#Instead of make evil plans and fight)

[sunclown]

Chase!

[tizeline]

TSAU Season 1 Finale - Part 1

It's about damn time I go over the TSAU's version of the remaining season 1 finale, as well as episode 1 of season 2, so HERE WE ARE! I am too lazy to adapt the entire thing into a proper comic, especially considering several plot points remain rather unchanged from canon, so we're doing whatever this format is instead.

(You should read Cell Talk and Gearing Up before this if you haven't already)

But a quick recap, the Gearing Up comic ended with Draxum in the Dark Armour going up to the surface with Mikey to start with the whole conquering humanity thing. Raph and Leo have offically joined Team Good Guys and they, alongside Donnie, Splinter, April, Shelldon and Mayhem went after Draxum to stop his evil plans.

When they make surface, Draxum and Mikey have already started their rampage and are just kinda wrecking the baseball stadium. The Foot are also at the stadium, clearly still expecting The Shredder to show up or something. Team Good Guys (yes that's their name now) figure it's probably good to try to get whatever info about the Dark Armour they can so April and Mayhem teleport to where The Foot are to try to gather some intel that might help them in the fight against Draxum.

Meanwhile, the others start fighting Draxum and Mikey. Draxum is low-key kinda baffled that Raph just straight up switched teams lmao. Leo is one thing, but Raph has always been so loyal and responsible so it's real suprising that he's completely disobeying orders. None of the Draxum family members are really enthusiastic about fighting each other (except maybe Mikey he's kinda pissed at this point) but they engage in battle anyway. Donnie, Shelldon and Splinter are less hesitant about kicking Draxum's ass and don't really hold their punches lmao. Despite that they're kinda struggling considering both Drax and Mikey are so strong, but that's when April and Mayhem teleport back with that useful intel!

What April learned from her intel-gathering is that The Foot think there is some kind of flaw with the armour, like in canon, you know the deal. What differs from canon is exactly how that flaw occured. Turns out that Donnie when he was younger got a little bit carried away with giving Shelldon cool powerful weapons and Shelldon enced up accidentally shooting up the teapot to smithereens, oopsie! Donnie managed to reassembe it before Splinter saw, but with one of the pieces having gone missing he had to sacrifice his Atomic Lass figurine to plug up the final hole (he's still upset about that to this day btw). BUT POINT IS, like in canon this means that the armour has a obvious weakpoint and if they hit that it might be enough to knock Draxum out of the armour!

You know what happens next, they resume the fighting with this new strategy in mind and eventually they manage to get a lucky hit in and as predicted knocking out the Atomic Lass toy causes Draxum to get knocked out as well. Except YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS and you know it's not quite that easy. Lo and behold, the Atomic Lass figurine was the last thing keeping The Shredder from being resurrected, so now that it's gone? Yeah, the Dark Armour is finally completed, it slurps Draxum's life-force or whatever and then spits him out.

The Shredder is back.

... Except not entirely of course, like in canon he's acting like a wild animal attacking anything that moves, but regardless it's still a new threat they have to deal with. With Draxum being so hurt, Leo makes the decision to portal him back home, and to also send Mikey with him. Both because Draxum probably needs someone to look after him and also Leo doesn't really wanna deal with Mikey's attitude at the moment with everything else going on lmao.

From here on out the battle against Shredder begins. This too goes mostly the same way as in canon, Shredder kinda kicks all of their asses before suddenly teleporting away, and then that song and dance repeats a couple of times before Team Good Guys figure they need a better strategy. Splinter brings up how Big Mama would probably have a way to subdue Shredder, only problem is that it's BIG MAMA and he does NOT wanna go anywhere close to her. In canon Leo brought Splinter with him to BM anyway, but in the AU he kinda respects Splinter, or rather Lou Jitsu, too much to force him to come along. Instead Leo decides he and Raph will go to BM for help, while the others keep Shredder from completely wrecking New York.

The rest of the finale continues in Part 2!

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you have a one night stand with an extremely attractive older man, but it doesn’t seem like you’ll see him again. fate has other plans, it seems.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23) unexpected pregnancy, light smut, reader and jack have both been drinking but are very eager/consent is definitely there. MDNI

notes: i am still working on former stripper!reader, but this came to me and i had to get it out. i think this will be a series of smaller drabbles, instead of a full one shot, but idk, what do you guys think/prefer? unedited. any feedback is extremely appreciated, especially reblogs/asks!

wc: 1.3k

next

You meet Jack Abbot in a dark bar on a Thursday. You, drug out by your friends, begging you to just let loose for once. Him, alone, on his last night off for the week, mentally preparing to go back to work the next day.

You caught his eye from across the room, and feeling brave, and of course egged on by your friends, you make your way over to him.

The first thing he does is ask you how old you are, to which you give a cheeky response of old enough. At the unamused look you receive, you tell him you’re twenty-three.

Jack nearly choked on his drink at that, and nearly tells you that you’re too young for him. But the pretty and cheeky smile you give him makes a small smirk appear on his face, so he doesn’t.

The second thing he does is order you a sweet fruity drink and a double shot of whiskey for himself.

One round turns into two which turns into three. You laugh a lot, and he laughs at your laugh. Jack tells you briefly about his time in the army, and in turn you tell him about your evil boss that you just know is out to get you.

I’m an ED doctor, he mumbles in your ear after you ask what he does for work

An eating disorder doctor? He snorts at your question.

“No, emergency department, like an ER,” You blush as he laughs at you, nearly choking as he downs the rest of his whiskey in one go.

You don’t even realize that you had effectively abandoned your friends and had been talking to Jack the entire night until one of them comes to ask if you’re ready to go.

You look at Jack, sheepish smile on your face and a glint in your eyes.

You end up at his place, his mouth on yours and calloused hands pawing greedily at your tits under your shirt before he even gets the door closed.

“Your skin is so soft,” He mumbles as he leaves open mouthed kisses from the corner of your mouth to your neck and back up again.

You moan, “I like the way your hands feel on my skin,”

Your hands tangle in his hair as you force his mouth back on yours, teeth clashing as his tongue fights yours for dominance, ultimately winning when you distract yourself trying to get his shirt off of him.

As quickly as his shirt comes off, he has you topless, your shirt and bra tossed somewhere in his living room.

The rest of the night is a blur, but you know he fucked you in some way, shape, or form on nearly every surface of his home, from eating you out on the couch, to fingering you until you managed to squirt all over his countertops as he made you drink water to stay hydrated, to fucking you dumb on his cock in at least six different positions on his bed, and once more pressed against the shower wall before putting his shirt on you and holding your body pressed up against his body while you slept the entire night.

The next morning the two of you chatted over breakfast. No awkwardness, he goes out of his way to make you laugh over his disgusting coffee, as so affectionately deemed it.

He doesn’t ask for your number, so you don’t ask for his. You kiss the side of his mouth as you leave him.

Jack goes to work, business as usual, but he thinks about you every day for the next eight weeks. Wondering if your boss ever let up on you or if you tried that new Italian place you were wanting to eat at.

You spend the next eight weeks stressed beyond belief. Work eating at your soul and consuming your entire life. You do think about Jack almost every day, contemplating going back to that bar just to see if he’s there.

But you don’t ever get the time, and your next meeting is an unexpected one to say the least.

Slipping on the wet floor in a grocery store was embarrassing, but hitting your head on the way down was mortifying. You were going to have to find a new grocery store.

The situation just keeps getting worse as the paramedics show up, telling you they have to take you to the emergency room since you show signs of a concussion and your nose is bleeding.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Mohan. I hear you took a bit of a fall?” The doctor is pretty, and her smile seems genuine as she talks to you.

“Uh, you could say that. This all could’ve been avoided if they had a wet floor sign out at the grocery store, though,”

She laughs, “You would be surprised how often we see that here,”

She starts going through the usual string of questions you get at the ED. You answer them all until she gets to the last one, “And when was the date of your last period?”

All of a sudden, your mind is blank. Surely you’ve had it, right? You had to have.

“I-I guess I don’t remember,” It comes out a whisper, and your brow is furrowed as you try and try to remember. You know you had it.

Dr. Mohan senses your inner turmoil, “No worries, we can do a blood test,”

She takes your blood and tells you she’s going to go order a CT for your head, “just sit tight.” With a mind smile, she’s gone.

You sit there, trying to rack your brain. There is no way you’re pregnant. No fucking way.

It takes what feels like an hour for Dr. Mohan to come back, ultrasound machine in tow, “So, I have your test results, and it does appear that you are pregnant. We’ll have to do an ultrasound to confirm how far along you are, but after that we should be able to get you to CT,”

“What the fuck.” Is all you can manage, eyes wide as you look at her, “Are you, like, certain?”

She places a hand on your own, squeezing in a comforting manner, “The ultrasound will be to confirm, but blood tests are rarely wrong,”

She gets you situated and pulls the gown up so she can rub the probe over your abdomen, “I am hopeful we won’t have to do this vaginally,”

She quickly places the cold jelly on your abdomen and runs the probe over it, trying to find a fucking baby. You feel like you might throw up.

“And there they are,” There’s a smile on her face and she shows you.

“Oh my god,” You think you’re in shock “I think I’m gonna throw up,”

“Oh!” She quickly steps into action, grabbing a bucket and rubbing your back while you vomit.

“I think this is the worst day of my life,” She gives your shoulder a squeeze.

“The vomiting could be due to the fall you took,” She bites her lip, “CT is pretty backed up, let me go get my attending to see if he can take a look and find something that can get you moved up the list. I’ll be right back,”

She quickly walks out, and you feel tears building quickly in your eyes. How the fuck could you let this happen?

And now, you’ll have to awkwardly face Jack and tell him your passionate night has resulted in this situation.

He didn’t even ask for your number for crying out loud.

Your downward spiral is interrupted when Dr. Mohan returns, with the last person you wanted to see right now.

“This is my attending, Dr. Abbot.” She gestures to him. “Dr. Abbot, I have a twenty-three year old female, approximately eight weeks pregnant with a possible concussion,”

You don’t hear another word that passes her lips, eyes glued to him, and he looks just as shocked and horrified as you feel.

[solxamber]

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

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

Series Masterlist

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

You're an aspiring author.

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

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

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

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

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

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

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

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

It’s… awful.

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

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

Yeah. This isn’t working.

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

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

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

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

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

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

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

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

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

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

ZAP!

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

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

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

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

Where the hell are you?

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

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prince Idia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...Nothing.

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

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

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

Definitely someone messing with something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

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

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

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

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

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

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

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

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

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

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

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

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

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

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice one,” he whispers.

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence.

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

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only when I’m awake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

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

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

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

“Hell yeah.”

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

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

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

So, you set up the perfect trap.

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

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

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

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

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

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

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

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

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

Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which brings you to the present...

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

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

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

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

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

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

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

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

[justagirlswrld]

Thousand year old, sexy, space princess seeks companionship! must be hot!

a/n: i told you i was a mark grayson groupie.

warnings: unprotected p in v. humanoid!reader. stuff that happens in sex happens in this. porn w plot.

part two

“….Mark, why is there a purple…guy outside your window?”, Mark doesn’t look up from the Seance dog comic at the sound of Will’s confused voice, choosing to roll his brown eyes instead.

“Yeah, funny.”, Mark replies in an airy tone.

“No, Mark i’m ser-”, Rick cuts his boyfriend off as he walks through the front door of the apartment, “Why is there a purple man outside of the living room window?”, This finally gets Mark’s attention, he looks over at the window in question and his eyes grow triple their size.

Mark is in his suit in less than a second, comic thrown onto the couch he was just relaxing on. He floats over to the window, taking in the short, stocky….lavender man that flies just outside the apartment on deep, amethyst wings.

Mark opens the window roughly and the man scampers back, he didn’t plan on hurting the creature but it seemed like someone always wanted to fight on his days off.

Mark flies out the large window, he dwarfs the…man easily. He has an uneasy smile on his face, Mark notices that his mouth is filled with long canines and he tries not to grimace. “I’m not helping any….fairies today. so, leave.” With that Mark turns his back on him, a strong hand grasps his shoulder. In an instant Mark is zooming into the afternoon sky, holding the lilac haired creature by the collar of his thin shirt.

His purple skin now has a slight gleam from his nervous sweat. “I’m not a fairy, I come from the planet-“, Mark cuts him off, “I don’t care. Now go.”, Mark releases the being and hovers in front of him but he doesn’t budge. Mark rubs a gloved hand down his face in frustration.

”Mark Gray-“, Mark cuts him off instantly, “My name is Invincible when i’m in this suit. What do you want?”

The alien nods, “Invincible, please. I haven’t come to harm you…my planet needs your help.” Mark groans inwardly, why was it always on his day off.

The mysterious man goes on to explain how another evil alien race has come to conquer his kingdom. He paints a picture of his beautiful world being annihilated and his people being slaughtered without Mark’s help. “I’ve left it in ruins, Invincible. I’m scared I may be the only Solorian left.”

Mark points to a near by patch of forest in exasperation, “Wait there.” He flies back inside without waiting to see if the creature followed his instructions.

With major convincing from Will and Rick, Mark ends up not ghosting the…Solorian waiting in the woods. When Mark floats down through the trees to the hard ground, he’s sitting on a log with a happy expression on his face.

“Where’s your planet?”, Mark’s tone is serious, he really wanted to be back in time to watch the newest episode of this show he’d been tuning into.

The thing stands, brushing the dirt from his odd pants. Mark notices that he’s dressed like a jester, save for the pointy hat.

“It’s many galaxies from Earth, it usually takes a year to get there,-“ Mark makes a sound as he begins to protest but the man continues talking as he pulls a small, metal disc from his pocket. “But with our technology it’ll only take a minute.”

He throws the disc on the ground with his knobby fingers and its turns into a circular pad. Mark and his traveling companion step on and become engulfed in a pale yellow light. Mark only has time to blink before he’s whisked away, landing on what he assumes to be cobblestone streets.

Mark surveys his surroundings as the man picks up his transporter. There’s winged humanoids dressed almost…medievally everywhere, no one lounges as the planet’s two suns beat down on their backs.

He watches as children with skin in arrays of colors play in the waterfall and clear, blue stream. He has to crane his neck to look at the behemoth of a castle in front of him.

“This doesn’t look like ruins.”, Mark’s eyes shift as he waits for assailants to pop out from behind the thatched roofed shacks that line the street.

“Because I lied to you invincible. Walk with me and i’ll explain.”

They glide towards the castle slowly, the man, Edolan, explains that their princess refuses to marry one of her arranged suitors after hearing of his exploits on earth. They go up winding stair cases before they stop in front of a room with large, oval doors. “She says she must….meet you, before she marries.”, Edolan explains with his hands held behind his back.

“You know you could’ve said that”, is all Mark can think to say in response. Edolan nods, “Yes, I apologize for deceiving you but I had to make it seem urgent in a way you’d understand.” Edolan waves a hand and the doors creek open, “The princess is waiting for you. When you’re finished she will give you passage home the same way you came.”

And he’s gone.

When Invincible glides into your expansive room you’re draped over your canopied bed, idly playing with some alien device.

Mark wasn’t sure what he’d be dealing with when he came through the doors but he damn sure wasn’t expecting you to be pretty…beautiful even. You’re as humanoid as the rest of your subjects save for the blush pink skin and hot pink hair.

You look up at the young man standing a few feet away from you. You lick your lips and Mark is happy to notice that your mouth isn’t filled with razor sharp teeth but human like ones instead.

“Mark Grayson of Earth!”, You greet him, cheeks stretched into a wide smile. Mark blushes as you rise from a lying position to a sitting one, noticing that your breasts are only covered in a thin, bralette of shiny jewels.

“Uh-Hi, you can just call me Mark.” You rise to stand on your bed now as you mimic someone fighting, “Or Invincible! Defender of Earth and slayer of beasts and villains.”

Mark wants to argue that he doesn’t slay villains but nods his head in agreement instead, trying to end this odd experience as soon as possible.

“Right….and you’re Y/N, Solorian princess who refuses to marry until you met me…,”Mark rips his mask off, exposing his handsome face to your eyes, “Will you marry the guy now?” Your eyebrows scrunch together and your lips form a pout. Mark thinks that it’s probably the sexiest expression he’s ever seen.

“That was not the agreement. I have yet to lay with you.”, You say from your place on the bed. If Mark had been drinking something he would’ve spit it out in astonishment.

“Lay with you?”, Mark asks in a shocked tone. You laugh at the expression on the boys face, if he pushes his eyebrows any higher they’ll be on the cathedral like ceilings of your room.

“Yes, Mark Grayson. The promise was that I would finally marry an arranged suitor, saving our planet from war, if you bedded me first.” You lay back down on your large mattress as you wait for the superhero to collect himself.

Mark swallows, he’s not sure if he’s turned on or scared. Probably both. “Um, don’t princesses have to be virgins when they get married?”, you cock your head to the side like a confused dog, “I’m not familiar with the word- virgins.” The word sounds jumbled when it passes your perfect lips.

“It means you never- laid with anyone. On Earth princesses usually save themselves for their husband or their virtue or something.”

You throw your head back and laugh loudly, it’s closer to a howl really. “What a sad life these Earth princesses live. As a Solorian we live for many, many years. I am 1,000 years old, just a baby I know-,“ Mark doesn’t reply as you continue, “And I would never be asked to be a…virkin. Solorian’s find virtue in other ways than saving yourself.” You almost look disgusted as you finish your rant.

Your mind goes back to the task at hand. You unclasp the jewels from your upper and bottom half, positioning yourself so Mark can see your naked body well. You watch as his strong throat bobs.

“Will you lay with me Mark Grayson?”

Mark feels like he might combust on the spot as he nods, more excited than he hoped. He walks to the edge of the bed and sits nervously, palming himself through his suit. “On Earth we usually go on a date first.” He laughs awkwardly, willing himself to get hard. He just couldn’t get out of his head to do so.

“We are not on Earth, Mark.” You slither up his back, breasts pressing against the hard muscles. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you press soft kisses to his neck. He groans but when he palms himself again there’s nothing. Mark is perplexed on why because you were super hot and he never had this problem before. It must be how weird the situation is.

You notice the mental battle and stop kissing his neck. “Are you well?”, he nods again and you notice him palming himself. You giggle, the sound so close to his ear that it has his heart speeding up again. “You can’t ‘get it up’? As they would say on Earth”, Mark’s torn between defending himself and asking where you learned that from but chooses silence instead when you slink between his legs.

You make yourself comfortable on your pink knees and look up at him through your lashes with big doe eyes. Mark has an instant semi.

He’s rock hard by the time you slip him out of his suit and into your warm mouth. You suck unabashedly on his thick, cock hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around his angry tip.

“Shhhhiiiiiittt”, Mark moans with his hand tangled in your vibrant hair, hanging on for dear life as you bob up and down his member. “St-Stop i’m gonna-.” Mark trails off, his eyes almost roll back when you choke around his length, gobbling the throbbing cock down your throat.

He finally wrestles your mouth off his cock and he takes a moment to collect himself as he breathes heavily. Mark leans down and kisses you sloppily, he tweaks your nipples hoping that it’ll do something to stimulate you sexually. Luckily it works and you moan lowly in his mouth.

Mark picks you up by your arm pits and tosses you on the bed, you laugh, “Yes! Show me your strength, invincible.” His name is sultry as it falls out your lips, causing a shudder to creep down his spine.

He flips you over roughly by your ankle then pulls you to the edge of the large bed. Mark manhandles you until your face is pressed into your thick blankets with your round ass in the air. When Mark’s tongue pushes its way between your folds you’re a moaning mess.

Mark slowly licks from your wet cunt up to your puckered hole, repeating the motion over and over again. You close your eyes tightly as your moans fill the great space of your bedroom. He uses his skilled fingers to search for your clit, praying that Solorian’s have one. When he finally finds the nub he sucks on it harshly, causing you to cry out and fall on your stomach.

Mark lets out a huff behind you, voice raspy from his previous moaning, “If you want to lay with me princess, you have to keep your back arched.” You do as he says and he continues making a mess of you with his tongue, adding two, slender fingers into your pulsating heat.

When you feel Mark’s bulbous head rubbing against your tight entrance you release a sound akin to a purr. He pushes into you slowly, inch by veiny inch until his hips are flush against your backside.

You call out for him when he pulls out of you and he answers with a moan of his own when he pushes his length back into your tight walls. Mark starts at a slow rhythm that has you moaning with each pointed thrust, still you throw your ass back to meet each one.

Mark’s pace becomes brutal and you struggle to keep up with his pounding hips. One of his large hands slides up your back and wraps securely around your neck. His full lips leaving kisses in its wake. His other hand goes between your bodies to your engorged nub, rubbing slick circles as he continues to pound in and out of you.

Your toes curl so hard that you feel like they may break when Mark hits a deep, spongy spot in your cunt. You call out his name as you come, body going completely still then slumping to your stomach. Mark continues to fuck into your spent cunt, groans turning to moans. Mark pulls out and releases warm come on your lower back and ass cheek.

He lays on his back beside you, both of you two breathing too hard to say anything to one another.

When Mark walks through his apartment door Will is waiting for him, coffee cup in hand as the early morning light peaks through the bay window. Will’s eyes go wide when he takes in his best friend, “Mark! Where have you been? Do you realize you’ve been gone for three months?!”

Mark sits down at the granite island, smiling to himself as he begins to tell his best friend about the alien pussy he had to force himself to leave.

[tom-whore-dleston]

Better Boyfriend

Pairing: Void!Bob Reynolds x f. reader

Word Count: 1.8k

This fic includes: spoilers from Thunderbolts*, angst, flashbacks of past relationships, arguments between reader and exes, cursing, minor violence?, drowning, unedited writing

Summary: You encounter Void and revisit ex-relationships you never recovered from.

Notes: The fact this is the second piece I wrote in a row just shows how I am soo back!! I feel like this character is really challenging me as a writer and I love it! With that said, I am still gonna take whatever y'all throw at me that's Bob related. On a more serious note, I should mention that the flashbacks are based on my real life experiences so writing about them felt like lifting a huge weight off my chest. Dove Cameron's Boyfriend was used as loose inspiration for the fic.

request: KINDA NEED SOMETHING FOR VOID !!! LIKE WANT HIM OBSESSED OR SOMETHING PLEASE PLEASE -Anon

The day you got trapped in the void was like any other day. 

You were taking a walk in the city, coffee in hand, when you noticed a crowd of bystanders staring up in the sky. Your curiosity got the best of you as the crowd began gasping with frightened looks on their faces. Head tilting towards the sky, you found a shadow-like figure floating in mid-air. All of a sudden, some people in the crowd turned to black shadows, causing everyone to panic and run in the opposite direction of the floating figure. One by one, civilians turned to dark shadows, yet you remained calm and unphased by the chaos around you. After being a victim of the snap, you were numb to encounters with out of this world evil.

The shadowy figure descended from the sky, landing slowly in front of you. He had these intense illuminating eyes, a huge contrast from the literal darkness that consumed his form. An arm reached out towards your face. 

You should have been afraid. You should have screamed and ran away. Anything for the sake of your life. Instead, you let this human-esque darkness touch you, caress your cheek, and you clasped your own hand over his.

Then, everything went black.

You were unsure of how long you had been asleep. You couldn’t even recognize where you were upon waking up. It felt like you had woken up from an awful hangover, except you don’t recall drinking at all.

Actually, everything looked strangely familiar. You blinked before realizing you were in the backseat of the first car you had ever owned. The leather of the interior was still brand new, the inside smelt like pineapples and coconuts. You looked forward, seeing who was in the driver and passenger seat, gasping when you realized it was your high school self with your first ever boyfriend, Neil.

“I think we should take a break,” Neil solemnly stated. 

Your high school self stuttered, “What? W-why? Did I do something wrong?” Tears began to form in your eyes as your voice started to crack. You felt your stomach churn, remembering your first heartbreak. Meanwhile, neither your younger self nor your ex paid any mind to you in the backseat. It was as if you were invisible to them. This had to have been a dream, a really horrible one.

“I’m going to the Navy, babe. I need to learn how to be without you.” Neil bowed his head down in sorrow.

“What about me, huh? Was this all a part of your plan? Join the Navy so you could leave me and forget all about me. Is there someone else? Are you in love with someone else?” You remembered every word you screamed at your ex-boyfriend as he sat there in silence, not making any attempts to calm you down, reassure you that he loved you. It was as if he had given up without a fight. The silence angered your high school self, but angered you even more that you were watching this terrible memory like it was on a movie screen.

“Get out! Get out of my fuckin car, asshole!” Your past self shouted, hot tears streaming down your face. Right on cue, Neil left the vehicle without as much as an apology nor goodbye. As the passenger door slammed after him, you violently screamed, slamming your fists against the driving wheel. It was all too much for you.

As you climbed out of the backseat, you fell down a pit of darkness, yelling out in terror. For the first time today, you experienced genuine fear as you had no idea what was happening or where this never ending pit would lead you to. The moment you landed on a hard surface, you grunted in pain.

You crawled on the carpeted floor, searching for clues as to where you ended up next. You felt like Alice in Wonderland, growing madder by the second. Your head banged against a bed frame, quietly yelping in hopes whoever occupied the bed did not hear you. Slowly getting up, you scan the scene, vividly remembering the trip you took with your second ex-boyfriend from college, Max.

That unsettling feeling your stomach returned as you peered down at you and Max lying in a queen size hotel bed. There was a space between you and him on the bed, enough to fit another person. You recalled traveling to Hawaii in hopes it would salvage your relationship. However, not even paradise could fix what was long broken. Something you and Max constantly fought about was having kids. After working in childcare for a year, you had expressed disinterest in having kids, but Max refused to accept your stance. Before he fell asleep, he brought up the topic again.

“I can just imagine us having all daughters. I’d love to be a girl dad that raises them to be basketball players. Like Kobe Bryant or something. I’d love and protect our daughters with all my might and I hope that one day you would learn to love basketball the way we all do. We could be a basketball family.” Max continued to go on about this fantasy that you could not provide for him until the blabbing turned to equally obnoxious snores. However, you couldn’t fall asleep.

The past you watched the minutes turn to hours until you couldn’t stand being in the same bed as the man you were supposed to love, but secretly resented to your core. Younger you walked ahead of you, and you followed right behind her. The Hawaiian waves crashed onto the shore, and the breeze tickled your skin as you began sobbing into the sleeve of a hotel bathrobe. Your present self tried to hug this younger version of you. Once you wrapped your arms around her, or you, the younger you snapped her head towards you, yanking you off her. Before you could react, you were pushed off the balcony, tumbling towards the beach.

You belly-flopped into the water, slowly sinking from the surface. You swam with all your might towards the light but it faded from your view. As your lungs and muscles began to give out, the darkness grew and everything turned black again.

Suddenly, you were scooped into a pair of strong arms, and you felt yourself approaching the surface at an atomic speed. As you emerged from the sea, you gasped a breath of fresh air before coughing out salt water. You were laid out on the sand, flipping over to catch your breath. Once you were breathing normally, you turned towards your savior, and you jumped back upon meeting that same dark shadow that stared into your soul.

“You!” You pointed with a trembling finger. “W-What did you do to me?” 

The dark figure chuckled. “I am The Void. I am that emptiness you try so hard to hide from the world and yourself.” 

It all made sense now. The flashbacks of your past exes were all memories you shoved to the back of your mind and eventually deep in the center of your being. You’ve conditioned yourself to believe you were the reason Neil left you and that you were the reason you couldn’t give Max what he wanted.

“I know what you're thinking, my dear,” The Void started, interrupting your thoughts. “You believe you are the reason all these relationships failed.” He smoothed a leather-clad hand over your hair and then rested it on your jaw. “However, I know that’s not true. These pathetic excuses of men failed you! And don’t get me started on the ones that you never actually dated.”

“Yeah, you know what, I’ve revisited enough of my past relationships, I would like to not dig into those now…or ever.”

The Void chuckled again, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. You couldn’t help but shiver at his touch. He didn’t even have a face you could make out, yet you found yourself intrigued with him, dare you say attracted even. Well, it’s no wonder people have claimed you have questionable taste.

“I like you, little one.” Jeez, even his voice was hot. “I can’t help but be fascinated by you.”

You scoffed. “Says the one that basically forced me to watch my buried trauma like it was a goddamn soap opera.” You sat up, curling your legs towards your chest. “What about me makes you so fascinated by me anyway.” The Void loomed over you like a ghost.

“You’re not afraid of me. Or the darkness.”

“True, but I am pissed off at you.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms against your knees. The Void nodded, as if he was listening to you. He was even facing his body towards you. Something no normal guy has ever done with you. You may be angry with this super being, but at least he validated your anger. 

The Void continued, “I am curious about you, little one, and I know that despite your anger, you are curious about me too.” You wanted to add a sarcastic comment, but he stopped you. “You can hide behind your sass and sarcasm all you want, but eventually, you will see me for who I really am.”

Finally, you turned towards him, meeting that empty yet alluring gaze. “And who are you?”

“I am better than any man you have ever been with...because I am more than a man. I have the powers of a god. I can make you feel better, treat you better, than any other man has before. I can love you better than any man has before.” You didn’t realize how close he was to you until the last sentence fell from his lips and you could almost taste it straight from the source. Your body ached with desire and your eyes grew heavy with need. You craved to know what this being looked like behind the darkness. That darkness was only a shell of a man you yearned for.

“Show me,” you whispered, inches away from what could be his mouth. “Please.”

“I will, my dear.” You could hear the smile in his sultry voice. “But first, you must give in to me.”

With that, you pulled him by what felt like a suit, crushing your lips against him. Without hesitation, he deepened the kiss, tangling one hand into your hair while the other clasped behind your neck. In an instant, you began to levitate off the ground, still indulging in the kiss with your bodies pressed against one another. The sunrise from your Hawaii vacation transformed into the same darkness you were previously consumed by. 

All of a sudden, it was as if you found solace in the emptiness with The Void. You swore you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Navigation | Fic Masterlist | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds Masterlist

[keferon]

I’ll be honest, I do kind of want to know now what you have planned for Starscream with the kind of worldbuilding you’re describing for death loop au

(*watches curiously*)

OKAY OKAY I M A G I N E . EARTHSPARK UNIVERSE

Blurr: I heard you had absolute blast with the final boss fight~ Congrats on your new hero role, Primus knows you’re so annoying when you backstab everyone all the time

Starscream: …………..

Blurr: You…..usually more enthusiastic about being on a good side...Star?

Starscream: ………..you remember the girl I was talking about earlier? Hashtag.

Blurr: One of the Terrans? Yeah. You want help filling adoption papers hmmmmm?~~~

Starscream: I think I might’ve killed her..

Blurr: What do you mean???

Starscream: I wasn’t supposed to do all this stuff! The whole thing with those kids and.. I saw Megatron living his best life with Ghost and humans and those Terrans and I thought that MAYBE. For ONCE. For once I could try to make a difference you know. To have something to myself besides being a fucking heartless traitor!

Blurr: ….….you went against the rules…Star you know how it always ends.

Starscream: She believed me. She made an actual fucking effort to understand me instead of blindly trusting Megatron as everyone always did! But of course I can’t just have that can I??

Blurr: …

Starscream: I see the signs already. The way she keeps mentioning things she wants to do with me in the future. And other Cons keep joking that she is the only person who is crazy enough to care about me. This universe is going to take her away to justify my stupid villain arc!

Blurr: But she isn’t dead yet right??

Starscream: ……..I need to make sure it stays that way. I’ll regain control over Decepticons. Do something about that Embersone or. I don’t fucking know. This world needs another stupid villain to defeat

Blurr: Can you at least give her some explanation? She will think you betrayed her. And everyone.

Starscream: She’d be safer just hating me. Protagonists who make friends with villains are always end up in some ugly mess.

The season two of Earthspark happens and no one understands what is going on. Starscream suddenly becomes a villain and Terrans have to fight him. He..isn’t really trying that hard. Just doing the bare minimum to pass as his usual evil self. Megatron gets to live his happy life being loved by Terrans and somewhat respected by the Autobots. Hashtag thinks Starscream was nothing but a stupid liar after all.

[teeskzagain]

SNAP MISTAKE

» pairing: younger!hongjoong x slightly!older reader

» summary: what happens when hongjoong receives a video from the last person he'd ever expect? and what the hell is in it?

» warnings: nude sending, masturbation (m. & f.), fingering?, power kink (is that even a real thing?), reader is pretty rude to hongjoong, stepcest *evil smirk*, lowkey sub!joong—but also..not (it’s complicated), he cums pretty fast sooo….

» w.c: 4.5k

» a/n: rahhhhh

y/n sent you a snap.

the snapchat notification drops from the top of hongjoong’s screen; and for a split second, he loses all concentration from the current video playing on his feed.

at the sight of your name, he’s immediately grimacing as he shifts around in his bed. with it going on 12 AM, hongjoong finds not a single ounce of fatigue coats his eyes. instead, he feels his chest begin to bubble with the slightest twinge of anger.

what the fuck do you want?

his thumb, without hesitation, swipes away the alert and he returns back to indulging in his video. it’s of a girl strumming chords on an acoustic guitar, and hongjoong seems to enjoy the melody. though when another notifcation comes buzzing through, his peaceful mood quickly turns into annoyance.

y/n sent you a snap.

y/n sent you a snap.

y/n sent you a snap.

y/n sent you a snap.

“you’ve got to be…” scoffing, hongjoong’s eyes do a quick roll as he now begins to sit up. he firstly reaches over to turn on the lamp near his bed, feeling the covers gently slide down and off of him in the process.

then, resting his bare back against the headboard, he brings a single knee up from once being outstretched and rests a forearm against it.

what could possibly be so important you had to send him five snaps? from what he recalled, you were supposed to be pissed at him- he had taken the family-shared car earlier in the evening, despite you calling dibs on it.

and, yeah, he knew you had plans with your friends tonight. he just truly did not care. hence, why you’re angry at him.

with a leisure attitude, hongjoong goes in to finally click on your videos. however, he swiftly pauses and hovers his thumb over the screen. he thinks harder on this memory.

oh, fuck him.

you better not be sending him a minute long rant video because of that. god, you and your yelling fits. if this is the case, he thinks he’d rather get your tantrum out of the way or else he’s positive you’re going to continue blowing up his phone with them.

at times like this, hongjoong always finds himself hating how he ended up with you as his step-sister.

his catty, whiny, always complaining step-sister.

what makes matters worse is you two somehow ended up being close in age; you’re only 2 years apart with him being younger. you both attend the same community college. and, you’re forced to live under the same roof as one another. there’s always constant fighting, constant bickering between you two.

so, hongjoong wouldn’t even be surprised if you really did send him a whole ass tangent about how selfish and shitty he is. it wouldn’t be the first time you did this either. he’s just lucky you’re sending it over the phone versus storming into his room and screaming at him. which for the record, you have done that too.

“whatever,” hongjoong mutters softly to himself, with him beginning to click on your alert.

the press immediately transports him out of instagram and to the snapchat catalog of all of his recent chats. besides your messages, hardly any other reside here. yeah, there was a couple of unopened ones from his chemistry lab group-chat, but being honest, he just wasn’t going to respond to jung wooyoung’s poor attempt at flirting with everyone else.

with this said, he doesn’t waste much longer in terms of responding to you, with him tapping on the purple icon. for a second, the video doesn’t open, almost as if there was a lag.

he tilts his head to the side and lets out a harsh sigh. he goes to click on it again and this time the video quickly fills each corner of his screen.

yet, what stares back at him is not a rant video. there’s no yelling; he couldn’t even see your face. instead, there’s immediate shuffling of your phone in a dimly lit room—your bed room. the video is shaky and blurred, and hongjoong begins to question if there’d even been a purpose to it when the screen begins panning down.

it continues to descend further and further, raking the frame over some large area of fabric, until eventually it lands on your completely bare, naked cunt.

the moment he registers what’s on his phone, hongjoong’s eyes go wide and instantly he starts coughing from shock.

what the fuck is he watching right now?

before he can exit out that video, it quickly cuts off and a new one pops up. this time your pussy is already in full display for the viewer, the camera being only a few inches away from his eyes.

soon, your hand comes into frame, and freshly manicured nails begin to touch at your sex, lightly grazing it.

“what the hell..?” hongjoong’s left starstruck.

even when you ever so slowly, use two fingers to first get a good handle on your thick lips, then proceed to spread them apart—revealing your pink insides, he’s in awe. even when you send a single finger to stroke up the middle of your slit, he still can’t seem to believe what he’s witnessing. even as you detach your finger from your cunt, now sticky with a stringy liquid, hongjoong has absolutely no idea what the fuck to think.

but even as the video rolls on, he doesn’t will himself to leave it. he isn’t sure if it’s from pure shock or downright disgust that’s keeping him intrigued, but he finds himself trained to the screen. not once has he looked away. his gaze remains on your exposure, and without any thought, a pulse rockets throughout his body.

as a new clip progresses, his breathing is turning heavier and more labored. your touch that once started off so airy has swiftly turned into aggressive fingering.

the camera work becomes increasingly shaky the longer the video continues, and now he swears he can see your hips fighting to match pace with your desperate rubbing.

some of the wet spots coating your cunt would glimmer from the light, and yet again that same jolt rushes through hongjoong’s body.

his volume hadn’t been up that loudly, however faint whimpers and occasional moans could still be made out, courtesy of you. he thinks anytime he heard those, an uncomfortable surge courses throughout his veins.

especially since he can already imagine the faces you must be making. your dismissive eye rolls, the frustrated nose scrunches, he feels he can construct your expression right now just because he knows you that well.

fuck. and there he goes with another surge. this time accompanied with a quick jerk of his thighs.

the series of videos eventually come to an end. you were able to get in another hearty buck of your hips, which caused the loudest moan of the night to soar out of your mouth. then after that, the video ends and hongjoong’s whisked back to the message log, now waiting for his response.

slow blinks.

that’s all hongjoong can manage for right now.

slow blinks and a dropped mouth from whatever fucking porn video you—his step-sister—just sent him.

what the actual fuck?

a minute goes by that he’s left you on open. within that time frame, he sees your bitmoji appear at the top of the log, sporting its usual thinking face. three ellipsis are right next to the character which indicates that you’re typing.

soon, an actual message comes up, and as if his brain is on autopilot, his thumb falls down to tap on your notification. he’s instantly dragged back into the chat with you.

y/n:

| no fucking way i just did that

| oh my god

| oh my fucking god

| did i actually just send you that?

why does he feel his heart beating faster? licking his lips, he manages to type out a response.

hongjoong:

| yeah, you did

| what the fuck was that?

y/n:

| NO

| holy fuck

| shit that wasn’t meant for you hongjoong

| i meant to send that to someone else

see, now that thought never crossed his mind. actually, no thoughts did until now. you accidentally sent him a nude? how does that even happen?

hongjoong regards your latest texts in perplexity, all the while your own bitmoji character sits idly in the corner, waiting for his response. about 10 seconds pass when your character darts out from said corner and thought bubbles appear next to it.

y/n:

| hongjoong i swear to god you better not tell another living soul about this

| you’ll be fucking dead. DEAD. do you hear me?

| yah, answer me.

| answer big sister and tell her you won’t open up your goddamn mouth about this.

“oh, my...” murmuring, he flops his head against the wall and scoffs. he hates whenever you do this. reestablishing your dominance—like he’s your pet or some shit. god, you get on his nerves.

he blows out a jagged breath. the pads of his fingers begin to leisurely tap at the screen.

but, fucking hell. why did reading that make his stomach twist?

hongjoong:

| okay i swear i wont say anything

a response from you appears out of no where.

y/n:

| say it again

the tinniest groan gets caught in his throat as his eyes crinkle in anguish. what the hell are you doing to him? do you get off on embarrassing him? he didn’t even do anything, and yet he’s being treated like this.

hongjoong:

| noona, i promise i won’t say anything

| alright? i’m not gonna say a single thing to anyone

y/n:

| yeah you won’t

| don’t say anything

| don’t even THINK about what you saw

his teeth pull his bottom lip inwards, and hongjoong gnaws on it.

hongjoong:

| okay

y/n:

| i’m so serious.

hongjoong:

| i hear you, okay? i’ll forget about the whole thing

your bitmoji sits in the corner, as if it’s gathering its thoughts. then, with one final thought bubble, it spits out the last remaining texts before you completely disappear from chat.

y/n:

| yeah you will.

| fucking perv

| and don’t talk to me at all tomorrow

| i don’t want to see you

| don’t even look at me

| is that clear?

and that was that. after those messages, you never came back, not even when hongjoong replied to your words with a mere, ‘okay’. you didn’t even open it.

with a shaky breath, he exits out of the app and then eventually decides to just shut off his phone.

he sits. waiting for what exactly? hongjoong doesn't know, but he decides to give himself some time to process everything that just happened.

his step-sister was sending nudes to someone else...but accidentally sent it to him?

hongjoong's eyes glance upward as he replays the text messages in his mind. that's exactly what you said. it had been a mistake, those videos.

his gaze travels down as he continues to revisit the whole thing. those weren't rant videos. not like how he previously believed. he had held his breath in anticipation of getting screamed at, yet instead it was practically the opposite.

no yelling, but a quiet stillness. no harsh pointing, but soft touches. rough grunts of frustration were actually tiny whimpers of desperation.

"no way...." hongjoong cups a hand over his mouth as his mind wanders now to the videos, the contents of them.

your pussy was just out. bare. a full on nude.

he remembers your sex was shaven down quite a bit, with hardly any stubble budding out. your skin was nearly smooth. just how hongjoong prefers it- god, what the fuck?

what the hell is he thinking right now? you're his step-sister for fuck’s sake. it's vile of him to think this way about you. it's downright disgusting of him. he knows this.

shaking his head, hongjoong attempts to break away his thoughts, but they're plastered to his brain. no matter how hard he forces himself to think otherwise, his mind is being flooded with recollections of those stupid fucking videos.

your fingers coming down to tease the camera, now he's starting to recall that. how much juice you were leaking out, he can picture the spouts of liquid in his head. your hips fucking your hand with a clear need to get off—hongjoong nearly groans aloud from watching that scene play out.

he's so consumed in these memories; he doesn't even register the fact he's beginning to pull down his pants. he only brings them down till it reaches his mid-thigh, then immediately he starts palming his underwear.

the moment he feels a sense of relief, lips slightly parted as he grips his thick erection in all directions, it's then he realizes what he's about to do. oh, god.

his hand continues to work through the fabric in attempt to satiate the growing desire in his gut. he didn’t want to do this. but, the thoughts kept replaying. those same surges from earlier are coursing through his body before ending with a pulse to his poor cock.

hongjoong huffs a little, this time grabbing the waistband and shoving it far enough to where his hard-on springs up. it’s red and swollen, with tiny drops of wetness leaking from the top, and he doesn’t waste a second grabbing the base to start jerking it.

‘fucking perv’

that had been one of the lasts things you’d texted before disappearing on him. initially it hurt to see you call him that, but as he stares at the hand stimulating his dick, he couldn’t help but allow those words to fuel his drive.

you think he’s a pervert? someone so fucking nasty?

audible breaths fill hongjoong’s ears as he speeds up his pace. going up and down, his fingers curl around his skin for a better grasp.

you probably are repulsed by him, hongjoong thinks to himself, such a disgusting little brother.

quickly letting go, he gathers all the spit in his mouth and propels it towards his palm then returns back to stroking himself. the lubrication makes for a warm sensation, one that hongjoong just melts into. he lets his back relax against the surface as waves of pleasure ripple throughout his cock.

a low grunt topples from his lips, “well, you- you did this to me. all your fault…y/n-ah...”

his pelvis had twitched and bucked upward, causing his hand to squeeze perfectly around the tip and him to softly moan. he didn’t even mean for that to happen, it was just reactive. all because of you.

your stupid cunt flashes in his mind once again, and he feels his hand increase as well. the soft whimpers you produced swirl in his ears which makes his own moans grow louder. you’re the only thing in his head right now, and holy hell, he doesn’t want it to stop. not anymore.

his hips rut faster and faster into his hand, now finding no reason to hold back. your slick pussy that looked so eatable it made him rock hard, he’s thinking about that. he keeps the images of you trapped within his thoughts, no longer wanting them to escape.

“gah…!”

beads of pre-cum dribble from hongjoong’s slit as he finds great elation in the way he’s absolutely fucking his hand. there’s no other way to say it. he truly is fucking his hand, now imagining it was parts of you instead.

your velvet walls would take him so well, he fucking knows they would.

would be warm like his palm and contract perfectly like his fingers. he mimics his thoughts with his actions, and heavy pants waft around in the air.

he feels himself getting close. the sensation that once creeped within him is now present, desperate to spill out.

his stomach convulses as he thrusts harsher and wildly into his hand. fuck, he’d never thought he’d orgasm so fast. he tries his hardest to stop it. he tries to cut back on his pace, but that’s nearly impossible when it’s like he’s in a trance. it just feels too good.

and when hongjoong starts to see white behind his eyes, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. his eyes squint with a grimace, “fuck...fuck…fu-uck..oh, I’m cuh...”

with one final buck, his orgasm hits him straight in his core, and he loses all control. strings of cum shoot out from his tip and land in every direction, his body tensing from the rapid shaking. even as he’s painfully aware of his fingers pumping away at his stiff cock, he’d rather envision it’s your nasty cunt he’s filling up.

a milky overload gushing out of your entrance, he acts as if your pussy couldn’t handle how much cum he had, and so he had no choice but to finish on your pussy lips. the picture is clear in his head, and it makes his eyes vibrate with a roll.

he moans heartily during it all, and even when his dick starts to become overstimulated, he doesn’t care. the pleasure still remains, so he continues to milk out his lasting semen until his hand is drowning in the liquid and eventually no more is coming out.

as he’s coming down from his high, the bliss overtaking his emotions, there’s truly only one thing left on his mind.

just how screwed he is for the rest of his life.

✧

✧

✧

✧

✧

- Bonus -

five days.

it’s been five days: wednesday, thursday, plus the weekend, since you and hongjoong last had any sort of interaction, and you want to make sure it stays this way.

you’ve been avoiding him, that much is evident. while you had told him to not interact with you the next day, you personally just couldn’t do it.

the day after the incident, you whisked yourself out the house and decided to crash at a friend’s place. you were too mortified and pissed to even be in the same room as your step-brother. let alone bear the repercussions of it all.

god. how could you have been so stupid? all it took was one misclick, and the rest of the videos were just sent to that recipient—the wrong recipient. to make matters worse, you hadn’t noticed anything alarming until after the videos were both sent and opened by the absolute last past you could’ve shown. how lucky.

once the following monday hit, you knew it was time to come back home. your parents had been questioning your whereabouts since you disappeared with no heads-up, them constantly texting you. however, even with the obvious shift in tone, it seemed clear they were still in the dark about the reason behind your absence.

good. hongjoong better keep his fucking mouth shut if he wanted to live to see another day.

that also makes for an easier return back to the house, knowing the issue is self-contained. when you pull up in your driveway that morning, it also helps that your parents’ cars are gone. they’re definitely at work currently, so now you can have even more time to collect your thoughts.

you don’t see hongjoong’s car anywhere in sight, either, and now you’re even more relaxed. right, he should have classes around this time, while you on the other hand had the pleasures of having monday’s off.

climbing out of the car, you find the trek back into the house much easier. no one’s home, and they probably won’t be home for at least a couple of hours. meaning, you don’t have to worry about anything as of right now, you are golden to-

the moment you throw in the front door, entering your residence, an ambling body comes trotting down from the staircase, and the two of you instantly lock eyes.

your face goes slack.

what. the. fuck?

with a bare chest out on display, hair messily scattered, and sporting sleep shorts, hongjoong has all the characteristics of the i-just-rolled-out-of-bed attire, and that begins to irritate you. why the hell is he here right now? just like that, you’re back to being on guard.

hongjoong halts his movements for a second before continuing his descent downstairs, this time at a much slower pace. you figured he’d sense your rapid mood change as hot anger pricks at your skin, causing him to avert his gaze from yours.

reaching the bottom of the stairs, hongjoong rounds the corner, your eyes trailing after his body as he makes his way into the kitchen. you aren’t sure what takes over, but soon the fury you’re experiencing has you storming right along into the kitchen, as well.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you sneer, slamming your hands down on the large island resting in the middle of the kitchen. you wanted answers and you wanted them now.

hongjoong, who’s standing on the complete other side, glances up from the bowl he recently grabbed and towards your power stance. the quick eye contact makes your stomach turn, but you make sure to appear indifferent.

“i woke up late today, then decided not to go to class,” his tone starts off like he’s tired, nearly dejected, but then it swiftly changes to that of something else, “are you finally back from your impromptu trip?”

you cock your head to the side. was that sarcasm you detected in his voice?

“what’s it to you?” there’s a snap to your question, but even that doesn’t seem to faze hongjoong.

he just turns his face away as he goes to speak, “just figured i should know. because if you are staying here….” he pauses briefly before letting out a dry laugh, “then technically i shouldn’t be talking to you, looking at you, or thinking about you,” he twists his head so fast, your attention gets recaptured by his piercing gaze, “isn’t that right?”

those words.

you had said that to him a few days ago out a fit of rage. and now, he’s hurling them back in your face.

your throat bobs uncomfortably as you try to swallow the imaginary thick pill, your demeanor somewhat faltering, “for the record…i meant every word.”

because truthfully, you did. you could not stand kim hongjoong before this whole thing happened, and you surely can’t stand him now. for your own sanity, he needs to keep a distance from you.

with a scowl, his nose turns upright at your statement, “really? but, you can slam your hands down and yell at me all you want? how does that make any sense?”

“i’m your senior, i can do whatever the hell i want.” you hiss right back, “doesn’t matter what i fucking said, all you need to do is listen.”

here we go with this.

“y/n, don’t try to-”

“what was that?” you buck your head forward with a disgusted face.

he takes a deep breath then tries once again, “y/n. it’s-”

“what?” you make sure to enunciate every letter.

hongjoong feels the anger boiling in his chest. with another irritated sigh, he opens his mouth, “noona-”

you stop him from progressing with his sentence, seeing as that word alone proved your point. you’re above him systematically. there’s nothing else to argue. as your younger brother, he needs to accept this fact and just do as he’s told.

“are you understanding now? how this works?” you fake sincerity with your questions, watching his own lividness unravel within his eyes. you don’t care, though. you want to make him feel low, “so when i tell you to not fucking look at me unless i’m talking to you, what does that mean, hongjoong? do you get what i’m saying?”

his knuckles are turning white. he didn’t even realize he’d been gripping the bowl so tightly until a sharp pain rockets through his hand. he lets go instantly, though fails to speak a word to you.

eyeing him up and down, you take the lack of response as a sign of victory. after a beat of silence, you backpedal slightly away from the island. now, after that, it’s time to raid the refrigerator for some breakfast.

while you venture off towards the refrigerator, you register how hongjoong doesn’t move an inch.

the fridge doors open, and with unconscious thoughts tumbling out in a murmur, you mindlessly search around for anything that catches your attention. all the while, an eerie stillness has taken over hongjoong.

you scan around, lowly muttering to yourself, “…wouldn’t even be surprised if he turned out to be a fucking pervert…probably enjoyed watching those videos….getting off on them…..what a—!”

a hand comes in contact the one of the doors, the force making it slam shut. hongjoong slides his way into your proximity, and you can already see the anger emanating off his body. he stares you down menacingly as now you begin to feel trapped.

“you want me to tell you the real reason why i woke up late this morning?” he starts off with narrow eyes. when you don’t give a reply, too busy trying to reel-in from the sudden outburst, he takes that as a sign to continue speaking. he bores his gaze deeply into yours, “ever since you sent me those stupid, fucking nudes, i can’t stop thinking about them.”

wow. your eyes go wide a that, your breath hitching in the process.

he doesn’t waste another second, quickly adding on to that, “they’ve been so intrusive, infecting my thoughts—my dreams,” his eyes scattily absorb your expression, intaking the wave of emotions that wash over your face, “it’s gotten to the point where i’ve been fucking myself raw before bed, just so i can sleep comfortably. every night, cumming over and over again to the thought of my big sister’s pussy.“

he watches the horror override your once sly attitude. and god, does it feel great to finally have you so shocked.

he drops his hand from the metal doors, then begins to step away, “how about it? is knowing that going to cure that rancid attitude of yours, noona?”

just like your previous ones, hongjoongs’ questions are rhetorical. he doesn’t want an answer from you. no, that wasn’t the goal of his confession. he just knew he wanted to make you feel as sick as you did to him.

and there’s nothing sicker than the truth.

hongjoong doesn’t stick around much longer after that bomb drop, with him retreating back to his room upstairs. you’re still in the kitchen, trying to process what the actual fuck you just heard.

he rounds the corner, about to take the first step upwards, when his vision flickers over to you one last time. you’re spaced out in a stare, your breathing regular and even. you’re frozen like a statue.

but when his gaze peers down to your legs, and the slight clutch they do, he knew from this moment things would really never be the same.

[hazelnutsummer]

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND NOBODY UNDERSTANDS AERRGRGGG

Madoka Magika AU Desert Duo. At first this is simply a gag to draw Scar in Madoka’s dress but the more I think about it the worse it gets.

Warning for Puella Magi Madoka Magika spoilers:

Martyn once mentioned a theory that Watchers feed off human emotions, and you know who also feeds off energy generated by humans?? KYUBEY FROM MADOKA!!!

Allow me to reiterate. Kyubeys are produced without emotions as a high functioning high intelligence species, but Grian is produced as a flawed piece, one with human emotions. He hides it well enough for years, before one of his mission like many others is to make magical girls/mages.

It all goes south when the girl he tries to make the deal with (supposed to be on the brink of death) was actually rescued by Scar, who is a very strong and passionate passerby that literally lifted up the rubble long enough to keep her alive.

Situation goes terribly wrong. Essentially, some accidents happen, and Grian who was supposed to make a contract with a teenage girl made a contract with SCAR, HUMAN ADULT GUY!!!!

And Grian is stuck in this contract because Scar jokingly made his wish for Grian to become a human, and Grian is stuck as a kyubey (watcher in this case) turned human. He still have majority of his watcher powers, but is now painfully mortal.

Grian leaves Scar instantly, without telling him what being a magical girl entails, absolutely furious that he has been doomed to this fate. Despite now knowing the fact that Watchers are evil, he cannot help but feel guilty for permanently turning Grian human, and is unfortunately Down Bad the moment he sees Grian’s human form..

Scar, being left with 0 instructions, began doing superhero work around the community, fighting crimes and helping old ladies cross the road.

They meet again when Scar wanders into his first witches’ labyrinth, where Grian saw him and followed him in, with the intention to get Scar killed in there! Surely if he kills Scar, this might be reversed!!

Scar, however, exceeds expectations, slaying the witch and expelling the labyrinth. After exiting, Scar instead of trying to harm Grian, his guilty ass decided to invite Grian to live with him.

Grian and Scar begin living together. They meet different magical girls, work together and discover more about the world. And eventually Grian learns how to be a mortal and has plans on severing his connections to kyubei.

But you know how madoka goes…

Walpurgis occurs, and Grian watches in powerless horror as Scar dies before his eyes. In his last moments, Scar tells Grian he doesn’t regret what he’s done, but he does wish that he could go back in time so as to save everyone and not end in tragedy. Grian clutches Scar’s hand, holding it close to his sobbing mess of a face and in his mind, a genius idea comes to him:

If he is human now, does that mean he can abuse this system and become a magical girl/mage himself?

And Homura Grian & Madoka Scar occurs.

Grian goes back in time to prevent Scar’s death. Scar still becomes a magical girl, but somehow history changes and he is in contract with another kyubey/watcher (evil jellie) and Grian utilises his very limited amount of human behaviour knowledge and tries to become friends with him again, this time being a human from the start. They go to the same uni now, and Scar does see G’s weird habits but decided that’s just how British people behave.

Doomed yaoi.

In lieu of the affected timelines, even though magical girl Scar is supposed to look like the watcher he makes the deal with, he doesn’t look like Evil Jellie, and instead retains his avian aesthetic from before Grian rewound time.

Ps: check out the new au master post!!

[sniffle-bird]

so many people hate eurylochus to like. an insane degree. because they think everything he does are acts of self preservation and it’s NOT it’s preservation of the CREW because he’s the voice of the crew RRRASWRRRR

odysseus, polities and eurylochus were such good buddies and worked so well together because odysseus lead them, polities kept high spirits (this makes him sound like a cheerleader. but like idk how else to describe it? he like encourages whimsy. idk.) and eurylochus kept both of them grounded so they wouldn’t do anything stupid. and it was perfect until polities died.

without polities, the crew couldn’t find the positives in odysseus going up to the island to meet with aeolus. it was only eurylochus arguing his opinion, which is, “don’t go, it’s stupid,” literally, physically grounding him. obviously this was going to sway the crew in his favour immensely. eurylochus is like 10x more approachable than odysseus to the crew. eury’s their buddy. ody is the champion of a goddess and their king. so not only does ody then not have that extra polities voice in the argument to help lead ody to a logical conclusion which benefits everyone, he is instead clashing with eurylochus and subsequently the rest of his crew. this pretty much goes the same way for most of the other disagreements they have for the rest of the journey.

eurylochus is also forced to fill in the space that polities left in supporting odysseus as he’s their captain, but he struggles with bridging the gap between seeing him as his captain/king and seeing him as his friend. which is why he switches between calling him, “captain/sir,” to “odysseus,” to “ody,” during mutiny, and then back to “captain.” it’s a verbalisation of his view on odysseus.

so when it comes to opening the windbag, the crew is already on edge about it. he went up alone after fighting with the closest friend he has left in the crew, refuses to open the bag, the winions are all telling them it’s treasure. and there is such a blatant lack of trust between them that likely wasn’t present before; ody would rather stay awake for nine days straight than trust eury not to open the bag. and eurylochus, being naturally mistrusting of gods and mythical creatures in general, would not trust the origins of this bag. he would not trust his friend’s behaviour to be true. he would likely make the connection that the wind bag is making him act like this, so he takes it from him and opens it. not mentioning the insane pressure from the crew he’s likely been put under.

so yeah. people love to paint him as this evil-doer that was trying to usurp odysseus from the beginning but the mutiny only happened because everyone could tell ody was losing himself to this whole “monster” thing, which is what they needed to get home with as many men as possible, but nobody else is likely going to fully realise that unless you sit them down and explain to them the whole process of the journey and explain every little detail in everything that happened. much less eurylochus who is, as established, very stubborn, and very mistrusting of things he does not understand. he didn’t think ody was fit to lead anymore; it wasn’t that he sacrificed six men to scylla, it’s that he just did it and didn’t think of any alternative plan. he didn’t consult anyone else, he just did it. eurylochus could see he was driving himself a little crazy over getting home to his wife. like i’m sure there would’ve been some people who would have volunteered to hold the torches if they all held a big meeting.

and then the cow. how does nobody realise killing helios’s cows is a suicide attempt? eurylochus knew they were going to die, he did not believe they were going to make it home, at least with the cows he can control it and at least his crew won’t die hungry.

anyways. this is a huge wall of text. i know eurylochus haters HATE to see me coming, i’m his no. 1 defender and apologist he does no wrong.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Series - Babylon the Great

There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.

There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.

It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.

And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.

But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.

And you find your way back, again and again.

Mini-Series - Willing to Break

With the Mark of Cain getting out of hand, you and Sam convince Dean to try something different. A spell that won't fix the Mark, but will change it. Make Dean crave good things, things he likes, instead of death and blood.

It doesn't exactly go according to plan.

Mini-Series - Death On A Holiday

This day has happened before. So did the one before it. And the one after it. You're sure of it.

Small things change, but it's always the same, and it always resets the same way, and you can't find a way out.

It's perfect torture, and you don't think there's a way out.

One-Shots

To Need Somebody - After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing

I Could Have You - Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

Falling Into Me - You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you. You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

Hold You Tight In My Mind - You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Still You Want Me - Request! Dean's fought the worst evil in the world, but only one thing has really managed to scare him. His pregnant wife.

Every Day That You Want - You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Just Giving In - You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.

I'll Crawl Home - You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

What You Do - This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this. But the asshole is still going to try.

No More - Request! Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them. And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Where Do You End Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt.3 - Request! You and Dean have found yourself in a body swap situation, and your bodies keep trying to do what they always do.

I Can Be A Virtue - You're so careful about keeping your emotions in check with Dean. You make rules, and keep score, and hold yourself together. But something always has to give.

Only I Can See - Request! Dean knows you. He knows you better than anyone, better than you know you, better than he knows himself. He'd lay down his life for you in a heartbeat, and knows you'd do the same, even if it's not in the same way. But something's… different.

In Sweetness - Request! Preparation for hunts and battles where the fate of the world hinges on his shoulders are easy. Preparation for a baby might be the most complex thing Dean's ever done.

The Heat Grows - Request! It's unfair that Dean can look this good just sitting in traffic. That he can be doing nothing at all and you'll crave him more than oxygen. It's amazing that you can prove that to him, though.

The Flood Brings Clearer Days - Request! You're not cursed. You don't feel anything wrong. If anything, you feel better, because there's a weight lifted off your tongue that lets you say whatever you want. And most of what you want is Dean.

There Comes A Breaking Point - Request! Sam drinks a truth potion, and you and Dean have to deal with the consequences, and very painful and beautiful revelations.

I Never Want It To Be Enough - Request! You and Dean have a date night, and it ends exactly how you wanted it to.

How Do You Know - Request! There are different levels of Dean being drunk, and you've seen all of them. Or at least, you thought you'd seen all of them.

If You Need To Hear It - Request! After a tense case, Dean decides to remind you of what you mean to him on the roof of the Impala.

Something To Believe In - You and Dean become parents.

It's Early, Baby - Request! A slow morning gets heated fast.

Along the Line - Request! Friends with benefits doesn't work. You fall out of line and fall in love, trapped in Dean with no hope of escaping. But he might never want you to leave.

Been Keeping It Down - Request! After Dean gets hit with a curse, he starts avoiding you. Sam won't tell you what's wrong, and you love him almost as much as you miss him. Almost as much as he might love you.

And In Health - Request! Making Dean rest when he's sick is a Herculean task. You are more than up for the challenge.

Hold Me (More Like That) - Sorta Request! Dean takes a second to pick up on what you want, but doesn't disappoint once he starts to play your game.

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: NSFW, noncon, virgin reader, corruption kink, Sukuna in general

fem reader

Thinking about Demon King Sukuna and how he receives a virgin for his harem every new moon. Most are unfortunate townspeople who’ve come of age—but you’re something he can savor even more, something truly special.

The silk kimono you’d been dressed in is easily ripped from your body, leaving you bare. You’d been warned not to fight or run, that he’d only sooner kill and eat you—but you keep your faith and try and escape anyway. 

All your life, the temple has taught you of Ryomen Sukuna—that he’s a harbinger of carnage and death. You’d feel better offering your life to the Gods than allowing it to remain captive by the likes of evil.

He only grabs and manhandles you with nothing more but a sadistic laugh, catching your hair in a fist as he pulls you up until only the tips of your toes are left grazing the floors—and even then, he has to bow nearly half his length before he’s leveling your eyes with his.

“My patience is a fickle thing, turtledove. Run again, and I’ll treat it like a real hunt. Which would be a real shame… I so hate spilling holy blood before I’ve made it filthy with sin.”

You're thrown onto a large round bed next. It catches you with a bounce while he crawls after you, taking hold of both your ankles and swiftly pulling you beneath him. 

His chest is marked with demonic seals, and so is his face, where he looms above you with a deranged smile. Raking his claws up your legs and thighs, he spreads and pushes them flat against the bed while his other two hold your crying face, cupping your cheeks with both thumbs hooking into the wet of your mouth, playing with your tongue as you sob. When he shows you his and its black markings, you scream, feeling as though he’s pouring poison down your throat as he feeds you its length and knots it with yours.

You choke and sob while you share each other’s spit, feeling tarnished and forsaken by all that you held sacred—wondering why the heavens would allow this to happen as the weight of his manhood finds rest between your thighs, upon your mound and tummy, where it grows fat and warm.

His hands leave your face and switch places with the other two, freeing them for what he plans on doing next. Wrapping one around himself, he gives it languid tugs while soaking in the sight of your poor little cunt trembling in fear of something it only barely knows what is. His other hand pets it soothingly in mockery, tickling the slit, making you shake.

His stomach then splits open like a cut, baring teeth and a tongue that only earns your horrified expression—crying as it drools over you, jutting out to lick the tender place you so wished had remained untouched. You whine in shudders as he squeezes your throat and bares down over you, staring at you with keen bromine eyes, amused with your fall from grace as you come undone.

“You taste sweet,” he moans against your lips while his other mouth slurps at your core, also groaning.

You’re naïve for thinking it’s over where you blink away tears, but he doesn’t blame you. They never teach you the truth in temples, only childish lies that leave you ever vulnerable to the outside world and ever sweeter for him to ruin.

“I apologize for clipping your wings, angel. But I must say… depravity suits you better.”

Nothing. Not a prayer or plea leaves your lips as he tears through and fills you up. Only a choked gasp that dies midway. You bite into your lip, squeezing your eyes shut—ready to accept a death that never comes. Instead, there’s a living hell, and you can only scream as it consumes you.

Your whimpering is delicious, caught beneath him, panting every time his hips snap forth and storm your clingy insides, gushing for him like he knew you would be—sweetly surrendering all your worship to him and honoring him as your new god.

Perhaps he won’t feast on your flesh once he’s done as cute as you are. He wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a bit. Teach you how to serve him properly. Paint you with his seals. Make you his favorite pet.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[fxckedupdaydreams]

Fafnir the Dragon Lord

Yandere! Dragon x Reader

Tw; Mate mention, Betrayal of your village, Fatphobia, You get tied up but not in a kinky way, Stockholm Syndrome but not really, Mentions of you getting threatened, A bit rushed

Yan Dragon that meets you when you get sacrificed by your village to the "big, evil dragon" after they struggle to make their monthly payment, plump body wrapped in silks and all the gold that your village was offering up to him.

You looked resigned, as if you gave up on fighting, your wrists bound to your back as you nervously glared back at the giant reptile that stood before you.

Yan Dragon that is quick to snatch you up with all his treasure after you close your eyes and turn away, held delicately in a clawed grasp.

Your village had given you up as food, deciding that you were probably the most appealing for a hungry dragon.

Yan Dragon that takes you to his lair in minutes, giant blue wings shutting into his back as he sets you down gently on a rock, pacing back and forth for a moment before lifting a giant scaled hand to cover your face.

You feel skin against your face in seconds, the unnatural warmth from such a big creature slowly reducing before a raspy voice urges you to keep your eyes closed.

Yan Dragon that quickly gets into clothing while you’re not looking before allowing you to see once more, a human-esque being before you, long dark hair that shimmered in the bit of sunlight that reached you and dark blue eyes that reminded you of the deepest ocean.

His skin was a gray shade, which concerned you, and there were what appeared to be blue scales on his body in small patches.

Yan Dragon that watches as you take in his appearance, watching as your eyes slowly look up his head at the two horns that wrapped around his head like a crown of some sort.

His pointed ears twitch as they pick up on your soft gasp and the earrings on them jingle softly.

Yan Dragon that picks you up with little effort, carrying you out of the cave it had transformed in and instead gently tugging you in the direction of a large mansion.

Maids are running around inside, whispering among themselves as they prepare your quarters for you due to the dragon’s orders.

Yan Dragon that does its best to get to know you once you’re willing to open up, having assumed it was some sick game he had planned to mess with you right before devourin g you.

He learned what you liked and would adapt well to it, having been left alone with no friends and much less, a mate.

Yan Dragon that tries his hardest to make you happy under his care, anything you wanted was yours no matter what.

You wanted a certain outfit in a brand that didn’t carry your size? It was on your bed the next morning. One of the people from his staff refuse to bring you a treat? They’re never found again and he already learned how to make it so you don’t need to go out for it anymore.

Yan Dragon that quickly falls for you, quickly loves everything about you and is unable to help himself when he pretty much begs you to be his mate (which was out of character for him and freaked you out).

Yan Dragon that is reluctant but allows you to return to your village to visit friends and family, wanting to please you.

He hides in the shadows to watch, behind trees and buildings as he follows you.

Yan Dragon that almost burns your village to the ground when they start to pick on you, assuming you escaped the dragon and have led it to them in a panic.

They shove you and scream horrible things, some even talk about hurting you.

Yan Dragon that sees the panic and dissapointment on your face and is quick to go to you and get you out of there.

He would return that night and burn it all, no one upsets the dragon's mate.

[cemetegee]

Hi!

This is a really interesting theory! I would love to hear your opinion on it! I think Corona might’ve been the one who killed Naberius. I think it makes a lot of sense 😊

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57530659/chapters/150595651#workskin

https://www.reddit.com/r/TheNinthHouse/s/9hUWcD7h6Q

Oh, that's a really fascinating theory. I'll admit that I already heard about it once, but never in that debt, so thank you very much :) I find it in fact very convincing! For those who haven't read those posts, here a list of the made points and of my own points that convinced me:

The Blood

When the others come in, Ianthe is covered in blood.

And Naberius has most likely been stabbed into his back:

Thing is, if you stab someone like that the blood would spray out of their CHEST. If IANTHE had stabbed him from behind the blood couldn't have hit her. (The blood on his front supports that) This makes only sense if Ianthe's stand right in front of him, and SOMEONE ELSE stabbed him into the back.

(That's a really strong point, I think. You could maybe argue that she needed to use his blood after, and that it comes from this occasion, but as she says a single drop of blood is enough.)

The Rapier

The rapier she used must have weighed at least one kilogram (2 pounds). It's questionable at all if Ianthe could have used it (without Naberius muscle memory), regarding what Corona says about her strenght:

But there's even another point! We can assume that the stab went straight to his heart (or another vulnerable place) and that he was more or less immediately dead. Otherwise he would have probably not held his shocked face. It's rather unlikely that a beginner like Ianthe should do such a precise stab, ESPECIALLY regarding the weight and the fact that she has no idea how to use a rapier.

All that speaks for someone who has advanced rapier skills (like Corona) and does some work-outs. (Yes, I know, she's likely not as good as Babs. But you don't need to be a master duellant to murder someone from behind.)

AND - I'd like to add that, because I find it very important: I see no reason why Ianthe should murder him with a rapier. She is a flesh (and limenal) magican. Isn't it much more likely that she - if she intended to kill Naberius - would use her flesh magic skills to do that? Probably, she could even work more precisely that you ever could with a rapier - and so on. It doesn't make sense that she would use A WEAPON SHE HAS NO IDEA OF, if she actually has a working arsenal of working magical weapons she could use instead. That speaks VERY MUCH for Corona and HER murder.

Suspicious (off-screen) Talks

That's now completely my own point, but I find it to interesting to not mention it: I always assumed that there must have been off-screen talks between the twins (and Naberius) somewhen. They likely followed some kind of evil plan. Naberius says to Corona after her duel with Gideon:

Why not now? What is now? Why is now an especially bad time to do that? It really sounds if they had some kind of plan...

(And btw - I'm pretty sure that Naberius doesn't know that, but the fact alone that Corona trains under this high risk could be a hint that she prepares herself to kill him.)

Then! With the key thing, Corona and Ianthe obviously had a fight... The Bad Blood lasts pretty long:

However, for some reason Corona thinks it's insanely important for Ianthe to know that there are no rules (except Jod) at Canaan House.

(Why is that important? (Does it have to do with killing Babs? Are the later Challenging Scene?))

And after the challenging scene, they seem to be on a good base again.

But I would argue it's not only because of the Challenging Scene, but a clarifying conversation. Because briefly before Corona says to Gideon (during their duel):

And that's another odd hint THEY PLAN something! I think they have one plan Naberius knows (obviously not one where he dies) and at least one of them has the plan to kill him. Maybe they planned that Corona should kill him, so she could take his place. (That would explain Corona's feeling of betrayal even more deeply - Ianthe would in fact have fooled her. Although it's hard to me to feel empathy for betrayals in plans which go over the murder of a childhood friend :D)

To conclude: Now that I think about it, I really can't see a single reason why Ianthe could have killed Babs that way. (Except of that she claims it. But Ianthe has a HISTORY of being untrustworthy and the evidence is clearly against her.) Every point here only makes sense if Corona was the murderer. I'm absolutely convinced 10/10 theory.

PS:

I also think it would explain the shock at Naberius face. Ianthe "Poison Master of his Childhood" Tridentarius killing him would maybe not have been that surprising:

(I find it interesting how he is even in his death unsympathic :D But of course that doesn't free anyone of their guilt.)

[odysseyeurobeat]

Whatever Happened to Eurobeat Brony?

…and what's up with this Vtuber girl on the bottom of the picture?

I'll explain in a moment, though be forewarned: It's less climactic than you may think it is! (Warning: Contains pre-transition photos and footage of me!)

TL;DR

I never really left! I just started making more originals, got really into streaming and Vtubing, and came out as a woman. I've even still made a few Eurobeat Brony tracks in all of that— like I said, I never really left! I've even got a 2025 version of an old track lined up to release TOMORROW! And if the show re-inspires me, I'll release tracks as Eurobeat Brony again.

NOW FOR EXCRUCIATING DETAIL

It's me! I'm Eurobeat Brony!

...or, rather, I should explain how we got there from here, right?

BRONY BEGINNINGS

I've been making eurobeat music and releasing it on the internet for many years— some of the earliest instances of my work specifically in the genre are still up from 2006. So, I've been active as Odyssey Eurobeat for FAR longer than I've been Ken Blast (short for Kendra btw!), and longer still than Eurobeat Brony.

In 2010, my family lost my grandfather on my mom's side to pretty severe malpractice, and I turned towards cartoons and animation to cope during my first semester of classes at SJSU. In that time, I discovered some of the early threads floating around about the first few episodes of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Curious due to the inclusion of Lauren Faust's name on the series, I explored it a bit. In early 2011, I created a remix of "Evil Enchantress" from the episode introducing Zecora, which (to my understanding) is the first documented "brony music" song on the internet in terms of publication date! The rest was history— several remixes of the show's songs, a handful of originals (Luna, Diamond Dogs, Batty, Fly... and, of course, DISCORD!), performances all around the world... dare I say it, I had the tiniest taste of the rockstar lifestyle!

I'd go so far as to say, it felt like the mid-late 2010s were some of the highlights of my career! Performing for huge crowds, collaborating with folks, traveling the world, and all focused on a show that made dark days brighter when I needed that the most.

During this time, for BronyCon 2018 and 2019, I wanted to make a gesture of love and gratitude for folks still supporting my work and shows— in 2018 I created a new version of Luna, and in 2019 I created my best version of Discord to this day, the one I think encompasses my original intentions for the first version… Discord 2019.

Keep that in mind going forward, it'll be important later.

So, where did I go after all that? Did I dramatically depart from the fandom? Did I get bought out by another scene? Did my music interest drastically change?

...no! Honestly, I never left!

FROM 2019 ON

After Discord 2019, my focus shifted back to original works for a while. 2019 in particular was the year I began to work full-time as a musician instead of pursuing digital marketing positions, or driving for DoorDash. It was not for lack of love of the show, but I did feel like I could do a lot more creative work if I wrote about more ideas and concepts than MLP tended to focus on. Besides, these newfangled Vtubers seem to be really cool, perhaps I could get into that!

As well, I had spent a large portion of the 2010s silently battling gender dysphoria, planning multiple times to come out and begin HRT, each time finding excuses or losing my nerve or just plain failing to do so. It took the lockdowns of 2020 and getting Covid in early 2021 to finally impart the fact that I am not owed tomorrow, and that I'd need to fight for it. Once I recovered, I began the work towards starting my medical and social transitions, and on May 26 2021, I came out as a woman live on my Twitch stream (since, well, this would be where I'd be the most visible... they'd see the transformation one way or another)!

SO, EUROBEAT PEGASISTER THEN?

Naw. "Eurobeat Brony" still feels right, somehow.

AH, OKAY. PLEASE DO GO ON.

At any rate, my focus shifted away from MLP for a while, focusing on streaming on Twitch and producing original works. However, this wouldn't last— after a while, I was reached by Step 2 Harmony, the My Little Pony Cover & Cosplay group, about creating an updated version of my remix of Mirai Start (the opening theme for the show in Japan). We worked on the remix... then got to chat further, until I had the honor of joining them on stage to perform the choreography live at Ponyville Ciderfest 2021!

In the next year, TanMansManTan, a long-time host of my earliest brony work, decided to revamp his YouTube channel, which meant delisting the earliest versions of my work. He sent me the video files as best he could, and I hosted the new versions of those videos on my YouTube channel, as well as a new remix of Vylet Pony's incredible anthem "Antonymph", which I designed to contain the spirit of old Super Ponybeat work in the lens of recent production knowledge. If I was going to keep being invited to brony conventions, it felt like the least I could do was throw some love to the scene and its innovators.

(In fact, during this time of fewer releases, I often sought out new releases from other musicians active in the scene to play in my sets!)

OKAY SO... WHY TALK ABOUT THIS NOW?

So.

Remember when I mentioned creating updated versions of my work for BronyCon 2018 and 2019?

This year, I was scheduled to perform at Babscon 2025, but the convention maliciously fired its concert lead three weeks before the convention. In solidarity, every single musician on the lineup withdrew from the convention. Most of that lineup joined her for her amazing Neighhem concert held in nearby Redwood City, and I was honored to be the final act of that show.

...and a little song of mine I had been working on for Babscon up to that point, made it into the show. And now, it's finally fully ready.

At 12:30PM PDT on May 30, 2025, I will release the 2025 version of Batty. I would be honored for you to enjoy this new version of the song, a gesture of love to a scene in which I grew tremendously, and to which I owe a tremendous amount of gratitude.

This song will be available on platforms like iTunes, Spotify, TIDAL, etc... but in traditional Super Ponybeat fashion, the song will be available for free/name-your-price on Bandcamp. Please enjoy the song as much as you want, and support it if you can!

THE FUTURE OF EUROBEAT BRONY

...it sounds so official typing it out, right? 😅

It's here that I make a confession— I never did finish the show. I had a handful of remixes I cancelled or never really got around to, an original idea or two I never built out... and while I was further along in the series than I thought, I still don't have everything from the show. When I have a moment to do so, I'd like to finish the series, and remix any songs that particularly stick out to me

At the very least, I'd like to remix the ending song, "The Magic Of Friendship Grows". However, I don't want to start that until I've watched the series up to that point. I'd like the other songs in the show to catch my interest first so, if I do decided to take a crack at them, I can. I'd like to give the show room to inspire me one more time, y'know?

That said, finding the time for that may be difficult. I've never been busier in my life than I've been lately, and time for consuming media has been a little limited (when I do, it tends to be other Vtubers lately). The possibility of me never getting around to it is nonzero.

But I tell you what gives me hope.

I mentioned Neighhem earlier, yeah?

It was here, not at the final BABSCon, where I reconnected with so many brony musicians, modern and legacy, that I remembered what drew me here in the first place. Spending time with everyone, some I hadn't seen in years, others I hadn't met yet, sparked something in me I hadn't felt quite the same since the early 2010s. It felt like a home away from home.

There's something to this horse business that disarms, that gives us a second to pause and hear others out, to become interested in their lives for a second. It's a feeling I've lacked in the 2020s, and one I've direly missed.

That feeling hasn't left me yet, either. Somehow, I still have that little spark in me from that night. And while it's still here, I want to try.

For some of you, Eurobeat Brony was your introduction to eurobeat (still wild to me to think that!!!); for others, EbB was a fun association with the show or fandom. For a surprising many of you, that name still holds quite a bit of value. It has some for me, too.

So... yeah. That's where I've been. And I'd love to have you with me from here, too. If you're down to see the Vtuber stuff, if you're down to hear my new original work (I just did a hyper techno track with a fantastic rapper friend!), then my central hub (you can choose which socials or other things to check out from here, at least!) would be odysseyeurobeat.com! Or you can check out my Twitch, Twitter, Bluesky, or even the very same YouTube channel I used for Super Ponybeat material all these years.

Whether you're a modern Oddity (Oddities are Odyssey fans!), an old MLP fan, or someone else entirely, I cannot thank you enough for having enjoyed my work for even a portion of your day, week, month, year, life. I genuinely never thought I'd be this far along, that music would be a full-time endeavor that's actually working. I am immensely grateful to you all. 💖

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Congratulations for 800 followers!!! 💝💖😘

I have amazing idea, if you into this. I was thinking whenever reader and eddie said the same words at the same-times and whoever say “Jinx!” So eddie can’t say any word till reader said his full name. But… not for while (evil laugh) because R want to see how far he can stay silent but hang on, eddie had a great idea, he made reader cums so many times till he hear his full names!

Thank you for the request! It's been a minute since I wrote anything for Eddie. I missed him! ❤️

I changed this up just a wee bit! Hope you enjoy!

CW: No use of Y/N. Pet names. Reader has a vagina. Established relationship. Oral (female receiving). Fingering. Squirting. Eddie cums in his pants.

WC: 1.3K

“JINX!” You yelled with a smirk, before his brain had time to register it.

“Hey— no, I—” He tried to protest.

“Ah, ah Ed! You know the rules, three times.” Pinching his full lips between your thumb and forefinger, effectively shushing him, smiling and lowering your hand back down.

“Eddie… Eddie… Ed…” You laugh as he rolls his eyes. “Didn't think I'd make it that easy for you, did you?”

“Sweethea—”

“Eds!” You chide once more. “You're the one who came up with this game, so shut that big, beautiful mouth of yours!”

He huffs with a pout, leaning his head back against the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. Fuck. He just had to come up with a stupid game that you'd gladly play along with, but he'd hoped he would have the upper hand, instead he had to somehow stay quiet until you said his first name three times. No nicknames, and no abbreviations count. A hard, if not impossible task for the motormouth, getting the idea after the two of you saw Beetlejuice for the first time.

You hummed, turning back to the magazine you were reading with a grin, in no hurry to give him his freedom. It had been a while since you'd gotten the best of him and you planned on prolonging his torture for as long as possible.

His attention finally drifts back to the TV as you hear another huff of irritation that you ignore.

He fidgets in place, knee bouncing next to yours, already fighting for his life and it's only been 10 minutes. Of all his stupid ideas. Way to go motormouth…

His eyes drift over to you, legs bent under yourself while still reading that magazine, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you scan over an article that must be interesting enough to hold your attention.

You look stunning, but who was he kidding, you always did. He continues to roam over your form, when an idea suddenly strikes, scooting closer to you.

His fingers come into view, curling over the top of the magazine before it's yanked from your grip and tossed to the floor.

“Hey! Eds! What're you do—”

Your whining is cut off when he presses his lips to yours, tongue instantly exploring and tangling with yours giving you no other choice but to reciprocate and melt into his needy mouth.

He hums his contentment, arm curling around your waist, hand coming to cradle your jaw, breaking the kiss a moment later. You open your eyes to see a devious grin plastered across his smug face as he lets you go to ease off the couch.

You watch him intently, brows married with confusion. His hands drift to your knees, pushing them apart slowly, his own eyes drifting down to your soft pink panties that come into view beneath your short skirt.

“Baby…” You muse with a giggle, his hands drifting up the outside of your thighs, still looking down between your legs. Once he reaches your ass, he quickly grabs your hips and pulls you forward with a squeak escaping you at the sudden movement.

“It's not going to be that easy.” You laugh, his gaze finally drifting back to yours as his eyes darken, hearing your resolve only made his determination grow.

One hand flips up the edge of your skirt as his other trails to the inside of your thigh sending a shiver down your spine, goosebumps spreading across your soft skin.

You assume his intentions were to tease you until you give in, but instead his fingers hook into the side of your panties, hastily pulling them over.

He groans, seeing your lips already glistening with your juices, biting his lip to keep from commenting further as he moves forward, promptly flattening his tongue, licking a broad stripe up, moaning the moment your essence erupts across his taste buds.

“Ooooh!” Your hips buck when he expertly flicks across your clit, his free hand pins you quickly back down to the cushion.

He grins against you, repeating his motions. Your hands come to tangle in his unruly curls, gripping a little tighter each time he pays special attention to your puffy nub, making a series of moans fall from your parted lips.

His mouth moves back down to your aching hole, tongue darting in and out, lapping at the steady stream of sweet juices.

“Yes! Yes!” You pant out, between labored breaths getting caught in your chest when his finger teasingly swirls around your entrance causing you to suddenly clench around nothing.

Eddie was very vocal in bed, well anywhere for that matter. It was a little off-putting to only hear the smacking of his lips against your core mixed with your filthy moans but if this was the type of treatment you receive each time you “jinxed” him you'd gladly take one sided silence for just a little while longer.

His lips attach to your throbbing clit, sucking a little harshly as his finger begins to push inside of you.

You throw your head back with a high pitched whine, as he slides his digit into you, pulling back just as quickly adding a second with ease into your soaking pussy, immediately curling them up to send you into a frenzy.

A combination of figure eights and tight circles dance across your clit, providing the perfect amount of friction for your core to be set ablaze. His fingers continued to curl, until he found that perfect spot.

Your back arches, hips pushing your pussy further into his mouth with a cry of pure pleasure.

His eyes dart up over your mound when he feels you tighten around his fingers. He wants to praise you, tell you how good you're doing but he moans instead, the vibrations sending another jolt of ecstasy through your body.

He strokes you from the inside, the rough pads of his fingers moving over your sweet spot again and again, each pass growing a little more frantic pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You're barely coherent when he adds a third finger, giving such a delicious stretch making your walls flutter and toes curl.

“Oh fuck!” You wail out, only causing him to double down his efforts, moving his free hand to press down on your lower abdomen.

“Oooooh! Baby!” Yelling out and squirming under him as that pressure begins to rapidly build, but he holds tight, pinning you in place giving you no other alternative than to let go.

Your cunt clamps down around his fingers, as your orgasm crashes into you with a blinding force, a tidal wave of pleasure pulling you under. An abundance of sparks dance behind your eyes, your release soaking him in the process.

“Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!” You repeat his name like a mantra while he works you through your high, only slowing and popping off your abused clit when you begin to push his head away.

“Fucking finally!” He grins in triumph, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You squirted by the way.” He adds, winking and quickly hopping up to grab a towel from the hall closet.

“Wha—I…” You sputter out, trying to comprehend what had just happened, chest still heaving, mind still reeling in the afterglow.

He comes back into view a few moments later, towel in hand, dropping back between your thighs, gently wiping up the mess you made.

You throw an arm over your eyes, letting him take care of you as you hum your appreciation.

“Shit, Eddie! You didn’t–” Suddenly rising up on your elbows.

“Uh,” Clearing his throat slightly. “I did, actually.” He blushes as your gaze travels to the very wet patch on the front of his jeans.

“Well, that's one down. Two more to go.” Mumbling as you bite your lip.

“Hmmm?” His eyebrows raise, with a tilt of his head trying to decide if he had heard you correctly.

“Since we're using a rule of three, I think it's only fair you give me two more earth shattering orgasms.” Shrugging, as his mouth drops open.

“Ooooh! You are in for it now, sweetheart!” He grins, eyes lighting up at the prospect of a long night, tossing the towel and practically pouncing on top of you.