#savage rivals

[scorbleeo]

Book Review: Savage Rivals

by Becca Steele

Source: Google Images

Asher Henderson.

Captain of the Highnam Academy football team, and the bane of my existence.

As Alstone High’s team captain, I’ve been pitted against him from the beginning, but our conflict isn’t only reserved for the pitch. Everyone knows we’re enemies. From our first encounter, our rivalry has been escalating, spiralling out of control.

Until one night when everything between us changed.

He pushed me too far, and we crossed a line that should never have been crossed.

Now, I can’t get him out of my head.

Can we ever be more than rivals, or are there too many obstacles in our way?

One thing I know for sure.

Things between us will never be the same again.

Source: Goodreads (2021)

Read Like an Early 2000s Romance YA-ish Novel

The premise of Savage Rivals wasn't that bad. Rivalling main characters, haters to lovers – literally because I could actually feel that they hated each other in the beginning. Really, the only problem I had was Steele's writing style. Unfortunately, because it's the writing style I disliked, I could not quite enjoy read Savage Rivals.

This is a quick paced and extremely short book, it should not have taken me long to finish it but it did. While reading Savage Rivals, I could only think about how amateur the writing felt. I am not expecting writing like Jane Austen or Emily Henry or even Penelope Douglas. Just give me something that does not scream childish. Yet the whole time I was reading this book, I thought it was written by a child writing fan-fiction. I might not read as much as I would like to, but I was honestly shocked when I found out this was a 2021 publication yet it felt like an early 21st century publication. Or you know, a bad teen romcom movie.

Due to that, there was a severe lack of development. I understand that to some people, the line separating hate and love is very thin but I would have liked to see something other than hatred between our two main characters before their first kiss. Like I mentioned earlier on, the hatred Asher and Levi had for each other was obvious and genuine. Unfortunately, during the haters to lovers period, I could not sense anything. It was as if, one second they truly hated each other and the next second, they could not hide their adoration for each other. There was simply no development there at all to justify the boys' feelings for each other. Personally, I felt that Asher's feelings for Levi's car had a better development, you could see Asher's distaste and gradually, a love for it.

I really wanted to like Savage Rivals but upon finishing it, it sadly does not deserve anything more than 2 stars.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

[scottermite]

emo hivemind inspired by @gaydonweaver X3

[riverofashcoll]

AGHHHHHHHHHHH

[doctorslippery]

(via The Secret Society of Supervillains by TheBostonAdam on DeviantArt)

[undohersad]

Savage Rivale GTR

[sistensims]

Savage Rivale

[chessdesalls]

Savage Rivale GTR

[lilislegacy]

If you talk shit about Percy in front of Annabeth, she is going to annihilate every bit of self-confidence that you have ever been able to construct. She is going to defend Percy’s honor, degrade the living crap out of your existence, and make you - and every other person in the room - realize how he is superior and you are a worthless idiot. And she will do that all in the span of one single, cutting sentence. A few sharp and brilliantly cultivated words and you’ll feel nothing but foolish. She is going to utterly humiliate you, and you will be too embarrassed to ever speak in her presence again.

All with one sentence.

Now if you talk shit about Annabeth in front of Percy, he probably isn’t going to say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he is going to give you a look. That’s it, just a look. A look that - accompanied by the radiation of his raw power and a sense of anger that rivals Poseidon himself - will annihilate every sense of safety that you have ever had the luxury of feeling. A look that makes your stomach drop, your heart beat out of your chest, your neck hairs stand straight up. You will feel nothing but unsafe. As if all the oxygen has been sucked from the room and your blood has turned to ice. His green eyes - dangerous as the ice cold raging sea during the most savage of storms - will suck every bit of warmth from your body in milliseconds. You will be too terrified to ever speak in his presence again.

All with one look.

[mizgnomer]

Behind the Scenes of Rivals - with David Tennant & friends

Excerpt from Caitlin Moran's The Time Magazine article (Sept 2024)

David Tennant — wearing a lavish, gold, silken man-blouse and sucking on a cigar — is furious. He is savaging a roomful of party people, all looking stricken — and all, incongruously, wearing swimwear. “How the f*** has this happened?” Tennant screams, as all the tits and legs fidget, gaudy piña coladas abandoned. “Get the f*** out there and sort this out! And why are you all wearing bikinis?” Tennant storms from the room, apoplectic with rage — and then sees me. “Oh, hello, darling,” he says, all sweetness and light. “CUT!” the director calls. Today, David Tennant isn’t, of course, David Tennant. He’s Tony Baddingham, the infamous, nominative-determinist baddie of Jilly Cooper’s Rivals. “So, is this fun?” I ask him. The last time I saw him on set, he was being the Doctor in Doctor Who, in a floor-length coat, trying to save the world from being exploded. Again. In the rain. In Wales. At 1am. “Oh yes,” Tennant says. “I mean, look at my blouse. It’s like my aunt’s! Actually, I think it might be hers — it closes right to left. Don’t men’s buttons close left to right? Am I wearing,” he asks the room at large, “a woman’s blouse?” “We need to go again, David,” the director says. “Back in a tick,” Tennant says, running back on set, sucking on his cigar. Getting ready to be really evil, and Eighties, again.

[diidona]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON (2022-) Season 2 Appreciation Week ↳Day 1 — Dragons "The Dance of the Dragons is the flowery name bestowed upon the savage internecine struggle for the Iron Throne of Westeros fought between two rival branches of House Targaryen during the years 129 to 131 AC. To characterize the dark, turbulent, bloody doings of this period as a “dance” strikes us as grotesquely inappropriate. No doubt the phrase originated with some singer. “The Dying of the Dragons” would be altogether more fitting, but tradition, time, and Grand Maester Munkun have burned the more poetic usage into the pages of history, so we must dance along with the rest." -Fire & Blood, George R. R. Martin

[the-modern-typewriter]

Could we get a love triangle where the rivals fall in love with each other instead of the intended love interest? (Would love if it's m/m and enemies to lovers)

"Tell me," Cassander murmured. "Is it that you don't like my hands on her, or simply that you wish I had my hands on you instead?"

Azael glared at the other fey. His jaw clenched with the sudden horrible realisation that the truth wanting to slip passed his lips wasn't "her" immediately and without question.

Cassander, bastard that he was, smirked at his silence. He sauntered closer, his gaze fixed on Azael with the disquieting familiarity of any good enemy. He wasn't like the human. Cassander didn't look at him he was some beautiful, otherworldly and magical thing. All positive qualities and power. A dream within a dream within a fantasy. Cassander looked at him like he knew every filthy, dark thing about him and still wanted to sink his teeth in for the rest. Rake out every lingering secret with clawed hands. Rend and own and conquer.

Cassander was not fragile and caring and brave. If Azael shoved Cassander into a wall, if he grabbed him by the shoulders, experience told him there would be no need to be gentle. No fear of breaking something fleeting and perfect.

It should have been about her. She was the better choice in every way. She should have been what he wanted.

"I think you're very quick to physically put yourself between me and her," Cassander continued, in a confiding sort of voice. "Quick to get in my face and see if I'll put you back down . I think, when the three of us are in a room together, I'm the one that you're always watching."

"That's because you're the one who can't be trusted."

"She's drawn to me."

"You're a high fey. She's a human. She can't help it."

"How very patronising and mildly misogynistic. Does she like that about you?"

"I'm trying to keep her safe!"

"Maybe she does," Cassander mused. "Certainly, it's been centuries since I've seen you so worked up. It's an excellent look on you, possessiveness. It reminds me that, no matter how civilised and cold you pretend to be these days, you're still just the vicious little scrap willing to fight every other member of my court. Aren't you?"

Azael seethed. Still, no good response could leave his mouth without damning him. He'd never envied the human's ability to lie quite so much as when Cassander was in the room. He'd never felt quite so much like his very blood was burning up in the heat.

Cassander's smirk grew.

"But what about you, Azael?" His head tilted, as he paused on the other side of the dining table. His voice was ancient music, fey-tongue, home. "Can you help it?"

"It's not my fault you're - maddening."

"Maddening, am I?"

"The worst."

Azael realised, abruptly, that he'd leaned in across the table to snarl the words into Cassander's beautiful face. There were mere inches between them.

What would Cassander do, if it was the human, standing where Azael was? No doubt he'd be charming. He was never charming to Azael.

Their eyes met.

"Kiss me," Cassander ordered.

Without thinking, savagely, Azael did. He tangled his fingers in Cassander's hair and yanked, half hauling him across the table. He bit down claiming at Cassander's lips. He only stopped when he felt Cassander laugh with feral glee against his mouth.

They broke apart. Cassander's eyes were dark, devouring.

"I guess you can't help it, either," Cassander said. He licked his lips. Slow. Taunting. "So how can you hold it against her? Maybe you should apologise."

"Stay away from her."

"Why?"

"Because -" Azael drew in a breath. He could still imagine the heat of Cassander beneath his hands, the scent of him, the wily danger of the summer court's most favoured son. "Because I said so. And you're in my court."

"Would you like me to leave?"

"I'd like you bloody well kiss me again."

It slipped out. Too lacking in the silver that was supposed to coat his frozen tongue.

Cassander grinned with the same triumphant smile he'd once had on the battlefield. He rounded the table, pushing Azael down into the chair and straddling his lap.

"I'll have to send our sweet girl a fruit basket," he said. He mockingly, gently, tucked Azael's hair back from his flushed face. "She might just make an honest thing of you yet."

"You-"

Then he kissed Azael, and Azael realised he was well and truly screwed.

Him.

Maybe it had always been about him.

Damn it.

[myownwholewildworld]

flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: for death was not the end, but the beginning. a/n: to whoever is reading this... I'M TRULY SORRY, okay?? 😭 i am a sucker for happy endings, but sometimes the heart wants what the heart needs. forgive me, please. comments, likes and reblogs are really appreciated! <3 warnings: mdni. full on ANGST. everyone dies. you've been warned. w/c: ~1.5k

Laid on his back, Marcus Justus Acacius’s life was a thin thread, just a moment away from being cut by the Parcae. It coiled and it stretched between their bony fingers, testing its resistance, its adaptability, its flexibility and elasticity. He could feel them toying with him, just another soul waiting to be reaped.

The sand beneath felt wet, his own blood pooling underneath him like a warm blanket beckoning him to go to sleep. But he couldn’t, not yet, not until he knew you’d be safe, away from harm. He was buying you time, his death an entertainment for Traianus, a loitering distraction so your father wouldn’t realise you were not in the Colosseum’s Cubiculum, watching him die.

He had ensured that the last of his loyal men took you away at dawn. Far from this forsaken city and its bloody claws, from your father’s thirst for revenge. Rome was nothing but the vestige of a forgotten promise and its Emperor was a ghoul who would stop at nothing when bereft.

Exhausted, he mentally scanned his body, weighing his options. His back hurt like hell; breathing felt like fire burning his insides; a piercing pain drilling his left temple from an almost final blow; his right fingers dislocated along with his shoulder which had popped out of its socket. And the injury right under his blood-soaked breastplate, where his torso met his hip, kept on gushing, no matter how hard he pressed the wound.

Marcus felt his life, his breath, slipping away. He was completely spent, having been in the arena for the last hour, fighting for his life like a wild animal. But the stamina, the adrenaline that fuelled him, was running out. His time was running out, one he hoped you gained — a fair exchange, one he would gladly comply to.

After duelling with opponents and animals alike, he felt clumsy, his limbs unresponsive. He was the last man standing but knew better than thinking the Emperor would grant him freedom. This was just a farce, a way of torturing him in his final moments. A lesson to others: not even an acclaimed, well-loved General was immune to Traianus’ rage.

Marcus heard a metallic, creaking sound, the gate ascending to present his next foe.

Almost choking on his own blood, his left fingers wrapped around the hilt of his gladius, and slowly turned to his side — his bloody saliva dripping off the corner of his mouth onto the dusty ground. Sticking the pointy side of the blade into the sand, he used it as leverage to stand up, his knees trembling like a newborn foal.

Two men approached him slowly, full, impenetrable armour on. One with a sword, another with a spear. Drawing a deep breath in, which caused havoc in his strained lungs, Marcus swung his own gladius in a perfect circle, then bent his knees ever so slightly to stand his ground.

Even through the pain, the fatigue and the heartache, he fought to death. The gladiator with the sword fell to his knees before his head dramatically rolled off his shoulders with ease. Marcus rotated on his heels to face his last rival; gladius tightly gripped at the ready.

“Libertas! Libertas! Libertas! (Freedom)” chanted the crowd, asking for his release.

The loud mantra was deafening and soothing at the same time. It wrapped around his achy body, knowing that even though Rome was savage, its citizens were not. A chink of hope, rather small but present. They saw the injustice unfolding in front of them, how cruel and vicious the Emperor was.

Perhaps his death would become more than just a distraction or a lesson. Perhaps it would be a wakeup call. And if so, his destiny would be fulfilled.

A sudden silence befell the Colosseum, the chanting dying off and transforming into pitiful gasps.

Marcus stopped on his tracks, catching a glimpse of the crowd — hands hovering over mouths in disbelief, faces ridden with teary, widened eyes. Then shrieking cries filling the air, pleas for mercy.

Something dark and heavy sunk to his stomach, impending dread and anxious nerves consuming him as he turned around to face the Imperial Box.

You had not been able to escape at dawn as he had planned, you were right there. Precious and beautiful and determined.

You were standing proud and mighty — a flowy, white dress hugging the hourglass figure he loved most, and golden ornaments amplifying your raw beauty. Your father was right behind you and only when the sun reflected off the blade he was holding to your neck, did Marcus react.

He lunged forward, his last enemy forgotten — heart beating wildly against his ribcage, throat closing off as tears welled up and blurred his vision. Marcus threw his gladius to the side, coming down to his knees in front of the loge.

If begging would save you, he would do it loudly and unashamedly — Marcus would drag himself over the embers of hell, set all his dignity aside, exclusively for you.

“Please, Your Imperial Highness. I beg of you. Spare her life and I’ll gladly give mine,” he screamed at the top of his lungs, his grievous voice floating above the gut-wrenching cries of the crowd.

This could not be happening. Not you, the most innocent, kind soul Rome had ever seen — that he had ever seen. His love, his devotion for you had brought you here. He could make peace with dying for you, for your freedom — but with this? Not with this senseless, revengeful death.

His eyes were transfixed on you, widened with fear, with sorrow. Asking for your forgiveness. He was sorry he couldn’t do more, he couldn’t save you.

You gifted him with a weak smile before mouthing an “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he muttered silently, desperately. Hoping his breathless confession would reach you.

Your father’s hand moved along your neck, slitting your throat.

When Marcus saw a river of red staining the front of your white dress, his body and mind just went numb, tears falling unbeknownst to him.

He’d failed. It was over. It felt like if it had been his own hand slashing your neck. Because it probably had been.

Still on his knees, he sat back on his heels, his shoulders sloping down as all purpose left him. Marcus was empty, devoid of emotion, unable to feel. A carcass of someone he was but no longer existed. There was no reason to fight, to remain on this earthly plane.

He’d rather meet you on the other side than living a purposeless, unsavoury life. He’d welcome death like an old friend and would hope for your warm embrace before embarking onto your next adventure together.

Defeated, and through a thick veil of numbness, he saw Traianus’ thumb pointing downwards. A welcome sight.

Before closing his eyes, Marcus saw the spear coming towards him on the corner of his eye.

Then darkness. Forever darkness. A final relief.

“Wait, I know he’ll come,” you begged the Underworld’s ferryman, your hands nervously twisting on your lap.

“The time has come, my lady,” his guttural, harsh voice reached your ears, but not your heart.

You knew he’d come, and you’d wait. Perhaps not today, not at the same time as you, but Marcus would join you. You could have your happily ever after away from Rome, from your father. From life. You could love each other in joint Death, since you couldn’t do it freely in life.

The small boat started moving, drifting away through the dense fog, while your sight lingered on the shore. Hopeful, always hopeful, even in death. A sudden shift in the atmosphere made you squint your eyes, distinguishing a silhouette on the shore — one you would recognise in all lives you lived.

You sprung to your feet, your salty tears mixing with your trembling smile.

“Marcus!” you called him, gripping the edge of the boat.

You watched him turn around, first confused, then understanding. When your eyes locked through the thick mist, the resolution you saw told you he’d follow you wherever you wound up. Even if that was the Underworld.

Marcus jumped into the river, swimming through the darkness and the floating souls clinging onto him. Soon enough he got to you, strong arms lifting him up over the edge of the boat. You sighed, a wave of comfort washing over you as you welcomed him in your warm embrace.

“I thought you wouldn’t make it today,” you confessed, cradling his face with your lips closed to his.

“For you, I’d give up my life in the blink of an eye, mea vita (my life). Don’t you ever forget that,” he whispered, his thumb caressing your bottom lip.

Knelt on the ferryman’s boat, you hugged each other, his soothing hands roaming your body as you blended into a loving, eternal kiss.

For death was not the end, but the beginning.

[imfoive]

Crystal Bird - Prologue

Crown Prince! Chan x Princess (fem.) Genre: Royal au! Angst, Romance, Historical, hidden identity, slow-burn Warnings: mentions of blood, war, death, cursing, somewhat proofread WC: 1275k A/N: Short prologue. Based on a dream. Feedback is always welcome, enjoy! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The Crown Prince is saved by the Princess of a rival kingdom, and he swears his second life to his savior. A forbidden friendship no one knew of, grows deeper with every secret meeting. As the two are kept apart, memories of their sunset playdates by the serene river, begin blossoming into something beautiful. Cheeks blushed, stomach butterflies fluttered at the thought of each other. Years of yearning and imagining had only made them crave a sweeter reunion. And finally meeting at a Royal banquet, he could only stare at the now grown Princess, taken by her beauty, while she only watches as he gives his heart to the wrong princess.

PROLOGUE ───────────────────

The silent still of the body, drip drop blood pooling in a wide puddle against the cold tiles of the grand room. Dark and red. 

Her hands had shot to her mouth, eyes wide. Her fingers muffled the sound of her shaky breathing, heart beating erratically as she scurried back from the lifeless body of her mother’s chambermaid.

The guard who’s armor adorned the crest of the kingdom, the guard who was supposed to protect the princess, had just killed her this chambermaid. The guard who was supposed to protect her was going to kill her next.

She could hear her heart thrumming loudly at every beat, a hot feeling spread throughout her body. She hit the wall, no where else to go. Her nightgown was covered in the blood of the lifeless maid, and she was seconds away from joining. The guard’s cold eyes fixed on her trembling form, face sprayed with the blood of the poor woman, who had stood in front of the sword. He grit his teeth, look of anger on his face.

    “It’s all your fault princess. You have betrayed your kingdom for those savages.” He grunts, raising his sword once again.

There was a surge of emotions running through the princess’ mind. One moment she was getting ready for bed, the next, her mother’s chambermaid had barged into the room, handing her a dagger.

    “You must protect yourself Princess. They have attacked.”

The shaky voice still rang in her ears.

Before she could question what was going on out there, her guard had kicked in the door, forgetting all forms of etiquette. 

She must protect herself. 

And she does, grasping the dagger that she had forgotten about with both hands and stabbing forwards, eyes shut and unaware of where she had pierced. The guard drops his sword, staggering back with a loud groan. She opens her eyes to see the hilt of her dagger sticking out of the front side of his upper chest. He curses under his breath, and all the princess could do was run.

She was wearing nothing but the satin chemise stained with blood. A stark contrast of the red against her white nightgown. Her vision was blurred in tears, messy hair flying as she ran, but she could hear the distant screams and chaos happening within the palace walls as she ran for her life through the corridors of her living quarters. She could also hear her once personal guard running after her. She was scared, terrified. And painfully aware no one would come save her. No one cared for a forgotten princess like her, a princess who should be grateful she served as a decoy while the more important members of the royal family escaped in a situation like this. 

As she makes it onto the main hall, she stares wide eyed at what was infront of her. A masked soldier. He’s wearing the enemy armor, and she watches in horror as he pulls his bloodied sword out of one of the palace guards, whose body fell to the ground with a thud. 

He was a warrior of Nightshade. 

She freezes and he faces her. She could hear her chaser getting closer from behind, but blood stained feet refused to move. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, the princess could only let out a muffled sob, shaking in spot as she watched the masked warrior step forward and raise his sword in launch formation from a few feet away. He was going to throw his sword from there and slice her neck. 

She was sure of it. 

It went so fast, like when you throw a ball and it moves faster than your eye can follow. Yet at the same time, it felt like she could see the glint of the sword reflect her wide gaze as it swooshed past her head, piercing the berserk guard that had caught up behind her.

She stiffens at the sound of another body falling with a loud thud. Her almost frozen figure and teary gaze, too scared to turn around and look back at the dead man. Except before she could get a good look, she is pulled forward, facing the masked warrior. There was more blood on his armor than she had initially thought, dripping down the steel surface, making her nauseous. The grip he had on her was cold, the steel gloves almost piercing into her bare arms.

    “Princess…” His tone is cold, but immediately she recognizes his voice, even muffled behind the armor.

He takes off the masked helmet protecting his face to reveal himself, and he was indeed the man she thought. His gaze is unreadable as he gives her shaking, bloodied body a once-over before looking into her wide eyes. 

    “Your Highness!” The loud yell of his commander is loud in the silent corridor. 

The commander unsheathes the warrior’s thrown sword from the lifeless guards’ body, and hands it back to his superior. Taking it with one hand, he still held the frozen princess in his grasp with the other. 

    “They managed to escape through a secret tunnel.” The commander glances at the princess once, before looking back at his highness.

The now unmasked leader lets her go and like a string, her legs give out and she falls to the ground, slowly staring up at the man. Her ears are still ringing with her heartbeat, the distant screams and clatter had seemed to have died out and she was enveloped in nothing but silence and the stench of blood.

He raises his sword, inches from her throat, his hardened expression watching as she stiffens yet again and stares at the bloodied metal. 

    “Where does the tunnel lead?” The Commander’s voice is loud, looking between his superior and the terrified girl.

The forgotten princess had served her purpose as a decoy, while everyone escaped. 

How unfair. 

She was accused of betraying her country, she might as well commit the crime then.

    “The tunnel opens into the square outside the palace. They should still be making their way there.” She whispers.

Her bloodshot eyes slowly raise to look at the silent warrior who held the sword in front of her. 

    “Go where she says. Capture the first princess and lead her to safety—” He pauses for a second, not tearing his gaze from her teary one.

    “Find everyone else and kill them.” The man in charge mutters.

The Commander nods and bows his head before he scurries off, and the two are left in silence once again. His grip on the hilt of his sword seemed to tighten the longer he held it in front of her, inches from her skin. The blood that was on the weapon drips down in blooms of spots on her white dress.

Her vision grew hazy and the stench of blood was making her dizzy.

What an ending this was for her. Killed by the man she had been enamored with for god knows how long. Would he be fine once he finds out the truth? Should she tell him before he beheads her? 

Pathetic.

Instead she smiles. The teardrops finally fall down her already tear stricken cheeks for maybe the final time. Awaiting for him to slice her throat she whispers a name she hadn’t in what felt like forever.

    “Chan…”

His eyes grow wide as he stares down at her limp figure. She falls back with a thud and he stands frozen, sword falling to the ground with an echoing clatter. Wondering if he had in fact heard what he had heard. 

A name he hadn’t been called since he was a child. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

[mo-aiki]

Maximillian Black

Summary: The imperial dog, the hero of the Bloody 10 Year War, a prestigious war hero that somehow became your personal guard.

Warning: obsessive behavior, violence, slut shaming

A/N: THIS ART IS NOT MINE, IT'S THE MALE LEAD OF I TAMED MY EX-HUSBAND'S MAD DOG.

Connected to Yandere Isekai M. Characters x F. Reader

A ball.

A stupid one at that.

A ball ran by the royal family for congratulatories.

How stuffy.

The amount of fake people with fake smiles that surrounded him. He hated it. He was used to these fake smiles when he was younger. Working as a stableboy for a prominent polo club before running away and becoming a knight when he was 11. Everyone around him were terrible people.

Nobles who'd kill over a horse and servants who are willing to kill for them. Money is dangerous.

He was always blamed for everything. He was the youngest and the son of a brothel whore, starving for money, in thousands of coins in debt and taken in by an old man who was a stable man himself.

If a horse wasn't as fast as one servant claimed, the servant would blame it on him.

If a horse wasn't available, he would be blamed.

If a beloved horse died, he was blamed for letting it die.

He didn't want to be stuck as a stable boy. He hated everything. To live only to be thrown under the carriage by savages, from both the poor and the rich.

But when he was 10 years old, he saw something, or more like someone. A girl. Her face, lighting up when looking at the horse. It spooked him when he was surprised by her. "I'm sorry, but I really wanted to see the horse!"

Her eyes sparkled in delight when looking at the horses. "Could I pet one, or is that not okay with you?"

He was speechless with her beauty. Her nice voice, her (e/c) eyes with glitter in them, and her kindness and asking him, even though he was a lowly stable boy. The old man spoke for him. "You can pet the horses young lady. I'm sure people you understand."

Her eyes lighted up. "Thank you Mister..."

The old man took off his hat and held it. "My name is Otto, my lady..."

She smiled, a beautiful sight for his eyes. "Thank you Mr. Otto!"

She petted the horses as he watched in awe. The laughter and the smiling face of that young girl, stuck with him as a beautiful sight.

When he ran away, Mr. Otto was on his deathbed. The only one to take him in. He had told him to run, as far as he can before he becomes like one of them.

He ran, and ran, and ran. He wanted to run away from those looking for the money from his mother. He ended up at a mercenary camp, where he learned about how to protect himself.

He spent a lot of time with them. He had a gist on how to use a sword, but it definitely improved from the mercenaries. They were kind guys but were reckless and a tad bit unhinged at times.

But something all of them brought up were women. How their dream woman would be, what they liked about women, and even the nasty parts, he all heard.

But all of it brought him back to the girl he met at the polo stables with the most beautiful smile and personality. He couldn't help but think of her often.

She had appeared and disappeared in his life, leaving him in regret of not talking to her, the first time. He can only imagine her growing up, as he grew up. He trained for days with a new goal in mind, to meet her at any cost.

The mercenary group he was apart of were sent off to war against the rivaling empire over territorial disputes 6 years after the war had started. He was, as described by his comrades, a monster on the battlefield. He was recognized by the higher ups as someone who could lead troop morale and someone who could monstrously deal with the many soldiers and the creatures that came. He had dealt with the dragon the enemy empire managed to tame with a single hit from his sword, Glamdring.

All of this came from his motivation to survive and to see her once again. He had planned on leaving to find her, but the war dragged him in. He had originally wanted to run, but he overheard the talk about the prestige it would bring to him. If that girl was a noble, maybe he would impress her with his title and newfound fame.

And thus it led him to be the monster that he was, on the battlefield.

And now back at the ball. He held onto his wine glass, dressed in something he had never worn before. A white, heavily embroidered suit with a cape and a sash of all the medals for his accomplishments in the battlefield.

He only looked in disdain as all the noble ladies around him were drooling at his fit.

He went outside for a breath of fresh air. Walking along the garden until, he got to a fountain. He then saw a woman. Her (h/c) hair, perfectly laid, her dress, well thought out, and her hand holding the wine glass of half drunken champagne. He didn't know why, but somehow he was attracted to the woman sitting on the fountain edge.

He walked closer, to be bewitched by her looks, but somehow she felt familiar. Like someone he has been longing for. He was right next to her when she got spooked and almost fell into the fountain, while he caught her before she got wet.

Guiding her up and letting go of her waist, she looked at him. "Hello, thank you for catching me at that moment. May I ask for your name? I would like to repay you..."

He smiled. "My name is Maximillian Black, what is your's my lady?"

She smiled. "My name is (y/n) (l/n). Maximillian Black..."

She seemed to ponder for a few seconds. "Ah! You're the star of the ball tonight!"

He raised his eyebrow out of sarcasm. "Am I? Really?"

She laughed. Her laugh was beautiful to his ears. It almost reminded him of the little girl he met as a stable boy.

They walked and talked. He had never had a more enjoyable time then learning about you. But all of it was interrupted when a man's voice came in. "There you are (y/n)."

He looked directly at him as the woman turned her head towards him. "I have been looking for you since you said you needed to powder your face."

The woman blushed out of embarrassment. "Oh...I seemed to have spent too long out here, Duk-"

"I told you, you can call me Augustus, (y/n)"

The man held her hand as he pushed her towards his body. "I'm your fiancé after all...", he said, looking directly at him with a cold glare.

He had never felt so pissed after that interaction.

"Maximillian Black....MAXIMILLIAN BLACK?!"

Your voice, shocked as he stood right in front of you. A couple days later after the ball, the Emperor asked him a wish he could grant. He said, "To become a guard for the (l/n) family."

"Oh? Why my boy? Wouldn't you want riches?"

To Maximillian, riches were small in comparison to her. The Emperor granted his wish, and thus he became (y/n)'s personal guard.

He is always near her or at least 5 feet away. He always enjoyed the interactions he had with you more than anything. His favorite words were always your nickname for him. "Maxi! Could you please help me pick this orange? It's a bit too high for me to reach!"

"Maxi, could you sit down with me. I'll ask Anna to come as well."

"Maxi, I can deal with it myself. Do not fret. I will be careful!"

"Maxi, have you ever read this romance book? It is so sweet!"

Your kind and tender personality, melted his cold, stoic heart. But he soon saw how there were pest around you.

First was the stupid fiancé who never let you leave his sight, but always shooed him away like he was a pest. Giving you gifts of jewels, ribbons, dresses, bows, and books, he would beat him by a long shot just from his wealth alone. He did overhear that he was a Duke after all.

Second was the childhood best friend. The son of an Earl. Nobody was closer to you both physically and mentally than him. He would cuddle with you, get lap pillows, and be cared for. He wanted nothing more than to break him in half and tear him to shreds, but couldn't from his lineage alone. He was stage extreme of clinger.

And finally, third were all the men trying to flirt with you on a daily basis. He would shoo them, glare, threaten, and maybe if kill them if they didn't listen. Didn't matter if they were a noble or a peasant, someone filthy stained your ears.

He had to get rid of them.

He was in love after all, but at the end of the day, you were still going to get married to your fiancé, that arrogant duke.

He had overheard about your plans of annulment. He felt ecstatic, but his face looked the same.

Now all he had to do was to kidnap you and take you away to a forest to live out each other lives in peace, away from those pests. Easy enough, right?

"Night time would be safer to travel with a sleeping girl in my arms. Everyone is asleep after all..."

A/N: FINALLY DONE. NOW I CAN DO COMMISSION WORK OR IF YOU WANT TO REQUEST ANOTHER TYPE OF YANDERE, I'M ALL EARS!!!!

[funeralcity]

ff14 is like. your friends say “hey guys do you wanna do gourmet savage” and you all load into a zone called The Heavenly Palate and the gourmet is casting spells at you called unfrosted cake and pasta without parmesan and borscht with no sour cream and then you hit phase 2 and the music starts having electric guitars and english vocals and the gourmet starts casting frosted cake and pasta with parmesan and borscht with sour cream and everyones pogging out and talking about how amazing the storytelling through game mechanics is and then you kill it and get a stupid ugly pizza cutter axe and you glamour over it with the basic level 1 axe because its the best looking one on the whole game. and everyone is getting mad at each other trying to high roll for the phase 1 music item (the track is called An Appetite To Rival A Black Hole) and the phase 2 music item (the track is called Barbecue Pistol)

[slytherinshua]

JUST US TWO

genre. academic rivals to lovers. mutual pining. fluff. a little angst. warnings. both reader and shinyu are academic slays. reader experiences burnout. not proofread thoroughly. pairing. class president!shinyu x fem!class president!reader. wc. 2.4k. request. requested by @eternalgyu, here. a/n. finally in my tws fic era ready to fill the void bcuz why aren't ppl stanning and writing for these boys??

You sighed as you shut your locker and the first thing in your view was Junghwan along with a small group of girls tailing behind him. You sent him a look, raising your eyebrow as if to question the situation, though you were all too familiar with it. It was almost routine. Junghwan could barely walk around the school without having his many admirers clinging to his side. It was annoying. He was annoying.

Junghwan just rolled his eyes at your look and walked off, leaving you to find your next class by yourself. You weren’t sure why you kept expecting him to show you any kind of attention. You were co-class presidents; so it would make sense that you would both get along. Apparently not, at least not during school hours.

Given the obvious dynamic between you two, most people in the school had a running joke that you both hated each other. You weren’t quite sure if it was true or not. Hate was a strong word, and annoyed might be a better descriptor of how Junghwan made you feel.

He never seemed to do his work as the president during school hours, spending the time instead flocked with his own group of admirers. You wondered how anyone could take that amount of attention without getting a headache. Not knowing when or if he would ever finish his assigned work had often left you stressing, yet Junghwan always seemed to pull through at the very last minute, often handing you the neatly done work minutes before you needed it. You weren’t sure how Junghwan had even gotten the position as president in the first place with how irresponsible he seemed to be. You were almost certain that he had gotten in by majority vote, using his good looks to get whatever he wanted, as usual. 

Most annoyingly was how his face seemed to stop you from reprimanding him whenever he didn’t do something he was supposed to. It meant more work for you, yet you couldn’t seem to even complain about it. Over the months, it became harder and harder to even keep up the playful banter and savage remarks that you were used to exchanging with him. Before too long you realized the detrimental mistake you had made.

You had grown feelings for him.

Exam season was always extra work for the class presidents. You had to take as many tests as all the other students, but your separate president responsibilities only increased as the end of the school year grew closer. You should’ve noticed the signs of burnout before they hit you hard, but you didn’t.

Everything started to feel overwhelming before you knew it. You could barely focus in class or when you tried to study. Everything seemed to bring you closer to tears, even little things like Junghwan’s teasing. Things you used to handle just fine, even some that you used to enjoy. You barely had the energy to be annoyed at Junghwan anymore, just confused. It was as if he was never affected like you were. Everything seemed so easy for him. It just wasn’t fair. Worst of all, he didn’t even seem to notice how much you were struggling. He was the only classmate in the school that you had ever considered to be your friend, but even now you were questioning it. The more you felt invisible to him, the worse your burnout got.

You kept pushing yourself as much as you could. You didn’t know what else to do but to keep going. It was all you knew how to do. You completed exam after exam, feeling numb each time you got your scores back, watching as they slowly continued to drop 1 point at a time. You tried your best to handle all the activities for class president duties on top of it, but each time you noticed how the quality dropped significantly. You didn’t feel proud of your work like you once used to, you only felt tired. 

You longed each day for someone to care enough to notice how much you were struggling. Particularly, you wished that Junghwan would notice. It was stupid to have developed a crush on him despite how careless and irresponsible he seemed to be, but you had genuinely enjoyed all the banter and rivalry you had with him over the months. It gave you something to look forward to. Another reason for you to do your best, knowing that someone would care and be impressed. Once you lost energy to keep up with it, though, you just wished he would talk to you normally. 

“Hey, Y/n! Can we talk?” Junghwan pulled you aside after class ended, something you couldn’t have predicted in a million years. “Are you okay?” His hands were placed on your shoulders, and he tilted his head, inspecting your face carefully, noticing the unmistakable signs of tiredness with worried eyes.

“Do you even care?” You asked, an unusually irritated tinge in your voice. You never talked like that. You were unused to having him this close to you. As much as you felt unable to do anything, you liked how the simple feeling of his hands on your shoulders seemed to ease away some of the stress you were feeling.

“Yes. I care about you. You’ve seemed so down lately, don’t think I haven’t noticed. I just want to know what’s bothering you.” He frowned when you started to tear up. “Hey…” His voice softened just above a whisper when the tears started to escape your waterline. He reached up to wipe them away, but hesitated at the last second, leaving his hand up in mid-air awkwardly. 

“Sorry.” You sniffed and stepped back from him to wipe away your tears. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me- everything’s just felt like so much. I-it’s stupid.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” He countered. His tone was almost unlike him. He was always joking and teasing, but he said it so seriously that you instantly wanted to believe him. He led you to sit down by one of the desks, pulling another one right across from it so he could sit facing you.

He coaxed you to tell him everything that was on your mind. You were apprehensive at first, wondering if he might make a joke out of it. You knew him and his tendencies, and while you sometimes adored how he could make light of any situation, it wasn’t something you wanted right now. Thankfully, he didn’t. He knew that it was a situation that was serious to you, and he only listened intently, giving you as much time as you needed. Only after he was sure that you were done telling him everything, he spoke again.

“I think you should step down from being a class president.”

“What?” You were taken aback by his suggestion. It was absurd. You had been the student president for years. You had worked your ass off for it. You almost couldn’t imagine not having the responsibility. 

“Just hear me out— only for a bit. The year is almost over anyway, and you’ve done more than 80% of the work. Next year you can go back to it if you feel like it, but you need a break. I’ll take care of everything, I promise, but only if you agree to give yourself a break.” 

His words slowly sunk in, and you couldn’t ignore how right he was. You were overloaded. The only thing that you could drop from your responsibilities reasonably was class president. You reluctantly agreed, deciding to trust Junghwan on this. You just hoped it wouldn’t backfire.

Adjusting to less responsibilities was hard and even uncomfortable at times. You were always used to busying yourself. The feeling of accomplishing another task had always satisfied you, but the ability to relax was a luxury you hadn’t experienced in a while.

Junghwan seemed to stick by your side more than usual. The normal teasing died down so much that you had to make an effort to get him to crack a joke. You missed your usual banter, and though it was nice to see this new, caring side of Junghwan, you missed how casual you used to be with him. Wondering whether your pathetic breakdown had made him uncomfortable plagued your mind at times.  

You still helped him with some of the class president duties. Only a little, though, as he wouldn’t allow you to do anything more than guiding him through what to do. It made for after school sessions together in the art room most days. You would work on homework or just relax and watch him work. You liked how warm it felt to be around him. 

“You were right about taking a break.” You said one afternoon in the empty classroom. Your head lay on the desk that Junghwan was working at, colouring in a big poster to hang up for the bake sale next Friday. The sunlight shone through the window and warmed the side of your face. Junghwan couldn’t help but get a little distracted at the warm glow of the light on your skin. Pretty.

“Oh? Was I?” He cracked a teasing smile, one that always felt right when he was around you.

“I know right? Who knew that you were capable of giving decent advice. You should become a counsellor.” You joked.

He shuddered, “God, no. Imagine having to deal with problems from people you don’t even care about every day.” 

You giggled and closed your eyes again, letting the sound of markers gliding across the paper be the only sound filling the room. Care. Junghwan cared about you.

A few minutes passed, simultaneously feeling like mere seconds and hours at the same time. There was no urgency when you were Junghwan. You were allowed to relax completely and think about nothing… Nothing but him.  

You loved the fond gaze he gave you, the crinkle of his eyes, the lift of his lips into a smile, the sound of his laugh when he got a reaction out of you. You used to despise how much you liked everything about him, how even holding eye contact with him would give you butterflies, but now, you didn’t seem to mind.

Junghwan finished the poster off with white highlights on the bright green letters, making sure they would pop out just as much as if you were the one making the poster. He smiled proudly at his work, hoping it was neat enough for you to approve of too. He was about to ask what you thought of it when he realized you had been quiet for longer than usual.

He glanced down, his smile growing even more when he saw your eyes still closed, head lying on the desk with your arm used as a makeshift pillow. He sighed, deciding not to wake you up just to affirm his poster for the bake sale. He rested his head on his hand, staring fondly at your peaceful face.

“Pretty…” He mumbled to himself without even realising. The image of you sleeping was just too perfect, and Junghwan quickly made sure to save it in his brain forever. He couldn’t deny that he had wanted to be more with you for a long time. At first, he was just excited to have met a girl who was on his level; who could match his brain and wit. You even surpassed him in most areas. He was never entirely sure if you were interested in him too or not, though. You never seemed to admire anything about him, neither were you prone to jealousy like past girls he had been interested in. You just lived as yourself and let him live with you without any expectations. And he liked that about you.

“No… You’re the pretty one.” 

Junghwan’s eyes widened as he looked back down at your face. Your eyes were still closed, a small smile playing at your lips, satisfied with your little whispered remark. Dozens of panicked thoughts raced through Junghwan’s head, but his face remained calm; still focused entirely on yours.

You opened your eyes and glanced up at him, lips curving into a more prominent smile. His ears were dusted red, and it was so cute. He just stared at you, voice caught in his throat. Not that you needed words from him. You sat up, leaning slightly closer to his face, searching for hesitation on his end. He just blinked at you, once, twice. 

You didn’t have time to see him blink the third time, because as soon as he did, he closed the small distance between you two. You had imagined kissing Junghwan many times. How soft his lips would be, whether the kiss would be fast or slow, how long it would last. All these things you had considered many times before. But the kiss in your imagination didn’t compare even a little to how he was kissing you now.

It was soft— both his lips and how gentle he held you. He seemed almost scared to push too far, but it wasn’t enough for you. You pulled him even closer, allowing him to tilt his head and taste even more of your cherry lip balm. He was breathless, face hot and mind completely fuzzy by the time you pulled away. You were no better than him. Your eyes still stayed close a few seconds too long as you processed what just happened. It had all ended too quickly, though you were sure your lips had been on his for at least 2 minutes.

“Sorry.” He said sheepishly and then giggled. You looked like a deer in the headlights as you blinked your eyes open. You broke away from your frozen state when you saw Junghwan’s bright smile.

“For what?” You asked, eyes twinkling. 

“For not doing that sooner.” He smiled.

“Better late than never.” You whispered.

Junghwan beamed, “I’ll make it up to you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead as he stood up from the desk.

“And just how will you do that?” You asked suspiciously, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Will you go out with me on Friday?” 

“Hmm… It depends. Will you ask me to be your girlfriend on this outing?”

He grinned, “I could ask you right now if you prefer. Can I be your boyfriend, Y/n?”

You smiled fondly at him, adoration in your eyes, “Yes. You can be my boyfriend.”

↳ tws taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @talkingsaxy