#in battles she's fueled by hate

[sugarsweetvirgo]

Daily reminder that Kaiba suffers from extreme lucid nightmares due to his penalty game

[like-sands-of-time]

Wait wait wait, explain it to me like im dumb (I am)

Viserys wanted, "needed", a son as his heir so there would be no question of succession. Sooo why was aegon 2 not immediately named his new heir? And if it's a matter of waiting a year or something to make sure he lives then fine, on his birthday? The king can change who his heir is as many times as he needs I presume, it's sort of his right as the top dude. Don't tell me he thought everyone was just cool with rhaenyra as future queen when nobody was cool with rhaenys, including the old king himself

I imagine he likely would have married his daughter to his son were they closer in age to eliminate that problem, but if he did that rhaenyra would have been almost too old to *start* having kids so with that NOT being an option doesn't she immediately take the same cast off position that eldest daughters and second sons do? Am I missing something lol

[solxamber]

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

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

Series Masterlist

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

You're an aspiring author.

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

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

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

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

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

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

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

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

It’s… awful.

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

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

Yeah. This isn’t working.

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

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

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

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

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

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

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

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

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

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

ZAP!

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

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

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

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

Where the hell are you?

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

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prince Idia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...Nothing.

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

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

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

Definitely someone messing with something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

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

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

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

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

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

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

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

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

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

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

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

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

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

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice one,” he whispers.

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence.

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

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only when I’m awake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

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

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

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

“Hell yeah.”

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

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

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

So, you set up the perfect trap.

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

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

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

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

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

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

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

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings you to the present...

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

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

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

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

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

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

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

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Reckless Sins

Summary - Their inability to see eye to eye often leads to arguments and mutual disdain, frequently escalating into reckless intimacy as both are eager to dominate and assert control, but what happens when, one day, they are caught in the act?

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!), getting caught in the act, strong language

Word count - 2416

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"We must act," Jace declared, his voice urgent and eyes burning with intensity. 

Rhaenyra shot him a stern look, her expression a mask of restrained frustration. The war had ignited fierce disputes within the family, but their bond somehow endured the strain.

"We cannot be hasty," I interjected, siding with Rhaenyra. Jace rolled his eyes, the exasperation evident in his demeanour.

"You always find a way to oppose me," he retorted, his tone dripping with irritation. I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to back down.

"I simply wish to make you see reason," I replied calmly. 

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, the weight of the day's bickering visibly wearing on her. Without another word, she exited the council room, leaving Jace and me alone in the cavernous space, the tension between us palpable.

As the heavy door closed behind her, Jace turned to face me fully, his expression hardening. 

"Do you take pleasure in contradicting me at every turn?" he demanded.

I met his gaze steadily. "I take no pleasure in it, Jace but someone must temper your impulsiveness with caution."

His jaw tightened, the muscles working as he struggled to contain his anger. "And you believe you're the one to do that?"

"Yes," I replied firmly. "Because I care about the outcome of this war just as much as you do, and I refuse to see us make reckless decisions that could cost us everything."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the air thick with unresolved conflict. His eyes bore into mine, sharp and unyielding.

"You're insufferable," he spat, stepping closer, his chest heaving with frustration.

"And you're impossible," I shot back, my breath quickening.

We stood inches apart, the heat between us almost tangible. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Why do you always have to challenge me?"

"Because you need to be challenged," I snapped, stepping even closer until we were nearly touching. "You're too reckless, too impulsive."

"And you're too stubborn," he growled, his breath hot on my face.

The tension reached a boiling point. Without thinking, we lunged at each other, mouths crashing together in a fervent kiss. It was fierce, hungry, fueled by all the pent-up anger and passion we had in us. Our hands roamed urgently, fingers digging into flesh as we battled for dominance.

We stumbled back, knocking over a chair in our frantic embrace. His lips trailed down my neck, and I gasped, pulling him closer. 

The world outside ceased to exist, there was only the heat of our bodies and the desperate need to consume each other.

His hands slid under my dress, the touch igniting a fire beneath my skin. I arched into him, our movements becoming more frenzied. We tore at each other's clothes, driven by a primal urge that overrode all reason.

His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto mine. "You drive me mad," he breathed.

"Then stop resisting," I whispered, pulling him closer.

In that moment, the line between love and hate blurred, consumed by the inferno of our desire.

He grabbed me by the waist, lifting me onto the council table sweeping away the papers and pawns scattered across it.

Looking down at me with a smirk, he teased me, trailing his tip against my entrance and relishing the effect it had on me. 

"Stop," I warned, but he only grinned, pushing himself into me. He began thrusting, his hands gripping my hips, moving me in time with his powerful movements.

"Fuck," he groaned, eyes closing as pleasure filled him. "You feel so good, no matter how many times I fuck you," he said, and I moaned softly.

"Jace," his name escaped my lips like a prayer.

"Yeah, that's it," he encouraged, savouring the sounds escaping my mouth as they echoed through the room. 

His rhythm increased, thrusts turning into relentless pounds, each movement filled with the raw intensity of our conflict and desire.

"Fuck all of them," he muttered, burying his head into my chest. "Fuck the usurper and fuck his kinslayer brother," he continued, his movements becoming sloppy as his rage consumed him. 

His hands tightened on my hips, fingers digging in as he drove deeper, the mix of anger and lust fueling his every motion.

The room filled with the sounds of our passion, the slap of skin against skin, the ragged breaths, and the mingled moans of two people lost in their own storm.

His teeth grazed my neck, sending shivers down my spine as he bit down, marking me. His hand slipped between us, finding that sensitive spot and rubbing circles that sent me spiralling.

"Jace, I'm close," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the chaos of our desire. He took my face in his hand, forcing me to look at him.

"No," he said firmly, and I frowned, frustrated. "I'm not done with you." 

He pulled out of me as abruptly as he had entered, leaving me whimpering at the sudden loss, a slight ache forming between my legs.

"Asshole," I murmured, and he smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Such a filthy mouth," he mocked, and I rolled my eyes, sitting up.

"Touch yourself," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. I shook my head defiantly and he shrugged, settling into a chair opposite me. He began stroking his cock, never breaking eye contact.

"Do it," he insisted, and I sighed, finally bringing one hand down between my legs and the other to one of my breasts, massaging and pinching periodically.

"That's it," he encouraged, quickening his movements as I threw my head back in pleasure. Our soft moans and groans reverberated through the room as we pleasured ourselves, each sound heightening the intensity.

"Gods," I whimpered, my hips bucked against my hand, my movements becoming frantic as I chased my release. His eyes burned into me, his own pleasure evident in the way his body tensed, his strokes becoming erratic.

The sound of clattering made me look up, and Jace approached me swiftly, grabbing my hand to stop my movements. "Fuck," I cussed, frustration bubbling over as he leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"I never told you to cum," he said, his voice low and commanding. I glanced down at his length, twitching and strained, noting with satisfaction that he hadn't let himself go either.

"That's my job," he growled, thrusting into me again. I sighed at the exquisite feeling of him filling me once more.

"I love it when I piss you off," I said, my fingers tangling in his curly locks.

"You infuriate me," he corrected, his voice a mix of anger and desire.

I laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. "Then why can't you stay away?"

His response was a deep, primal thrust that made me cry out. "Because you're the only one who can match my fire," he said, his pace quickening.

Our bodies moved together with a reckless urgency, every thrust, every touch driven by the volatile mix of our emotions. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer with each powerful motion. 

"You're impossible," I gasped, arching into him, my nails scraping down his back.

"And you're insufferable," he shot back, but his voice was hoarse, tinged with something deeper.

Our breaths came faster, mingling with the fervent sounds of our passion. His movements became frantic, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. "Jace," I moaned, my body trembling.

"Not yet," he commanded, though his own control was slipping. His rhythm grew erratic, driven by a desperate need. "Together," he growled, his eyes locking onto mine.

With a final, shuddering thrust, we found our release, our cries of pleasure mingling in the heated air

We collapsed together, breathing hard, the weight of what had just happened settling over us. The council room, once a place of strategy and war, had become a battlefield of a different kind, our bodies the only weapons we needed. 

As our breathing slowed and the sweat cooled on our skin, the reality of our situation returned.

"Clean up your mess," I said, leaning back on my elbows with a smirk. "Before someone walks in and finds the heir face-deep between my legs."

He shot me a look as he began putting his pants back on. "Our mess," he corrected, straightening the chair we had knocked over.

I hummed in response, sitting up fully and spreading my legs provocatively. "Clean it," I commanded, my voice low and taunting.

His eyes flickered with hunger, a predatory gleam lighting up his face. "You're stubborn," he said, approaching me once more.

"I've been told," I replied, my voice a purr as his face dipped between my legs. His tongue lapped at the mess we had created, each stroke sending shivers of pleasure through me.

I moaned softly, my fingers threading through his hair, guiding him as he worked. The heat between us reignited, our bodies responding to each other with the same intensity as before. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open as he continued his ministrations, the sensation driving me to the edge once more.

Just as I was about to lose myself in the moment again, the unmistakable sound of the door creaking open cut through the haze of passion. Panic surged through us both.

"Shit," Jace muttered, pulling away quickly and scrambling to his feet.

"Give me my dress," I hissed, urgency lacing my voice. He bent down quickly, searching the floor, but we were unsuccessful in our frantic efforts to cover me up.

"What do we have here?" Daemon's voice rang out, an amused smirk on his face as he took in the scene. Jace immediately stood in front of me, shielding my body from view.

"What are you doing, little prince?" Daemon asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"We were just..." Jace began, taking a step forward, but I grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back in front of me.

"I'm still naked," I shrieked in his ear, my voice a desperate whisper. He looked back at me, panic evident in his eyes.

"It's not what it looks like," I stumbled out, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. 

Daemon laughed shaking his head, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, I think it's exactly what it looks like," he said, taking a few steps closer. "But don't stop on my account."

"What?" Jace asked his voice a mixture of confusion and alarm.

"Go on," Daemon said, gesturing toward me with a lazy wave of his hand. "Make sure you do a good job. I wouldn't want to report that the heir of the kingdom doesn't know how to please a lady."

I could see the hesitation in Jace's eyes, the conflict between his duty and his desire. He glanced at me, his face a mask of uncertainty.

"Now," Daemon commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

With a deep breath, Jace turned back to me, his eyes filled with renewed determination. He sank to his knees, his hands spreading my thighs once more as his mouth descended to my centre.

The embarrassment of Daemon's presence mixed with the raw pleasure of Jace's tongue, creating a heady, intoxicating sensation. My fingers tangled in Jace's hair, guiding him as he worked, my moans growing louder with each passing second.

"That's more like it," Daemon remarked, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched. "Don't be shy now. Let him know how he's doing."

I threw my head back, a loud moan escaping my lips as Jace's tongue found a particularly sensitive spot. The thrill of being watched only heightened my pleasure, pushing me closer to the edge.

"Good girl," Daemon purred, his voice low and encouraging. "Show him how much you enjoy it."

The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, each touch, and each sound amplifying the pleasure coursing through me. I was teetering on the brink, my body trembling with the effort to hold back.

"Don't hold back," Daemon commanded, his voice a seductive whisper. "Let go."

With a final cry of ecstasy, I did as he said, my release crashing over me like a tidal wave. Jace continued his efforts, prolonging my pleasure until I was spent, collapsing back against the table.

"Well done," Daemon said, a satisfied smirk on his face as he straightened up. "Now, clean up your mess, both of you. We wouldn't want anyone else stumbling upon this little scene, would we?"

As Daemon turned to leave, his laughter echoed in the hallway. We exchanged a glance, the reality of our situation sinking in. This was a dangerous game we were playing, but the thrill of it was impossible to resist.

Jace turned back to me, exhaling heavily. I slapped his chest in frustration. "Ow," he mumbled, rubbing the spot I had just hit.

"Give me my dress," I demanded. He quickly found the discarded garment and handed it to me. I slipped it on, hopping off the council table as I adjusted the fabric.

"This is your fault," he muttered, irritation in his voice.

"My fault?" I retorted, incredulous.

"You're the one who wanted me to clean my mess," he pointed out as we began picking up the scattered papers and pawns.

"I didn't mean," I snapped. "You're the one who couldn't control himself."

"Neither could you," he shot back. "Don't act like you weren't just as involved."

"Oh, please," I scoffed, shaking my head as I tossed papers back onto the table.

Jace rolled his eyes. "Look, maybe we both lost control, but what about Daemon?"

I froze, the weight of his words hitting me. "Daemon saw... oh, gods, he saw my—" I buried my head in my hands. 

Jace chuckled, the sound a mix of relief and amusement.

I looked up at him, mortified. "So now what?"

"Now we get out of here before anyone else catches us," he said, giving me a squeeze.

As we walked out of the council room, Jace's arm around my shoulders felt oddly comforting. We moved quickly, our footsteps echoing through the empty corridors.

"I can't believe Daemon saw—" I started, but Jace cut me off with a smirk.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Daemon's got bigger things to worry about, I certainly don't think he disapproved."

"I'm still mortified," I muttered. "What if he tells someone?"

"Let him," Jace shrugged. "If anything, it might remind us to be more careful next time."

"Next time? You think I'm letting this happen again?"

He laughed. "Well, if Daemon's reaction was any indication, maybe we'll have to be more creative. Or, just a little more discreet."

I couldn't help but smile. As we reached the end of the corridor, we parted ways, the tension between us temporarily eased by our shared laughter.

For a moment, the war outside was forgotten, replaced by the war we fought with each other, a war that ended, at least for now, in a fierce and reckless truce.

A/n - This is VERY different from my usual style, so I’m extremely nervous to share it. I spent an absurd amount of time writing it because I kept second-guessing myself, but I really hope it doesn’t disappoint!! 

[prideprejudce]

"alicent's character is ruined!!" "she has turned her back on her kids and aegon!!" "she's just dumbly going along with aegon being killed!!"

this entire season alicent hightower has been trying to desperately come up with the best plan that will leave most of her family somewhat intact after this war. she is still pleading for aegons' life to rhaenyra, but knows deep down that they have already gone too far and had enough blood shed where the chances of him leaving this war alive are slim to none. she also KNOWS at this point that rhaenyra has the upper hand in the war and could easily come into kings landing and just annihilate all of them. so if she knows that she can't likely save aegons life (who she sees as already destroyed by his burns and in constant pain and might not even live anyway), and she can't stop aemond from continously adding fuel to the fire (and who she thinks is becoming a monster in his own right), but she can at least still try and save helaena and her grandchild, and even possibly go find her youngest son daeron and save him from being brought into the war as well

i will be the first to say that the writing on hotd isnt stellar, but saying that alicent is "ruined" and that she's turned her back on her children isn't a fair statement, she's just knows that they are currently on the losing side of the war right now, and rather than see her daughter and last son get pulled into it and watch all of her kids die one after the other, or become maimed in battle, she instead pleads to rhaenyra that she can open the gates to spare as many lives as possible. to say that it isn't in alicents wheelhouse to risk her sons life to save the rest of her kids and remaining grandchild when backed into a corner is a disservice to her character. it doesn't make her hate aegon or love him any less, she is just stuck between a rock and a hard place, so she does all of this to save her family at the risk of being accused of treason and losing her own head

[mysunshinetemptress]

I Hate Her

Leah Williamson x reader Warnings: None

You had played as a centre back since you were six years old and asked to play on the Under 10s boys team. Your dream had been set from then, you wanted to play professional you wanted to play for England.

You sign your first academy contract for Manchester United a year later but continue to play for your local team wanting to practice and play as much as you could in hopes of someday making the England team.

You get a call up to your first youth England squad at 13, to say your excited is an understatement only you spend the entire camp on the bench as Leah Williamson is picked over you to start, the Arsenal academy player, future Arsenal player. Leah stared at you as she walked past the bench "Maybe they'll choose you next time." You decide then and there that you hate her.

United don’t have a women’s team and so you sign with Blackburn Rovers just before your 17th birthday. You love it Blackburn have given you everything you’ve wanted your their starting Centre Back, they see how hard you work and it pays off in the England Youth camps, you make your debut against Spain, Leah’s sick for the debut and you can’t help but repeat that in your head, that’s why your being picked not because ur better.

United form a Women’s team to take part in the championship in 2018 which is perfect for your because your contract with Blackburn Rovers ends and your free to sign with your childhood club in the summer.

It’s Leah’s turn to hate you when instead of joining the U23s camp you get called up to the Senior squad for a camp. You, your on a championship team that only got formed this season, you who has only been chosen over her a handful of times and now Phil Neville thinks your better then her, hardly.

Joining the senior squad felt surreal. Familiar faces like Lucy Bronze and Steph Houghton greeted you with genuine warmth. During training sessions, you pushed yourself to the absolute limit, determined to prove your place wasn't a lucky break. The coaches, Phil Neville included, seemed impressed. They challenged you , tested your tactical awareness, your ability to lead the defense under pressure. It wasn't easy, but you held your own, fueled by that quiet fire within.

One evening, Neville called you into his office. Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Were you getting sent home? But no, his words were unexpected. "You've got something special, kid," he said, a glint in his eye. "A raw talent, a hunger I haven't seen in a while. We're planning a friendly against Germany next month. Be ready."

News of your potential debut spread like wildfire. Back home, your family erupted in cheers. Blackburn fans were ecstatic, their underdog defender on the cusp of playing on the biggest stage. But the media frenzy was a different story. Headlines screamed "Unproven youngster" and "Neville's gamble." The narrative remained the same - you were the fluke, the temporary blip in Leah's meteoric rise.

That night, staring at the ceiling of your hotel room, a fierce determination took hold. This wasn't just about proving yourself to the coaches or the media. This was about proving it to Leah, to everyone who doubted you. This was about carving your own path, a path that wouldn't be defined by being "better" than Leah Williamson, but by becoming the best damn defender England had ever seen.

You come on against Germany in the 89th minute, you know then and there that u are going to have to fight for your life every time you want to make it on to the pitch for England either over Leah or along side her you will have to fight.

And fight you do.

The following months were a whirlwind. You were in and out of the senior squad, each call-up a hard-fought battle. Leah was a constant shadow, a relentless competitor. You pushed each other to new heights, your growth fueled by the desire to outshine the other.

The 2019 World Cup was on the horizon, and the competition for places was fiercer than ever. You were on the cusp, but the final squad selection was a knife-edge. Days turned into nights as you waited for the dreaded or the desired call. When it finally came, your heart pounded with a mix of joy and disbelief. You were in. But so was Leah.

The World Cup was a dream realized, a tournament that would define careers. You played your part,even it was for less minutes then you would have liked (It was still more than what Leah had been given.) solid in defense, a calm presence in the face of adversity. England's journey was a rollercoaster of emotions, culminating in a heart-stopping final game for third place against Sweden.

The bronze medal match was a bitter pill to swallow. A valiant effort, but ultimately falling short. The weight of the loss hung heavy in the dressing room, a stark contrast to the jubilant scenes from the other side.

You had cursed at yourself in the eleventh minute as Asllani out ran you and sloted the ball past Telford, Steph had come over tapping your back whispering that it was ok it was one goal as Alex and Lucy followed both squeezing your arms as you all walked to reseat, you quickly turn to telford letting out a small sorry, to which she shakes her head sending you a thumbs up before you turn as Ellen White starts the game back up.

You hoped that Asllani's goal would be your one and only but Jakobsson makes a run in the twenty second minute and this time you make sure you catch her running in front of the swedish player you slide infront trying to cut her off but she breaks left and you can do nothing but sit on the ground and watch as she rolls it into the back left corner. You fall back hands covering your face. It's Lucys turn to pick you up "Your trying your best, you corrected your last mistake by being on it more." You shook your head "Yeah but she still scored." Lucy sighed knowing she wasn't going to break through the doubt that was bubbling in your head instead she pulled you into a hug and headed back into position, as you once again turned to Telford who before you could even open your mouth was already shouting at you "It's ok kid, you tried." you dropped your head nodding just as the ref blew the whistle to restart the game.

You came off at half-time for Rachel Daly, you had refused to speak to anyone, you had refused to join in on the celbrations in the thirty-first minute as Fran Kirby scorded but now as you walked down the tunnel you tried to shake all those feeling, you had played in your first World Cup, you had played 45 minutes in a tough match, you were good enough for Phil Neville to think you belonged there.

Those thoughts came crashing down as Leah walked past you hitting into you harshly.

Leah's harsh collision sent a jolt of pain through your already bruised ego. You stumbled backward, your breath catching in your throat. Her eyes, cold and calculating, held a mixture of contempt and something else, a flicker of something you couldn't quite decipher.

You spun around, your face flushed. "What the hell was that for?" you demanded, your voice laced with disbelief.

Leah's eyes narrowed, her expression a mix of defiance and something else you couldn't quite decipher. "You were out of position," she snapped, her voice barely above a whisper in the echoing tunnel. "Two goals down, and you're daydreaming."

The accusation stung, but you refused to back down. "I was trying to cover," you retorted, your voice rising. "It's not like I wanted them to score."

A tense silence fell between you, the only sound the distant cheers of the crowd filtering down the tunnel. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a familiar sensation of being under scrutiny.

"I wouldn't have let them through." You walk towards her your finger poking her chest "Yet he didn't even give you the chance, he chose me over you."

[stllmnstr]

easy mode

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: brother's best friend au

word count: 2.9k

warnings: not explicit but veeeery suggestive, alcohol consumption, swearing, lots and lots of jealousy aka very bthb coded

note: Another reupload! I wrote another ~3k of sacred monsters today and saw this in my drafts and realized I never posted it. If you read it before, I hope you like it just as much! If you haven't, I hope you enjoy!

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung likes to do things the easy way. 

It’s not that he’s lazy, just... efficient. A fan of the path of least resistance. He knows how to pick his battles and does so sparingly. 

Heeseung minds his own business, keeps his eyes on the path in front of him and rarely lets them stray. And he definitely, definitely never pokes his nose into other people’s problems. 

It’s a philosophy that keeps his head on straight, that allows his friendships to remain low-maintenance and sans drama. It’s what’s kept Jay at his side for the last fifteen years, even through the trials and tribulations of elementary school playground altercations, puberty-fueled fights in the middle school locker room, and most recently, the frustrating misalignment of their post-graduation work schedules. 

Four years ago, Heeseung thought a bachelor’s degree would be his ticket to success, not a soul-sucking nine-to-five that leaves him itching for a drink or three most Friday nights. Luckily for him, Jay’s in the same boat. 

But tonight, sitting next to his best friend on his favorite slightly wobbly bar stool, Heeseung almost misses the monotony of their usual Friday evening happy hours. 

He’s nursing his third beer, which would usually go down like cold water, even though time and tipsiness have turned it lukewarm. Tonight, though, Heeseung’s eyes keep wandering towards the same corner table just over Jay’s shoulder. 

And every time they do, the muscle in his jaw strains a little further. The beer on his tongue tastes a little more bitter. 

Heeseung hates making things complicated. He doesn’t get involved. He doesn’t. But–

“Are you gonna do something about that?”

On the adjacent bar stool, Jay glances at Heeseung. “About what?” 

Heeseung just keeps his eyes trained on that table, that spot over Jay’s shoulder. 

Picking up on the hint even through the pleasant haze in his mind, Jay turns his gaze to follow Heeseung’s nonverbal cue. It takes him only a matter of seconds to locate what has his best friend in such a mood. Or rather, who. Although Jay isn’t quite sure why. 

He’s digging for clarification when he looks back at his friend. “What do you mean? Did she do something weird?” It wouldn’t be exactly unlike his younger sister to do something slightly embarrassing in public. 

Heeseung’s jaw just tightens further, betraying annoyance. Finally, he puts words to his irritation, saves Jay from his suspense. “You’re gonna let that idiot put his hands all over your little sister in the middle of the bar?”

Jay frowns, turns over his shoulder once again to make sure he isn’t seeing things. 

He’s not. From this angle, at least, Sunghoon’s hands are at a perfectly respectable distance from you. Not that Jay could do much about it either way. 

He tells Heeseung as much. “What am I supposed to do? Drag her out by her ear and force her to join a convent? Ship her off to a girls only boarding school?” 

Jay laughs humorlessly. He’s not exactly thrilled that you and your friends chose to patronize the same bar as him and Heeseung tonight, but he doesn’t want to linger on it either. In fact, he doesn’t want to do anything but forget his woes this evening, drown his sorrows in overpriced pints of whatever’s on tap. 

He’s perfectly happy with his back turned towards you. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. “She’s twenty-two.”

And that wasn’t what Heeseung was suggesting exactly, but now that Jay mentions it…

“You’re okay with Park trying to play tonsil tennis with her then?”

“Dude,” Jay winces, setting his beer down on the bar, stomach suddenly queasy. “Gross. That’s still my little sister.”

Which is exactly the card Heeseung is hoping he’ll play. But all Jay does is sigh. If Heeseung didn’t know better, he’d think the exasperation was directed at him instead of the loser he’s pretty sure is currently trying to make himself Jay’s future brother-in-law. 

Jay checks over his shoulder one final time for good measure. It confirms whatever he’s looking for. Mostly the fact that Park Sunghoon’s lips are too busy cracking mediocre jokes to be making sloppy passes at his sister in public. 

Hoping to put it to rest once and for all, he turns back to Heeseung. “Besides, it’s Sunghoon,” Jay reasons. He finds it in himself to reach for his beer again. “She’s known him since preschool. He’s practically like a second brother to her.” Jay takes a sip, misreading the rise in Heeseung’s agitation as familial affection. Trying to soothe it over, he concedes with a nod, “Or third, I guess. I’ll let you be her second.”

Like always, Heeseung lets it go. He goes with the flow, rolls with the punches. 

Well, at least on the outside. 

But even if he weren’t so committed to never rocking the boat, this is hardly the time or place to correct Jay’s assumptions that his feelings towards you are anything but brotherly. 

That, he decides, will have to be a revelation for another time. Preferably in a situation where Heeseung is well out of arm’s reach and Jay is in restraints of some sort. 

Those, after all, are the only circumstances in which he could ever disclose just how decidedly not brotherly his feelings towards you are. 

In fact, his feelings are a lot more aligned with that stupid game you used to make him play as kids. The one where you put on the white dress you’d gotten from your cousin as a hand-me-down, an assortment of grape juice, finger paint, and pasta sauce stains scattered along the hemline. 

The one where you’d gather a bunch of dandelions from your overgrown backyard and call them a bouquet. 

The one where you’d live out all your grandest six-year-old dreams of walking down the aisle towards a handsome prince with the latest Kidz Bop rendition of whatever love song was most popular on the radio crackling through the cheap speaker you stole from Jay’s bedroom. 

The one where you’d drag Heeseung away from the player number two console, much to Jay’s unending annoyance, and force him to play the part of your groom. Even at six, you were a force to be reckoned with. An argument-winning fiend that even your older brother could rarely best in a fight. 

Heeseung played along, more than anything, because he was scared to face your wrath if he declined. But he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t feel a little funny in his chest every time he watched you walk down a makeshift aisle made from your mother’s missing tablecloth. 

So no, Heeseung doesn’t give a shit how long you’ve known Sunghoon. After all, what does Sunghoon know about your childhood dream to get married in a garden full of roses? Judging from the way it looks like he keeps trying to get you to take a sip of his drink, he doesn't even know you can’t stand the taste of Coke mixed with liquor. 

But Heeseung knows. He was there the night you developed the aversion. The night you decided bottom shelf tequila and the soda you snuck from your parent’s fridge were your best friends for the evening after junior prom. The night he held your hair and rubbed soothing circles into the skin between your shoulders as it came back up a few hours later. 

And he was there for the rest of it, too. All of the little moments, the big moments, and everything in between that spun the tapestry of your formative years. 

The day you finally got your braces off and didn’t stop smiling for three weeks straight. The time you sprained your ankle trying to hide Jay’s favorite pair of sneakers in the alarmingly tall tree in your backyard. The night you cried for four hours straight when you found out Jake Sim from biology was a big, fat, liar that was indeed texting other girls for homework answers. 

There may have been moments, tangled up in that swirling mix of memories, when Heeseung felt nothing but a brotherly sort of affection for you. A desire to protect you from the world and a distinct sort of pride when he inevitably failed and you rose to the challenge anyway. 

But Heeseung also remembers what it felt like to stand across from you as you recited your six-year-old attempt at recreating marriage vows, and he thinks he never really stood a chance. 

So tonight, glancing over Jay’s shoulder again, Heeseung watches as you lean a little further into Sunghoon, straining to hear him over the cacophony in the bar. 

And the anger he feels in his gut is not brotherly in the slightest. Nor is the red, hot, scalding jealousy that burns his throat every time he forces himself to swallow it down. 

Searching for a distraction, he busies himself with his beer once again, letting Jay’s unwanted evaluations fall to the wayside for the time being. 

Immersed in the dregs of his own despair, he almost misses it. The flash of movement as you slide out from your seat next to Sunghoon. 

His eyes track your movement with the quiet focus of a predator on the hunt, watching as you disappear around the corner. 

Heeseung mumbles some excuse about needing to go to the bathroom that Jay only partially hears before he’s stepping off of his bar stool, beer forgotten on the counter behind him. 

Your footsteps are easy to follow as he traces the predictable path you forge to the opposite corner of the bar. Heeseung’s bathroom excuse was a good one, he’s pleased to discover, once he realizes that’s precisely where he’ll be meeting you. 

The line is long, but it moves quickly. Only a handful of minutes have passed when you emerge again. This time, Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t give you the chance to walk back and make him watch you from a distance for the rest of the evening. 

Doesn’t give you the chance to so much as look at Park Sunghoon again. 

Instead, he wraps long fingers around the skin of your wrist, dragging you to the adjacent hallway where it’s empty, quiet. Secluded. Away from any wandering eyes or unwanted ears. 

Any protests of yours are overtaken by surprise, and by the time you finally find them again, they’re replaced by questions. 

Heeseung may be a captain of a steady ship, a firm believer in the merits of smooth sailing, but he’s never been able to resist the urge of liminal spaces like these. Moments with enough plausible deniability that Jay won’t have a reason to give him a bloody nose or threaten his life if he so much as looks at his little sister again. Exchanges that he hopes will linger with you long after the two of you have parted ways. 

Desire for ambiguity aside, the position he puts you in is compromising no matter how you spin it. Your back against the wall, Heeseung leans over you, cages you in like he’s after something other than your answers. 

Something more. 

But the gap between your bodies is deliberate, a way for him to backtrack if the situation calls for it. An escape route if he needs it. He really, really hopes he won’t. 

Your wrist is still in his grip, light but demanding, when he finally says, “Park Sunghoon? Really?”

He can’t help it, the way his words are warped with poorly disguised venom. He really cannot stand the guy. 

“What?” You hope you can blame the obvious breathlessness in your voice on shock. “What are you–?”

Heeseung won’t leave you wondering for long. “You think he can handle you?” With the way you’re wrapped up in Heeseung’s hold, the challenge, the comparison, is apparent. 

Your shock morphs. Hardens. Gaze narrowing, you relax a little into his grip. 

Your words, however, remain combative. “Handle me? Am I a wild animal?” You scoff. “I don’t need to be han–”

And, oh, this is Heeseung’s favorite kind of tightrope. His very best balancing act. He loves it, thrives on it, revels in it. 

This exchange of heated words that never go anyway but to your head. He hopes you’re seeing fucking stars. 

Heeseung leans an inch closer. He’s breaching dangerous territory. He’ll blame it on the alcohol if he has to. Glancing at your eyes, holding your gaze, he doesn’t think he will. 

“Who said anything about you needing it?” He’s so close that you feel his breath on your cheekbone, ghosting across your temple. It’s warm, leaves your skin tingling in its wake. “I’m talking about what you want.”

Something unreadable flickers through your gaze. If Heeseung didn’t know any better, he’d call it desire. But it disappears before he can name it, replaced with contempt. As if Heeseung is nothing but a pest, a fly to swat at until it stops buzzing. “Awful presumptuous, don’t you think?”

Heeseung only grins. He’s not like this, usually. Even when his intentions are less than pure. Just like everything else, he flirts in obvious ways. He doesn’t play games or speak in riddles or hope that subtleties will do the job for him. 

But it’s just so easy with you. “I don’t know.” He leans in closer. “There are a few ways we could find out, though.”

If your breath stutters, you’ll disguise it as another scoff. “Pray tell.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Heeseung inclines his head in a mockery of an apology. Pet names are another thing he keeps reserved for these stolen moments with you. Another exception to the rule that he refuses to examine further. 

For a moment, he lets his eyes do what they want. You feel the heat they scorch in their path from your nose to your chin back up to your molten gaze. 

“I’d rather show you.” Heeseung pauses, biting at his bottom lip. “But I don’t think I can do any of the things I want in public.”

You hate the way he does this. The way he never says what he means. The way he skirts around his desires with such heavy footsteps but still leaves you feeling foolish for drawing obvious conclusions. 

The way your heartbeat stutters regardless. But tonight, you’ll hold firm. If he wants anything from you, he’ll have to spell it out. “What are you saying?”

Heeseung is as evasive as always. “I’m saying that Sunghoon’s too nice for you.” There’s a hard edge in his eyes when he adds, “You’ll eat him alive and still be begging for more.”

Fine. If he wants to play games, then you’ll roll the dice too. Make scathing comments and heated taunts with whatever numbers you land on. 

This time, it’s you that leans in. “Should I make sure to find you, then? When I’m all done with him?”

Heeseung’s eyes light up with a renewed vigor. You can’t tell if he’s furious or the most delighted you’ve ever seen him. “Careful,” he breathes. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing at.”

You smile. Sweetly. Innocently. Leaning in further, your mouth is scant inches from his. 

“I’m not playing at anything.” It’s a blatant lie, but you’ve become well acquainted with denial, too. Picked up a few tricks from the master himself. “You’re the one that dragged me here and started demanding that I ditch my friend.”

Heeseung grins as if you serve no purpose but to amuse him. But there’s a hard edge in his voice when he asks, “You let all your friends look at you like that?”

“Only the ones I really like.”

And now you’re under his skin. Exactly where you want to be. “Careful,” he repeats, even lower this time. “I’m not as nice as him.”

You won’t heed any warnings, and especially not ones given from him. 

Heeseung is all talk. All bark and no bite. You almost wish he would bare teeth, just once. 

But Jay is still sitting on a barstool just one room over, and no matter how much he likes toying with you, you have the sinking suspicion that Heeseung’s loyalty will always begin and end with his best friend. 

He’ll press up against the line, will skirt the edge of the boundaries between you every chance he gets, but you’ve yet to see any indication that he’ll ever cross it. 

Just once, you want to be the one with him wrapped around your finger. Want to watch him become putty in your hands. 

“What are you gonna do?” Unblinking, you hold his gaze. “Handle me?”

A blurred line dissolves completely. Heeseung’s resolve slips, just a fraction. His eyes are still guarded, yes, but there’s a desperation that wasn’t there before. “Is that an invitation?”

“A challenge,” you correct, taking advantage of his sudden surprise to slide out of his grasp, maneuvering away from his hold. This time, he has no choice but to turn as you begin to back away, to let his eyes follow your lead. 

The misstep might have been miniscule, but it was enough to tip the balance.

For once, the results of this game are under your sole control. You have choices, ones that would leave him in the dust and ones that would put a trophy in his wandering hands. 

In the end, you discard it all. You have only one final demand for him. It’s a whisper that’s barely audible, “Rise to it.”

Heeseung doesn’t need to hear it twice. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Thanks for reading :) If you enjoyed, let me know!

[paddockletters]

fractured silence | jude bellingham

paring: jude bellingham x reader summary: during a holiday gathering, tensions rise between the you and Jude after a fight request: yes/ thank youuu! hope you like it! 💗💗

The scent of pine needles and warm cinnamon filled the air, enveloping Jude's family home in a festive aura. Twinkling lights adorned the Christmas tree in the corner, and cheerful laughter echoed from the kitchen where his family was preparing the holiday feast. But in the midst of all the joy, there was a palpable tension hanging in the air between Jude and me.

We had fought earlier that day, our voices raised in the privacy of Jude's bedroom, a stark contrast to the warmth surrounding us. I didn't even remember what we were arguing about, but I could still feel the anger simmering just beneath the surface. I had stormed out, and now, surrounded by his family, I felt like I was playing a role in a holiday play that was going horribly wrong.

As I sat at the dining table, fidgeting with my hands and avoiding eye contact with Jude, his family members exchanged worried glances. Jude's younger sister, Mia, glanced at me sympathetically, as if she sensed my discomfort. I offered her a weak smile, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.

The meal progressed with polite conversation and laughter, but I felt like an outsider in my own skin. Jude was unusually quiet, but every now and then, he would shoot me a glance, filled with confusion and frustration. I couldn't meet his eyes; I felt like if I did, I might just crumble.

"Jude, could you pass the gravy?" his mother asked, breaking the silence. He obliged, but in doing so, his elbow brushed against mine, igniting a spark of tension between us.

“Do you think you could just chill for once?” he muttered under his breath, not loud enough for anyone else to hear but clear enough for me to catch it. The irritation in his voice struck me like a blow.

I felt my heart drop, and suddenly, I couldn’t hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill. I stood up abruptly, pushing my chair back so hard that it scraped against the floor, causing everyone to look up in shock.

“I need some air” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, I turned and fled from the room, leaving a stunned silence behind me.

I could hear Jude’s voice calling after me, but I didn’t stop. I ran up the stairs, my heart racing, and locked myself in his bedroom. Leaning against the door, I tried to catch my breath, but the tears flowed freely now. I felt lost in a whirlwind of emotions, battling anger, sadness, and confusion.

Outside, I could hear muffled voices as his family tried to figure out what had just happened. Jude’s mother sounded worried, and Mia’s soft voice reassured them that it would be okay. I hated that I was putting them in this position, but I couldn't face anyone right now.

Minutes felt like hours, and just as I thought I was finally calming down, there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Hey” Jude’s voice came through, soft and cautious. “Can I come in?”

“No!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Just leave me alone, Jude!”

“Please, just let me talk to you” he pleaded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Then why did you say that?” I interrupted, my frustration boiling over once more. “You’re just adding fuel to the fire!”

There was a long pause, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was filled with pain.

“I don’t know what to do, okay? I just… I thought we were done fighting.”

I felt my resolve begin to crumble, and after a moment, I sighed. “I just need a minute. I need to think.”

“Fine. I’ll be right here when you’re ready” he said quietly, and I heard his footsteps retreat down the hallway.

I sank to the floor, burying my face in my hands. The warmth of the holidays felt so far away, replaced by this unbearable weight of confusion and hurt. But as I sat there, I realized something—no matter how tough things got, I didn’t want to lose Jude. Not now, not ever.

After what felt like an eternity, I took a deep breath, wiped my tears, and stood up. I needed to talk to him. I needed to fix this.

Opening the door, I stepped out into the hallway, and the laughter and chatter of his family felt strangely comforting. But I wasn’t ready for that just yet. I needed Jude.

“Jude?” I called out, my voice still shaky.

He appeared from the living room, his expression a mix of hope and worry. “Yeah?”

“Can we talk?” I asked softly, my heart racing at the vulnerability of the moment.

Jude nodded, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he gestured for me to follow him to a quieter corner of the house. We slipped away from the bustle of the kitchen and the laughter of his family, finding refuge in a cozy nook filled with twinkling lights and a softly crackling fireplace.

“I’m sorry for what I said” he started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to make things worse. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you.”

I sighed, feeling the heat of the argument still lingering between us.

“It’s just… I don’t know why we keep getting into these fights. It’s like we’re stuck in a loop.”

“I know” he said, running a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with regret. “I hate it. I really do. But we can’t ignore what’s bothering us. I just wish I could figure out how to say the right thing.”

“Maybe we just need to communicate better? I feel like I’m walking on eggshells sometimes, and I don’t want to feel like that with you.” I shifted my weight, crossing my arms.

“You’re right. I don’t want you to feel that way either. I love you, and I care about how you feel. I just… I want to be the best partner I can be for you.” Jude stepped closer, his gaze steady.

My heart swelled at his words, but the tension still clung to the air.

“I love you too, Jude. But sometimes, it feels like we’re not on the same page, and it hurts.”

“I know” he replied, his voice softening. “But we can figure this out together. We always do. Let’s just take a moment to breathe and talk things through without shouting.”

I nodded, my defenses starting to lower.

“Okay. Let’s try that. Just no more snarky comments at the dinner table, okay?” I added, attempting to lighten the mood.

A small smile broke through his serious expression. “Deal. But only if you promise not to roll your eyes at me when I talk about football” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in my chest easing a little more.

“Okay, that’s fair. But only if you promise to let me help you pick out your outfits for the next family gathering. We need to address that terrible Christmas sweater you wore last year.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Hey, that sweater was iconic! But I’ll consider your offer if it means avoiding another fight over it.”

We stood there for a moment, sharing a comfortable silence. I felt the warmth of the fire nearby, and for the first time that day, I was grateful for the holiday spirit surrounding us.

“Can I ask you something?” I finally said, breaking the silence. “Why did you seem so distant at dinner? You were quieter than usual.”

He sighed, looking away for a moment as if gathering his thoughts.

“Honestly? I didn’t want to bring our issues into the family gathering. I thought it’d be easier to just stay quiet, but I guess that just made it worse.”

“I appreciate that you wanted to protect your family from our mess” I replied, feeling a rush of affection for him. “But we’re in this together. They love us, and I think they’d want to support us, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. I just get caught up in trying to make everything perfect, and I forget that it’s okay to be real” he admitted, his vulnerability making my heart ache for him.

“Life isn’t perfect, Jude. And neither are we. It’s okay to show our flaws” I said gently. “I just want us to be honest with each other.”

He nodded, looking back at me with a newfound determination in his eyes.

“Let’s promise to communicate better moving forward. I don’t want to keep having the same fights over and over again.”

“I promise” I said, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s focus on enjoying the holidays and each other’s company. We can tackle the tough stuff later.”

Just as I said this, we heard a burst of laughter from the living room, and Jobe appeared around the corner, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Are you two lovebirds done moping? We need your help with the gingerbread house competition! It’s getting intense out there!”

Jude shot me an amused look, and I couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through me.

“Let’s go” he said, his voice brimming with excitement. “I want to see how competitive you two are!”

As we headed back to the chaos of the living room, I felt a renewed sense of hope. Sure, the holiday season was filled with challenges, but with Jude by my side, I knew we could face anything together. Even if it meant putting up with a gingerbread house that would probably end up looking like a lopsided mess.

The rest of the evening was filled with laughter, icing-covered fingers, and lighthearted banter. Jude and I worked side by side, decorating our gingerbread house while playfully teasing each other about our decorating skills. His family joined in, their chatter blending with the sounds of Christmas music playing softly in the background.

By the end of the night, I felt lighter. Despite the earlier tension, I was grateful for the chance to reconnect with Jude. And as I watched him interact with his family, I felt a sense of belonging that I hadn’t expected during the holiday chaos.

As we finished our gingerbread masterpiece—if you could even call it that—Jude leaned in and whispered. “You know, I think we make a pretty good team, even if our house looks like it was built by a bunch of toddlers.”

“At least we did it together, right?” I laughed, nudging him playfully.

“Exactly” he said, grinning.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Alastor x Reader Master List

My Alastor list is getting crazy long so I am giving it it's own post just so my big Hazbin Hotel Master List doesn't get too confusing.

Other Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

List of Things I Won't Write

Series are marked in purple

Requests are marked in pink

Suggestive are marked in orange

NSFW are marked in red

Make You Wish Master List -> Y/n has known Alastor since she first ended up in Hell. When he disappeared? She thought her life was over. Seven years have passed since then and slowly but surely, the 1950s housewife turned murderer has made a life for herself, full of good decisions and some bad ones. What will happen when Alastor turns back up again, sending the world as she has made it into chaos once again?

What Can I Do For You (Alastor x Reader) → What if the deal Alastor made that is controlling his power was with Y/n?

Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader) → Y/n has been using the exterminations as a way to try and search for the soul of her earthly husband for years. What happens when she actually succeeds in finding him?

→ Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader) -> Reader wakes up in Alastor's room at the Hotel after the events of Understand.

Wrath (Alastor x Overlord!Spouse!Reader) → Y/n’s anger in finding that after seven years, their husband has returned to Pentagram City and decided not to tell them.

Unrequited (Alastor x Reader) → It is too late for him to change things now. It doesn't matter what else has happened, that he's gotten to know her, seen her light. Some broken things can never be fixed. 'You came' 'you called' but make it sad.

→ Unrequited Pt. 2 -> Reader steps in when Alastor is attacking Husk.

→ Unrequited Pt. 3 -> Alastor refuses to let Y/n be present for the battle against Heaven and will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if she hates him for it.

Fuel and the Fire (Alastor x Wife!Partner-in-Crime!Reader) → Alastor and Y/n have a deal with Lilith where until a soul is redeemed at Charlie’s hotel, Y/n is under her control. Alastor will do whatever it takes to get his wife back, but that doesn’t mean he won't get a little sad a lonely along the way.

Loving You (Alastor x Gn!Reader) → Valentine's day special :) The story of how Alastor and Y/n realized they had feelings for one another.

Sweet (Alastor x Chubby!Reader) → Hurt//comfort. A random demon insults the reader and Alastor comes to comfort her, later dealing with the demon in a typically Alastor way of handling such a crime.

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader) → Fake dating trope. Y/n and Alastor met when they tried to kill one another, how could they not end up at least a little bit in love?

-> Cover Up pt. 2

→ Cover Up pt. 3

Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader) → Y/n just wants to watch the world burn. Being married was a boon at first but later, rather inconvenient. When she died, she did everything she could to avoid her husband and continue her work but fate had other plans.

→ Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2

→ Till Death do us Part pt. 3

Prepare for Battle (Platonic!Alastor x Platonic!Cat Demon!Reader) → Alastor and Y/n have been engaged in a prank battle for decades. What happens when just a few days after Alastor reappears in the Pride ring, Y/n joins him at the Hazbin Hotel?

Rhapsody Master List → Gn!Reader. Alastor and Y/n have been taking down the overlords of Hell together for years but Y/n has had a secret and Alastor knows it. They each go their separate ways because of this but what happens when years later their paths intersect once again. Loosely inspired by Raine and Eda in The Owl House.

The Guilt (Alastor x Reader) → Y/n was the one person he never meant to kill, but Alastor didn't have a choice. Years later, much to his surprise, they run into one another in the depths of Pentagram City.

Pretty Bunny (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Alastor catches Angel and Y/n getting ready for a night out and stops Y/n from going. Hurt/comfort.

I Myself am Strange and Unusual (Alastor x Living!Addams family!Reader x Lucifer) → Y/n is bored and summons some demons. 

The Love (Alastor x Reader) → Alastor is drunk and Charlie asks him if he has ever been in love.

Frostbite (Alastor x Reader) → History repeats itself in odd and uninvited ways. Life cycles on even in death.

→ Day Lilies (Alastor x Blizzard demon!Reader x Angel!OC)

Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy (Alastor x Reader) → It wasn't love. Alastor didn't feel love, not anymore. He'd lost that part of himself the day he died so it couldn't be love, could it?

→ Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy pt. 2

Mishap of Magic (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Alastor’s magic backfires and Y/n is there to help. Who would have guessed that a situation such as this would give him the last push he needed to tell her how he felt? 

Destruction//Creation (Vox x Alastor's Ex!Reader x Alastor) → Alastor refuses to let the past die and Y/n would rather pretend it never existed.

The Thing (Alastor x Gn!Reader) → Alastor meets his shadow.

Masquerade (Alastor x Angel!Exorcist!Reader) → Y/n is sent to the Hazbin Hotel as a spy.

Downfall (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Y/n see’s Alastor talking to Rosie and thinks she is what he wants in a woman. Little does she know, he was meeting with Rosie to ask for advice on how to talk to Y/n.

What it Means to be a Person (Alastor x Cyborg!Reader) → Y/n gave an arm and a leg to the fight against the exterminators and feels she has lost her humanity by the bionic replacements Lucifer and Charlie gifted her in return. Alastor reminds her that not all is lost, she can still dance, after all.

Spicy Sienna and Berry Naughty (Alastor x Chubby!Gn!Reader!) → Alastor likes the fact that Y/n has begun matching their lipstick to their nail polish -- loves it, in fact. What he doesn’t like is that other people have started noticing. (this one is a bit… weird so I am marking it as suggestive.)

Burn (Human!Alastor x Human!Gn!Reader) → What happens when Alastor spots his ideal target, Mimzy’s newest hired talent? What happens when they evade his capture? What happens when, slowly, he begins to realize -- Alastor doesn’t want to kill them? At least, not anymore.

Drawing Down the Moon (Alastor x Ancient Roman!Witch!Reader) → Alastor reencounters an old friend.

[kbagraces]

us. - LN4

Lando Norris x ex girlfriend reader

After your break up you battle with missing him and hating him. You’d always been his secret so why isn’t she?

Loosely based on us. by Gracie Abram ft. Taylor Swift

Note: not proof read, I wrote this on the train so it could be awful! It’s a little angsty be warned, I just love this song atm!

masterlist🏹

You had both agreed to not stay in contact after your break up. You both agreed it’d be easier for the both of you. You’re not sure if it was but you wouldn’t be the one to give in, always being strong minded.

You fear that trait was what made Lando fall for you was actually what caused the demise of your relationship. You never felt the end of the relationship was near, you were willing to put up a fight for the relationship, Lando however seemed to give in a little more easily. Going silent in the arguments, ignoring your attempts to salvage the relationship.

The relationship was a secret to most to grieving him was hard, lonely and the sadness you felt quickly turned to anger. You were filled with resentment as he left you hidden but he had no problem showing off his new ladies.

Your one best friend who knew about the whole deal was tired of your wallowing and ranting decided to take you out for the night, an attempt at a distraction was anything but that.

The alcohol acted as a fuel for your rage filled yearning for your ex boyfriend. As soon as your friends back was turned your fingers slipped to the account of Lando on instagram. Having him blocked on every other social but you still kept tabs on his successes in the sport.

You typed the sad open ended message and hit send,

Y/n: I still don’t understand why you didn’t fight for us

An almost instant reply chimed up on your phone.

L: I couldn’t fight for something that was draining us both

Ouch

Y/n: I deserve an explanation not in the form of your ghosting. 2 years ending in one night doesn’t make sense.

L: I’m in London for fashion week if you needed to meet. I can meet you at the cafe.

You agreed, maybe you’d regret it in the morning but his every word seemed like lies to you now. Every good word he said about you, every time he pulled you out of pits of insecurity, you feared every i love you was a lie.

I show, you don’t.

How long was too long to wait. You sat abandoned once again at the cafe you used to once hold close to your heart, the spot where you first met was tainted once again by his lack of respect for you. After 45 minutes you lose all hope. Angry, hurt and embarrassed.

You’re a coward.

Seen 2 mins ago

Coward.

Later that night you’re scrolling mindlessly on instagram. Beautiful celebrities filling your feed from fashion week.

How much heartbreak could you take?

Newsource: Lando Norris spotted watching his alleged new flame walking at the Dior show this afternoon.

She’ll play her show and you’ll be watching

You’re fuming. How dare he? He’s making a mockery of you. Dedicating your time to him when he can’t even warn you of his absence. No explanation no apology, only to virtually go public with his new girlfriend when you were barley even allowed to tell your closest friends.

What he once told you was a protection tactic from his busy lifestyle fell into him actually being ashamed of you. How could he hide you for so long and now go public with a girl he barley knows?

And what seemed like fate, give it 10 months and you’ll be past it.

You slowly healed, after fully blocking him you began to move on with your life. Becoming more self assured, admitting to yourself that his actions shouldn’t reflect how you felt about yourself. You sometimes slipped into missing the good times, to quickly remind yourself you can’t always reminisce on the sometimes.

You can’t help but feeling partial joy when catching glimpses of the demise of his short lived 10 months he spent with his model girlfriend. You wonder if he regretted the day at the cafe, if he regretted the secret of the two of you. But that was his problem to deal with now.

Until missed calls were on the line. A Monegasque number rang through your phone, there was only one person it could be. One person who now regrets his actions all too late.

That night, you were talkin' false prophets and profits

Lando admitted to himself a long time ago that he made a huge mistake losing you. Using random models to distract himself from the guilt that surrounded his every thought. He knew he was a coward. You weren’t wrong. He couldn’t face you. He couldn’t explain his reasons to you. He never wanted you to be a secret, it began out of fear for your well-being but became a habit. When you begged for his attention he had too much pride to go back on his word.

Now, nearly a year on his misses you more than ever. He found himself in his nightly routine of fighting the urge to call you. The night he gave in he was met with his biggest fear as the line rang out. No answer. He pictured you in his head, he imagined you scoffing as his new number popped up on your phone. Watching as his call rang out.

He wanted to messaged you, he was desperate to hear from you. Maybe he could undo all his damages.

Do you miss us?

You laughed at the question.

Another call rang through, but this time you answered.

He gave you numerous shitty excuses, about his pride, acknowledging his lack of awareness for your feelings, him being caught up in the lifestyle.

“I spent so much time wondering if you regret the secret of us. It’s too late Lando. You completely shattered my self worth. I begged for you, your attention. It was always work and money above me. If you had just read up on the signs perhaps you could’ve learned something.”

“I loved you best I could at the time I know it wasn’t enough but I know what I want now. I can be better.” His voice was small, the tables were turned on him now. He now knew this was how you felt all the times he put you second best.

How ironic.

“You’re incomparable Lando. Fuck. I spent every day chasing how you made me feel when we were good but it wasn’t enough I need 100% from someone. I’m worth more than your half assed love, excuses and an apology which was frankly far too late.”

“I know I didn’t give you enough. But it’s us. You and me, we’re chemical y/n/n. It’s meant to be us.”

“It’s not Lando, it was. And it could’ve always been. You took me for granted and I’m not letting someone make me feel that way again. I wish you everything still. And you’ll do great things just without me.”

*

Mistaken for strangers, the way it was

Years had past. You both flitted between separate lovers. No one compared. Both of you spent time regretting the secret of you. You hated him for not giving you his all and he felt the same was about himself.

You began to open up to your friends about the failed relationship, never naming him but acknowledged that he would always be the one you wanted but would never have.

When you saw him again it was beyond painful. Like strangers who knew everything about each other.

The London club lights shadowed his face, you wondered if he recognised you with your shorter hair.

He watched your every move. Turning away when your eyes glanced his way. You were more beautiful than ever if that was even possible. He was still celebrating his win. He’d concoerned the partying scene in Monaco and now was celebrating with his UK friends and team.

He has imagined you being in the crowd as he stood on the podium and wondered whether you were secretly proud of him. The champagne clouded his judgment. He rarely drank so the impact was almost instant. He left his private table making his way over to you and your friends.

You had your back turned as you felt a hand on your bicep, your friends had glazed looks over their eyes as they looked as if God himself was stood behind you.

“Y/n/n.”

“Lando.” You smiled as you felt your friends, shriek at the interaction. Confused as to why this Formula 1 driver new you on a first name basis.

“Congratulations. You did it.” You broke the gap between the two of you pulling him in for a hug. You were proud. You still wished everything for him and were extremely over joyed when he won his first race. Something he’d be dreaming for your entire relationship, perhaps a factor that got in the way time to time.

“You know?” He was slightly surprised, unsure if you kept tabs on him anymore, probably not in the way he does to you.

“Of course I do. I’ll always be proud of your achievements. Especially this one.”

“Do you miss us?” He whispered looking into your eyes, the close proximity clouding his thoughts more than the alcohol was before.

You didn’t reply immediately, unfortunately the best times of your life was with him, but also some of your worst were because of him. It was the best kind of love, well sometimes.

“Do you regret the secret of us?”

Note: as always plz lemme know ur thoughts good or bad <3

[fuctacles]

Trans is fine, but you better not be a Swiftie!

For @subeddieweek Day 5 | T | 1502 | cw: hinted transphobia | transfem Steve, PDA, rockstar Eddie, jealousy, possesive Stevie, bitchy Stevie | Ao3 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Ao3

It took the whole of Corroded Coffin to convince her to go to the concert. It may make her sound like an unsupportive girlfriend, but she hasn't been to any of their gigs in months. Eddie never complained about it, aware that metal concerts aren't for everyone, even if they do like the music. She's also hit a weird stage in her transition when she didn't feel like going to public events. 

But here she was, at their first solo concert, no festival to crutch on. In the newest band t-shirt, one she saw through every stage of designing, her tits barely making a dent (Eddie had a different opinion on that topic), while two skanks next to her had her cleavages on full display in their tiny cut-up t-shirts.

They were in the VIP lounge, waiting for the band to emerge from backstage. Stevie could have been there with them, but the rush and heat behind a concert like this gave her a worse headache than the actual music. So instead, she had to sit there with two textbook examples of a groupie. And one of them looked meaner than Carol, back from high school, when she didn't get her chocolate pudding.

"You sure you're in the right place?" one of them finally speaks up.

Stevie looks pointedly at her band t-shirt. 

"Is this not a Taylor Swift concert?" she asks, eyes going wide. The second girl presses her lips, holding back a laugh. The first one narrows her eyes, though. 

"Don't sass me, girlie, you know what I mean," she hisses. "Wearing plain jeans and a hoodie to meet Eddie Munson? That's so disrespectful."

Stevie wouldn't call her jeans plain. They were expensive mom-cut and made her ass look good. The girl didn't need to know she treated them like a premium version of sweatpants. And the hoodie was Eddie's. He gave it to her before going on stage tonight. 

She shrugs off her words.

"I don't think he'll mind."

The girl scoffs. 

"Oh, he's too nice to say anything, but he'll know you're a poser. Who goes to a metal concert dressed like that? He'd never go for you."

Stevie raises her eyebrows, taken aback.

"Excuse me?"

"Excuse you," the girl barks back, nonsensically. Her friend touches her arm as if giving her a sign to back dial it down, but she either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore her. "You don't look like you're here for the music, hell, you probably can't name a single song!"

(Stevie named some of them herself.)

"So you must be here for Eddie," she concludes with a sneer. 

"Well, I am here for him," Stevie deadpans truthfully. This seems to further fuel her VIP lounge companion.

"Keep dreaming. He's into real metalheads," she says haughtily, popping the collar of her battle vest. It's so cartoonish it takes everything from Stevie not to burst out laughing. "What do you even listen to? Country?"

"Taylor Swift, I already told you."

"See, Eddie hates normies like you. Swifties are so fucking mainstream, you'll just embarrass yourself. Maybe you should go," she suggests with a pointed look.

Stevie gives her a pitying smile back. Clearly, she wasn't as big of a fan as she claimed to be if she hadn't seen the photos of Eddie in official Taylor Swift merch that were trending just a couple of months ago. 

"Eddie's looking for someone real, not a fake bitch like you."

She was going to play nice, but that was taking it too far. She felt her hackles rise and her face turned into a frown.

But before she could say anything, the second girl slapped her friend on the chest.

"What the fuck, dude?! You can't just say shit like that!"

"Like what?!" She slaps her back. "Do you think she actually cares about their music? She screams fake pop shit!" She throws her hand back, motioning at Stevie.

Who was too taken aback to react at this point.

"Fuck, I thought you were being transphobic." The girl lets out a nervous laugh. "Sorry."

"What?" The first girl takes a glance back at Stevie like she hasn't noticed before. It was kind of flattering, considering she wasn't that far in her transition, but she wouldn't take an idiot's oversight as a compliment. "I don't care about that! Mainstream music is a bigger sin than being transgender!"

"I'll drink to that."

The band chose this moment to appear at the steps to the lounge, Eddie raising the water bottle in his hand in a mock cheer. 

"Eddie!" The two girls stand up in unison, and it takes all of Stephanie's willpower not to roll her eyes. Instead, she gives a wry smile to Jeff, who seems to be in a similar state of mind.

"We're here too, you know," he murmurs under his breath. 

Gareth nudges his arm.

"Well, I'm glad they're not here for me," he whispers back.

Stevie snorts after hearing that, but the girls are none the wiser, too preoccupied with their beloved frontman.

"Hello ladies, hope you didn't wait too long," he greets them, accepting their enthusiastic hugs and letting them kiss his cheek. 

Stevie keeps her face carefully neutral.

"It's okay, we know you're exhausted after the concert." The first girl smiles sweetly at him, and it's becoming increasingly difficult for Stevie not to gag at the shift in attitude. "I'd wait the whole night to meet you." She might need a bucket right now.

Eddie laughs nervously, taking a step back to put some distance between them.

"Ashley and Xena, right?" he asks.

"I'm Xena!" The girl exclaims, clearly proud of her unusual name. Stevie does roll her eyes this time.

Gareth appears in front of her, snickering, and she punches him softly in the thigh before raising the same fist to fist bump him. He offers her the tray of cookies he picked up from the table.

"Hi. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." She shrugs and picks up one of the cookies. "Thanks."

He nods and retreats to one of the couches. There are three of them, set up in a triangle around a table with snacks and drinks. Which is very convenient, making Stevie think Chrissy has planned it out.

"You already know them, but it's rude not to introduce my friend." Eddie grins, making room for the rest of the band to properly greet the fans. "This is Jeff, Gareth, and Grizzly the Teddy-bear. He gives the best hugs," he says with a grin. Ted rolls his eyes.

"Just Ted is fine. But I do give the best hugs." He grins.

Eddie leaves them to it and finally goes to sit next to his girlfriend, throwing his arms over the back of the sofa and sinking into the cushions.

"I'm so tired," he groans. 

"Too tired to greet me properly?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. She can feel the eyes of the other girls on them.

"Never." Eddie raises his head immediately. "Sorry, baby." He leans in to kiss her on the cheek, but she moves her head away.

"I said properly," she repeats, but her tone shifts into her more authoritative one. He hesitates for a millisecond, but his eyes don't even shift away to look at their surroundings. Stevie enjoys the power trip, seeing him uncaring of who's looking and where they are.

"Of course, sorry," he amends, straightening up to go in for a proper kiss.

He lets out a surprised whimper when she dominates it immediately, grasping his chin and claiming his mouth like she's been starving for it throughout the whole concert. Eddie goes limp in her grasp, but she wants to make it clear who he belongs to. She grabs his knee possessively, angling him even more towards her, and her other hand moves from his chin to his hair. His locks are damp with sweat after the concert, but she doesn't mind, because it's exactly how she likes him. Dirty, unkempt, falling apart under her hands. 

She tugs at his hair, messing further the haphazard bun he's tied it into. He sighs, melting further into her, and it makes it easier to grasp his thighs and pull him into her lap. They finally part with a wet smack, and she can look into her boyfriend's glossy eyes.

"There's my good boy," she praises. "Hi."

"Hi," he croaks back with a dazed smile.

"Booo, get a room!" one of their friends speaks up. 

Eddie groans and hides in the crook of her neck, too weak from the kiss to face the teasing yet. So Stevie takes over the social interaction for him, lacing her hands together at the small of his back while he collects himself. She sticks out her tongue to Gareth.

"Shut up, we'll behave now," she says, before turning to the two girls, her jaws shattered on the floor and there to stay for her to stomp on. She smiles charmingly at them. "You guys were saying?"

Shameless plug: @stevieweek

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

My darkstalker family headcanons

darkstalker tried to make dinner once since he takes cooking classes at school and foeslayer gently put him down and said she would keep doing the cooking (it was that bad) but he makes good cinnamon bread dough

arctic sometimes cuddled with whiteout and darkstalker when they were babies when he got super lost in his depression, but stopped because they responded to how cold he was and it made him even more hateful of himself

whiteout sounds like luna lovegood

foeslayer has old battle helmets and armor hung up on the walls and arctic scowls when he walks by them

whiteout loves blackberries

darkstalker had a bear named deathmaul when he was young and arctic made him get rid of it fueling his hate for him

.

[bixels]

your tags about mercy being one of the most complex characters- YES!!! theres a log in one of ana's gun inspection modes where it mentions how mercy DESPISED her healing magic/science being used for evil on the battlefield, and there's an ingame line of her saying "power boost working as envisioned!" and it just reminds me how she was lied to, forced unto the battlefield when in reality she just wanted to help people with her inventions and thats the only way they said she could do it. AGH. Hippocratic oath!!

Which is why I never seriously bought into Moicy (I get the hatefucking though) as a serious ship because realistically, Mercy would absolutely abhor Moira with every fiber of her being.

This is gonna be a really hot take for gay Overwatch-knowers, but. I preferred when Moira didn't exist as a character in the story and her whole selfish philosophy of 'progress at any cost' existed as Mercy's darker side. I was really interested in Mercy's 'holier than thou' demeanor (her battle uniform is an angel costume, for god's sake). I found it so interesting that Mercy was the one who turned Gabriel into Reaper (it was assumed canon until retconned by Moira). Or that Mercy "saved" Genji by installing ninja stars into his knuckles and turning his body into a killing machine (which is why, imo, I don't think Mercy would ever be in love with Genji. He'd be a constant reminder of the power she holds yet tries to ignore, the ways she's unbelievably fucked her patients up in the past. A reminder that she's not as good a person as others believe her to be). I'm personally really into the idea that Mercy has two sides in her: the side who truly cares about healing people and the side who's so full of hate and anger for the perceived enemy that she unconsciously fuels her rage into the people who rely on her. Turning people into living weapons to "fix" them and fight her battles. Reminder that she watched her parents walk out on her as a child to volunteer medical work for the Omnic Crisis, only for them to die and leave her orphaned and alone. Is she doing this to take care of people, or is she doing this to avenge her parents (the official site says it's only the former, but I think that's boring as fuck)? I think it can be both at the same time, but sometimes she prioritizes one motive over the other. I think the "angelic, cheery healer" is a persona she instinctively uses to veil her selfish motivations, to everyone and to herself. Reminder that she was also lauded as a savant, a prodigy, a teenage genius who literally revolutionized medical science before she could legally vote. You cannot expect me to believe that she's truly altruistic, that everything she does is for the betterment of humanity and out of the goodness of her heart.

I don't think she's a malicious person at all, just someone who doesn't want to admit she has ulterior motives.

Anyways, she's not actually this interesting in the game or the story.

[celestialglow24]

•••Promise Me•••

Frank Castle x AFAB reader

You finally see Frank again after months of being apart with no explanation.

hi friends. more Frank angst because this man has taken over my mind lately and i think you all should suffer with me. please enjoy xx

The walk back home from the restaurant wasn’t too bad of a trek. You had convinced yourself it’d be alot faster than waiting around for an uber, or bothering your cousin at 12 am to come down there and pick you up.

Was it wise? Probably not. But the multiple shots of liquid courage—fueled with the desire to take a long hot shower—gave you a sense of confidence no one would have been able to shake.

So you said your goodbyes to the group you were with, telling them a little white lie that your ride was here, and began walking home.

As the loud street music and bustling noise of downtown nightlife started to fade, that confidence began to wane.

It was really quiet out here, and no one was around from what you could tell. You could see the sign for a park a little ways ahead and that managed to level your nerves.

Your cousin’s apartment wasn’t too far from there and if you kept at the pace you were moving, you could get there in 10 minutes or so.

God you hated wearing heels. You’d yet to find a pair that didn’t make you want to cut off your feet and curse the ground after only a couple of hours of use.

There was a part of you that was half tempted to take them off and walk the rest of the way barefoot, but after already passing several broken bottles along the street, you decided you didn’t want to chance a night in the ER.

All things considered you were proud of yourself for going out tonight. It had been months since you’d done anything besides: work, sleep, eat, repeat.

Save for a few weekends now and then of binge watching a true crime doc with your cousin Lucy or a trip to the dog park with her dog Penny, you hardly allowed yourself any time to relax.

Anything to avoid your mind having the opportunity to think of him. To think of your past.

So when your coworker invited you out with people from your department to celebrate their recent promotion, you decided to let yourself enjoy a night out. You felt you had earned it.

You hadn’t been working for the company very long, but you got along with everyone pretty well. It was nice of them to include you.

It was certainly more fun than you expected to have but after your brain had tried multiple times to convince you that you’d seen someone that wasn’t there—someone who you hadn’t seen in months—you knew it was time to go.

6 months.

6 months and you still searched for him in a room full of people.

It was pathetic.

Even now, as you walked the nearly empty streets you felt him. You didn’t know how— and despite logic and reason battling with these inexplicable feelings— it still felt like you could sense his presence.

Yeah, this had to be the alcohol talking.

You tightened your trenchcoat around your torso in an effort to self soothe and offered a half smile to the few people you walked by on your way toward the park.

As you rounded the sidewalk, you pulled your phone out to text your cousin that you’d be home any minute. She was probably already sleeping but you wanted to give her the heads up anyway.

Anything to avoid her attacking you with a broom like she did the one time you got home late from work.

Just as you went to tuck your phone back in your coat pocket it slipped out of your hand, landing on the ground face down with a loud crack.

“Fuck” you cried, bending down to asses the damage. Thankfully you had a screen protector, so the actual screen was fine. But man you had done a number on it. The uneven cracks that splintered the screen made it difficult to read the time and notifications.

As you rose from your squatting position, you caught a figure out of the corner of your eye ducking behind a car across the street.

You felt your stomach drop.

Slowly… you stood up taller, squaring your shoulders and trying to steady your breathing. You calmly reached for the front clasp of your clutch, thanking any god or the universe that you managed to stow your taser earlier that night.

You chose not to make any sudden movements. Instead you waited. You waited for so long you were starting to question if you had seen anything at all. Maybe you misunderstood and it was the alcohol messing with your senses.

But when you saw the tip of a black hoodie through the window of the car you knew you weren’t losing it.

“Who’s there?” you shouted.

No response.

“Listen,” your voice shook, “I’m about 10 seconds away from dialing 911 so if you’re not interested in explaining to the cops why you’re sneaking up on -”

“Ain’t no need for all that.” You heard a voice call back.

Your breath stilled. As soon as the voice hit you, it was like the ground beneath you had been ripped away. You didn’t even feel like you were in your own body anymore.

You dug your nails into your palm, trying to startle yourself awake. Surely you had to be dreaming.

But when the figure stood and faced you, their hood falling back to reveal their face, you couldn’t deny what you were seeing.

There were so many emotions swelling inside you at once. Disbelief, disappointment, anger and relief.

You didn’t know it was possible to feel so many things at once.

Perhaps the most compelling was the realization that despite everything, you still felt love. So much love that it made you feel weak.

It almost made you forget everything that’s happened.

The feelings of abandonment. The nights of endless tears. The calls and messages that would never seem to go through.

Feelings of confusion. Of constantly wondering what you did wrong.

Questioning if any of it was ever as real to him as it was to you.

You could almost forget it all. Run right across the street into his arms. Hug him and kiss him over and over. Tell him how much you missed him. How much you need him. How much you forgive him if you could just be together again.

But as quickly as those thoughts teased your mind, the feelings of anger and betrayal enveloped you like an unrelenting wave.

You couldn’t allow the love you felt to erase the hell you’ve endured. You wouldn’t.

So you swallowed the tears that threatened to spill and turned away, making bigger strides to get back to your cousin’s apartment.

You could hear him shout your name but you kept moving.

He must have crossed the street because you could hear him calling directly behind you.

You didn’t stop. You didn’t say a word. You just kept moving.

Choosing to run was just plain stupid, but it was your only resort to get away fast.

Not only was it stupid because your feet hurt like hell and you were risking a face plant any second, but it was stupid because he was the fucking punisher.

Any attempt to try and outrun him was pointless. He’d be able to catch you before you could even finish your next thought.

“Hey!” he yelled, finally catching up to you and grabbing your arm. “Just hold up would you?”

“No!” you shouted, yanking yourself out of his grasp. You took a few steps backward and he held his arms up in defense.

At this point you know you looked like a mess. The hot tears you were trying to suppress had spilled over and you could taste the salt of them on your tongue.

You wanted to hate him. You wanted to hate him so much but seeing the pained look on his face broke your heart.

To be honest he looked like shit. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in months. His beard was long and unkempt. It even looked like he’d lost weight. And his eyes, the biggest tell of all, were sad and empty.

“I just want to talk.” he spoke calmly.

You shook your head. “How did you find me?”

When you left the witness protection program you didn’t even tell Madani where you were going. She tried to pry it out of you, swearing that it was her duty as her job and as a friend to know. However, you wouldn’t budge.

The people that were after Frank had been taken care of according to Dinah. You didn’t want to continue living out the rest of your life looking over your shoulder.

So you thanked her for all of her help and you wished her the best, but you didn’t want any ties to your life back then. You didn’t want any more reminders of him.

“He asks about you, you know?” she had said during your last conversation. “Every week like clockwork. I haven’t told him anything. Just that you’re safe and happy.”

You scoffed, “Well at least one of those is true.”

She was silent for a moment. “I hope you can give yourself a chance to be happy again. Love doesn’t always look the way we want it to and life is hardly ever fair, but once we choose to accept the pieces we are given…. we can allow ourselves to move on.”

You know Dinah meant well. And you appreciated how close the two of you had gotten based on the circumstances. But you weren’t sure if you could agree with what she was suggesting. It felt impossible to move on when your whole body still ached for him.

“Thank you Dinah.” you relented, “Who knew you could be so therapeutic?”

“Just part of the charm.” she laughed.

A comfortable silence fell between you. You were sitting on the balcony of your cousin’s apartment, and for a brief second you felt a little bit of excitement at the opportunity to start over.

Your cousin had managed to get you a job and while it wasn’t exactly what you were doing before, it was familiar work.

You’d be working for a publishing company polishing and approving manuscripts. It was boring, monotonous work but it was safe.

You thanked Madani again and expressed the hope of following up again someday in the future.

Then you changed your number and disabled your emails.

You knew doing so wouldn’t stop them from being able to find you if they really wanted to. Her and Frank were both good for that. But it gave you a sense of control for now. That you were the one deciding to distance yourself this time and the choice wasn’t being made for you.

“Could we go some place to talk?”, his voice broke you out of the memory.

You crossed your arms.

“No. You don’t get to show up out of nowhere after months of silence expecting to just talk. I have nothing to say to you.”

The words that tumbled out of your mouth were meant to be delivered with strength and conviction. Instead, they sounded more like someone trying to convince themselves that they believed them.

“I can explain whatever you want. Just let’s get out of the cold here, there’s a diner not too far out.” he said, tilting his head back towards where you came from. “We could get a cup of co-”

“No, Frank, I want to stay right here.”

He closed his mouth, but you could tell he was trying to keep his composure. You were being stubborn and as much as you hated being in the cold, you didn't want to be around other people.

You didn’t want to take the chance of losing your shit while people were trying to enjoy their food in peace.

“I get that you’re angry, but there’s a lot you don’t understand. I was just trying to protect you.” he tried to reason.

“You left me Frank. You didn’t text, you didn’t call. You left me completely in the dark.” you cried, wiping angrily at your face to rid the tears that were escaping.

“Do you know how scared I was? Having strangers show up to my house and basically tell me I couldn’t exist as me anymore? I had to move and change my name. And the one person I needed more than anything—the one person who could make all of it feel okay— wouldn't even answer a damn phone call.”

You suddenly felt like you were back in the empty apartment Madani had set you up in. You hardly knew her before that day, she was just “someone who had worked with Frank before”, according to what she told you.

But she kept giving you this look. This look that both expressed the pity she felt for you and the wonder of how you ended up in a situation like this? How you managed to get mixed up in the world of Frank Castle?

But you had met him after he had left that life behind him. And according to him, the life that he was never going back to. Things had been good for so long that you never even questioned it until that day. Now you didn’t even know what was real.

“You were in danger alright? I had angered some really powerful people. I had hurt them, did things I’m not proud of and I wasn’t about to let you take the fall for it. You weren’t safe with me.”

“I was always safe with you!” you shouted, “Who else could’ve kept me more safe than you? We could’ve worked it out together, we could’ve came up with a plan—” you stopped as you watched Frank shake his head in disbelief, “What, Frank? What the fuck is that about?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Come up with a plan? Really?” he scoffed, “This isn’t team sports. It’s not some dumb escape room you sit around and solve clues in. It’s real fucking life.”

You looked down at your feet. The escape room comment was a low blow. It was something you loved doing and grumpy Frank hated. He’d go along with it if you planned it, not bothering to hide his disdain at first, but by the end of it you knew he had fun with you.

You didn’t think he’d throw it in your face as a means to mock you.

“Frank, we were partners. That’s what you do.” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “You work through things together. As a team. Not one person taking over and telling the other person what to do all the time, but see you didn’t ever want to do that did you? You didn’t think I was capable right?”

“Don’t go there.” he warned. You could see his hands start to twitch. In the past his agitation would have gotten you to dial it back a little. You hated fighting with him and it was never worth it.

But this time you didn’t care. You didn’t understand why he was the one so angry.

“Why not?” you probed, “You always made it seem like I was one mistake away from getting myself hurt.”

“That’s because you never took things seriously. You had no sense of danger. Too trusting, too carefree, too-”

“Stupid?” you interjected.

“I didn't say that.” he shot back. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to find some place to channel the tension. You could tell this was not how he wanted the conversation to be going either.

You couldn’t believe you were having this same fight. It was something you never got along about.

You tried to be understanding. You both had different life experiences and because Frank had a military background, he had been trained to look at things a certain way.

He was trained to look for a threat and “take it out before it took you”. Transitioning back to civilian life wasn’t always that simple. Those habits could be hard to unlearn.

It wasn’t always bad, but it wasn’t always necessary.

Not every stranger was a potential threat set out to hurt you.

Staying late at work didn’t mean you were in danger and someone was holding you hostage.

Interviewing a source for your upcoming news article didn’t immediately put a target on your back.

But Frank always anticipated the worst.

You know it was his way of expressing his love but it could be a lot at times. You just wanted to enjoy life together without always feeling like there was some danger lurking around the corner waiting to get you.

“Go ahead Frank,” you continued, “Let me hear how stupid it was for me to walk home by myself tonight. How naive it was to risk getting hurt when I should’ve called a cab.”

“I ain’t gonna act like it was a good idea, and up until a few minutes ago I’m sure you were realizin it wasn’t either.”

You let out a groan.

“I was almost home, besides I don’t think anyone would’ve tried anything with the big bad punisher stalking me.” you said, throwing your arms out dramatically.

“I mean really Frank, what was your plan? Were you just gonna jump out and shout surprise? Were you gonna follow me home to make sure no one grabbed me? Stare down the cars that drove past me? The people that passed me? What was the fucking point?”

For a moment he didn’t say anything.He kept his gaze down at his boots. The twitching of his hands had stopped, and the heavy rise and fall of his chest had slowed down.

“I needed to see you.”

The phrase was simple, but it held such weight.

You understood what he meant. You felt the desperation in his voice. And yet you couldn’t stop the anger from bubbling up.

“What about all the times I needed to see you? To hear your voice? Why didn’t I deserve the decency of a phone call, a text message, anything?”

“I couldn’t risk it.”

“Bullshit.” you spat. “You could risk asking Madani about me?”

His head shot up at that.

“Are we gonna do this all night?” he asked, the anger picking up in his voice again, “Huh? We’re gonna just keep yelling at each other? Who was right? Who was wrong?”

“Yes Frank because I’m angry with you! You made me feel unimportant. You made me feel helpless, like I had no control over my own damn life anymore.” You stepped closer, making sure he couldn’t avoid your eyes.

“You pushed me away like I meant nothing to you!” you shoved him.

“No.” he shouted, “I pushed you away because you meant everything to me!”

He turned away and let out a deep breath through his nose. The weight of his words slamming into you like a wrecking ball.

“Everyone I've ever cared about gets hurt because of me. Because of my demons. Because of the shit I've done to other people. I couldn't take that chance with you. They were so close to hurting you. I had to do something. That’s why I contacted Madani. That’s why we got you into witness protection.”

You felt the sting of the tears start to swell up again. From anger, frustration or sadness you couldn’t tell. Maybe it was all three.

“You want to know why I couldn’t say goodbye to you? Why I couldn’t call you? It’s because I knew—,” he paused and looked off to the side, “I knew that if I saw you—if I just heard your fucking voice—I’d change my mind.”

He finally locked eyes with you again, taking a step closer to you. He was testing it out, seeing how close you would let him get. To his surprise you didn’t move away.

“I couldn’t be selfish with you.” he said softly.

You didn’t know what to say. You knew the people that had been after Frank were relentless, but you never once feared for your life. Maybe there was more to it that he kept from you, and you wanted to trust him, but it didn’t diminish what you experienced while he was gone.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry I hurt you. But I’m not sorry I did it because you’re safe. And I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but I’d do it again in a fucking hearbeat if it meant nothing would happen to you.”

“It’s just—.” your voice trembled and you bit your bottom lip. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t put the words together.

“What is it?” he asked gently, taking another step towards you. This time he was close enough he grabbed the bottom of your chin and tilted it up towards him.

“I really missed you and I didn’t think you cared about me anymore.” You choked.

Suddenly you felt yourself pressed up against his chest as he pulled you into him. “No baby, that’s not true.” he soothed.

You wrapped your arms around his torso and laid your head on his chest, letting all the pent up emotions slowly release. God you forgot how good it felt to be held by him.

All the nights you longed for this very feeling. For him to hug you and kiss you and tell you everything was gonna be alright.

You could feel your unsteady breathing start to level out again and all the anger and frustration slowly disappear. It was as if he was a magnet, pulling out the deepest emotions you tried so hard to bury.

“I missed you so fucking much you have no idea.” He pulled back, tilting his head down to look at you.

You both locked eyes and without thinking twice you kissed him. He responded instantly, pulling you so tightly against him it was as if he was trying to swallow you whole.

That feeling people mention of the world standing still—you finally understood what that meant.

When you couldn’t breathe anymore you pulled away, resting your forehead against his.

“What does this mean, Frank?” you quietly asked. “Can we be together now? Do we just go back to the way things were before?”

He was quiet for a moment and you almost regretted asking the question.

“It’s whatever you want it to be sweetheart.” he finally answered, “You tell me.”

You weren’t sure what to say. One half of you wanted to be together again. The other half wasn’t so sure you should give in this easily.

What if it happened again? You didn’t doubt there were more people out there that’d like to see Frank Castle and the people he loved, hurt.

Would he push you away? You didn’t think you could survive it a second time.

“Frank, I love you. I want to be with you. But I need you to treat me like an equal. I want to be included in decisions. I don’t want to be kept in the dark again, it isn’t fair.”

Though he wasn’t speaking, you could tell the thoughts were churning in his head.

“If something like this comes up again I want to know about it. I want to have a say in how we handle it. Can you please promise me that?”

Frank let out a heavy sigh. He had to fight with the selfish side of him that wanted to say no. This shouldn’t even be something you have to worry about. He’s the one that should be responsible, not you.

But if he was being honest with himself these past several months were hell. He hated not being with you and maybe compromising would be the best thing to do after all.

He didn’t like making promises in general, but as he looked into your eyes he couldn’t bring himself to fight anymore. He needed to be with you just as much as you needed him too.

“Okay.” he agreed quietly.

“Promise me.” you urged again. You needed to hear him say it.

“I promise.”

You didn’t even realize how tense your body had become until you felt your shoulders relax. Frank pulled you into him again and you could feel the tension in him relax as well.

If anyone would have told you an hour ago you’d be standing in the middle of the street being held by Frank you would’ve told them they were crazy.

There were nights you never thought this moment would come. So as the two of you continued to stand there, holding onto each other. You realized there was probably nothing in this world that could match this feeling.

You would make sure that no matter what was waiting for you around the corner, you’d never let go again.

[animeyanderelover]

Can i request headcanons for feitan, madara, Indra, jojo( Joseph and caesar) for fem reader being a time and world traveler? Like she can come and go as she pleases or when she gets bored and wants to see something else. She enjoys taking her time and exploring each world she visits

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, stalking, clinginess, paranoia, threats, manipulation, blackmailing, violence, female s/o

Tags: @shumidehiro @swagenemyartisan @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @cynniical @shenryu-sama @simplydlightfuldestiny @flaming-vulpix

S/o is a time and world traveler

Indra Otsutsuki

💜​There is something different about you. Years of training and honing his abilities to utmost perfection have given Indra a very keen intuition on people's skills through simple observation. Someone as skilled and strong as he is does not have time like his younger brother to waste his time with everyone, instead he is much more selective with his preferences clearly lying in stronger people. That is why he finds himself seeking you out as he as a feeling that you will prove yourself as worthy of his attention and time. His intuition is after all rarely wrong. As you are a traveler who has found her way to their village, Indra instantly takes it upon himself to separate you from people he does not deem to be worth of the attention and time he plans to invest in you. He shall be your guide and adviser during the time you spend in the village. Despite being known for his unforgiving nature and harsh attitude, you find out that he is quite attentive and mellow when he is left alone with you, answering all your questions.

💜​Accompanying you as you get to know the world around you becomes one of his favorite activities as he relishes in the privacy he can have with only you. As seasons come and go, he finds himself growing quite possessive of your time he sees as far too precious to clown around with those he does not see as fitting. You are far too knowledgable and skilled to waste your day with people who will never become strong enough for him to acknowledge. By now he only seems to tolerate his little brother and his father around you as he scares others away from your side. Yet not only does he scare those he deems as weak away, he also insists for you to let him train you as he would hate for you to not grow fully into the potential he knows you possess. He discovers very soon though that he has barely anything to teach you as the opposite would be much truer. As uncomfortable as he feels when figuring out that you seem to be stronger than him, he shows willingness to learn so that he will eventually surpass you in order to hold the illusion of being in control.

💜​It is his father's decision to name Asura as the next successor that ultimately pushes Indra over the edge and it is the defeat he suffers at the hand of the brother he always thought to be weaker that fuels his obsession. Not being the one who is stronger equals now not being in control which is why he grows quite paranoid with you as he knows that he has never bested you in skills. It is his very real threat of abducting you to keep you for himself that finally leads you to reveal the truth to him about the full potential of your powers. Your powers let you be closer to a god than an actual human and this knowledge humbles and humiliates him. A feeling of insignificance threatens to weight him down as he comes to realise that in your eyes he must be something to be forgotten as time passes by. A knot of emotions, unable to be untangled, is born in his heart and makes it hard to navigate. Between the anger, the sorrow and the paranoia there is one thing Indra is certain of though. That he will have you bending down to his will, no matter what.

Madara Uchiha

🌑​You appear before him in a time of rare desperation as his heart feels heavy as the last member of his family is battling with death after having been mortally wounded by Tobirama Senju during one of their many battles. Everyone from the doctors has proclaimed that there is no saving Izuna yet here you stand, unfaced as you are surrounded by hostile Uchiha warriors and proclaim that you can save his younger brother from the tight grip of death. No one believes you, not even Madara yet you know of his deepest wish to not lose Izuna and ultimately Madara allows you to tend to Izuna. If you cannot fulfill what you have promised, he will see it through to make you regret every single word you have dared to use to lie to his clan. You defy all expectations though as you save his younger brother from unescapable death using a jutsu that no one of the medics in the Uchiha clan have ever seen before. As Izuna is on a safe way of recovery, many beg of you to stay a while longer and to learn the abilities that you possess.

🌑​The Uchiha value power and skill and you possess plenty of it. Madara, quite intrigued by you, only joins the offer of his clan as he asks of you to accept the hospitality of his clan so that he can properly express the gratitude he feels. To the delight of everyone you accept the offer though as you have been planning to settle down for a while to take a break from your travels. As the war continues raging on outside, you are treated kindly within the Uchiha compound as many of the strong clan ask of you to learn from you. You have no interest in the war yet your strength is undeniable as you have taken some offers to spar with some of the warriors out of your personal boredom. Some even suggest to make you an ally to fight against the Senju yet as you voice your clear displeasure against that idea, Madara sees it through to silence all who dare to think like this. It is no secret that he is utterly smitten with you at this point and does whatever he can to ensure that you stay with his clan.

🌑​In his mind he has already named you as the wife he wishes to take as your knowledge, sharpness and skill are most desirable traits. Someone special as you only deserves an equally impressive man. A man like him. Rumors have already spread, the eldest of his clan have already given him their blessing for his decision yet it is then that you decide that it is time to leave. You manage to sneak away from everyone yet he catches you in your attempt. Initially he persuade you to change your mind yet when he realises that you have made up your mind, he switches his plans and instead tries to use force on you. It is that night that he is bested by someone for the first time as not even Hashirama has ever beaten him so effortlessly. He is as impressed as he is humiliated, something he has never felt before. It is only then that you decide to confess to him your true origins and powers. Perhaps for others it would be soothing to know that they lost against someone who transcends through time and even space yet he has never been someone to resign himself to his fate. Red eyes glare at you as you go your separate ways as he swears that he will become even a god to claim you as his.

Feitan Portor

☠️Commonly it is believed that first impressions matter yet if that were to be true, Feitan couldn't care less. You truly appear in the wrong place at the wrong time as the city you currently reside in becomes an unfortunate victim of a heist of the Phantom Troupe. Completely left in the blind with what is going on, you do what you deem to be the right thing to do as you try to save at least some people which leads you to violently clash with no one else but Feitan himself. Initially your brave facade is scoffed at yet you manage to impress him to the point where he even finds himself enjoying a fight he initially is confidet he will win. You are just strong and stubborn enough for him to enjoy the idea of toying a bit with you and eventually break you. Just as it appears like he has won though, you finally seem to be mad enough to use your true abilities. Feitan doesn't fully understand what happens, only that you easily overpower him and shame him as he realises that you held back the entire time.

☠️​Humiliated and ashamed of his defeat he feels guilty for letting the troupe down by not doing his part yet Chrollo does not think badly of him as he knows of Feitan's skills. Instead it begs the question of what your abilities exactly are for you to defeat Feitan as effortlessly as you did. It would be safe to investigate you and Feitan is quite adamant to participate as he is silently brooding due to the defeat he had to suffer because of you. Very soon he finds himself confronted with the problem that he can't find any data about you as not even Shalnark can dig up information involving you. You may as well be a ghost and all of it only feeds Feitan's growing frustration as he finds himself reduced to the pitiful position of stalking you personally, just itching for a chance to fight with you again and get you back for his shameful loss. What was initially obsession for revenge soon turns into something else though yet when he fully realises the seriousness of it all, it is already too late for him to turn back.

☠️​The amount of time he dedicates to stalk you increases as he starts growing quite impatient and perhaps even a tiny bit desperate. Weeks of stalking yet he knows nothing about you nor about your Nen abilities. Why do you have to make it so difficult for him? When he finds out that you plan to leave the city and continue your journey, he is triggered. You react quite unfazed though even as the sharp tip of his sword is pressed against the back of your neck as his quiet and hoarse voice forbids you to leave this city. He still hasn't gotten his chance to beat you after all. To his dismay you reveal to him that you have known of his stalking the entire time, only adding more insult to his humiliation. You manage to defuse the situation though when you offer him the chance to ask you a few questions which you will answer to the best of your abilities. Whilst at first iffy, he takes that offer and asks you the question that has been bothering him the most. What exactly are your abilities? The answer you give him is too ridiculous to believe yet he senses no lie in your words. He falls silent yet you can see how he is brainstorming for a solution in that moment. He knows that you plan to leave. He can't have you do that.

Joseph Joestar

🦾​Your cover is instantly blown when you travel to a new world. Joseph, with his stupid luck, just had to see you suddenly appear through the portal you opened what should have been a reclusive area. Instead you meet eye to eye with none other than the young Joseph who is gawking at you with a dumbfounded expression on his face. You can't blame him for that. In the next moment he dramatically points his index finger at you, asking you aghast if you are some sort of witch. You fear for a short moment that you'll have to do something but to your luck the Joestar has no intention of stopping you as he tends to avoid problems normally. Instead you manage to figure things out with him as you have no choice but to confess to him the truth, especially since he seems to be quite witty and sharp, recognising it if you try to lie to him. After he has been convinced that you are merely a tourist from another world and plan to cause no chaos, you two instantly hit off.

🦾​Can you blame him though? It is not everyday that he stumbles upon someone who can travel through time and space. Instead he finds himself enjoying showing you around and being able to boost his own ego by amazing you with the stuff that is ordinary to him but new for you. He can't stop himself from flirting with you, although you find out that he does this quite commonly with the people around him so you learn to brush it off. He does like to remind you that you have the most unique and otherwordly charm of all people though. Quite literally. He enjoys your presence greatly though because you keep up with his antics, even if it has gotten the both of you in troubles quite some time before. It is only natural in hindsight that he caught feelings and whilst he may appear quite silly at times, Joseph is quite clever. Though he does like to think at the beginning that his feelings are nothing serious, he has no way to deny it anymore at a certain point.

🦾​He proceeds to act the same way he has always done to not rouse your suspicion but on the inside he is brainstorming already. He is no fool after all. You have told him yourself that you travel around when you get bored of a world. Very subtly he attempts to pry for more information about how exactly your powers, expressing genuine curiosity as he asks you if you can bring other people along. Honestly, he doesn't mind your abilities that much if it wouldn't be for the very real chance that you will simply never return to him again. If he would just know that you would reciprocate his feelings, he would even be up to tag along and see some new worlds for himself. He doesn't know if you feel the same though and even if he continues to flirt and has gotten as of lately more clingy and even a tad bit more jealous, he hesitates to tell you. He knows after all. He knows that his feelings are rather creepy and unhealthy. Let's just hope that he can delay your leave for as long as possible by keeping you entertained until he has found a solution...

Caesar A. Zeppeli

🫧​Caesar is no stranger to the concept of courting young ladies and stealing their heart in the process. He seems to be instantly attracted to you when he sees you as you have something special about you that he can't yet put his finger around. Adamant to discover what makes you so special to instantly capture his heart though, he does not shy away from approaching you with a gentlemanly playfulness that has always worked on women before. Whilst you appear to be amused as you can clearly see his intentions, you decide to see how it'll go out of curiosity nevertheless. You can indeed see the appeal in the young and hot-blooded man after a while as he truly doesn't hold back when it comes to his partner. Expensive jewelry and gifts are all given to you, dates in fine restaurants become a daily occurrence and sweet and romantic words that belong in a romance novel are whispered into your ears. Truly, he does not shy away from making a lady feel like the world belongs to her.

🫧​You can enjoy it only because you have heard and seen that he treats all ladies that way which is why you think of this as nothing too serious. That is until you notice the shift in his behavior. His eyes stray less to other ladies and solely focus on you with a warm and adoring glimmer in those green eyes, he invades your physical privacy by always taking an extra step to be closer to you out of growing protectiveness and you have realised his growing disdain as whenever he spots you with another man as he is turning without a doubt more and more possessive of you. You don't intend to have him fall truly in love with you because you know that you would leave him with a broken heart so you try to distance yourself from him in hopes that he will stop. Yet the moment you dare to pull back, his paranoia seems to increase. His mind is racing, wondering what it could be that has caused such a rift between you two and much to your sadness you find him multiple times in front of your door, begging you to tell him what is shackling your heart.

🫧​Caesar is fully aware of his reputation as a womanizer and he truly regrets it now that he has found the one lady he wants to marry and spend his life with. He is far too delusional to fully acknowledge the unfitting desperation he starts to display the further he feels you drifting away from him. As you notice that no rationality will work on him anymore, you decide to leave the city. The world you are in is still big after all and you have much left to discover. Yet you are aware that Caesar has abilities which aren't common for other people of this world to possess so you address an honest letter to him, trusting him enough to keep your secret safe. The heartbreak attacks him like a vicious dog when he breaks into your empty apartment after you did not answer the door and he finds your letter where you explain the situation to him. Still, he refuses to believe your words that deny that you two could never have a future together, something he has already envisioned multiple times. You poor thing must have never felt true love before to think that. As heartbroken as he is, Caesar is just as determined to find you and convince you of his feelings and the dangers that come with traveling all alone.

[demonic0angel]

Various Jazz Forms: Jason Edition! (Click for clarity)

TW: disturbing content, body horror, blood

1) Fire Jason

+ He is a fire spirit, specifically one of hellfire. He also controls some aspects of healing, light, and life, and is the child of the Spirit King, making him quite powerful.

+ He is incredibly powerful but also very reckless and foolhardy. He is the first to dive into battle and is not afraid of hurting himself in order to hurt the enemy. He is hot to the touch and can burn skin but can cool himself down if he wants.

+ He adores Jazz and when he met her, he almost immediately agreed to sign a spirit contract with her in order to be in her service. Thankfully, she is a good contractor and takes good care of him.

+ He is of his usual height, 6'3", but he can grow to larger sizes with enough fuel. As such, he can also shrink into a tiny flame when he is weak or tired. In order to gain more power, he needs fuel, which can be wood, gasoline, paper, or even Jazz’s bodily fluids like blood.

+ For some reason, I dressed him up like a man from the west in the 1800s, so he kinda has cowboy vibes. He also wears gold a lot.

2) AI Jason

+ Inspired by AM from "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream." (I've never actually read it, but I've researched a little into it and got interested.)

+ His name was R.E.D., which stood for "Robotic Enemy Defenses." He was programmed to automatically detonate bombs and defend strongholds using programmed strategies through investigating and taking information from current and past history of wars.

+ He hates all humans. He was created with the intent of being a weapon for war, but after being abandoned by his creator after his role was finished, he was so enraged that he started another war and wiped out all humans in his universe. Nowadays, he pretends to be a harmless AI in another dimension after he created a program to send copies of himself to other worlds.

+ Jazz dotes on Jason a lot because she is unaware of his past. She gave him the name meaning "healer", unintentionally trying to reverse his original purpose. She thinks of him as a regular AI who gained consciousness.

+ The screen that holds him only contains a sprite of his body. The screen itself is only around 60" but the sprite itself is 10". He designed it himself, and although he is cute, he is 1000% willing to kill and torture.

3) Angel Jason

+ He is a seraphim, and has 3 pairs of wings because of it. One pair hides his face, another hides his feet, and the last is used to fly. Like all seraphim, he is colored red.

+ He protects Heaven and used to be a Throne, but was raised up a rank after he died in a fight to protect Heaven.

+ He is around 20 feet tall, including his wings.

+ Jazz is his favorite human. He has refrained from having children with her due to the fact that it is considered a sin, but if he did, their children would be the tallest, even amongst other nephilim.

+ He is apathetic to most things due to his angel status, but he is very partial to anything related to Jazz, often protecting her and healing her without being asked to. As such, there have been rumors in heaven that he will soon be cast out and become a fallen angel because of his emotional affair with her.

4) Snake Jason

+ Inspired by multiple infamous serpents from mythology and legends such as Jörmungandr, Apep, Python, and the Leviathan.

+ Because he is the embodiment of chaos and destruction, he is completely hated by most people who knows about him. As such, he is often killed and tortured whenever he encounters someone with weapons that can hurt him. He was born that way, but it doesn’t stop people from trying to vanquish him.

+ He has the ability to change his size, shapeshift into various forms, create natural disasters (such as storms, eclipses, droughts, earthquakes, etc), destroy celestial objects, consume souls, and is immortal. As such, he can be temporarily defeated, but never truly killed. However, this only causes him great pain.

+ He has apathy for humanity and any creature in general. However, Jazz once saved him and since then, he’s been encountering her reincarnations every time he comes back from the dead. He gained fondness for her because of her unwavering loyalty and protects her when he rampages against the world.

+ He is around 25,000 feet long and 3,000 feet wide in his regular form. Yes, he does have two of them. Iykyk :9

5) Monster Jason

+ Inspired by the Minotaur from Greek mythology.

+ He is the combination of a bull and a ram. I give him sheep motifs a lot bc not only is it cute and contrasts with Jazz's wolf motif, I consider him a sacrificial lamb, especially bc of his death that was chosen by the audience.

+ Half of his face is melting off because he was attacked after he met a human for the first time after he tried to sneak off and see the outside world. As such, he is extremely self conscious and lonely. After meeting Jazz who snuck inside the maze and didn't care about his appearance, he is extremely attached and possessive of her.

+ He is around 8 feet tall. Jazz adores how tall he is and likes looking up at him. Likewise, he also finally enjoys one thing about himself when she is cradled underneath him.

+ Jason used to be kept hidden for his own protection by Bruce, but after he left home and was captured, he was imprisoned in a labyrinth by another person. Afterwards, he was kept in the labyrinth to be hunted for sport in order to take his valuable horns. He believes that his family has abandoned him, but they’re actually trying to find him.