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thepenultimateword · 2 years

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Femme fatale villains X brooding stoic supervillains.

“You really got yourself into a jam, didn't you darling?" Villain purred, circling around the tiger trap like a slinking cat that had cornered her prey.

The supervillain crumpled at the bottom only glared up at her, blood streaming between his eyes and pasting a couple dark locks across the bridge of his nose. "Get away from me."

"Rude." Villain plopped down on her stomach, elbows rested just along the pit's edge, and kicked her legs back and forth in the air. The supervillain's glare grew more intense, but she only smiled. "I only want to help."

“I don’t need help.”

"Oh, really? So you're not concerned that you set off the heroes' little alarm and they're on their way over right now to see who was dumb or desperate enough to set foot on their property?"

"I'm Supervillain," the villain rumbled evenly in the back of his throat, as if that was a convincing enough statement for Villain to walk away. Of course, Villain had heard the name, and it was an impressive one, but she also knew empty pride when she saw it.

"That's nice, darling." She rolled back to her feet and brushed herself off. With an elegant flick of her wrist, she whipped a wicked hook off the back of her belt and drove it deep into the soft earth. She looped the attached roped around her arm and leaned back, testing her weight against it. It held. Hopefully, it stayed that way. "Make way!"

"What are you--" Supervillain began as she began repelling over the edge. He quickly cut off. Maybe he knew by now that it was useless protesting. Maybe secretly beneath all that bitter pomp, he wanted help. Or maybe he caught a glimpse of these sweet biceps. She grinned a little at the taught muscles rippling below the capped sleeves of her vest.

The dirt billowed up around her toes as her feet pounded on the dusty bottom.

"Let's see the damage." She weaved around the sharp wooden stakes, protruding from the earth. One planted itself firmly between Supervillain's ribs and a couple others carried crimson stains that matched the gouge marks in his forearm and thigh. Though those injuries paled in comparison to the ghastly condition of his other leg, twisted unnaturally at the knee while flashes of skin through the tears in his trousers turned a terrible, bruised purple.

"You really thought you were getting out on this poor little crunched leg?"

Supervillain turned his head toward one of the dirt walls. "I don't know. Perhaps. It probably looks worse than it is."

"You must be biting back tears right now."

Supervillain forced his clenched jaw apart. "No, I--"

"Just truly, completely, breaking down inside, huh?"

He hesitated, looking torn between making a convincing protest and locking his jaw down on his pain again.

"Don't worry darling," Villain tucked the bloodied hair out of his face with her thumbs, measuring the necessary calm in her expression as she uncovered the oozing gash across his forehead. He had really fallen into these spikes full force. He was lucky not to be blind. "I'm here to help now."

Supervillain forced his widened gaze from her eyes to the wound in his thigh, digging his palm against the bleeding with a sharp wince. "Well, if you're already here..."

Villain ran her hand down the back of his head fondly and then immediately got to work. First things first, the stake gouging his middle. She didn't know how deep that went, and she wasn't about to make him bleed to death finding out. She chose a serrated knife off her belt and made quick work sawing the offending stake in half. "You just hold that in place until we're somewhere safer."

Supervillain's arm movement was stiff, but he slowly complied.

Next, Villain tied the rope staunchly around Supervillain's hips. "If we had more time, I'd make you stretcher or something, but the heroes could be here any second. Basically, I'm saying this really going to suck."

"It's all been pretty bad already," Supervillain said with a slight moan

Villain quickly climb the hanging part of the rope back up to top, then she dislodged the hook from the earth. Looking around rapidly, she picked out a reasonably low branch on one of the trees and let out the rest of the rope’s slack, using the extra length to toss the hook over the branch and create a sort of makeshift pulley. Then she pulled.

Supervillain grunts became barely audible over the sound of her own heavy breathing. Her arm muscles screamed a protest but she just focused on putting one hand in front of the other.

Eventually, the other villain's head appeared over the ledge. Supervillain fisted the grass and scrambled with some difficulty onto solid ground. He only got a foot or so before collapsing.

Villain dropped the rope and ran to his side. "Hey, hey, hey." She took his lolling head in her hands and thumbed blood and sweat from his cheeks. "You're alright. We're almost there. Can you walk at all?"

It was sort of a dumb question, but it came out anyway. It certainly would make the next step of this plan a lot easier.

"Are you kidding?" Supervillain said blandly.

Villain sighed, apparently, she was doing this the hard way. "Plan B. I'm going to carry you. I have a vehicle...well, I have a motorcycle just over the hill."

"Can you even lift me?" Supervillain said, more anxious than dismissive.

"I can do anything I like, sweetheart," Villain said, and looping Supervillain's arms over her shoulders and gritting her teeth, she heaved the bigger criminal onto her back. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and her already sore arms began throbbing with the rapid pulse of her heart. Supervillain's pained breath hissed sharply in her left ear.

"Ok..." she strained, dragging one foot forward and then the other. "Let's get going, darling."

It had only taken her two minutes to reach the pit, but it took her twice that time now just to reach the bottom of the incline. Spots sprang across her vision and a thin sheen of sweat slicked her grip on Supervillain's arms.

"Why are you even doing this?" Supervillain asked, elbows digging into her shoulders as he tried to carry at least some of his body weight.

"Because--" Villain gasped a breath. "--you're cute."

"I'm serious."

"You don't think--" Another breath. "--you're cute? That's so...sad."

"You found me, threw yourself in a dangerous situation to help me, and now you're putting your back getting me out. I don't even know you. I hope you have a better explanation than 'you're cute.'"

Villain wished she could stop and let herself breathe, but she knew once she was standing still, she'd want to put Supervillain down, and once he was down, there was no way she was going to be able to pick him back up.

"I don't know, pumpkin, maybe...I want you to owe me one. Is that more believable for you?"

"Yes, but when you say it like that, I feel like I shouldn't believe you."

"Ugh, let's just...talk later. I'm having trouble breathing...as it is."

She caught the platinum shine of her motorcycle's mirrors through the foliage and let out a quiet sigh of relief. At the same time, something huge crashed out of the trees.

Villain cast a glance over her shoulder for the hulking figure heaving growly breaths over the pit. He had the build of a rhinoceros, the ears of one too. Heroes' manifested powers so strangely these days; thanks a lot agency genetic division. Villain picked up the speed.

"He's sniffing us out," Supervillain muttered. "He's coming toward the hill."

"Please keep all stressful comments to yourself, darling."

"Oh, I think he saw us."

A flurry of pounding steps and snapping limbs erupted behind them, and Villain practically threw herself the next few meters toward the road. She plopped Supervillain into the leather seat and fumbled for her keys as she swung on ahead of him. The hero burst out of the underbrush right on her heels.

"Stop right there," the hero said mechanically like he'd rehearsed it a thousand times. Cute, he was new. "You've trespassed on heroic boundaries, so I must take you into custody."

Villain managed to fit her key into the ignition as the hero took his first step onto the road.

"Sorry, cutie," she said simply pounding her heel against the asphalt and turning the street behind them into an oozing, sucking, sink hole.

The hero leaped back from the soft ground too fast and tripped on his own feet, rolling twice down the incline. He popped back up with leaves in his hair and uncertainty drawn across his face. Villain didn't wait a moment longer for him to make a second attempt; she revved up the engine and took off down the narrow strip of asphalt.

Supervillain lurched forward and glommed onto her waist, apparently getting used to being the rescuee in this scenario. "You're geokinetic?"

"No."

"Disaster manipulation?"

"Nope."

They whipped around a tight corner and Supervillain's bad leg knocked against the motorcycle frame. He whimpered involuntarily and curled his hands into the fabric of her vest.

She'd throw him a bone since he was hurt. "Just good old perception manipulation."

"Huh?"

"Illusions," she clarified. "It was fake, sweetie. And he'll catch on soon enough, so let's put a lot of distance between us before he does, hm?"

Supervillain nodded against her shoulder, the sharp angular line of his jaw jabbing into her neck. Somehow he managed to cling even closer. "I'm woozy."

She was sure he was, the blood from that thigh wound had already made a nice wet spot on the waist of her shirt. They were still a ways from home, and there was no way she could take him to an actual hospital.

Her head swiveled back and forth along the road, landing on the neon glare of a vacancy sign.

"Alright, honey," Villain said, turning off the exit toward the rundown motel. "Let's get you inside."

Part Two

#villain x villain #villain x supervillain #hero x villain #heroes and villains #writing snippet #villain #creative writing #heroes and villains community #fiction #umm is this even the right dynamic?#I tried but I don't think I'm the best at seductive characters #or brooding character apparently?#I don't know #we'll see how this goes if I ever continue it

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jasontoddenthusiastt · 7 months

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I always smh at people who dub Jason as “whiny” “and therefore ooc” in tt 29. If you died and all everyone did was taint your legacy, and not a single person remembered you fondly or deemed you worthy of commemoration after your death, wouldn’t you be a bit upset too?

#the only thing that was ooc about Jason there was all the shit talking the other characters were doing about him.#and some of the things Jason said about himself because he left whatever small amounts of self esteem he actually had back in his grave #he was very cooperative shy and clever with the titans in the 80s #it’s not enough that his own father told him to his face that he is a product of his own problems #everyone he knew and had good working relationships with just completely shut him out and turned their backs #even if you don’t mean it/it’s more complicated than that #if someone you knew died but now you got a chance to tell them what you couldn’t wouldn’t you at least muster up an ‘I’m glad you’re back’#apparently not lol #kelseethe #it’s the fact that people label him *being upset* as ‘illogical’ or stupid that irks me #I was talking with a mutual about this too but #if a female character did exactly his actions #I don’t think people would be so quick to stomp all over her and call her weak/overbearing/hysterical #or to give her the dismissive patronizing eye roll treatment #even though they deemed her actions to be exaggerated/misdirected/an outburst by any standard #they’d probably say she’s written like an actual human and that she resonates with a lot of people haha #he evaded all their security systems and effectively took down anyone who was present in the tower.#I’d say his skills are pretty in-character.#the idea that men can get emotional is just not palatable to you people just admit it #if it isn’t silent brooding stoic manpain you people will projectile vomit all over it and call it ‘bad characterization’

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lafcadiosadventures · 8 months

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No context count of Montecristo:

fly like a free bird alex

#i just googled the name of two characters i plan on drawing-won’t say which in case anyone is avoiding any kind of spoilers-#i haven’t read this scene yet #but i love how this was a brooding serious novel about human rights abuses #and then the count went all hey kids wanna do some drugs #and now we’re in a roman holiday #with bandits #and priests examining young men’s bodies apparently #100/100 carry on alex #I can’t say this novel has been predictable xD

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isfjmel-phleg · 2 years

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#random personal stuff #so it came to my attention tonight while talking with my cousin #that the whole concept of a certain heroic character surrounding himself with a mismatched collection of ragtag children #is apparently Controversial #her brother evidently has strong feelings about this #he is very attached to the notion of this hero as a perpetually solitary figure #and knowing my cousin as I do I understand why this concept appeals to him #but...well I'm not an authority because I've barely dipped my toe in the waters of this fandom but #(though I can't ever tell him this)#from what I understand this perception is...missing the whole point of this character's arc?#to leave this character to solitary brooding is to keep him in his unhealthiest place #you don't overcome trauma by separating yourself from the world and refusing to work with people #there's something beautiful in the notion of someone who was robbed of family life choosing to offer that very thing #to others who have similarly suffered #as far as I can tell it brings out the best in all that this mythos ideally represents #again I'm not an expert #and can't speak as such #but a hero who doesn't grow isn't much of a hero I think #that growth?#it gives us the reassurance that we can do the same #so I am 100% here for the stories about the children #and it makes me sad I guess? that the value in such stories isn't always evident to everyone

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bumblingbabooshka · 2 years

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‘Timeless’ is such a cool episode holy shit

#TIMELESS HARRY IS HOT #Usually Harry has a sort of winning-smile friend to all aesthetic but here he's all gruff and brooding #Also they literally have half of Seven's fuc king skull in their hands....they had to do that there it's HARDCORE #also Vulcans apparently have childrens choirs I love that.....now I can add that to my headcanons #GEORDI??? MY GUY GEORDI'S IN THIS ONE??#I love star trek episodes where a character goes wait this doesn't make any sense and another character goes 'Yeah. And???? God.' bc YEAH!#Who cares if it doesn't make scientific sense - it's star trek~!!#Somehow Somewhere Sometime....you'll come through for us. YES HE WILL!!! HARRY! KIM! <3 #liveblogging

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eff-plays · 8 months

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Ok so I watched the interview with Stephen Rooney, Astarion's writer, and here are some highlights. (I'm an aspiring writer and current game design student who wants to write for games so I'm sorry if some of these insights aren't as interesting to you as they are to me <3)

He calls Astarion his "horrible little vampire boy"

He loves seeing the fandom around Astarion<3

He did write other characters in the game, but mostly NPCs surrounding Astarion or his storyline, so it mostly revolved around Astarion

Astarion is not as connected to other companions/Origins as, for example, Lae'zel and Shadowheart, or Wyll and Karlach are to each other, but he is still reactive to their stories, even if it's just to stand off to the side and laugh when something terrible happens

He had a clear sense of where Astarion's story would start and end, but it got "muddy in the middle", but those are also moments where the best ideas come from

They write from the general idea that every character has one "good" and one "evil" ending, in order to give the player choice. RIP Ascendant apologists :(

According to Stephen, two of the most important aspects of Astarion's character (to keep consistent when bringing him to Idle Champions, at least) is that he enjoys violence, but is also fun about it

"He has a certain appreciation for violence, I guess? A bit of a murdery streak. [...] He's a vampire, he's all about blood, and he's all about, kind of, those darker sides of humanity. [..] But at the same time, he is ... He is really fun, he's really fun to write, he's really fun to have in your party, and it's very important for me that that is also represented."

"He's gonna stab you, but will have a smile on his face as he does it? I mean, I dunno. That's kind of him in a nutshell."

Larian would not have allowed for Astarion to be a typical brooding Dracula type, and there were scenes that were shot down for not being original enough

The main thing about Astarion was trying to get a "sense of fun." It would be easy to write a character that was very unlikable, and they absolutely did not want to do that

Rooney says Astarion is consistently terrible throughout the game and awful in a whole lot of ways, but he also needed to be charming enough that you could tolerate his presence and wanted him around

Rooney also had a lot of input on Astarion's stats (meaning the 10 Charisma is probalby 100% intentional)

He also had input on how certain lines should be delivered, even though the writers didn't directly work with voice actors

The way Astarion moves and poses is "all Neil"

Apparently, Neil Newbon worked on the character for years and Rooney did not speak to him once, though his voice work did influence how Astarion's lines were written and it became a "feedback loop" (Possible context for "ONLY SLIGHTLY, NEIL")

There were no points where a line delivery drastically changed Astarion's writing; rather it was a constant, slow evolution

However, there was one very spoilery moment where Neil gave such emotion to some "basic" lines that it fundamentally changed the scene (WHAT IS IT OMG)

It's difficult to balance approval, as you don't want to straight up write a monster. Every character needs to have some humanity in them. So if it comes to leaving the party, it needed to be the result of something central to said character. They wanted to be mindful of situations that would cause actual rifts between characters. (I assume this is why most generic disapprovals/approvals are +/- 1 or 2, while character-related ones give +/-5 or more)

However, as they don't write straight up horrible people/monsters, it doesn't come up as often as one might think.

The interviewer makes a point about how characters like Astarion and Lae'zel are good examples of how to play "evil" characters, as they are maybe not the best people but are still eager and willing to stick around the other party members

They worked to make sure the characters would work as a group, no matter the configuration of the group. The characters needed to be on the same path, even if they don't always agree or walk that path the same way.

Stephen Rooney is very proud of the "climactic" scene of Astarion's story. (AS HE SHOULD BE.) He even had to step away from the computer and have an emotional moment. Me too, man.

He's also "extremely pleased" that there's a point where you can punch Astarion in the face. "Actually, that one might be my favorite part" A MAN OF THE PEOPLE!!

Stephen Rooney's tip on what specific thing you should try out with Astarion: When he's trying to get a "sneaky nibble" at night, you should "probably" let him bite you. Way ahead of you there, sir.

No discussion about Astarion's romance unfortunately, but that's that!

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #anyway ... after dragon age it feels so mindblowing to have writers who aren't apologists for their characters

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ithebookhoarder · 7 months

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Truth or Dare (Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader)

Summary: Married only a few months, you are very much one of the Bridgerton brood - something that often drives your poor husband mad, especially when you happen to be every bit as chaotic and unruly as his siblings... Also known as, you, Benedict and Eloise take a game of ‘truth or dare’ a bit too far.

A/N: What can I say? It’s well and truly fluff-tober over here on my blog 😅

Warnings: Alcohol, mild smut, swearing, Anthony losing his mind, typical Bridgerton sibling shenanigans

Masterlist

There weren’t many nights Anthony spent away from your side.

They were few and far between, but that didn’t lessen how irksome you found them when the odd occasion called for him to leave you over night. You didn’t know what it was exactly, but you never truly slept well without your husband there to hold you.

Of course, it had to be one of those nights that you truly found yourself in a spot of mischief. Though, in fairness, it had all started rather innocently.

Un-beknowst to you at the time, it was Benedict that had been first outside on the garden swing, sipping from a stolen bottle of whiskey he’d pilfered from the kitchens. He’d been sat there perhaps ten minutes by himself, staring at the stars and lamenting about some problem or other.

Then Eloise had come along.

As was her habit - you later discovered - she had been swift to follow her brother’s example, sneaking out of the house in her nightgown for a reprieve in the night air… and a cigarette or two. Apparently her second-eldest brother was something of a soft touch when it came to her, not that you could blame him for it. You doted on Eloise too.

Then, finally, completing the eclectic cast of characters, there had been you.

Now, in your defence, you hadn’t intended on going out into the garden that night, but had found no other alternative suitable given the blasted summer heat. It was worse tonight that it had been all week, and without Anthony in bed beside you, you saw little point in enduring with the effort of trying to get any rest.

So, you’d decided to make your way quietly through the house and sit outside a while, and pray for a breeze. You hadn’t, however, expected to find both Bridgerton siblings already sat there, having had a similar idea.

“My, what do we have here? Another night owl?”

It was Benedict who spoke first, smiling warmly at the sight of you appearing out of the darkness. He was quick to rise, offering you his swing as a perch to rest upon, beside Eloise.

You were about to protest that it wasn’t necessary and that you could find somewhere else to sit, but a warning glare from Eloise was enough to silence you.

She was all too eager to pat the seat next to her in invitation, looking remarkably pleased to have another addition to their little party.

“Come. Sit,” she ordered. “We were simply discussing how tedious Lady Tremaine’s luncheon will be tomorrow and how we could possibly avoid the whole thing. Now that you’re here, you can help us plot our escape. Benedict’s only suggestion thus far has been some kind of contagious summer cold.”

“I think I actually said that I would use such an excuse, sister,” Benedict corrected with a teasing grin. “Not that we would share it.”

“Traitor.”

“Hardly. It is every man - or woman - for themselves. Right, Y/N?”

“Alas, I think your mother would be rather suspicious at all three of us suddenly being absent,” you sighed by way of explanation as both their eyes turned to you. “Besides, I only came outside because of this heat, not to join some conspiracy.”

“Hardly,” Eloise chuckled. “We simply had the same idea, but I am rather glad you came to join us. Perhaps we should form some secret kind of club - Bridgertons against boredom?”

“And do what? Constantly find excuses not to attend social events we deem too tedious or odious to be dragged along to?”

“Sounds like a marvellous idea to me.”

“It would, sister dear,” Benedict teased. “You always have a talent for causing chaos and anarchy. You’d suit the cause perfectly, even if we both know our mother would never stand for it. She somehow sees through even our best efforts.”

“In which case, it’s time I take a leaf out of your book, Benedict. After all, you always say social events become far more bearable after a good drink or two,” Eloise smirked, gesturing towards the bottle of whiskey Benedict had been steadily nursing. “Perhaps I should follow my brothers example and learn to hold a drink, maybe then things will be more fun.”

“Oh no.” Benedict was quick to shut down that idea, holding the bottle possessively to his chest and shaking his head. “No. I am not allowing you to start drinking. Mother would have my head if she caught you, not to mention Anthony would have all ours heads on a platter in no time.”

The thought of it made you laugh. Your husband was hardly a tyrant, even if he’d been known to have a temper but he was easy enough to handle. A few soft words in his ear or a kiss on the cheek and he was putty in your hands, helplessly and completely in love with you. Just as you were in love with him.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of Anthony, Benedict?” you giggled, causing Eloise to join you. “I assure you, he’s more a kitten than a lion and he’d probably prefer you to allow Eloise to sample alcohol here, under your supervision, than when she inevitably decides to rebel and has her first drink later on, in the middle of some public ball…”

The warning was clear and you all knew very likely true. Still, Eloise was beaming in victory as Benedict cursed to himself, muttering about Bridgerton women and the likely death he’d receive should Anthony ever find out he had allowed Eloise to sample whiskey. “Just a few sips, El. I mean it.”

“Oh hush,” she snorted, taking the bottle before he could change his mind. She was quick to throw back her head and down a rather brave mouthful, causing you to laugh even harder as she scrunched her face up in disgust. “Oh! That is revolting.”

“I told you.”

“Now you, Y/N,” Eloise grinned, turning and offering the offending item towards you. “Go on. Join us trouble makers - I won’t say a word about it if you don’t.”

“Oh, for goodness sake… Give me that then,” you sighed, earning a cheer from them both, knowing it was better to simply surrender rather than try and fight their mischievous whims. It only increased as you took an ambitious swig from the bottle, wincing at the acrid burning sensation it left in your throat.

If only Anthony could have seen you. He’d have probably had some kind of seizure - especially as you took another quick swig before handing the bottle back.

“There. Your turn again, brother dearest.”

“My my. You really are quite surprising,” Benedict sniggered, before winking up at you in admiration. “Who knew it? You can hold your drink better than Colin. He seems cursed to choke any time he drinks anything stronger than a brandy.”

“Well, it is your sex that falsely deemed us the weaker,” Eloise quipped. “It’s not our fault you were ignorant.”

“I’d like to remind you I wasn’t part of that decision and you also looked ready to choke a moment ago, El.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’re still one of the enemy,” she giggled, earning another raucous laugh from you. Oh, you loved her. If you’d ever been so blessed to have had a sister, you hoped she’d have been just like her. “Now, it is your turn again, brother.”

“Oh … joy.”

“Else we shall have to have some kind of forfeit.”

“A forfeit?” you scoffed, finding the idea absurd. “Like what?”

“How about… truth or dare?”

Benedict froze. “Oh no. Not again. Pall Mall is one thing but we swore we would never play that game in this family again-“

“But Benedict-“

“What’s truth or dare?”

Your innocent question ceased their bickering instantly. Their eyes widened as they turned to you, a knowing and nervous look passing between them. Somehow, you knew this evening was about to get wildly out of hand.

Sometime later, you’d been fully apprised of the rules of ‘truth or dare’. In fact, you’d been something of a natural at it, even if you knew the copious amounts of whiskey you’d all consumed was more than likely the responsible culprit. Else, you’d probably have known better and snuck back off inside before you could make a fool of yourself.

By the end of the night, Benedict had climbed a tree, confessed to being oddly scared of spiders, and been forced to sing the national anthem in French.

Eloise had also made an admirable effort, despite her obviously lower tolerance for drink. She still permitted Benedict to try and arrange her hair, before daring to steal a sock from Colin’s room whilst he’d slept. Then she’d loosened a leg on a dining chair. (Alas, none of you could remember which one but that somehow made it even funnier - even if it would not be come morning when you were forced to sit at the table for breakfast in some kind of roulette.)

You could only pray you didn’t choose said seat.

You could also only pray neither of your conspirators shared your contributions with your husband. You weren’t exactly sure how Anthony would feel at the fact you gone for a midnight paddle in the pond, nor that you’d mixed up the papers on his desk, all before finishing the night with a final dare that involved stealing several cakes from the kitchens… you still swore Mrs Reynolds would notice, come morning, that there were no longer twelve perfect cakes.

That, and Benedict had somehow knocked flour all over the counter, causing you all to erupt in drunken laughter as you’d bolted back outside.

Needless to say, you all looked a sorry sight as you lay in the grass together, staring at the approaching dawn. Had you not been so tired, or drunk, you may have suggested retiring back to your rooms before the house awoke shortly.

“Now that… was fun.”

“Fun? That was more than fun. I haven’t laughed like that in ages.”

“Told you it was a good idea.”

You hummed in agreement with your sister in law.

“I can see why you all favoured this game so much,” you sniggered, winking at Eloise as she sat in the grass beside you. “I can also see why you all agreed to stop playing it… I don’t know what Anthony would say if he saw what we’d been up to.”

“Something sensible and disapproving most likely,” Benedict sniggered. “Our brother, and your husband, can be a right prig, no offence.”

“Oh hush. At least I didn’t let my sister dress me up in her petticoat when she was five.”

Benedict’s jaw dropped.

“Who told you about that?” he demanded indignantly.

“I have my sources.”

Benedict’s eyes narrowed as he turned his head to glare at his younger sister. “Well, you can tell your source that she’s going to have to find someone else to fetch her lemonade at the Cowper’s ball tomorrow night unless she apologises. You can also tell her that I’ll accept either a verbal or a written apology as long as it’s suitably abject. And that means very, very abject,” he added darkly.

“Tell me, Benedict, was it a lacy petticoat?”

With a wordless grunt of annoyance, Benedict groaned, but it was hard to hear over the laughter echoing from you and Eloise. You resembled more a pack of hyenas than two noble ladies - you probably looked just as feral after your night of mischief.

And of course, as was always your luck, that was exactly how your husband found you mere seconds later.

How Anthony had arrived without any of you hearing a carriage pulling up to the house at this time of the night - morning? You couldn’t be sure - was a mystery. Yet, there he was, hands on hips and looking thunderous as he stormed towards the three of you with all the fury of an exasperated headmaster.

“What in God’s name are you all playing at?”

You all froze.

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over you as your eyes widened, and you all turned to stare sheepishly at him.

“Oh, darling. You’re home?”

“Don’t ‘oh darling’ me,” Anthony sighed, attempting to scold you but without much success. His attempt at seriousness was somewhat undermined by his brother’s heckling, singing ‘here comes mother’ and that ‘someone’s in trouble’. That, and with the way you were lying, he was upside down. “What are you doing up at this god forsaken hour? And why are you … is that flour? And why are you soaking wet?”

“I went for a swim.”

“A - you went for a -“

“And Benedict did my hair,” Eloise interjected suddenly, waving her arms about as she gestured to the tangle of hair upon her head. “Isn’t it marvellous?”

Anthony’s expression very much said that he did not think it was marvellous. Nor did he find any of this vaguely amusing.

In fact, by the way he took a long deep breath, you knew he was doing his best not to lose his temper and wake the entirety of the household. His brow always creased like that when he was faced with dealing with his family, but the expression only made him seem more adorable and handsome to you, rather than authoritative. However, you’d never told him so, knowing it would hardly be deemed a compliment in his eyes.

You also doubted he’d appreciate your usual response right now, which was normally to kiss said brow until it eased back into its relaxed form.

“We were just playing a game to escape the heat, darling,” you soothed. “We couldn’t sleep and all had the same idea to seek refuge outdoors… we simply got carried away passing the time.”

“What game?”

“Pardon?”

“I said, what was the game you were all playing?” Anthony suddenly quipped, the warning clear in his tone. That, and his eyes landed squarely on his two siblings, who at least had the decency to look sheepish… and afraid. “Because there is but one game I can think of that would result in a mess like this one, and I’m confused, because I know for a fact that we banned that game under this roof, and any other roof that houses the Bridgertons.”

No one moved.

No one even breathed.

It was as if you were all too scared to risk answering Anthony, even if the empty bottle of whiskey did most of the talking by itself.

“I don’t recall the name,” you blinked. “Right, Benedict?”

“Oh, uh… we… we were just- Eloise?”

Eloise froze, the guilt written all too clearly on her face for her to even try and salvage the situation - though that could also be down to the whisky she had consumed… it was honestly hard to be sure at this point.

“Well, dear brother,” she began, only to trail off as Anthony lifted his hand.

The silence was instantaneous.

No one dared to say another word, let alone move.

You’d never seen Eloise or Benedict so still in your entire life. Hell, you weren’t even sure they were breathing - probably out of fear Anthony would decide to inform their mother about their mischievous exploits.

If Anthony Bridgerton was scary when vexed, then Violet Bridgerton was a nightmare brought to life in human form. After all, as the matriarch of a family of eight children, she had learned a long time ago how to keep her unruly children in line - a harrowing experience you had only had occasion to witness once or twice since your marriage into the Bridgerton family. Once had been when Colin and Gregory had broken a priceless vase when racing around the house, despite being explicitly banned from doing so. The other had been when she had caught Eloise and Benedict smoking outside on the terrace one night.

It was easy to say where your husband had inherited it from.

“Not. Another. Word,” your husband growled, bending down and sweeping you up into his arms in a move that made you squeal in surprise. “Right now, I am taking my wife to bed and I suggest you two do the same - after you clean up your mess. I’ll deal with the lot of you in the morning.”

A laugh escaped you as you tried not to look like you were enjoying the sudden turn of events too much. After all, you doubted he’d be too happy once you were more sober and he discovered the true extent of your nightly activities.

It was why you were only too happy to let him put you to bed, grumbling all the while about letting his siblings run wild. He really was most handsome when he was flushed - a fact you were reminded of as he hastily changed for bed, flashing you a tempting glimpse of his bare torso in the process.

You could tell without asking he was tired from his journey home, as well as fighting the urge to rip his hair out over the chaos he had found upon his return.

Thankfully, his need to be in your arms outweighed the need to scold you over letting yourself be drawn into his siblings’ schemes. All it took was you pulling him down onto the mattress, and climbing into his lap to turn him into a needy, lovestruck puddle.

You’d equally missed having him in your arms, but you’d be lying if you said that your sudden forwardness wasn't also due to a mixture of the whiskey you’d drunk, and the residual giddiness from a night of mischief. A confidence radiated from you as you began to run your hands over his bare chest, taking care to graze the areas you knew made him groan.

“You’re lucky I love you so much,” he teased breathlessly, visibly unable to refuse your advances.

“Is that so?”

Anthony chuckled, nodding as he surged his lips towards yours. “Yes, so come here, my delinquent drunken wife, and let me kiss you before you and those doe-eyes of yours drive me insane. Now.”

Your laughter and surrender was immediate. “As you wish.”

Alas, for poor Anthony, that was not the end of the ordeal.

In fact, it was the next morning as you made your way into breakfast that you faced the final consequences of your delinquency.

Despite wishing to remain abed for the entire day, you’d been granted no such reprieve as your maid had entered your room at the usual appointed time and proceeded to open the curtains with no regard for the fact that you had slept a mere handful of hours. Whereas you would normally greet the day with a reluctant smile, you were in no state to manage much more than a groan as you were harshly ripped from your slumber.

If you had somehow not yet come to the conclusion that last night had been a bad idea, then the sudden flare of pain in your head at the bright intrusion was all the proof you needed. That, and the sudden churning in your stomach.

You would never let Benedict or Eloise coax you into drinking with them again.

You had not realised, despite how the idiom went, that what went up was sure to come down again - and you had come crashing down.

Hard.

“If you’re ready to dress, my lady, then breakfast will be served shortly,” your maid chirped, a dress already picked out for you to wear. She either couldn't detect your fragile state, or didn't seem to care as she continued speaking at a painfully loud volume. “My Lord sent me to wake you as he is finishing business in the study. He was up frightfully early, I could scarce believe it went the housemaids told me they’d already found him awake when they went to start the fires this morning. Gave young Samantha a right fright he did, scribbling away at his desk.”

“Oh?” you croaked.

You hadn’t even noticed the empty space in the bed bedside you until then.

Clearly Anthony had risen early, if he’d even gone to sleep at all. Why were you not surprised? Your husband was perpetually in motion, always claiming there was something or someone that needed his urgent attention as the head of the Bridgerton clan. It was just one of the things that made you love him so much.

“Is he still there?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the young girl continued, breezing about your room. “And that’s not the only strange incident this morning. It will tickle you rotten when I tell you the latest drama, but you see, Mrs Reynolds was ranting and raving about how she swore she had made three trays of fruit tarts last night, yet this morning, there were only two. The youngest kitchen maid, Betsy, is convinced it must be a ghost but my money is on Carter - the groom’s boy - he’s always snooping about the kitchen...”

You winced. Ah. Maybe you hadn't been as stealthy last night as you’d hoped after all...

With as much enthusiasm as you could muster, you began to peel yourself from the mattress, trying to appear as if you were listening to your maid’s theories as she dressed you for the day. It then took all your resolve to make it downstairs and to the breakfast table without tripping over your own feet, or emptying the non-existent contents of your stomach.

To your relief, only Eloise and Benedict had so far taken a seat at the breakfast table - and both looked about as miserable as you felt.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, taking your usual chair next to the head of the table. You were quick to accept the steaming cup of coffee Benedict handed you, shooting him a thankful look. “Dare I ask how we feel?”

“I think better than you and my dear sister here,” Benedict chirped, gesturing at a miserable looking Eloise. She had her head in her hands and was desperately trying to look at the plate of food in front of her with something other than repulsion. “Then again, I must admit I am somewhat more experienced in the art of late-night mischief than you both. I also did not have to deal with my brother before going to bed - thank you, again, for that noble sacrifice.”

“Your welcome,” you chuckled, a faint heat rising in your cheeks as you remembered the exact events after you and Anthony had gone to bed. “I just feel bad that you both got left to clean up the mess.”

“Don’t be. I think we got it all.”

“You say that but I can’t remember anything after you started singing in French,” Eloise groaned, massaging her forehead once more. “I have the oddest feeling we may have forgotten something.”

You paused. You could only hope for your sake she was wrong.

However, you were saved from such discussion by the arrival of the rest of the Bridgerton bunch. All conversation about your night-time escapades were quickly forgotten as Colin, Hyacinth and Gregory entered the room, bickering about something you couldn’t quite make out. They were swiftly followed by Violet and Francesca, who both looked unfairly cheerful for so early in the morning.

You could only wish to look so fresh and composed before your first cup of whatever caffeinated beverage you could get your hands on.

Then, finally, came your husband. Entering the room last, he turned and shot you a warm smile. Clearly, your shenanigans had been forgotten - for now - replaced instead by the memory of your other activities, much to the relief of you and your co-conspirators.

In fact, you swore you saw Eloise exhale a breath of relief when Anthony didn't immediately launch into one of his lectures. Instead, he chose to join the rest of his family in helping himself to the awaiting breakfast spread, laid out on the sideboard for them, listening to some ongoing debate between his mother and youngest brother.

“-but you said we could visit the park this afternoon.”

“I know, sweetheart, but I have to take Francesca and Eloise for their final fittings at the modiste. We shouldn’t be too long, and we can go after? Unless, perhaps your brothers will take you. Colin? Benedict? Anthony?”

Benedict looked physically pained at the idea of an afternoon at the park, what with his current delicate constitution and all. You honestly couldn't blame him. “Well, I uh - have a drawing class, this afternoon. Very last minute. Sorry.”

“And I... um, have a meeting at the club?” Colin stammered hastily. “Anthony?”

“Please, Anthony?” Gregory begged, all but pouting at his older brother as the pair made their way to the table. “I promise I’ll do all my lessons this week without complaining if you say yes. I’ll even let you have my pudding tonight.”

“As you asked so nicely, brother, I don’t see how an hour or so at the park could do any harm -” Anthony began, pulling out the chair next to you and lowering himself onto the seat in a moment that felt like it lasted forever as a horrifying sensation swept over you.

You remembered what you’d forgotten.

The chair.

“Anthony, wait-!”

The sudden crash was startling, as was the sight of your husband being sent flying backwards as the chair collapsed beneath him.

No one moved.

No one said a word.

Benedict looked across at you and Eloise, the horror clear in his eyes as he choked the word you felt on the tip of your tongue: “Run!”

#Bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fluff #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #ithebookhoarder #thesilentmage #masterlist #Violet Bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #jonathan bailey #colin bridgerton

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meara-eldestofthemall · 6 months

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Gee, thanks DC! You Just Turned Bruce Into An Irredeemable Ass.

So, at the end of Gotham War Bruce has officially lost everything. Alfred is still dead, Selina is "presumed dead" and Bruce is both financially and morally broke. Why, you may ask, is Bruce so much worse off this time? Let me count the ways.

He preformed a psychic lobotomy on Jason

The "it's for your own good" excuse only makes the mental rape undertaken by Jason's own father that much more heinous.

Just when you think Bruce can't sink any lower he does. When Dick recognizes that Bruce has lost it, he attempts to use a failsafe disconnect that Bruce himself built into the system. How does Nightwing get thanked for that? Well that brings us to number two on the list.

Batman attacks up his eldest son for doing what he's supposed to do when Batman has gone rouge.

Bruce beats him up because nothing proves you are in control of your sanity like hitting your children. While Dick is holding back, Bruce does no such thing. He hits Nightwing hard enough to send him flying. It could have gotten even worse if Tim hadn't shown up.

Tim arrives and attempts to talk some sense into Batman.

Tim tries to talk Bruce down. It doesn't go well. When Robin is trying to help, as he always does, Batman uses the attempt to reason with him to put the smack down on his son. Bruce could have killed Tim but apparently feels no remorse or guilt.

If there was any teeny tiny little doubt that Bruce will not win the Father of The Year award in 2023 it died a horrible screaming death when Batman abandons his children to potential arrest. Yes, he left a batarang for Dick and Tim but any glimer of possible hope associated with that action was instantly extinguished by Damian's reaction to Batman's callous betrayal.

Bruce abandons Damian.

Look at Dami; he's devastated. Since he came into Bruce's life, Damian has struggled with feelings that he can never earn his father's love and respect. Well, that negative self-image was reinforced in way that may never be repairable. Bruce just utterly destroyed a 13 year old child because of his inability to feel any kind of empathy.

And how does this all end? The best part is that Bruce takes all of his parental responsibilities and dumps them onto Dick.

Thank you Chip Zdarsky and Trini Howard. You've taken Batman from being an edgy anti-hero and made him into a callous monster. Part of me hopes that Bruce never comes back because he doesn't deserve his family.

The only positive aspect in this convoluted mess is that Damian and Tim will be far better off with Dick than with Bruce. Yes, Tim is mostly independent but he still needs guidance (particularly since Tim's first instinct is to try and save Bruce). Damian is essentially Dick's son emotionally anyway so this might help to sustain the positive character growth we've seen in him as of late.

The point of this rant is to wonder what on earth DC thinks they're doing. This story arc has been pure character destruction as far as Bruce is concerned. It's bad storytelling too; rushed, frenetic and massively disappointing.

Hasn't the popularity of Good Dad Bruce in Wayne Family Adventures proved that fans are tired of Bruce being a dark depressed and brooding edge lord? We all accept that Batman is a character with deeeeep issues who is in desperate need of therapy. I, however, draw the line at Bruce being an abusive a**hole.

In years to come when fans wonder when Batman jumped the shark, this is the plot line they'll point to.

#bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #batman #nightwing #tim drake robin #damian wayne robin #batfam #dc stands for disappoints continually

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

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I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 3.5 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.

Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.

And you don't.

Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults.

The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.

But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard.

The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like.

He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.

Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow.

Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?

You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.

The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.

You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you.

You're posh. And clueless. And a child.

And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.

It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.

And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.

Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?

You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.

It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.

And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.

"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.

"I reckon."

He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.

"So. What made you become a soldier?"

"Joined the SAS when I was 17."

And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…

"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."

Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.

"Nah. That's not how this works."

You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.

"Lady."

The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.

He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.

"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."

He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.

"...I'm just going shopping."

His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes.

"Then let's go shopping."

…......…......

Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.

You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.

And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.

He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.

"You're from Manchester, right?"

You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance.

And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.

"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.

There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.

"Do you still live there?"

"...No."

"Do you miss the place?"

"No."

The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.

"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."

…......…......

You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times.

He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.

And you’re not going to give in to fear.

You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?

What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.

Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ugh.

Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.

Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.

Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.

A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.

"Found the one who's hunting you."

Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock.

This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…

You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.

"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."

Nice. More brutes.

"Why are you telling me this?"

You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.

"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in."

He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...

And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.

"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"

"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them.

He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.

Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.

"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."

And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.

You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.

"What do you mean?"

He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.

"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."

"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"

"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."

The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.

You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…

"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.

"That's the least you could do."

That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury.

He could be a little more sensitive.

You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.

You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.

"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.

"Neither did I."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."

The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all.

You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.

"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him.

He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.

Soddy bastard…

"Nah. Not until I've done my job."

His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.

"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout.

Your fucking job.

Why did you even want this job if it's so–

"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."

You have to take support from the table with your fingertips.

"Excuse me?"

There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.

"Good night, ma'am."

…......…......

The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing.

You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes.

He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep.

You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job.

And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.

"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then.

The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.

But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.

"That so?"

He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.

"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.

He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"

"That's for sure."

You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.

His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.

If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.

"Will you forgive me?"

You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up.

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two.

"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."

"Ain't that the truth."

The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.

"Are we going shopping today?"

"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.

"What then?"

"I… I have a yoga class."

"Of course you do."

…......…......

Taglist: @cumikering

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #bodyguard au #bodyguard!Ghost

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 2 months

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Hiya there!

I have two questions,

first, what if Katsuki was whipped over a popstar reader?

Also, who's the character in your profile? i wanna maybe draw her.

Much love

-Kovu :>

hello this is LOOOOONG overdue @kovu-bunnbunn im soooo sorry ! i didnt rlly know how to get to this at first cus i've never done hc's before, but either way i hope you like it ! also tumblr just randomly ate this so i had to restart...yay.

p.s.: the character on my profile is my oc ryoko ! she's my mha oc, i'd be so super flattered if you decided to draw her ! (also idk if you couldve guessed but shes my oc x canon katsuki ship I KNOOOOW shocker)

katsuki has literally every single piece of merch he can get his hands on

vinyls, album records, posters, accesories and t-shirts but he never wears them he hides them somewhere in his room so you don't find out he has them.

(you do find out eventually.)

he gets so giddy on the inside when you give him limited edition stuff and that's always something he shows off

"woah man that's limited edition ive been LURKING for that !" "yeah well apparently you haven't been lurkin' hard enough cus I HAVE IT--"

he shows up to all your concerts and somehow he manages to be the loudest one there lmfaooo his ass is NOT on mute.

if you ever take him backstage he's so awkward cus he doesnt know anyone so he just sticks to you (not like he doesn't on the daily)

at most he'll nod at people in greeting (he's kinda scared he'll start stuttering)

but he's scary lookin so the staff n others think he's just protective over you

for sure your other bandmates / staff think he's your personal bodyguard LOLOLOLOL

but nope turns out he's just a loser lol

if you sell photocards as merch or something like that best believe has ALLL of them

collectin em like his phone isn't already filled with pictures of you

his storage about to burst and it's still not enough for 'im LOLOL

he for sure has a secret fan account that entirely revolves around you.

he defends you with his LIFE on there too he's one of them fans😭😭😭

he has a different playlist from specific albums depending on his mood, so whatever playlist he's on there's always at least one song of yours on there

he has a seperate 'bad boy playlist' that he has so you don't find out he's a hyperfan

one time you guys were sharing earbuds in the bus while his playlist was on shuffle and he'd accidently added one of your songs on his edgy dark n brooding cool guy playlist.

needless to say he was more than embarrassed, damn near MORTIFIED and didn't look at you for the whole bus ride 😭😭

gets so flustered when he finds out songs you've written were while you thought of him or were dedicated to him. he gets so blushy about it but he's such a show off

like whenever he hears a song meant for him, he smirks about it to himself and no one understands why but he really doesn't care cus they don't need to understand

cus it's something between you and him <3

all in all, he loves you and your music (and your merch) and he couldn't be prouder to call himself your boyfriend <3

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an-exasperated-hades-kid · 2 months

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So I've been seeing a lot of will solace hate, and I'm here to defend my son.

First of all, he's not a toxic person at all he's a human who can mess up at times and be unintentionally rude, like in that one scene boo where he says

‘Oh, please.’ Will sounded unusually angry. ‘Nobody at Camp Half-Blood ever pushed you away. You have friends – or at least people who would like to be your friend. You pushed yourself away. If you’d get your head out of that brooding cloud of yours for once –

^ that is rude but he didn't have bad intentions because according to him nico wasn't scary and the people that he hung out with - Lou Ellen and Cecil- didn't think that nico was scary either as they were both friendly towards him when they met him at the Roman camping area outside chb so while his delivery wasn't good he meant no harm and he also helped nico realize that not everyone hates him and then there are a few jokes that he made that people consider toxic or offensive but nico was never offended or sad about these jokes he only rolled his eyes and acted exasperated so he knew will meant no harm .

Will is canonically described as a laid-back and calm person, but he is also stubborn when it comes to certain things like medical related things which is understandable since he can feel everything physically wrong with a person by just touching them and is persistent that they don't die and Take care of themselves which is understandable since he saw majority of his siblings die and doesn't want more ppl to die .

Will is actually quite a complex character he's calm and laid back but he's stubborn and strict when he needs to be he's supportive and loving to nico but since he's a kid he struggles with being understanding sometimes hence why he asks persephone for advice on how to be there for nico properly showing that he's mature enough to ask for help . He's also someone represses his emotions because he thinks that as head counselor, he has to be a perfect example, and he told this apollo in the 1st toa book. He's also pretty insecure about his abilities, as shown in boo

Evidence:

You did,’ confirmed Nico. ‘But it was the way you did it. You made it clear that you wanted me around. You said you wanted me to come to the infirmary and help, because … because you could use a “friendly face”.’

‘It was true. And you did help.’

‘You brought me closer instead of rejecting me,’ Nico said, his voice cracking. ‘I’d never been called a friendly face. Ever. You made me rethink everything – my place in camp, my crush on Percy, my future. It took you scolding me like you were the camp director to make me realize that I was … wanted.

___

But with Nico … It’s hard, Persephone. I want the best for him, and he seems to disappear into his darkness, like he’s hiding in a place where he doesn’t want my light.’

‘Then why not offer him your darkness

_____

Nico sighed in exasperation. He hated working with other people. They were always cramping his style, making him uncomfortable. And Will Solace … Nico revised his impression of the son of Apollo. He’d always thought of Will as easygoing and laid back. Apparently, he could also be stubborn and aggravating

_______________________________________

In conclusion will isn't toxic and he isn't perfect and if I'm wrong about something please point it out cause I haven't read the books in a while and if I missed something please point it out and I'm sorry for the typos I wrote this without wearing my glasses as 3 am after studying for a test

#will solace #defending will solace #hes not a bad person but hes also not perfect hes a mixture of both #we need to stop the hate for will like hes done like one or two bad thing in the series and even those times didnt mean to be rude #solangelo #percy jackson and the Olympians #heroes of olympus #the sun and the star #nico di angelo #leave my boy will alone like if he comes off as a dick its a writing mistake on ricks part except that boo i will not exuse him there #anti will solace #im countering yalls argument #its stupid and immature to hate someone because they did like 1 thing #like bro is 16 and he was 14/15 during that scene in boo ofc he's going to make mistake #he's a fucking child and he's learning

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greatooglymooglyyy · 2 months

Text

The Last Ride Chapt. Three (AU Cowboy!C.Sturniolo)

series masterlist

summary: when spoiled and sheltered city girl Y/N finds herself in running in the wrong crowd, her dad gives her an ultimatum. it's either spend the summer of her gap year on her uncle's ranch or face being cut off and finding a job. just when she thinks it can't get any worse, she meets Chris, the brooding farmhand who thinks he knows her type. but as the summer goes on, they both realize there may be more to the other than meets the eye.

requested and advised by @rootbeerworshiper

contains: strained parental relationship, flirting, sexism, 1.8k words

a/n: this my work, do not replicate it. do not repost as your own. this is such a filler chapter y'all but i think we needed some character development

“You have anything else for me today?” I ask Chris as I yank off my work gloves and shove them in my pocket. He shoots me a quick glance over his shoulder before he goes back to unloading the truck.

“Did you fill the watering-”

“Yes.”

“Did you walk the fence to see-”

“Yep. And told Uncle there was a loose spot by the north pasture.”

Chris turns and studies me for a second before his mouth pulls up in the ghost of a smile. “Well, alright then, little miss farmer. You can go.”

“Thank god.” I sigh in relief at having survived my first week and spin to leave before tossing Chris a curt, “Have a good weekend.”

He nods back at me in recognition, opening his mouth like he wants to say something else before apparently thinking better of it and turning back to the truck.

*******************

I can’t believe that I’ve become a person whose most exciting plan on a Friday night is a long bubble bath. But I’m not even mad about it. After a week of chasing down animals and lifting feed, I have muscles aching that I’ve never even felt before. Not even after pilates.

When I’m done soaking away my sorrows, I get dressed and head into my room. But before I can follow through on my plan to sleep for approximately the next 22 hours, my phone begins to ring.

I know before I even look down that it’s my dad and I sigh deeply. I’ve been dodging his calls and texts since I got here, using work as an excuse, but he knows I have weekends off. Flopping onto my bed in defeat, I slide the bar over to answer.

“Yes, Dad?” I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice but the pause in his response tells me I failed.

“Hey, honey. I was just, um, calling to check in on you. How’s the ranch?”

I give a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, it’s great. A dream.”

There’s silence on both of our lines for a few beats as we each wait for the other to give in.

“Look…” Dad starts, his normally strong voice wavering a bit. “I just wanted to tell you…”

I wait as he trails off, hoping he’s about to open the door for us to get over this but he seems to bail out on his original thought.

“... I wanted to ask how you’re doing on cash. There are some cool shops in town. Don’t just rot inside all day while you’re there. Here I’ll transfer something to your card.”

Disappointment floods over me as my bank app notifies me of a deposit. “Cool. Thanks.”

We say an awkward goodbye a few minutes later and I throw my phone on the bedside table. I turn off my lamp and stare up at the ceiling, deep in thought. As I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but wonder if my dad and I will ever have more in common than just money.

*******************

I take his advice and take my uncle’s truck into town to explore. The experience of driving a pickup truck is every bit as humbling as I expected it to be, especially with the loud backfiring. But when I pull into the parking lot for the shopping strip, I see that I fit right in for maybe the first time since I got here.

I step into the first clothing store I see, a cute little boutique with pink cowboy hats in their window. It’s pretty busy when I enter so I stick to browsing the walls, smiling to myself at the section of belts with huge buckles.

I pick up a shirt that says “Say howdy, stay rowdy” intending to take a picture but sit it down when I remember I don’t really have anyone to send it to.

A pretty girl in a camo Chevrolet hat taps me on the shoulder and gives me a friendly smile when I turn. “Hi! Can I help you find anything?”

“No thank you...” I glance down at her nametag and return her smile. “...Abby. I’m just looking.”

She nods and leans in close to whisper. “Girl, I really just came over to say how much I love your purse. It was all over my vision board this year.”

I laugh at this and look down at my Marc Jacobs tote bag. “Do you want it? I hardly ever carry this one.”

Abby’s eyes widen and she shakes her head quickly. “No! I couldn’t-”

“Girl, seriously. It’s no big deal. I open the bag and pull out my wallet and lip gloss, having not even bothered to switch the rest of my belongings over this morning, then hand her the bag.

She takes it slowly as if she’s sure it’s a trick and then beams at me. “Thank you so much! That’s way too sweet.”

We talk for a few more minutes, exchanging socials before her boss comes around the corner and calls for her.

“Ugh.” She groans, rolling her eyes. “Let me get back before he has a cow. Don’t be a stranger, okay? Text me.”

I promise I will and leave the store, hiding a smile.

As I start making my way over to the next boutique, the door to the ice cream shop bursts open and a small girl runs out. She just may be the cutest kid I’ve ever seen in my life with her huge blue eyes and pigtails that curl delicately at the ends. The girl skips my way, her little hand holding a cone, and almost bumps into me. She stops short and smiles up at me sweetly. “Sorry!”

I smile back, squatting down a bit. “No problem, honey. I love your shoes.”

At the compliment, her face brightens up even more, stepping back to show off her cowboy boots better. “Thank you! My brother got them for me. They have my name on the side, look. E-V-I-E. Evie!”

I laugh and nod my head. “Very cool, Evie.”

The ice cream door opens again and a familiar frame steps out. “Little girl, what have I told you about walking away from me?”

I raise my eyebrows as Chris comes over and places a hand on Evie’s head. Without my permission, my eyes trail themselves over Chris' outfit, taking in the rare sight of him out of work clothes. Somehow he looks even better than usual in his simple white tee tucked into his jeans, a gold chain hanging casually around his neck. He’s got a cowboy hat in his hand and he pulls it on, adjusting it as he looks up and finally notices me. His brow furrows in confusion as he looks between the two of us. “Scotch?”

I wave awkwardly and smile. “Hi.”

Evie looks up at me blinking slowly. “Your name is Scotch?”

“Y/N.” Chris and I say in unison, making heat creep up my skin.

“This is Mr. Buck’s niece, remember?” He adds, looking down at Evie who nods. With them standing next to each other, the resemblance is striking and I can't believe I didn't make the connection immediately. His eyes dilate with love when he looks at her and I can't help but grin at their sweet bond.

Chris looks back over and me and raises his brow, reaching out and tugging my sleeve. “Ain’t it a little hot for this?”

I scoff and gesture down at myself, smoothing a hand over my faux leather jacket. "You do what you must for the look,” I say with fake cockiness and he laughs. “Why are you always hating on my style?”

He grins, clicking his tongue. “Believe me, Scotch, the last thing i'm doing is hating.” I raise an eyebrow and he adds a quick, “I mean, it don’t make me no nevermind is all.”

My lips pull up in a smirk and the moment stretches on for a bit too long as he holds my eye contact until Evie taps her foot and interrupts. “Why are you looking at her so funny, bubba?”

We snap out of it and look down, Chris giving her a confused look. “What are you on about?”

“Like your eyes are sparkling. It’s weird-”

“Okay! We gotta go. Let’s have a little chat about strangers on the way.” Chris cuts in, taking her hand to lead her away. “See you Monday, Scotch.”

“See you.”

“Bye Y/N!” Evie yells over her shoulder. She turns back to Chris lowering her voice only slightly. “You’re right. She is pretty.”

“Shh-”

Oh wow. My heart does something funny but I ignore it and cross the street, deciding to head back home. As I walk past a group of boys my age, someone lets out a low wolf whistle and I turn in disgust.

A boy with the greasiest mullet the world has ever seen runs over from his group of friends and starts walking backward beside me.

“Well, damn girl. You gotta be the finest thing on this side of the Mason-Dixon. Where they been hiding you at?”

“Jesus. Does that usually work for you?” I say, picking up my pace a bit. He grins, clearly taking my tone as a challenge, and steps into my path so I stop walking. “Get out of my way.”

“Oh c’mon on, darlin’. They don’t let y’all smile in the big city?” The boy flashes me what I’m sure he thinks is a sly smile and leans in closer, running his eyes down my body. “Let a country boy give you a reason to.”

I scoff and cross my arms, opening my mouth to give him hell, when Chris appears behind him and claps a rough hand on his shoulder.

“How about you take a few steps back, man?” Chris suggests, setting his jaw around his toothpick and giving the boy a dark look from under the brim of his hat.

He seems to wilt immediately under Chris’ gaze, cutting his eyes from his to mine. “My bad, bro. Is this you?”

I narrow my eyes, annoyed that the only thing stopping him from harassing me is another man. “Or maybe I’m just a girl who isn’t interested?”

Chris lets the boy go, stepping closer to my side. “You heard the boss, Mason. Why don’t you go mack on your girlfriend?”

He smacks his lips and puts his hands up. “Whatever man. I was just being nice. She ain’t even all-”

Chris levels him with a dangerous stare and he snaps his mouth shut. “Watch your mouth.”

Mason rolls his shoulders back in forced nonchalance and heads back over to his boys who yell out taunts and ooos.

“I could have handled it,” I say stubbornly, looking over Chris’ shoulder and noticing Evie waiting a few feet away.

“I know you could have.” He replies without hesitation. “I don’t think there’s much you can’t handle.”

He doesn’t wait for my response, spinning on his heel and heading back to his sister. I stand there and watch them fade down the street, forcing down a smile as my understanding of who Chris is shifts in my mind.

🏷️/ @sturniolho @sttzee @tillies33ssss @miloisdone1 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @mrsmiagreer @asturniolos

@teapartyprincess4two @whicked-hazlatwhore @sukiipjs @accio326 @sturniolosmind @imfromthediningtable @rootbeerworshiper

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alzirrx · 1 year

Text

So apparently I’m the only person that actually liked the Tyler/Wednesday dynamic, despite a couple things, so I’m about to make an entirely uncalled for essay defending them because I became very emotionally attached in the one night I spent watching this show

To start, I liked how awkward Tyler’s character was right off the bat, because I feel like you don’t see that kind of character type as love interests in much media. A lot of the time it’s overshadowed for the Golden Retriever or Angsty Brooding Type™, and it was really refreshing seeing a different archetype as a love interest. The way him and Wednesday coupled together was always kind of awkward and uncertain, but it felt kinda more real that way considering that’s how a lot of high school romances start out. I really loved the idea of a kind of “baby hold my flower” dynamic between the two, crazy obsessive outcast gf/laid-back supportive normie bf who makes posters to cheer her on during her rampages

On the flip side, once the reveal happened there was so much potential. I wanted his redemption so bad. I wanted him to go back to how he was, while also letting loose more on his more angry feral side while also getting a scene where he got to be redeemed. I was waiting for him to turn to their side any minute, with a speech afterwards about how yes his actions were bad, and while they weren’t his choice persay he just might have enjoyed them, but that doesn’t mean he never liked her! That was all him! Because in all honesty I liked his sweet and caring side contrasted with her cold unfeeling demeanor, although I do see many arguments being made in favor of the serial killer/serial killer stopper dynamic which could be explored

And in terms of canon: the date was adorable, well thought out and showed he actually knew her (like how a scary movie wouldn’t actually scare her: a chick flick would), the way he liked her dancing at the Rave’N, how he always brought her quads, the birthday cake + coffee, all the little sweet gestures of his

(I know that’s only the things he did- but this post is more about him than Wednesday)

I’m fairness, the “I thought you were sending signals” bit felt a little out of left field since she acted the same the whole time, but I’ve learned from experience that if you like someone and you hope they like you back, you can basically turn anything they do at all into a signal

All I’m saying is, ship what you want, but I feel that they worked a lot better than some people give them credit for, and if he hadn’t have been the Hyde they would’ve been really good together, and they still could be

TL;DR, Wednesday x Tyler worked and would also have worked better under different circumstances

#wednesday #wednesday x tyler #wednesday addams #tyler galpin #wednesday netflix

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ctitan98official · 3 months

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Anonymous: Hii! I've been binge-reading all of your stuff and wondered how you'd think RE8 characters would react to lovable idiot reader saying/doing something actually smart for once?

Hehe, just kidding. Anyway, thanks for reading my stuff :) I love this idea! Let’s get into it!

Alcina:

Alcina lounges in her armchair near the fire, a hint of boredom in her eyes as she awaits your company. As silly as you can be, she adores you and hates whenever you two are apart. Thankfully, you finally stroll in. You do have a bit of a mischievous glint in your eyes, though.

“Draga, have you managed to stay out of trouble today?” She inquires, arching an elegant eyebrow.

“Actually, Alci, I’ve been doing some research on the local plants around the castle grounds!” You tell her and go over to give her a kiss. “I know you’re always achy because of the cadou, but apparently a lot of these herbs can help!”

She tilts her head, genuinely intrigued and touched by your thoughtfulness. “Oh? Well, why don’t you tell me more, draga?” She says, picking you up and settling you on her lap to cuddle.

You show her all of your research and Alcina’s eyes widen in surprise.

She feels a little guilty for underestimating your intelligence, but to be fair, you’re not exactly a brainiac. She shakes her head violently as she tries to stop remembering all of the dumb things you’ve done in the past and leans in, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “Perhaps there’s even more to you than meets the eye, draga.”

Donna:

You’re hanging out with Donna in her workshop when you manage to stumble upon a rare moment of intelligence.

As you examine one of the dolls, you point out a hidden feature Donna has added to its craftsmanship – A small inlay of the Beneviento crest on the back of its neck. It’s something no one else should have been able to notice.

Donna raises an eyebrow, her usually brooding face holding genuine surprise. “You know, tesoro, most people are too terrified to notice the details,” She giggles in her soft voice.

You grin, feeling a surge of confidence. “Well, I’m not most people, babe. I’ve got an eye for the subtle intricacies of your art!”

Donna tilts her head, considering your words (And blushing wildly). It’s a rare occasion for someone to appreciate her work in such a manner, let alone someone as seemingly clueless as yourself.

“You’ve surprised me, cara mia. Perhaps there is a brain in that head of yours after all,” She teases, her tone a mix of amusement and genuine curiosity.

You feign offense but chuckle, reveling in the fact that you managed to impress the mysterious doll maker. “You bring out the best in me, babe,” You shrug.

Miranda:

You stand before Miranda, trying to suppress your usual goofy grin. You’ve just had a surprising burst of intellect and want to share an idea with your lover.

“Listen to this, Miranda,” You begin, your eyes gleaming. “I’ve been thinking about the village’s resources, and I believe we should start distribution to other nearby settlements to build a stronger economy.”

Miranda blinks rapidly for a few moments, trying to figure out where you learned those words, before speaking. “Well, well,” She muses, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Did you borrow some wisdom from the local livestock today, my dear? Or did you accidentally stumble upon a hidden cache of brain cells?”

You chuckle nervously, aware of your usual reputation for dumbassery. “Maybe I’ve been hiding my genius all along, just to keep you on your toes!”

Miranda raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on her lips. “Ah, a mastermind hiding behind the facade of a lovable fool. How intriguing. You’re perfect for me,” She says, nuzzling her nose against yours affectionately.

“I’m no fool! I’m stupid! There’s a difference, babe!” You argue.

Miranda playfully rolls her eyes. “Alright, draga mea. Whatever you say.”

Bela:

You and Bela are cuddling on her bed when you suddenly blurt out something you’ve learned recently (A rare feat).

“Babe, I’ve been researching the architecture of the castle and found out a lot about the Dimitrescu family’s history!”

Bela’s eyes widen comically as she takes in what you just said. She looks at you in disbelief before giggling. “You? Researching? Surely you jest, little one.”

You chuckle, realizing the irony of the situation. “No joke, babe! Turns out I can be smart when I put my mind to it.”

Bela crosses her arms, a sly smirk forming on her lips. “Well, I must say I’m surprised. Tell me more.”

As you continue to share your newfound knowledge, Bela can’t help but be amused by the unexpected display of intelligence from her usually endearing, if not a tad foolish, partner. It seems that beneath your playful exterior, there is a hidden depth waiting to be discovered.

Cassandra:

You find yourself standing in the armory with Cass, surrounded by her impressive collection of weapons. As she inspects a particularly wicked-looking dagger, you decide to seize the moment.

In an attempt to impress Cass, you confidently start spouting off some surprisingly detailed information about the knife’s craftsmanship.

Cass’s mouth hangs open, clearly not expecting such knowledge to come from your lips.

You shrug with a mischievous grin, “I may have a hidden appreciation for sharp things too.”

Cass chuckles, clearly enjoying the unexpected turn of events. She puts the dagger down and playfully pinches your cheeks. “Perhaps I’ve been underestimating my favorite little dummy.”

Your eyes light up at her words. “Does this mean you’ll let me play with that big ass claymore you always talk about?!”

Cass smirks, her eyes glinting. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, darling. I’m just saying that I suppose even an idiot can surprise me every now and then.”

With that, you find yourself drawn into a delightful conversation about the intricacies of each blade. You even end up earning a few kisses from your girl. Nice work, stupid.

Daniela:

While Dani is certainly fun-loving and lighthearted, few know just how much of a bookworm she is. She loves to learn and reads constantly.

You have definitely picked up on this, though. You want to surprise her with some of the things you’ve found out about her favorite authors.

Dani is currently curled up on her bed (Reading of course), And you stroll in with unbridled confidence. You take a look at the book she’s reading, Carmilla, and decide to show off a bit. “Hard to believe that book was written before Dracula. Le Fanu must have really inspired Stoker,” You remark.

Dani’s eyes shoot wide open and the excited smile on her face is precious. “You like Carmilla?!” She squeals.

You scratch the back of your head. To be honest, that’s kind of all you learned about the book, but you don’t want to seem like too big of an idiot. “Well, I-”

“Come read with me!” Dani says and pulls you onto her bed before resting on your chest.

You hold her happily as she reads to you and inwardly pat yourself on the back. You just scored some serious snuggle time with your favorite person.

Masterlist

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blakbonnet · 8 months

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S2 Spoilers from the articles so far

- Lucius has a brooding, bitter arc

- Mary and Anne are murder wives, literally, retired and plotting new ways to kill each other everyday and keeping the relationship fresh

- Ed and Stede go on a double date (possible the chair smashing scene)

- the phrase "snuffed out" was used for tealoranges in one of the articles, make of that what you will, hints of possible poly Jim x Olu x Archie maybe

- Izzy redemption arc, meaty storyline

- Pirate Queen Zheng Si Yao vs Prince Richard (Errol shand) is the major background story

- Episode 6 is major! Romance and otherwise and has loads of emotional tears shed

- "Susan" Ruibo's character (Queen Zheng) is a bit of a frenemy and really lauded for her part

- The crux is romance and Ed and Stede's romance in particular

- The only major complaint seems to be that it's very fanservice, so okay lmaoo good

- Very suicidal Ed in the first few episodes but some of it is balanced by humour but again, fairly dark

- Ed does seem to be doing direct violence and is pretty down in the dumps, raiding everything he sees, killing bystanders etc

- Reunion is pretty early on (ep 3 maybe) and there's plenty of banter between Ed and Stede

- Archie is a super fun character who looks up to Ed a bit and has great chemistry with everyone else

- Toxic workplace style discussion about Ed's management

- Ed plays mindgames with the crew when he's not maiming them apparently and it's pretty angsty and funny

- Stede is working at Spanish Jackie with the crew cause he's broke af

- Stede's major plot is getting to Ed and finding Ed and he writes him a love letter every morning while fantasising about him at night in the form of wild dreams absjsjd

- Stede has a bunch of bitchy moments and one liners

- Swede has found true love with Jackie

- Ed cuts more of Izzy's toes (at least 2 more)

- Izzy mediates Ed and Stede's relationship

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #MAJOR SPOILERS #I'll edit as I go along

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harryforvogue · 5 months

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i wrote something. it has nothing to do with my existing characters, but i had fun writing it and i need different things to write here and there or else i go insane. i don't think it's coherent but here you go! <3

(no OC named, just used she/her pronouns)

***

Christmas Eve, 1947

She doesn’t understand why people accept invitations if they’re just going to stand in a corner and brood. The purpose of parties is to socialize, to flirt, to have fun. Nothing good comes from avoiding people like the plague. At that point, why even bother showing?

Although, it’s hard to be angry when the man doing the avoiding is someone she's had a crush on for a very long time.

Harry stands close to the window by the Christmas tree in the living room, staring almost angrily at his whisky. He throws his head back to finish it off, and then sighs deeply, turning his head to stare out the window. It’s been steadily snowing for a few hours now. Perhaps he’s regretting ever coming to such a bland party, or perhaps wondering how badly he’d injure himself if he flung his body out onto the white snow. Judging by the look of his face reflecting on the window, she thinks he must be the most miserable person there.

Her friend has gone all out for the party though. Brought out her most expensive gramophone to play delightful Christmas music and passed around drinks. At first, the population of people in the living room were shy. The men on one side, the women on the other. But after one daring man crossed over to speak to one of them, the night officially began.

However, Harry remains far from the mingling people. His eyes are downcast, his index finger running over the rim of the glass. He's in his own dark thoughts.

Apparently her staring has been noticed by several of her friends who have prodded her, urging her to go speak with him. ("Come on. don't be scared." "Don't be a baby." "Maybe he'll kiss even you." "Maybe you can replace his old lover." "Maybe someone will finally show interest in you." -- The last one particularly hurts but it's just friendly banter, isn't it?) They bother her for nearly half an hour before she decides it's a decent opportunity. She gives in.

Stealing a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen, she slips into the sea of people and manages to come out unscathed at the other side. Her heart hammers in her chest, but with a few quick breaths, she reminds herself that all she’s doing is pouring the man a drink. There’s absolutely no harm in that.

She stops before him, awkwardly stepping past the tree. His head turns towards her and with a single look, her heart is thundering again.

“Hi,” she says, holding up the bottle. “Can I get you another drink?”

Up close, Harry is devastatingly beautiful. She loves the crease between his eyebrows, the slight pout of his mouth, his strong brows, and his firm jaw. He towers over her by half a foot, standing in his evening suit, one hand in his pocket. Up until this point, she’s only ever seen him from afar. This close, she’s struck by his handsomeness, despite the signs of annoyance.

She recalls the first time she’d seen him a number of years ago. He’d been casually dating another woman, and he’d taken her dancing at the same country club that she’d been at with her own date. They’d snagged eyes only once during the night, but since then, he’s been all she can think about.

When she’s lucky enough to see him in public or at these parties, she tries to convince herself to talk to him. She’s never been able to until now. Her friends ridicule her for it, but she simply does not have the confidence.

Tonight is different, however.

Harry’s attractiveness isn’t visible to only her of course. He’s been known to date often. But now, there’s another reason why people don’t speak with him.

She heard from a friend who heard from another friend who heard from her cousin that Harry’s sudden disdain for people comes after his wife died while they vacationed together in Milan. He’d left London for Italy just six months ago, and they say that all his letters told them how happy he was. How he loved the new country and its weather and how would live there forever with his new bride. She went by the name of Alessia. Or maybe it was Cecilia.

And then she died. Caught a disease of some kind.

Her friends have gossiped extensively about it.

“I wouldn’t ever get involved with a man in mourning,” one friend said.

“It’s absolutely profane,” another said.

"But maybe you'll have some luck," a third said. "You always seem to get the weird ones attached to you."

(This is true given her horrible dating history, but the jab isn't very nice even if it's from a friend.)

Harry looks at the bottle in her hand and then nods, pushing his glass out. She pours in the liquid.

“Are you enjoying the party?” she asks him.

Harry takes a sip and then says, “Yes.”

“I’m sure you know everybody here, right? You’ve lived in London your whole life, I imagine.”

“I know enough of them.”

She tries to pose it as a humorous observation. “And yet I haven’t seen you talk to anyone since you’ve been here. And I haven’t seen you dance with anyone at any party. I find that you and I are invited to similar gatherings. Maybe we have mutual friends?”

Harry looks at her for some time without answering.

“Maybe,” he finally says, and then finishes his whiskey.

His eyes flicker to glance at something behind her. His brows pull together some more.

She tells him her name. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you want to move to another comfortable place? I can give you a tour of the house, if you’d like, or maybe–”

“I’d rather not.”

"Oh. Then another drink?"

"No more," he says icily.

Her heart stops. “Oh. Right, sorry.”

He puts his glass on the window sill and tucks his other hand into his pocket. “Is this amusing to you?”

She blinks, taken aback. “Sorry?”

“Getting me to talk to you. Don’t be coy. It must be so fun to mess with me.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can see all your girlfriends behind you. From the look on their faces, they’re having more fun than you right about now.” He shrugs a shoulder. His eyes are suddenly darker, the twist of his mouth making her hands clammy. “You got a laugh out of them. Are you proud of yourself?"

She whips her head to look at her friends who are indeed laughing. To her horror, it seems like they’re laughing at him.

“No,” she says, turning back to Harry. “They didn’t send me here. We’re not–”

“Just leave.” He says her name, but it’s so cold, she feels it stabbing into her ribs.

“No! No, it wasn’t– I didn’t tell them I was coming to talk to you.”

“It must be hilarious.”

“They didn’t put me up to it. I wanted to talk to you!”

Harry raises a mocking eyebrow. “And what could you have to say to me?”

She feels flushed, suddenly put on the spot. All she was prepared for was pouring him a drink. But now he looks at her like he really dislikes her and it’s all too much. And so she blurts, “I’m sorry about your wife.”

Harry’s gaze instantly hardens. “My wife?”

“I thought that you weren’t feeling well because of it so I wanted to make you feel more welcomed. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable and nobody put me up to it, I swear. I wanted to offer my condolences and I say that I didn’t think it was fair for people to treat you weird, okay? That’s all.”

She holds the bottle of whiskey close to her chest, mentally swearing at herself. With a final apology, she goes to leave, but Harry suddenly holds his arm out to block her from leaving.

He has a funny look on his face. “Condolences? For what?”

Her dress is way too tight right now. Her head is spinning.

“For your wife passing away, of course.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “My wife is alive and well.”

And that’s supposed to make her feel better, but now she feels even more foolish. She squeezes her eyes shut and swears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, it must have been a rumor. I’ll– I need to leave, I’m sorry. I'm so so--”

He doesn’t move his arm though. “Is that what’s happening? All these people don’t know how to talk to a man with an, apparently, dead wife?”

And then he does the strangest thing. He laughs. It’s a bitter laugh, but it’s soft and there.

“Why do people think my wife is dead?” he asks.

“I didn't know. I should really go. I’m sorry–”

“No,” he says, holding her elbow now. It’s gentle, but firm. “Do you know who started this rumor?”

“Er, no.”

“I don’t think it's me that your friends are playing a joke on.”

Tears burn in her eyes. “Yes, I realize that now.”

He releases her elbow then, and runs a hand through his hair. “My wife is not dead. She didn’t return with me from Italy, but that doesn’t mean she’s no longer alive.”

“Right, of course.” She ducks under his arm. “Goodbye now.” And then rushes away. Her ears burn with anger and embarrassment. She thinks she hears him calling her name, but she continues to leave the scene. She most definitely hears the rest of her friends laughing.

***

It turns out that hiding in a room for the duration of a party is a lot harder than it seems. Two hours later, she calmed down enough to want to leave the party. She fixes her dress, the bow at the collar, and the gold pins in her hair. She can't do anything about her red rimmed eyes though.

She’ll have to run out of the house because there are still too many people there. She swings her door open and starts to move, but crashes into something hard instead. She nearly falls onto the floor, rubbing her head with a soft swear.

Harry stands before her, looking down with a frown on his face. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

She hastily fixes her hair. “I'm fine.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“I was looking for you. I thought you left earlier.”

“I’m leaving now.”

She goes to move around him, but he grabs her hand. “Wait. I need to apologize. I didn’t handle that well at all.”

“Nothing you need to apologize for.” She tugs at her hand in his grasp. “I really need to go home.”

“I shouldn’t have just accused you of being part of something you weren’t. That was very wrong of me.”

“It’s fine. I’m just going to–”

“They’re not your friends. You should never trust–”

She doesn't need that reminder. A sudden spike of laughter from downstairs rings in her ears. “I get it. I do. Now please move.”

He blocks her way again.

“My wife isn’t dead. She’s not here and we’re no longer together, but she’s not dead and I’m sorry your friends did that to you. Listen, hey. I think it’s very nice of you to have come up to me to make me feel better. Really. It’s very kind. And if you’re leaving, I’d love it if you let me walk you home.”

She frowns deeply, looking up at him. “That’s not necessary.”

“I feel terribly guilty for adding onto the torture unknowingly.”

“You didn’t put them up to it.”

“No, but the way I spoke to you was wrong. Please let me walk you home.”

His eyes are earnest, his hair unraveling and falling into his eyes. He releases her hand and waits patiently for her answer.

She wasn’t planning on going home tonight. She’d asked her friend if she could stay over in case the blizzard worsened, but since she’d rather not stay, she doesn’t really have a choice but to leave. The cabs won’t even be running at this time.

“I live far,” she says. “You don’t have to do this, Harry.”

“But I want to. Also,” he shrugs and offers her a sudden charming smile. “I’m a gentleman, though I didn't act like one and I need to make it up to you. I don’t want you to walk home alone.” He turns and holds his arm out. “Come. You can wear my coat.”

She looks at him for a moment, and, afterwards, his arm.

Then, she steps forward and takes it, nodding once. “Okay.”

“Good.”

***

Outside, the snow is almost up to their calves. She’s shivering despite Harry’s coat around her shoulders and his arm around her waist. The only thing that keeps her from falling onto her face on the asphalt is their conversation.

Currently, Harry’s talking about how he was exempt from war as a medical assistant. Now, he’s opening up his own practice in London with his brothers. Family medicine in every way, he calls it. When asked what else he would do if he weren’t a doctor, he says he’d be a professor.

Harry is impressed by her own resume. A published writer. His eyes are bright when she tells him she’ll give him a copy of her book free of charge next time she sees him.

Through chattering teeth, she asks, “If you don’t mind me asking, you said you are no longer with your wife?”

The weird twist of his mouth suddenly returns. She regrets asking.

“We’re in the process of separation.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

“But still.”

They don’t say anything else about that matter.

By the time they’re home, Harry’s holding her hand and she’s all but running to her front porch.

“Would you like to come inside?” she whispers, her fingers trembling as she unlocks the door. “I could make you a hot cider before you leave?”

“I believe your family would mind."

“They’re not home. Off at their own Christmas party.”

"So you'll be home alone?"

The question excites her, but his concerned look tells her he's actually worried about her safety, not the possibility of them being alone together.

"Yes. For the night." It can't hurt to tempt him.

Harry looks conflicted. Under the grey sky and falling snowflakes, he looks near angelic. With a swipe of his hand, he removes the from his face. “No, I don’t think that would be right. But.” He steps closer. “If it’s all right. I’d like to see you again.”

Her heart jumps to life. “Would you?”

“Yes. Can we make it happen?”

Her fingers tremble for a different reason now. “Yes. I'd like that.”

“Good. This Saturday?”

“Okay,” she breathes.

“How’s dinner sound?”

“Wonderful.”

He laughs. “Good. I look forward to it. And bring me that book, yeah?"

"And you don't mind that it's a boring old romance?"

Harry smiles. "I've been looking to expand my tastes, miss." He then ducks his head in a small bow. "Goodnight, then.”

He waits a beat longer and then then turns, carefully walking back down the steps. He lingers by the sidewalk until she’s safely in her home and then puts his jacket back on.

She locks the door, slides down onto the floor and screeches excitedly into her frozen hands.

#would you believe me if i said this is inspired by sylvia plath #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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