that "they never find happiness" i mean wtf. This isn't like shipping where we can do whatever without the content creator's input. this is fucking harrowing and i can't imagine how i'd feel if this was done in my/my pet's name especially after losing them as recently as a week ago.

I hope no one from hermitcraft who is on here (let alone scar holy shit) learns about this like they did with previous lighthearted tournaments. If you truly respect the creators you claim to be a fan of as people, you do not tell people to kill themselves over them. And finally, let Jellie fucking rest, guys. she had a long, good life. I hope op can come back and also avoids behaving like this if they ever wish to do so. I'm angrier at mcytblr, though.

#catoftheyear #jellie #tw animal death #tw suicide bait #hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #adding to main tags so people see this instead of the poll itself with no context on how it ended #If this breaches containment and gets used as a reason to hurt mcyt fans i am going zo eat whoever is doing that #catoftheyeartournament #jellie the cat

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ask-spiderpool · 8 months ago

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Hey mod, are you okay? It’s been a while since you posted (no judgement!) and I just wanted to see if something was wrong. Love you and I hope you stay strong🫶🏼

Bless you anon! I appreciate you checking in! I don't post a lot of personal updates here, but I have been going through the wringer lately... hough.

Lately I've been battling with anxiety, you know, same as everyone. It's kind of made things that I used to enjoy kind of stressful for me. Everything becomes stressful for me. Even not having things to stress about makes me stressed. I'm at my most Peter Parkeriest, in the worst sort of a way.

I thought it was a brain thing – that it was all in my head. I have a new, stressful job, and a stressful living situation, and some family issues I'm dealing with. It'll pass. So I kind of tried to power through, until my body shut down on me last year. And as it turns out, when I got checked out by the doc, it's not just a brain thing. I have a tumor (her name is Lamar, and she's benign, buuut...) she's producing 5x the normal amount of stress hormone in my body. The doctors think it's insane. I think it's hilarious. I feel like it's some kind of joke.

I've been battling this ridiculous chronic stress for years, thinking it was all in my head, but actually, biologically, I'm an overflowing reservoir of stress, and it's something that can be measured in my bloodstream. And it's been going on for years!

So, lately I've been devoting a lot of time to forcing myself to relax. Doctors orders. I can't get stressed about things. Every day I have to effectively diffuse a bomb. And the bomb is me. I'm so pumped up with involuntary stress, and I have to devote my time to keeping it at a manageable level. And so there are a lot of backflips I have to do to keep myself human right now, and not turn into a bomb.

See... posting to the blog doesn't exactly calm me down. It makes me anxious, most of the time. So I've been telling myself it's okay. Only post when you feel good. You have enough things to worry about, and the blog can't be one another thing to worry about. It can only be for fun. If it doesn't feel like fun, don't do it.

I need to do a million little calming activities to function. The blog used to calm me. But it doesn't, anymore. I still love it, and I still have so many scripts I'm excited to do, but... I just have to be patient with myself, right now. I can't bug my head over something that can wait. It can wait. Right now isn't the time. My health is the most important thing. I can't get that back, if I lose it.

Right now I'm about keeping my head above water. Keeping calm. Doing meditative things, that aren't necessarily productive... (trust me, I am SO upset about not being productive. I miss it a lot) but they force me to take it slow and force me to not worry. I'm learning the banjo (she calms me), and I spend a lot more time in nature, having staring contests with ducks and pigeons, and befriending beetles and bugs.

I'm a very positive person, and I know I'll make it through, and I love myself for all the effort I'm making to keep myself from breaking. Because I know if I didn't force myself to calm down, I could snap like an elastic band. I – I don't want to break, like I did last year. I need to be good to myself. And relaxing is an effort. It takes a lot for me. And certain calming routines work for a little while, and then stop working, and I need to make the effort all over again to find something new. It's kind of insane how much time I need to calm back down again. I remember, once upon a time, it being baseline.

Luckily there's a surgical solution, so hopefully I'll be normal again soon, and there won't be any more bees buzzing in my brain!

I hope you'll all be patient with me! And hopefully I'll make it out alive and stronger than ever, soon.

#mod speaks #a lot of the time when i write ask-spiderpool it feels prophetic somehow.#like my writing somehow knows what's up with me before my body figures it out.#i've written about peter being a timebomb about to explode because of excess hormones in his bloodstream #and now. guess who is a timebomb about to explode because of excess hormones in his bloodstream. its ya boy. me.

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maxphilippa · 4 months ago

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my biggest issue is how people are portraying Mephone4 seeing/using the contestants as dolls like it is a child's game when he very clearly has shown to care about everyone as their own people and yearned to be like them. he wanted to be a human being so badly and he wanted to have genuine connection desperately. he wanted to be close to them. even if i still don't fully buy the whole mephone4 created them thing, i don't think he would see them as dolls. he sees them as people. and in the case he made them he wasn't even aware of doing so. to him they're not his creations they're their own people with their own hopes and dreams and friendships and love. i really hope the next act clears everything up but for now.

so i wanted to make something different.

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keferon · 17 days ago

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"It would be a tough contest in that moment to tell whose smile is brightest."

Swindle meets Blurr for the first time.

------------------------------

Swindle throws his coat over the back of a chair and waves at the bartender for a drink. It's been a long day. Too long for Swindle's taste. These are the hard days. The days that throw into question all the money that mecha has brought flowing into Swindle's accounts. Because these are the days where he actually has to work to ensure that money keeps flowing – to ensure that mecha doesn't crumble into darkened ruins.

Swindle sighs as his drink is placed in front of him. Investors meetings and government supervisors. What a fiasco.

When the reports had first made their way up from engineering all the way to his desk (well Onslaught's desk, technically, and then Onslaught had brought it to his desk), he had hardly believed what he was reading. A way to make a mech that could move at speeds beyond what had been speculated to be the upper limits of maneuverability. Mecha would be the first, the best. Way ahead of any possible competition. This mech would ensure that mecha was the name in every headline and the front of every government contract for this war.

It all seemed so clear, so simple that Swindle had had his doubts. The science he didn't care about. At the end of the day, the engineering reports were all just theories. And Swindle had learned long ago never to bet on something that seemed too good to be true (though he would on occasion strongly encourage others to do just that; their loss, his gain).

But then engineering had actually produced a prototype of their mythical mech design. And everything had become very real very fast. Investors were swarming. Governments were watching. Things had been looking so good. Until today.

Today had been the first series of prototype tests. A disastrous series of prototype tests. Because the one thing neither engineering nor Swindle had accounted for was that a mech was useless without a pilot.

And the pilots in testing hadn't gotten anywhere near close to the prototype's full potential before losing control. Every. Single. One of them.

The investors hadn't been impressed. Swindle might have still been able to salvage the situation, flash some reassuring smiles and talk them round that this was just an early design and there was still so much potential for the future. But then the last pilot had crashed the mech so badly that fires had to be put out – literally – across the testing hangar.

The investors and the government contractors hadn't liked that in the slightest. There had been talks of safety standards and getting external regulators involved. Swindle had spent the rest of the day and into the night, putting out the metaphorical fires that burned on long after the remains of the crash had been hauled away and the pilot had been patched up. Damage control.

He had at least managed to forestall a final judgement on shutting down the experimental mech technology. But, that didn't leave a lot of opportunity and came with its own set of challenges. Namely challenges in the shape of Shockwave. Shockwave, who had offered to solve all of Swindle's problems, make them disappear under the guise of scientific and medical advancements. Shockwave, who believed the only way forward was to not just to push to the limits of humanity, but to surpass them. That his science could do that and more. Make humans into pilots that were faster, stronger, more durable. Pilots that could be brought back from even the brink of death. At what cost? Swindle often wondered. At what point, if Shockwave had his way, would he take the human out of humanity?

Swindle needs this opportunity, needs to overcome these challenges. He might have been skeptical of the new mech feasibility at the start. But today…today they had come close enough he could already see it – see the extra zeros piling onto the end of his bank account, see the way mecha would be transformed by that kind of spotlight and publicity.

He stares into the depths of the glass for a moment, then takes a long slow drink. It's as he sets the glass down that the car pulls up outside the bar. The stop itself is a spectacle – made with such speed and precision that Swindle notices half the bar turning to watch along with him. The car itself is enough to make Swindle whistle under his breath. And then the driver steps out, crosses the few steps of pavement, and enters the bar.

Swindle isn't sure he believes in a higher power. And even if he did, he isn't sure what it is that he ever would have done in his life to earn this kind of miracle. As for luck – Swindle doesn't count on luck.

But maybe that's what this is – a good turn of circumstance. Because the man who just walked through the door is Blurr – the Blurr of F1 racing fame. Easily the fastest F1 racer in history. Possibly the greatest the sport has ever seen or ever will see.

The man hasn't been seen around this part of town before – hasn't been seen much at all since his last racing crash outside of recorded promotions and scheduled interviews. And now more than half the bar is staring as they recognize who's just walked through the door, some people starting to get up and move forwards – forming a small crowd that Blurr has to make his way through.

In spite of himself, he finds himself being drawn closer as he watches the gleaming smiles that Blurr throws around the bar – smiles that seem genuine enough to even reach the man's eyes. Swindle watches Blurr sign autographs, pose for selfies, and shake hands – waiting for the moment when the man's patience grows thin, when the smile starts to slip and he starts to push his way faster through the crowd. Only it never comes.

Swindle smiles as he brings his drink back to his lips. His own patience is wearing thin by the time Blurr finally reaches the bar, though he keeps the smile stretched across his face. Swindle watches how Blurr sits, how he orders his drink, his posture, his mannerisms -- sizing up the man and his movements. He knows of Blurr, but he doesn't know Blurr. And he will only get one chance at this. That he's getting a chance at all, still leaves Swindle slightly in awe. The potential number of zeros this could possibly add to his bank account combined with the experimental mech technology leaves him bordering starstruck.

Swindle makes his way casually down the bar – not too fast, not too slow. This needs to look natural, genuine. And it surprises Swindle to realize that what he's planning to offer Blurr is more genuine than it is fake – a deal they both might benefit from.

Blurr looks up at Swindle with a smile that nearly causes the words to stick in Swindle's throat before he can speak. But Swindle is a professional.

"Blurr?" he asks. "I'm Swindle."

"Yes," Blurr replies. "And do you want an autograph or a photo or a handshake?" From anyone else, Swindle thinks the question would come across with undercurrents of barely concealed irritation. But Blurr somehow makes it sound like an exchange with an old friend.

"None of the above. I want to offer you a job," Swindle says. "May I sit?"

Blurr nods, still smiling, though his gaze drifts across the bar as Swindle takes a seat next to him. That won't do, Swindle thinks. He wants – needs -- Blurr's full attention, his interest. He doesn't have it now. The average individual probably wouldn't even realize. But Swindle considers himself far from average in the art gauging people and gaining their confidence. He can tell when someone is faking their way through, knows the signs -- because no one does it better than him. Or so he had thought until he met Blurr.

"I run mecha," Swindle says. His smile broadens as he watches Blurr's gaze sharpen. Got him.

"And what would a company like mecha want to hire me for?" Blurr asks. "I'm not an engineer. I'm not a soldier."

"Well--" Swindle starts slowly. Draw him in. "I – we – have a problem. A problem you might be able to help us with. We've built a mech." One of Blurr's eyebrows raises.

No shit, Swindle thinks Blurr must be thinking. "State-of-the-art, top-of-the line technology," Swindle adds.

"And there's a problem with that?" Blurr asks.

"Yes. The mech is fast. Faster than fast. Faster than any of our pilots can handle. And all the best technology in a mech is no good without a pilot." Words that Swindle had thought to himself, and then had shouted at him repeatedly through the day's crisis meetings. As though that fact hadn't already made itself glaringly obvious by the results of the mech tests.

"They're speculating at this point the mech is so fast that it's beyond the capabilities of any human to control." He sets the bait, waits to see if Blurr takes it. He doesn't wait long.

"You want me to pilot it." Blurr says it as a statement, not a question. "How much are you willing to pay?"

Swindle lights up a little inside. Blurr is a man of like-minded priorities.

"However much you want," he counters. "Assuming you can actually drive the thing." Swindle is confident that whatever Blurr asks for will be an inconsequential fraction of the profits mecha is about to rake in from this deal.

Blurr nods, seemingly satisfied. "We'll work out the details at your offices, after I get a look at this supposedly undrivable mech. If it's as fast as you say…."

There's something like longing in Blurr's gaze, Swindle thinks.

"If it's as fast as you say, you've got a deal. Let me get my hands on that mech, give me what I ask for, and I won't just show you speed – I'll show you how to make it fly." Blurr holds out his hand to Swindle, and Swindle shakes it. It would be a tough contest in that moment to tell whose smile is brightest.

OOOOUUUHHH I LOVE IT

Also I can’t stop imagining Swindle and Blurr sitting there like

Swindle: Smiles shiny

Blurr: Smiles shinier

The entire bar: gets flashbanged

Kdodofkfnhtrhgsffsgdvdvdvcwdd

#tf mecha universe #mecha writing #mecha bs writing #blurr #swindle #maccadam

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thedemoninme141 · 1 month ago

Text

Ugly Sweater Party (Set in the "Not a bad day" universe)

Summary: Enid orchestrates an "Ugly Sweater Party" where Wednesday's jealousy takes over.

Parings: Wednesday X Female Reader. Theme: Fluff! Set in the "before dating" period. Wordcount: 4k

Warnings: Jealous Wednesday? Hot-cocoa-Burn??? Cringe Romance!!

Dedicating this work to @blue-because-no-yellow

“So, hear me out, guys! An ugly sweater party! Like, before Christmas break. I’ve been looking at ideas online, and it’s just soooo fun! We could have contests for the ugliest sweater, snacks, music. Oh, and hot chocolate! Lots and lots of hot chocolate. Doesn’t that sound amazing?” Enid chirped.

Ajax blinked slowly, clearly still waking up. “Wait, so… everyone wears ugly sweaters and… that’s it?”

“Not just that! There’s music, games, maybe a contest for the ugliest sweater. We’ll decorate a space with string lights and make it festive!” Enid’s eyes practically sparkled. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

"What's the deal with the ugly sweaters, though? Why not just regular sweaters?" Ajax asked.

"Because!" Enid exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Ugly sweaters are festive and hilarious. It's a Christmas tradition!"

Yoko, sipping her coffee, said. "I don't do tacky."

"Yoko, you wear sunglasses indoors," Bianca quipped.

"Exactly." Yoko said, smirking.

“You know what, this can be fun if done right. Besides, who doesn’t love ugly sweaters and snacks?” Divina chimed in.

“A normal human being,” Wednesday muttered flatly.

Enid ignored her. “Come on, it’s not like we have to take it seriously or anything! It’s just an excuse to hang out and, you know, do something festive for once. Right, Eugene?” She turned to the boy, who had been quite.

Eugene adjusted his glasses, looking sheepish. “Uh, I guess it sounds kinda cool. As long as there are snacks…”

“There will be plenty of snacks, Eugene,” Enid assured him before turning to Kent. “What about you?”

Kent shrugged. “I’m in. Sounds chill. Plus, I’ve got this old sweater with Santa surfing on a shark. It’s perfect.”

“See? Everyone loves it!” Enid threw her arms up in triumph, beaming around the table. “Well, almost everyone.”

Bianca sighed. “Even if we wanted to, where are we going to throw a party like that? We’d need space, like a lot of space."

“What about the forest clearing?” Eugene suggested, “We could string up lights in the trees.”

“Yeah, because freezing to death sounds so festive,” Bianca said.

Enid’s blondeness didn't waver down. Enid turned toward Wednesday expectantly. “What about you, Willa? Do you know a place?”

“I am neither interested in your puerile event. Do whatever you want. Just leave me out of your hideous party.”

“What party?”

Wednesday’s posture stiffened immediately. Her grip on her fork tightened as she glanced up, only to find you approaching the table. You carried your tray with that infuriatingly warm smile on your face, the one that made her chest feel like it was simultaneously imploding and catching fire.

You slid into an empty seat beside Eugene, your curious eyes scanning the group. “What’s all the fuss about?”

Enid’s face lit up as if Christmas had arrived early. “Oh my gosh, okay, so I’m planning an ugly sweater party! Everyone wears the tackiest sweaters they can find, and we’ll have games and hot cocoa and, like, a contest for the ugliest one. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

You laughed softly, and Wednesday’s pulse quickened. She hated how much she noticed the subtle curve of your lips. It was maddening.

“Sounds interesting,” you said, your smile lingering.

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. Interesting? Why did you have to find it interesting? And why did that single word make her want to throw herself into the abyss?

The group continued discussing but Wednesday heard none of it. Her focus was on you—the way you rested your chin on your hand, the sparkle of amusement in your eyes. She’d planned to completely ignore this party nonsense, but now? Your involvement complicated everything.

“Where are we even going to host this?” Divina asked again, bringing Wednesday out of her spiral.

Enid groaned, throwing her hands up. “Ugh, I don’t know! There’s got to be somewhere big enough that we won’t get in trouble.”

“You could ask Principal Weems for the common room,” Kent suggested, though his tone made it clear he didn’t think it was a great idea.

“She’d never go for it,” Bianca said. “Not unless you can somehow convince her it’s educational.”

“Educational?” Enid snorted. “What am I supposed to say? That ugly sweaters teach math?”

The table erupted in laughter, but Wednesday remained silent, her mind racing. She could feel your gaze on her, curious and patient. It was unbearable.

Before she realized what she was doing, she spoke.

“The Gates Mansion.”

The group fell silent, turning to look at her in surprise.

“What?” Enid asked.

“You can host your ridiculous party at the Gates Mansion,” Wednesday said, her tone clipped.

“Wait, are you serious?” Ajax asked. “Isn’t that place, like… haunted or something?”

“The hyde is gone. Crackstone is gone. Thornhill is gone,” Wednesday replied matter-of-factly. “It’s nothing but an old, decrepit house now.”

Enid’s eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, that might work! Weems would never find out if we do something there and we could totally make it festive with some cleaning and lights! This is going to be so cool!”

“You’re going to need more than cleaning,” Yoko said. “That place is a wreck.”

“And terrifying,” Eugene added.

“Exactly why I’m going to need someone brave and crazy to help me clean it up!” Enid declared.

The entire group turned to Wednesday , even you were watching her, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

Wednesday sighed deeply, rolling her eyes. “Fine. But don’t expect me to wear one of those abominable sweaters.”

Enid squealed in delight, clapping her hands. “This is going to be the best ugly sweater party ever!”

Wednesday cast a fleeting glance at you.

She wasn’t sure whether to curse you or thank you for making her day infinitely more complicated.

"Uh… are we sure about this?” Ajax asked, glancing at the dilapidated structure. “It looks like the setting of every horror movie ever.”

“Relax, Ajax,” Enid chirped, her voice brimming with forced cheer.

“Wednesday and I have been here before. Just a big, spooky, totally-not-haunted house.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Ajax muttered, inching closer to Enid as if proximity could protect him.

“The last time we were here, we were chased by the hyde. You know, a grotesque, murderous monster with claws designed to flay flesh.” Wednesday was behind them, getting dragged into this mess by Enid.

Ajax stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. “Wait—what?”

“Wednesday!” Enid shot Wednesday a sharp glare. “You’re not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Wednesday replied, her tone clipped.

Enid rolled her eyes and turned to Ajax, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Look, I promise it’s safe. The hyde’s gone, and Wednesday’s just being dramatic.” She shot her roommate a pointed look.

Ajax hesitated, glancing at the mansion again. “Uh.. I think I forgot something back at Nevermore…”

Enid nudged Ajax forward. “Come on, don’t bail on me now. Besides, we need someone tall to hang the lights. Right, Willa?”

Wednesday didn’t answer. She was too busy glaring at the mansion, as though willing it to collapse and save her from this pointless endeavor.

“Alright, team, let’s split up and conquer! Ajax, you can start by clearing the cobwebs. Wends and I will tackle the furniture.”

“I didn’t agree to this,” Wednesday said flatly.

Enid ignored her. “Come on, it’s for the party! And think of all the fun everyone’s going to have. Especially you-know-who.”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N,” Enid said dramatically, holding a hand to her chest. “I just didn’t get enough help with the setup, and that’s why this party isn’t up to your standards.”

Wednesday’s glare could have turned Enid to stone. She knew exactly what her roommate was doing, and worse.... it was working. Begrudgingly, she picked up a dust-covered chair and moved it to the corner of the room.

Enid winked at Ajax, who looked more confused than anything. “See? Teamwork makes the dream work.”

The hours dragged on, filled with Ajax’s muttered complaints, Enid’s chatter, and the occasional sound of Wednesday grinding her teeth. As they worked, the mansion slowly transformed. The dust was swept away, the windows sparkled, and strings of lights began to illuminate the once-shadowy corners.

By the end of the day, the Gates Mansion was looking almost festive—if you squinted and ignored the peeling wallpaper and the leftover cobwebs.

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

Wednesday stood near the fireplace, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her posture was as rigid as ever, her expression blank. But inwardly, she was waging a battle against her gag reflex. Everywhere she looked, there was an explosion of color—garish reds, obnoxious greens, hideous yellows. And the sweaters. The sweaters.

Her own attire was simple, deliberate, and true to her identity: a plain, black sweater devoid of any embellishment. It was the only concession she had made to Enid’s ridiculous demands.

Her circle of idiots had gathered on mismatched sofas dragged into a semi-circle at one corner, all chattering as Enid zipped around with an energy that could power a small town. Ajax trailed behind her, struggling under the weight of a tray filled with cups of hot cocoa.

“Wednesday!” Enid called, waving her over. “Get over here and grab some hot cocoa before it’s all gone. Ajax nearly spilled half of it on the way in.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes as she stepped closer with deliberate slowness, as if approaching a live grenade.

“Isn’t this just the best?” Enid beamed, handing her a mug. “I mean, look at us! Ugly sweaters, hot cocoa, and friends. It's like a cute dream!"

“More like a nightmare,” Wednesday muttered, eyeing the mug suspiciously. Still, she accepted it, if only to keep her hands busy and distract herself from the urge to claw her eyes out.

Bianca smirked from her spot on the sofa. “You’re just mad because you couldn’t resist joining in. Look at you, wearing a sweater like the rest of us.”

“This is not a sweater,” Wednesday corrected, her tone sharp. “It’s a black, woolen garment devoid of festivity.”

“Still counts, anyway, guys! It’s time to decide who’s wearing the ugliest sweater. We need a system!” Enid chirped.

“Can’t we just vote?” Ajax suggested, taking a cautious sip of his cocoa.

“No way,” Enid replied. “That’s too boring. We need something fun. Like, a panel of judges or—oh! Maybe we each explain our sweater, and the group decides.”

“Or,” Bianca drawled, raising a brow, “we pick someone who’s brutally honest to a fault and let them decide.”

As one, the group turned to Wednesday.

Her grip on the mug tightened as every pair of eyes locked onto her. Enid was practically bouncing with excitement. “Wednesday, you’re perfect for this! You’ve got the sharpest eye. Come on, roast us.”

Her eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Oh, come on!” Enid pleaded. “You’re perfect for this.”

Bianca smirked. “Well, we’ve finally found a use for Wednesday. Come on, Addams. Judge us.”

“Fine,” she said. “But don’t cry when I destroy your fragile egos.”

“Yay!” Enid cheered, clapping her hands. “Okay, go!”

Wednesday stood, her gaze sweeping over the group. She started with Yoko, her tone clipped and precise. “Yoko’s sweater is an abomination of neon and flashing lights. It looks less like a holiday garment and more like a warning sign for an approaching biohazard.”

Yoko snorted, clearly amused, while the others burst into laughter.

Wednesday’s gaze landed on Enid. She paused, taking in the jingling bells and riot of color. “And Enid… Your sweater is less a garment and more a crime scene. It’s a murder of taste and decency, except crime scenes look beautiful, yours is hideous. ”

Enid gasped in offense, clutching her chest. “How dare you? This is festive perfection!”

Next victim was Ajax, “Your sweater is an assault on the senses. The color palette suggests that it was designed by someone experiencing a particularly vivid fever dream. And the snowman? You know what, I take that back, I actually like this sweater, that abomination of a snowman can work in a horror movie."

“Thanks, I think?” Ajax said nervously.

Bianca crossed her arms, waiting for her turn. Wednesday obliged. “Your sweater is a desperate attempt to marry elegance with obnoxiousness. The glitter alone is enough to give a child a seizure. What do you think it is? The Raven? Your sweater screams, ‘Look at me,’ which, I suppose, is your specialty.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow. “Touché.”

Finally, Wednesday turned to Eugene. She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Your sweater is… acceptable.”

Eugene blinked in surprise. “Wait, is that—was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Wednesday said flatly.

“What about me?”

Wednesday’s head snapped toward you. You were standing near the cocoa station, holding a mug and smiling at her. Your sweater was a disaster—neon orange with a pattern of candy canes, snowflakes, and . It looked like it had been knitted by a maniac with no sense of restraint.

“Go on,” you said, your tone teasing. “Roast me. I can take it. Tear mine apart.” Say what now?

Wednesday opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her mind raced. Hideous. Obscene. A crime against humanity. The words were there, perfectly formed. Yet when she looked at you, all she could think was—

Beautiful.

“Well?” Enid prodded, her grin mischievous. “What’s wrong, Willa? Cat got your tongue?”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. She could dissect the flaws in a masterpiece with ease, but when it came to you, even wearing that, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything remotely cruel.

“Your sweater…” she began, her voice faltering. “It’s… functional.”

The group failed to stifle their laughter.

“Functional? You said all that for mine and you call her's functional? Come on Wednesday, that's the contest winner right there!” Bianca teased, Wednesday only shot her a glare.

Sensing Wednesday's growing unease, you quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, this cocoa is amazing. Who made it?”

Ajax perked up, raising his hand. “That’d be me.”

You smiled at him, and Wednesday’s chest tightened. “It’s really good. Nice work.”

Ajax grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. My grandma taught me how to make it. Secret family recipe.”

"You have to teach me someday." You took another sip, your eyes twinkling with genuine appreciation. Wednesday clenched her fists at her sides, the mug in her hand threatening to crack under the pressure of her grip. The warmth of your smile directed at Ajax did something unexplainable to Wednesday’s insides. It was irritating and fascinating all at once.

And so she found herself back in her spot beside the fireplace, trying to look as composed as always.

Her eyes, however, betrayed her. They followed you.

You were by the snack table, chatting with one of the stoners—what was his name? Nate? Nick? It didn’t matter. He leaned closer to say something, and you laughed, the sound a soft chime that seemed to echo in Wednesday’s ears far too loudly, it was maddening.

And that boy, with his messy hair and an air of unearned confidence, was soaking it all in. He said something else, and you giggled again, nudging his arm playfully. Wednesday’s fingers twitched. She imagined reaching for her knife, a comforting thought, though regrettably impractical in this setting.

“Wednesday!” Enid’s chirpy voice broke through her thoughts. She turned her head sharply, meeting her roommate’s bright, oblivious grin. “Isn’t this amazing? Everyone’s having such a good time!”

Wednesday glanced at the room, her gaze flickering back to you before she responded. “I fail to see how this qualifies as ‘amazing.’ ”

“Oh, come on! Look at everyone, laughing, drinking cocoa, making memories! Even you’re not glaring as much as usual. That’s progress.” Enid nudged her playfully, earning another withering glare.

Ajax appeared, holding a tray of other snacks. “Hey, Enid, where do you want these?”

“Over by the snack table!” Enid directed. Then, turning to the group, she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, people! It’s been super fun hanging out, but it’s time to get your pairs ready because we’re dancing next!”

A collective murmur rose, some students cheering while others groaned.

“Dancing?” Bianca raised an eyebrow, sipping her cocoa. “You didn’t say anything about dancing, Sinclair.”

“I did too!” Enid protested. “Well… maybe I hinted at it. Anyway, it’s happening, so suck it up!”

“Uh, what if we can’t dance?” a random student yelled.

“You sway awkwardly and call it a day,” Enid quipped and dashed toward her barely put together DJ booth to adjust the music while everyone started paring. Wednesday remained by the fireplace, her gaze locked on you.

Nate-nick stepped closer toward you, his posture overly casual, and Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists.

“So, Y/N,” he began, scratching the back of his head. “You’re, like, really cool. Wanna, uh, be my partner for the dancing?”

Wednesday didn’t even wait to hear your answer. Spinning on her heel, she made her way to Ajax, who was setting down the last of the cocoa mugs.

“Ajax,” she said, her voice flat but laced with an edge that made him flinch.

“Uh, yeah, Wednesday?” he asked nervously, straightening up.

“I need more hot cocoa. Boiling.”

Ajax blinked, clearly confused. “Boiling? I mean, sure, but isn’t the regular batch warm enough?"

“Did I stutter?” Wednesday’s dark eyes bore into him, and Ajax quickly held up his hands in surrender.

“Nope. Boiling cocoa, coming right up.” He scrambled to prepare a fresh batch, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder just preparing himself to dodge any flying knives. When it was ready, he handed her a mug. The liquid inside was steaming.

“Here you go,” Ajax said, still baffled. “Didn’t think you’d like cocoa this much… careful tho."

Wednesday’s lips curled into a smirk, one that sent a shiver down Ajax’s spine. As he watched her turn and walk away, realization dawned on him. He quickly busied himself with something else, wisely choosing not to question her about whatever she planned to do with this acid he just gave her.

Without hesitation, Wednesday approached the boy who had dared to ask you to dance. He was still by your side, oblivious to the doom looming behind him. With calculated precision, Wednesday "tripped," her hand jerking just enough to send the scalding cocoa splashing onto his arm and chest.

“AHHH! HOT!” He yelped, flailing as the cocoa soaked through. His friends quickly gathered around him, their faces a mixture of shock and fear.

“How clumsy of me,” Wednesday said flatly, not bothering to mask her lack of remorse.

His friends exchanged nervous glances, none daring to confront her. They helped him toward the kitchen to clean up, leaving you standing there, bewildered.

“Wednesday,” you said, stepping closer. “Was that… really an accident?”

“Of course,” she replied, her voice calm as ever. “Gravity is unpredictable.”

You sighed, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been called worse,” she deadpanned.

The music started up behind you, and the others began pairing off and moving to the makeshift dance floor. The room was alive with laughter and chatter, but you and Wednesday stood apart from it all. You glanced around before looking back at Wednesday. “Come with me.” It wasn’t a question. For a moment, Wednesday hesitated, her mind racing with a thousand reasons to say no. But instead, she found herself nodding. “Lead the way.”

Wednesday followed you up the grand staircase. She didn’t bother asking where you were leading her, she didn’t particularly care. If you wanted privacy, she would oblige. If this was another attempt to pry some semblance of emotion out of her, you would fail. Or so she told herself.

You pushed open a door at the end of the hall, revealing a spacious room bathed in moonlight streaming through large, arched windows.

Turning to face her, you crossed your arms, “Well, considering you’ve likely left my dance partner with third-degree burns…”

Wednesday tilted her head, “I fail to see how that is my problem.”

“Oh, it is.” You stepped closer, your voice softening. “Because now, you have to take his place.”

Her eyebrows rose, a rare flicker of surprise crossing her otherwise stoic face. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

“You caused the incident. You take responsibility.” Your tone left no room for argument, but before she could protest further, you added, “But I’m kind enough to spare you the humiliation of doing it downstairs. We’ll dance here. Privately.”

The word privately settled uncomfortably in her chest, both a warning and something she couldn't recognize.

“I’m even letting you have a say in the music,” you said, glancing at her. “Any requests?”

“Something haunting,” she replied without hesitation, the corner of her mouth twitching into what might’ve been a smirk.

You hummed thoughtfully before selecting a piano piece—somber, slow, and emotional. It wasn’t the haunting melody she had hoped for, but it was close enough.

Wednesday stepped closer, her posture rigid. “I don’t slow dance.”

“Well, tonight you do,” you said with a teasing smile, holding out your hand.

She stared at it as if it were an unfamiliar weapon, something both intriguing and dangerous. After a moment of hesitation, she took it. Your fingers were warm, soft against the coolness of her own, and she tried to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the contact.

You guided her hand to your waist and placed your hand on her shoulder, the touch sending a ripple of something unfamiliar through her. She mirrored your movements stiffly at first, her steps awkward as the two of you began to sway to the music.

“Relax, Wednesday,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that somehow made Wednesday feel chills.

“I am relaxed,” she countered, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her words.

You chuckled, a sound that grated on her nerves and yet inexplicably soothed them. Slowly, her body began to follow the rhythm, her steps becoming less mechanical. She focused on the music, letting it guide her movements, but her attention kept drifting back to you.

Your eyes were soft, your smile easy, and the way you looked at her—as if she were something precious—made her chest feel something she didn’t fully understand. She had always prided herself on her ability to remain detached, to keep the world at arm’s length. But with you, that distance seemed to collapse, leaving her exposed and vulnerable in a way she found both infuriating and intoxicating.

As the dance continued, the space between you grew smaller. She could feel the faint scent of whatever perfume you wore, and it was all-consuming. Her usually sharp mind felt dull, clouded by your presence.

This was dangerous. You were dangerous. Not in the conventional sense, of course, you posed no physical threat. But the way you made her feel, the way you seemed to slip past every wall she had built around herself, was a danger of an entirely different kind. She didn’t like it. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

And then you rested your head on her shoulder.

Wednesday froze, her body stiffening before she forced herself to relax. Her heart, that stubborn organ she often dismissed as a mere biological necessity, pounded erratically in her chest. She didn’t understand it, this inexplicable pull toward you, but she knew she didn’t want it to end.

You sighed softly, your breath warm against her neck. “Thanks for this, Wednesday. I know it’s not your thing, but… it means a lot.”

Her other free hand, which had been hovering awkwardly at her side, hesitated before resting lightly against your back. The gesture was hesitant, almost uncertain, but it felt… right. Too right.

She didn’t know how long you stayed like that, swaying gently in the moonlight. All she knew was the warmth of your body, the softness of your breath, and this, whatever this was...

When the music finally faded, you lifted your head and met her gaze. There was something unspoken in your eyes, something she couldn’t quite name but felt all the same. She didn’t say anything, and neither did you. The silence was enough.

As you stepped back, breaking the spell, she felt an ache she couldn’t place. You smiled at her, soft and genuine, and she found herself returning it—just barely.

“Thanks for the dance,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her expression as stoic as ever, but her mind was anything but calm.

As you turned and left the room, she felt something in her hand, a small note, "Call me sometimes Wednesday"

The faintest trace of a smile tugged at Wednesday's lips.

Not a bad party, not bad at all.

[This was so fun to write, thought you guys need some fluff after the heartbreak from the last oneshot]

[A VERY IMPORTANT REQUEST: A close friend of mine @blue-because-no-yellow is leaving for a few months on her basic training. So I would be really grateful to you guys if you wished her some goodluck in the comments! Like really, sometimes, the kind words of strangers become something to remember during hard times in the future...]

[WORKLIST]

177 notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 1 month ago

Note

HELLOOOO, i was wondering:

A reader that likes watch anime, and some HSR characters gives them a try. But, what anime would you think they watch with the reader? Based on what they like or just something to start watching.

I LOVE YOUR WRITING STYLE, please don't overwork yourself a lot, have a nice day/night! <3

What Anime Would They Watch With You?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Blade x Reader, Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Anime Watching, Humor, Lighthearted moments, Comfort and Bonding, Can be read Platonically or Romantically.

Warnings: Mentions of psychological trauma, Light spoilers for anime, Philosophical and existential themes, Violence and combat (in anime contexts), Emotional conflict, Mild language (?), Possible mild angst(?).

A/N: I don’t watch much anime, but my sister does, so I based the anime choices on what she’s watched and told me about, as well as clips I’ve seen on yt shorts 🫣😔 ALSO THANK YOU!! 🤭💖 I'LL TRY MY BEST HEHE

Aventurine stands in front of the TV, his eyes glinting with curiosity. His usual confidence is slightly tempered by the unfamiliarity of the moment — an evening of anime watching. He’s dressed in his usual stylish attire, the gold accents catching the light as he adjusts the remote with his gloved fingers. His gaze flickers to you, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"So," he begins, voice smooth like a well-played hand in poker, "what do we watch tonight? I suppose I should try something new. But, I must admit, I prefer shows with a bit of strategy — something that makes you think, perhaps a game of intellect or manipulation."

You suggest Death Note, the classic tale of the battle between genius minds.

Aventurine’s smile widens. “Ah, an excellent choice. A battle of wits, a contest of who can outsmart whom. Much like life itself. I must say, the intrigue here appeals to me. The protagonist, Light Yagami, reminds me of someone who knows how to play the game... and win.”

As the opening credits roll, Aventurine lounges back, his eyes gleaming with the same focus he applies to his work at IPC. The intricate web of psychological tension between Light and L unfolds in a way that mirrors his own thinking — everything calculated, every move deliberate. The darker twists intrigue him, and he often leans over to comment on Light’s strategy, or offer his own hypothetical alternatives. Every so often, he’ll pause to explain a parallel to a strategic investment move, his voice laced with a playfulness only you can appreciate.

The night is filled with insightful discussions, his enjoyment of the show evident not just in his words but in the way his eyes spark with intellectual thrill.

Ratio enters your living room, dressed in his usual academic attire, though he seems slightly more relaxed than usual. His hair is perfectly in place, and he adjusts his glasses, his piercing eyes scanning the shelves. He’s intrigued by the idea of anime, but like everything else, he believes it must meet the highest intellectual standards.

"I assume this will be a pursuit of knowledge, correct?" he asks, his tone indicating that he is less concerned with entertainment and more with what the anime can teach him.

You offer him Steins;Gate, a mind-bending tale of time travel and its implications. Ratio raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"Time travel," he mutters. "The concept is fraught with paradoxes, theoretical inconsistencies... But let's see how this unfolds."

As the show progresses, you can tell Ratio is captivated. His usual dismissiveness towards “mediocre” content fades as he engages with the intricacies of the plot. He is particularly drawn to the scientific explanations of time travel, making insightful comments about the laws of causality. The intellectual depth of Steins;Gate resonates with him, and he begins to see the show as more than just entertainment but as an exploration of the human condition through the lens of scientific theory.

His stern exterior softens slightly as he leans forward, absorbed by the delicate unraveling of fate. At one point, he pauses the show to make an impassioned argument about the ethics of time travel, his eyes alight with the thrill of the debate.

Feixiao, in her usual battle-ready attire, steps into your space with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly in skepticism. She’s not one for frivolous distractions, but she’s willing to give this anime thing a try — provided it’s something that involves action, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of inner conflict.

"You’d better not have picked something weak," she says with a smirk, her voice unwavering. "I don't have time for anything that isn't worthy of my attention."

You suggest Attack on Titan, with its intense battles and deep emotional conflicts. Feixiao grunts in approval.

"Alright, let’s see if they can deliver on the carnage." she says, as the opening scene plays out.

She’s immediately absorbed by the ferocity of the Titans and the desperation of humanity’s fight for survival. The battles, filled with adrenaline and relentless pursuit, mirror the kinds of conflicts she knows too well. She’s particularly drawn to Eren Yeager’s inner struggles — the deep rage that simmers beneath his resolve.

"That’s what I like to see," Feixiao mutters under her breath, her eyes flashing with approval as the protagonists fight with everything they have. "There’s more to these battles than just the physical; there’s emotion, too. A warrior’s mind is as sharp as their blade."

Throughout the night, she becomes invested in the character dynamics, especially Eren’s moral dilemmas. The show's dark tone and brutal honesty about the human condition resonate with her, and she even offers some commentary on the combat strategies used by the soldiers.

By the end of the night, she’s hooked, her face flushed with the excitement of both the action and the emotional weight of the series.

Blade steps into the room, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity, his demeanor as cold as the blade he wields. His mind constantly in turmoil, he’s not interested in frivolous entertainment. Everything he watches must speak to the darker aspects of his soul, and anything too light-hearted will not hold his attention.

You offer Neon Genesis Evangelion, a psychological and emotional rollercoaster that digs into the deep recesses of human existence. Blade’s expression is unreadable as he nods and sits, his eyes steely.

The first few episodes grip him, and soon he is fixated on Shinji Ikari’s inner torment — the crippling isolation, the struggle to find meaning in a world that seems bent on destruction. Blade sees pieces of himself in Shinji, his own existential struggle reflected on screen. He finds an unexpected resonance with the show's depiction of personal battles and the search for purpose in and the search for purpose in an uncaring world.

As the show delves into its more abstract and psychological themes, Blade’s face hardens in contemplation. He doesn’t speak much, but his occasional glances at you tell you everything you need to know — Neon Genesis Evangelion is more than just an anime to him; it’s a mirror to his own fractured soul.

By the end of the night, Blade is silent, lost in thought, the weight of the show's philosophical questions lingering in his mind.

Kafka strolls into the room with her usual cool confidence, adjusting her black jacket over her shoulders. Her hair sways slightly as she surveys the situation. While she doesn’t often indulge in entertainment, she’s intrigued by your suggestion to watch anime together. After all, there’s something elegant about the concept of using subtlety and manipulation to achieve one's ends, and Kafka is drawn to that kind of intrigue.

You offer Code Geass, a series filled with strategic battles, hidden motives, and complex characters. Kafka smirks, her interest piqued.

"This might be interesting. Let’s see if it lives up to the hype." she says, her voice smooth and measured.

As the episodes unfold, Kafka finds herself charmed by Lelouch vi Britannia’s calculating nature and his ability to manipulate others for his own purposes. She’s drawn to the layers of deception, the way Lelouch maneuvers through the world with his intelligence and charisma, much like herself.

"Ah, this is the kind of show I can appreciate," Kafka remarks, glancing at you with a knowing smile. "Power lies not in brute strength, but in the subtleties of the mind. Lelouch truly knows how to play the game."

By the end of the night, Kafka is hooked, her mind racing with the complex political strategies and moral questions the show raises. Her admiration for Lelouch’s ability to control events through sheer willpower is clear.

Silver Wolf lounges in her seat, her purple glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She’s always up for a challenge, and if anime is as much of a game as you say, then she’s ready to dive in. She’s looking for something that’s both fast-paced and unpredictable, a true test of her adaptability.

You suggest Psycho-Pass, a futuristic series that blends action with deep psychological exploration and questions about the nature of justice. Silver Wolf’s eyes light up as the opening credits roll.

"Alright, this looks fun," she remarks, her fingers tapping on her leg like she’s already hacking her way through the plot. "A system that reads people's intentions? Sounds like a game I could win."

As the series progresses, Silver Wolf becomes engrossed in the moral and psychological dilemmas the characters face. She’s particularly drawn to the futuristic technology, intrigued by the interplay between the systems that control society and the human minds that try to outwit them.

"I could hack my way through this world in no time." she chuckles to herself, but she’s also genuinely captivated by the philosophical questions raised. What is justice? Who decides what is right or wrong?

By the end of the night, Silver Wolf is already planning her next anime binge, eager to see what other “games” the world of anime has to offer.

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