#she is going to be one of the people you love most in this world one day”

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Get Married || Deuce Spade

You get isekai’d into a garbage novel as the villain, so you take it as a sign that morality is optional now. So, you do what any reasonable person would: you set the world on fire (metaphorically… mostly) and somehow bag your knight, Deuce Spade in the process.

Series Masterlist

You sat in absolute silence. Reeling. Processing. Dissociating. The book lay in your lap like the aftermath of a terrible crime, and you were its sole witness.

This was it. This was the literary phenomenon your friends had been screaming about. The novel they had sworn up and down was “life-changing,” “revolutionary,” and “the best thing since sliced bread.”

They had lied.

You had just spent the last twelve hours raw-dogging the most deranged piece of fiction known to mankind.

Your soul had been ripped from your body. Your IQ points had been forcefully extracted like an amateur lobotomy. You were but a husk of your former self.

A single thought floated through your shattered psyche:

I will never know peace again.

With shaking hands, you closed the book. The sound was deafening. A death knell for your last two remaining brain cells.

And then, like a corpse freshly risen from the grave, you stood.

This could not go unanswered. This could not go unpunished.

Your friends would explain themselves.

You stomped through the dark streets like a vengeful ghost, guided by pure, unfiltered spite. It was 1 AM. Civilization had long since gone to sleep. You didn’t care.

Your mind replayed the sheer buffoonery you had just endured.

The heroine: an overpowered dumbass with the survival instincts of a chicken nugget. She was supposed to be a Saintess, and yet she spent 80% of the book actively making things worse. Entire villages burned because of her holy powers, and she had the audacity to be shocked every time it happened.

"Oh noooo, I accidentally summoned divine lightning again!"

AGAIN. AGAIN.

Then there was the Crown Prince, the supposed male lead. A menace. A plague upon this world. He was in love with the villain but too emotionally constipated to deal with it, so instead, he had chosen the path of delusion. This man pursued the heroine not out of love, but out of sheer desperation

"If I can’t be happy, then no one can."

That was his entire character arc.

And let’s not forget the second male lead. The butler. The SPY. He was somehow working for both the villain and the heroine at the same time while also being madly in love with the heroine for reasons that science could not explain. This man switched allegiances like he was flipping through TV channels. You were convinced he woke up every morning and rolled a die to decide whose side he was on that day.

And then. The villain.

Your one hope. Your one saving grace.

A man who started the book as a calculating mastermind and ended it as a broken shell of a human being. You did not blame him. You were right there with him.

By the final chapter, he had stopped trying to kill the heroine. He had stopped plotting world domination. He had stopped everything.

He just sat there, staring into the abyss, wondering how his life had gone so, so wrong.

And honestly? Mood.

You reached your friend’s house.

You did not knock. No. That was for reasonable, rational people. You grabbed a rock from their garden and hurled it at their window with the force of a person unhinged.

A light flicked on. Your friend’s groggy, half-conscious face appeared.

“Holy shit, what the hell—”

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF.”

You pointed an accusatory finger at them, your eyes wild, your soul fractured beyond repair.

“Explain WHAT?” They blinked, rubbing their eyes.

“The book.” Your voice was hollow. “The—thing—you made me read.”

Their face lit up. “OH MY GOD, YOU FINISHED IT?? WASN’T IT AMAZING??”

You had never before in your life wanted to commit a homicide.

You took a deep breath. A slow, shuddering inhale.

Then, in the most broken, haunted voice imaginable, you whispered:

“…I need you to pay for my therapy.”

You stomped down the street, vibrating with pure, unfiltered rage. That book—that war crime bound in paper—had single-handedly destroyed your brain cells, faith in storytelling, and will to live. You couldn’t let your other friend get away with this. No, you were going to kick down their door too and demand compensation for the IQ points you lost.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Just as you turned the corner, a man—no, a menace to society—came hurtling toward you at ungodly speeds.

On a unicycle.

Juggling three live pigeons and a tray of scalding hot coffees.

His face was locked in an expression of sheer, manic concentration, like a circus performer who had just realized—mid-act—that he had made a terrible career choice.

You had exactly 0.2 seconds to process this before he crashed into you at full force.

The pigeons exploded into the sky, shrieking like war victims.

The coffee—boiling, lava-hot coffee—doused you from head to toe, scalding your skin and soul simultaneously.

And the unicycle? Oh. The unicycle was the true villain here.

Because as you staggered back, reeling from the assault on your dignity, the wheel rolled perfectly under your foot.

And then—

You flipped.

Like a medieval peasant being yeeted off a catapult.

You did a full midair somersault, knocked over a trash can, ricocheted off a parked bicycle, and crashed directly through the window of a sketchy pawn shop, where you landed face-first into a display of cursed porcelain dolls.

Your last conscious thought before darkness took you?

This is less painful than reading that book.

At first, you thought it was a dream.

Someone was shaking you. Like, aggressively. Like a demonic chihuahua trying to alert its owner to impending doom.

"Five more minutes," you groaned, swatting at the offending hands.

But then your barely-functioning brain remembered something very important.

You lived alone.

Unless the dust bunnies under your bed had finally formed a rebellion and achieved sentience, nobody should be waking you up.

Your eyes snapped open.

A person.

A man, actually. A very serious-looking man in full medieval armor, staring at you like he was expecting you to start speaking in tongues.

You blinked.

He blinked back.

Your first thought: Wow, the Ren Faire is getting really immersive these days.

Your second thought: WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE.

Your hands flew to your face—your very much not-your-face face. Your voice, when you gasped, wasn’t your voice. The tailored nobleman’s coat draped over your body? Not your clothes. The ornate bedroom you were in? Definitely not your apartment, where your furniture was 70% discount IKEA and 30% “found on the sidewalk.”

Dread settled in your stomach like a badly microwaved burrito.

Slowly, with the growing horror of a person realizing they've walked into a live horror movie, you turned toward the giant antique mirror across the room.

And fuck your life, you recognized the face staring back at you.

It was him.

The villain.

The villain from that absolute garbage fire of a novel.

You whipped around so fast you almost took yourself out on your own cape.

"You," you pointed at the knight, brain desperately catching up to reality. "What happened?!"

The knight—Deuce Spade, if you remembered correctly—winced.

"Uh," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "the Crown Prince tried to lean on your shoulder, but, uh… tripped and accidentally drop-kicked you across the ballroom."

Silence.

Absolute, dead silence.

Your eye twitched.

"…What."

You almost died because some love-obsessed dumbass with main character syndrome missed your shoulder???

Your soul nearly left your body, and it wasn’t even because of an assassination attempt, a duel, or a curse—but because the male lead had the motor coordination of a newborn giraffe?!

Your knees buckled. Deuce lunged forward like he thought you were about to die again.

Honestly? Not off the table.

Fine.

Fine.

If the world wanted you to be the villain, then so be it. Who were you to deny fate when it had already drop-kicked you into this absurd, brain-cell-destroying mess of a novel?

Because that was the only way to describe your new reality—an unhinged disasterpiece where the male lead had the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, the heroine had the problem-solving skills of a concussed pigeon, and the villain—you—was doomed to suffer through all of it.

At first, you'd been horrified. Who wouldn't be? One moment, you're in your normal, rational world, and the next, you're waking up as the antagonistic nobleman of a bargain-bin romance novel. The kind of villain who existed solely to sneer in the background while the male lead juggled his misplaced affections and the heroine flailed through life like a lost duckling.

And now?

Now, you were done.

If this world wanted a villain, then you would give them a villain.

You had wealth. Enough to singlehandedly disrupt the economy if you felt like it. And honestly? You were tempted. Imagine the chaos. The sheer financial devastation. Maybe you’d buy every bakery in the capital just to make sure the male lead could never have a romantic “we bumped into each other while buying bread” moment with you. Not on your watch.

You had power. Both in social standing and in actual, real-life magic. The kind that could level mountains, summon storms, or—more importantly—discreetly trip the male lead every time he tried to monologue. And who were you, really, if you didn’t abuse that privilege just a little?

And, most importantly, you had a loyal knight.

Deuce Spade. Unreasonably devoted, painfully adorable, and more earnest than a golden retriever at a job interview. The kind of guy who would probably cry if you gave him a gold star for effort. It was almost enough to make you feel bad about your impending villain arc. Almost. But hey, if you were going to be the villain, at least you had one (1) extremely dedicated dumbass on your side.

So.

Why not cause some chaos?

Why not live your best, most dramatic villain life?

You could weaponize rumors so ridiculous that even the nobility wouldn’t know what to believe anymore. “Oh, the male lead? I heard he serenades his pet goldfish every night.” “The heroine? Trained in mortal combat by a secret society of warrior nuns.” “Me? Oh, I eat diamonds for breakfast and only cry during perfectly aesthetic thunderstorms.”

You could throw lavish, over-the-top parties where instead of dancing, people had to duel for your amusement. Invitation only. Dress code: Regal Menace.

You could buy every single black horse in the kingdom just to ensure that only you could have a proper dramatic villain entrance. What would the male lead ride? A mule? A cow? His own sense of self-importance? You’d pay money to see it.

If you were going to be stuck in this nonsense world, then you were going to make sure it regretted ever summoning you.

The original villain was a man of principles.

And those principles included:

• Never lowering himself to the chaotic cesspool of idiocy that was the crown prince and his tragically uncoordinated heroine.

• Never attending frivolous social gatherings, especially ones that involved said heroine falling into desserts face-first every five minutes.

• Never acknowledging the crown prince’s deeply repressed and painfully obvious feelings for him.

But you? Oh, you were going.

Why decline when you could make things so much worse? Why ignore a golden opportunity for chaos when you could embrace your inner agent of destruction and ruin someone’s day?

So, with Deuce Spade in tow, you marched into battle.

And the game began immediately.

The second you sat down, the crown prince shoved a cup of tea toward you.

You blinked at it. Then at him.

He looked too casual. Too composed. Like he hadn’t been hovering near the tea table for the last five minutes, perfecting a custom blend like a barista going for his final promotion.

Oh, this was rich.

“Oh,” you said, already locked and loaded. “I don’t like tea.”

The prince, who had definitely memorized your preferences in secret, froze.

“Give it to the heroine,” you added, voice laced with malicious delight.

There was a moment of pure, unfiltered suffering.

He recoiled. He made a noise. The tea remained exactly where it was.

And then, after one (1) full-body existential crisis, he stood up, walked away—

And returned.

With coffee.

Which was exactly how you liked it.

“Oh,” you said, even sweeter. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t,” the prince snapped, gripping the cup with white-knuckled desperation. “I was just—there was extra.”

Sure.

Deuce, the most bafflingly wholesome person present, leaned in conspiratorially.

“You know,” he whispered, “I think he likes you.”

You turned and stared at him.

It was a look that said: Deuce. Buddy. Companion. Do you have even a single brain cell dedicated to social awareness?

“You don’t say,” you muttered, astounded.

“Yeah,” Deuce nodded. “You should put him out of his misery.”

You considered it.

You truly, deeply, wholeheartedly considered it.

And then you did the exact opposite.

With all the deliberate grace of a seasoned actor, you picked up a fork, cut a tiny, delicate piece of cake, and hand-fed it to Deuce.

With the most lovesick expression you could summon.

Deuce, completely missing the emotional warfare in progress, chewed thoughtfully. “Oh, it’s good.”

The crown prince dropped his cup.

The sound was deafening.

He stood up so fast his chair screeched.

And then he stormed away like a scorned Victorian widow.

Checkmate.

The night was young, the chandeliers were gleaming, and the ballroom floor was filled with nobles pretending they liked each other. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, political marriages, and deep-seated dissatisfaction.

And you? You were bored.

So, naturally, you decided to ruin some engagements.

You adjusted your cuffs, took a sip of your (hopefully not poisoned) champagne, and set your sights on your first target.

Victim #1: Some Poor Fool with a Fiancée and No Survival Instincts.

He was standing beside his beloved, smiling like a man who had never known fear. So you approached him, flashing your most dazzling smile.

“You know,” you said, leaning in just a bit too close, “I always thought you’d end up with someone a little… taller.”

His fiancée, standing right there, gasped.

The surrounding nobles gasped.

He gulped. “W-What?”

You tilted your head, studying him with faux admiration. “It’s just—you have the posture of a man who could sweep someone off their feet. It’s tragic that you’ll only ever lift one person.”

His fiancée immediately looked down at her shoes like she’d just realized she was, in fact, shorter than him.

Engagement status: Cracking.

Victim #2: A Woman Who Was Already Looking for a Way Out.

She was sipping champagne and ignoring her fiancé, which meant she was exactly the kind of person who would enjoy a little trouble.

“Lady,” you greeted smoothly, plucking the glass from her fingers and taking a sip. “You have the eyes of a woman who’s tired of monogamy.”

Her fiancé, standing beside her, choked on his drink.

She laughed.

“You’re terrible,” she purred.

Her fiancé, pale, tried to recover. “H-Haha, what a joke—”

“It’s a shame,” you interrupted, brushing a nonexistent speck off her sleeve. “If things were different, perhaps I’d be the one at your side.”

Her fiancé turned a frightening shade of red.

She sighed dreamily.

Engagement status: Shattered.

Victim #3: A Man Who Looked Too Loyal to Be Swayed.

He stood with his hand in his beloved’s, looking like he’d rather die than betray them. But that had never stopped you before.

You smiled. “It’s rare to see a man so committed.”

His fiancée beamed.

You reached out, lightly tracing your fingers over his palm. “A hand like this… was meant to hold many hearts.”

His fiancée’s smile disappeared as the man leaned into your touch.

The crowd held their breath.

And then.

His fiancée fainted.

Engagement status: Annihilated.

At this point, Deuce—your ever-loyal, increasingly horrified knight—had begun to sweat profusely in the corner.

You waved at him.

He did not wave back.

But just as you were about to go for your fourth victim, you noticed something strange.

The prince—the male lead—was staring at you.

And not in the way one should stare at their supposed rival.

No.

He was staring at you like a man who didn’t understand his own feelings and was handling it terribly.

Deuce noticed before you did.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “Oh no no no.”

The prince stalked toward you, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with repressed emotion and possibly indigestion.

“You,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

You raised a brow. “Me?”

“You cannot go around—” He waved his hands wildly, struggling to find the words. “—charming people!”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “Oh? Why not?”

He twitched.

A noble gasped. “Is he… jealous?”

The crowd whispered.

The prince turned red.

Deuce, watching from the sidelines, looked like he wanted to fling himself off the nearest balcony.

Then, just as the tension reached its peak—

“MARRY ME!”

The man whose fiancée just fainted, caught up in the whirlwind of drama and avant-garde societal rebellion, had dropped to one knee and grabbed your hand.

Silence.

Deuce inhaled so sharply he nearly passed out.

The prince’s eye twitched.

And you?

You smiled.

But before you could say yes, no, or something that would make the situation worse, Deuce lunged forward, grabbed your wrist, and hauled you away.

“YOU CAN’T JUST GO AROUND SEDUCING ENGAGED PEOPLE!” he hissed, physically dragging you out of the ballroom.

“Why not?” you grinned. “The nobles love it.”

“I—BECAUSE IT’S WRONG?!”

You hummed, thoughtful. Then, because you were a terrible person, you tilted your head, looked him dead in the eyes, and said:

“You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered.”

Deuce short-circuited.

The prince looked ready to challenge the concept of marriage itself.

And the night was, truly, a resounding success.

Deuce was the perfect knight.

Reliable. Strong. Steadfast. He never faltered in his duties, never hesitated to follow your orders, and—most importantly—he never questioned your absolutely necessary purchases, even when they were, objectively, not necessary at all.

Which was precisely why he was the perfect person to accompany you to the market.

The morning sun hung high in the sky, warming the cobbled streets as merchants called out their wares, their voices blending into a lively symphony of haggling, bartering, and excited chatter. The scent of freshly baked bread and spiced apples drifted through the air, wrapping around you like an old, familiar comfort.

And there was Deuce, ever-dutiful, ever-loyal, ever-patient.

The bags he carried had long since doubled in number, hanging from his arms like trophies of your victorious shopping spree. He bore the burden without complaint, as expected of a knight sworn to your service, though he did glance down at the latest purchase—a third bag of sweets—and furrowed his brow.

“That’s the third bag of sweets you’ve bought.”

You shot him a look, hugging your ill-gotten gains like a dragon hoarding gold.

“And?”

He sighed. “Nothing, I guess.”

Good. That was the correct answer. This was a judgment-free zone.

Everything was going well. The two of you meandered through the market at an unhurried pace, pausing to browse through silks, admire trinkets, and—most importantly—glare at the latest portrait of the crown prince displayed in the town square. It was a routine you had come to enjoy, something almost peaceful in its predictability.

And then—

Deuce stopped.

It wasn’t a gradual pause. It was sudden, abrupt, a full-body halt that nearly sent you crashing into his back.

“Hey—?” you started, but he was already moving, already reaching for his own coin pouch, already stepping toward—

A flower stall?

You blinked, watching as he carefully selected a single bloom, one of the freshest ones in the bunch, its petals full and vibrant. You stood there, bewildered, as he handed over a few coins, nodding his thanks to the merchant.

And then—

Before you could even begin to process what was happening—

He turned and held the flower out to you.

The world tilted.

You stared.

At the flower, at Deuce, at his outstretched hand.

At the way he looked at you, open and earnest and so painfully sincere that you felt something deep in your chest twist.

“…Why?” you asked, voice caught somewhere between confused and breathless.

Deuce tilted his head slightly, a sheepish sort of smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I dunno,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—thought you’d like it?”

Thought you’d like it.

That was it. That was the entire reason.

Not out of duty, not because he had to, not because of some unspoken obligation—but because he wanted to.

Because he saw something and thought of you.

Your fingers curled around the stem almost too tightly, as if the delicate flower might vanish if you weren’t careful. The petals were impossibly soft beneath your touch, fragile and fleeting, and your heart did something suspicious in your chest.

Deuce had already turned away, already resumed walking, already moved on as if he hadn’t just unknowingly unraveled you.

And you—

You lingered a second longer, staring at the flower in your hand, your face growing entirely too warm under the summer sun.

Then, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat, you hurried after him, grateful that he wasn’t looking back to see the ridiculous, helpless smile you absolutely couldn’t fight off.

It started with a passing insult. Something entirely unoriginal, really—one of those tired, rehashed attempts at wit that nobles regurgitated when they had nothing better to do.

You weren’t even offended.

But you were bored.

So, naturally, you smirked, sighed dramatically, and placed a hand over your heart.

“Wow,” you mused, voice dripping with mock despair. “If only I had a loyal knight to defend me. Sigh.”

Deuce didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t even pause to think.

He just whipped around, locked eyes with the offender, and threw down the most aggressive glove slap in recorded history.

“DUEL ME.”

The noble flinched. The entire gathering flinched.

Even you, for a moment, wondered if you’d just summoned an unstoppable force of nature.

Deuce stood there, rigid with unwavering loyalty and violent intent, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword like an Old West gunslinger about to end someone's bloodline.

The noble stammered, looking around as if waiting for someone to intervene. No one did. The nobles had all collectively agreed to stand back and watch this disaster unfold.

You, however, recognized an issue.

“Deuce,” you started carefully. “Buddy. Pal.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture meant to calm him down.

It did not calm him down.

If anything, his conviction doubled.

“You don’t actually have to fight for my honor—”

“Yes, I do.”

He didn’t blink.

You blinked for him.

The realization sank in with all the subtlety of a grand piano dropping from a three-story window:

Deuce would throw hands for you. Without question. Without hesitation. It was pure muscle memory at this point.

You had too much power.

The nobles were whispering.

The prince was watching.

Some fool in the back had already started placing bets.

And Deuce?

Deuce was ready to kill a man.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, “I may have created a monster.”

The noble, sweating profusely, waved his hands. “I—I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” Deuce gritted out, stepping forward. “You insulted them. Now, we settle this properly.”

By all accounts, Deuce had just challenged a man to medieval combat over you.

It should have been a simple duel.

Just a normal, everyday case of your overly loyal knight throwing hands because someone vaguely insulted you.

A Tuesday, basically.

And yet, somehow, by the time you arrived at the dueling grounds, it had turned into a full-blown public event.

The stands were packed. Nobles gossiped in hushed whispers. Vendors had set up food stalls. Some particularly enterprising soul was selling commemorative handkerchiefs embroidered with Deuce’s face.

And standing right in the middle of this absolute circus were Riddle and Ace—your reinforcements, arriving at maximum velocity to make your life more interesting and significantly more stressful.

Riddle’s expression alone had the same effect as a guillotine blade. His hands were clenched into fists, his face a vibrant shade of red, and the moment his sharp, judgmental gaze landed on you, you had the distinct feeling that your days were numbered.

Ace, meanwhile, looked like he was having the time of his life.

“You. Absolute. Menace.” Riddle bit out, his words dripping with disappointment and barely-contained rage. “I leave you alone for one week and suddenly you’re challenging people to duels, seducing engaged nobles, and destabilizing the entire social order?!”

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t challenge anyone. That was Deuce.”

“Because you provoked it.”

“Debatable.”

“No, it’s not!”

Ace clapped a hand on your shoulder, beaming. “Don’t listen to him. In fact, I’ll actually pay you to keep this up.”

Riddle’s head snapped toward him, betrayal written across his features. “You’re paying them?! You’re encouraging this?!”

“Duh?” Ace grinned. “I’ve never had this much fun in my entire life. If it means watching them do more insane things, I’ll move the entire city to accommodate them.”

Riddle made a noise that was somewhere between a strangled scream and an impending aneurysm.

You, feeling very smug, turned back to the main event.

Deuce, your knight, your absurdly loyal human wrecking ball, was already standing in the ring, eyes burning with righteous fury.

The poor noble who insulted you was sweating bullets.

The duel started.

The duel lasted five minutes.

The duel ended spectacularly.

Deuce dismantled the guy so thoroughly, so efficiently, that entire bloodlines were probably questioning their place in the universe.

And then, with a smoothness you had not thought possible, Deuce turned, knelt before you, and bowed his head in silent, knightly devotion.

Which was horribly unfair.

Because, up until this moment, you had been so certain that nothing in this world could ever make you weak in the knees.

But this?

This was a problem.

Because the combination of Deuce being stupidly strong, stupidly devoted, and now stupidly attractive in the aftermath of his absolute annihilation of a noble in your name was doing something deeply unsettling to your brain chemistry.

You, a seasoned chaos gremlin, had not been prepared for the sheer level of attractiveness that came from watching Deuce absolutely demolish a man in your honor and then kneel like you were some kind of divine ruler.

And absolutely no one in this arena could be allowed to witness that.

Which is why you did the only logical thing—

You grabbed Deuce by the collar and dragged him the hell out of there.

“We’re leaving.”

Deuce, stumbling after you, genuinely confused: “Wait—? But—?”

“No questions.”

Behind you, Ace hooted.

Riddle yelled something about propriety

The crowd was whispering in scandalized awe.

And the noble who insulted you?

He was probably questioning every life choice that led him to this moment.

Congratulations.

You had once again caused a spectacle.

You had always known that your butler—the tall, brooding, vaguely tragic second male lead—was spying on you.

You just hadn’t expected him to be this bad at it.

At first, you thought he was just terrible at being subtle. The way he lurked behind obvious cover, like a potted plant that was two sizes too small for him, was almost insultingly blatant.

But then, after watching him trip over his own feet and drop his little spy notebook in front of you, you had a stunning realization:

He wasn’t just bad at this.

He was disastrous.

And you—being the responsible, morally upstanding villain that you were—decided that it was your duty to take full advantage of this situation.

So when he inevitably got caught, you gaslit the absolute hell out of him.

“You failed the test,” you sighed, shaking your head with deep, world-weary disappointment.

He froze. “Test?”

“Yes, a test,” you said, folding your arms. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice one of my own subordinates spying on me?”

He blinked. “I—I don't work for the heroine.”

You smiled dangerously. “Don't you?”

The silence that followed was long, painful, and deeply existential.

“…I don't?,” he said, but there was now a distinct lack of confidence behind his words.

Deuce, who had been standing off to the side, vehemently disagreed with everything that was happening.

“You knew about this?” he asked, looking at you like you were a criminal mastermind unveiling your latest scheme.

You ignored him.

Instead, you rested a hand on the butler’s shoulder, offering him a kind, understanding smile.

“Since you are so clearly loyal to me,” you said, gently, “I’d like you to deliver a very special report to the heroine.”

Deuce let out an exhausted groan.

The butler stared at you warily. “…What kind of report?”

“Oh, you know,” you mused, smirking. “Just a few details about my daily routine. The way I conduct myself in my estate. My methods for staying eternally youthful.”

The butler squinted.

“What do you mean, eternally youthful?”

You grinned.

The heroine stood in your ballroom, pointing an accusing, trembling finger at you.

“You’re a witch.”

You grinned.

Then you turned to your butler—who looked increasingly uncomfortable—and hummed, “I see you did your job well.”

Deuce pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did you make him tell her?”

The heroine narrowed her eyes at you, vibrating with righteous fury.

“You—you bathe in your servants’ tears to stay youthful!”

You tilted your head.

“That’s an odd way to phrase ‘providing an excellent workplace with fair wages and health benefits,’ but okay.”

The heroine was not having it.

“And—and you drink phoenix blood to maintain your strength!”

“Well, now, that’s true,” you admitted. “It pairs nicely with a dry red.”

The heroine let out a horrified gasp.

Deuce stared at you like you had personally betrayed him. “You made him tell her you drink what?!”

“I was curious to see how far he’d go.”

The butler, now pale and visibly sweating, looked like he had experienced a crisis of faith during his conversation with the heroine.

And when she reached the final, most egregious offense, he seemed to finally, fully break.

“…And I was told,” the heroine whispered, voice trembling, “that you—” she took a deep breath “—have personally seduced your own knight, corrupting him with your villainous ways.”

You glanced at Deuce.

Deuce turned bright red. “What did you tell her?!”

Your butler, who had finally reached his limit, just turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

“I quit,” he muttered.

Success.

You had been accused of many things since you woke up in this absolute joke of a world as the villain.

Corruption? Sure.

Scandal? Naturally.

Inducing moral panic in the aristocracy because you decided to flirt with engaged people at a ball? Absolutely.

But today was new.

Today, you had apparently brainwashed Deuce Spade into a life of crime.

"You’ve brainwashed him!"

The heroine’s voice rang out across the royal gathering, loud and full of self-righteous fury, as if she had just caught you mid-scheme, cackling over a bubbling cauldron, weaving a spell to turn Deuce into a mindless delinquent henchman.

You, who had been mid-sip of your expensive champagne, slowly lowered the glass.

Deuce, who had been standing beside you like a human wall of pure knightly devotion, blinked in further confusion.

The heroine took a dramatic step forward, looking at him with heartfelt sadness, like she expected him to suddenly start frothing at the mouth and looting everyone in your name.

“Sir Deuce,” she said, voice trembling with emotion, “It’s not too late. I can save you.”

Deuce tilted his head, utterly lost. “Save me from what?”

“From this!” She gestured wildly at you, as if you were some demonic manifestation of lawlessness, corrupting poor, innocent knights into a life of wanton villainy and casual public indecency.

The male lead, who had been hanging around in the background like a disgruntled ex, suddenly perked up at this. “Wait, are you saying we can steal Deuce?”

“Not steal,” the heroine corrected, with the solemnity of a saint bestowing divine mercy upon a lost soul. "Rescue."

And then, in a stunning display of completely unfounded confidence, she pulled out a golden envelope and extended it toward Deuce.

“A direct invitation,” she declared, eyes shining, “to serve under His Highness.”

There was a deafening silence.

Then—

“No.”

The refusal was instant.

No hesitation.

Not even a single second of consideration.

The heroine’s jaw practically dislocated.

The male lead looked personally victimized.

Ace, who had been standing off to the side with Riddle, slowly turned to face him, nudging him with his elbow before whispering something so profoundly stupid that Riddle physically winced.

Then, as if processing a truth he had been avoiding all this time, Riddle sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ace, meanwhile, had the absolute audacity to look like he was having the time of his life.

The heroine, still struggling to process this complete failure, managed to find her voice again.

“I—I don’t understand.” She looked between you and Deuce, visibly distressed. “Why? Why would you refuse?”

Deuce gave her the most straightforward, obvious look in existence.

“I don't want to.”

The heroine gasped.

The male lead looked like he had been personally slapped.

Ace, meanwhile, had the absolute gall to let out a quiet, knowing cackle, like he had figured out the ending of a dramatic novel before the characters did.

“I fear he’s too far gone,” the heroine whispered, mourning the loss of Deuce Spade as if he had already perished.

You, meanwhile, had been too busy enjoying the absolute disaster unfolding in front of you to process what just happened.

Not until much later, when the two of you were walking back from the gathering, and you finally turned to him with a frown.

“Wait,” you said, still trying to wrap your head around it, “Why didn’t you take the offer?”

Deuce looked at you like you had just asked him why fire was hot. “Because I’m your knight.”

Oh.

That was—

That was kind of—

Warm.

An unpleasantly warm feeling spread in your chest, like you had just accidentally drunk an entire cup of molten sentimentality.

You didn't like it. You didn't like it at all.

ABORT. ABORT. ABORT.

You cleared your throat, deadpan as possible, and said, “Right. That makes sense.”

Then, with all the grace and subtlety of a spooked alley cat, you turned on your heel and walked away at high velocity, because you were absolutely not dealing with this today.

It doesn’t matter what you do.

You could ignore him. Insult him. Dramatically throw a glass of wine in his face and accuse him of high treason.

Nothing works.

The male lead only seems to fall harder.

And tonight?

Tonight, it’s worse than ever.

Now, he was finding excuses to touch you.

You had arrived at the royal ball with the intention of causing mischief—maybe ruining a few engagements, maybe flirting with people’s spouses just for the fun of it, maybe convincing a few nobles that you were an ancient demon cursed to live among them in disguise—you know, the usual.

What you hadn’t planned for was the crown prince himself swooping in like a predatory falcon, seizing your wrist, and dramatically pulling you onto the dance floor.

There was no escape.

And the worst part?

The entire room was watching.

Which meant you had to grit your teeth and endure it.

The music began.

You stepped forward. He stepped forward.

You tried to maintain a respectable distance.

He?

He did not.

Instead, he pulled you closer—his grip firm, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable as he held you just a little too tightly.

And then—oh, and then.

You felt it.

The slight intake of breath.

The subtle tilt of his head.

The near-invisible shudder that ran down his spine as he inhaled deeply, as if committing your scent to memory.

Your entire body locked up in horror.

What. The. Hell.

Was he—

Was this bastard—

Was he sniffing you?

You immediately tried to pull away, but his vice-like grip did not relent.

“I—” His voice came out a little strangled, and his eyes darted away suspiciously. “You—” He swallowed. “I was just making sure you didn’t smell like poison.”

You stared at him.

Poison.

Poison.

He said that with his whole chest.

Like it was a normal thing to do.

Like it wasn’t the most deranged, lovesick, absolutely unhinged thing you had ever seen in your entire life.

“You think someone poisoned me?” you deadpanned.

“Yes,” he said, nodding a little too quickly. “I thought—I thought maybe one of your enemies slipped something into your drink.”

“So your first instinct was to smell me?”

“YES.”

The sheer delusion in his voice was astounding.

You pushed him off you the moment the song ended, practically flinging yourself across the room in search of sanity, reason, and possibly a priest.

The moment you reached Ace, Riddle, and Deuce, you collapsed into their presence, gasping like you had just escaped the jaws of death.

Riddle took one look at your disheveled state, grimaced, and immediately handed you a handkerchief, as if he could wipe the entire experience off you.

You snatched it up and aggressively scrubbed at your neck.

Ace?

Ace was dying.

He was bent over in laughter, hands on his knees, completely losing his mind.

And Deuce?

Deuce looks like you just drop-kicked his puppy off a bridge.

He is staring at you like you personally betrayed him, his ancestors, and the entirety of knighthood as an institution.

Ace sees an opportunity and takes it.

With zero hesitation, he grabs Deuce by the shoulders and shoves him closer to you.

“You gonna let that slide, man?” Ace teases, grinning like a madman.

“I—” Deuce blinks, still looking dazed and vaguely devastated.

Ace pushes him again. “Dude, do something! Your boss just got publicly defiled.”

Deuce finally snaps out of it, reaching for his own handkerchief—the one with his knightly crest embroidered on it—and gently, carefully wipes at your neck.

It was different from Riddle’s.

Riddle had handed you his like a noble disgusted by filth.

Deuce, however?

Deuce was careful.

His touch was light, his eyes too focused, too serious as he dabbed at the place where the prince’s lips had nearly brushed against your skin.

He was not just cleaning.

He was removing.

It was as if the very idea of another man touching you physically revolted him.

So, in a desperate attempt to make the moment less weird, you forced out a mocking smirk and teased,

“Aw, Deuce. What’s wrong? You don’t like it when he touches me?”

Deuce, sweet, earnest, painfully loyal Deuce, did not hesitate.

“No."

Oh no.

Bwcause something in your stomach flips and your face feels suspiciously warm.

It was bound to happen.

Honestly, with the way you had been leaning on him lately, whispering too-close teases in his ear, and throwing casual flirtations like daggers at his heart, it was only a matter of time before he cracked.

But you—oh, you hadn’t expected it to be like this.

You were lounging on him again today, your head resting against his shoulder, basking in the solid warmth that only Deuce could provide. He had long since stopped complaining about it—stopped stiffening up every time you got close—and instead, he had simply accepted his fate as your personal resting post.

Which, of course, meant it was your duty to push your luck.

So, you did.

With a slow, lazy grin, you tilted your head, let your lips brush a little too close to his ear, and murmured,

“Y’know, Deuce… you’re kind of my favorite.”

It was supposed to be a joke. (kinda)

It was supposed to be just another tease, another drop of fuel onto the fire just to see him sputter and turn red like he always did.

But this time?

This time, he didn’t laugh.

Instead—

He froze.

His entire body went rigid beneath you, his hands clenching into fists, his breath coming sharper, heavier, like he was wrestling with something too big to contain.

And then—he exhaled.

“Are you playing with me, too?”

The words were low.

Rough.

Like he had been holding them back for too long, like they had been simmering inside him, growing heavier with every glance, every touch, every stupid, careless flirtation.

You blinked. “What?”

Deuce shifted, just enough to look at you head-on, and oh.

Oh.

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something vulnerable, something that made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“You keep doing this,” he muttered, his voice tight, frustrated. “You flirt with me like you do with the other nobles. You—you act like it’s all just a game. But I—”

His breath hitched.

And then, with a quiet, almost desperate laugh, he whispered,

“You know I love you, right?”

Your heart stopped.

“I—”

“I do,” he interrupted, the words spilling out like he couldn’t hold them back anymore. “I do. I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to be just your knight, just your friend—but every time you look at me like that, every time you say stuff like this—” His jaw clenched. “—I feel like an idiot. Because I know you don’t mean it. I know you’re just playing around. But I—”

He swallowed hard.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

The air between you went still.

Your heartbeat was too loud, your pulse a slow, insistent drumbeat in your ears, and oh.

Oh, this was real.

He was serious.

Deuce squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled sharply, and then met your gaze once more, firmer this time.

“The next time you flirt with me,” he said, voice low, steady, “I’m going to take it seriously.”

“I mean it,” he continued, as if warning you. “You—you don’t get to joke about this anymore. Not with me. Because I’ll—”

His fingers trembled at his sides.

“I’ll take responsibility for it.”

It took you a second to process the words.

Oh.

Oh, he was adorable.

Because even now—even after basically confessing, after baring his heart to you like this, he was still looking at you like he was waiting for permission.

Like he needed you to say it first.

Like he needed to be sure.

And, well—

Who were you to disappoint your favorite knight?

With a slow, lazy grin, you grabbed him by the collar, pulled him close, and whispered,

“Deuce.”

His breath hitched. “Yeah?”

You leaned in, close enough that your lips brushed against his cheek, and murmured,

“Do you want my last name?”

The moment the words left your mouth, his entire body locked up.

And then—

Then he kissed you.

It was clumsy, heated, desperate in the way only Deuce could be—like he had been holding this back for too long, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t take you now.

And you—

You melted into it.

Because of course he was serious.

Because of course you had always known what you were doing to him.

Because—

Because you wanted it, too.

The ballroom is packed, glittering, expectant.

The chandeliers glow like stars, the music swells in the background, and every noble in attendance is on the edge of their seat, waiting for whatever ridiculous display you’re about to put on this time.

And, oh, are you about to deliver.

You stand tall, your hand resting comfortably in Deuce’s as you make the grandest announcement of your life.

“We’re engaged.”

The room erupts—gasps, whispers, the sharp clink of dropped silverware.

Deuce, standing proudly beside you, looks both smug and overwhelmed, like he’s still processing the fact that you actually said yes and also fully prepared to duel anyone who disagrees.

Ace is counting coins, no doubt because he made a bet about this happening.

Riddle looks like he’s two seconds away from both congratulating you and strangling you for causing another scene.

And the male lead—

Oh, the male lead is not handling it well.

He’s standing there, frozen, his eye twitching ever so slightly, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to form a sentence but can’t because his brain just blue-screened.

The male lead—in all his tragic, oblivious, love-stricken glory—then has the nerve to act like he’s concerned.

“I just think it’s irresponsible, the difference in your status.” he says.

The words hit you like a divine insult.

Like the heavens themselves have chosen this as your actual villain origin story.

There is a moment of stillness.

It’s the kind of moment you read about in dramatic novels—the eerie, anticipatory silence before an executioner swings his blade. The nobles are motionless, caught between the sheer audacity of your engagement announcement and the dawning horror of whatever is about to come next.

Because they can feel it.

They can feel the storm brewing inside you, the kind of apocalyptic fury usually reserved for fallen kingdoms and plagues of locusts.

Deuce grips your hand a little tighter, as if sensing the catastrophic levels of rage that are about to explode from your very soul.

And then—it happens.

You let out a slow, incredulous exhale.

And then, at the top of your lungs—

“OH, MY GOD.”

The chandelier shakes.

Somewhere in the back, a noble collapses onto a couch.

A waiter drops an entire tray of champagne glasses.

The heroine, bless her soul, gasps like she’s just watched someone get impaled.

And the male lead?

The male lead flinches.

But he does not back down.

Which is his second biggest mistake tonight.

His first was being born.

You take a deep, suffering breath, and then—oh, you absolutely let loose.

“JUST SAY YOU’RE JEALOUS, YOU PATHETIC, EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED DISASTER.”

There is an echoing thud.

Ace has fallen to the ground.

He is actively pounding his fist against the marble floor in a fit of laughter so violent that one of the nobles attempts to call a doctor.

Riddle is gripping his temples, already mourning the loss of his peace.

And Deuce?

Deuce nods along.

Like, yeah. That makes sense.

But you are nowhere near done.

You take an intimidating step forward, pointing aggressively at the male lead’s absurdly symmetrical face.

“Do you think I don’t know?!” you demand. “Do you think I don’t notice when you materialize out of thin air whenever I so much as sigh?? Do you think I don’t see you hiding behind pillars, staring at me with the same expression as a neglected golden retriever!?”

The male lead opens his mouth—probably to deny it.

But you immediately cut him off.

“DON’T EVEN TRY ME, YOU NOBLE IMBECILE.”

The heroine physically recoils.

A duke mutters a quiet prayer.

Ace has fully ascended to the next realm.

“I have proof!” you declare, waving an accusatory finger. “Every time I enter a room, you’re already there, lurking in the shadows like a deranged, overgrown bat. Do you think that’s normal behavior?! Do you think people don’t notice?! I HAVE SEEN THE TOWN CRIER TAKING NOTES.”

Riddle’s entire body twitches.

Because, unfortunately, that is not an exaggeration.

The town crier really has been chronicling the male lead’s unhinged pining in weekly installments.

You take another step forward, voice rising.

“Just admit it! Admit that you have absolutely lost your mind over me, and you’re just mad that I don’t give a single, microscopic shred of a damn!”

The male lead is visibly sweating.

But you are still not finished.

“Listen to me,” you say, voice lowering into something cold, absolute, and devastating. You step forward until the male lead is cornered against a column, towering over him like a vengeful god.

Then, with as much venom as you can possibly summon—

“I value you less than a piece of moldy bread.”

Carnage.

The room erupts into madness.

The male lead physically staggers.

His soul leaves his body.

His knees tremble like he’s about to collapse.

Ace is choking on laughter, beating the floor like a medieval peasant begging for mercy.

Riddle has his hands over his eyes like this is the most humiliating thing he’s ever been forced to witness.

The heroine is looking at the male lead like he’s a dying animal.

And Deuce—sweet, loyal Deuce—just crosses his arms, nods approvingly, and says,

“Yeah. What he said."

You smile, victorious.

You dust off your hands like you’ve just completed a particularly satisfying chore.

Then, you turn back to Deuce, loop your arm through his, and promptly walk out of the ballroom with your beloved knight at your side.

The sun melts into the horizon, casting the ocean in gold and rose, waves curling onto the shore. A warm breeze rolls through the open balcony, carrying the scent of salt and flowers and Deuce Spade trying to subtly overthink again.

Which is unfortunate.

Because you had expressly banned thinking on this honeymoon.

Yet here he is—Deuce , your devoted, beautiful, terminally self-doubting husband—standing by the railing, arms crossed, jaw clenched, deep in Thought.

You know that look.

It’s the look of a man about to say something stupid.

And indeed—

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

You blink. “Regret what?”

Deuce doesn’t look at you. His gaze is on the horizon, all noble knightly brooding, except it’s Deuce, so it just makes him look like a golden retriever contemplating the meaning of life.

“Choosing me,” he clarifies. “I mean, you—you could’ve had anyone. A prince, a noble, someone with status. Someone who actually deserves—”

You physically grab him.

Like, you latch onto him like a barnacle and manhandle him around to face you, because this is quite possibly the dumbest thing he’s ever said, and you refuse to let him say another word.

Deuce, being Deuce, just lets you do it.

He stares at you, startled, lips slightly parted, eyes big and blue and breathtaking.

And you sigh.

“Sweetheart,” you say, voice dry, “you are the densest person I have ever met.”

He blinks.

You take his face in your hands.

“I love you, dumbass.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Deuce grins.

It’s small at first, hesitant, like he’s still processing the words—like some part of him is still convinced he’s dreaming, that any moment now, he’s going to wake up in the barracks and realize none of this is real.

But then, you thumb over his cheek, gentle, certain, grounding him in reality.

And that’s when it happens.

That’s when his grin breaks into something helpless and bright, something that crinkles the corners of his eyes, something that is so very Deuce that your heart trips over itself.

He hides his face against your shoulder.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, muffled against your skin, voice warm, embarrassed, happy.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer.

“Make me.”

His arms tighten around you, and for a while, neither of you move—just standing there, on the balcony of some faraway villa, wrapped up in each other, with nothing and no one to interrupt.

No scheming nobles.

No pushy male leads.

No ridiculous duels or political scandals.

Just you, Deuce, and the rest of your lives ahead.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

[throatgoat4u]

breakfast

word count: 10k

summary: matt moves to la and ghosts you, breaking your heart, but when the opportunity arises, you decide to get your revenge

warnings: emotional abuse, psychological manipulation, gaslighting, toxic relationships, exploitation of vulnerability, heavy emotional distress

a/n: guys this might be a long read...... also this is for @bernardsbendystraws song writing challenge thingy. i'm actually shocked i was able to even write this cause like i'm lazy and procrastinate a lot and the fact that the challenge had a deadline too?!?! i'm amazed. i worked pretty hard on this one and i think this just might be one of my favorite things i've written. ps and by the way, i will be calling the reader cherry in this so that's what people will call her and what she introduces herself as! also one last detail, this doesn't happen in the span of like a few weeks or like 1-2 months, this story takes place in the span of like almost a year. so yeah... enjoy!

toodles sluts :)

matthew bernard sturniolo.

god, you couldn’t stand the man. but looking at him now, his life a complete mess, there was nothing sweeter. and the best part? it was all because of you.

four years ago, the two of you were in high school. you and matt had this sort of relationship where you did practically everything like a couple—going on dates, giving gifts, whispering sweet nothings to each other, cuddling, kissing, the pda, fucking—but you were never actually official. matt didn’t do labels until he was sure. and you, like the naive girl you were, went right along with it, telling him you’d wait until he was ready.

he had promised you the world, swore up and down that you were the only one who truly understood him. it’s you and me against the world, baby. one day, i’m gonna marry you, you know that? but they were all lies. lies, lies, lies. the only thing that high school failure was good at was lying—and making it sound so convincing. and you? you had been dumb enough to believe every word.

when you two graduated, he left for la to pursue youtube with his brothers, and naturally, he fed you more lies. baby, i’ll come visit you every few months. we’ll call and text every single day, i swear. i’d never leave you, you know that, right? i love you.

it still astonished you how easily those words had slipped from his lips, how effortlessly he could say them without meaning a damn thing. but the saddest part? you ate it all up like a starving man who hadn’t eaten in years. you believed every single word because—why wouldn’t you? he was the love of your life.

for a while after the move, you and matt stayed in touch, talking almost every second. ten-hour calls, facetime marathons, endless text messages—the works. but slowly, you noticed the shift. he started withdrawing, calling less, ending conversations quicker, taking longer to reply—or not replying at all. when he did, it was just to blow you off. i’m busy. shit, sorry, next time. and you bought it. of course you did. he had just moved to la, and being an influencer wasn’t easy. you gave him the benefit of the doubt.  that was—until he just stopped. he never replied. all calls and texts went unanswered. he had ghosted you.

you were left utterly broken. he had promised you so, so much. you two were supposed to spend the rest of your lives together. you were supposed to be endgame.

but the wallowing didn’t last long.

one day, you opened instagram to find a post—matt shamelessly making out with some girl at a party. a flood of emotions hit you all at once. sadness, confusion, hurt, betrayal. but most of all—anger.

how could you have been so blind? you gave him everything. your time, your trust, your heart. and he threw it all away like it was nothing.

you weren’t going to let it slide.

so you started planning.

now, four years later, you executed it perfectly. it wasn’t easy—oh no, it was tedious. every step had to work seamlessly for the next to fall into place. one wrong move and the entire plan would collapse.

and what plan exactly?

well, in theory, it was a very simple nine-phase plan. you didn’t even mean for the tenth phase to happen, but it did.

phase one: move to la

this was easy. you had finished college with a degree in fashion marketing, and job offers from la weren’t exactly uncommon. all you had to do was pick the highest-paying, most reputable one, and you were on your way.

you settled into the city faster than you expected. the air was thick with ambition, the streets buzzing with influencers and socialites desperate to be seen. it was a world fueled by image, where clout mattered more than character. and if you played your cards right, it was a world where you could thrive.

phase one: complete

phase two: befriend an influencer (preferably one with connections to matt, preferably tara yummy)

why tara yummy? simple. she threw some of the biggest parties in la, meaning tons of other influencers—some of whom could have connections to matt—would be there.

befriending tara? well, that was a process. you had to admit, you stooped to some pretty unethical and borderline pathetic measures to make it happen. and all for what? revenge on a boy. pathetic.

still, you stalked her obsessively, tracking where she would be and when. you knew her schedule for every day of the week—surprising, right? like, tara yummy having an actual schedule? technically, no. but she did go to the same coffee shop every day at exactly 12:43 p.m.

why 12:43? who the fuck cares? as long as you could follow her to her next location, you were fine with whatever time she picked for her little coffee rendezvous.

saturday, february 15, 12:42 p.m.

you were parked outside the coffee shop, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel, the hum of the engine filling the silence. your eyes flickered to the time on your phone.

what if she decided to go somewhere else today? what if something came up? had you picked the wrong day?

then, at exactly 12:44, you spotted her—rushing inside, her oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, phone in one hand, car keys in the other.

you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding, watching as she ordered her iced oat milk shaken espresso with one pump white mocha, one pump caramel, light cinnamon powder, and vanilla sweet cream cold foam. (don’t ask.)

when she finally got her coffee and walked out, you turned on your car, keeping an eye on her as she made her way back to hers. now, all that was left was to follow her—hopefully to somewhere public where "accidentally" running into her wouldn’t be suspicious.

you waited a few moments before pulling out behind her, keeping a safe distance—close enough to track her, but not close enough to look like you were tailing her.

she drove for about ten minutes before pulling into target’s parking lot.

your eyes lit up almost instantly. perfect.

you parked a few spots away on the opposite side, ensuring a clear view of her. watching carefully, you waited until she stepped out of her car and started toward the entrance before making your move.

inside, you immediately noticed—no basket.

an idea formed in your head.

you trailed behind her, watching as she browsed the aisles, picking up items—a blanket, a book, some makeup, shampoo, conditioner—until her hands were completely full. she stumbled a bit, dropping things occasionally.

this was it. your chance.

you turned down an aisle, walking toward her while she unknowingly walked in your direction. just as you neared her, you looked down at your phone—pretending not to see her—before crashing right into her.

her things tumbled to the floor, and you let your phone slip from your hands for added effect.

"oh my god! i-i’m so sorry, are you okay?" you asked, putting on the best fake concerned voice you could.

she looked up at you and smiled. "yeah, no, i’m okay. how about you?"

"i-i’m fine, don’t worry about me. i’m so, so sorry again. i should’ve been paying attention."

"hey, no, don’t be sorry. it wasn’t really your fault. hell, it wasn’t really either of our faults," she said, laughing as she bent down to pick up her stuff. but you beat her to it.

"no, here, let me get that for you," you said, gathering her things. as you handed them back, you put on a puzzled expression. "wait, you don’t have a basket?"

she shook her head, and you tsked softly before placing each item into yours.

"what are you—" she began, but you cut her off.

"no, it’s okay. i didn’t really have anything in my basket anyway. it’d probably be more useful to you," you said, handing it to her.

she smiled, taking it from you. "stop, thank you so much, you’re so sweet."

"no, stop. it’s really nothing, i don’t mind," you replied, playing it off casually. then, after a brief pause, you added, "oh, and by the way, you’re like… really, really pretty."

"o.m.g. shut up. like, actually. you’re too sweet," she giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"no, i’m dead serious. you’re gorgeous."

"well, you too. like, oh god, you look like one of those really hot girls i see who just seem so unapproachable and intimidating," she mused, eyeing you up and down.

"why, thank you," you replied with the kindest smile you could muster. "sorry if this interaction is kinda awkward… i’m new to la and sort of looking to make friends." you lowered your voice a little, trying to sound just the right amount of shy.

her eyes widened, and her mouth parted slightly. "well, consider me your first friend. i’m tara."

"…cherry," you responded.

"nice to meet you, cherry. c’mon. you’ll be walking with me now," she smiled, grabbing your hand and dragging you along.

phase two: complete.

phase three: get invited to a tara event

over the next few weeks, you spent most of your time with tara, considering she was your only friend.

you went shopping together, got your nails done, hit the gym, had spa days, and she even showed you all the best clubs and bars in la. the two of you really hit it off, and it kinda made you feel bad that you were using her. kinda.

wednesday, march 5, 2:54 pm

you and tara were sitting on her bed, planning out her next big party. but this party wasn’t just any party—it was for you. she wanted to throw an event so you could branch out and meet new people because, being a loner in la? yeah, no, you weren’t going to let that happen. especially not with your plan in motion. if you stayed invisible, everything would be ruined. matt would win, and you'd lose once again.

"so, um… tara… how big is this party going to be, exactly?" you asked, carefully faking a nervous tone as you sat cross-legged on her bed, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. you needed to convince her you were an introvert. playing that part would help you blend into the background and make it easier to focus on your real goal.

tara barely looked up from her phone, scrolling through pinterest, tapping on various pins as she pulled ideas for the event. “well, i’m inviting the usual crowd, so it won’t be too big,” she replied casually. “just enough to get the party vibes right.”

"right..." you sighed, casting a quick glance at the laptop screen, pretending to chew your lip nervously. your act was flawless, but the truth was, you weren’t anxious about being around people—you were just anxious about matt. you knew him all too well, and if he didn’t show up, everything would fall apart. matt was a big homebody, after all. if he didn’t come, you’d have a much harder time achieving your goal.

you needed to know exactly who matt would hang around at the party, and that meant focusing on his closest friends. it was a given that he'd stick close to his girlfriend, macy, but you had to make sure you pinpointed the others—the ones who would be your best shot at making things happen.

the two of you spent the rest of the day bouncing ideas around for the party. tara wanted to host it at her place, and you both decided on a theme—black, white, and a rich, dark red. it was bold, dramatic—something that would definitely make a statement.

tara had already invited a ton of people. for her, it was just another night to throw a party, another chance to be around her usual influencer crowd. but for you, this was more than just a party. this was the perfect opportunity to get closer to matt's friends and, eventually, get closer to matt himself—so you could finally tear him down.

“so, who all did you invite?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but your mind was already mentally listing off everyone who might be there.

tara smirked, eyes flicking up from her phone as she responded, “oh, you know, the usual bunch. larray, quen, carrington, jake, johnnie… some of the other la influencers. then, of course, there’s the triplets—matt, chris, and nick.”

you nodded along, your expression neutral, though internally, you were bracing yourself. you already knew the triplets, of course. but this party wasn’t about them. it was about the other people who would be there.

“that’s a lot of people,” you said, trying to keep your voice light, but your mind was already working overtime. “what’s the vibe like with everyone? how do they all mix?”

tara shrugged nonchalantly as she tapped away at her phone, her attention already shifting back to the planning. “honestly, they’re all chill. some can be a little extra—like, really extra—but nothing you can’t handle. you’ll fit right in. just make sure you make an entrance, you know?”

you gave her a knowing smile, nodding along, though your mind was elsewhere. you weren’t here to fit in. you were here to observe, to learn who matt’s closest friends were, to subtly insert yourself into their world. and then, you’d take him down. piece by piece, without him even realizing it.

this party was just the beginning.

phase three: complete

phase four: figure out just who’s in matt’s inner circle

you looked in the mirror as you fixed your hair, making sure everything was just right. the tight black dress hugged your hips in all the right places, the slit riding high enough to leave barely anything to the imagination. your hair was perfectly blown out, sleek and cascading down your back like silk. but still, something was missing.

your eyes landed on the red lipstick sitting on the vanity. you grabbed it, uncapping it with a flick of your wrist before carefully applying it to your lips. the deep, sultry shade coated them perfectly, adding just the right amount of boldness to complete the look.

perfect.

you pressed your lips together, ensuring the color was flawless. now, you were ready.

tara walked into the room, and her jaw practically hit the floor. her eyes widened as she took you in, her gaze trailing from your perfectly blown-out hair to the curve-hugging black dress and the deep red lipstick that added just the right amount of danger.

“oh my god.” her voice was barely above a whisper before it quickly turned into an excited squeal. “cherry, you look stunning! you might’ve just been my lesbian awakening because what the fuck?!?” she said, walking toward you with wide eyes.

you giggled, rolling your eyes as you turned slightly to check yourself in the mirror one last time. “oh, shut up,” you mumbled, but the slight flush on your cheeks betrayed you.

“no, no, i’m being dead serious.” she placed her hands on her hips, giving you an exaggerated once-over. “like, i cannot believe you’ve been hiding this version of you. you look gorgeous.”

“thanks, t,” you murmured softly, your lips tugging into a small, satisfied smile. but before you could revel in the compliment for too long, tara’s expression shifted.

“but,” she said, her tone a little more serious now, “i actually came up here to tell you a lot of people are here now. i know you’re not the party type, but… it’s your party. you need to come down.”

you almost laughed out loud at that. not the party type? oh, if only she knew. at least you’d done a good enough job convincing her that you were shy and reserved. it was all part of the plan.

“yeah, yeah, i know,” you mumbled, tugging your dress down ever so slightly, playing up the nervous act just a bit longer. “can… can you come with me? and maybe… stay with me? i don’t really want to be alone with so many people around.” your voice was soft, almost timid, as if the idea of walking into a crowded room made you anxious.

tara’s features softened instantly, her eyes filling with warmth as she gave you a reassuring smile. “of course i’ll stay with you,” she said, reaching out to squeeze your hand gently. “i won’t leave you alone for a single moment tonight, ‘kay?”

you nodded, offering her a small, grateful smile as you took a deep breath.

perfect.

you followed tara as she began to walk out of the room, her arm loosely linked with yours as the two of you made your way downstairs. the muffled bass of the music grew louder with each step, the sounds of laughter and conversation drifting through the hallway.

as you reached the bottom of the stairs, you scanned the room quickly, your mind already working.

the party was in full swing. influencers, tiktokers, and la’s finest were scattered everywhere, drinks in hand and smiles plastered on their faces.

but you weren’t interested in any of them.

your eyes swept the crowd, zeroing in on the people who mattered most. matt’s friends.

they weren’t hard to spot. matt—whenever he did decide to show up at events like these—always stuck close to the people he felt most comfortable with. usually, that meant nick, chris, and a couple of his closest friends. and tonight was no different.

one person caught your eye almost immediately. larray.

he was laughing, completely immersed in whatever conversation he was having. matt had never looked happier in a group of people and it was sort of like a stab to your heart but you quickly shook the feeling off, refocusing on the small group that surrounded matt. nick, chris, larray… and macy.

macy. matt’s new girlfriend.

the girl who had everything you ever wanted.

she was perched right beside him, her hand casually resting on his arm like it belonged there. she looked so comfortable, so secure in her place next to him. it made your stomach turn.

but not with sadness.

with determination.

there they were—laughing, chatting, blissfully unaware that they were about to become pawns in your little game.

but timing was everything.

you weren’t about to make your move too soon. not when there was so much at stake. so, for now, you waited.

you stuck close to tara, mingling with other guests and keeping up appearances. you laughed at jokes, smiled at compliments, and made small talk with influencers you barely cared about. to anyone watching, you looked like you were just another girl trying to blend into la’s social scene.

but your focus never strayed too far.

your eyes flicked back to matt’s group every chance you got, tracking their every move without being obvious.

nick and chris were in their usual spots, close to matt but engaged in their own conversations. larray was his usual vibrant self, effortlessly making everyone around him laugh. and macy… well, she was glued to matt’s side, just as expected.

you kept waiting, biding your time as the night dragged on.

and then, finally, it happened.

matt, nick, and chris stepped away, heading toward the backyard—probably to get some air or escape the chaos for a moment.

perfect.

your heart pounded in your chest as you took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“tara,” you murmured softly, leaning closer so only she could hear, “i’m gonna go grab another drink. be right back.”

“want me to come with?” she asked, her eyes flickering toward the crowded bar area.

“nah,” you smiled, shaking your head. “i’ll be fine.”

she nodded, giving you an encouraging smile before turning back to her conversation.

and with that, you made your move.

your eyes locked onto larray, who was still standing near the bar, chatting and laughing with a few other people.

game on.

you made your way to the bar, grabbing some random drink that had been left unattended, and started to move toward larray. you made sure to stumble a bit, really selling the whole oops, i’m tipsy act. when you were close enough, you “tripped,” falling forward and spilling your drink all over him.

“shit. my bad. i didn’t mean to do that. i’m so sorry. are you alright?” you asked frantically, eyes darting around for anything to help. you spotted a napkin nearby and quickly handed it to him.

“yeah, i’m okay. chill, girl, damn!” he said, laughing it off as he wiped the drink off his shirt, giving you a playful side-eye.

“gosh, i’m sorry. i might be a little more drunk than i thought. i usually don’t trip over my feet like this,” you mumbled, shifting nervously.

“bitch, it’s okay. i promise, it’s not that deep. my clothes will dry.”

“yeah, i know. but i still feel bad.”

“well, don’t.” he waved you off, flashing you that bright, easy smile. “anyways, i’ve never seen you ‘round. you new here or what?”

“uh, yeah. i moved to la about a month ago for my job.”

he hummed, grabbing his drink off the table and taking a sip. “what do you do?”

“i actually work in fashion marketing.”

his eyes widened instantly, his interest clearly piqued. “wait, so like… do you get all the tea on the brands? tell me everything.”

you giggled softly, shaking your head. “sadly, not yet. i just started. but, trust me, you’ll be the first to know when they let me in on all the juicy shit.”

“you better.” he gave you a pointed look, but his grin was playful.

“cross my heart.” you smirked, making a little x over your chest.

“mm, i like you already.” he gave you a wink before glancing around the room. “but, babe, why are you stuck talking to me when there’s a whole party happening?”

“honestly?” you shrugged, flashing him a sheepish smile. “you’re the most interesting person here.”

“aww, stop it, i’m blushing.” he fanned himself dramatically, making you laugh.

“seriously, though,” he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice, “stick with me tonight, and i’ll make sure you have fun.”

perfect.

throughout the entire night, you stayed glued to larray’s side. he was the perfect guide to la’s influencer scene, introducing you to a lot of people—some of whom you already recognized from social media. but your focus wasn’t on them.

no, your interest was piqued when he introduced you to madison and quen.

it quickly became clear to you that they were probably the closest people to matt—along with larray.

you watched closely, noting the way they spoke about him, the way they laughed at inside jokes that only came from years of friendship. it was subtle, but the familiarity was there.

these were the people who mattered.

and they were exactly who you needed to get close to next.

you slipped seamlessly into conversation with them, playing up the charm and matching their energy effortlessly. it was easy, really—madison was sweet and warm, and quen? well, she was sharp, funny, and didn’t seem to take shit from anyone.

by the end of the night, you weren’t just some random girl who just moved to la. no, you were now on their radar.

the party came to a wrap and as you exchanged goodbyes and promises to hang out soon, you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself.

they had no idea what was coming.

phase four: complete.

phase five: get close to macy

you realized at the party that it wouldn’t have been a good idea to try and talk to macy because she didn’t leave matt’s side once, and matt would’ve immediately recognized you if he had seen you, which would’ve completely jeopardized the plan.

see, the thing is, macy is a model, and your agency just so happened to be looking for some new faces. after the party, you made sure to keep macy in the back of your mind because you knew it was only a matter of time before you’d be working with her in person. it wasn’t long before you got the chance—both of you were assigned to the same photoshoot for a big brand that the agency was promoting.

the first time you saw her in person, she was a lot quieter than you expected. maybe it was because she was surrounded by other models and people she worked with, but she didn’t seem nearly as outgoing as she came off on social media. you had no intention of just jumping in to get to know her right away, but you did make sure to get in a few casual hellos and comments about how excited you were to be working with her.

the shoot itself was long, and there were a lot of down moments while the crew set up shots or adjusted lighting, which gave you plenty of time to talk. you started by talking about the job itself—what it was like working with the agency, the constant hustle, and how draining it all could be. at first, macy wasn’t very open, giving you short answers, but you could tell she was warming up.

after a few hours of talking about everything from the industry to personal stuff, you noticed she seemed a little more relaxed around you. when the crew took a break, you casually offered to grab coffee with her, making sure it didn’t seem like you were trying too hard. macy agreed, and the two of you grabbed a quick coffee from a nearby shop.

over the next few weeks, you found more opportunities to work together, whether it was at another photoshoot or event. each time, you made sure to keep the conversation going, offering small, relatable advice about the industry and connecting on more personal levels. she started confiding in you more—about the pressure to maintain a certain image, the loneliness that came with constantly being on the go, and how hard it was to find genuine friends in a world full of fake ones.

you didn’t push her. you just listened, offering support when needed and being someone she could trust. eventually, she started to reach out to you first, asking for your opinion on various things, and you could tell she was beginning to see you as a friend, not just another coworker.

the real turning point came when the agency booked you both for a big event. during the event, things were relaxed enough that you had a chance to talk one-on-one. this was when you dropped the suggestion—about how your agency had been looking for fresh faces for future campaigns and how they were always interested in bringing in new talent. it was subtle, but effective. macy took the bait, and the next time you talked, she mentioned she’d been thinking about it and was considering taking the next step.

the seed had been planted. you’d gotten closer to her, built the trust, and now you had her in the perfect position. it wasn’t long before macy was fully onboard with the agency's next big campaign, and just like that, your plan was moving forward.

things were falling into place—slowly, but surely.

phase five: complete.

phase six: start spreading the rumors

now that you were getting closer to macy, madison, and quen, it was time to move to phase six of the plan: spreading rumors. subtle, harmless ones at first, ones that wouldn’t immediately seem like an attack, but that would eventually create tension in matt’s friend group. you knew matt’s friends well enough to know that they would start questioning his actions if the right things were said at the right time.

you decided to start with larray. after all, he was the easiest to get to. you’d spent a good amount of time with him, and he was an open book—always down to gossip and willing to listen. it didn’t take much for you to casually bring up the fact that you’d heard a little something about matt during one of your late-night conversations.

“so, like, i don’t know if i’m the only one who’s noticed, but…” you’d start, lowering your voice, like you were sharing some kind of secret. larray, always keen on gossip, would immediately lean in.

“what? spill it,” he’d say, raising an eyebrow.

you’d shake your head, pretending to hesitate. “it’s probably nothing, but i’ve been hearing stuff about matt… like, he’s been kinda distant lately. i don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but i heard he was kinda flaky at the last couple of events. like, not showing up or leaving early.”

larray’s expression would shift slightly, as though he was mulling it over, but he wouldn’t say much at first. you could tell he was processing the information. the next time he was hanging out with matt and the crew, he’d likely file that tidbit away in the back of his mind.

from there, you’d move on to madison. she was always more perceptive, more cautious about things, but you were good at working your way into people’s trust. one day, as you sat together, sipping your drinks, you’d casually bring up something you’d overheard.

“you know, i’ve noticed matt’s been kinda off lately. like, i don’t know if it’s just me, but he seems different. like, more withdrawn? you know, i’ve been hearing that he’s been talking behind people’s backs about his friends.”

madison would pause, taking a sip from her own drink, but her eyes would narrow just a little. “seriously? that doesn’t sound like him,” she’d say. “who’s he been talking about?”

“i mean, i don’t know if it’s about any one person specifically, but i’ve heard him say stuff about the larray before. not, like, bad stuff, but, like, you know, a little judgmental. he’s always got something to say when he’s not around, which is kinda weird, right?”

madison would probably just shrug it off at first, but you'd know that this type of gossip would linger in the back of her mind, especially when she started noticing the little things that seemed off in matt’s behavior.

last but not least, you’d work on quen. she was sharp, observant, and you knew that getting her to trust you enough to believe what you were saying would be a challenge. but you were up for it. your approach would be a little more direct with her.

one afternoon, you’d be hanging out, and you’d make sure to mention something that would start getting her wheels turning.

“i don’t know if you’ve noticed, but matt’s been acting really off lately. like, he’s not as, i don’t know, present? when he’s around the group, it’s like he’s just not… engaged. he’s distant. i heard him say some weird stuff about how he feels like he’s outgrown a lot of the people around him.”

quen would furrow her brows, not immediately responding. “outgrown? huh. that’s… odd. i mean, he’s always been the one trying to keep everyone together.”

“right? and now he’s just, like, pulling away. it’s strange. especially with how close he used to be with everyone.” you’d pause and look at her, as if genuinely concerned, adding, “maybe i’m reading too much into it, but it’s not just me noticing.”

quen would likely stay quiet for a moment, processing it, but deep down, she’d start to think about it. the next time she was with matt, she'd start paying more attention to the way he interacted with the group. the little things would start to show.

with each of them—larray, madison, and quen—you carefully planted just enough doubt to make them start second-guessing matt’s intentions, his loyalty, and his true feelings toward his friends. nothing too drastic at first, just small seeds of uncertainty. but soon enough, the tension would begin to rise. they’d start noticing what they hadn’t before.

and once they did, it would only be a matter of time before matt’s world began to shift.

you let the information sit with them for a while before starting to up the stakes—making the rumors a bit more… compromising.

“girl, don’t even get me started. i heard matt’s been real weird lately,” you say casually, swirling the straw in your drink as you sit next to larray. it’s subtle, but you know exactly what you’re doing.

“uh-uh, hold up.” larray’s eyes widen as he sets his drink down, giving you that signature side-eye. “what do you mean weird? like… weird weird or just matt-being-a-man weird? ‘cause you know these men don’t know how to act.”

you let out a small, dramatic sigh, playing it off like you don’t want to say too much. “i mean… i don’t know, it’s probably nothing. just heard he’s been kinda distant with macy lately. you didn’t notice?”

“not you trying to soft launch tea and then leaving me hanging,” larray gasps, placing a hand on his chest. “spill, bitch. don’t play with me like that.”

“nooo, it’s not that serious!” you laugh, shaking your head. “just… i saw him the other day and he barely acknowledged her. like, he was all up on his phone the whole time. it was just… weird.”

“not him treating macy like she’s on do not disturb,” larray snorts, rolling his eyes dramatically. “ugh, men are so exhausting. they can’t even pretend to care when they’re in public. disgusting.”

you shrug, acting nonchalant, but you know his perception of matt was changing.

onto madison

one night, when you and madison were grabbing drinks after work, you casually brought up matt’s name again, this time in a more pointed way.

“you know, i think i’ve been seeing something with matt,” you’d say, your voice almost too casual, too innocent. “well, not me personally, but macy has been telling me all these things about how matt’s being all secretive with her and stuff. like recently, that’s been our whole topic of conversation while we’re at work. she tells me he’s on his phone more often and how he’s always so dismissive of her questions when she asks him why he’s been distant lately. i don’t know ‘bout you, but it sounds like to me that he might be seeing someone on the sid

madison frowned, clearly uncomfortable. “seriously? that doesn’t sound like him at all.”

you’d nod, looking concerned. “yeah, i don’t know, but it’s been bugging me. i mean, macy doesn’t deserve that. and maybe he isn’t cheating. but why is he still being weird towards her.”

“yeah no, that’s really fucked up.” madison says, feeling a little sad for macy

“i know i shouldn’t be telling macy’s business like that but it was gnawing at me. and what’s worse is that macy doesn’t even consider that he could possibly be cheating on her. like i don’t know. i just- do you promise not to tell anyone?” you ask, trying your best to sound like you’ve been overcome with guilt.

madison nods, giving you a soft smile. “baby, of course i won’t tell anyone. secrets safe with me. in the end, these could all be rumors and a shit ton of overthinking so i wouldn’t really jump to conclusions but i’d definitely keep it in the back of my mind.”

you nod, returning the smile. “thanks. you’re a really good friend.”

“anytime”

you’d pulled off larray and madison, now all you had left for this round of rumors was quen.

after one evening, when you and quen were hanging out after work, you casually said, “have you noticed something with matt?”

quen raised an eyebrow. “what do you mean?”

“i don’t know, it’s just… i’ve noticed that matt is just… different. but like only with one person.”

her eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as she tilted her head slightly. “who?”

“macy.” you said carefully, like her name was some sort of taboo subject. “it’s weird. he’s like a whole different person when she’s not around. like i feel like he’s more of himself when he’s away from her. when she comes around though, he gets all agitated and annoyed. i might be reading into shit but like… i don’t know.”

quen scoffed, but there was a slight hesitation in her voice. “that sounds like some weird shit, honestly.”

“yeah, i mean, it’s not like macy hasn’t caught on either,” you’d say. “she has! but she’s kinda brushing it off, choosing to ignore it. i just feel like she’s making excuses for him. god i just- i feel bad.”

“well who wouldn’t? like no one should treat their girlfriend like she’s trapping them.”

“yeah no, it’s bad. could you like… not mention this to her. she just- she gets all defensive and mad and she’ll probably realize i told you and i’m not trying to be messy i just needed to get this off my chest and stuff.”

“girl i gotchu. don’t worry.”

“thanks.” you mumble.

now it was time for the even bigger ones. the rumors that would really leave them questioning matt.

you sat beside larray, pretending to scroll through your phone as if what you were about to say was nothing. casual. just another piece of gossip in la.

“okay, so tell me why macy was saying matt’s been so busy with filming and working yesterday’s problem lately,” you murmured, keeping your tone light but just loud enough for larray to catch it.

larray raised an eyebrow, already intrigued. “mmm, okay… and?”

you sighed dramatically, like you didn’t want to be messy but just had to spill. “and… quen told me she saw him at a bar the other night.” you paused for effect, giving larray a pointed look. “like… not the filimg. not working on his project. a bar.”

larray’s eyes widened, lips parting slightly. “bitch, what?!” he blinked, processing the information before shaking his head. “oh no. not this man lying through his motherfucking teeth and playing her in her face.”

“right?” you scoffed, biting your lip to hide the satisfied smirk threatening to form. “i mean, maybe there’s a good explanation, but… doesn’t it seem kinda weird?”

larray leaned back, crossing his arms, and gave you a look. “girl, ain’t no way. if my man told me he was working but was out getting going to bars n shit? he’d be single faster than he could even say single.”

“i knowwww,” you drawled, shaking your head, “but macy doesn’t suspect a thing.”

larray sucked his teeth, already mentally adding this to his list of things to bring up later. “ugh, these men. always something. i swear.”

you nodded, pretending to be concerned, but deep down, you knew this was exactly what you needed.

a few days after your conversation with larray, you decided that you’d get madison again. you and madison found yourselves grabbing drinks again, just like before. but this time? you came prepared even more.

“so… remember what i told you about matt last time?” you started, swirling your straw around in your drink, eyes carefully avoiding madison’s as if you were hesitant to even bring it up.

madison’s expression shifted, her brows furrowing slightly. “yeah… what about it?”

you bit your lip, leaning in a little closer like you were about to spill something big. “okay, so… i wasn’t gonna say anything ‘cause i didn’t wanna let macy’s business out into the open again, but… i’ve got more shit on that situation.”

madison’s eyes widened slightly. “girl, what happened?”

you sighed, feigning reluctance, but you wanted this. “so, macy mentioned something again the other day. she said matt’s been going out more—late nights, no explanation, just saying it’s ‘work stuff.’ but like… get this. when she asked him about it, he got defensive. like, super weird.”

madison’s frown deepened, concern flickering across her face. “defensive? over what though?”

“exactly!” you leaned back, arms crossed as if you were just as confused. “like, why get all worked up if you’ve got nothing to hide? and… i don’t know, macy mentioned she checked his location once and he wasn’t even where he said he’d be. she brushed it off, but…” you trailed off, letting the weight of your words hang between you.

madison’s lips pressed into a thin line. “no… that’s shady as hell. if he’s lying about where he’s at?” she shook her head. “girl, that’s not a good sign.”

“right?” you gave her a look that said you get it. “i mean, maybe it’s nothing… but macy’s too trusting. she doesn’t wanna believe he’d do anything like that. but…” you paused, lowering your voice slightly, “what if he is?”

madison’s jaw tightened, her protective instincts clearly kicking in. “ugh, poor macy. i hate that she’s going through this.”

you nodded, your expression perfectly laced with fake concern. “same. that’s why i told you… i didn’t wanna keep it bottled up. but, you know, i just… i feel bad keeping it all to myself.”

“no, no,” madison said softly, shaking her head. “i’m glad you told me. i’ll… i’ll keep an eye on things.”

after that night, things started falling into place exactly how you wanted.  

a week or so later, you and quen were hanging out again, this time lounging at her apartment after a long day. casual vibes, just the two of you unwinding, but your mind? it was working overtime.  

you waited until the conversation lulled, until the timing felt just right before you spoke up, your tone light but laced with just enough concern to hook her.  

“so… remember what i told you about matt and macy the other day?” you said, fiddling absentmindedly with your phone like it wasn’t that big of a deal.  

quen glanced over, her interest piqued immediately. “uh, yeah. why? what’s up?”  

you sighed, leaning back against the couch like this was weighing heavy on you. “ugh… i wasn’t gonna say anything else, but i’ve been noticing it *a lot* more now. like, girl… it’s bad.”  

quen’s brows furrowed, her attention fully locked in now. “how bad are we talking?”  

“like… okay, so macy told me that matt’s been avoiding spending too much time with her lately,” you started, keeping your voice low and almost hesitant, like you were scared of even saying it. “she says he’s been making excuses. work, friends, whatever. but get this…” you paused for dramatic effect, watching quen lean in a little closer. “the other day? she said they were supposed to hang out, but matt bailed last minute, saying he had something with the boys. but… quen…” you bit your lip, looking conflicted.  

“what?” quen pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly.  

“one of my friends saw him that night. and he wasn’t with nick or chris,” you said, lowering your voice. “he was *with another girl.*”  

quen’s jaw dropped, her expression flipping from curiosity to full-blown disbelief. “*bitch, what?!*”  

“i know,” you murmured, shaking your head like you hated even saying it. “i didn’t believe it at first either. but then i heard it from *two* people. like… what the fuck is going on?”  

quen sat up straighter, her lips pursed in frustration. “nah, that’s wild. and macy doesn’t know?”  

“nope,” you said softly, shaking your head. “and i don’t know if i should be the one to tell her. i mean, she’s already brushing off so much. she’d probably just think i’m stirring shit.”  

quen’s face hardened, her protective side flaring up. “that’s some *bullshit.* she deserves to know if matt’s acting shady like that.”  

“i know,” you sighed, looking down, feigning conflict. “but… i don’t wanna be the one to ruin things, you know? i just… i don’t know what to do.”  

quen shook her head, clearly irritated now. “girl, don’t worry. i’ll keep an eye on him. if he’s up to something shady, we’ll know.”  

you gave her a small, grateful smile, nodding. “thanks, quen. i just… i needed to tell someone. this whole thing’s been eating at me.”  

“don’t worry,” quen said firmly, her tone serious. “if that boy’s up to something, he won’t be able to hide it for long.”  

and just like that, the wheels were turning. quen was on high alert now, watching matt like a hawk. you didn’t even have to do anything more—she’d handle the rest.  

phase six: complete

phase seven: introduce macy to the matt treatment

phase seven was the hardest part.

everything up until now had been about laying the groundwork, planting little doubts in everyone’s minds. but this? this was about making macy feel something that wasn’t even real.

the thing is, matt was a great boyfriend. he wasn’t distant, he wasn’t sneaky, and he wasn’t out here treating macy the way he treated you. and that was the problem.

because if macy never felt the way you felt—if she never experienced the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing matt treatment—then she’d never leave him.

and that? that wasn’t part of the plan.

so, you had to get creative.

step one: distance. but not from matt—from macy’s side of things.

it started small.

“girl, why don’t you ever come out with us anymore?” quen had asked her one night after work, and you made sure you were just within earshot.

macy had laughed it off. “ugh, i know. matt and i have just been spending so much time together lately.”

“damn, glued to his hip, huh?” quen had joked, but the seed had been planted.

and you? you watered it.

“you know,” you said softly the next day, when it was just you and macy grabbing coffee, “it’s great that you and matt are so close, but… don’t you miss having time for yourself sometimes?”

macy frowned a little but shrugged. “not really. i like being with him.”

“of course,” you smiled, keeping your tone light. “but… i don’t know. sometimes too much time together can make things feel… suffocating, y’know? like, matt’s great, but maybe a little space wouldn’t hurt?”

she didn’t agree. not yet. but that’s the thing about seeds—they take time to grow.

step two: fake tension.

if matt wasn’t going to create the tension, you’d have to do it for him.

“ugh,” macy groaned one afternoon while scrolling through her phone. “matt’s been so stressed with everything lately.”

you leaned in, feigning concern. “what’s wrong?”

“just the usual… filming, editing, meetings… he’s been overwhelmed.”

you nodded, playing your part perfectly. “yeah… that’s a lot. has he been… different with you because of it?”

macy’s face scrunched up a bit, her mind already working through a scenario that didn’t exist.

“different how?”

“i don’t know,” you shrugged, keeping it vague on purpose. “sometimes guys get quiet when they’re stressed. pull away a little. they don’t even realize they’re doing it half the time.”

she didn’t say anything after that. but her silence? that was exactly what you wanted.

step three: paranoia.

this was where things got tricky. you had to be subtle, careful not to overplay your hand.

“hey, have you noticed matt texting more lately?” you asked casually one evening, like it was just a passing thought.

macy blinked, looking up from her drink. “huh?”

“oh, nothing,” you waved it off with a smile. “i just… i don’t know. when we were out the other night, i noticed he was on his phone a lot. but it’s probably nothing.”

but it was never nothing.

because now? macy’s mind was already spiraling.

and it worked.

little by little, macy started to feel the things you had felt.

the distance.

the doubt.

the sinking feeling in her gut that something wasn’t quite right, even though matt was still being the same perfect boyfriend he had always been.

but to macy? it wouldn’t feel that way anymore.

because now?

everything felt off.

phase seven: complete.

phase eight: start encouraging macy to break up with matt

phase eight was all about patience.

you knew macy wasn’t ready to let go just yet. she was still holding on, hoping things would get better with matt—even after all the doubts you’d planted.

but that was fine.

because this wasn’t a sprint. it was a marathon.

so you kept playing your part.

you spent more time with her, slowly becoming her confidant.

hangout one: thursday, july 17th, 12:14 pm

another brunch.

macy looked exhausted, her smile just a little less bright than usual.

“you okay?” you asked, keeping your tone light but concerned.

she gave a small shrug, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. “yeah… just tired, i guess.”

you let it go. didn’t push. just offered a soft smile and changed the subject to something easy.

hangout two: wednesday, july 30th, 11:37 pm

a late-night target run.

the conversation was effortless, jumping from one topic to another.

“ugh, i swear, i’m gonna end up living off frozen pizza and sour candy,” you joked, tossing a bag into the cart.

macy laughed, but her response was softer, almost distracted. “at least you know what you like.”

it was nothing. just a passing comment.

hangout three: friday, august 22nd, 10:43 pm

movie night at her place.

you both sat curled up on the couch, the glow of the tv flickering across the room.

“thanks for coming over,” macy murmured, almost too quietly to catch.

“of course,” you said softly, not making a big deal of it.

she didn’t say anything else.

but the way her shoulders relaxed just a little more as the night went on?

that wasn’t nothing.

but none of it stood out.

no lingering looks. no obvious smiles. no heavy silences.

just… a quiet comfort.

she started replying to your texts a little faster.

her invitations to hang out came a little more frequently.

and maybe—maybe—she seemed a little more at ease when it was just the two of you.

but it was subtle.

so subtle that even you didn’t catch it.

because phase eight wasn’t about that.

phase eight was about planting doubt.

and that?

that was working perfectly.

phase eight: complete

phase nine: watch as matt’s life falls apart completely

and this all brings us back to now.

matthew bernard sturniolo.

god, you couldn’t stand the man. but looking at him now—his life a complete mess—there was nothing sweeter. and the best part?

it was all because of you.

his friends had all turned their backs on him. larray, madison, quen—they didn’t look at him the same anymore. the doubt you’d planted in their minds had festered, grown, and twisted everything they once believed about matt.

larray? couldn’t trust matt after the whole “bar incident.” he’d barely speak to him now. anytime matt tried to reach out, larray would leave him on read or reply with some dry-ass response that made it painfully obvious he wasn’t interested. and when he did talk to him?

“girl, i’m busy. find someone else to lie to.”

madison? she kept her distance. she hadn’t confronted matt directly, but you could tell she was piecing everything together. the seeds of doubt you’d planted had bloomed beautifully, and now she didn’t even look at matt the same.

quen? she was the most direct.

“nah, matt,” she had said the last time he tried talking to her. “i don’t fuck with that weird shit. you’re different.”

and then there was macy.

sweet, sweet macy.

she had been the hardest to break. her love for matt was deep—genuine. it took time to unravel that.

but you did it.

every rumor. every carefully crafted conversation. every doubt you whispered in her ear.

it all led to this moment.

she had finally broken up with him.

you weren’t there to see it, but you could imagine how it went down. the tears in her eyes, her voice breaking as she confronted him.

“i just… i can’t do this anymore, matt.”

and matt?

probably standing there, dumbfounded, begging her to believe that none of it was true.

but it was too late.

you had made sure of that.

now, matt was left standing in the wreckage of his own life.

his friends? gone. his relationship? over. his reputation? in shambles.

and he had no idea who was pulling the strings.

you stood on the sidelines, watching it all crumble, a satisfied smirk tugging at your lips.

all that heartbreak? all that pain?

now, it was his turn to feel it.

and the best part?

he never even saw it coming.

but it wasn’t enough.

watching matt’s life fall apart had been… satisfying. no doubt. but it still didn’t give you the closure you needed. not yet.

because he still didn’t know.

and what fun would it be if he never found out?

no, matt needed to see you—face to face. he needed to look you in the eyes and realize who was behind it all. he needed to feel the weight of everything crashing down around him and know that it was your doing.

you needed that moment.

and as fate would have it, that moment was just around the corner.

macy had left something at matt’s place. she didn’t want to go back for it herself—too painful, too fresh—so, naturally, she asked you to grab it for her.

at first, you weren’t sure if it was a good idea. walking back into his space? after everything? but then, you realized…

this was your chance.

you’d have matt all to yourself. no macy. no friends. just you and him.

so, here you were. standing outside his apartment, heart pounding, pulse racing.

you knocked.

once.

twice.

the door swung open faster than you expected, and there he was.

matthew bernard sturniolo.

and he looked like shit.

dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, his expression was… tired. broken.

“cherry?” his voice was barely above a whisper, pure disbelief written all over his face.

you felt a sick sort of satisfaction bloom in your chest.

“matthew. it’s been a while. how’ve you been lately?” you asked, an almost sadistic smirk tugging at your lips.

he blinked, eyes wide, like he was seeing a ghost. “i-i… wha-what are you doing here?” his voice was barely above a whisper, shaky and unsure.

you tilted your head, feigning innocence. “you really haven’t figured that out yet?” your hand rested on your hip, your tone dripping with impatience. all this hard work, months of planning, and the boy didn’t even have a damn clue. how rude.

but what was even more insulting? the way this idiot had the nerve to shake his head. “n-no.”

wow.

“ugh, you’re as stupid as ever,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “it was me, goddamn it. i did it. i’m the reason your sad, pathetic life is crumbling to pieces.”

the color drained from his face, eyes widening—not with confusion this time, but pure, unfiltered terror.

“why… why would you do something like that?” he asked, his voice barely holding together.

you rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh slipping out. “god, are you stupid?” your tone dripped with disdain. “you really don’t remember?”

his silence was answer enough.

“jesus christ, matt,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “four years. four fucking years, and you can’t even remember the shit you put me through?”

his lips parted, but no words came out.

“let me refresh your memory then.” you stepped closer, just enough to watch the panic build behind his eyes. “remember high school? how we did everything like a couple but you never wanted to put a label on it? all that ‘i’m not ready for a relationship yet’ bullshit? and me? i was so fucking stupid, i waited. i waited for you.”

matt’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

“but it didn’t stop there, did it?” you went on, voice dripping with venom. “no, you kept feeding me lies. you’re the only one who gets me, baby. one day, i’m gonna marry you, you know that?” you scoffed, eyes narrowing. “and like an idiot, i believed it. i believed you.”

his breathing was heavier now, chest rising and falling a little too quickly.

“then you left,” you hissed, your tone colder now. “moved to la. promised we’d make it work, that we’d talk every day, visit whenever we could.” you let out a bitter laugh. “but those calls? they got shorter. the texts? less frequent. until, eventually…” you paused, your gaze hardening as you locked eyes with him.

“you ghosted me.”

his face paled even more, if that was even possible.

“left me wondering what the fuck i did wrong. wondering why i wasn’t enough for you,” your voice cracked, but you swallowed the emotion down, refusing to let him see you break. “and just when i finally started to accept that maybe you weren’t coming back…” you tilted your head, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“i saw the pictures.”

matt’s breath caught in his throat.

“you. at that party. all over her.” the venom in your voice was impossible to miss. “while i was sitting at home, waiting for a text you were never going to send.”

matt opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“and that’s when i realized,” you said, leaning in just enough for your words to cut deeper. “i was never going to be enough for you. but that’s okay. because now?”

you smiled sweetly, though your eyes were anything but kind.

“you’re the one who’s left with nothing.”

you stood there, staring at him for a few seconds, letting the weight of your words sink in. you could see the way he was struggling to process it, the panic mixed with guilt. but it wasn’t your problem anymore. you had done what you came for, and that was all that mattered.

you let out a deep breath, shaking your head in disbelief.

“god, matt,” you muttered, the contempt thick in your voice. “you really are the worst.”

you turned your back on him, hearing him call your name weakly, but you didn’t stop.

"you're nothing but a liar and a coward," you threw over your shoulder. "so enjoy the mess you made. you deserve every bit of it."

without looking back, you walked towards your car, your heart pounding, but not from anger—no, from a strange kind of satisfaction. for the first time in years, it felt like everything was finally in place. like all the puzzle pieces had clicked together, and you had everything you needed.

you slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. you could still hear him shouting your name, but it didn’t matter anymore. his voice was nothing now.

you put the car in drive, the engine rumbling to life, and slowly pulled away from the curb.

as you made your way home, your mind wandered back to macy.

phase ten

you couldn’t help but smile, the anticipation building. it had been a slow burn, but now, things had shifted in ways you hadn’t even expected. what started as a plan to destroy matt had turned into something much more unexpected. you had gotten under his skin—and now, macy’s too.

the thought of macy, her soft lips against yours, the way she started leaning into you more and more, her touch lingering a little longer than it should’ve—none of it had been planned. but here you were, with a beautiful, broken mess of a boyfriend’s ex, and she was yours now.

you smiled to yourself as you sped down the road, your thoughts consuming you.

phase ten: ravish your new girlfriend's body completely.

and just like that, the plan was over. the game had changed. you didn’t need revenge anymore—you had her.

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

© throatgoat4u

[fizzyapplecandy]

Ateez as Romance Tropes

The one with the Mafia king's rose

Other members

Mafia king Hongjoong x Florist reader

Genres and warnings: mafia themes, heavy themes such as death, mentions of blood, minor character death, strangers to lovers, shy reader, falling in love, comfort, fluff, florist reader

Word count: 4.1k

Hongjoong's cruel world was about to collide with a woman so pure, she made his heart explode with joy. His dark past comes around the corner to do harm, but Hongjoong won't let anything happen to his little rose.

Hongjoong knew how cruel the world could be. He experienced it firsthand when his parents died, leaving him in the care of his uncle.

He didn't know it then, but in five years time, he would become one of the most feared leaders in the mafia world. His uncle was a strong willed man, albeit a bit easy when it came to women. Hongjoong watched as his uncle, his only rock, became so obsessed about an average accountant that he left his empire and fled to another country, just to live a normal life with her.

What a stupid man, Hongjoong thought at the time. He could have enjoyed the riches, people bowing to him out of respect, expensive cars and a plethora of beauties waiting to jump his bones. Instead, he was now an ordinary mechanic, drinking beer from his small front porch in a house somewhere along the coast of Italy.

What the fearless leader didn't know, was that he would soon wish to do the exact same, with a woman so special and unusual.

.

.

"Lisa, is the order for Mr. Jung ready? He'll be here in about ten minutes."

"Almost, just let me add a nice bow to the bouquet."

Y/N sighed, knowing how Lisa loved adding her finishing touches in the last minute. She couldn't complain, every customer adored their order, so she let the silly girl have her fun.

Running a florist shop was Y/N's childhood dream. After years of saving money, she got her little heaven with Lisa as an addition a month ago. She was a couple of years younger than Y/N, still in school, but she had a knack for arrangements.

"Lisa, honey, you can go now. I'll wait for Mr. Jung and close up."

The red haired teen came from the back room with a bouquet of white lilies, placing them on the counter.

"Are you sure? You know the street light doesn't work, they still haven't fixed it."

"I'm sure. My apartment is right around the corner, I'll manage."

They said their goodbyes and Y/N waited for her last customer of the day before starting to clean up. She changed the sign on the door to 'closed', but left the lights on inside. The lamppost outside flickered, but it still didn't turn on properly.

Just as she was about to grab her bag and head out, she heard the door opening. When she turned around, her breath got caught in her throat.

There stood a man in an expensive suit, his blonde locks combed neatly from his forehead. He looked like a model, but his stance was casual.

"Hi there. I saw you through the window, you don't mind helping out a man in need?"

She shook her head, almost hypnotized by his voice.

"H-Hi. I mean, we are closed, but if you are in need of a flowery emergency, I can make something happen."

Hongjoong chuckled, noticing how the woman checked him out. He knew he was handsome, but he had nothing on the lady in front of him. She was a true beauty, and for some reason, Hongjoong's heart started beating a little faster. He had to get it together, it's not like he hasn't seen beautiful women before.

"I would highly appreciate it. It doesn't have to be anything fancy."

Y/N nodded, going around her shop and showing him different types of flowers.

"What's the occasion?"

"The cemetery."

His curt answer made her freeze for a second. She turned to look at him, his expression now a little colder than before.

"Oh... Isn't it a bit late to go there now?"

"I was too caught up with... Work. I think my parents won't mind the time seeing as they are six feet under the ground."

Y/N didn't know what to say, thinking she would only make the situation even more awkward. It was clear that both of his parents were gone. She nodded, going over to the bucket of fresh white carnations. She took a good amount, cutting the stems and wrapping them in white paper. The man was watching her every move, and it made her feel a bit self conscious. When she was done, she handed the little bouquet to him.

"Here. Carnations are usually given to grieving families. They also represent Mother's day. Do you have a vase at the gravesite?"

He only shook his head, a bit touched by her effort. She could have picked up anything just to get him out faster, but she made sure the flowers had a meaning.

The lovely woman went behind her counter to retrieve a small vase, seemingly plastic, and handed it to Hongjoong.

"Make sure to put a bit of water in here so that the flowers can stay alive longer."

"I will. Thank you, Miss...?"

"Y/N. And you are?"

"Hongjoong." They looked into each other's eyes, not sure what was happening. The atmosphere in the room changed, and if Hongjoong's phone didn't ring, who knows how long they would have been at it.

"Hello? Ah yes Mingi, I got held up. I'm coming out in a second." He put the phone back in his pocket after ending the call, taking out his wallet.

"How much do I owe you? For the vase and the flowers."

Y/N shook her head, giving him a smile.

"It's on the house. I..." She sighed, her expression turning a bit sad.

"I also lost my parents, so I know the pain. I hope they are at peace."

For the first time in his life, Hongjoong was speechless. There she was, a woman who didn't know him or his background, doing a good deed just because she wanted to. The cruel mafia boss was surrounded with so much evil that he forgot what kindness felt like.

It was refreshing.

"Thank you, Y/N. I'm sorry for your loss as well. My mother... She would have loved these." He motioned to the flowers now sitting in the vase.

"No problem. It's getting late now, maybe you should..."

"Ah, yes. Sorry for barging in so late. Thank you, again. Enjoy the rest of your evening." The man nodded before turning around and exiting.

Hongjoong took out his phone, dialing Mingi's number.

"Yes, boss?"

"Mingi, I'll manage alone for tonight. Wait at the flower shop I just left and make sure the lady gets home safe. The street lights are off."

.

.

A couple of days went by since Hongjoong's last visit to Y/N's shop. Honestly, she was still thinking about him, and she hoped he would come back again. She felt like there was something between them, something that could be explored. Maybe he thought the same?

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" She whispered to no one in particular. Lisa had the day off for volleyball practise, so Y/N was left to her own devices. The afternoon rush was over - people buying flowers for hospital visits, one lovely grandpa coming to get his granddaughter's birthday sunflowers, and husband's rushing home to surprise their wives with bouquets of red and pink roses.

Wouldn't that be lovely? Y/N never got any flowers from her previous boyfriend. Notice the singular noun, because she only had one. Relationships weren't her thing because she was too shy to try and meet someone new. However, she could imagine a certain blonde man giving her a dozen red roses after a romantic dinner. But that was just wishful thinking. He probably forgot about her already. He seemed like a busy man, his suit pressed and expensive, and by the sound of if he had a driver of some sort with him. She shrugged off her thoughts and focused on making another bouquet that would make a wife somewhere in town very happy once she receives it.

The day went by quickly, and she was preparing to close up. For some reason, of because of false hope, she didn't turn the sign on her door to 'closed' yet. Her back was turned when she heard someone come in. When she looked over her shoulder, there he was.

"Hello again. I promise I'm not coming so late on purpose."

She smiled at Hongjoong, now facing him fully. He noticed how her dress moved, exposing her smooth legs a bit more to his watchful eye.

"Hi! It's no big deal, you stil have about... Two minutes left."

"Well I better make them worthwhile, am I right?"

Somehow, she knew there was a hidden meaning behind his words, but she had yet to discover it.

"What can I do for you today, Hongjoong?"

"I need a bouquet, a fancy one. Something... Pink?"

You glanced down at your dress, seeing its baby pink checkered pattern.

"Got it. What's the occasion this time?"

Hongjoong smirked, looking right into her eyes.

"A date."

Her face fell, and she tried to get herself together. Of course he would have a date, he's gorgeous! What was she thinking imagining them together? His date was probably some rich chick, dressed in branded clothing and adorned with expensive jewellery.

Y/N cleared her throat, managing to get it together. Hongjoong noticed how her mood changed, and he felt amused by the situation.

"Oh. Yes, okay. Wait here, it might take a minute longer. Any preference on the flower?"

He shook his head. "You choose what's best."

Going over to the pink roses, you grabbed them along with some baby's breath to give it a softer vibe. The wrapping paper was in baby pink tones, and you added a nice bow to finish it off. It was a bouquet you'd love to receive yourself, and the girl he was about to take on a date should feel lucky.

"Here you go. Pink roses for admiration. I hope she likes them."

He took the flowers from your hands, and your fingers touched for a moment. It was a light graze, no longer than a second, but you both stopped and looked at each other. Hongjoong got himself together before you did, and cleared his throat.

"I think she will. She was great taste, I can tell you that. And pink looks good on her."

You told him the price, and he handed you his black card. You knew he had money, so it almost didn't surprise you. After finishing the transaction, you were ready to go home and wallow in self pity.

Hongjoong had other plans.

"So, Miss Y/N, what do you like more - Italian or French?"

"I'm sorry, what?" You asked, a bit confused.

"I personally like Italian more, but French pastries can't be beaten. I'll have to take you to Paris sometime, just for the whole experience."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

You watched as the man in front of you smiled, handing over the bouquet you made.

"Y/N, would you like to go on a date with me?"

You were shocked. Did he really just ask you out? He made it seem like he had plans with someone else, when all this time he wanted you?

"Hello? Earth to Y/N?"

"Oh, Hongjoong..."

He could almost feel the rejection burning his heart. Maybe he should have had a different approach? He thought this would be cute.

"Yes, I'd love to go on a date with you. You just surprised me, sorry."

The blush on your cheeks now matched with Hongjoong's, and the both of you chuckled.

"I swear I've seen this in a movies, it went so smoothly, unlike this. But really, the flowers are for you. You deserve them."

Taking the roses from his hands felt like a brand new experience for you. Having never gotten flowers before, it turned out to be a wonderful feeling.

Hongjoong waited for you outside, and you were soon in his expensive car driving towards a nice secluded restaurant. He wanted to have some privacy with you, and he also had to avoid certain parts of town where people knew who he was.

He didn't really think everything through, but he knew he wanted you. That was enough for now.

When you went inside to get seated, you were surprised at how homey the place felt. The staff knew Hongjoong, and they took you to a secluded booth for more privacy. Once you got your drinks, the conversation kept flowing naturally.

"So, Miss Y/N, what's your story?"

You took a sip of your white wine before answering.

"Well, as you know, my parents died when I was young. I was raised by my grandparents until I saved up enough money to move. Flowers were something my mom loved, and she always told me I had a green thumb. So, after a lot of dirty dishes and lunch rushes I experienced as a waitress, I opened up my little shop. It's not much, but it's my pride and joy."

Hongjoong nodded along as you told him about your life, your assistant Lisa, your wish to have a pet but your landlord not allowing it, and so on. He took in every word you said, trying to memorize the things you liked.

"What about you? You seem like a guy who has a much more interesting life than me."

Oh, you didn't know the half of it.

"After my parents died, I went to live with my uncle. We have a... Family business, so I took over when he moved away. I don't do much besides work, to be honest, but I love my job. It just gets a bit lonely sometimes."

You looked at him curiosly.

"Lonely? Don't you have colleagues?"

"I do, lots. But majority don't speak to me directly. I have my right hand man, Seonghwa, he takes care of the communication between all of us. If it weren't for him, I'd be a lost cause."

You nodded, sipping on your second glass of wine. You were a bit of a lightweight, so you had to be careful not to overdo it.

"What exactly do you do?"

Hongjoong went silent. You were confused for a second. You were just chatting about jobs, nothing major. Why would he stiffen up so suddenly?

"I do... Accounting."

"Accounting?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Mhm. A lot of accounting."

He changed the topic after that, not giving you a chance to question him further. You kind of got the message. Dinner went by smoothly, and you were in his car again making your way back home.

"I had a lovely time tonight, Hongjoong."

The man gave you a quick smile before focusing on the road again.

"Me too. I would love to do this again, and soon. I hope I'm not coming off too strongly, but I really like you Miss Y/N."

You blushed, looking down at the roses in your lap.

"Why do you keep calling me Miss Y/N?"

"I like how it sounds. Maybe I should start calling you something else, though. What do you say, rosie?"

The redness of your cheeks only got worse after that.

"I kind of... Like that better."

"Then it's settled."

He pulled up in front of your building too soon for your liking.

"I have to be honest with you, rosie."

You turned your head towards him, seeing his soft expression.

"Yes?"

"I really want to kiss you right now."

Silence followed his statement. You didn't know what to do. On one hand, you'd love to kiss the man, while on the other, you knew it would probably be too soon.

"I... We just met, and..."

"Hey, hey, I get it. I wasn't really expecting to do it now. Keep it in your mind, though, because I'm not a patient man when it comes to things I want, and I really want to have you, rosie."

Once you said your goodbyes you went to your apartment with flushed cheeks and your first bouquet. Hongjoong was something else, and you were looking forward to exploring what the connection you felt with him.

What you didn't know was that your little dream would be ruined the next evening.

.

.

"Okay Lisa, it's time to head out."

"But Y/N, you never let me stay and close up with you."

You looked at the teen sporting a new plaster over her brusied nose. Lisa loved volleyball, but the ball loved Lisa's face even more. The poor girl always had another injury after practice, but she was determined to keep going.

"That's because it's still light out, and I already told you the street lamp isn't working properly. I don't want you roaming around in the dark."

"Oh, but what about you?"

You smiled, arranging another order for tomorrow morning.

"I have a feeling I won't be going home alone tonight."

"Ah, yes. Your little mystery lover. Well, if that's the case, then I'll be off. Have fun, Miss Y/N."

You shooed her away, giggling along with her before going back to the counter. You didn't really know if Hongjoong would stop by, but you had a feeling he would.

Another hour passed before you went around the shop cleaning up and preparing to leave. Your back was turned when the door opened.

"Now, you said you wouldn't come by after clo-"

"So, you're the boss' new toy? He sure knows how to pick 'em!"

You turned around, shocked to find another man there instead of Hongjoong. He was tall and buff, but what caught your attention the most was the gun in his left hand. A gun pointed right at you.

"Say, do you think he'd be angry if I borrowed you? Only for tonight, I'll make your exit quick afterwards."

"Please, I don't know what your talking about. Here, take all you need from the register, my wallet is in my purse."

The gruff man stepped closer, shaking his head.

"I don't want your money, I want your blood."

Your hands were now in the air, your body trembling with fear.

"Please... I didn't do anything."

"Oh, maybe you didn't sweetie, but the little king did."

King? Why would he call him a king. Before you could dwell about it some more, the man started talking again.

"You see, Hongjoong owes me. You know how they say, and eye for an eye. Killing my brother was a mistake, and now I've come to get revenge. The mafia world is too cruel sometimes."

The blood in your veins froze, your heart beating rapidly. You were about to plead some more with him, not knowing anything about the mafia he was going on about. What in the world did Hongjoong do?

Luckily, the door opened again, and there was the man of the hour, also holding a gun in his hand.

"Drop the weapon Chan, you know I'm a better shooter than you. You should ask Hansol."

At the mention of his brother, the gruff man turned his head in Hongjoong's direction, but his hand was still outstretched in yours.

"Don't talk shit, boss. I have your little princess at aim. My finger is about to slip."

Before you knew what was happening, the man was on the ground, a hole right between his eyes.

"I hate traitors."

Hongjoong stepped over his body, going over to you. His face softened, noticing your trembling form. Your eyes were still locked on the body bleeding out on your shop's floor.

"Rosie, sweetie, look away. Come, we need to get you out of here."

"No! Don't touch me!" You swatted his hands away from you, but Hongjoong was persistent.

"Please, rosie, we need to go now. My men will clean everything up."

"Your men?! Who the hell are you?" You were now starting to panic, but Hongjoong managed to wrap his hands around you to keep you grounded.

"I'll explain everything once we get to my house. Please, you have to trust me."

You were to shaken up to notice how he was guiding you outside, hands still firmly planted around your waist.

"Mingi, take care of everything with Yeosang. I want the place spotless. You hear me?"

The two men standing outside nodded, and off they went.

Hongjoong somehow placed you in his car, making sure you were comfortable. The ride through the city was silent, your head hurting from the events replaying in it.

It was clear Hongjoong was involved in something dark. Something that made a random man come into your flower shop and try to... You couldn't even think about it.

"Y/N, were here. Come, let's get you inside."

The mansion in front of you was lavish, to say the least. There were bodyguards all around the premises, with one of them waiting by the front door.

"The place is secured, boss. We've prepared a room for Miss Y/N."

"Thank you, San. You're free to go now. Make sure to keep me updated if you notice anything unusual. Chan was alone tonight, probably acting out of rage, but we should be careful."

"Of course, boss." The buff man nodded, walking away to give you and Hongjoong privacy.

He led you inside, the front room looking like it came from an expensive movie set. Everything was decorated tastefully, with modern furniture and expensive paintings. The living room was no different, where you were currently sitting and holding a cup of warm tea. You still haven't said a word, and Hongjoong was getting concerned. He knelt down in front of you, placing a blanket around your shoulders.

"Rosie, I know you're confused, and probably terrified, but you're safe here with me. You can ask me anything you want, and I'll answer truthfully."

"You're not an accountant, are you?"

The man chuckled, standing up and making himself comfortable next to you.

"No, I'm not. I'm a leader. This is my world Y/N."

You're voice trembled as you spoke. "You're in the... In the mafia?"

"Smart girl. Yes, that I am. I have my own empire, left to me by my father and uncle. We don't always do things such as what happened tonigh but your safety was my priority."

"You killed a man."

"That was about to kill you. It was an easy decision."

The anger you felt soon came up on the surface.

"But you didn't know him! Maybe he had a family as well? Why would you do that?"

"Do you know what him and his brother did, Y/N? They traded girls around brothels for easy money. Sometimes they beat them until they passed out. They took one of our workers and almost killed her. They deserved what was coming for them."

You went silent after that.

"Y/N, I know this is too much to take in at once, but you've got to listen to me. I like you, hell, I'm falling for you so quickly it's insane. When I saw the gun pointed at you, I snapped. I couldn't let you be in danger a second longer. You still owe me a kiss, don't you remember?"

A small smile appeared on your face.

"Owe? I don't know about that."

"Okay, call it how you want, but I want to kiss you. Everyday, all the time."

You looked at Hongjoong, seeing how intense his gaze on you was. The man seemed smitten, and you never had someone admire you like this.

"What do we do now?" You asked.

"Now? Now, you're mine. You get to be my queen. You'll never have to worry about a thing, my rose."

"But... My shop? I still want to work at my shop!"

"Hey, hey, that's okay. You can do whatever you want, I won't meddle in that. I just want you to know that you don't have to worry about anything else anymore. I'm going to take care of you, for however long you let me. Do you feel the same as me? Tell me you do, I won't survive the heartbreak."

He fell against the couch, closing his eyes and placing a hand over his chest.

Without much thought, you leaned over and placed a light kiss on his cheek. Hongjoong's eyes opened, and he stared at you with so much adoration, you felt shy.

"You... Oh, my rose."

"We need to take things slow, Hongjoong."

"Absolutely, no problem. As slow as you want. But not too slow, please, or I won't make it."

Again, he pretended to faint against the couch, hoping you'd place your lips in him again. Instead, you pinched it.

"Ow!"

"Don't be dramatic, sweetie."

The two of you laughed before you settled against his chest. The fireplace was crackling, the tea in your hand going a bit cold, but you still took sips. Hongjoong's hand was going through your locks, and his breathing made you calm.

Somehow, you found yourself in the embrace of a mafia king, but it didn't matter. He was still Hongjoong.

Dramatic, over the top, but lovely Hongjoong.

You could get used to it.

.

.

[nijigasakilove]

Now THAT is how you end an anime original story. This is how you do a finale. Put our heroes in the most dire of situations, backs against the wall, all hope lost and then give us an amazing come from behind victory. MAPPA put their all star team on this show and it paid off as one of the best anime originals.

Not me predicting exactly how everything would turn out tho 😭 Luke becoming the ultimate void, he and Natsuko love being what brings him back and saves the world. That was always the X factor. He lost the love of his life in the original movie, gained it in this version and Natsuko went back home because she finally experienced her first love. Crazy how right about everything I ended up being but I’m not mad at all because it’s exactly what I wanted!!

Only thing I’m annoyed about is not getting a Luke and Natsuko kiss. Like I get them wanting to go all bittersweet, but cmon I needed that! OVA or spin off manga me please. That “Luke I love you” saved me though.

As expected, Natsuko waking up back in the real world and becoming a more open and kind person, finally seeing everyone in the studio as actual people she can rely on and not just tools to meet a deadline, and she’s wearing her hair up! Somehow the nine soldiers got to reality??! How?! Idk but who cares, I got my Luke and Natsuko reunion now I need to see them married lmao. And yes, that is really them in reality because Unio’s horn is glowing on Natsuko’s head, meaning Unio is really there!!

No I won’t be normal about this series I’m gonna miss them so much 😩

[review](https://myanimelist.net/reviews.php?id=555716)

[slavicdolls4mangione]

too good for me - luigi mangione x reader

based on this request, thank you so much for sending in your idea anon, i really enjoyed writing this, i hope you enjoy it <333

the car ride to your parents’ house is quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional tap of your fingers against the window. luigi glances over at you, his hands steady on the wheel, his expression calm but concerned. you’re fidgeting, something you only do when your anxiety is spiking. your knee bounces, your nails pick at the hem of your dress, and your breathing is just a little too shallow.

“hey,” he says softly, reaching over to take your hand. his touch is warm, grounding. “talk to me.”

you exhale sharply, your shoulders slumping. “i just… i don’t know why i’m so nervous. you’re you. you’re perfect. you’re going to walk in there, and they’re going to love you, and then they’re going to wonder why someone like you is with someone like me.”

luigi frowns, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “stop that. you’re not ‘someone like you.’ you’re you. and i’m with you because you’re kind, smart, funny, and you make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. got it?”

you nod, but the tension in your jaw doesn’t ease. “i just… i know how they are. they’re going to compare us. they’re going to say something about how you went to UPenn and i went to community college, or how you come from this perfect family and i’m just… me.”

luigi pulls the car into the driveway and puts it in park before turning to face you fully. “listen to me. whatever they say, it doesn’t change how i feel about you. and if they say anything that hurts you, i’ve got your back. always. okay?”

you manage a small smile, squeezing his hand. “okay.”

---

the moment you walk through the door, your parents are all smiles—for luigi, at least. your mother hugs him tightly, gushing about how handsome he looks, while your father shakes his hand with a firm grip and a nod of approval. you stand awkwardly to the side, your hands clasped in front of you, feeling like an afterthought.

“luigi, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” your mother says, leading you all into the dining room. “we’ve heard so much about you. UPenn, right? such an impressive school.”

“yes, ma’am,” luigi says politely, though his eyes flick to you, checking on you. you give him a small nod, trying to reassure him you’re okay.

---

dinner starts off well enough. your parents ask luigi about his job, his family, his plans for the future. he answers everything with ease, his charm disarming even your father’s usual stoicism. but then, as the conversation shifts, the comments start.

“you know, luigi, we always hoped our daughter would follow in your footsteps,” your mother says, sipping her wine. “an ivy league school, a high-powered career… but i guess community college was more her speed.”

you freeze, your fork hovering over your plate. your chest tightens, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. before you can respond, luigi speaks up.

“actually,” he says, his tone light but firm, “i think it’s incredible that she went to community college. she worked full-time while getting her degree, and she’s one of the hardest-working people i know. not everyone has the same opportunities, but she’s made the most of hers. i admire that about her.”

your mother blinks, caught off guard, but your father chuckles. “well, i suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

---

the rest of the meal continues with similar backhanded comments, each one making you shrink a little more into your seat. luigi, however, never lets it slide. he defends you without being confrontational, his hand resting on your leg under the table, a silent reminder that he’s there.

when your father excuses himself to use the bathroom and your mother goes to check on dessert, luigi turns to you. “let’s get some air,” he says, standing and offering you his hand.

you follow him to the porch, the cool night air a relief after the stifling tension inside. he leans against the railing, looking at you with those kind, steady eyes.

“you okay?” he asks.

you shake your head, tears welling up. “i’m sorry. i knew this would happen. i just… i hate that they do this. i hate that they make me feel like i’m not enough.”

luigi steps closer, cupping your face in his hands. “you are enough. more than enough. their opinions don’t define you. you’re smart, capable, and kind, and i’m so proud to be with you. don’t let them get in your head.”

you nod, leaning into his touch. “thank you. for standing up for me. for… everything.”

he smiles, brushing a tear from your cheek. “always. now, let’s get through the rest of this dinner, and then i’m taking you out for ice cream. deal?”

you laugh softly, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. “deal.”

---

as you walk back inside, hand in hand, you feel a flicker of hope. maybe, just maybe, you can start to believe that you’re enough—not because of what your parents think, but because of the way luigi looks at you, like you’re the most important person in the world.

and for the first time in a long time, you start to believe it too.

---

the rest of the evening passes in a blur. your parents continue to make their subtle jabs, but with luigi by your side, they don’t cut as deep. he’s your shield, your anchor, and by the time dessert is served, you’re feeling more like yourself again.

as you all sit down with coffee and cake, your mother turns to luigi with a smile. “so, luigi, do you see yourself settling down soon? maybe starting a family?”

you nearly choke on your coffee, but luigi just smiles, his hand finding yours under the table. “when the time is right, absolutely. but for now, i’m just focused on making sure this one here knows how amazing she is.”

your mother’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers. “well, that’s… very sweet of you.”

your father clears his throat, changing the subject, and the conversation moves on. but you can’t stop the warmth spreading through your chest. luigi’s words, his unwavering support, they mean more to you than you can ever express.

---

when it’s finally time to leave, your parents see you to the door. your mother gives luigi another hug, while your father shakes his hand again. “take care of our girl,” your father says, his tone more serious than before.

“always,” luigi replies, his voice firm.

as you step out into the night, the cool air wrapping around you like a blanket, you feel a sense of relief. the evening wasn’t perfect, but you made it through. and with luigi by your side, you know you can handle anything.

he opens the car door for you, and as you slide into the passenger seat, he leans in, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “you did great,” he murmurs.

you smile up at him, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. “i couldn’t have done it without you.”

he grins, his eyes sparkling. “that’s what i’m here for. now, let’s get that ice cream.”

as he starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, you glance back at the house one last time. for the first time in a long time, you feel a sense of peace. your parents’ opinions will always sting, but with lu by your side, you know you’re enough. and that’s all that matters.

[pinksugarscrub]

Eye Spy

Batfam! x Batmom! Reader

Synopsis: a video made by @TrixkyGoddess on tiktok. Thank you for letting me cook lol

Word count: 1k+

Warnings: chaotic children

~

Running a business is hard but an industry? Ten times worse because the world is on your shoulders. How you find the time to balance your personal and work life is the topic of every gossip magazine. However this social season your face is on the front cover for an entirely different reason.

It’s completely baseless. Utterly baseless. Truly, it’s ridiculous how journalists can come to the conclusion you have a romantic interest in Lex Luthor of all people. 

Ok…maybe there was merit to their claims. 

You didn’t exactly flaunt your marriage with a wedding ring like most couples. God knows how often you lose or damage your jewelry so of course it wasn’t very practical to have Bruce buy you a new one every few months (even if he insisted it was fine). A ring itself was a hazard for Bruce when he was in his suit regardless. 

So was it logical for people to believe you weren’t committed? Unfortunately yes now that you think about it.

It’s likely these same columnists gave up on the ‘will they won’t they’ headlines when neither you or Bruce made a move. At least publically.  

It was just smart for the two of you to keep your relationship private. Bruce had his priorities with your safety and Gotham villains while you had to keep your work on the batmobile and an array of gadgets quiet or else Foxteca would lose its credibility.

Of course people were quick to notice Bruce’s lack of dates after a month or two but no one seemed to suspect a thing. Just that Bruce’s love for you went unrequited or there were personal issues present that held you back in the words of Vicki Vale.

Either way, you’re ready for this month's issue to fade into existence before you have Lois commenting on your relationship from Metropolis. She’s already teased you enough for organizing a formal dinner with the man responsible for the late nights your husbands spend with the Justice League.

You just have to get through tonight. Try not to cringe at Lex’s personable facade. Pretend you hold no ill will. Finish the business deal. Then you could go home and complain to Alfred while you waited for your family to return home.

Nothing could possibly go wrong hero wise when they were all on patrol. Conveniently at the same time but you ignore that in favor of the idea that they at least have some faith in you. In your heart you know you’re wrong.

-

“Ten minutes from the rendezvous point.” 

“Thanks Oracle,” Dick huffed. Adjusting the communication piece in his ear after it nearly slipped out after a jump. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t see.” Tim answers. Shifting in his spot beside a gargoyle to try and get a better view of your office window.

“I’ve always found the other window better for spying on mom.”

“Cassandra.” Damian scowls. Very close to shoving someone off the roof. “What you all are doing is an invasion of privacy. Have you no decency?”

“It looks like she’s setting up for a date.” 

“Deflecting from the question does not change my position on the subject Todd.”

Stephanie snickers beside Damian. Resisting the urge to point out he had moved closer to the edge of the building they were situated on.

“A date?”

Everyone’s startled by the sound of Bruce’s voice but not because it carried through the comms so abruptly. 

“Stop looking at me.” Bruce glares when various pairs of eyes shine in his direction. They’re not deterred.

“He’s here!”

Simultaneously everyone returns their attention to Foxteca. 

“Hurry up Dick,” Steph hisses. “You’re missing it.”

Duke mumbles in agreement. Laser focused on the client you’re meeting. “Do you guys see what I see?”

“Luthor.” Jason nearly gasps. Grinning from ear to ear a moment later. “Oh this’ll be good.”

“B did you-”

“No. I didn’t know.”

“Oh shit. Mom’s in trouble,” Steph whispered. Oohing under her breath as she shook Damian by his shoulder.

“Here, here—” Dick landed swiftly. Out of breath. 

“Why dinner?” Tim mumbled. Rubbing his chin. “Especially in the office.”

“It must be because of the columns.”

“Less publicity.” The lenses of Tim’s domino mask widened. “You’re right Cass.”

“I can’t believe she would risk it,” Jason barked. 

Barbra sighed while staring at her screen. “It’s (y/n) we’re talking about. Self-made billionaire. Of course she would.” 

“He pulled out her chair!” Steph cried. Interrupting everyone’s train of thought. 

“That does not mean anything Stephanie. It’s simply proper etiquette.”

“Say that to his hand on her back!” She pointed. Adamantly looking around for any form of support.

“No wonder she’s been so secretive…” Dick murmured while glancing over at Bruce. Grimacing, at the slouch of his posture.

“Somebody call her! This is a matter of life or death.” Steph cried again. Falling to her knees.

“And say what!?” Tim snapped. Shaking the binoculars in his hand. “She’ll know we were spying on her.”

“We’re going to lie you idiot.”

“Twenty bucks says she notices before they come up with a plan.” Jason whispered conspiratorially. 

Cass smiled under her mask. Nudging her shoulder with Jason’s. “You’re on.”

It wasn’t the family’s proudest moment. Steph frantically scrolling through her contacts. Damian quarrelling with Tim while Dick tried to keep the peace or at least return everyone to some sense of normalcy.

“Uh, guys.” 

“Well if you disagree with this so much you can leave!”

“Guys,” Duke pleaded. Sweating as you stared into his very soul, cell phone in hand.

A ring echoed through the air. The familiar melody of a Batman jingle Dick found on the internet in his earlier Robin days.

Everyone was silent. Still as a strong gust of wind blew by. Then the music stopped.

“Scatter!”

-

You sighed. Tapping your heel impatiently on the tile of your office. Watching the blur of colors and capes you followed the line of grappling hooks until your family disappeared into the night. All except for your husband. 

“Bruce Thomas Wayne.” You spoke slowly into the phone. 

Bruce sagged deeper into a puddle. His cape almost makes him look like a blob or an entirely different entity.

“Bruce.” You shook your head. Keeping your voice low so Lex couldn’t overhear. 

It’s safe to say the manor was devoid of any life when you arrived. As if any one breathing would disrupt and possibly end the space time continuum. 

Waking up to breakfast in bed certainly was fun but tickets to your dream destination was the icing on the cake.

[flambeaufelid]

This is a fantastic post. Especially that idea of it basically being about "pure escapism". Never really put that together myself before.

I think this is part of what was so great about the abridged series. The complete rejection of that premise.

SAO Abridged, for those who don't know, is often lauded as the greatest abridged series ever. Surpassing the OG show by miles, telling a legitimately better and more resonant story. But when asked how it does that exactly, most people just talk about how it cleans up a lot of plot holes, or is funny, or something like that.

These are good reasons to love it, but reading this analysis made me realize that it's also perhaps in part because it's an anti-escapist story.

In SAO Abridged, Kirito is a complete fucking jackass from the word go. He doesn't care about anything or anyone other than himself. And at first the show seems to present him as in the right- everyone else playing the game is basically braindead, he's BETTER than them, his numbers are higher than theirs.

But. That's not an escape.

Sure, he can tell these people that they're worthless. But it solves nothing. He still has to deal with them. He loads into the game, and the first thing he sees are ads. Sachi dies because she "lives out in the boonies", and has a bad internet connection, and lags out in the middle of a fight. The abridged series never, EVER, forgets the real world. Kayaba's motive in this version is simply that he was overworked, and went crazy.

And even though this version of Kirito also loves this game, he constantly runs up against it's edges- he learns to HATE the NPCs, he accidentally fucks up his taste buds eating max-level food, he kills someone in episode 4 because she makes fun of one of the few things the game didn't change: his voice.

In the finale of the abridged Aincrad arc, we see a version of Kirito who loves this game, yes, but also clearly wants to stop playing.

"It's true. This world means more to me than the real one ever did."

"But the longer we stay here, the greater the chance I'll lose the things I love about it most of all."

("HIS FRIENDS!!! HE'S TALKING ABOUT HIS FRIENDS!!!" Yells Klein, off to the side.)

(BTW I rewatched part of the canon episode for the first time in a decade to make sure Kirito didn't have an equivalent line there, and FUCK did I forget how BAD it is. But no, as far as I saw, he doesn't.)

Abridged Kirito wants out because he finally has found value in others. He's willing to sacrifice his escapist fantasy to save everyone, and get on with his own real life. I suppose you can say the same of canon Kirito, but... I just don't buy it as much, with him. I don't know why canon Kirito wants out, other than maybe reviving Yui. I think he really wanted to stay forever, deep down- whereas abridged Kirito slowly but surely outgrew this world.

Sword Art Online (anime)

Sword Art Online is a Frankenstein monster. Here is every episode of the first arc and how it was adapted:

Episode 1 is from the original web novel, published in 2002.

Episode 2 is from a more detailed rewrite of the story, Sword Art Online Progressive, published in 2012 (only a few months before the anime aired).

Episode 3 is from the second volume of the light novel, published in 2009.

Episode 4 is from a side story published shortly after the original web novel, in either 2002 or 2003.

Episodes 5 and 6 combine a side story published in 2007 and another side story from the eighth volume of the light novel, published in 2011.

Episode 7 is from a side story published shortly after the original web novel, likely in 2003.

Episodes 8, 9, and 10 are from the original web novel, published in 2002.

Episode 11 and 12 are from a side story published in 2003.

Episodes 13 and 14 are from the original web novel, published in 2002.

By stitching together stories written across an entire decade, often with wildly different purposes and goals, the anime is tonally erratic, with glaring plot and character inconsistencies. For example, Episode 3 is a tragic episode in which Kirito brings several low-level players to a high-level floor, leading to their deaths. Kirito is traumatized; he later explains that this incident is why he plays as a solo player, so nobody else will ever get hurt because of him. Episode 4, by contrast, is a lighthearted episode in which Kirito—having learned nothing, because this story was written six years before the previous one—brings a low-level player to a high-level floor as bait for dangerous player-killers. When the low-level player is comedically groped by a tentacle monster and cries out for Kirito to save her, Kirito only shrugs and says, "Come on, it's not that powerful." He's ultimately correct, and this time the player survives, but what happened to his trauma?

These inconsistencies, combined with Sword Art Online's massive popularity, made it the favorite target of the fledgling anime video essay community circa 2014 to 2017. Though it's possible to do a longform video poring over every single plot hole for almost anything, Sword Art Online made it easy; half of its "plot" was never intended to be arranged in this way, and even when there was intent, it was the intent of an amateur author writing their first-ever story. You couldn't generate a work more perfect for endless nitpicking and angry rants in a lab.

But if the show is blatantly incompetent, what made it so popular?

It's tempting to ascribe its popularity to "right place, right time." By 2012, the year Sword Art Online came out, the internet had changed the primary way people interacted socially. Rather than being bound by family, proximity, race, creed, religion, or so on, people grouped together by hobby. "Gamer" was now a community-binding identity, an attribute that distinguished a person and their niche online space from the othered outside. And the Gamers craved legitimacy. They craved the approval and recognition of mainstream culture. They craved representation, that feeling of seeing yourself reflected in the world around you.

The world refused them. The mood of the entrenched pop cultural elite was best encapsulated by Roger Ebert, famous film critic, who had been waging a years-long crusade against video games as an artistic medium. In 2005, in response to the live-action Doom movie, Ebert said, "Video games represent a loss of those precious hours we have available to make ourselves more cultured, civilized[,] and empathetic." He reiterated this claim in statements and essays in 2006 and 2010, and in March 2012, on the eve of Sword Art Online's airing, described Dark Souls—Dark Souls!—as a "soul-deadening experience." "Video games can never be art," he asserted plainly later that year.

In this milieu, it makes sense why Gamers glommed onto Sword Art Online. If nothing else, Sword Art Online takes video games seriously, more seriously than any non-video game media before it (asterisk; excepting .hack). This seriousness manifests in a consistent theme, a singular perpetually present thread that lingers even as plot, character, and tone skew wildly, stated by Kirito to Klein in Episode 1:

"This may be a virtual world, but I feel more alive here than I do in the real world."

This statement defines Asuna, who stops seeing her time trapped in the game as years stolen from her life, and instead learns to live each moment as if it were truly real. It defines Silica, mourning her dead Neopet and willing to risk her actual life to revive it. It defines Lisbeth, hurtling a million miles into the air but still for a moment enraptured by the beauty of a digital sun shining over a digital land. It defines Griselda, murdered by her husband Grimlock for motives he can only confusingly explain as related to how she "changed" in the game, how she became more confident, more self-realized, while he sank into despair (he was not a Gamer. He lacked the Gamer spirit). It defines Yui, the sentient NPC whom Kirito and Asuna adopt as part of a pantomimed marriage that the show's nauseatingly boring second arc is about protecting against an outside world that does not acknowledge it. And it defines Akihiko Kayaba, the game's creator, who when confronted at the end over why he trapped 10,000 people in this death game, can only say that he no longer remembers, before rhapsodizing about the "castle in the sky" he so achingly desired to bring to life. Unstated is that, to make it truly alive, he needed to make it—and the people inside it—capable of death. This logic is twisted, even more bizarre than Grimlock's murder confession, but neither the scene's wistfully poignant tone nor Kirito's responses reject it.

As the video essayists have done, it's pathetically easy to pick apart Kayaba's rationale. But to mire oneself in the story's logic is a mistake; Sword Art Online is not a story guided by logic. What matters is that Kayaba's illogical words are consistent with the ethos that underlies the narrative: The virtual world is as important as, or even more important than, the real world.

The anime's production values reflect this ethos, too. Sword Art Online looks strikingly cheap for its level of popularity. In almost every fight, still images with blur lines vibrate in tacky simulation of animation. There is no dynamism in the camerawork, and sword duels are often depicted in shot-reverse shot so only one participant is on screen at a time. Nobody interacts with their environment; every battle occurs on a flat, empty plane. Some of the monsters are CGI and look awful. The character designs are bland and generic. Even the music, by the otherwise-excellent Yuki Kajiura, sounds like phoned-in B-sides from her work on Puella Magi Madoka Magica (2011) and its sequel film, Rebellion (2013).

But what the show does expend effort on is its backgrounds, which are both visually inventive—floating islands, towering columns that hold up the sky—and depicted with glimmering post-processing effects to bathe them in sunsets, sunrises, rainbows, and starry nights. First and foremost, Sword Art Online sells its virtual world to the viewer, makes them believe in that world the way the characters in the story do.

And in having that world sold to them, in expressing its legitimacy and the legitimacy of those (hero or villain) who believe in it, the Gamers had their rallying cry, the work of media that finally said: You are seen.

But was it really Gamers that Sword Art Online saw?

While Sword Art Online is invested in selling its virtual world, it is not invested in selling its virtual game. The in-universe Sword Art Online is primarily defined by its lack of gameplay mechanics, rather than those it actually has. In Episode 1, Klein explains that the game lacks a magic system, which he describes as a "bold choice." In Episode 2, members of the raid party state that the game also lacks a job or class system. There is no long-ranged weaponry; everyone uses melee weapons, usually swords. The only strategy during raids is human wave tactics, where armies of players charge in and attack at once. The only cooperative maneuver is "Switch," a mechanic that is never explicitly explained but seems to involve a player who has already charged in backing off so another player can charge in their place.

Compared to even basic single-player RPGs, these mechanics are primitive; for an MMORPG, they're antediluvian. The point isn't whether a game with these mechanics would be fun or not (in many ways, it's similar to Dark Souls, where the basic core gameplay of dodge-and-hit is rendered meaningful by the consequences for failure), but rather that the game's mechanics have little importance within the story.

They're so unimportant that it's never explained why Kirito is so good at the game, what he's doing differently from everyone else. He's not even a grinder. He spends most of the first half of the story slumming on floors far beneath his level. It's no-nonsense Asuna who grinds hard, who tries to exploit the game mechanics, like when she proposes using NPCs to lure a boss. The plan makes logical sense, but logic is absent from Sword Art Online's ethos; Kirito rejects it, not on the grounds it wouldn't work, but because the NPCs would be killed. He prioritizes respecting the game world, while Asuna—at least initially—prioritizes respecting the game mechanics. Kirito's philosophy is ultimately proven right when he and Asuna adopt an NPC daughter who turns out to be sentient.

Meanwhile, Kirito's most impressive feat involves him ignoring the game's rules entirely. The one mechanic described in detail is that if you die in the game, you die in real life; when Kirito dies, though, he wills himself back alive to defeat the final boss.

The game, the experience of gaming, being a Gamer—none of these are part of the underlying ethos that guides the narrative decisions of Sword Art Online. Kirito didn't tell Klein, "I feel more alive playing this game." He said, "I feel more alive in this virtual world." Asuna didn't find happiness by exploiting the game, but by learning to live in it as though it were her real life. Kayaba didn't design Sword Art Online because he loves games, but because he wanted to make his world real.

This isn't a story about Gamers. It's a story about a virtual world. It's a story about the internet. It's a story about online community.

In his introduction to Speaker for the Dead (1986), Orson Scott Card describes the heroes of most science fiction novels as "perpetual adolescents": "He belongs to no community; he is wandering from place to place, doing good (as he sees it), but then moving on. This is the life of the adolescent, full of passion, intensity, magic, and infinite possibility; but lacking responsibility, rarely expecting to have to stay and bear the consequences of error […] Who but the adolescent is free to have the adventures that most of us are looking for when we turn to storytellers to satisfy our hunger? And yet to me, at least, the most important stories are the ones that teach us how to be civilized: the stories about children and adults, about responsibility and dependency."

Card, of course, wrote Gamer fiction long before anyone craved it. Ender's Game (1985) is obsessed with the mechanical minutiae of its titular game in a way Sword Art Online is not; its protagonist is successful in the mold of Asuna, able to understand and exploit game mechanics better than anyone else. But in this quote, Card describes Kirito perfectly. Kirito is, of course, an actual adolescent, emphasized by his character design and Columbine trench coat ("Don't show up to the GameStop tomorrow," you can almost hear him say), but his character is also adolescent in terms of Card's model. He spends the first half of the story as a solo player, wandering from floor to floor, doing good (usually), moving on. He lacks—or rather, avoids—responsibility. While Asuna is second-in-command of a top guild organizing high-level raids, Kirito is off on his own reviving some girl's Neopet.

When viewed from this perspective, Sword Art Online actually does have a coherent and comprehensible character arc for its otherwise inconsistent protagonist. Kirito develops as a result of his relationship with Asuna, finding through his marriage to her the responsibility that he previously forsook. When Kirito's error causes Sachi to die in Episode 3, he moves on, immediately abandons even his own trauma by Episode 4; Sachi is never mentioned again. (Of course not, since her story was one of the last ones written.) He feels no lasting responsibility for his actions. But later, Kirito realizes he could not brush off the trauma if the same thing happened to Asuna. It is through his responsibility to her that he joins the final raid and thus bears, shoulder to shoulder with everyone else, the cooperative responsibility of the entire virtual community of Sword Art Online. He has become an adult, with wife and child. He has become "more cultured, civilized[,] and empathetic," as Ebert would put it.

(And isn't that what Ebert is really saying, when he criticizes video games? That they are adolescent, childish, playthings?)

Through Kirito's character arc, and its underlying ethos about virtual worlds, Sword Art Online depicts online community via the language of marriage and responsibility that is traditionally ascribed to real-life community. This too resonated with its audience. After all, it wasn't just Gamers who craved recognition. Teenagers in 2012 had lived their entire conscious life in a world defined by the internet, and yet the "real world" considered online relationships and communities to be a joke. Sword Art Online, rather than legitimizing Gamers, legitimizes the virtual world, the internet.

But does it really even do that?

Immediately, Sword Art Online rejects the notion of online identity. Kayaba's first move upon trapping everyone inside the game is to force them all to look like their real-world selves. As per Sword Art Online's anti-logic ethos, he does not explain why he does this. Shortly afterward, Kirito looks at his real-world finger, which received a paper cut before he entered the game; he imagines it bleeding profusely, before saying, "It's not a game. It's real." By enforcing real-world identity within the game world, Kayaba possibly intends players to see the world as more real too, the way Kirito does. This fits the monomaniacal focus of Kayaba, and Sword Art Online as a story, on the importance of virtual space over any other aspect of virtual experience, and it's not surprising that Kirito tacitly agrees with Kayaba's decision when he and Klein tell each other they look better as their real selves than as their avatars. But it also alienates Sword Art Online from its connection to the reality of the internet, where personal identity is far more fluid.

Furthermore, despite his character arc, Kirito ultimately stands apart from his online community. At the end of the story, everyone lies on the ground paralyzed as he alone is given the privilege to duel the final boss, one-on-one. At this climactic moment, Kirito returns to being a solo player, while every other member of the community lacks agency, including Asuna. Especially Asuna. Shortly before the final battle, Asuna claims she'll commit suicide if Kirito dies, which is already an unhealthily adolescent view of marriage (as seen in Romeo & Juliet). Then, before the duel, when Asuna is paralyzed, Kirito demands that Kayaba "fix it so Asuna can't kill herself." Not only has Kayaba, the villain, stolen Asuna's agency over her own body, but now her husband is requesting he steal even more of it.

This, too, is part of Sword Art Online's ethos. Though the game has 10,000 people, nobody except Kirito actually matters. He is a "Solo Player" in the sense of Solo Leveling, the most popular airing anime, which has a mistranslated title; it should be "Only I Level Up." The implication of the real title is clear: Only the protagonist has agency. Kirito is the same. Only he plays the game, in any meaningful sense. The game—reality—bends to him; none of its rules, even death, constrain him.

It is total self-centeredness, a complete rejection of the responsibility to society that Card describes. This ethos pervades the show. Kirito is never wrong, even when he obviously is, like when he rejects Asuna's proposal to use NPCs as bait. The entire reason he realizes Heathcliff is Kayaba is because, during an earlier duel, Heathcliff beat him; Kirito (correctly) posits that someone who beat him must have been cheating. Everyone who likes Kirito is good, everyone who dislikes him is evil; Kuradeel, who chafes with Kirito initially over bureaucratic guild regulations, eventually unmasks himself as a sadistic serial killer. Every girl is in love with him, a harem rendered vestigial because Kirito is married to Asuna and expresses zero interest in Silica or Lisbeth or his sister or the second season's Carne Asada; but it's not about whether Kirito wants a harem, it's about the prestige of his ability to command one.

This is where the true face of Sword Art Online shows itself, what truly made it so popular, and where the core of its long-lasting influence remains.

Only the virtual world matters. Not the game, not the online community, not online identity. Only a different world, one that isn't the real world. And in this world, only Kirito matters. Sure, he'll fight to protect other people. Exactly like he'll fight to protect NPCs. In this world, real people are worth the same as NPCs, compared to Kirito. His wife is a real person; his daughter is not. But really, both his marriage and his child are a form of playacting, pretending at adulthood. When convenient, they are disregarded and trampled upon. Asuna spends the next two arcs of Sword Art Online sidelined—even viciously sexually assaulted—so Kirito can hang out with girls he doesn't even like, just because they're shiny and new; Yui is almost completely forgotten after the second arc, like a discarded toy.

This is an ethos of pure, distilled escapism. It is an escape from the real world to a false one, where every conceivable selfish fantasy is rendered real, where every desire can be granted and then disposed of when no longer wanted. It is an ethos without responsibility, without consequence.

And without shame. Sword Art Online is remarkably devoid of self-consciousness. It treats as real its virtual world, but doesn't feel the need to justify that world with logic. It doesn't feel the need to justify anything with logic; what it says is so, self-evidently.

In my Kill la Kill essay, I mentioned Sword Art Online's vast influence, and someone wrote (and sadly deleted) a well-reasoned response that explained how the aesthetics and tropes of modern isekai are much more heavily influenced by Japanese webfic that predate Sword Art Online, like GATE or Overlord or Re:Zero. That's true; I'd add that modern Gamer fiction, which is often obsessively concerned with the rules and statistics underlying game logic, is also not very similar to Sword Art Online on a superficial level. But Sword Art Online's ethos transcends genre. It can be found in isekai, Gamer lit, or even genres popular long before Sword Art Online, like battle shounen. Sword Art Online created the web fiction to light novel to anime pipeline, and in doing so popularized amateur literature and its decidedly adolescent mentality of shameless and solipsistic self-indulgence. "Only I Play the Game."

[22ayla21]

Mydei's first date with his wife (before they got married). Will/how he make it romantic since no "romance" in Kremnoan language?

The First Date

There is no word for "romance" in the language of Kremnos, but Mydei is determined to make the first date as romantic as possible, albeit awkwardly.

Mydei wasn't sure how it was done. The language and culture of Kremnos didn't have the concept of "romance," no courtship traditions like in her world. For them, everything came down to actions—protection, loyalty, a common cause. But he had seen how people from other nations looked at their chosen ones, how they sought their gazes, how they held hands.

He wanted to do something for her. Something that would make her smile in just the way he loved—with softness, warmth, and joy. So he simply said:

"Tomorrow. Be ready."

She blinked in surprise but nodded.

The next morning, she met him at the doorstep.

"Where are we going?" she asked, but he only smirked and gestured for her to follow him.

Mydei didn't know what a date should be like. But he knew what she liked. And he knew he liked watching her eyes light up with admiration.

First, he took her to the highest cliff in the area. The view from here was stunning—endless lands, crimson clouds merging with the horizon. He saw her breath catch, and inwardly smirked.

Then he pulled out a bundle. It was food—not the most exquisite, but prepared by him. She sat beside him, trying a piece, and laughed:

"This is delicious!"

He smiled but said nothing.

She continued to tell him things—about her life, about the things she loved. And he just listened, occasionally nodding. There was so much energy, so much emotion in her voice. And each one was precious to him.

Later, he suggested a walk in the forest. They walked side by side until he stopped at a tree with large, unusual flowers. He picked one and handed it to her.

"In our people, these are given as a sign of respect."

She took the flower, holding it carefully in her hands.

"Thank you, Mydei."

As the sun began to set, he led her back. Everything went… well, he thought. He wasn't sure if he had done it right. But when she smiled, touching his hand, he knew: yes, everything was as it should be.

Her happiness—that's what mattered.

[harrywavycurly]

I just watched the movie Companion and it got me thinking…

What if Harry has been single for SO long that everyone (including himself) has just given up on him finding love and while he’s happy and his music is fun and still means something to him and the people that adore him, there’s just something missing and his team is starting to notice. So they do something so unhinged, so unethical that only two people even know about it and those people are Jefferey and his assistant, they decide to get Harry a companion bot. Now unlike most companion bots this one is the top of the line, fully customizable down to the amount of freckles that dust your cheeks and the sound of your voice and to top it off you are capable of forming memories based off the information that’s been downloaded into your system prior to booting up for the first time. So Jeff is able to give you some prior knowledge of Harry so that when you “accidentally” run into him it will be like running into an old friend you haven’t seen in years.

But here’s the thing before you’re supposed to meet Harry, Jeff will also begin to show Harry random photos of parties from a few years ago and he will have edited them so your face is somewhere in the background so when Harry sees you again he too will think he knows you from somewhere he just can’t quite remember where. Now it won’t be love at first sight, Jeff didn’t want it to be too chaotic because he knows Harry had a tendency to fall fast and hard and that hasn’t really worked well for him, instead he picked an option that felt was more along the lines of what Harry needs and set your programming to make Harry have to court you like a proper gentleman. Jeff knows making Harry work for your attention will not only make him extremely interested because he loves a challenge but it will also give Harry something to look forward to, you being the reward for all his efforts and selfishly Jeff knows nothing inspires Harry musically more than a love interest so at the very least this is going to end with a few great songs.

The thing that Jeff doesn’t anticipate is Harry actually falling in love with you, he didn’t think Harry was at a point in his life where he would be willing to just drop everything for someone because he loves them. But he is, he is willing to cancel tours, break contracts, move across the world, learn to cook and it’s all because of you and Jeff is utterly lost on what to do. Meanwhile you of course love Harry as well, everything about him makes you happy and it’s as if you two were made for each other. So all in all Jeff is left to deal with the debacle of telling his bestfriend that the girl he wants to end his career for is a robot and then having to inform that girl that she is in fact not a real woman but a bunch of wires and metal covered in a very realistic looking shell and the emotions she thinks she feels is all just a bunch of codes swirling around her brain that’s actually just a microchip.

[hyeinspo]

C　८ 𐔌 . ⋮DAMIAN WAYNE .꒱ !! .. CHAPTER 1 ♡ !!

𝜗𝜚 𐔌 ﹒ LOVE is a mysterious thing ౨ৎ meeting Damian Wayne for the first time was a dull experience. You truly hoped you could get on good terms with him and become his bestfriend even. However working on that project takes a turn.

( .ᐟ ୨୧) ── ⠀⠀⠀swearing, refer to page one, hyein coded, also can’t remember if their school has a uniform so kind of guessed. Mind you that she’s supposed to be similar to Hyein. Also please read in dark mode with a computer for best experiance. Headcanons for chapter one will be posted in a while.

── ⠀⠀Love is right here unexpectedly waiting for you to turn the key, but you’ll never know what awaits you , or what's in store.

╰┈➤. ♰⠀𝖍𝖞𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖔 𓈒 previous 、next ⠀⠀⠀♰⠀

.☘︎ ݁˖ ➤ 𝜗𝜚 AUTHORS’ + 2ND POV

Getting ready for school was probably the worst part. Sure, it gave that unruly release of dopamine, but waking up and having to do your makeup and put on your terribly unfitting uniform was the worst. “Everything looks good, just kind of hoping nobody swarms me as soon as I walk in.” Looking in your pocket mirror, making sure everything is natural and cute-looking. The car ride was the most awkward thing in the world; starting your first day of school wasn’t going to be so bad, right? I mean, it’s Gotham; nobody is going to know you. If you were a theorist, you would immediately get fired on the first day of your job. You were dead wrong; trying to find the principal’s office was the hardest thing known to man. “Wait, wait, can I get your picture?” Of course you didn’t want to seem rude, but also you just woke up and didn’t want to be late to your first day of school. “Sure!” As you watch the girl pull out her camera, you pose whilst she takes the photo. And of course, they all run off afterward; it kind of sucks.

Being used to the core, people are asking for photos every time you try to get to the office. However you got there on time, with an unpleasant Damian sitting down. “Hi, I’m sorry for the holdup, photos and everything, you know how it is.” You then sat down next to Damian. You could hear him muttering something under his breath, obviously too vague to hear properly. “This is Damian Wayne, Damian, this is ____.” You then reached your hand to give him a handshake; he gave you a firm and gentle nod instead, putting your hand down embarrassed. “You’ll be her tour guide. I also trust that you two will find comfort in each other since you’re both young and influential.”

You looked down; you didn’t know that he was of high status. I mean, by the last name, how did you not spot it? But it’s whatever; all that matters is that you have someone to relate to. You then give him a warm smile that was more of a peace treaty to not get on his bad side. “Well then, go.” As you two go outside, it is fairly awkward and quiet; you decide to break the silence by saying something, "So, Damian, I don't know much, but are you Bruce's son?" He looked at you as if you said the most utterly noticeable thing in the world. He just gave you a light nod just to show that he was listening, not wanting to give you small talk.

"We share the same classes, so just follow me, ok?' He was blunt but also tried showing a bare minimum of hospitality to you. You then nodded back to him as you approached the door of the classroom, slowly creaking the door open. You decided to sit next to Damian due to the fact people just want photos and pictures all the time; you were kind of surprised that Damian was able to push most of it off. You could feel stares darting at you left and right. You could hear the flash and flicker of cameras and phones, people snapping photos every now and then. As class started, you decided to prepare yourself. "Today we will be working on a project, that project being pretty simple. You and your partner will have to write separate papers and switch every ten minutes. This is an at-home project, but first pick your partner and let's begin from there." As the teacher gave the signal, everyone huddled around you and Damian.

All you heard was, "Can I be your partner?" or "You should pick me!' Honestly, they were glazing you to the core, overbearingly bad. I mean, you weren't as popular in the western world as you thought you were. But now this is bad, and you just have to sit here and pick. Making an intuitive decision, you had looked to your left. Seeing Damian, you decided to pick him out of everybody. You had whispered to Damian, asking if you could be his partner, "Could I work with you? Being totally honest, I don't even know half of these people, and you probably hate most of them."

He listened to your opposition and decided that you may be right, but he sits in contemplation wondering how smart you can really be. By all means, you were young and inexperienced, and this could go downhill quickly if he doesn't play his cards right. If he lets you get too close, you could potentially know everything and potentially risk your life. However, he would have an excuse to not go to his dad's events for a while. He sighed in defeat and gave you a tiny, "Sure." As everybody heard that you had asked him instead, they had retreated to their seats, picking their own partners. As partner picking came to an end, the teacher had described the instructions in more detail to the best of their abilities.

As class ended, the day had slowly progressed coming to an end. Of course many things had happened in-between, but that would be a boring story. So when Damian had met up with Jon, his best friend he was hoping there would be a bit of peace and quiet from the world; the world to him being you. "So you and that new girl, what's up with that?" Damian looked as pissed off as he was about to sound. "Nothing is up, she's new and inexperienced, I have to tour her." Jon can sense things from a while away. "Is that so?" Damian nodded his head in response complete oblivious as to what Jon was about to say to him. "So why is she now currently behind you?" As Damian had turned around, you were right there. Jon chuckling a bit to his core. "So, with that I'll leave you two be." He then gave both of them a soft smile and left.

"Damian, I was wondering, can we start the project tonight, I'm really busy throughout most of the days so I really want to get started. And it can it be at your house? I share a house with all of my members and staff so yeah.” Damian looked at you crazily, as if you had said something out of line. He understood your point of view and how you were, he tried to be helpful because you were just trying to get your stuff done. “Alright, we can do that.” Luckily he had chosen to become a tad bit nice, it was more for his own benefit of course.

As you were about to exclaim your absolute joy, he paused you. “But, on one condition. You can’t exit my room, you stay in there the whole entire time, don’t go wondering on.” You were a tad bit skeptical but you accepted it as this was your best option. He saw that you agreed with simply just a hint of gleam in your eyes, so he immediately started walking on with you trailing behind to the car. As you two had ventured off to Wayne manor, you were immediately greeted by Alfred.

However due to Damian just being, Damian, he immediately went off and started to show the path to his room. “Are you coming?” Of course you had to stop the chit chat with Alfred and immediately follow Damian as if you were a lap dog to him, which obviously bothered you. As you stepped up and went Damian’s room, you took all the supplies you needed and he closed the door shut; it was for the best he didn’t want anyone to walk in having you in there. But of course all good things come to an end, like keeping you cooped up in there just so you don’t see his family.

END OF CHAPTER 1

— I really spent a long time with this, and there’s obvious errors but I hope you enjoy it^^

[mimikyu97]

It would be awful if it last more than three season to be honest ,for Sonic I mean .

But I would have loved to see more too . Those new versions of his friends are based on people he had know , worsening some of their flaws or making their quality even more visible. And for that reason he would always have a sense of familiarity.

But imagine those things Sonic himself never known about them, either because he hadn't notice or because they hide it from them.Amy's crush on him she got over it , but imagine he got to be exposed to the ugly side of unrequited crush : resentment or jealousy.

The fact that Nine was mistreated , a victim and it is ugly. He made his own choices to preserve himself and himself alone. How dangerous Tail could actually be if he wanted , how much Tail can read him so easily.

Villains version of his friend, others version that don't even need Sonic in their life at all and wouldn't want Sonic's friendship at all.

It would also be interesting to see scenarios such as Rouge seeing through Shadow's behavior / feelings only by the retelling of Sonic talking about him and Sonic having to face what it meant for him. Especially with their relationship evolving so much and Shadow and Sonic became each other only support and most important person for the time being.

Interesting to see those version being able to teach Sonic about his relationship with them , with Shadow. Like Sonic forced to listen to Amy's rambling about romance and then going on and on about the importance of communication and Nature.

I want an episode where Sonic is back home and he knows it won't last and he knows he is going to put his life on the line this time behind Shadow's back no less and he says : I am glad I got to see you one last time.

I want Shadow to be able to enter some of the shatterverse after being affected by the prism for a short moment that made both of the hedgehog feared they might lose each other. It could be an opportunity to have moment between Rouge and Shadow , or Shadow and Amy . Even if he can't stay for very long and would have to be in the void most of the time.

I want an episode like the very last season when Sonic had fixed the world , he is back home and instead of being teleported back just before he break the prism but the morning. And he is terrified . Everyone is back and Sonic still have prism energy so he know it could be taken from him once again . And he tried to act as nothing because he is no longer used to trusted them like he used to , and the only person that seems real to him is Shadow.

I want everyone to be so chill while Sonic is panic inside . I want to see that Sonic lost it because of the shock and only Shadow can calm him down . Seeing that they developed copping mechanism together some healthy other aren't.

See that clearly , Sonic and Shadow have their own language on certains things , or have inside morbid joke others don't understand , but also that they both developed bad habits that the other keep tab on.

Even when the situation is fixed , to Sonic everyone is uncanny and to Rouge , Knuckle and especially Tail Sonic is so different. Sonic seemed to be more attentive to them than he was but he is also very distant .

I am rambling ...

unfortunately for everyone I have become engrossed with yet another children's show

one of the really interesting premises to me about sonic prime is that shadow is the Only Person from sonic's original world there with him --- how big of a relief that must be, how much comfort it brings him when he's able to talk to shadow about missing their home

if sonic prime was, like, idk, a really long running series where it takes like 15 seasons for sonic to bring back his original world and he explores a lot of alternate realities, I could very easily see shadow as the refuge sonic seeks between jumping worlds

shadow could be the plotter, who'd draw out plans for what sonic could do next, sonic could keep in touch w shadow by just running really fast to thin the layer between Void and world, but he does it a little bit more often than he really needs to, just to confirm that shadow is still there

and maybe every few worlds or so, sonic grows weary. he may be a hero, but he is only one person -- his memories of the world he's trying so hard to restore grow foggy, and he's tired of having to introduce himself to the same familiar faces only to have to leave. but at least when he leaves, he's coming back to shadow.

shadow, who understands the sag in his shoulders. shadow, who won't ask questions. shadow, who'll sit quietly next to him until sonic breaks the silence first, like he always does.

"tell me what you love about our home," sonic would say

shadow would tell him, pretending not to see sonic's quivering quills. he'd talk until sonic's breaths were even, until his eyes were closed, and, if sonic's head had fallen onto his shoulder, he would not move it.

sonic would wake up with a second wind

and shadow would see him off with a quip, waiting patiently for him to return

[mrcrawly]

House MD main cast headcanons

is most of this Wilson and House? yeah. do i feel bad about that? no.

House:

the biggest fucking music snob you have ever met in your entire life

collects CDs, vinyls, cassettes. has a really cool shelf/case for them too

says he hates animals but there is most definitely a stray cat in the alley by the hospital that he's always feeding

i get the feeling he was a kleptomaniac as a teenager

he's a huge asshole but sometimes he isn't actually trying to be one and will just say whatever comes to mind and forget that people can get offended

autistic and probably knows it

definitely makes the grandpa groaning noise every time he gets up from a sitting position

definitely pretends to sword fight with his cane

legitimately cannot stand to be touched 95% of the time. like it viscerally disgusts him or makes him physically uncomfortable like he's in pain (again: autism)

if he ever were to have a child he would be the world's biggest girl dad. im talking playing ponies and dress up with her and showing up to work with little smudges of nail polish on because she wanted to give him a makeover

would also be one of those fathers who is constantly showing off things their child did. his kid made him an ugly clay sculpture of an indeterminate animal? oh it's going on his desk. his kid made him a mug? he drinks out of it every day (or at the very least holding all his pens and pencils). his kid drew him a picture? it's getting framed in his office.

actually not bad with babies and infants. does he like them? no, but they like him. it's just not mutual

likes to sleep on people (Wilson)

his favorite movie is Rocky Horror Picture Show or some cheesy 80s film but definitely lies and pretends to be some fancy snot-nosed film critic

scared of clowns (don't question this one)

was an extremely sickly child but a very healthy and athletic adult which is why he was so adamant not to amputate his leg

got super drunk in his last year of med school and got a stupid tattoo on his ass. only Wilson knows about it

empathy doesn't come very naturally to him clearly but he hates it when Wilson is upset and even if he can't help he'll sit with him until he feels better

sugar fiend

Wilson:

listens mostly to 70s folk and soft rock but will listen to whatever House shows him too

also collects but it's something so stupid and insane and niche that no one understands what he's talking about when he brings it up

would be super ultra dedicated to it too. im talking he would go to conventions about his interests multiple times a year

has had multiple dogs, cats, and one or two reptiles

got the hyper-empathy autism instead of whatever the fuck House has going on

House tries to tell him all the time that he's autistic and he's unfortunately one of those people that's like "but i can't possibly be autistic im perfectly functional!"

is definitely one of those people that's like "my hip hurts...... storm's coming in" and House just stares at him like this 😐

is always the one that House is playing sword fighting

loves to be held as long as it's someone he's close to like im talking fully and entirely consumed with someone else's body

definitely finds relief from deep pressure (again: autism)

would also be a fantastic girl dad. there would be dozens of pictures of him passed out on the sofa with makeup smeared all over his face bc someone gave him a makeover when he was napping

actually very much wanted children and still wishes he had one

HORRIBLE hypochondriac. he understands it's irrational and won't speak about it out of embarrassment but he's especially like that about cancer. working in oncology does that to you unfortunately

loves babies and toddlers. im talking he does the stupid cooing baby voice and bounces and kisses them. babies also very much like Wilson

he has multiple siblings who all have multiple children so family reunions typically have a giant cuddle pile which is him being smothered half to death by his nieces and nephews

scared of heights

was a pretty sick child but spent like 60% of his time in college with a cold or some kind of bug

would love those stupid roadside tourist trap attractions. the biggest rubber band ball in the United States? oh he'd eat that shit up

has probably fished at least once in his life

whenever house tries to show him something on his phone he pulls out a pair of reading glasses and moves his head back and squints at the screen like a middle aged dad

cries about things a lot and gets a little embarrassed over it, usually goes to House if he's upset

would ask House if he would still be his friend if Wilson was a worm and gets very sad and pouty when House says no

Cameron:

dated a few women in college definitely

immune system of steel. has gone multiple years with literally nothing more than a little cough

carries around those little strawberry hard candies and chewy Werther's original caramels in her purse and offers them all the time

definitely kept a lot of her childhood stuffies

hates really bright lights because they give her bad headaches

would definitely fall victim to the "morning shed" trend but to a less extreme extent. like she buy a silk bonnet and mask and starts using a bunch of products before bed

wears rings because she likes to fidget with them

has super dry insanely frizzy hair so she oils it constantly

had super curly hair until she went to med school and it inexplicably became straight

fear of bugs

has a very extensive before-bed routine

has a cat but the cat has some weird stupid name that doesn't make any sense like Faucet or Pantaloons or something insane

has a really great metabolism but eats like a bird for lack of appetite

Chase:

in contrast has the weakest Victorian child immune system. he gets the flu or strep every year without fail and is incapacitated for at least a week

likes old American folk but likes pop and rap artists like Tyler the Creator and Frank Ocean, things like that

really sensitive skin so trying out any new product breaks him out sooooo bad

Mama's boy as a child (if there's something sad and heartbreaking about this in the show that i haven't seen yet REFRAIN!!!!!)

has a really extensive and exhausting hair routine but it gets oily anyway and is sooo pissed that Cameron has better hair than him

i have an inkling that he would be vegetarian or pescatarian (is that how you spell that i don't know) not for any health or environmental reason he just genuinely hates most meat except for fish and chicken

Foreman:

was a really big fat baby and didn't grow out of it until he was like 13

played some kind of sport in school but not like a mainstream one. like he swam or did lacrosse or something

became a neurologist because he's watched multiple aunts and uncles die of neurological conditions or stop functioning from loss of memory and cognition

VERY strict diet and takes lots of supplements that help carefully tracks his intake of

very hairy but was made fun of for it in high school so he shakes his entire body basically bald all the time

smells absolutely fucking fantastic. like coconut and sugar and vanilla and it lasts all day long

loves working with children and sometimes wishes he went into pediatrics

when House isn't in the room sometimes he cheers up the younger patients by doing dumb stuff, like blowing up a latex glove into a balloon or letting them write on his arm or something silly

hated needles as a kid and still has to turn his head away when he gets shots even though they don't make him that nervous anymore

also a sugar fiend so sometimes he bakes for the rest of the staff when there's a get together or some kind of function at the hospital

[abbottfanstuff]

The Lounge Confession (One-Shot)

Author’s Note: I had this on my drafts..I was feeling soft and finished it tonight 🥰😌… Also, at what time you don’t make it a one-shot. I feel this is too long. @schemmentigfs @olderwomenenthusiast @ankhsta @babytakeittothehead

The teacher lounge at Abbott Elementary was buzzing with conversation as the staff took their break. The walls echoed with laughter and chatter, the faint scent of coffee mingling with the distant hum of the school day. You had just sat down at one of the tables, quietly trying to escape the stress of the day.

At the far corner, Melissa Schemmenti was seated, her coffee cup cradled in her hands. She looked quieter than usual, her eyes flickering briefly between her colleagues and the phone in her hand, scrolling through messages or making a quick note. But every now and then, she glanced up, and her gaze would linger for a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to catch it, long enough to send a flutter of heat through your chest.

You were far too familiar with that look. You’d caught it several times before, though it always seemed to be fleeting. Still, it made your heart race. Melissa is so strong, confident, and a little intimidating. And you? You couldn’t help but admire her from afar, even fantasizing about her on quiet nights when the weight of the world felt too much to bear.

The conversation in the lounge was lighthearted, at first—Ava teasing Barbara about her latest hobby, Janine ranting about her most recent “adventure” with her students. But soon, as it always did in this place, the conversation turned more personal.

“So,” Ava’s voice broke through, loud and playful, “anyone here in the mood for a little love talk?” She grinned, eyes scanning the room. “You know, it’s about time we had a serious discussion about relationships, sex, and all that jazz.”

Your stomach tightened at the thought. You knew Ava all too well—always trying to push boundaries, always trying to make things awkward. You didn’t want to be part of this conversation. But, of course, Ava had already zeroed in on you.

Ava’s gaze landed on you, a smirk curling at the corners of her lips. “You know, I’m surprised we haven’t heard more from you, Y/N. You’re always so quiet about this stuff. Have you been keeping any secrets?”

You laughed nervously, trying to deflect. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, shifting in your seat, feeling a bit too hot under the collar.  

Ava raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Come on, You’re too quiet about it, which means you’re probably trying to hide something. How long has it been since the last time you got laid?”

The words hung in the air, causing a rush of heat to flood your face. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not in front of Melissa. But Ava wasn’t going to drop it.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. You were trying to keep it together, but the more Ava pressed, the more you felt your control slipping. It wasn’t like you didn’t think about relationships or intimacy—you did. But the truth was, you had little experience, and that was something you didn’t want anyone to know. Especially not Ava. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit that, despite trying with other people and exploring multiple ways of release, the only thing that ever truly made you come was the thought of Melissa. You tried to push it away, but the idea of her, of her strong, confident presence, always seemed to overwhelm your mind. 

You forced a smile, trying to sound casual. “It’s fine. It’s just not something I’m worried about right now… Sex is overrated anyway. You just lay there and wait.”

The words were out before you could stop them, and the room fell silent for a moment. Your face burned with embarrassment as you quickly glanced around the room. Ava blinked, her mouth hanging open in surprise, and even Janine looked momentarily stunned. The silence was thick with tension, and you could feel the weight of their eyes on you.

Barbara, ever the motherly figure, raised an eyebrow, her lips pressed tightly together as though trying to make sense of what you had just said. “Sweetheart, I think you’re mistaken about that,” she said, her tone gentle. “Sex is more than just ‘laying there.’ It’s about connection, about sharing something intimate with someone.”

You tried to shrink into yourself, wishing you could disappear as the spotlight grew brighter. But it was Melissa, sitting quietly at the corner, her calm presence suddenly shifting as she spoke up, her voice cutting through the rising noise.

“I think,” Melissa began, her eyes flicking over to you with an unreadable expression, “that sex is much more than just ‘laying there and waiting.’” She paused, her gaze briefly darkening as she seemed to reflect on something deeper, before continuing, “It’s about connection, chemistry, and feeling alive. It's not supposed to be passive.” Her voice softened slightly, and she added, almost wistfully, “I feel sorry for anyone who hasn’t had a good one.”

The way she said it made your heart skip a beat. There was something in her tone, something that spoke of experience, of feeling as if she had been let down in the past. For a moment, she seemed far away, lost in her own thoughts, before she glanced back at the group. Her gaze lingered on you, and for just a second, you felt like she was speaking directly to you.

“Sex should be something that leaves you wanting more,” she said quietly, but with conviction, “and if it doesn’t, then something’s missing.”

You couldn’t breathe. The way Melissa spoke, with that rawness in her voice, made you feel exposed—like she knew exactly what you were thinking, exactly what you wanted but hadn’t yet found.

Ava, seeing that the mood had shifted, grinned mischievously. “Well, it seems like someone’s got a lot of experience,” she teased, nudging Barbara. “You might be right, Melissa. Maybe we’ve all been doing it wrong.”

Barbara chuckled lightly, but her expression was thoughtful as she looked at you. “It’s not about being wrong,” she said kindly, “it’s about finding someone who makes it right.”

You felt your pulse race at the weight of the conversation, and your mind flickered to thoughts of Melissa again, the idea of being close to her, of finding that connection she spoke about. The air around you seemed thick, charged with something unspoken. But you kept your focus, your hands clenching under the table as you tried to regain some sense of control. Her words seemed to hang in the air like an unspoken invitation, and you found yourself wondering if she, too, could feel the tension that had been building between the two of you.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but it wasn’t just because of the conversation. It was the way Melissa’s eyes were now focused on you, intense and steady, as though she was trying to see through you, to understand what you weren’t saying. There was something in her expression—something softer now, like she was waiting for you to speak, to say the words that you couldn’t seem to find.

Melissa shifted in her seat, the small movement catching your attention. Her voice was quieter now, almost intimate. “Sometimes, it’s hard to find someone who really gets it,” she said, her words lingering in the space between the two of you. “It’s more than just the physical. It’s about being vulnerable, about trusting someone with parts of you that maybe you don’t even know exist yet.” Her gaze locked with yours, and for a heartbeat, you felt like she was speaking directly to you. “That’s what makes it worth it.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt your pulse quicken. You couldn’t help but wonder—did she mean it? Was she talking about you?

The others in the room seemed to fall away, their voices becoming background noise as you focused solely on Melissa. There was something raw in her words, something real, and it stirred a yearning deep inside of you. You felt the weight of her gaze, the way she was waiting for you to react, to respond.

“Do you get that, Y/N?” Melissa asked, her tone softer, almost knowing. “That’s what it’s supposed to feel like. Like you’re not just going through the motions, but that you’re really present with someone.”

You could barely speak, the intensity of the moment almost paralyzing. But you managed to force out a few words, your voice quieter than usual, betraying the vulnerability you were trying to hide. “I… I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that.”

Melissa’s eyes softened, her lips curling into a slight, understanding smile. “Then maybe it’s time you do,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, you almost believed that maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way.

++++++++++

The school bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Teachers filed out of the classrooms, but you lingered, slowly packing your things, trying to gather the scattered thoughts that had been tumbling around in your head since the conversation in the lounge. The air was still thick with unspoken words, your pulse still racing from the brief exchanges that had felt so much more meaningful than they should have.

Melissa was still in her classroom, presumably finishing up some paperwork. You had no plans to stick around, but a strange pull kept you tethered to the building, a quiet anticipation gnawing at the edges of your mind. Maybe it was the lingering thought of Melissa’s words, the intensity of her gaze, or the quiet way she had left you hanging with that subtle, but loaded, comment. “Maybe it’s time you do.”

You found yourself walking towards her classroom before you could think better of it. You knocked softly on the door, feeling a little silly as you waited, but when you heard her voice telling you to come in, the knot in your stomach loosened just a bit.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice betraying a nervousness you hadn't meant to show.

“Hey.” Melissa’s voice was soft, quieter than usual. She folded the paper in her hands and set it down on the desk, then turned to face you fully. “How’s your day been?”

“Good. Long, but good.” You took a step into the room, almost as if on autopilot. There was a tension between you, impossible to ignore. You couldn’t tell if she felt it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to shift.

“I know the feeling,” Melissa said, her eyes flicking briefly to the clock on the wall before they returned to you. “Are you staying for a while? Or are you heading out?”

“I was thinking of sticking around for a little while,” you admitted, your voice almost a whisper. “I, uh, I didn’t really want to leave yet.”

You watched her carefully as she leaned back slightly, her posture relaxed but with an undercurrent of something deeper. Her body language was inviting, but not in the overt, aggressive way you might have expected. It was... gentle. Like she was giving you space to decide what happened next.

The quiet between you stretched on, heavy with unsaid things, but for once, it felt comfortable. Melissa crossed her arms lightly in front of her, as though trying to hide something, but her eyes never left yours.

“Y/N...” Her voice was low, her tone thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded, your chest tightening with the question that was still hanging in the air between you.

“What’s been on your mind? Be honest. Please” she asked, her voice soft, yet penetrating. Her eyes searched yours, as though she was waiting for you to open up.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. “I—I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been thinking about what you said. About connection. And chemistry, and…sex.”

Melissa didn’t break eye contact as she slowly stood from the desk, moving a little closer to you. The space between you had narrowed, and you could feel the heat of her presence like a physical thing. Her hands were no longer crossed in front of her; they were at her sides, fingertips lightly grazing the edge of the desk.

“You’re not the only one thinking about it,” she admitted, her voice low and almost hushed. “Sometimes it’s hard to find someone who really gets it. Someone who doesn’t just want... what’s easy.” She stepped closer again, her gaze never leaving yours.

Your heart was pounding now, louder than your thoughts. You could feel every inch of your body reacting to her proximity, the pull between you undeniable.

“Melissa,” you whispered, your breath catching in your throat as you looked up at her, unsure whether to say more. The tension in the room felt suffocating, but in the best way.

She didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with that quiet intensity. Her hands reached up slowly, brushing against your arm with the lightest touch—just enough to send a shiver down your spine. The simple contact made your breath falter, your pulse racing. 

Her hands were now on your shoulders, her fingers curling lightly into the fabric of your shirt. Her touch was soft, almost reverent, but there was something else there—something deeper. She wasn’t just being kind. She wasn’t just comforting you. She was offering you something more, something you weren’t sure you were ready for but couldn’t deny.

“I’m not just looking for a... one-time thing,” she added quietly. “I want something real.”

And there it was. The invitation. The moment that changed everything. You had the choice to step forward, to acknowledge that everything you’d felt up until this point was leading to this—this slow, tentative moment where everything could shift.

Your heart was racing, but for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to pull away. 

You met her gaze, the weight of everything falling between you, and with a trembling breath, you nodded. “I want that, too.”

In the soft quiet of her classroom, the connection between you seemed to solidify. The walls you’d both built were slowly coming down, and you both knew this was just the beginning of something that might change everything.

She blinked, but her lips parted as if she were waiting for you to continue, her body already leaning slightly toward you, drawn by your words.

You felt the boldness rise in you, pushing away the doubts that had been clouding your mind. “I don’t want to just talk anymore. I want to experience this... really experience it with you. Give me that mind-blowing experience you’re talking about. Show me what it’s like to not hold anything back.”

For a moment, Melissa stood frozen, her gaze flicking over your face as if she were weighing your words, deciding if this was truly what you wanted. You could see the mix of surprise and something else in her eyes—something you couldn’t quite pinpoint, but you felt it stirring between you.

“I...” Her voice faltered for a brief second, as though she wasn’t sure how to respond. Then, she stepped closer, closing the space between you. Her breath was warm on your skin as she looked down at you, her hand rising to gently cup your cheek, a soft but possessive gesture.

“You’re sure?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of everything she was offering.

You met her eyes, no hesitation left on your own. “Yes. I want you, Melissa. I want to feel everything with you.”

And then, before either of you could say another word, her lips were on yours, claiming the space between you as her own. The kiss was deep, urgent, and without the barriers you’d both been keeping up. It was a declaration, a promise, and in that one kiss, everything shifted.

Her hands moved from your cheek to your waist, pulling you closer, her body pressing against yours as if she couldn’t get enough of you. You could feel the heat building between you, the desire so tangible you could taste it. It wasn’t just physical—it was the culmination of all the quiet moments, all the subtle touches and lingering gazes.

“I need to know you’re in this,” she said, her words soft but firm, as though she was testing the waters, waiting for you to dive in with her.

The words caught in your throat, but all you could do was nod, a mix of desire and vulnerability swirling in your chest. "I am," you whispered, your voice barely a breath, "I just... wasn’t sure if you felt the same."

Her lips curled into a small, knowing smile, one that made your heart race even more. She tilted your chin gently, bringing you closer, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. She was so close now, you could feel the warmth of her body, the pulse of her heartbeat syncing with yours.

Without another word, Melissa closed the space between you, her lips brushing against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It wasn’t urgent, but it was full of the quiet promise of something more. You kissed her back, feeling the rush of emotions flood you as her hands slid from your shoulders to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You could feel the pressure building, the undeniable connection between you two, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe this was more than just a fleeting moment.

After what felt like an eternity, Melissa pulled back again, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she gazed at you with wide, heated eyes. “We should go,” she murmured, her voice strained but filled with purpose. 

Melissa’s hand slipped into yours, and you both moved toward the door. Her touch was still electrifying, but there was something deeper now—a sense of connection, of understanding that had been absent before. Every step you took toward the exit felt like it held more meaning, a new chapter that was beginning, one that you had never expected, but somehow knew was inevitable. The crisp evening air hit you as you stepped outside, and you couldn’t help but glance at Melissa. Her face was softer now, her features more relaxed, as if something had shifted within her, too.

++++++++++

The drive home was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional soft exhale from either of you. The distance between the school and her house felt longer than it ever had, and you found yourself shifting in your seat, the anticipation building. Every once in a while, you would catch her glancing at you, and each time, her eyes would linger just a little longer than before, that familiar spark of desire still burning there.

When you finally arrived at her house, it was almost like stepping into another world. The door closed behind you with a soft click, and suddenly, it was just the two of you in the quiet, dimly lit space. You didn’t speak, but you didn’t need to. The connection between you was palpable, filling every corner of the room.

Melissa’s fingers found yours again, and without a word, she led you down the hallway to her bedroom. The anticipation was unbearable now, and as she turned to face you, her hands gently cupped your face, drawing you toward her.

“I want this, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both soft and full of longing. “I want you. All of you.”

In an instant, the distance between you disappeared completely. Melissa’s lips found yours with a slow, deliberate pressure, not rushed but full of intent. The kiss was everything you had imagined and more—tender, soft at first, but quickly growing deeper, more desperate, as though both of you had been holding back for far too long.

Her hands, still warm on your face, slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, her body pressing against yours. The heat between you intensified, and every breath you took felt heavy, like it carried all the emotions you had been burying. She deepened the kiss, tilting her head slightly, her tongue brushing against yours in a way that made you forget everything else. You felt her pulse against you, just as rapid and intense as your own.

You responded instinctively, your hands finding their way to her body, your fingers grazing her sides, memorizing the feel of her against you. She let out a soft sigh into the kiss, her grip on you tightening as though she didn’t want to let go. The sensation of being so close to her, of her hands on you, was overwhelming.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, both of you panting lightly. Her breath was warm against your skin, and you could feel the weight of her gaze, searching for something—perhaps the same thing you were looking for.

“I’ve wanted this,” Melissa whispered, her voice low and full of meaning, “for a long time.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing as you looked up at her, your hand brushing against her cheek. “Me too.”

Melissa’s thumb traced the line of your jaw, a soft touch that made your pulse quicken, and she leaned in again, her lips barely grazing yours, hesitant as if asking for permission. You closed the gap, your lips finding hers with a tenderness that made the world outside disappear. It wasn’t a kiss of desperation or urgency; it was slow, careful, as though you were both savoring the rarity of this moment, wanting to remember it forever.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you cupped her face, your thumb brushing the soft skin beneath her eye. “Make me feel, Melissa,” you said, your voice steady but full of emotion. “Show me what it is like to be yours, to be wanted by you, to be touched by you.. to be loved by you.”

The words left your lips with a quiet intensity, a vulnerability that hung in the air between you both. Melissa’s eyes softened, and for a moment, it was as if time had stopped. There was no hesitation in her movement as she gently took your hand, guiding it to her chest, right over her heart, where the rhythm of her pulse beat rapidly.

She closed her eyes at your words, a tear slipping free from the corner of her eye, though she quickly wiped it away. It was a vulnerability you hadn’t seen from her before, and it made your heart ache in the best way. You reached up, gently tilting her chin so she would meet your gaze again, your foreheads pressed together as you both breathed in sync.

“I’m going to show you,” she whispered, her voice low and full of warmth, her breath caressing your skin as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this before, Y/N. I want you to feel everything... every touch, every kiss. I want you to know you’re mine, and that I’m yours.”

The words, though simple, hit you like a wave, pulling you under, overwhelming you with emotion. The trust between you two, the tenderness of the moment, made everything else fade away. You could feel her love, her longing, and it was more powerful than anything you had ever felt.

Her hands moved down to the hem of your shirt, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted it slowly, her gaze never leaving yours. The air between you seemed to thicken with anticipation, the intensity of your connection palpable, suffusing the room with a charged energy. With each movement, Melissa revealed a piece of herself, not just physically, but emotionally, allowing herself to be vulnerable in ways she had never shown anyone else.

You let her, welcoming each moment, each tender touch. Your body responded instinctively, your hands finding their way to the small of her back, pulling her closer. The heat of her body against yours sent a shock of electricity through your veins. Every inch of her was a revelation, each touch, each kiss, a promise that something more was unfolding between you both.

As Melissa’s lips met yours again, it was gentle at first, slow, a tender exploration. But the kiss deepened quickly, a reflection of the growing need between you, the hunger that had been building since the first time you’d truly looked at each other. She was slow, deliberate, taking her time to savor every moment, her hands caressing your back, your sides, as though she were trying to memorize every part of you.

“Y/N,” she murmured against your lips, her breath a soft tremor against your skin. “You feel like home.”

The words sent a shiver through you, and you pulled her even closer, your heart racing in your chest. Everything about this moment felt like a dream, but the heat of her skin against yours, the softness of her breath, the warmth of her hands, all told you that this was real.

Her hands moved lower now, caressing your waist, your hips, before sliding down your thighs. The intimacy of her touch, the way she moved with such confidence, yet with a tenderness that made your heart ache, was overwhelming. You responded to her touch, your hands sliding beneath her shirt to feel the heat of her skin, to learn every curve of her body.

When you finally pulled away to catch your breath, your lips brushed against her cheek, your forehead resting gently against hers. You could feel her pulse racing, her breath shallow and fast as she closed her eyes, savoring the moment, savoring the connection between you both.

Melissa’s hands gently pushed you back, guiding you to the bed as she moved over you, her body against yours, her lips never leaving your skin. She took her time, each kiss, each touch, a declaration, a promise of everything that was yet to come.

Her hands found their way to the button of your pants, unfastening it slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the moment, savoring the trust you had given her. Every move was calculated, full of intention, as though she was painting a picture of you in her mind, capturing every detail, every curve, every inch of you.

When she finally removed your pants, her fingers brushed lightly against your skin, the touch sending a wave of heat through your body. You could feel her gaze on you, hungry, but still full of that tenderness, that love that made everything feel softer, slower, and more meaningful. There was no rush now, no need for urgency. Just the two of you, tangled together, letting the moment unfold as it was meant to.

Melissa’s lips moved lower, trailing soft kisses along your jaw, down your neck, until they reached your chest. The sensation of her lips on your skin was electric, her touch sending waves of pleasure through you with every movement. The way her mouth wrapped around your right breast as she stroked your left one—gently, but with want, with need—showed you just how much she desired you. You couldn’t help but arch into her, your hands threading through her hair, guiding her closer, desperate to feel more of her.

Melissa’s hand began to move lower with deliberate slowness, as though testing the waters, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath her touch. The intensity of the kiss deepened, her body pressing against yours with a delicious friction that made your breath hitch. You could feel the heat between you both, a magnetic pull that was impossible to ignore, every inch of her body calling to yours.

Her lips left your breast, trailing softly down your stomach, and you couldn’t help the way your body responded, every nerve lighting up under the warmth of her touch. She paused, her breath hot against your skin as she whispered your name, low and husky, sending a thrill straight through you.

“Are you sure?” Her voice was breathless, almost fragile in the stillness of the room, and you could feel her hesitation. But it wasn’t a question of doubt—it was a question of trust. Of making sure that this moment was as meaningful as it felt.

You ran your fingers through her hair, gently tugging her back to look into her eyes, and nodded. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion and something else, something you couldn’t quite put into words. “I want this with you.”

Melissa’s touch was soft, almost reverent, as she continued to explore the contours of your body. Every brush of her fingers was a whisper, a promise, a confirmation of how deeply she wanted you. You couldn’t help but respond, the heat between you two intensifying with each passing moment.

Her lips found yours again, deepening the kiss, pulling you into her with an urgency that made your heart race. You could feel the rhythm of your breaths syncing, as though the two of you were moving as one—each push, each pull, a step closer to something deeper, something more profound than either of you had ever experienced.

Her hand continued its journey, her touch now more insistent, coaxing a response from you that had your body trembling with anticipation. You could feel your pulse quicken, the connection between you two stronger than ever before. The sensation of her fingers inside of you, the heat of her breath against your skin, the tenderness in every movement—it was like nothing you had ever known.

And then, as the moment stretched on, it happened. You could feel the tension building, your body reacting to her every touch. It was a crescendo, a wave rising higher and higher, until, with a shuddering breath, you felt yourself giving in to the intensity of the moment. You couldn’t help the quiet gasp that escaped your lips, the culmination of everything you’d been holding back.

Melissa’s touch never faltered, her hands continuing to guide you through the wave of pleasure, her eyes locking with yours as she leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear. You felt her breath, warm and steady, as she moved with you, her rhythm matching yours in perfect harmony.

The tension within you both slowly began to release, the wave of pleasure receding, leaving behind a feeling of warmth and closeness that settled over you. As you both caught your breath, the world seemed to shrink around you. Melissa’s arms tightened around you, holding you as if she never wanted to let go. You could feel her heartbeat, strong and steady against your chest, and you mirrored it with your own.

As the intensity ebbed away, you held each other, wrapped in the warmth of the moment, knowing that the connection between you was something neither of you would forget. And as time passed, the only thing that mattered was the quiet comfort of being in each other’s arms, letting the world outside fall away.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the weight of your desire. And as she kissed you again, deeper, more intense than before, you both knew—this was only the beginning.

[fancyfeathers]

Okay, we touched Bruce's darling, Dick's darling and Jason's. We still have Tim and Damian left (plus Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara and Kane, etc if you want to add more people)

Imagine that Tim's darling is actually pretty similar to him. She's a genius, but unlike him who has all the resources and possibilities at this disposal to train his intelligence and shine, his darling is hidden in the darkness of her district, where her only focus is survival...and something else.

Imagine that Tim's darling isn't actually reaped. No, she volunteers, and is determined to win. She's spent years watching the Games, losing her sisters one by one by the Capitol's greedy jerks while she's powerless to stop it, leaving her alone with her youngest sister (or more siblings if you want. Maybe they have cousins too). She's studied the games, the people, how they work, what are the tricks, and she's confident that she's going to win.

Her objective? Getting close to her sisters trapped in the Capitol and help them escape.

They're, of course, horrified when they see their little sister volunteering, her voice rising among the crowd and a stone cold expression on her face. She walks up to the stand before anyone can stop her, clenching her fists when her other sister is held back from running to her and begging her to stop. She can't. She's doing this for her too. For their family. For the life they had.

And suddenly silence is all that's heard, even from those in the Capitol who are watching it live. Even the Peacemakers don't try anything. In one move, she turned the world's eyes on her, forcing the spotlight on her.

She's so confident in her plan and her intelligence that she makes the mistake of arrogance, and doesn't realise she just drew the interest of the worst possible person for her to have: Tim Drake-Wayne.

Before that, Tim thought his brothers antics to get their District girls and keep them around was ridiculous. Why go such lengths just to marry some strangers from the Districts? He expected it from Dick, his head has always been more on the clouds and stuck in fantasies, but Jason? That was a surprise.

Now, seeing that girl stand up to volunteer, causing a commotion never seen in the games before, he understands.

However, some people think her actions could be seen as an act of rebellion and arrogance against the Capitol. She doesn't play by their rules. She doesn't follow the unwritten script of how this is supposed to go. She's charming enough in the interviews but also sharp. Honest. When she's asked what pushed her to volunteer, she said she just wanted to see her sisters again.

"For all their talk about family and the importance of love, they haven't visited us once since they married. Our youngest sister misses them. She doesn't understand why they're not coming back. So I thought, maybe if I win the Games, my beloved brothers in law will let them return to us for a while."

Silence.

She's playing an extremely dangerous game and she hasn't set foot in the arena yet.

Most see her as potential rebel, but Tim? Oh, he sees a challenge. An enigma to unravel. For the first time in his life, the games catch his interest. He sees how she thinks, what's she aiming for, and he wants to see more. Wants to know how far she can go. Wants to test that brain of hers.

Despite her sisters, she becomes the first of her family who's not immediately favoured by the sponsors. She just admitted in live she wants to take the darlings away from the Capitol, that she volunteered to defy them. Her admission breaks the Capitol's script of how everything is perfect, and how the other Darlings are the princesses of epic love stories.

The games seem to be rigged against her. Not even necessarily to kill her, but definitely to make everything more difficult for her. As a punishment. As an example for the people. But over and over, she beats their obstacles with her intelligence, rarely having to rely on brute force. She perseveres. She manipulates the other tributes, turns them against each other, until she's the only one left.

And Tim finally knows. He just found his match. His soulmate.

Unknowingly, Tim's darling will t would like hay she wants. She will reunite with her sisters forever...just not how she planned.

Yandere!Batfam Hunger Games AU

OH MY GOD!!!

I love this so much!! I am going to write for Cass, Steph, Barbara, and so on soon. I actually had a few ideas for Cass, but that's for later.

Tim's darling would be an unsuspecting little thing, she has the same innocent look in her eyes just like her sisters do, but there is something behind it, an anger, a fire, a burning desire to rip the Capitol to shreds. She grew up in District Nine, chances are if she made it past the reapings, she would probably become some sort of farmer or some housewife with not enough food to put on the table for her own children, she does not have much of a future so she has no problem throwing it away for something else besides her. So she makes a plan to win and a contingency plan to take care of her family if she does not come back, she knows what she is doing is a risk, but it is one she has to take.

One of her friends has to pry her little sister away from her, like Gale did with Prim when Katniss volunteered as tribute, carrying her back to her parents. Everyone in her district knows what she is doing and none of them can stop her even if they wanted to. She does when the boy from her district gets reaped, someone she knew from school, she would just have to make sure his death is painless. Her two sisters who won are at the reaping because they are victors and victors normally help train tributes, so both of them feel sick to their stomachs when seeing her volunteer, Dick's darling has to leave the stage because she actually does get sick.

But the game makers are not fools, they know what she is doing could be perceived as rebellion, so they pull a few strings, thinking she is as helpless as her sisters are. So when she arrives at the Capitol she gets the sudden news that her mentor has been changed to a victor from an entirely different district, she does not to get to mentored by one of her sisters or anyone she potentially knows to test her. This was Tim's doing, subtly hinting that they would not anyone to have a special advantage because she is someone's sister, but that subtle hint was not enough to stop her from getting a mentor whose mind works similarly to her own. Her mentor is a victor from District Three, who won his games by electrocuting the other remaining six tributes, Beetee Latier. She has a smart mind from learning what she needed in her district, but her mentor will teach her what she needs to know in the arena, training with him in making makeshift electronics for the arena and training with the other tributes and when her score comes out from the game makers, it is intentionally low to keep a target off of her back from the other tributes.

The Capitol does not like her much because she is not playing into some sweetheart role like Dick's darling did or some shy and terrified tribute that Jason's darling was. She does not cover up her confidence and everyone takes her for being arrogant because the odds are not in her favor. When she is asked why she volunteered she answers completely honestly, she does not need sponsors, and she does not care for the true love narrative bullshit that the Capitol pushes down their throats.

After her interviews, she was supposed to have a last-minute strategy talk with her mentor, but she is pulled aside by peacekeepers so she can talk with the game maker rigging the game against her, Tim Drake-Wayne. She already does not like him, even if he just says he wants to talk to her and have dinner, pokes at her mind and seeing that she sees past all the lies and while she could be a dangerous enemy, he sees an opportunity to test how smart she truly is. He has her escorted back to her room by peacekeepers, but not before ripping off a part of her dress' skirt for later use.

In the arena itself, they challenge her but they also have to make it look like the other tributes are receiving the same treatment. Like when there is acid rain, and she manages to dive under a rock formation to get cover, two other tributes die in front of her. Then when there is a flood, she takes a page out of her mentor’s book and electrocutes five other tributes. When there are wild wolves in the arena, she makes makeshift land mines to protect herself and her supplies from wolves and other tributes. She manages to poison the most of the career tributes’ and the other tribute from her own district’s food with poison berries so it is a quick and painless death. She eventually is the last one left in the arena.

She is seen the same by the President as he sees Katniss, a potential threat. But then during a meeting with one of the younger game makers, Tim Drake, he is reassured that she will not get far if she survives, he will make sure of that. The President is aware of the Wayne family’s tastes, so he gives the young game maker a bit of advice, something that he did during the tenth Hunger Games, she will be terrified to death and realize that his mind cannot get her out of it without a little help from the outside world, from Tim.

When there are five or so tributes left, history repeats itself with the snakes in the arena, killing the tributes brutally and much to the amusement of the Capitol. Tim’s darling genuinely thinks she is going to die and everything she hoped for is just down the drain, but the games need their victor. Tim took the President’s advice and slipped the ripped-off piece of the dress that he took from his darling after the tribute’s interviews, putting it in the snake’s tank so they get used to her scent.

She wins the games and she thinks she has a stronger grip on what she was here for, she has help from her mentor in the games to help get her sisters out, but there is a change of plans after she is crowned the victor. She was supposed to be escorted back onto a train so she could go home, but instead, she is pushed into a car by peacekeepers where Tim Drake is sitting in the back seat.

If she had not been so rebellious, she could have gone home. But now she is more trapped than her sisters were and never will get to leave his home or be seen by the outside world again, let alone the Capitol. The Capitol can stage her death, crash her train, and make the world think she is dead while Tim gets to keep her to himself.

[kiththecat]

hello tumblr user kiththecat with oshawott pfp do you,, do you have opinions on pokemon teams/partners for clownzy,,

im so sorry i took this way further than you probably thought i would but to be fair pokemon is like my oldest, biggest special little interest so this quickly went from a silly little thing to oh i guess i have an au now. say goodbye to ajwiaap this is all im thinking about now

i think the beautiful thing when it comes to assigning characters pokemon is that every single pokemon could make it. every single pokemon has their own unique personality. so this isn’t “this fits their vibes” as much as it is “woops i accidentally made up team dynamics and personalities for these pokemon and now im attached” 

hfdjskhfdkfdhs maybe these choices are all atrocious but here we go

my thoughts for branzy is that he’s a researcher of a kind, probably deeply fascinated with some more morally dubious sciences, probably ends up getting hired by evil groups but he’s funded so what does he care

also these are all listed in no particular order

Slowking

i just think it’d be funny. entry says that slowking is ultra intelligent but no one understands it so now i'm imagining branzy with a slowking just nodding and going “yes, this absolutely makes sense” but it just doesn’t. and because its extremely intelligent and composed it kinda sees branzy as its little guy

Metagross

same as with slowking. an intelligent and extremely powerful pokemon has adopted this kinda unlucky but eccentric researcher. it’s not interested in fighting it just wants branzy to Not Fall Into A Cave when researching or something. it’s always ready to psychically carry him away from danger like an unruly child. metagross would dislike clown at first but would warm up to him because they’re both protective of branzy. and clown would be like “HOW do you have an untrained metagross???” because this is one of the hardest pokemon to capture and keep because of how smart they are so it’s like. extremely impressive. and branzy’s like “we’re besties!” but that’s his babysitter

Tinkaton

innocent looking queen with a destructive nature. horrible attitude. just a violent little freak and if she ever inconveniences anyone branzy is like “what no that doesn’t sound like my tinkaton must’ve been something else” and the crime in question has a big hammer-sized hole in it. if left alone these two would probably cause more harm than good. best battler of the team

Porygon-Z

cute but something went wrong in its design very branzycraft to me. everyone would be like “hey, so there’s something terrible wrong with this pokemon” and branzy would be like “no! look how cute it is :D”. it gets very distressed if its away from him

Lampent

OKAY LISTEN. this would just be really funny. like one pokedex entry says “It hangs around hospitals waiting for people to pass on.” and “Once it finds someone whose death is near, it will trail quietly after them.” so my idea is that there’s this lampent who’s been following branzy around literally his entire life because it looks like he’s going to die in a stupid accident but he just. keeps. living. and branzy never realises that it has any ill intentions he thinks they’re best friends and finds lampents light very helpful when exploring in the dark. at some point branzy almost actually dies and its like so distressed about it because its gotten attached

that’s all i got for him... for now.

clown would be a very very strong trainer, a champion most likely. he has a reputation for being absolutely ruthless in battle and he had no trouble winning whatever league he won. he does work that’s kinda morally grey, but in the way where he’ll rather kill a poacher than imprison them.

Gengar (Mega)

the grin. also literally every pokedex entry is so clown. also he’d have a mega stone for it and it’s generally the scariest thing in the world. has most likely killed a lot of people but clown is like “wouldn’t hurt a fly ^-^” also gengar would absolutely love branzy (it recognises him as a devious and harmful soul) it’d be like “this is my guy now” and clown would feel so betrayed.

Hydreigon

cannot be clown without a scary strong pokemon. and okay so every single entry for this one says that it thinks only of destruction. so my idea is that clown has a hydreigon but but that he’s raised and/or trained it well and it respects him so they have like this mutual need for destruction but it’s so calm and controlled that it’s even scarier. also if we all just collectively pretend that the purple-ish colour on hydreigon is red, they have a similar colour scheme:) this and gengar are clowns most well known pokemon and he could probably win a league using only them

Zorua

enjoying the thought of this zorua being an extremely powerful shapeshifter who almost always is in another form. like to the point where most people aren’t even aware that clown has a zorua. it’s not the best battler but it’s amazing at stealth missions. its one of the older pokemon of the team but it hasn’t evolved because it likes sitting on top of clowns head or his shoulders. it revealed its true form to branzy very quickly and while branzy didn’t think anything big of it, probably just going “oh my gosh that’s amazing!” clown had an internal crisis about it

Furfrou

OKAY HEAR ME OUT HERE. a shiny furfrou. his dramatic ass WOULD have one. and it’d have a special trim that matches him. im thinking something like the dandy trim but instead of green additions to the fur it’s red. this furfrou would be the biggest diva in the world. clown saved it from poachers and it took long for trust to be formed but after it did it was ride or die. what if it was kinda lazy too, like it just wanted to chill but its trainer is clown so its strong because he trains them well but when battling it looks so disinterested that it comes across as weak but when it locks in, it’s deadly. if anything happens to its trim, it’s over for the perpetrator. clown grooms it personally and very softly but this is a rare sight.

Lilligant

i love the thought of him having a weak looking pokemon but it’s the secret ace of the team. people who don’t know clown would be like “that’s it lmao?” if he brought it out in battle but everyone who’s battled him will be like “well, it was fun while it lasted” like this one lilligant is known for taking down the most powerful of pokemon. also continuing the theme of having a pokemon that actually requires high maintenance to be happy, lilligant has many entries that say the flower on their head will wilt if not cared for properly. i think it’d be pretty neat if everyone had this idea that clown was ruthless as a trainer, but that something as subtle as his lilligant having a beautiful flower actually shows how kind he is to his team

Mr. Rime

DOES ANYONE SEE MY VISION. it’d be the weird grandpa of the team. kinda the same situation as lilligant where it doesn’t fit clown’s scary vibes but it’s a terrifying opponent anyway. the pokedex describes it’s tap dancing as “graceful” and i can think of another person who looks like a thing that’s associated with fun but is actually quite deadly so

that’s it… for now. rest assured i’ll probably be thinking about this a lot. also there are so many pokemon i thought about. this was hours of reading pokedex entries and repeatedly scrolling through the pokedex😭😭😭😭i literally blinked and two hours had passed

bonus notes ? ideas ?

wild pokemon really like branzy. he’s very creature and he has a good-hearted demeanour that makes everyone let their guards down (literally just canon).

wild pokemon respect clown. his presence, though not comforting, makes them steer clear of him. in a way they see him as one of their own more than a human.

if i were to attach a mythical or legendary to each of them. mew for branzy and meloetta for clown. HEAR ME OUT.

branzy has a lot of random pokemon just following him around when he’s on expeditions, so he doesn’t notice that there’s actually a mew shapeshifting into wild pokemon and following him around all over. it just likes his vibe.

as for meloetta. more of a stretch but just with clown’s tendency to getting attached to a certain type of people, like ros and branzy, then i think meloetta could embody the same things as they do. and now im just straight up making up characterisation on meloetta that’s dubiously based on the anime but i imagine that meloetta loves to battle, hence why it has a literal battleform, but that it has had no opportunity to fight in the modern way or feel that connection with a trainer, so every so often it will join clown in whatever he’s doing and be like “battle with me” and he’ll be like “aight”

ALSO DOES ANYONE REMEMBER TOBIAS? THE GUY WHO RANDOMLY HAD A DARKRAI IN THE ANIME. he gives clown vibes to me. almost gave clown a darkrai. almost gave him many ultra strong pokemon but i thought it’d be funnier to go a bit weird with it

also there are SO many rumours about clown. most of them being that he has signed a deal with darkrai, giratina, or yveltal. maybe he has. who knows.

im so sorry this is straight up insanity😔😔 ill see myself out

[changingplumbob]

Day six - Kara group part 2/2

@abbysimsfun, @ashubii, @pixeldistractions, @ravingsockmonkey, @sanitysims,@sleepyselkiesims

Mariela: *victory dab*

Kennedy: Are we sure y'all counted right?

Mariela: *blic-bloc dance*

Kennedy: I- I'm excited but I can't believe it

Mariela: *finally sits* That happened. We WON

Kennedy: *chuckling* Shucks now I'm getting nervous

Nicola: *frowns* I would have loved more one-on-one time with Deanna *smiles again* but I had fun out there even though I broke a couple nails

Evelyn: Awww… Oh well, there'll be other chances right? And we made friends

Nicola: I tell my students to be proud of themselves for making an attempt even if they don't win, so really that's my thought process right now. I'll get 'em next time!

Evelyn: Yes! And hopefully not break more nails

Arista: At least Deanna got to share her interests with me. Hopefully this won't be the last time I get to bowl!

Sarah: I bowl better drunk

Arista: *surprised* You bowl drunk

Sarah: Sometimes overthinking goes against you. Like if you're having woohoo, or bowling. Better to just let it go, be in the moment

Arista: I don't think my family will 🎶let it go🎵 for several generations yet, still learning to be 🎶part of your world🎵

Kennedy was happy to see that the date was outside! Mariela didn't mind one way or the other where the date was, she was still excited to have won! Deanna flirted with each of them then let them steer the conversation. Mariela enjoyed telling some dramatic stories about life in San Myshuno that made the other two laugh. Before the date ended both of them flirted with Deanna.

Back at the villa for the afternoon. Again room doors were locked, but contestants were allowed to do whatever they wished before dinner.

Taking a moment to recharge her social battery Kennedy chose to play some solo Don't Wake the Llama. Evelyn did some sneaky skill building, choosing to grab a fitness skill book for a read. Most of the contestants milled around the front hall chatting, at least until some memes scattered them. Nicola gave Arista a scare but the pair laughed it off so no hard feelings?

Deanna grilled some bison stew for dinner. Was it in hopes to make Kennedy feel more at home? She won't tell me.

Most of the contestants then chose to eat and chat at the edge of the pool. Sarah however did not feel like chancing it, and can mermaids even eat food sitting on the edge of a pool? Either way Arista didn't join them either. Afterwards Mariela decided to give Nicola a taste of her own medicine with a well timed scare! The blonde laughed it off though, enjoying Mariela's antics.

At the end of the day it was time for more skill building. Mariela, Nicola and Arista felt that it would be a good time to work on their charisma, practicing in the full length mirrors in their rooms. Evelyn wanted to work on her comedy so spent her time writing jokes at the computer. Kennedy still happy from a quick swim decided to read up on fitness. Sarah decided to spend the time doing what she loved - video gaming.

I interview my sister as she works on preparing food for tomorrow.

Devin: Alright De, how did you find today?

Deanna: It was fun! Although I do kind of wish I was allowed to bowl

Devin: *sighs* I don't know how you enjoy it

Deanna: It's basically physics in action, like playing pool or billiards. I really enjoyed the duo date. Mariela is hilarious and Kennedy definitely feels more open when there are less people around