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jedijesi · 1 year ago

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Caught in the Cat's Web Chapter 5

Miguel O'Hara x Felicia Hardy! Reader

Previous Chapter 🕸️ Series Masterlist

Warnings: Unwanted kiss, Angst, Fluff, Sexual Tension, enemies to lovers, slowish burn, she/her pronouns

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Angry with Miguel for ruining her date, Felicia gives him the silent treatment. Now that training is over Felicia does field work, bumping into an old foe causing everything to go wrong.

Co-Author: @stclairesplace

A/N: We hit 900 followers! Thank you all so much! My inbox is open for requests to celebrate!

Nueva York, Earth 838

Felicia’s been able to successfully avoid Miguel for the past week, too angry and humiliated to even look at him. If he's in the cafeteria, she’ll skip lunch, if he's talking to Jessica, she'll be hiding until he leaves. Even worse, Web-Slinger has been avoiding her like the plague. Felicia really was attracted to Web-Slinger and enjoyed his company, so she was hoping they'd at least be friends, but since that traumatizing night, he’s been doing the same thing to her as Felicia has been doing to Miguel.

All of this meant she had to shadow Jessica for the week, and as much as she loved Felicia, she was gonna go crazy if she had to endure another rant about how huge of a douchebag Miguel is. Luckily, she was able to survive the week and move on from this disaster of a month.

“We are all so proud of each and every one of you,” Jessica said in front of the recruits. “As of today, you are all part of the Spider-Society.” The sounds of cheers and clapping echo through the gym as the heroes celebrate. “When you can, please talk with LYLA to get your missions and schedule your placements.”

“Congratulations, recruits,” Miguel speaks up, standing behind Jessica.

While everyone celebrates, Felicia walks out without a word. Miguel can't help but notice the change in behavior since he caught her and Web-Slinger together. In a weird way, he missed bickering with the hot-headed woman. She was loud, obnoxious, stubborn, but brought so much life to a room. Since then, he hasn’t heard a word come out of her or seen that signature smirk on her face.

Miguel frowns under his mask before deciding to push through the crowd of celebrating graduates. Once he steps out of the gym, he sees Felicia down the hall walking as she talks to LYLA. Miguel speeds up in an attempt to catch up with her.

“Sir! Wanna get drinks with us?” A few recruits follow Miguel out of the gym. Unfortunately, this catches Felicia’s attention, prompting her to turn around to see Miguel 10 yards from her, making quick strides.

Miguel curses to himself as she immediately turns her attention to her watch, pressing buttons, opening a portal, and running through, leaving Miguel a universe away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New York, Earth-192

The cool breeze of the autumn night embraces Felicia as she lays on the rooftop of the building. When she was the Black Cat, she would come to this rooftop almost every night to listen to the jazz music from the club below. It was her safe place as she would normally bring a bottle of wine and play with her new jewels from the Tiffiny’s she robbed a few blocks down. Tonight, she was just here to unwind, to go back in time.

Felicia sings along to the song as she plays with her hair. “So if you really love me, say yes, but if you don't, dear, confess, and please don't tell me, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps-”

“I’ll always love listening to you on this rooftop,” a voice caused Felicia to jump, her heart pounding as she released her talons and swiftly aimed her webshooters in the direction from which the voice came.

Felicia's stomach churned at the sight of the Spider-Suit. “Why are you here, Peter?”

Peter chuckled, trying to diffuse the tension. “You've got the Spider-Man pose down perfectly.” He nodded to her stance, though Felicia's grip on her webshooters remained firm.

“Answer the question, Peter,” Felicia said through clenched teeth, her readiness to strike undiminished.

Peter raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Woah, easy, cat! I’ve— I've been watching you. I hope that doesn't sound creepy.”

Felicia's eyes narrowed. “That's ridiculously creepy, Peter. I don't want anything to do with you.”

Before Peter could offer further explanation, the cacophonous sound of a car crash reverberated nearby, grabbing their attention. Without a second thought, Felicia executed a graceful backflip off the rooftop, swinging down to the accident site, with Peter following closely behind.

A semi-truck had run a red light, hitting several cars in the process. Three large men hop out of the truck and sprint down the street. While Spider-Man checks on the victims, Night-Spider books it down the street. As she got closer, she shot webs all over them to slow the men down before landing on the first man, digging her claws into his back, causing him to let out a screech.

Once the man falls to the floor in agony, she quickly webs his limbs to the dirty sidewalk before attacking her next victim. This time, instead of running, the two decide to fight. The first one swings his fist at Night-Spider but her agility allows her to gracefully dodge it, landing a few jabs to the man's gut until he grabs her, flinging her into the street.

Night-Spider groans before hastily jumping up. “Surrender now, and I'll go easy on you.”

The two men chuckle before the second charges her. Night-Spider grabs his wrist, redirecting his punch into the taxi’s hood. As the man groans, Felicia uses her claws to slice into his biceps before getting tackled to the ground by the other criminal.

The man sits on her stomach, punching her face until he sees blood. Night-Spider cried out, doing her best to web him and scratch him, but it was no use. She could feel her sturdy mask over her eyes beginning to break, as he landed punch after punch.

Before it could break, the man was thrown off of Night-Spider. She could barely comprehend what was happening as she attempted to regain her breath. What she could hear were a series of punches and thwips before being picked up and whisked away.

“Are you okay?” These were the only words she was able to make out through the ringing in her ears.

A gloved hand caresses Night-Spider’s bloody face as she tries to focus on her senses. “Miguel?” was all that she was able to grunt out. “Tha- thank you.” She coughs out, leaning into his gloved palm.

The cracks in Night-Spider’s goggles made it difficult to see properly, causing the world to appear like a kaleidoscope. After a moment she was ultimately able to make out the figure holding her.

“P-Peter?! Let me go!” Felicia shouts, pushing him away.

Peter throws his hands up defensively as he takes a few steps backward. “Fine but we gotta go back and make sure the injured are okay.”

Felicia’s vision still blurred and head spinning, nodded in a daze, feeling a disorienting wave wash over her as she struggled to regain her footing.

“You okay?” Peter asked, concern etching his voice as he reached out for her, but the world still felt like it was tilting around her.

Felicia, her breath ragged, mustered the last of her strength, her anger flaring as she smacked his hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed with a mixture of pain and fury before she vaulted off the building, her figure disappearing into the night as she descended to attend to the injured victims below.

As Night-Spider inspected everyone, a flood of flashing lights from cameras and reporters arrived at the scene, bombarding Night-Spider with questions, which she ignored to care for the victims.

Night Spider rolled her eyes as Spider-Man posed for pictures and answered their question. She never remembered Spider-Man being so vain. Sure, Peter Parker could be at times but since they broke up, he’s changed. The reporters continued to press, with questions that ranged from intrusive to ludicrous:

“Are you two a couple?”

“How did you get your powers?”

“When can we expect Spider-Babies?”

“Kiss for us!”

Reporters shouted, irking Night-Spider. The swirling blue and red lights from the arriving police cars added to the chaotic atmosphere. The blinding flashes of cameras and microphones thrust toward her felt like an assault on her senses. Suddenly, She feels an arm wrap around her waist. In a split second, Spider-Man had dipped her, moving his mask up to kiss her. Felicia could barely comprehend everything that was happening and lights flashed rapidly and her shock froze her.

Once Spider-Man breaks the kiss, Night-Spider immediately backs away, thwips a web to the nearest building, and rushes away from the scene.

"Sorry, she's shy," Spider-Man shrugged with an apologetic grin before swiftly departing in search of Felicia.

After a few minutes of searching, Peter found her on a quiet rooftop by the river. Silently, he landed beside her, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Felicia shouted, a surge of anger and fear coursing through her as she reacted by delivering a punch to Peter's face.

Peter rubbed his jaw, wincing. "Woah! Ouch! Your powers are definitely getting stronger," he observed.

“Why did you do that?” Felicia cried, her voice a mix of anger and vulnerability.

Peter took off his mask, revealing his earnest expression as he looked at Felicia through her shattered lenses. “I want to work things out between us.”

Felicia scoffs, turning away from him to look at the water below. “No, Peter. This isn’t like the last several times where we break up, you fuck MJ, get back together, and then you run right back to her!”

“Felicia-“

“NO! Have you slept with MJ since we broke up?” The silence between the two became deafening, leaving the only thing to be heard was the sound of her pounding heart. “Fuck you,” Felicia says before turning to her watch and opening a portal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nueva York, Earth-838

It was late at night in Nueva York, which meant if anyone was up, they were at the bars upstairs, asleep, or on missions. Although, it was one of Miguel’s favorite moments of the night. Things were finally quiet, peaceful even which was a rarity in his line of work. Therefore Miguel would indulge himself by going to the cafe and making himself a drink, maybe grabbing himself a late-night snack before going back to his room to mope about life.

However, this time it was different, as Miguel walked through the main hall to the living quarters, he heard the hum of a portal open, followed by a series of screams. Intrigued, he walks closer to inspect the situation. That’s when he found Felicia.

“Ahhhh!” She screamed, throwing her destroyed mask and watch on the ground, and watching it shatter into a thousand pieces before letting out a scream of agony. Her body glitched and contorted forcing her hair to fall from its style. “You, son of a bitch!” She shouted, punching a hole into the column next to her.

As Miguel got closer, she turned just enough to see blood dripping from her face and onto her suit. Hastily, Miguel throws his items onto the table beside him, running to her aide.

“Felicia!” Miguel jumps back as Felicia swings her fist at him, screaming. “Woah! Easy there, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Felicia looks through her bloody lashes, up at the startled man. Panting, she falls forward into his arms. “Miguel.” All she's able to muster.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” He asks, using the sleeve of his navy sweater to wipe the blood from her face.

“They're dealt with.” She gritted through her teeth.

“What happened?” Miguel says sternly.

“I had it handled, but then one caught me off guard and- and” Felicia uses everything in her to keep her emotions in check, but it's useless as the pain and heartbreak overtake her. “I couldn’t save myself. And then he- he- he kissed me, used me, broke my heart-”

Miguel shushes the hysterical woman, trying to ease her mind. “You’re safe. Want me to bring you home?”

Felicia jumps at Miguel’s words. “N-no! I can’t- I won't go back!” She lets out another scream as she glitches again, more painful than the time before.

“Okay, okay.” Miguel panics needing to get her a visitor’s band to replace the watch. “I have a spare room in my penthouse, are you okay with staying there? Otherwise, I can try to see if there's another available-”

“The spare room is fine,” Felicia says, her voice shaking with adrenaline.

Miguel’s chest aches at the broken woman in his arms. “Okay. I'll take care of you.”

Miguel picks Felicia up, taking her to his penthouse on the other side of the building. Once he arrives, the doors automatically slide open, revealing the nearly empty, bland living room. He takes Felicia up the steps to the room next to his. Miguel carefully lowers Felicia down onto the large bed before leaving the room.

“Miguel!” Felicia shouts, prompting him to peek back into the room.

“Yes?”

“I don't wanna be alone right now.” She reluctantly says, feeling vulnerable.

Miguel frowns, “I know, I’m just gonna get a band, a towel to clean you up, and something for you to change into. Is that okay?”

Felicia hesitantly nods, waiting patiently for Miguel to return.

“Here’s an old shirt and some boxers.” He hands her before sitting next to her on the bed, placing the band on her wrist before bringing the damp towel up to her face.

“Ouch!” Felicia winced and then scowled, pushing past the pain. “You trynna hurt me, asshole?” she grumbled.

The city's ambient light from the window revealed Miguel's subtle smile in the dark room. “Someone’s feeling better,” he chuckled as he applied a special healing paste, his touch gentle as he worked on the cuts and gashes on her face. “Alright, time to change,” he said after placing the last bandage over Felicia's chin.

Miguel began to stand to give Felicia some privacy, but before he could move too far, her hand tugged at his arm, pulling him back. “You never seen a woman before or somethin'?”

Miguel rolled his eyes with a hint of amusement. “Yeah, you're healed.”

Felicia couldn't help but break into a small, appreciative grin, even though wincing at the pain from her cuts. She pressed the spider emblem on her chest, causing her suit to loosen. Miguel averted his eyes, politely studying the plain walls of the room. Felicia then unclasped her bra before draping the comically large shirt over herself. She removed the rest of her clothing, donning Miguel's boxers that became concealed by the shirt.

“You can look.” She teases.

“Anything else I can get you?” He asks as he fluffs the pillow on the bed.

“You've done plenty. T-thank you.” She says, looking away to hide herself.

Miguel’s head turns to look at the Spider-Woman. “I didn’t realize you had manners.”

“I’m the one who almost died, remember?” She snaps, throwing a pillow at his face.

Miguel gives in, letting her win this time. “You're welcome.” He replies. “Goodnight, Felicia.”

Felicia watched as Miguel walked to the door, and just before he could close it, she softly whispered, “Goodnight, Miguel.” Miguel turned back, giving Felicia a small, warm smile before closing the door and returning to his room.

That night, in the dimly lit penthouse, the two of them stayed up for well over an hour. Their rooms stood side by side as they both gazed out of the wall-length windows at the glittering lights of the city’s skyline. They didn't move, didn't utter a sound; they simply allowed the stillness to envelop them, lost in their own thoughts and the unspoken something that lingered in the air.

Chapter 6

A/N: I can’t wait to hear what you think!!!

Taglist: @leahnicole1219 @oscarissac2099

#jedi jesi #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x reader #stclairesplace #felicia hardy #miguel ohara x female reader #miguel o’hara x felicia hardy #miguel o’hara x felicia hardy reader #miguel x reader #spider-man x black cat #spider man x felicia hardy #spider man x reader #peter parker x reader #spider man 2099 x reader #spider man 2099

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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

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Congratulations, VICTORIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of BERTRAM. Admin Julie: Ring ring, Vic, it’s me, the bringer of good news -- albeit, a little late! Your application for Beau was literally everything I wanted and more. From the not-so-subtle allusions to pop culture and media which Beau would likely be obsessed with, to how Beau’s world revolves around Beau, you hit the nail on the head. I’m especially interested to see how he will grow, change, fail, and adjust to the world around him as it spins on its axis, especially with the Capulets and Montagues ready to go at each others’ throats. I was overjoyed to see your app in the inbox, and I’m just as overjoyed to have this fool of a man on the dashboard. Thank you! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Victoria

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I’m always available on mobile, and I try to knock out a few replies every other day unless I manage to queue.

Timezone | EST

Triggers | none that aren’t already listed

How did you find the rp? | Rosey

Current/Past RP Accounts | I currently write Katarina Du Pont !

IN CHARACTER

Character | Your desired character’s alias -

Beau Renaud, Bertram. // with a faceclaim change to Zane Holtz and if I could age him up to 32, I’d appreciate it! It gives me the time to have Beau attend university in Paris and ‘build’ a career that would make it plausible for him to have bought his way to the top, ruined it for himself, and then crawled back to his mothers to have ‘earned’ his position at L’Arena.

What drew you to this character? | We’d love to hear what about this character’s bio caught your attention! Make this as long or as short as you desire!

On Beau Renaud–

What drew me to Beau Renaud the most was how fun he is– how shallow, and perfectly flawed this dastardly human being is who jumps out from his biography and reeks of Creed Aventus during the week and Bleu de Chanel on the weekends with a voice as sickly sweet as a macaron. Quite frankly, he’s the type of person I’d want to punch in the face, but my god after reading his biography I was dumbfounded by how much I adored him. Maybe it’s because of how light he feels, in comparison to some of the other characters here in DiVerona. Maybe it’s his blissful ignorance towards his own flaws while he attempts to navigate the flawed lives within Verona. Maybe I just love the idea of writing someone so garishly grand and loves themselves for it. Or, maybe it’s because there’s something terribly alluring about writing a man who really is in it for himself: without the violence, with only a love for the beautiful things in life.

Beau Renaud is a man adored, but not a man loved. And there’s something terribly lonely about this. There’s something haunting in the lack of genuine connection he has with people. There is something… Lonely about being an only child, but one that is seen not as himself, but as the living failed embodiment of his parents ambitions. It’s about the glitter and gold, it’s all about an opulent party and the adrenaline rush of the interactions. But, it’s not about heart. Strangely enough, terribly enough, it’s not about Beau’s heart. He’s not nearly ruined enough to be hailed a Dorian Gray for his sins, but… It’s quite something to realise that he’s as clueless as Dorian was at the beginning of Oscar Wilde’s novel.

At the end of the day, he is simply a man born in the wrong era. Beau Renaud would not have been found at fault if he’d been born in the Edwardian era or sooner. And it’s almost laughable, that his engagement to Daphne Allard is nearly exactly that of every American millionaire’s daughter who had gone to Europe in hopes to marry a man who had what they lacked: lineage and rank. It’s a call back to Downton Abbey, it’s Consuelo Vanderbilt marrying the 9th Duke of Marlborough, it’s the Gilded Age of British aristocracy (who were quietly growing too poor to maintain their grand estates) marrying commoners for their considerable dowries. Beau Renaud would have fit right in. He comes from a sumptuous bloodline after all, and the man does need his funding to fit the lifestyle he loves.

I almost hate admitting it, how alluring this man is. But, that’s Beau for you. You adore him, but you don’t love him. There’s something terribly ugly about how beautiful this man is, how handsomely grotesque he manages to be in his vanity and near blindness. You love the parties, the escapism, the way he is accessible and a self-proclaimed neutral. Yet, you hate him for the same exact reasons. Friend or foe is a game to be played in Verona. Is he bright enough, at least, to play it to survival? Animals do whatever it takes to survive, and Beau will do whatever it takes to make sure he does. But, will he survive in Verona? I want to write him because I’d like to be the first to find out.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

Everywhere and nowhere, down the rabbit hole and to Hadestown we go. This is where we find Beau Renaud. This is where we find parts of his story and where his life might lead– but you won’t find his ending written anywhere. At least, not yet.

Dorian Gray – a moment in literature

It’s almost laughable how comparable Beau Renaud is to the Dorian Gray we are introduced to at the beginning of Oscar Wilde’s only novel. They both know nothing but of the grandeur their lifestyles have afforded them, they know their childish selfishness– they have some grasp at the desire to please others and fit in. But while Dorian’s greatest catalysts are, arguably, an unnamed book and Lord Henry Wotton, our dear Bertram has spent a year in Verona remaining the same neutral, same untainted and self-centered man that had arrived from Paris. He’s a modern Dorian, who knows the spoils of narcotics and what money can buy. But in the case of Dorian’s descent into debauchery and extremes of unforgivable sin, Beau has yet to descend from his harmless (though blind) perch beside his beautiful fiancee. I won’t define the catalyst, because this is dependent on many factors in Beau’s life: who he makes friends or enemies with, the decisions he makes in terms of his position at L’Arena, the information he may or may not learn. But it is a precarious place where he sits. He is determined to survive, determined to live in his lighthearted merriment as a socialite. This greed for himself was known to him in France, but Verona has a way of bringing out the darkest and most wretched desires of its occupants. His priority is himself– How far down into sin is he willing to go to ensure it? Can he be brought to violence? He’s already sinful enough, witty enough to buy people off to secure his safety– to one extreme, can his sly tongue and position at L’Arena buy his safety within a mob? If his descent to Hell is to follow that of Dorian Gray, Beau is destined to utter doom. Years and years of debauchery and unholy acts are to follow him, plague him. Anything to survive, anything to enjoy still his beauty and his life. Whatever it takes to win. At least, until his guilt eventually catches up to him. But, will it?

Scarlett O’Hara, Prince Charming – a moment in film

His own survival is his greatest priority. His marriage guarantees him this– just like Scarlett O’Hara’s second marriage to Frank Kennedy and following marriage to Rhett Butler, and not unlike Shrek 2’s Prince Charming and his betrothal to the unfortunately, unknowingly already married Princess Fiona. Beau, Scarlett, and Prince Charming are all characterized by their greed and ignorance. Scarlett wants to survive and is willing to marry whoever it might be that will allow her to continue to live in comfort. However, as she pines for another, she is ignorant to the love that has been in front of her since before the Civil War. In the end, she’s too late to realise it. Prince Charming, on the other hand, had been promised the hand of Princess Fiona and the kingdom to follow. He shows that he’s willing to resort to manipulation and violence to achieve what he so ardently desires, having grown up promised he would have it all. Beau is engaged to the beautiful Daphne Allard: he’s been promised riches and the lifetime of a socialite as her husband. But, is that all this is? Is he Scarlett, marrying only for money? Prince Charming had wanted love, but what does Beau want? The chill to the air when the two are alone in a room is practically suffocating, freezing him from the inside out, unnerving the charming, rogue-ish grin that dances along his expression. Though this is certainly a business arrangement, Beau cannot help but wish for, at least, friendship between himself with his soon to be wife. His charm, his grace had failed him with her in the months that had followed his arrival in Verona. And though as of late he’s not thought much of his fiancee, there is still some deeper part of him (whether or not he would be open to admitting it, or Daphne would be receptive enough to hear it and believe him is certainly a question) that wishes to try. She sees him as Hades. But, wasn’t Hades the most loyal, most benevolent of his brothers?

The Confession, Sir Francis Dicksee – a moment in art

Would he be the confessor one day? Or, would she? Daphne, he wishes to know as his future wife, Lillian he wishes to know as… What? Both women are brilliant and sparkling jewels in Verona, revered as they are for their money and poise. But, what would it take for him to open up? What would he have to do, or say, to make one, or both of them allow their truths to tumble from their lips? Words, beautiful words can and do shine as luminously as they do on their own. Truth can be uncovered no matter how prettily laced they can be, and he is no stranger to the wit and charm required to undo such beautiful wrappings. Or, would their truths dim their light? Would it marr their facades of utter perfection? He’s so very curious about Lillian. How is it possible for one to be so good? He can practically feel Daphne slipping further and further away from him. But, when it comes to both women, could their truths hurt him, damage him in some way? When it comes to his fears and deepest desires, and even his unaddressed shame at having his mothers both so cuttingly tell him he was never meant for greatness and lacked the proper ambition and intelligence that they’d wished for him, when will it come to light? Who would he ever confess it to? It’s true, he’s shrouded in darkness, in a mystery of ignorance and laughter, but there is a hollowness to it. A year in Verona has brought a sense of desperation to the frenzy of weekly galas and parties that offer an escape from the harsh realities of each day, each week spent in this city. Perhaps, one day he will confess. Maybe, one day he will uncover a darker world of hurt and pain and truth within himself. But, after confession comes repentance. Does he have it in himself to ever do such a thing?

Versailles, Gossip Girl – a moment in television

As far as story arcs go, no matter how much he might try to remain neutral, Beau Renaud is a socialite that’s had his hands in ruin of his own name in the past. Was this ruin nearly anything as terrible as what goes on in Verona? No. In the glimmering world of being of a good name and household, being the son of the right parents is everything. He is their legacy, their smiles and laughter, their triumphs. The upper class would be nothing without a healthy dose of nepotism. For Beau, Verona is nothing like Paris. In fact, it’s nearly as though he’s been thrown into some bizarre amalgamation of Gossip Girl meets Versailles. There is intrigue and drama, there is murder and poison, there are vile things lurking beneath the surface of every sparkling thing that Verona has to offer and violence at every turn, paranoia running rampant as he looks over his shoulder every day. In the past months it’s finally sunk in that he’s in the middle of a mob war, with one side choking him and the other with a dagger in his side daring him to publish anything that leans more to one side or another. He’s privy to many secrets, yes, but he is nowhere near powerful nor as connected here in Verona. Either he develops towards a path where he stakes his claim and stands his ground as a keeper of secrets to harness his own power, he remains a neutral puppet dancing merrily on strings like a marionette doll, or he joins a mob. Whichever direction he goes in, however he develops as a character has yet to be seen. But, it will not be without struggle. It will be filled with anguish and strife, hardship that he has never known: because this is Verona, and he is not immune to his environment; because in order to survive, he must choose and he will suffer no matter which path he should set himself onto. Versailles’ court would have been simpler to navigate. Perhaps, though, Beau Renaud would end up in a ditch before he can decide. Maybe, he’ll be responsible for a death or two– either by his own hand, or as a result of news published to L’Arena. The possibilities are endless for this pretty bird with clipped wings. And, to think: he only thought he’d be moving to Verona to marry a rich, pretty girl and a new career that he could slack off on easily.

Welcome to year 2 in Verona, darling. Xoxo Gossip Girl

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | End him. But make it pretty.

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“How could I ever choose?” He leans back in his seat, eyes dancing with merriment as he grins. “This place–” Beau’s hand comes up to gesture towards the view beyond the patio where they sit, fingers sweeping towards the view of Verona before it resettles again in his lap. “Is so beautiful.” His chin turns next, blue eyes focusing on the city in the distance, chiseled jaw emphasized by the light as the curve of his mouth softens to the practiced look of fondness. “Verona is no Paris,” This, he admits as though it were a secret, louder than a murmur so that the other can hear him, but soft enough that he nearly seems embarrassed to admit it. “But, it is something else.” His brow quirks slightly at the interviewer’s direction, ever so dynamic, ever so engaging. “But, I suppose if I have to pick a place, it would have to be The Twelfth Night.” The artwork reminds him of the museums he used to stroll around, and The Tempest reminds him of the nightlife he had been so accustomed to in Paris. This isn’t home, but it needs to be. It will be, after he marries Daphne in November. “There’s a certain charm to this city, and it is… Beautiful. There’s nothing quite like it.”

What does your typical day look like?

“–Well, I take Quaaludes 10-15 times a day for my “back pain”, Adderall to stay focused, Xanax to take the edge off, pot to mellow me out, cocaine to wake me back up again, and morphine… Well, because it’s awesome.” He’s since turned his face back to the interviewer in full, quoting The Wolf of Wall Street without so much a blink in hesitation. But then he snorts, and a playful expression comes over his handsome features. “I’m kidding. I saw it in a movie once, and I thought it was funny.” A chuckle tumbles from Beau’s lips as he crosses his legs in easy elegance. Though as burly as he is, it’s almost surprising someone like him is so smooth. He attributes this to the ballroom dancing lessons he’d begun as a child, and none of it to the swimming and boxing he does to stay fit now. “My typical day is like anyone’s that works an office job. Wake up to an alarm that’s too early for comfort, check my phone, have an espresso shot or two to get going before I get ready and am out the door. My work at L’Arena is blessedly streamlined by my personal assistant Sophie as I also have a hand in planning a few charity events a month.” When the interviewer looks surprised, Beau shrugs good-naturedly. “I was not so lucky to be in such a position in Paris. After all, I am my mother’s son, and she is quite the philanthropist herself.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

His brows furrow, mouth falling open before it partially shuts in an exhale of contemplative breath. This is a question he had not expected and later he’d have Sophie send a damning email to the head of this magazine for not sticking to the approved questions. The subtle pout to his lips makes it evident that he is less than pleased. “I suppose…” A blink, then another. Then a laugh as he shakes his head at the interviewer, bringing that charming smile back to his features. “Not learning Italian more quickly? I’d say I am quite passable now, but, perhaps if I had not studied English throughout my education, I could have learned Italian instead.” Reaching for the mimosa before him, Beau takes a sip before he continues. “No,” He teases with a faux contemplative look into his half-empty flute. “I think my biggest mistake was not proposing to Daphne in Paris. I think it would have been more picturesque, more romantic that way. But, she accepted, despite the location. That’s all that matters to me.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

This is both a question and answer he knows, and with a softening look in his eyes that he smiles once more, absentmindedly rolling the stem of his glass as he speaks. “Finalising the design of Daphne’s ring. I wanted it to be unique to her, to the jeweler and design house, and I wanted it to be like nothing anyone had ever seen before. So, we’d pulled from archives, looking for a way to better conceptualise what I was looking to create. And, in the end, we were able to accomplish it.” Beau nearly seems fond of the memory, but when the ring itself is a testament to him, why wouldn’t he be? His pride glows like something glimmering and warm, but deep down the most difficult task was abandoning Paris– abandoning the beautiful city he knew every inch of for the grotesque little city of Verona.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

He has half a mind to throw this interviewer out of his home. What sort of interview was this? But before his displeasure makes itself known, it is covered up by his sitting up and expression changing to one of surprise, brows raising once more as remnants of his smile still curve at his lips. “I’m not here to make a political statement, my friend. And– I do run a news outlet here in Verona that’s unbiased.” He nods towards today’s edition of L’Arena that sits artfully amongst the breakfast spread on the table between them, voice taking on a more wistful, more passionate tone than before: just like his mothers had taught him. Beau appears vulnerable, but only just so as a man that wants not to focus on what festers in Verona– one that clearly still clings to the beauty of the day to day. “There is so much violence and decay in the world–” He pauses to shake his head as if he can cast out the past few months from his head. “–So much darkness. But, I don’t think we should let ourselves be consumed by the ugliness of it in our day to day lives.” His hand gestures towards the food, then he grins wider as he raises his hand to gesture towards the view. “We should enjoy it: the beauty of the day. Now, please. Let’s not put this food to waste, hm?”

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

Pinterest: here

Playlist: here

#accepted #accepted: bertram #thank u for being patient my loves :*

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thelreads · 6 years ago

Text

And that’s the end of the chapter. Christ, every time I think that Shigaraki can’t get anymore creepier he goes ahead and one-ups himself. More fuel for my nightmares I guess. Yay.

Midoriya made a lot of progress on this chapter. He finally found a way to put his quirk under control. Sure, it isn’t a permanent solution, seeing as he can only use 5% of his power, but he didn’t broke a single bone in his sparring against Gran Torino, so I’ll mark this as a victory on my books.

Gran Torino would also agree with me. Whatever works for Midoriya will do for now. And sure, it’s not perfect, but holy hell, he came up and implemented a new way of thinking and using his quirk in the span of one day. This kids is way too smart , and someday he’ll be a terrifying opponent to go against.

Speaking of Terrifying... Shigaraki got some focus this chapter, and that’s his first meaningful contribution to the story since the USJ siege. And dear God, he was just as disturbing as I remembered him. They are trying to paint him as future arch-nemesis to Midoriya, and I’m totally down for it. Their worldviews are so conflicting that the moment they really end up clashing will be glorious.

And Stain was there too. Being himself, and in a surprising inversion of the roles, trying to recruit Shigaraki to his emo band. Meanwhile, Ida is starting his crusade to ban all types of distasteful music and the musical groups that dare to play this sort of genre, starting by Stain’s.

Today there isn’t one character sheet per see...

Today we have three! Heck yeah!

Okay, not exactly, but we got at least some explanation about three of the pro heroes we saw last chapter.

Starting by the one at the top. Gunghead. The gun hero. The one with gun-arms that use his gun-powers to, ironically, not shot people. The one that has medium-to-long range quirk specializes on close-combat. I wonder how many shot he can use before needing to “reload”, and how long it takes for his power to recharge. But, nonetheless, the perfect choice for Uraraka.

The next one is Goro- I mean, Fourth kind. This one I get being specialized on hand-to-hand combat. Unless he wants to rip out one arm and throw it as a projectile on the villains. But he’s more than a brute, he’s also a strategist, and that makes him a good choice for Kirishima and his twin. They both rely too much on raw strength, they need to learn to come up with a plan to take down harder foes.

And the last one, Uwabami, the Medusa. Her quirk is having snakes for hair.

...

I mean, that’s not a natural thing, and I can see how it would be classified as a quirk, but... I don’t know, I guess I was hoping for more. Still, she has enhanced perception of her surroundings, and sure, she may not be the front line on a fight, but she is the one responsible for coordinating her team towards the targets. I want to see what kind of stuff she can teach Momo and Kendo.

And that’s it for now. Midoriya and Gran Torino are fighting some more, Shigaraki finally made a new friend to help him be more sociable, and Ida is trying to locate Stain to give him the party invitation. Will those three meet and become a inseparable group whose friendship will last forever? Will Ida’s investigations reveal how can one person can buy a microwave and have it delivered next day? Find out, next time on Chapter 50: Midoriya vs. Jeff Bezos, the battle for Amazon.

And just a head’s up, this weekend I’ll be out of town, visiting my grandparents, so I won’t be able to do another chapter. I’ll be visiting the blog and answering any ask that shows up on my inbox thou. Livebloggin will resume Monday if everything goes right and my grandma doesn’t turn me into a blob, incapable of reaching the keyboard due to the massive amount of food I was served.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #MHAC49 #reading #manga #liveblog #bnha liveblog

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scholarlypidgeot · 6 years ago

Note

Ballroom For Ghosts (maybe write a snippet based on this? Idk)

Thanks for the prompt! Warnings include kinda sweet, brief angst (I think, that might change by the end but be aware it could be there), slight sexual tension (no smut I promise).

Standard warning: all ideas are mine aside from the prompt itself and the related song, and all characters are definitely mine. Don’t steal my shit.

Last thing, my inbox is always open to stuff like this. As school progresses it’ll be a bit more difficult for me to keep up but I will get to your asks eventually. It’ll probably be the closest thing to progress on my WIP I’ll get.

___

The music was coming from everywhere, and nowhere, as if the echoing, haunting tune was the breath of the very room itself. He wasn’t quite sure where he was, or how he’d gotten here. One moment, he was looking up into his brother’s face, already twisted with grief and... loneliness. It was too late to smile back and comfort him now. For the first time in his life, his brother would be completely alone. It chilled his own heart to think of that, but it was true. Too, unfortunately, true.

For several minutes he thought he was alone, too, alone in the wide ballroom, both grand and austere. Black and white tiles, walls, ceiling, intricately patterned. He’d been here before, many times. He’d seen this floor covered with moving patterns of dancers. It was here that he had last seen...

Her. She was here. He turned around and saw her moving alone to the beat, just as he remembered her. The front of her silver skirt almost above the knees, the back dragging on the ground as she spun and swayed with the soft piano. Her white blouse gleamed under the chandelier light overhead, as did her nearly white hair. The eyes, those bright, intelligent grey eyes, were closed now. She was engrossed in the rhythmic tapping of invisible keys, the song that echoed around the otherwise empty room.

The song slowed to a stop, as if the room had finished a long exhale and paused to let its occupant rest. She was now facing him, silver eyes piercing his mind and soul the way they always had in life. Her slow, clever, bright smile, the one he often found silver himself simultaneously hating and loving, crossed her lips as she saw him watching her.

He expected anger, though he knew he had a long fuse. After all, she, of all people, would know exactly who was responsible for what had happened to her. But as the music began again, she moved toward him with almost childlike pleasure, that smile still genuinely gracing him.

“Hello, old friend,” she sang. She always sang. Even when she was speaking, she sang. He hadn’t expected to be called her friend... but then again, he should have. She’d always considered him, if only ironically, a friend. Almost a friendly rival. A wit to match her own. In many ways, he considered her in that same light, but with one flaw: she had been an obstacle. The one force that could match him. He’d found himself fearing her, even hating her, at times. But here, now. she wasn’t in his way. If anything, she was now his guide.

“Hello, my dear.” He took her waist and felt her gently rest her hand on his shoulder. They’d been here before. They had done this before, but before, they were using one another. Playing each other’s games, breaking and bending rules with subtle, delicate grace. She let out a tiny laugh.

“You want to know why we’re here. Us two.” She knew him so well. She always had. Once, she’d said they had the same mind. “There are places for people like us. Places for those who are right but do the wrong thing, or wrong but do the right thing. And no one can really say which is which.”

A faint smile crossed his own lips as he smelled the cigarette smoke coming off of her, mixed with some sort of berry perfume. It was an oddly pleasing fragrance.

“But why us. We are foes, old foes. I did a terrible thing to you, and to your daughter.”

“You had a son. You thought you were protecting him.”

“I guess they’ll grow up the same.” The music was fading again, but they didn’t stop this time.

“Perhaps we’re waiting for someone,” she mused, going back to the earlier question. “Someone who can carry us with them.”

“You always did love him.” They both knew what he was talking about.

Her smile broadened. “Even monsters like us can love.”

“Just not each other.”

“Mm.” It wasn’t affirmation, but it wasn’t denial, either. “Probably not.”

Slowly, their conversation fell to silence, the music and the sounds of their dancing the only sounds to fill the empty ballroom. There were places for people like them, neither right nor wrong. This could be hell, this could be heaven, but for now, it was simply a ballroom for two restless ghosts.

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