#series: under false pretenses
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Under False Pretenses|3| Band of Brothers x Masters of the Air mafia crossover
Also this is the first time I am really writing for the masters of the airs boys
@marycorleone
Olivia read the letter several times before folding it back into the envelope. "Can you?" She handed it to Lewis who tucked it into his jacket pocket. Her fingers played with the ring box several times before she opened it. The tears that she had been fighting off rose up again seeing the silver band with small diamonds in the middle of stars. It was supposed to be her wedding band, she had already had enough fancy pieces of jewelry.
From not only Lewis but also her grandfather and other family members, the pearl necklace that she wore belonged to her great grandfather's twin sister Lydia who was brutally murdered by rivals of the family. The exact story was so hush-hush that not even her grandfather who was the head of their family now knew anything.
"I can put it in your room." Lewis offered when she hadn't said anything but she shook her head. "No, I will wear it."
"You sure Liv?" Dick questioned as she nodded her head and pulled her engagement ring off to put the band on underneath it. "I am sure.' Her jaw was set angrily and there was a hard gleam in her eyes. There was no changing her mind about this at all. She loved Joe deeply, if wearing his ring under the one from Lewis helped her through then they were going to go with it.
***
"Doll? What's wrong?" John Egan asked his wife who was staring at her phone. "My step-grandfather really stepped into it." Lizzie Nichols-Egan answered looking up from the device in her hand, "Remember meeting Joe Liebgott?" "Skinny dude that your sister was enamored with?" "That's him, according to Edward, they were going to run away to Italy and get married but Grandfather stepped in and threatened to kill Olivia."
"He did what?!" Sure, Bucky wasn't a big fan of Joseph Liebgott, often pushing his sister-in-law towards Lewis or even his buddy Robert Rosenthal. All better suited for someone as headstrong and wild as Olivia Stewart, but the girl loved who she loved and for the sake of his wife's relationship with her sister, he dealt with it. His wife nodded her head frowning, "He left her at the train station, our brothers and Buck Compton had to go to the train station and find her. And she is pregnant." Bucky's fingers stilled with tying his tie, surprised, "What is she going go to do?' She shrugged her shoulders helplessly, "Edward said that Lewis is going to marry her and they are going to pass the baby off as his."
For the first time since John had known Lizzie, she was at a complete loss. "Well," He started causing her to look at him, "We are just going to have to support her any way we can. I will get Rosie and Buck in on it too." Buck had already thought of Olivia as his own little sister taking her under his wing. Often being a sympathetic ear when it came to the frustrations that Olivia had with the men in her life.
**
"Mar, this is a bad idea.' Chuck Grant commented following his girlfriend into the parking lot, Mary Corleone had gotten into her head first thing that morning that she was going to find Liebgott and drag him back kicking and screaming. They owed Olivia that much. If it wasn't for her, then they wouldn't have been together. "It's not like him to leave her." Mary started turning to face him, not caring about the wet snow and ice that lined the ground making her unsteady, "When have you known him to leave her for any reason?" "No.' He started, "But something must have happened, you know how they both get when they both drink. Look at their last fight.'
About 4 months prior, they had a massive fight where Joe had pinned her against the wall and screamed at her. And Olivia defending herself slapped him Then Chuck and Floyd Talbert got involved, Chuck pulling Joe away and Floyd checked on her.
"She is pregnant, Chuck, she needs him."
"For sure? For sure?" He questioned, he had heard it through the grapevine about the pregnancy but didn't know if it was true or not or it was another ploy for Kathy to try and get Lewis back.
Wearing a scowl, Mary pulled her phone out and unlocked it and showed him the most recent message in the group message between Mary, Olivia, Alice and Betsy, one of the other girls who went to school with them and was married to Don Malarkey, another one of their core group. One the screen was a grainy ultrasound with Olivia's full name and date of birth on the top. "Jesus." He breathed stepping away from the phone.
"I will drive.' He started holding his hand out for the car keys.
**
"Oh no thank you." Olivia said awhile later waving off the champagne that the waiter tried to hand her. "Liv, you normally drink just fine." Her grandfather commented looking at his grand daughter, who was paled faced and regal looking, like he had always expected to be.
"Uneasy stomach." "She was sick most of the day yesterday." Dick filled in as he joined her, his hand touching her elbow in silent question. Robert was surprised that she was so willing to hid the fact that she was going to run away from their family and her responsibilities. "You don't get sick." He retorted seeing if he could poke and prod her into telling her the truth.
His youngest granddaughter looked at Dick then at him before wetting her lips, "I am pregnant, about 10 weeks." "And Lewis is the father?" "Of course, he is. Why would you think such a thing?" She shot back angrily. 'Because of your affair with that cab driver from San Francisco.'
'Joe?" She laughed bitterly, "We were just good friends that's all."
"That's not what Daniel said. He told me that he caught you two in bed one night." Olivia as filled with white hot fury at the moment, it was starting to make sense then, Daniel in efforts to get back onto their grandfather's good side was informing on her behaviors to their grandfather and it may have ruined her life and her chance for a happy ending.
"That was nothing." Dick stepped in, his hand going to her lower back in effort to offer some comfort and in hopes that his presence would help her stay calm, "Joe was drunk and Liv wasn't going to let him sleep on the couch and Lewis was already passed out in the middle of their bed.."
Robert couldn't believe that this man was just going along with whatever Olivia wanted him too. Seeing her third oldest brother, Olivia excused herself and went towards him. "Liv, wait!" Dick called after her, he went to go after her but was stopped by Robert. "You and I need to have a conversation son.'
**
"Liv? What's wrong?" Robert Rosenthal asked seeing the blonde storming towards the bar, her heels in one hand and the other held in a tight fist in pure anger. Something they had never seen before. They had seen her annoyed, upset, tired, happy but furious like this.
Never.
"Bean?" Bucky asked, using the nickname that her father and step mother used throughout her childhood, normally it shook her out of whatever was going on but this time it didn't it. When she didn't stop her stride, he grabbed her elbow and pulled her back to him, "Olivia! What is wrong?"
Still shaking in fury, she turned to look at her brother in law, "It's his fault."
"What is sweetheart?" Gale asked, Bucky hadn't had the chance right away to download them on what happened the day before.
"If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here right now, I would be in Italy with Joe." She answered, "Married and not scared to death that Lewis is going to run the moment this baby gets to be too much." "Baby?" Rosie mouthed to his friend who nodded his head and rubbed his hands up and down her arms to trying to ease the tension out of them.
"You have a small army ready to help you if he does. But I don't think he will."
Olivia's reply was cut short by her brother greeting her before any of the boys could step in to stop it, she span around smacked him with the back of her hand cutting his cheek with her diamond ring. "Stay the f*** away from me." She hissed as Bucky pulled her back towards him, his shoulders shaking with restraint laughter, the look on Daniel's face was worth it. "You are dead to me."
"What did I do?" He asked holding his cheek fighting the urge to curse her out, he knew better, he had systemically tore this part of her life down and he would take the time to do it again.
"You ratted her out to her grandfather about Joe and now he is gone." "Serves her right." Daniel started with a smirk, he didn't care that he was hurting his sister, he wanted to get back into the good graces of their grandfather and get back on the will like his other siblings. He had removed from it after getting addicted to drugs and almost killing the twins shortly before their 18th birthday. And since then he had been trying to earn his way back onto it.
'She is nothing but a slut." "Hey!" The three men exclaimed, Daniel was getting dangerously close to crossing a line with them. "You need to leave, go sober up." Rosie ordered, his eyes cutting to Olivia then back to him. "Don't tell me what to do." Rosie shook his head before taking a hold of his forearm and started hauling him out of the bar area, Bucky on the other side. Leaving Liv with Buck.
"Want to talk about it kid?"
**
Joe turned his phone over and over again in his hands, he wanted to call her and make things right and be there for her and their baby. The start of their family. A family that they had spent many nights talking about but that fear of losing her to death. A sudden death at the hands of her grandfather was stopping him. There was a loud knock on the door scaring him out of his thoughts. "We know you are in there Joe, open the god damn door." Mary's voice came as she slapped her hand against the door. How did she find him? There was no way, she could have found them.
Then it hit him, Bobby, Olivia's twin had friends who were on the shady side of things and could locate anyone or anything.
"Go away, Mary." "Come on man, open the door.' Chuck's voice added. "Fuck, “ He cursed before opening the door, "What?" "What the fuck is your problem?" Mary cursed, her hands going to her hips to stop herself from hitting him. "You left Liv?! You love her!" Joe stayed quiet, letting her fire burn out. "She is having your baby!" "How do we know that it's actually mine? She has been fucking Lewis too. It could be his just as much as mine!" Mary took a step back surprised, she couldn't believe that he was actually thinking this, yes, Olivia was still with Lewis but from her understanding of it all, they rarely had sex if they did it was after fights that Olivia had with Joe or Lewis with Dick.
And they had been more safe anything.
"You don't know what you are talking about Joe." Chuck started before Mary could. "And you do?" He shot back, "You only know what I told you or what Floyd told you. But guess what she fucked him too." Admittedly it had been more of a threesome then anything but he wasn't going to admit to it.
"You are going to regret this." His friend started talking his girlfriend's hand in his, "You are losing out on the best thing that has ever happened to you and you are missing out on your child."
#ash writes#series: under false pretenses#band of brothers#masters of the air#masters of the air imagines#masters of the air fan fiction#band of brothers fan fiction#band of brothers imagines#oc: olivia stewart#oc: Lizzie Egan
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GINAAA MY GIRL!
Sending you a dadstarion prompt because you already know I LOVEEE your dadstarion content.
How did Tav find out she was pregnant with baby Gale? And how did Astarion react to the news?! Inquiring minds want to know.
To have and to hold.
Such a lovely prompt, my friend! Hope you like it!
Summary: Astarion turned mortal a few months ago, and this is his first-time experiencing illness of any kind. Unfortunately, as soon as he recovers, you start to show signs of sickness as well. Your condition is a bit different from his, though. (For more of this series check out the ‘Dadstarion’ section of my master list.)
Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, domestic af, fluff, talk of illness, talk of vomiting, the mildest of angst with the mostest of comfort, pregnancy, etc.
A/N: I work in healthcare, not law, so I can’t guarantee the legalese is accurate lol.
Word count: 2.3K
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“Don’t come closer, darling, I’m disgusting.” Astarion groans from where you find him one morning, curled up on the bathroom floor.
It had been a few months since Gale of Waterdeep cast Wish, and from that moment until now the retired rogue had been a happy, healthy mortal. There were so many benefits to curing his vampirism that the elf never fully considered one of the major downsides… illness.
He’d never experienced a malady like this in his life. At least not in the one he could remember.
It’s horrible.
How had his little love or any of his friends endured this, more than once, in the past ten years?
Astarion is quite certain he contracted food poisoning from that questionable slab of salmon he ate at the Blushing Mermaid yesterday evening. He never did understand why you liked eating at that lowbrow tavern in the first place.
You crouch to examine your husband, pressing a soothing hand onto his forehead before running it down to cup his cheek.
“Astarion, my love, you have a fever.” You murmur, frowning with concern as you push sweaty curls from his face.
“Please make more obvious observations, dear,” Astarion gripes as he forces himself to sit up, still clutching his stomach. Gods, the vile churning in his gut is incessant.
He’s about to continue on with his quip, but the sudden urge to be sick forces the elf to shut up and scramble to the toilet. You hear the sounds of violent retching moments later.
“We are never going back to the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion grumbles once the wave of illness subsides. His face is pressed against the toilet; all sense of decorum is gone. The rotten fish poisoning his insides won over any bits of pride he might have been clinging to.
You move to grab a wash rag, dampening it under the tap before kneeling back down by your husband.
“Poor thing,” You coo, folding the cloth in half before dabbing it against the back of Astarion’s neck, hoping to ease the fever.
The elf’s eyes flutter closed as he allows you to fawn over him for a moment. And then he groans and flicks his hand, palm faced downward, as if trying to shoo you away. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Just leave me here and go get ready for your meeting, darling. I’ll be fine.”
“In sickness and in health, remember?” You ask, running the cool cloth over Astarion’s face, causing him to sigh thankfully at the slight relief, “I’ll send word to the other Counsellors to inform them that I won’t be attending. You’ve never been ill before; I don’t want to leave you like this. Wyll can fill me in later.”
“Yes, ‘in sickness and in health’ and all that, darling, but those vows also included ‘until death do us part’ and I was an immortal vampire when we made them. So you were technically entering that verbal contract under false pretenses, which one could argue means it’s null and void. Go to the meeting, it’s—“
Astarion almost manages to finish his rambling legalese before more putrid liquid spews out of his mouth. When he’s finished vomiting, he whines again, any bit of stubborn resilience and feeble attempts at selflessness abandoned.
“On second thought, maybe you should stay here,” He says, his chest heaving with exertion as he clenches his eyes shut, “Please tell me you have a spell for this.”
“Unfortunately not, my love. I only have a spell for curses. Best I can do is half a bottle of Elixir of Health, some ginger-peppermint tea, and a bath.” You sigh, already crossing the bathroom on your way to the tub. You fiddle with the taps for a moment to start the bath and then begin to pour oils into the flowing water.
“Deal,” Your husband mutters, peeling off his sweat-soaked night shirt, “But none of that vile honey you got at the market here in town for my tea; I want the one Shadowheart and Lae’zel sent from Neverwinter.”
“Anything you say, Lord Ancunin.” You joke, rolling your eyes at your husband’s fussiness. He’d barely regained his sense of taste a few months ago and already favored upscale ingredients and meals, as if mortal food hadn’t been but ash in his mouth for two hundred years.
The elf glares at your insolence but doesn’t retort; he’s too busy trying to keep himself from vomiting again.
*
The following morning, Astarion wakes feeling much better. Practically brand new, in fact. It seems the potion and your strange flower child medicine must have done the trick. He sighs a breath of relief and then rolls to snuggle against you for a few more precious moments. He reaches his arms out and grasps at nothing but air.
The silver-haired elf immediately frowns and sits up. That’s exceptionally odd. You were not a morning person; you never had been in the ten years he’d known you. You always slept in longer than him, even in the wilds. On more than one occasion he’d had to lure you out of your nearly comatose slumber with the tempting smells of coffee and breakfast.
Astarion hears you gagging in the bathroom and goes to investigate. He soon finds you clinging to the toilet, practically mirroring how he looked the day prior.
“Oh no, little love, do you think you have food poisoning, too?” He questions, frowning slightly before kneeling down to press his hand against your forehead just like you’d done to him, “No fever, though.”
You whine, leaning into your husband’s hand before grumbling, “Damn the Blushing Mermaid straight to Stygia! Why do I even like that place, again?”
Astarion laughs, “I’ve been wondering the same thing for years, dear. I hope now you’ll finally reconsider. Do you want some tea and a bath?”
“Please,” You say, just before another wave of nausea hits you, forcing you to throw your head into the toilet and gag. Frustratingly, not much actually comes out despite the waves of sickness coursing through your body.
Gods, you wish you could simply vomit and feel relief.
Astarion begins to prepare the appropriate remedies, much like you’d done for him the day before. Thankfully, you seem to recover much faster than he did, and by midday you look and feel completely normal.
Good thing, too. You two were out of any elixirs that may have helped you had your ailment been as severe as Astarion's.
“Perhaps I’m just a better healer than you, darling.” The silver-haired elf teases as the two of you take afternoon tea in the sunroom.
“Perhaps I’m just stronger and more resilient than you, my love.” You retort, wrinkling your nose in jest at your husband.
He chuckles softly and then presses a kiss to your nose, “Agree to disagree.”
*
Astarion thinks the two of you are past this bit of bad luck, but when he wakes the following morning, he hears you retching once again.
When the elf finds you in the bathroom, appearing as almost an exact repeat of yesterday, though perhaps a bit worse, his brow furrows.
“Darling, I'm worried now. You look more ill than before. Perhaps we should take a trip to Jaheira? I can head to the apothecary for another Elixir of Health while she looks you over.” He murmurs gently, extending his hands to pull you to your feet.
You simply nod in agreement, too nauseated to do more than follow your husband’s lead as he slips you into a set of robes and ushers you into the carriage.
*
When Astarion returns to Jaheira’s after dashing out to the apothecary, he finds you sitting at the druid’s dining table. The two of you stop whatever hushed conversation you’d been having and turn to look at him in unison.
“Feeling any better, Tav?” He asks, coming to stand by your side before placing a worried hand upon your shoulder. You simply cover your hand with his and nod in response.
“Much better,” You say, flashing your husband a small smile. Something about your expression looks hazed, as if you’re stuck in a daydream. Poor thing, you're probably exhausted and experiencing brain fog.
“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the teas and medicinals I’ve given you,” Jaheira assures, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She grins for the briefest moment before falling back into her typical, more serious demeanor.
Astarion swears he feels like something is off, but when he turns to give you a questioning look, you’re the picture of happiness as you sip from your tea cup, finishing it off.
Well, at least you’re doing what Jaheira has prescribed.
“What about the Elixir of Health I’ve just purchased?” Your husband asks, lifting the bag in his hand, “Will that help?”
“Oh, I recommend you keep it for something else. I don’t think Tav needs it for this,” The druid responds before standing, signaling it’s the end of the visit. She was always quite straight forward and lacking in certain genteel social graces, in Astarion’s opinion.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Harpers.”
You quickly bid your goodbyes and Astarion helps you back into the carriage, eager to get you back to bed so that you can sleep off the rest of this sickness.
*
Astarion notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride home. He typically doesn’t mind when you’re in one of your pensive, stoic moods. But this illness of yours had him more anxious than usual and he had to know more about Jaheira’s examination results, if only to ease his own worries.
“Darling,” He starts, taking your hand in his. But you don’t seem to hear him; you’re still lost in your own little world.
“My love,” He says, this time a bit more urgently, squeezing your hand just enough to pull your attention to him, “What did Jaheira say, exactly? Did she mention how long this illness will last?”
“Oh, the nausea will probably go on for a few weeks,” You reply, a goofy, lopsided smile breaking across your face. You cannot stifle your grin at the little secret you know you’ll be unable to keep for more than a few moments longer.
“Weeks?” Astarion questions, his voice pitching up with worry and brows stitching together in concern.
Why in the hells are you smiling? What druid bullshit was in the tea Jaheira gave you?
He folds his arms across his chest, not at all pleased by the lack of seriousness you seem to display. The idea of you being sick for weeks makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn as if he’s still sick. He could never stand to see you uncomfortable.
“Tav, are you drugged? This is serious. I fail to see what there is to be smiling about right now. You’re going to be nauseous for weeks and you can’t use an Elixir of Health? Are you absolutely sure Jaheira even knows what she’s—“
“I’m pregnant, Astarion,” You interrupt, and you cannot help but to laugh at your husband as his mouth hangs open mid-sentence, frozen in shock.
He blinks for a moment or two, otherwise completely still as his brain rushes to process the new information.
When the elf finally regains his composure and finds his ability to speak, he shoots out a flustered, rambled, “Darling, I— I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m not certain I heard you correctly. The road is quite bumpy and the wheels of the carriage are loud— I think they need oil— and the horses—“
You laugh and firmly grasp your husband’s hand, wholly capturing his attention before murmuring, “You ridiculous elf. You heard me the first time. I’m pregnant, Astarion.”
You don’t think you’ve ever seen a bigger grin cross your husband’s face.
“Tav, darling, I— gods, just come here to me.”
Astarion’s lips crash into yours, and he’s smiling into the kiss as he threads a hand through your hair, intent on pressing you closer into him. A tiny, delighted hum escapes your husband as he uses the kiss to express all the feelings he cannot yet put into words.
When he finally pulls away, he cups your face with his hands and peppers a few more kisses upon your lips.
“Is this your way of telling me you’re happy about this, Astarion?” You ask, grinning at your husband as he gazes upon you with the most besotted eyes you’ve ever seen.
“Thrilled, my love,” He whispers, before pressing forward to kiss you again, trying to convey the depth of his excitement with his affections. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the way home, almost desperate to cover you in worshipful kisses, each one a little vow of love to you.
You notice he's unusually quiet, but then, he’s far too busy smiling and smooching to do much talking.
*
Later that evening, you move to get out of bed and head toward the bedchamber door.
“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, little love?” Astarion calls, already tossing his book aside to follow after you, “What do you need? Let me bring it to you.”
“I just wanted a cup of water, Astarion. I can go get—“ You start, but he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, effectively quieting you.
“Hush, my love. You’re still nauseated and you’re carrying very precious cargo.” He gently chastises as he turns you by your shoulders and steers you back toward the bed.
“You’re being dramatic,” You grumble, sitting back down in the bed and wrinkling your nose at your husband.
“Perhaps,” He agrees, grinning down at you as he gently folds the blankets back around your legs, “But you knew exactly the type of theatrics you signed up for when you married me, darling. 'To have and to hold, to love and to cherish' and all that, hm?”
And in that moment, Astarion was certain he’d never love and cherish anything more than you.
Nine months later, the little silver-haired newborn he held in his arms would prove him wrong.
#astarion fanfic#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion x you#dadstarion fic#dadstarion#papastarion#astarion x f!reader#astarion x female reader#astarion reader insert#astarion fluff#domestic astarion#soft astarion#sweet astarion#comfort fic#bg3 fanfic#bg3 fanfiction#astarion fanfiction#astarion/you#astarion/reader
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the bodyguard- din djarin
DIN DJARIN X F!ROYAL!READER [SERIES]
summary: tensions rise as the princess of the dystopian planet eiria finally approaches the age in which she will take the throne. despite her reluctance, she finds herself under the protection of the infamous mandalorian.
warnings: female reader, given surname, implied hair length (medium to long), little mandalorian content but that’ll change in the next chapter, world building, time jumps, elusiveness (for plot development), unedited so beware
series masterlist!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚. i. a stranger in my room *ੈ✩‧₊˚.
Long before the fall of the Jedi Order, there'd been peace. Harmony amongst those who made their way in the galaxy. Tranquility and above all, happiness.
Even in these times, Eiria was such place that many people could only dream of. A planet so ethereal and utopian it was a wonder that it truly existed.
Luscious greenery covered its surface, slipping through the cracks and edges of its magnificent buildings, built on a foundation of gold. Technologically advanced in its own right, humble and simple where it mattered.
Technology was only used to ensure the safety of its citizens, otherwise Eiria was a world untouched by the horrors of the galaxy. Kept safe by its council of leaders that had been appointed and passed down along the generations.
It hadn't always been led by this council. No, Eiria was a royal world. Since its first taste of civilization, the hand of a ruler had governed the lands...
But when the former king and queen fell ill to a sickness that had wiped out over a quarter of Eiria's population over ten years ago, the leadership of the planet had fallen onto the shoulders of a council that had existed long before their reign.
All left from their rule, besides the sparkling scenery and magnificent buildings they'd had built overtime, was their daughter.
She'd been spared from the wicked disease that had claimed the lives of her parents, taken under the wing of her father's closest friend and advisor, Senator Phex Dameron.
The Princess was as stubborn as she was loyal, dedicated to her people until her last breath, a weight on her shoulders since the moment she was born. Thrust upon her the crushing responsibility of royalty, only to be spared her teenage years and emerging adulthood.
Every day, she thanked the maker that her parents had decreed she wouldn't take the throne until she had reached twenty one cycles — even if it was solely to secure that the throne would remain in their families for cycles to come. You see, a leader could be challenged if they were deemed too young to take the throne. To avoid that from happening, the King and Queen had signed into law that should need arise, the Council would take over all governing responsibilities and otherwise until the Princess was of suitable age.
At just twenty cycles old, the last Altair was on the dawn of a new age...
But along with it, came the danger.
The Princess of Eiria stares ahead, cold and calculating, teeth gritted together, seething beneath the carefully constructed surface, and swears that one day she will never have to answer to anyone again.
Before you, a panel of men, women and creatures alike, watching you with those greedy, overbearing eyes. It's not you that wears a mask, it's them. With their false pretenses, the caring acts behind worried gazes.
They don't care about you. They care about the wealth. The riches. Getting in the good graces of the Senator.
You expect he'll be elected any day now. It's only a matter of time and until then, and even after, the Council will put on those infuriating masks.
The Senator stares at you without the mask. In fact, there's no expression on his face at all. Except for the hint of pity you sense from his body language. You've known him too long to not see it right away.
A twinge of annoyance hits you. This is partly his fault-- what pity could he be feeling?
You should probably speak now. Not to the Council or to the Senator. But to him.
As angry as you were, he was only here to do his job. You'd do your best to keep him out of your path of fury.
You politely tell him your name, though it's not needed, and thank him for accepting the Senator's offer of serving as your protector.
After all, the Mandalorian will be following your every step from now on. It's best to be on civil terms for both your sanities.
You ignore everyone else in the Council Chamber.
The Mandalorian gives one curt nod.
Normally, you'd be irked by his silence but in this moment, you're grateful for it. You spin toward the door, guarded by two Jedi knights the Senator had sent for.
You bite the inside of your cheek and stride for the exit.
"Sunshine," it's the Senator. You stop. "It's for the best. You'll thank me in the future."
You don't turn around. Heavy footsteps follow behind you.
You doubt it.
It's been exactly three days since your world was further more flipped on its axis.
The remnants of grief over your recent loss had been overshadowed by the irritation you felt over the presence of the Mandalorian.
It isn't his fault. You constantly try to remind yourself, even as you furiously glare at the stupid tin helmet that rests over his head. He's just doing his job and you're not making it any easier.
It was on day three that you made this realization.
"I'm sorry if I've been... cold towards you. We’ve barely said a word since we’ve met.”
“Don’t apologize,” his raspy modulator replies stoicly. “Socializing isn’t exactly in the job description.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and glare at your own reflection in the vanity mirror you sit before. The reminder that your only regular company, other than the Senator, was here by obligation sours your attempt to befriend the Mandalorian.
“Right. Well, as much as I’ve enjoyed your silent shadow hovering over me for the past seventy-two hours, I highly doubt watching me every waking second is in your job description either.”
He stays silent, despite your bait.
You have no problem going on, combing your hair absentmindedly. “Perhaps you should be doing other things. Surely the rest of the castle requires some sort of surveillance. The Council would pay handsomely.”
“My job here is strictly to keep you under my protection, Princess.”
Your lip curls slightly. “Well, as you can see the windows are shut, my balcony bolted and the biggest threat to me at the moment is tangling my hair in this brush. So I would kindly request that your services extend to the exterior of my quarters please. I’d like some privacy please.”
You’re trying to be as polite as possible. You really are, but there’s only so much stoic silence from a metal man hovering in one of the corners of every room you enter that you could take.
All your life you’d been as independent as a member of the royal family could be. The Senator had made sure of that— and it was partly the reason you were still so angry with him over this arrangement. So going from that to this, it was not going well for you. Not at all. Especially since your new stalker didn’t seem to make any noises or speak any words beside ‘yes’, ‘no’, or some bullshit answer to any specific question you’d ask. But only if it was job-related, otherwise, he was an unmoving, nonverbal statue.
Three days with the Mandalorian and you were beginning to absolutely despise his beskar helmet and the nonexistent sense of security the Council had believed he’d bring.
This was all done for their benefit. Not yours.
You didn’t need protection before and you certainly don’t need it now. He served no purpose but to make you uncomfortable under his unbreaking gaze.
“I will be right outside the door, your Highness.”
Your eyes jolt up to him in pure surprise. You had been expecting the usual silence, for him to ignore your request as he did all the other times you’d told him you didn’t require his unwavering surveillance.
Maybe the fact that you’d pointed out every single enter and exit strategy finally convinced him, but you couldn’t know for sure. Not with that obscure helmet.
You dismiss your thoughts and almost catch yourself beaming at his reflection in the corner of your room. “Thanks,” you breathe, opting for a smaller smile, filled with gratitude.
He nods once and then leaves.
You release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.
The first thought that crosses your mind is one you dismiss just as quickly as it arose. The small traces of adolescence that cling on to you tempt you to sneak away from the Mandalorian. Break the rules. See how far you could run before he caught up to you.
But you dismiss it. Because you’re loyal to your people and you know why he’s here despite you not agreeing to all the dramatics.
The Senator claims this is all for your protection. That coming of age and taking the throne would likely bring danger as those who wished to rule the throne would start creeping out of the hiding places they’d taken residence in since the death of your parents.
But it itches beneath your skin the longer you gaze over at the crack under your bedroom door, the shadow of his feet unmoving and steady.
You could run. Make a little game out of it. See if he’s really as qualified as Senator Dameron says he is.
You sigh quietly and set the brush down very slowly. Your heart pounds in anticipation, a plan forming in your mind.
As quickly and stealthily as possible, you slip out of your casual gown into a pair of very unladylike trousers and a tunic that you laced up tightly.
You brainstorm different ways to make your exit. Maybe you could cough or somehow force a sneeze? Some way to let your Mandalorian know you were still unsuspiciously lounging in your quarters.
You decide against it, instead doing your best to unlock your windows without making so much as a creak. Surprisingly, it’s not all too difficult.
The window swings open, both panels nearly knocking into the stone exterior of the castle but you lunge forward to grab onto them. Your momentum drives you forward with more eagerness than you intended, your feet flying from the floor, tipping out into the evening dusk with the ghost of a scream on your lips.
Something pulls you back at the feet.
Your body remains suspended, hands clutching onto the panels white-knuckled. You quickly toss a glance behind you, fully expecting to see your bodyguard standing there with his stupid beskar staring disappointedly at you.
By the sheer grace of the Maker, there’s no one behind you at all.
The only thing that saved you from plummeting to your death was your pesky iron dresser, the one that had those decorative swirls that you often knocked your ankle against.
On it, the hem of your surprisingly sturdy trousers, which were beginning to rip at the seams the longer you stood there hanging like an idiot.
Quickly, you toss yourself back to safety, freeing your hem and sheathing your small dagger you kept under your pillow. When suddenly you hear a shuffle against the door and you freeze.
Your eyes are trained on the shadow under the crack of your door. It’s the Mandalorian, thankfully just readjusting his stance.
Deciding there’s no more time to lose, you drag a hidden rope you had tied to one of the posts under your bed from your younger adventures, and carefully climb out of your window. All the while hoping the Mandalorian wouldn’t decide to check in on you at that exact moment.
As soon as your feet touch the floor, you’re off, leaving the rope and your quarters in the dust.
An elated laugh escapes you. It feels like you’re floating over the stone pavement, more free than you’ve been since before you were orphaned.
It gives you a head rush, this thrill, knowing you’re breaking every rule in the book — for the Royal Princess of Eiria was not to wander the streets unattended, much less when the sun was falling below the horizon. Senator Dameron would probably burst a blood vessel if he saw you now.
After a few minutes of aimless sprinting, you begin to see the outline of the city, lit by its posts and the torches held by the knights on guard. You eye them, trying to figure out how to get past undetected.
Suddenly, you hear the sound of hoofs against the damp grass and the panic sends you flying into a nearby bush.
Your hair gets caught, a few thorns digging into your skin, one catching onto the skin of your cheek.
“Ugh,” you complain quietly.
Between the foliage, you begin to make out the figure upon the approaching horse.
“Gwaine!”
You smile in relief, your pounding heart beginning to settle back into your heaving chest. Gwaine is one of the few people you trust within the city walls, having known him since he was a boy. He is the blacksmith’s son, currently serving as his apprentice.
You spring out of the bush, startling Gwaine’s horse but he quickly reigned her back in.
“My lady,” he nods with an amused look.
You stand awkwardly for a moment, knowing you probably looked like a disaster.
Gwaine motions towards his own hair, near his ear. “You’ve got…”
“Oh!” You quickly snatch a leaf out of your locks. “Thanks.”
He eyes you, scanning your disheveled appearance from head to toe, before looking over at the patrolling guards and then back at you.
“Do you require some sort of… uh- assistance, my lady?” He asks as if he doesn’t want to know what you’re up to this time.
Poor Gwaine. One way or another you’d always managed to drag him into your various schemes over the years. But you’d never let him take the fall for any of your antics. Never.
Doesn’t stop him from fearing the day he’d once again see you with that same mischievous, faux innocence on your face. Which was more often than you cared to admit.
He knew your look of trouble like the back of his hand.
You jolt in realization and look past him, searching for any sign of the Mandalorian.
“You know,” you sigh a little dramatically once you realize the coast is pretty much clear. “I really shouldn’t drag you into affairs of the royal family. I’ll just leave you be—”
“What is it?” He cuts through the bullshit.
“Well, if you must know, I’ve taken the liberty of paroozing the sights of the city tonight, Gwaine.”
“We both know full well you have no liberty of ‘paroozing the city’ at this hour, your Highness.”
You try to hide your flinch.
“What’s with the formalities, Gwaine?” you divert. “Would it kill you to say my name for once?”
“Eh— might.”
You follow his line of sight to the guards that were stationed across the town square.
“You’re my friend. You can address me by my name, Gwaine.”
“You sure say my name a lot,” he says cheekily. Letting up his usual formalities. You feel relieved, giving him an easy smile. It was always like this with him— he’d address you by title, do everything by the book, and you’d have to slowly break him down until he accepts that you’re his friend. Not just the Princess. Years of conditioning made him that way you guess.
“It’s a mighty fine name,” you grin.
“Why thanks.”
His horse neighs suddenly. You both snap into reality.
“Seriously, Squeak. What’re you doing outside the castle? Aren’t you under strict vigilance right now?”
Squeak. It’s his nickname he’d given you ever since you had convinced him to help you climb to the roof of the stables when you were both small children. You were convinced you could fly (‘just like a bird!’ is what you’d told him) and jumped off to prove it. Needless to say, you were very thankful there had been a comfortable amount of hay on the ground below. Since that day, Gwaine began to call you ‘Squeak’ because you had screeched just like a bird when you landed face first in the hay.
“You heard?”
“The whole kingdom heard. A Mandalorian around these parts is rare. You mustn’t be alone when the Senator has gone to such extreme lengths to have you protected.”
Protected, your ass. Where was the Mandalorian now?
“I’m not alone,” you reply. “I’m with you.”
Gwaine purses his lips and gives you a half-hearted glare. Knowing in his heart, he couldn’t leave you alone now even if he wanted to. You’d just ensnared him in a royal duty whether you meant to or not.
“Nyla, settle down,” he murmured softly to his horse, as she began to get antsy from meandering around for too long. He looked back at you. “Well, are we going to stand here and wait to be caught?”
You give him a quizzical look.
“Well, you must’ve snuck out, haven’t you? I don’t see the Mandalorian around.”
But he’d surely be around if you kept standing here all evening.
You hustle over to Nyla, taking Gwaine’s outstretched hand and hauling yourself up behind him. Securing your arms around his middle, you smile softly at the familiarity.
“Where to, Princess?” He murmurs.
“Beyond the city walls, the abandoned watch tower.”
chapter 2 >>
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#the mandalorian#the bodyguard din djarin#din djarin imagine#din djarin x reader#din djarin#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#the mandalorian au#the mandalorian imagine#the mandalorian series#the mandalorian/reader#the mandalorian x reader#mgparker#the mandalorian royal au#star wars#star wars au#star wars royal au#princess#the mandalorian x princess!reader#din djarin x princess!reader
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mp100 band au but it's like school of rock; reigen quits his dead-end job on a whim to become a manager for The Next Big Band (possibly under false pretenses/via some minor identity theft, oops), because it seems like a good way to Be a Somebody (without having to rely on your own uhhhh lacking musical skills); plus he's a sucker for a good rags-to-riches story, especially if he's the protagonist of it
cue him getting all the kids together because they're all talented in different ways and he just KNOWS that, with enough practice, they can win the Big Seasoning City Battle of the Bands
serizawa's either a well-renowned but elusive blogger or a reporter for a paper who follows local bands around and writes about them; he's hard to get a hold of but reigen manages to hunt him down and convince him to help make his band o' kids The Next Big Thing; also seri's really good at art so he helps out with promotional stuff; they fall in love because of course they do
#sho's definitely on drums and teru INSISTS on doing vocals#trying to remember that one piece of official art where they've all got instruments because this is partially inspired by that#but also i like given and bocchi a lot and my brain wanders on the car ride home LOL#mp100#serirei#into the void
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It Happened One Miami Night (3/?)
Series Premise: A work trip to Miami means finally accepting that some risks are worth taking. Or are they?
Fandom: Choices
Book: Open Heart
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine)
Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff
Words: 1,430
Series Masterlist
A/N: I live! Seriously, though, I've been really sick the last few days; today's the first day I've actually felt like writing. I also don't know where I'm going with this series except for this idea of filling in blanks for moments we didn't see. Pray that I figure it out before I start rambling.
Submission for @choicesaprilchallenge24; dialogue prompt "come on, it'll be fun"
She might have been invited (ordered, more like) under false pretenses, but that didn’t mean she was wasting this opportunity. Still in awe of hearing medical greats in person, Cassie Valentine put her hands together for the chorus of applause that followed Dr. Hadley’s fireside chat.
Ethan Ramsey, the epitome of medical excellence, was Cassie’s ultimate inspiration. Yet, Rebecca Hadley, with her profound knowledge and charisma, was a close second in Cassie’s admiration.
Cassie's eyes darted hopefully towards the front as the room began to clear. Her heart sank at seeing the long queue of Dr. Hadley’s admirers. Disappointment washed over her, but she was determined not to let this opportunity slip away. However, the organizers pulled Dr. Hadley away before she could step forward.
Cassie checked the event schedule on the conference app and figured she had enough time to grab some swag for Elijah before the next session. She still hadn’t heard from Ethan.
No! She wasn’t going to think about him. This time was for her.
Ethan was her attending, that’s it. No, he wasn’t Ethan. He was Dr. Ramsey. Cassie repeated this to herself, a mantra reminding her of her resolution to move on and break the spell he’d cast on her.
She thought this weekend was already proving challenging, recalling their conversation after the Nash debacle. They hadn’t even been to their suite yet or figured out how they were going to spend two nights in close quarters. Would he casually dismiss her from his presence then, too?
Shaking off the anxiety, she entered the exhibit hall and made a beeline for the first table. They gave out branded pens; they were nothing special, but her friend wasn’t picky. Besides, Elijah lost at least two pens daily and would use them all.
With her tote bag bulging, she was halfway down this row when she spied a booth handing out frisbees. She sped up, grabbing the last one as someone reached for it. Cassie turned sideways and found herself in a tug-of-war with another attendee.
“I was here first,” she tugged the plastic disk a little too forcefully.
“Debatable.” The man grinned charmingly before letting go. “But my mother raised a gentleman,” he glanced at her lanyard, “Cassie.”
“Thanks,” she stared at the name tag in her line of sight, “Evan. My compliments to your mother.”
“Wait till I tell her how her lessons on manners led me to my future wife.” The twinkle in his eyes told her he was joking.
“Wow, you’re easy,” Cassie quipped. “Beat a guy at the Swag Olympics, and his true intentions come out.”
His lips twisted in a half smile, and he eyed her tote. “First conference?”
“Is it that obvious?”
Evan laughed. “First-timers always grab too much stuff. Then, you realize you can’t possibly take it home in your carry-on and start throwing out perfectly good swag.”
That made her pause. The space in her luggage was indeed limited. Still, she promised Elijah goodies, and she would deliver them.
“It’ll be okay,” she shrugged, unconcerned.
“I heard Panacea’s giving out briefcases,” Evan said, stepping closer, just at the edge of her personal space. “I was just heading there.”
Cassie caught the unspoken invitation in his voice and the interested look in his eyes as he peered intently at her. She started to decline, not wanting another run-in with Declan Nash, when their phones pinged.
“Oh wow, I don’t believe it,” Evan exclaimed, staring at his phone. “They just added Dr. Ramsey to a panel. It starts in twenty minutes.”
He glanced at her over his phone’s screen, his eyes filled with eager excitement. “He’s amazing. Man, what I’d do to work with him. I tried matching at Edenbrook last year, but their residency is super competitive.”
“I know,” Cassie said quietly, but Evan didn’t hear her as he continued talking.
“…got into Grady, so not a total loss. How about you?”
“Edenbrook. First year, internal medicine.”
Evan’s eyes widened. “Have you met Ramsey, then? What’s he like? Are rounds with him a masterclass in diagnostic excellence?”
Cassie wasn’t sure how to respond. Was she supposed to tell a stranger that she had not only met Ethan but fallen hard for him? That when he focused those laser blue eyes on her, she melted, heat pooling in her belly, fingers itching to touch him everywhere?
Ethan was a complicated man who hid his emotions behind an austere exterior. But when he let his guard down and let her in, she fell through a rabbit hole, knowing her life would never be the same again.
“Rounds with him are intense,” was all Cassie said, keeping her expression neutral.
Ten minutes later, she reluctantly followed Evan into the ballroom where Ethan’s session was taking place. Despite the last-minute announcement, the room was almost full, with just a few empty seats scattered around the room.
“See? I told you the room would be packed early,” he said, scanning the space.
They shoehorned their way to the center of the room, hopping over bags and feet to park themselves on two chairs in a row of theater seating. Cassie almost tripped over the ankles of a woman who wasn’t keen to let them pass, but Evan helped keep her upright.
Cassie’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Ethan’s tall figure standing off to the side of the raised dais. He must’ve gone to the suite, for he was now wearing a blazer over the black shirt and gray slacks from this morning.
He hadn’t noticed her, and she doubted he would, given the size of the crowd. Still, she slumped slightly in her seat, practically hiding behind the person seated in the row before her.
“What are you doing tonight?”
She turned to face Evan, her brow raised in confusion.
“A few of us are getting together later,” he explained hurriedly. “It’s nothing fancy—cheap booze, music, dancing on the beach.”
“I don’t know,” she hesitated. “I’m here with my attending. He might need me for work.”
“All night?” Evan asked skeptically. “He doesn’t seriously expect you to be on call all weekend? Give the old man the slip and join us.”
When she still looked doubtful, he insisted, “Come on, it’ll be fun. Give me your number. I’ll text you the details.”
Cassie scoffed. “What makes you think you’ve earned my number?”
“My eternal optimism?”
“Nice try,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m on the conference app. Ping me the deets there. No promises.”
The emcee called the room to attention, and the commotion around them died down, replaced by excited anticipation. He introduced the session topic and speakers, reading a brief bio for each panelist.
Despite her earlier intention, Cassie straightened in her seat, unable to look away as Ethan joined his fellow panelists on the stage. As soon as the applause subsided, the moderator smoothly jumped into the discussion, throwing Ethan the first question.
Sprawled in a deep armchair, he held the microphone close to his lips, punctuating his point with a wave of his hand. He spoke eloquently, captivating everyone in the audience and the panel.
Cassie envied his effortless confidence and hoped that one day, she would be as secure in her abilities as a doctor.
She noticed how relaxed Ethan was now compared to earlier. He was in his element now, and it showed. Unlike the uncertainty of the situation with Naveen, sharing his opinions on managing medical resources during large-scale emergencies was easy.
Evan tried to engage her in conversation, leaning too close for comfort, but she ignored him beyond a quick nod. She hadn’t reflected on this topic before but found the discussion and subject area fascinating.
Cassie thought she knew Ethan’s career well, being his biggest fan and all. But she had no idea he’d volunteered in disaster zones during his residency and fellowship. Was there anything the man hadn’t done in the ten short years since he became a doctor?
And was he just as good in bed as he appeared out of it? The naughty voice broke through her thoughts, making her blush.
Cassie surreptitiously scanned faces around her to make sure no one had noticed her face turning red (or the way her skin flushed from the neck down as her breath hitched). It was damn inconvenient.
Listening to Ethan being, well, Ethan, was clearly turning her on.
So much for her resolution. All Ethan had to do was talk passionately about medicine, and she was ready to kiss his breath away.
The weekend just got a whole lot more complicated.
-------------
All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso
@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16
@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction
Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics
Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate
#open heart#ethan ramsey#ethan ramsey x mc#open heart fanfics#open heart fanfiction#choices fanfics#playchoices#choices fanfiction#choices fic writers creations#cfwc fics of the week#ethan ramsey x cassie valentine#open heart choices
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My Life Needs Calibrating (Male!Reader x Garrus Vakarian)
Requested by @jayfeather965 for What about a short fic on Garrus confessing his feelings for reader?
Garrus Vakarian has an undeniable charm.
At least... to you.
Let's be fair, though. It's easy to fantasize but a lot harder to process in real life.
Garrus is taller than any human you've ever met, and though you find him cute, he doesn't emote in a way recognizable to you as a human. His facial plates are cool to the touch and hard, more like ceramic than anything you'd feel resembles skin. His hands only have the three fingers, and really, it's impossible to forget that he is not human - he can't even eat the same physical category of food that you can.
But, if you set aside the physical incompatibility of your bodies' designs, there are still things to love about him.
He is strong, of will and heart as well as body. He only fights for causes he truly believes in, and he doesn't back down easy.
He is whip smart, with an amazing memory and head for tactics.
And he is committed to his morals in a way that is intensely human. He cares for the parts, not the sum, and in a war where it's all life against the Reapers, that's kind of a wonderful quality to maintain.
And when it comes to romance, he's got the most endearing amount of awkwardness.
It's very clear that this man's only experience with flirting has been Fleet and Flotilla, the turian-quarian limited series epic romance, but somehow it just makes him more lovable.
Take the time he confessed his feelings for you.
He invited you out onto the Citadel under false pretenses.
Claimed to need your eye on a new set of armor.
Which you really don't know much about.
He was far more nervous than usual, kept glancing over at you and trying to speak.
And it just got suspicious by the time he had taken you halfway around the whole Citadel without finding the armor store he supposedly wanted to bring you to.
"Garrus, not that I don't like spending time with you, but what the hell is going on here?"
Garrus tries to look away but you smack his arm, demanding his attention.
"I've been trying to ask you out!" Garrus finally snaps.
"Well, how was I supposed to know that?" you snap back.
"I don't know! Maybe it's because I've been in love with you for months and months!"
You start to laugh then, and Garrus chuckles with you.
"Okay, this was bad, wasn't it?"
You nod. "Not the worst, but yeah. Bad. How long did you say you were in love?"
"You heard that part?"
"Yup. But it's okay. I think I've been in love with you for longer."
"How about a redo? Wanna get some food?"
You wink. "Are you asking me on a date, Garrus Vakarian?"
"I most certainly am."
#garrus vakarian x male reader#garrus vakarian x reader#mass effect headcanons#headcanons#male reader#mass effect x male reader
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magnificently cursed
summary: lost lovers reunited. you love him, he loves you but your hand has been promised to another.
“Oh, goddamn! my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand, taking mine but it's been promised to another. Oh, I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland. My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I'm covered in you.”
pairing: benedict bridgerton x reader
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You were ill of pretenses.
“You should smile more.”
And you were sick of James Brooke's sanctimonious behavior.
“Perhaps, you should keep your unwanted judgment to yourself.”
You saw the glint of amusement in his forest eyes at the malice in your tone. The grip of his fingers on your waist tightens as he spins you around, the luxurious collar diamond around your neck sparkling under the warm undertones of the candlelight - an embodiment of Lord Brook's filial loyalty. The warmth of his broad chest against your back feels suffocating, like a hand gripping your throat, impeding you from freely breathing.
“Smile,” his hot breath tickles your neck, and with every ticking beat the urge to get out of his grip and run away becomes more wanton, regardless, the urgency in his tone keeps you in place. The corner of your lips raises in a practiced charming smile, eyes glinting with false happiness. Somehow there is a sort of trust and loyalty between you.
Two halves of the same farce.
A perfect scheme orchestrated for the woman with the penetrating stare standing in one corner of the grand ballroom.
Lady Laurence has always been a woman of strong character, a widower who gained her reputation and wealth with blood, tears, and sweat.
A childless woman who put all her hopes on you.
Her gaze doesn't waver for you, even when she takes her time to bow to Lady Cowper and other irritating ladies of the Ton - a complete sense of ridiculousness in her behavior. A genuine chuckle escapes your lips. Of course, would Lady Laurence relish in the begrudged stares in a proud stance of chin raised, frail shoulders leaned back, and a pleasing yet mocking smile curving in her thin lips.
A clear portrait of victory.
“Isn't Lady Laurence a force to be reckoned with?” James' deep voice takes you out of your observations, and at the compass of the waltz, you turn around, faces close to each other.
You have to admit that your betrothed is a sight to behold. Underneath the golden shower of the candelabrum, he resembles all the Greek sculptures you are always fascinated to admire in the art galleries around Europe. Your gaze follows with artistic fascination the cupid bow of his slightly chapped lips, the freckles on his tall nose because of all the hunting trips in the countryside, and the strand of rich blond hair falling carelessly on his forehead.
He looks so much like the child who used to chase you around your countryside house backyard. A dear friend. A brother chose beyond blood. A victim of your Machiavellian plans.
“A woman to be afraid of.”
He laughs, yet, an unspoken sadness resides heavenly in his eyes. As if the mere sight of your aunt's watchful stance reminds him of the truth and the unpaid debts of the past - about the tormented heart of the beautiful and elegant woman watching in some place of the ballroom.
Hands fidgeting. Longing gazes.
Two hearts broken. Two hands bloody.
You wish to tell him all your regrets and apologies. You hope that he can see it in the trembling of your hands, the shame you hide in the bow of your head at the end of the dance, and the avoidance of her gaze. The woman he calls out in dreams, the one that has been banished in the eyes of his family. The daughter of a merchant, who is not enough for a man of his position. His true love.
Selfish girl. The voice of your wickedness whispers, but are you that selfish when love is the root of your decisions?
Immediately, you search for the figure of the object of all your affections. Your mother's-tired smile sends a pang of hurt to your heart as she dismisses the help of Penelope's Featherington to serve her a glass of fresh lemonade sitting on the refreshment table. You let go of James' arm, rushing to her side while sending a grateful smile to Penelope. The girl returns it without a single word, and you are more than thankful for her lack of mention of the faltering strength of your mother to do a simple task.
“Mama, let me help you with this.” You say while taking the glass off her hands. Her only response is a gentle touch on your back. Motherly and soothing.
“Mr. Bridgerton has been watching you all night.”
You halt your movements abruptly, a bit of the lemonade spilling on the table, leaving a faint stain on the elegant tablecloth. Still, you chose to remain silent, convincing yourself that the knot in your throat at the mention of him is not the reason.
You extend the glass, and she takes it with fragile and trembling fingers.
For a brief moment, you tell yourself that you don't care if Mr. Bridgerton has been gazing at you all night, that it doesn't matter how the image of his cerulean eyes burns in your mind, how much you long for his touch, and how a single glimpse of him again could set your miserable heart in flames.
There is no more room for foolish dreams and aspirations, or dirtied dresses and paint-stained hands. There is no acceptance for sneaking around in places a lady like yourself never must dare to go, and Aunt Carol pleading your case for you to be in a place where a woman is not meant to be.
No more being an impostor. No more being a failure. No more him.
The fire inside you extinguished at the realization of your mediocrity—the reason for all your endurance in this pretense of shy smiles and lovesick gazes.
As you take a deep breath, you realize that you have been fidgeting all this time with the ring placed on your hand, your fingertips tracing the shape of the jewelry while a bittersweet smile curves on your lips. You remember seeing it in much stronger and larger hands. Rough palms covered in charcoal. Long fingers holding a brush in between them.
You do this for him.
“You know, my dear, Mr. Bridgerton always reminds me of him,” your mother's face melts with love at the thought of your father like it always does when she thinks of him. The memories feel like weapons because, after all these years, the tomb would not close, and the pain is still the same.
His ghost still haunts you to this day. You wonder which is more painful.
“Mama-”
“He is watching you now, dear.”
It takes all the bravery in your bones to raise your gaze. Blue eyes meet yours and for a brief stolen moment, time halts. The chattering and the string quartet playing are replaced by the sound of your own frantic beating heart.
You are foolish. All these months of lying to yourself about that magical summer night, just for the mere sight of him to take all your breath away. In his eyes, you still see the ghost of his desire, the same dark spark full of passion that you saw that warm night in June. It brings all back to motion. The lingers of his touch on your skin, the burning pleasure that consumed you from the insides, and the intoxicating taste of his mouth that keeps you awake on the loneliest nights. So sinful, so vibrant, so sweet.
He has ruined you, is the bitter realization you come to. He has ruined you from other men.
Eloise at his side, dressed in a signature blue sparkly gown, touches his arm, yet, his magnetizing eyes don't waver from you. Does he see it? How his ivy has covered all your stoned heart, covering you.
“Miss Laurence,” you feel the familiar touch of rough fingers on the naked skin of your elbow. You raised your head encountering James's pitiful eyes. His touch is meant to be comforting and tender as if he was trying to pick up a wounded animal, but it only crescents the pressure in your chest. Has breathing always been a difficult task?
He is here with you, but his eyes are not the ones you want to gaze at on your loneliest nights.
“Benedict!”
You heard it before you saw it. The collective gasp of the mama and her daughters. The high pitching of Eloise's voice, the crack of glass, and the soft call of your name coming from your mother's tinted lips. You see the desperation and fury in his gaze. The shredded glass on his feet and the gold ricochet of the champagne mixing with the maroon liquid staining his hands.
How poetical.
Four hearts were broken. Four hands bloody.
He takes a menacing step toward you. A forbidden question in his eyes.
“Excuse me for a second, Lord Brooke,” you know it's time to go, “Mama.”
You don't wait for the answer. Doe eyes and a sweet smile are enough armor for you to flee from the scene in a desperate attempt to bury the past - silhouette disappears behind the open doors leading to Lady Danbury's Garden.
The night sky's dull black, accompanied by the coldness of the air on your flushed skin brings a false sense of peace that you haven't felt in months. You relished in the feeling, even when the murmurs and vivid music coming from inside the ballroom, sounds like a mocking requiem of your misery.
You close your eyes for a moment.
But you should have known better.
Whatever you stray, he follows.
“I knew I will find you here.”
You stay rotten to your spot, helplessly hearing the sound of his footsteps coming closer, the warmth of his body near you followed by the touch of callous fingers, bringing forth a tarnished incandescent glow. “Do you despise me so much that you refuse to see me?”
With words pathetically stuck in your throat, and weak sudden courage running in your veins, you turn towards him. “Mr. Bridgerton,” you acknowledge with a curtsy bow, hands shaking at your sides. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Slowly, you raise your fearful eyes to look him in the eye, feeling a sudden shyness engulfing you.
He is a sight for sore eyes. You decide at that moment as you watch how the strands of chestnut hair fall over his forehead as the wind blows and how his opal eyes seem so vibrant under the moonlight, that Benedict Bridgerton has the air of a true muse. A man incapable of being forgotten. A lover whose memory will always haunt the women who have spent the night in his arms.
“You did not answer my question. Do you despise me so much that you refuse to see me?”
It is almost natural the course of your actions. The soft cloth of your handkerchief goes directly to the open wound in his large palm, crimson red staining the initials of your family's name embroidered in golden thread. The silence is excruciating, but what answer can you give him? So you decide to remain silent, enjoying the glimpse of the unrequited love you gave away.
Benedict's hands are cold against yours. Elegant fingers gripping the ones with the silver gentleman's ring.
“Is this his ring?” The darkness in his tone sends a cold shiver down your spine. “I thought you were going to refuse his hand,” He breathes out, hands abruptly letting go of yours. “That night you told me you were going to refuse his hand, and tonight I found you giving him the privilege of your company. What is the meaning of this?”
You let out a shaky breath, “I changed my mind, my lord.'' The words leave behind a bitter taste. You want to scream how he took the vanity of you and your foolish dreams about his love. “I decided to reconsider, and decided to do the best for my family and me.”
“The best for your family? Marrying him is the best for you?”
The disdain in his voice makes your blood boil.
“I think that is not of your concern.”
He recoils at the aggression in your voice.
“Not of my concern? Do you think it is not of my concern after that night?”
The air around you change for a second. The crescendo when souls intertwine and hearts connect in a way meant to never be separated again lingers in your memories. If he remembers it all too well, why didn't he act when there was time?
You cannot hide the resentment in your answer. “My lips have been shut, Mr. Bridgerton. You don't have to worry about your family's honor and reputation being ruined.”
“And what about you? Your honor? Your value?”
“Soon, I will be a married woman, and I assure you, my lord, my husband will not care about the meaningless whispers.”
You wait for the morbid satisfaction that the fallen expression on his beautiful face would bring.
It never comes.
“So, you would go through this?” the bend of your head and cryptic silence is enough to answer. An expression of incredulity passes through his face before he lets out a deep sardonic laugh. “And what about your art? You cannot simply abandon all your aspirations for this nonsense.”
You raise your head, taking a turn to look perplexed. Something you later will identify as disappointment touches your heart.
“I told you already, My Lord. The big masterpiece will never come.”
“So, this is what you are going to do? Marry that man for his wealth.” there is venom in his tone that feels foreign on his tongue. The burn-in of his opal eyes and the twist of his beautiful factions in a scowl leaves you speechless for a second. “I never thought you would be so frivolous, and cold-hearted.”
You see red.
“You have no right to judge my choices!”
You tell yourself that not a single tear should fall in front of him.
“I am speaking for what I see, Miss Laurence.”
“You speak from your selfishness.”
“My selfishness?” True confusion shines in his eyes.
Of course, a man like him could never understand.
“Yes. You cannot possibly understand what is for me and what is expected.” Your lips tremble as you speak, and you can hear it again.
An invisible clock ticking in your ear. The sound of the sand quickly hitting on the other side of the glass.
“You are making yourself a martyr. You know damn well, as I do, that you are one of the more talented artists I have the pleasure of meeting, so I don't -”
“Talent is not genius, Benedict.” the boom of your voice silences him. The call of his first name appeased the unjust fury burning in his gaze. “I have talent but it is not enough. I want-” you swallow down the knot in your throat, “I need to be great or nothing. I am not going to be an impostor and a mediocre if I could not be the great artist I always wanted to be. I won't do it.”
The resignation and despair in your voice are unable to hide. And you don't want to, because of all the people, you always thought that the kind man with a soul of an artist would be the one to be able to just comprehend.
Benedict doesn't say anything. His eyes are fixed on every inch of your face.
“I am a woman. I don't have the same liberties as you. I don't have the free will to go around and try to take chances if I am not good enough.” The laughter and mocking stares still follow you every time you dare to stand in front of a canvas. “And I just realized that I simply wasn't.” You think back to a trashed art room full of childish dreams. “As a woman, I do not have a way to make my way in the art world, not when I am not the genius, I need to be for me to succeed, and even if I do, the money I could make would never be enough to support myself and my mother.”
Your mother's face flashes in your head. Her pale face, and fragile hands help you to style your hair for tonight's ball. Her false reassurance that she is okay, that you must have seen wrong about the way she barely tries to catch her breath when she walked the short length of the stairs. The weakness of her limbs, and how the simple task of raising a spoon to feed herself seems to exhaust her more and more each day that passes.
“As a woman, I am not allowed the luxury to choose. I need security. I need to look out for the people I love. So don't stand there judging my decision, and calling me cold-hearted when I am only trying to look for myself. Marriage might not be an economical proposition or a place of security for you but certainly is for me.”
You are not able to hold back anymore the sorrow of your soul, sapphire tears finally fall down your cheeks. Benedict's face softens, regrets soaping for his pores at your stance. He takes cautious steps, one hand reaching for your face as tender fingers brush away the salty river. Pathetically, you lean down your cheek against his palm.
“I deeply apologize. I have been cruel in my accusation. I know you are angry and have every reason to be.” You let out a shaky breath the gentleness of his tone. “But I would not retract about the supposed selfishness you accused me to possess. Where does it leave me in your plans? What about what I feel?
Your voice breaks and you whisper. “And what exactly do you feel, Benedict?”
His lips remain shut, even when his eyes reflect the hidden galaxy, he is so desperate to guard. Instead, his attention returns to the silver ring on your left hand.
The words fall from your lips carelessly, offering explanations he doesn't deserve. “This is my father's ring. He didn't have any son to inherit it. He gave it to me the night he passed away.”
A smile of sadness and comprehension draws on his face.
“Do you love him?”
“No, but I could do it if I try.”
Both of you know that is a lie.
“Don't marry him.” The grief is visible in his plea. “Don't submit the both of us to this torture, please.”
“Why?” You take a step back from him, backing away from his alluring scent.
“You know the reason why.”
With the condescending in his tone, you let out a bitter laugh. After all this time and all these feelings, he still cannot admit it.
“I have loved you for a very long time, Benedict Bridgerton. I assure you; you are an unforgettable man. But I would not throw away a secure future for me and my mother for a man who is unable to admit what he feels.”
You see the exact moment your words ignite a dangerous fire inside him, and soon the cold and lonely air of the night is replaced by the fervent heat of his lips. The ardent touch of his hands around your waist, gripping it as if you were his lifeline. You feel again the passion and desire buzzing in every part of your body. The urgency and all the unspoken promises claimed in a starry night where you gifted him your innocence with a heart full of tender love. Unarmed, you surrender to his touch, and just for a wicked moment, you melt between his arms. Hands grasping at his strong shoulders, inhaling his masculine scent, and enjoying the sweet taste of the champagne in his mouth.
For a short moment of loss of judgment, you found yourself praying to the sky for a chance to stay forever in this beautiful lavender haze.
Foolish dreams of a woman in love.
The gold rush is not enough.
You let go of him slowly and painfully, catching a glimpse of disheveled hair and swollen red lips.
He is beautiful under the moonlight.
Benedict notices your intentions, quickly gripping your hand before you slip away from him and towards a place he couldn't reach anymore.
“At least let me have a final dance with you.”
Your heart doesn't allow you to say no.
You will have one last dance with the man you love, even when both of your hands are tied.
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#bridgerton netflix#benedict x reader#bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton x female reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x oc#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton series#not a poet just a woman series#benedict bridgerton smut#benedict bridgerton angst#benedict bridgerton fluff
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Fun fluffy AU idea in which Leo accidentally gets caught in a bad spot of the street and is left without his sword(s) to portal out, only to get bailed out by Usagi, who, under the (false) pretense that Leo can't fight, gives him some sort of device or object that can call on him whenever he's in trouble.
Leo, utterly dazzled, wants to talk to the cute bunny again, but he did say that it was "only for emergencies", so...
Enter a series of increasingly convoluted scenarios devised by Leo, in which he's 'in danger', and keeps getting Usagi to rescue him for the chance to talk.
#ROTTMNT#ROTTMNT Leo#Usagi Yuichi#Usagi Chronicles#LeoSagi#Leonardo Hamato#Leo#Your honor they are SO STUPID
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Hmmm… curious about a Thing…
Feel free to elaborate on what anecdotes you know of in the tags! If you know of multiple ones, pick the one that’s ‘highest tier’ on the poll (so if you have one friend who told you they did that mistake once but you’re not sure if they were serious, and one story from a third-party that you’re pretty sure is just a rumor - you should go for Option 4).
#rocky horror picture show#rocky horror show#the rocky horror picture show#the rocky horror show#rocky horror#rhps#trhps#rocky balboa#rocky#Sylvester Stallone#action movies#cinema#poll#tumblr polls#i love polls#poll time#my polls#fandom polls#polls
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DOVE TALE
Again and again I find myself sheepishly admitting that Star Trek, as in the original series, is my all-time favorite TV show. It's a little embarrassing to acknowledge that, north of sixty years old, I keep going back for comfort and refreshment to the corny sci-fi show that I loved as a kid.
Worse yet, for all the show's sophomoric heavy-handedness and cultural chauvinism and ludicrous science and inconsistently applied social values, I keep finding relevance, even prescience in it.
For instance, this past weekend I watched the third-season episode, scripted by the redoubtable Jerome Bixby (also author of the story that became the Twilight Zone favorite "It's a Good Life"), called "Day of the Dove..."
You may remember it: Both the Enterprise and a crew of Klingons arrive at a planet, lured there under false pretenses by a powerful incorporeal alien Entity. Through a variety of mind tricks and matter transmutation, the Entity gets the Federation crew and the Klingons trapped together aboard the Enterprise, which is hurtling out of control on course to leave the galaxy.
Onboard, the factions are allowed their own turf, armed with swords--Scotty admires "a Claymore..."
...and psychically aroused to furious hatred toward their adversaries and even toward each other. They soon discover that the conflict between them is self-renewing; their wounds heal miraculously and the Entity allows neither side complete victory.
As a kid, I always thought it was a pretty cool episode. It had plenty of action, including swordfights, and the coolest and most badass of all the original series Klingons, Kang, played by the rumbly-voiced Michael Ansara...
...towering over Shatner...
It was also the only glimpse we ever got, in the original series, of Klingon women, notably Susan Howard as Kang's wife and science officer Mara...
In the course of the show Chekov, under the Entity's evil influence, attempts to violate Mara, although it looks like she could smack his little ass across the corridor with one hand.
Along with Chekov, Kirk, McCoy, Scotty and Uhura all get to work themselves up into highly entertaining angry lathers in this one. Shatner's in particularly hilarious, wound-up form here: "Look at me...Look. At. Me." And there's the great moment when the hysterical Scotty, responding to Spock's attempt to calm him, says "Keep your Vulcan hands off me," but it sounds like he said "Keep your f**kin' hands off me."
But watching it the other night, it occurred to me that this episode seems unusually relevant these days. I noticed this a few years ago about the second-season episode "The Omega Glory" as well. The theme, about the dangers of fetishizing and theocratizing America's foundational documents and other objects of patriotic regard like the flag, seems like a pedestrian, basic civics lesson. But it turns out that our society needs to be reminded of it regularly.
Similarly, with "Day of the Dove," the message might seem, at a glance, like the usual honorable but ineffectual Star Trek platitudes about the horrors of war and the bondage of bigotry and the liberating virtue of tolerance. But now, in light of the revelations from the Dominion lawsuit, it has a strikingly specific subtext. Because, of course, the reason the invading Entity is attempting to create this hellish eternal conflict on the Enterprise is that it feeds on violent hatreds, turning from yellowish-white to a happy shade of red...
...when it sucks up some delicious fury.
It creates false narratives in people's minds to stir up their bloodlust--Chekov claims his brother was killed by the Klingons; Sulu later explains that the brother is imaginary, as Chekov is an only child--and feeds both sides with propaganda to gin up enmity. Essentially, the Entity is a farmer, planting outrage so that it can harvest rage.
In other words, the Entity is Fox News, and the "news" media machine of which Fox News is the most successful and egregious example. I mean, isn't it, kind of?
In this context, some of Bixby's lines take on an extra resonance, as when Kirk speculates "Has a war been staged for us, complete with weapons and ideology and patriotic drum beating? Even...Spock...even race hatred?"
Or, when Kirk says "It exists on the hate of others," and Spock replies "To put it simply. And it has acted as a catalyst, creating this situation in order to satisfy that need."
Or, again, Kirk's desperate appeal to Kang, in the climactic minutes: "...and it goes on, the good old game of war, pawn against pawn! Stopping the bad guys. While somewhere, something sits back, and laughs, and starts it all over again."
In the end, Kang is persuaded, a truce is ordered, and the weakened Entity is chased off the Enterprise to hearty laughter from both sides...
Kang slaps Kirk on the back and for a second it looks like Kirk is going to pass out. A lovely moment; I would highly recommend it for our nation right now. But as the Entity goes flittering off the ship into space, it's all too easy to imagine it scurrying down to some TV "News" Network on some unsuspecting planet.
#star trek#day of the dove#william shatner#deforest kelley#leonard nimoy#walter koenig#george takei#nichelle nichols#michael ansara#susan howard#jerome bixby#dominion lawsuit#james doohan#klingons
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Under False Pretenses Rewrite 2| Band of Brothers AU
@marycorleone
masterlist
part one
Two
Olivia blinked her eyes open and looked around the bedroom, the bitter resentment of her reality came crashing down around her again. She had been abandoned by the man that she thought loved her and was going to be her husband and the father of her child. And she was going to be
stuck fulfilling a stupid promise that her great-grandfather made with Lewis's great-grandfather. For as long as she could remember she was with Lewis, or with his family, even her college education was done at the same schools as him.
Whatever this business arrangement was, it was controlling her whole life, she was the only one that James had left to fulfill the promise. His daughters, Olivia's aunts, refused saying the whole arranged marriage thing was outdated and cruel. And Olivia agreed wholeheartedly. But in a way, she was happy that it was Lewis she had to marry, they did love each other deeply, not on the same level as her love for Joe but still it was there and then there was Dick. he loved them both and was ready for the long haul.
As if he could read her mind Dick squeezed the hip he was still holding, "Good morning. Happy birthday.' his voice was still thick with sleep. " Thank you." She returned softly, "Sorry about last night." Dick pressed his lips against her forehead and pulled her closer to him, "You have nothing to be sorry about love. This is what I am here for." He wouldn't admit that he had laid awake after Lewis dropped off to sleep wanting to escape back home but couldn't leave them both.
Olivia was already falling apart about Joe leaving, his flight would bring as much damage. And then there was Lewis, he wasn't ready for all of this. He asked Olivia to marry him because it was what was promised between the Nixon and Stewart family and it was almost expected at this point that they would get married but the two were happy where they were with.
Lewis with him and her with Joe.
It all just made sense.
Lewis shuffled closer to her, his lips finding the back of her neck and his fingers tracing a pattern on her bare skin. "Morning.' He mumbled kissing his way up the side of her neck to her jaw, "Happy birthday." Turning her head Olivia let him kiss her lips several times. He knew the best way to distract her from the feelings and their reality was all physical touch. Dick sensing that he wasn't going to be needed went to slide out of the bed but was stopped by Olivia's hand grasping his and pulling him back towards them her legs tangling with his pulling him flush against her. "Stay please."
This was the first time that all three of them were together like this. Previously had just been watching or stealing glances and touches. “Liv.” He started, his breath hitching in his throat when her lips found his throat, pressing soft kisses and nips against it. Lewis’ hand grabbed his and squeezed letting him know it was okay, that they all needed this.
**
Bobby Stewart sighed heavily as he let himself back into the condo early the next morning, he hated that he was going to be the one who had to tell his twin that Joe was gone, and they were having a hard time tracking him down.
Even Hoobs and Alton, the two guys who found a rare bottle of whiskey for Olivia to give Lewis' for his birthday were having a hard time locating him. His phone was shut off, and the credit cards that he normally used hadn't been used since. The last time it had been used was when he went to a vintage jewelry store and purchased a ring. A ring that they had found sitting on the kitchen counter with a card with his sister's name scrawled on the front in Joe's chicken starch.
"Livvy!" He called, sitting the packages he had brought down on the table that lined the front hallway, "Come on sis! Papa is waiting for us."
"She is coming." Dick's voice floated down the stairs as he came down them fastening the cufflinks Olivia insisted he wore to impress her grandfather and uncles. If he was going to be a part of their family, they had to prove to them that Dick was worthy of joining their family to be associated with the granddaughter of Robert Stewart Sr.
"Is she okay?" He asked leaning against the doorframe.
The tall redheaded man swallowed the lump that was in his throat, he didn't want to give anything away. "No, but can you blame her? She was with Joe for years. And he was her one true love." Bobby froze as he took the smoke out of the pack.
"Don't get me wrong she loves Lewis but it's not that maddening I have to be with you every second of the day or I am going to go crazy type of love." "I thought it was the same for Joe. But." The older twin cleared his throat and flashed the card at him, "This is saying otherwise."
"You snooped into your sister's mail?" Dick was floored, he knew the twins were close but not that close. The only time that Bobby had been furious with his sister was when he found out that Olivia was sleeping with Joe. And had flirted with Floyd and Chuck, his friends. He didn’t mind her being a flirt but when it was his friends that's when he started to draw a line.
“I don't know if this is going to help her or upset her even more.”
Sighing, Dick reached out for the card and box that the older Stewart twin produced from his pocket, he knew that if they kept it from her and she found out, she would flip like she had when she found out that Bobby had tried to seduce Alice, one of Olivia's childhood best friends who was dating Bull Randleman, who when he found out about it first, took matters into his own hands and went after him. And then when Olivia found out about it went off the handle, cursing and throwing things at him. If it hadn’t been for Joe and Floyd pulling her away, she would have launched herself at him. She had been a firm believer in Alice and Bull being together and still was even after all the crap that they had been through together.
Before he could look at it, Olivia and Lewis appeared at the top of the stairs looking like a couple out of one of the magazines that Mrs. Stewart insisted that Olivia got every month. “Bobby, have you heard anything?” “No.” He returned, ‘The apartment was empty of all his belongings, he left this though.’ Dick held out the items to her causing her to retreat up a few steps behind Lewis, like the items were going to burn if she touched them. “I don’t want to open them. I don’t want it confirmed that he is really and truly gone.” Lewis turned to look at her, his hand catching hers again, squeezing it. “Read it, babe, it will help you.” Her suddenly teary eyes searched Lewis’ dark eyes for several long moments before she nodded her head causing Dick to step forward and hand the items over to her.
Growing more uncomfortable about what was going to happen, Bobby turned so his back was facing them, he couldn’t bear to see the heartbreak and pain that she was going to go through. He couldn’t handle it.
**
Finally shaking off some of the guilt, Joe turned his phone on and frowned seeing the number of missed calls, voicemails, and text messages he had. Not only from Olivia but from her twin, Floyd Talbert, Chuck Grant, Mary Corleone, Alice and Bull Randleman, and Johnny Martin. The last one surprised him, normally Johnny stayed out of the petty drama was calling him on his bs. “I don’t know what the fuck you are thinking Joe, but leaving your pregnant girlfriend for whatever stupid fucking reason is bullshit.” The phone slipped out of his hands and clattered to the ground, his Olivia was pregnant? With his baby? No, that was probably just an excuse they made up to have him come back. Not even this would make him come home and back to Olivia and their baby. Their lives weren’t worth it.
#ash writes#oc: olivia stewart#oc: olivia stewart nixon#band of brothers#band of brothers au#band of brothers modern day#lewis nixon#dick winters#lewis nixon x olivia stewart#livnix#winnix#dick x liv x lew#series: under false pretenses
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here’s a tamer one:
gimme all your unpopular stranger things opinions, pretty please!!
sav, bestie you know i love being controversial (sometimes) and i know that some of these may get me tumblr-cancelled or cause a fandom riot because most of them will be about billy (and by extension, max), but that’s not my problem.
billy and max genuinely cared about each other. i know, some of you are gonna look at that and say “how the fuck is that true??” but trust me. it is. both of them were forced into a shitty situation, and often took things out on each other because they were both misguided and trying to navigate things on their own. neil and susan obviously favored max, often neglecting billy and making him grow up on his own and way too fast. he was handling full-fledged adult responsibilities by the time he was sixteen, and he shouldn’t have been. now while i think susan may have tried to evenly delegate her attention to both kids, neil completely prohibited that under some false pretense such as “billy needs to grow up” or “he doesn’t need a mother anymore”. any time max screwed up, billy was left to deal with it instead of neil and susan handling it themselves, like parents should, not older siblings (though i believe had it not been for neil, susan would’ve taken care of max herself— i have some very complicated opinions on susan, but that’s another story). every time billy acted out in violence, it was a defense and survival mechanism for him; and he probably did it quite often to protect max because he cared for her, and for the fact that if he didn’t, he’d face neil’s wrath for the nth time (i.e.: the fight at byers’ home with steve— which, in billy’s defense, was totally justified from his point of view). anyway, max and billy cared about each other in their own weird little way.
more on the topic of billy, he wasn’t racist and he didn’t target or dislike lucas simply because he was black. that’s just a bullshit reason that 98% of the fandom uses to justify why they hate billy because they couldn’t read context clues and use some critical thinking skills. he disliked lucas because he witnessed lucas and max arguing in the school parking lot, and lucas was upsetting max— and billy knew that it would be his ass if neil found out about it.
i think the whole “girlboss” angle they’re trying to do with nancy kinda sucks and it’s ruining her character. she was definitely a stronger character in season 2 than any other season.
the series started with will, and it should end with will. i said what i said.
max stabbing billy with a needle and syringe with no idea what was in it is not the girlboss moment y’all think it is. what was in that syringe could’ve killed him for all anyone knew.
the sauna scene was genuinely billy begging for max to help him because he didn’t know what was going on, until it wasn’t, and max knew that was billy and not the mindflayer.
speaking of the whole mindflayer thing, y’all can’t tell me that max didn’t genuinely care about billy when she said “i really hope it’s not you” in reference to the party suspecting that billy was the host.
oh and in season two when billy’s “threatening” to run over the boys?? y’all are delusional for thinking he really would lmao he’s an older brother and older brothers mess with their sisters like that. and he’s a seventeen year old with a cool, fast car. there’s no way he was gonna willingly get himself a vehicular homicide charge in a bumfuck town in indiana. y’all are dumb as shit for thinking he would. and did y’all notice when max grabbed the wheel and made the car swerve to avoid hitting them? billy could’ve easily gone against her force and kept the car on course, but he didn’t.
stancy shippers are essentially romanticizing a toxic relationship between two people who very clearly want different things for themselves and could never actually work, from a logical and realistic viewpoint.
on that note, stancy should not happen in season five. or ever again for that matter. fight me about it.
karen wheeler’s actions in season three can’t be justified. i’m not even gonna argue on this one with anyone because y’all know what happened. sure she chose her family in the end, but she was really about to go hook up with a freshly-18 year old man while being in her 40s…absolutely not, ma’am. don’t even get me started on the other pool-lurking moms.
it’s game night, send one of these!
#these are so brave yet so controversial i think#especially that first one#that first one is gonna ruffle some feathers#may even cause some heebies to be jeebied (get it?)#maybe even the second one too#me? causing fandom discourse with my strong opinions? it’s more likely than you’d think.#fandom discourse#morgan’s mailbox📬#ask games#clovermunson’s game night#savvy🧸
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bear with me bc i am drinking THC lemonade
whenever my “people shocked by me being interested in consumer aesthetics counter” ticks up by 1, i know that i have failed to express myself on the internet. i am obsessed with commercial ephemera. it’s not that i like it… it’s something deeper. something… worse? better? something more embarrassing, at least.
the only time i’ve ever done psychedelics my profound realization was that i really, really enjoyed going to target. i like the lights. i am always commenting on the products and whether i think they are on trend or off trend for what i understand the target demographic to be. i love nothing more than to watch someone pick up an object, briefly imagine their life with that object in it, and then either put it in their basket or put it back on the shelf. even moreso when i’m watching a friend shop. even moreso when we can only window shop and that friend starts explaining to me what they would do with the thing if they had the money to buy it.
i studied american pop music history in college and i continue to study the history of bubblegum pop in my free time. i want to eventually write up a video or a series or something about the extended international history of teenybopper bubblegum pop. i am trying to learn music industry jargon old and new in my target languages in an attempt to gain access to information about these things that i can’t access in english alone.
i read early 2010s posts about how minimalism was the only morally righteous visual style with rapt fascination. i had a vaporwave phase exactly one decade ago. my friends in high school would bring me arizona green teas because they knew i would find it aesthetic. my advanced painting teacher hated it because i kept painting pale minimalist watercolor pieces that looked like 90s waiting room wall decor. my dream at the time was moving to santa fe and becoming a fine artist.
i was a proto-cottagecore blogger before cottagecore was named. i have well over 100 blogs, considering i hit 96 at some point during my previously mentioned decade-ago vaporwave phase. i do not bother to count anymore
as a young child, i used to go to the store almost daily with my parents and look for unfamiliar packs of gum so i could assess their packaging, flavor, and concept. i *really* cared about this. i got into this because i was given free packs of 5 gum and orange mountain dew at the halo 3 midnight release.
i learned HTML from neopets and i used to code gaiaonline themes and put them up on tektek. they sucked really bad btw.
i spent around 2 decades looking for the source of a single image of an anime river angel i saw on quizilla because she meant so much to me as a child about the power of what mere images could be only to find last year that the artist now draws hentai on pixiv and their art quality is now quite rushed. i think about this regularly when i think about creators i have idolized, and i don’t know what it means to me, but it feels like valuable information.
last night i couldnt sleep because i kept wanting to get on my phone to look at ancient greek vases on jstor
the worst part is i feel that the way that seeing ONLY consuming-or-not-consuming as the primary way to interact with the world is a serious mental roadblock for people in capitalist society. i think that consumer identity is a tool often used to warp the minds of citizens. i think that if i could go back in time and strangle edward bernays i would. i think that it is meaningful that american society has generated dozens of terms for “someone who is stealing or misusing a cultural signifier, or otherwise engaging with a culture or subculture under false pretenses/without doing due diligence/without participating in proper cultural exchange” over just the past couple centuries and that seeing and acknowledging the cycle is essential for anyone working in the arts
ive spent the past couple years reading up on historical art movements since industrialization to see how other art workers have dealt with their jobs being mechanized away, and ive decided to choose to value myself as a human animal who gets to experience the process of making things with my human animal body.
i am compelled to play piano when i drink red wine and i feel that i’m a fundamentally superficial being in function, but i can be more in purpose. like a poster. like a mask. like someone screaming so hard on stage that you believe them. that you look behind you to see what they are screaming at. i think in symbols and colors front and center, with verbal background chatter like an ever-tuning radio, and i am frustrated when people don’t understand that i am speaking my mind when i show them what i’ve made.
i care about aesthetics a lot. consumer and otherwise. it just so happens that i live in a capitalist society wherein the market attributes value to certain aesthetic information, which generates conversation about what certain images mean, what gives them value, what detracts from their value, what they are responding to, what responses they require in turn. but anywhere, anytime that there is a conversation about aesthetics, i want to be there.
i have always loved to perceive and to make, since the earliest stories anyone has to tell about baby cave. if i lost everything that makes me who and what i am right now, i believe i would still care about aesthetics. if there is anything left for even a cell of my body to experience, it would want to experience it beautifully and enjoy it deliciously.
happy 420
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Bi Enid and Lesbian Wednesday Headcanons
Wednesday:
- Wednesday expresses disgust at her parents’ expressions of affection toward one another, but not at the PDA expressed by Eugene’s moms
- As she was leaving the room after meeting Eugene’s moms, she paused and had a thoughtful look on her face.
- She’s never expressed any genuine affection toward the male characters in the series (besides her brother, obviously.)
- She only pursues her relationship with Tyler under Thing’s false pretenses, using him to further her investigation or indulging him out of a sense of obligation.
*her and enid’s interactions could be a whole other post; so I’ll just keep them to one bullet point.
Enid:
- alright I’ve got less evidence to back this one up but hear me out
- her hair is pink, blue, and purple
- her mother’s Lycanthropic Conversion Summer Camp plotline was a thinly veiled allegory for homophobic conversion therapy
- even as a wenclair enthusiast I can admit she and ajax are pretty cute
Now of course, these are just personal opinions. Other people are completely obligated to their own headcanons:)
#bi#lesbian#wednesday show#wednesday series#Wednesday#enid sinclair#wednesday addams#author’s notes#wenclair#wednesday x enid#enid x wednesday
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Sidekicks
Kim Possible's in universe dialogue includes a lot diverging opinions on sidekicks.
First and most obvious: Every villain condescendingly calls Ron "the sidekick."
Conversely, heroes mostly maintain a very sidekick positive attitude. Kim deploys Ron, Wade, her mother, and Monique in the position at varying points and they all understand the deal: Kim is the main attraction. When she enlists someone's help, they aren't going into it to advance their own interests or in search of the glory associated with being a "hero." They're there to support Kim, thus the badge of "sidekick" is an honor unto itself.
Ron, at minimum, has a sense of pride about it.
Kim's reliable stable of wingmen only brings attention to the more interesting point: Shego is the only evil side kick on the show.
Sure, there are some instances where it seems like someone else fulfills the criteria (Lucre was a "protegee"), but the words "evil sidekick" themselves appear to be exclusively reserved for Shego.
Why is Shego the only evil sidekick on the show? Beats me, but a few reasons come to mind.
First, Drakken appears to be the only villain who even wants one and he claims that he has a sidekick three occasions:
#1. Shego: Who we'll come back to.
#2. Warmonga: Called a sidekick by both Drakken and Shego, but who was brought into his employ under false pretenses and who clearly did not understand what the term actually meant.
#3. Remy: A parrot, who was called "sidekick" by Drakken when he was a possessed pirate and was surprisingly disloyal for a bird..
No other villain claims that they have a sidekick Even when Electronique reverse-polarizes Team Go, she refers to them as . . .
On the flip side, it seems like most of the villains view being a sidekick as an insult. There are plenty of examples where "sidekick" is a used as a term of derision:
Thus we have the double whammy as to why villain-circles aren't environments where evil sidekicks thrive: no one wants one and no one wants to be one.
So, back to Shego. Why is she a sidekick?
Throughout the series, she is loathe to call herself the S-Word. She only says that she used to be an underestimated one in Sitch in Time and she implies that she was Drakken's sidekick pre-prison in Mad Dogs and Aliens (but isn't anymore). When Drakken asks for "sidekick enthusiasm' in Dimension Twist, she gives possibly the most sarcastic response since the invention of the art.
She actually only definitively calls herself Drakken's sidekick one time: in the middle of his rant, when she thinks she's being replaced, after she had already said that she isn't his sidekick anymore earlier in the episode. Interestingly enough, this is the last time either of them call her a sidekick for the remainder of the series.
But why was she ever a sidekick? Honestly, I think it just might be a Drakken and Shego thing. They have a strange relationship where she is universally acknowledged as the more competent of the two, but Drakken is the one who is in charge. Would Drakken ever let himself take orders from Shego sans obedience collar? No. Would Shego ever let Drakken treat her like a henchman? Double no. So "evil sidekick" is where they landed. Sure, Drakken assigns the label to Warmonga, but just you try and tell me that he wasn't doing so to fill a Shego-sized hole in his heart.
Maybe for them, Shego started as a sidekick because that's the only word they could think of for their stupid-ass relationship. It keeps them together, so that's what they roll with . . . even if Drakken does not understand how his interactions with sidekicks may -ahem- come across.
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Hateration holleration, teevee edition, with important new critical evaluation features:
APPLES NEVER FALL (2024): Engrossing, often funny seven-part mystery-drama, based on a novel by Liane Moriarty, about the dysfunctional family of retired tennis pros Stan and Joy Delaney (Sam Neill and Annette Bening), whose four adult kids — rich dipshit Troy (Jake Lacy), hot mess Amy (Alison Brie), perpetually resentful Brooke (Essie Randles), and neurotic underachiever Logan (Conor Merrigan Turner) — begin to unravel after Joy mysteriously disappears. Did Stan kill her? Does Joy's disappearance have something to do with their former houseguest Savannah (Georgia Flood), a troubled young woman who had persuaded Joy and Stan to take her in under what may have been false pretenses? Everyone knows something more than they're telling, as the situation brings old resentments bubbling to the surface. Perhaps a smidgen too arch for its own good, and the shifting flashback structure sometimes makes it hard to keep track of the sequence of events, but consistently interesting and refreshingly nuanced, with well-drawn characters and excellent performances. (Neill, Bening, and Flood are particularly good.) Only the finale falls short: Certain key character motivations remain murky, and the final scenes are a bit flat, perhaps an inevitable consequence of a story that flits between tones and genres in a way that leaves it without a natural endpoint. Also, the South Florida setting isn't always convincing; big portions of the series were actually shot in Australia. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Yes! (More than one, even.) VERDICT: Flawed but worthwhile.
THE BROTHERS SUN (2024): One-season action-comedy-drama series about an infamous triad underboss from Taipei, Charles Sun (Justin Chien), who's sent to America to protect his mother (Michelle Yeoh) and younger brother Bruce (Sam Song Li) after a cunningly staged attack by an unknown enemy puts his father (Johnny Kou) in the hospital. Mama Sun scarcely needs protection, but the same isn't true of Bruce, a dorky pre-med student who really wants to do improv, and who's totally out of place in his family's world of ultraviolence and organized crime. Meanwhile, Charles' childhood friend Alexis (Highdee Kuan), who's still sweet on him, is now an ambitious assistant DA who sees taking down the triads as a defining career move. Starts off disarmingly light (though always quite violent), but gets significantly darker as it goes on, which really isn't to its credit — after the cheerful amorality of the early episodes, the increasingly maudlin themes of conflicted family loyalty feel heavy-handed, culminating in a credibility-straining climax with about as much subtlety as a cement mixer. It could also have used more Michelle Yeoh and less Sam Li, whose character is such a feckless dweeb that he sometimes grates. Chien actually makes Charles a more credible character than Bruce, impressive considering the level of pulpy plot contrivance involved. A planned second season was canceled, but except for a post-credits tag in the finale, the story feels reasonably complete. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Not so as you'd notice. VERDICT: Starts well, veers too far into turgid melodrama.
PALM ROYALE (2024): Fingernails-on-chalkboard would-be social satire, set in 1969 and featuring Kristen Wiig (with a singularly unconvincing Georgia accent) as conniving but vapid former beauty queen Maxine Simmons, who for some unaccountable reason is determined to wheedle her way into the Palm Beach upper crust, by hook or by crook, while secretly squatting in the mansion of society matron Norma Dellacorte (Carol Burnett), who almost no one realizes is actually in a coma. The glib voiceover narration recalls the early seasons of DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES, but with no bite and no apparent point — there's no reason to care about the premise, the plot, or any of the characters, who are neither sympathetic enough to be likable nor bitchy enough to be fun. Wiig is just awful, straining to prove she can do the kind of role that in recent years has usually gone to Margot Robbie; she can't, and she's obviously at least 10 years too old for her character. The period production design is suitably glossy, but an interesting supporting cast (including Laura Dern, Allison Janney, and Leslie Bibb) is completely defeated by the dreadful scripts, and Ricky Martin (built like a marble statue with acting to match) eventually arrives to stink up the proceedings as Norma's loyal houseboy. I only barely made it through the third episode, and the idea of enduring seven more is too painful to contemplate. If you're in the mood for genteel Southern bitchiness, you'd get more out of a highlight reel of Rue McLanahan scenes from THE GOLDEN GIRLS, which would actually be funny. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Not in the first three episodes. VERDICT: Alternately dull and agonizing.
#teevee#hateration holleration#apples never fall#liane moriarty#annette bening#sam neill#alison brie#jake lacy#essie randles#conor merrigan turner#georgia flood#the brothers sun#justin chien#michelle yeoh#sam song li#johnny kou#highdee kuan#alex hewkin#palm royale#kristen wiig#carol burnett#laura dern#allison janney#leslie bibb#ricky martin
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