#❤️ — About Angelo

[snakkiez]

[risestarkiss]

Nicknames

Rise Ramblings #351

One of my favorite things about Rise is the utilization of nicknames in the show. This is the first iteration of the TMNT that really dived deep into nicknaming the boys. ❤️🧡💙💜

Also, the fandom has come up with quite a few great names of their own!

I wanted to list off some of the names from the show, some names I’ve heard around the interwebs, and some of the ones I’ve personally made up.

(Yeah. Those get a little out of hand. I’m apologizing from now. 😌)

LEONARDO: Leo Nardo Leon Neon Leon Primetime The Blue One Baby Blue Bluey Cyan Blue Boy Lee Pepino Fruit Ninja & Blueberry (I’m sorry. 😞)

MICHEALANGELO: Mikey Micheal Miguel Mike Magic Mike Orange Orange Pawn Orange Peel Doctor Delicate Touch Doctor Feelings Doctor Positive Doctor Rude One Love Angelo Angie Angel & Alan (I’m sorry. 😞)

RAPHAEL: Raph Raphie Raph-a-roni The Red One Big Red Red Rover Red Reign R-Dawg The Red Angel of Preventing Harm Raphela Ella Ellie Strawberry Strawberry Jam Strawberry Cupcake & Cinnamon (I’m so sorry. 😔)

DONATELLO: *takes a deep breath* Don Dee Deedee Dondon Donnie Donnie-D Donald Donna “Don, I tell you.” Dynamite Don DonTron Donathan Donnifer Donstantinople Don Stasinopoulos Dontertelli Don Tortellini Donatelli Spinelli Don Quixote Donkeytello Don Jamba Lambda “Don, a fellow.” *takes another breath* Vomitello Othello Othello Von Ryan ‘Thello Tello Hortense Mr. Science Bootyyyshaker9000 Alpha-Bootyyyshaker-9000 The Funny One The Purple One Purple Purple Knight Purple Boy Purple Jam Purple Jambalaya Grape Jelly Grapes Ube Smarts Brains Eyebrows & “The scientist formally known as, D.” (I will not apologize for any of these. Fight me.)

Bonus: DUOS! Raph & Don: Brains & Brawn, Strawberry Jam & Grape Jelly Leo & Raph: Sunrise Duo Mikey & Raph: Sunset Duo Leo & Mikey: Baja Blast, Portal Pals Leo & Donnie: The Disaster Twins & Double Trouble Donnie & Mikey: Smarts & Crafts, PB&J

Are there any that I missed? 😁

[photo1030]

Heyyy I have a suggestion to make it’s kinda stupid whatever so it takes place at the mayor’s party where Arthur Morgan and Dutch is meeting mr Bronte and reader come running to Mr Bronte for some random reason and sense she’s wearing a corset she can’t get all the air in her lungs AND SHE PAST OUT so Arthur or Dutch (I LUV THEM BOTH teehee) gotta RIPS her out the corset.. that’s all I got LOVE YOUR WRITING BTWW MWAH! ❤️❤️❤️

Hi there @lizzie2980 So sorry this has taken me forever. Thank you for being so kind and patient (and hopefully still interested?) This was a great prompt, had a lot of fun with this one.

This is a bit out of the canon story, hopefully that is OK. This is a little bit of flirty and protective Arthur, with a smidge of charming Dutch in there...lovely combo, if you ask me....which you did...(This is not part of my existing fic, Leather and Lace, btw)

(The images used here were found on a lovely blog that is apparently designed to help fanworks. Check it out! Thank you to whoever put that together. https://reddeadreference.tumblr.com/post/679731317406072832/the-gilded-cage )

*Special thanks to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my sounding board.

DON’T MAKE A SCENE 

Summary:  You are at Angelo Bronte’s house for a fancy garden party when you meet a certain group of outlaws.

Your hands clamp down tighter as the plump elderly matron apologetically yanks the strings of the restrictive corset. Nails of already shaky fingers dig into the wooden bedpost that you use to support yourself with as you stand on wavering feet. You wince on the verge of painful tears as Bridget stands behind you and pulls the threads of the already too tight garment even tighter still, testing the limits of its stitching and causing a gasp to quickly get sucked into your folded-up lungs with each pull.

Sunset has already begun, the brilliant orange disc settling itself softly behind the horizon line for the day, and your room slowly dims to a pastel dusk as you get ready, the wall sconces glowing against the ivory painted walls of your lavish private quarters inside Angelo Bronte’s mansion. The garden party below will be starting any minute, and the shadows that dance along the walls inside the house mask the dread inside your chest. It is as if your hope and spirit are diminishing with the quickly-fading sun. You are hoping that Bridget doesn’t see the trepidation creeping into your expression as she flits about you, but the older woman is too shrewd for that. 

“You know...Mr. Bronte…he isn’t going to wait much longer for you”, she murmurs as her weathered fingers begin to run over your frame, smoothing out the fabric of your dress, picking at errant threads. “He will eventually want what he feels he is due.”

The obvious statement hits your gut like a prize-fighter’s punch. “I know,” you utter with a dejected sigh, your voice almost a whimper in the air.

The thought of the man’s pock-marked, oily skin against your own makes you sick to your stomach. It would be like a vile lizard rubbing up against you. 

But Bridget is not unsympathetic to your situation. She is definitely a woman of experienced years, as the graying hair of her loosely tied-up bun gives testament to. And she knows a thing or two from her twenty-some years in service to upper-society households. 

“You know, sometimes when you’re a woman, you just have to do what you have to do. Close your eyes and let your mind go somewhere else when it’s happening.” She waves her hand dismissively in the air as if speaking about the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. “Just tune it all out, let the man have his way, and then it will all be over quickly. In fact, it’s usually over quicker than you think.” She gives you a whimsical wink as a sharp cackle snaps out of her throat at her own joke. Whether Bridget is speaking specifically about Bronte, or any man for that matter, you are not sure, as this seems to have the feel of a rehearsed speech she has given many times over.

When Bridget sees the distaste of such a thing clearly coating your face as you silently stand there with your hands fidgeting over themselves, she continues.

“If you’re clever enough, you could let him have what he wants, but then have something for yourself on the side, you know.” 

Your eyes immediately shoot up to hers to find that knowing twinkle in her eye. The thought causes a humorless huff from your lips. 

“I can barely manage to look after myself, Bridget. I couldn’t manage that cat-and-mouse game.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs and continues to primp and preen your outfit. 

Despite the odd advice, you are grateful for Bridget’s counsel. She is the only friend you have here in Angelo Bronte’s mansion. You are not a hostage per se, but he has made his opinions very clear on how he feels about a woman, especially one indebted to him, leaving the premises to socialize without him as your escort and chaperone; so improper, so ungrateful. 

It is especially warm tonight on the evening of the garden party that Mr. Bronte has been planning for weeks now. The whole household buzzes with excitement and anticipation for the fancy event, despite the sweltering weather. St. Denis is dreadfully hot and muggy, making it difficult to breathe on a good day. You’re not used to such heat. You come from the northern state of Massachusetts, which is much cooler. The heat here is bad enough, but the humidity clings to the air like a wet blanket. 

And this damn dress doesn’t help in the slightest. 

The dress that Angelo Bronte hand-picked for you to wear tonight is way too tight, making you lightheaded already. You watch in the full-length mirror as the constricting fabric pulls your body into shape under Bridget’s strong, able fingers, transforming your voluptuous figure into an hourglass. A deep midnight blue hued fabric that shimmers in the light is cut to hug and accent your physique, leaving little to the imagination of the observer. 

If the origins of the dress weren’t so distasteful, you may have very well liked the beautiful gown that currently clings to your form and drapes over your hips in a cascade of silk. But you know Bronte did not provide this gown to please you. No, he did it for his own inflated ego. Bronte will parade you around tonight like a prized horse out of his stable, showing you off to all in tonight’s attendance. And he’ll treat you as such too - like something he’s purchased and owns outright.

You curse yourself for letting yourself get into this situation. You hate that you have to rely on this man for a place to live. You arrived new to St. Denis a month ago and were promptly robbed upon arrival, leaving you with nothing. So much for civilization. 

Bronte noticed you at the train station, frazzled and lost, and totally beside yourself as to what you would do now. You came here with no relatives, no contacts, just the promise of jobs and new adventure out West from an ad you saw in the newspaper back home. The man quickly made your acquaintance, preying like a vulture on your vulnerable situation. He was charming with a note of authority, like he knew exactly what to do and where to go. But it quickly became apparent that he offered you his home as a sanctuary in hopes to win your affections. You’ve managed to play coy for awhile, however, agreeing to be on his arm and accompany him to various social functions in town in exchange for residency in his home. But you have denied the man what he wants most - you in his bed. 

An involuntary sigh passes your cherry lips as Bridget takes your hand in hers, patting it in the same way a grandmother comforts her troubled grandchild, and leads you to the vanity along the opposite wall so she can set your hair. Your body mindlessly drifts to the tapestry-padded stool, like a lost flower petal in the wind, void of any energy or enthusiasm. 

Bridget’s nimble fingers curl your hair and pin it back to showcase your pretty face, adding in beautiful crystal clips for decoration and she even weaves a few flower buds from the garden into your locks. You sit silently in front of the vanity mirror with a blank stare, a melancholy overtaking your soul as you watch her prepare you to be the perfect accessory to the rich man’s life. The motherly woman’s presence comforts you, but she is also serving you up to the master of the house like a slice of beef on a silver platter for him to devour. 

“There, now. Don’t you just look breathtaking?” she breaths in awe. The deep-set lines around Bridget’s hazel-colored eyes crinkle as she admires her masterpiece. Your eyes refocus to catch the old woman’s proud gaze in the mirror, and then back over your own reflection.

“Yes, Bridget,” you whisper with a sad smile, your lower lip quivering just slightly. “You did a fine job. Thank you for your help tonight.” She catches the reluctance in your fluttering eyes and can only nod in agreement. She lovingly pats your arm in an attempt to comfort your growing uneasiness. 

“Well, I had better get downstairs and tend to the kitchen, then. Don’t hide up here too long, miss.” And she wipes her hands on her apron as her wide hips carry her to the bedroom door before she slips out and you are alone with your thoughts once again. 

With a deep sigh, you haul yourself up to stand. You swish the heavy fabric of your dress-skirts to the side to allow you to amble over to the balcony doors of your private room. Pulling the double-doors open wide with both hands, you step out onto the freshly painted wood as a rush of humid air hits you like a wall, causing you to take a brief pause to try to catch your breath. Your hands eventually find their place upon the smooth railing as you step up to the edge to look out over the balcony at the garden party below. 

Jovial music floats up to your ears from the string quartet that is playing on the patio beneath you. String lights delicately criss-cross over the open garden area, resembling a net that has caught a thousand fire-flies. Bronte’s guests have already started to arrive and their chatter fills the air, alternating with the clinks of champagne flutes. You casually observe as greedy fingers grab at the delectable food and free alcohol that is meticulously displayed along elegant tables that dot across the property, the delicious aromas wafting through the evening air. 

The scene laid out before you is like a page out of the society section of the newspapers. Always over-the-top, always impressive, Angelo Bronte spares no expense in his functions. Decadent food, expensive wines, extravagant decor. Always to impress the upper echelon of society. And yet, you have no desire to mingle with the high-society of St. Denis. From what you’ve seen, it’s hardly impressive to you. 

You watch with disinterest over the crowd, observing from the elevated vantage point as people collect in small groups, then turn to whisper to each other like conniving socal piranhas the moment one of the fold turns to leave to join another circle. With a scornful roll of your eyes, you have no idea how you are going to make it through this evening unscathed. 

And then, a collection of unknown men catch your eye. You’ve never seen them in Bronte’s circle before. And they clearly don’t belong. Under closer observation, this is an assembly of rugged looking gentlemen, a sharp contrast to the other guests in attendance tonight. Though they may have donned fancy tuxedos and hats, the way they carry themselves indicates they are not used to wearing such garb. Their eyes nervously shift all around instead of at whoever is addressing them as if more interested in what is happening around them rather than trying to assert social connections. Your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth as your curious gaze lingers on them, trying to determine if they were invited or snuck in with the crowd.

As if he can feel your eye on him with the sixth sense of a trained outlaw, Arthur instinctively looks away from the men he is standing with and looks up towards the balcony of the great house and notices you. He doesn’t smile or even move for that matter, other than a single eyebrow lift as if in confusion. Your breath catches a bit at being caught staring. But yet you cannot bring yourself to break eye contact with the startling blue eyes gazing back at you from across the garden. And you can’t help the soft smile that blooms across your blushing cheeks at the ruggedly handsome man. 

When the mystery man eventually turns his attention back to his companions, you shake your head back to reality and decide you’ve stalled long enough. It’s time to begin to make your way down to the garden party and get this over with. You leisurely stroll along the length of the wrap-around balcony of the house to the stairs that will carry you down to the patio. Your hand has to grip the railing of the staircase as you walk, as your dress is so tight that descending the stairs makes you out of breath. The boning of the corset digs painfully into your ribs and hipbones as you move. Such a dreadful, masochistic thing, you wonder why on earth women put themselves through such torture for the sake of fashion. Once at the bottom, you attempt to take a deep breath, bringing your fingertips to your temples before bracing yourself to join the guests. 

First order of business, you scan the crowd to locate your host. It takes a few minutes, but you eventually lock-in on him when you hear his boisterous, condescending laugh echoing over the throng of people. Angelo Bronte really is a toad of a man. And despite his money and power, he is rather socially inept. Maybe it’s the fact that he's not from this country. Or maybe society is held differently in Italy. But either way, the elite here in St. Denis have mixed feelings about the wealthy man. Mixed as in, they like his wealth but do not care for the man. And that is where you come in. 

Bronte’s idea is that having a beautiful, refined and charming woman on his arm will make him appear more distinguished. Your role in this little arrangement with him is to be the doting young paramore, helping him to navigate the social circles. No one needs to be the wiser that the two of you sleep in separate rooms on completely different ends of the house. But for appearances sake, Angelo Bronte has acquired himself quite the crown jewel with your presence. 

As you meander through the crowd, you keep getting intercepted by random party guests, each one handing you a new glass of champagne. Your eye catches Bronte’s a few times as you mingle, as he checks to make sure you are performing as expected. Of course, the witty jokes, effervescent laughing and demure little smiles that emanate from you work according to plan. You can see Bronte pointing you out to guests from across the garden, a crude grin of approval splitting across the faces of the men he leans into, all chattering with hushed tones and hungry eyes. It’s enough to make your corset-restricted stomach turn. 

After about forty five minutes of false chuckles and empty smiles, you are desperate for fresh air and peace and quiet, so you discreetly head to the rose garden which is off to the right side of the party, hoping to find less people there.

Wandering aimlessly through the maze of hedges and rose bushes, you manage to find a quiet little corner away from prattling visitors and raise your tired eyes to the heavens above. The smog of St. Denis covers the night sky and it leaves you with a heavy feeling of disappointment that even the vast galaxy of stars is being kept from you in this dreadful place. With a dispirited sigh, your tear-misted eyes slowly roll shut, attempting to find some sort of solitude from this hell on earth. 

“Is this a safe place to hide?”

The sound of a deep, gravelly voice suddenly cuts into your mind, causing your eyes to snap open as you spin to see who is speaking to you. 

And there he is. The handsome fellow who you were staring at from the balcony. He stands quietly, a slight smirk of amusement on his face. It takes you a few moments to realize that he is indeed real, no fantasy apparition to come to stand before you. Confused blinks skitter across your face as you take in the sight of him. Now that you are up close to him, you can see just how tall and broad-shouldered he is. 

“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers when you hesitate to answer, his simple apology carrying little fanfare or bravado. Just a simple statement with no malice, no ill-content and no agenda towards you. 

“Oh…no…you didn’t startle me,” you manage to stammer as you try to regain your composure.

The stranger’s ocean-blue eyes float across your frame, head to toe, assessing you with a slight tilt of his head.  “You sure about that?” he jokes as he gives you a deeper smirk now.

Picking up on his genuine humor, you release the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. “No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I just needed a minute, is all. I didn’t expect anyone to be back here.” 

When you lob a smile back at him in return, Arthur takes a gamble and begins to move slightly closer to you, specifically intent on maintaining this conversation. “Hmm, needing to get away from the herd? Is that it?”

The term causes a chuckle to erupt out of your throat. “Yeah, something like that.” You begin to step towards him as well, both of you moving slowly yet purposefully towards the other to close the gap between you until you are about three feet from each other. The air surrounding the garden is like that before a thunderstorm, exhilarating because it could be both beautiful and dangerous at the same time. The two of you stand quietly, simply staring at the other like a couple of clumsy teenagers not knowing what to say. 

“No offense, but you don’t seem like you belong here,” you finally break the amorous spell with a raised eyebrow. As your words hover like a butterfly in his ears, you note the faded scars along the man’s chin, embedded into his tanned skin and nestled beneath his rugged beard that you can see was probably hastily groomed for this evening.

He doesn’t deny it, but counters almost playfully with “I could say the same for you.”

You flirtatiously narrow your eyes at him. “What makes you say that?”

He waves his large finger towards you. “You carry the same disdain for this place on your face that I do.”

Well, you have to admit, he’s got you there and all you can do is nod in agreement. “That obvious, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he chuckles, bringing his hand up to pinch his fingers together to accent his point. “It's ok, though. Glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to be here.” And he tosses a perturbed glace back over his shoulder towards the noise of the party. 

“I guess that makes us two peas in a pod, then, doesn’t it?” you muse with a glittering smile that makes his chest tight.

A grin pulls at the corner of the stranger’s plump lips, causing his scarred chin to wrinkle. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?” 

“My name is Y/F&LN”. You extend your hand out and his large hand completely engulfs yours, dwarfing your delicate fingers with his own. You immediately notice how his skin is rough, yet warm to the touch, his hand strong in a comfortingly protective way. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

And the two of you hold each other’s gaze like a spark of electricity pulsing through the air to connect you. You can feel your fingertips go numb as your heart beats faster within your perfume-dusted chest. And Arthur hopes that you do not notice how he thickly swallows, flexing his now-sweaty hands before awkwardly kneading his thumb into the opposite palm. 

But your beautiful little moment together is short-lived when you hear your name being called out into the night, snapping you back to the real world. And before you know it, a very anxious-looking Bridget appears from around the hedges, her eyes darting around, her lips pressed tightly together in worry. 

“Miss Y/N, there you are! Mr. Bronte is asking for you.” She gives you a sharp wave in her direction before her eyes quickly slip to the burly gentleman to your right.

An embarrassed school-girl blush dusts your cheeks as you clear your throat. “Yes, of course, Bridget, thank you. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Arthur. “Well, Mr. Morgan, it was very nice to meet you. If you will excuse me, please.”

“‘Course.” Arthur dips his head with a respectful nod as you float past him, your fingertips nervously tucking a few tendrils of hair behind your ear. 

Bridget gives Arthur a good look up and down before she turns and follows behind you back towards the music of the garden party with a sly, smug smile drawn on her lips. “Maybe you’re more clever than you think,” she whispers impishly in your ear. You shoot her a cautionary look as you smooth your hands over the fabric of your dress, making sure that you are presentation-ready before you make your way to your host. 

As you navigate the crowd to approach Bronte, you take notice that he is talking to the other men that came with Mr. Morgan. The moment he catches sight of you, Bronte’s face lights up.

“Ah, Miss Y/N! There you are! Come, Come!” He waves you over to stand next to him. “I’d like you to meet some special guests.” Bronte crudely clutches your hand, bringing it to his saliva-slick lips before eagerly wrapping it around his arm. “This is Mr. Van der Linde, and his associates, Mr. Williamson and Mr. Matthews. Gentleman, this is my…’companion’, Miss Y/LN.”

You force down the bile in the back of your throat that the toad conjures up as a graceful nod and accompanying smile adorns your pretty face when you turn towards the men you are being presented to. “Gentleman, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Miss Y/L/N,” Mr. Van Der Linde greets you as he flashes a sultry grin in your direction, boldly reaching his ringed hand to take ahold of yours that sits tucked in Bronte’s elbow. He brazenly brings your digits to his warm mouth to place a tender kiss along your knuckles. “Call me Dutch.” His dark eyes fully take you in with a glitter of mischief behind them. “Mr. Bronte is indeed a lucky man.”

Unlike Angelo Bronte, you find this new social contact of his to be quite charismatic and charming. And while most of the attendees of this event carry some level of bravado, this man standing in front of you seems to be quite different, the type to put his money where his mouth is. 

Interest flashes through your eyes at this dark-haired stranger. And Bronte is quick to notice. With a deep scowl of disapproval, his arm quickly snakes around your waist, holding you possessively against him in the presence of these men, so tight that it makes you squirm against his grip. You are about to protest the moderately painful discomfort when Mr. Morgan suddenly joins the circle, his azure eyes immediately targeting the meaty hand that grips your hip before lifting to meet your grimacing expression. The sight makes his face turn dark with a menacing presence to it. It almost shocks you to see the stark contrast to his demeanor from your encounter a few moments ago. 

“Quite the shindig you got goin’ here, Bronte,” Mr. Morgan says cooly, his statement breaking the tension of the social circle. “You always run things like this?”

The disapproval in your new friend’s voice causes one of the other men in his group (Mr. Matthews, is it?) to shoot him a glare of warning, to which Mr. Morgan shrugs off. 

Bronte lifts his nose at the rub, but he will not be made a fool of so easily at the challenge. “Ah, I’m sure you country folk are not used to such luxury, yes?”  

“Personally, I don’t care for it,” snarks Arthur with a snort of derision. “Hard to enjoy myself like a gluttonous pig when there’s people right outside the gate starvin’”

As you stand there next to Bronte listening to these men throw thinly veiled contempt at one another, you begin to feel dizzy. Your head starts to swim, spots dancing before your eyes, making your stomach lurch. But no one notices at first, except for Mr. Van Der Linde.

“You alright, miss?” Mr. Van Der Linde questions you with concern skipping across his dark features. 

“Oh, yes,” you wave him off. “It’s just…just this heat…” You begin to fan yourself, desperate for some cool air to caress your face. 

And suddenly the world around you starts to spin and your knees give way underneath you as if they move of their own accord. You begin to crumple in front of everyone and Dutch is quick to catch you just before you hit the ground, his strong arms shooting out to enfold you and ease you into the grass. The moment Arthur sees that you are in trouble, he promptly hovers over you as well, catching your hand into his own and placing himself between you and Bronte as things go dark in front of your eyes.

A collection of curious guests begins to gather around the spectacle, whispers and fingers discreetly pointing in your direction.

“The lady needs some air,” asserts Dutch as he kneels behind you.

Arthur is at a loss on what to do at first, but is quick to notice how restrictive the corset of your dress is, as your chest can barely move as you desperately gasp for air, your face turning red from the heat of the evening.

With a look of determination, Arthur’s rough hands wrap around your biceps and carefully lift the upper part of your limp body to lean against Dutch, who cradles you into his chest for support. Without a word, Arthur grabs at the fabric of your dress and quickly rips the corseted area wide open, easily tearing the seams under his hands, to release your lungs, exposing the delicate silk undergarments and bare skin hidden beneath. Shock slaps Angelo Bronte in the face as he stands behind Arthur, helplessly watching this embarrassing little scene unfold before his eyes. 

Ignoring the judgemental gasps of the partygoers, Arthur then proceeds to snatch a glass of champagne out of the hands of one of the nosey women craning her neck to see the spectacle and tosses the liquid into your face. The moment the bubbly fluid hits your skin, your eyes instantly pop open as you deeply gasp, desperate to expand your lungs to draw in fresh air. 

Arthur cautiously watches your face in anticipation as you rapidly blink the sweet nectar out of your lashes. Your eyes land on Arthur in confusion as to what has just happened before looking down at yourself and realize that you are now exposed to the whole party. But Arthur immediately takes off his jacket and lays it overtop of you as you sit nestled safely against Dutch who is still behind you. And Arthur breathes a sigh of relief when he recognizes the threads of alertness brightening your features once again. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Arthur orders the crowd, waving them away with a wide arc of his long arm. “Nothing to see here, just a woman needing some air, is all.”

“Can you stand, miss?” Dutch’s deep voice carries softly over your shoulder and into your ear, anchoring you back to consciousness. 

“I think so,” you venture, although the wavering in your voice is not entirely convincing. Your head is still swimming with confusion, but at least you can breathe now and the pounding in your temples has started to recede. 

Arthur takes your hand again, his other slipping under your arm to guide you to your feet as Dutch carefully steadies you from behind. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you say sheepishly looking up into Arthur’s worried face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Bronte suddenly bellows, finally finding his voice of outrage. “Thank you?! You make a scene in my house and you say ‘thank you?!”

“Easy, leave her be,” Arthur growls out, turning his threatening gaze to the party’s host. “Can’t you see the lady isn’t well?”

“No, she most certainly is not!” Bronte spits back in anger. His heartless, burning eyes now land back on you, his nostrils flaring wildly with impatience as his expression screws up into a hateful scowl. “Nuisance! I knew it was a mistake to bring you here” he hollers at you, flecks of spittle flying in your direction. “Should’ve left you at the station where I found you!” His finger thrown in your face causes you to shrink backwards, leaning your back into Dutch yet again, where the man’s hands protectively come up to cradle your arms. 

But Arthur is not having any of it, protectively placing his large bear-like frame between you and Bronte, towering over the other man and desperately trying to refrain from landing his massive fist into his face. “You best keep that finger to yourself, Mr. Bronte, else I'll break it clean off.” Arthur’s tone is low and deep, his threat making a shutter cascade down your spine as you watch with baited breath for what is to happen next. 

“Get out! All of you! Get! Out!” Bronte screams, waving at the group of newcomers. “And take that bitch with you, too!”

Your heart sinks as you watch the Italian spin on his heels and storm off towards the house, his arms flailing wildly as he vents his frustrations and anger out into the ether. The party has clearly ended now, as the guests murmur and whisper amongst themselves about the outrageous scene and begin to file out of the garden to leave. 

Your head hangs a bit in shame as you nibble nervously on your pink bottom lip, holding Arthur's jacket over your chest like armor. You have no love lost for Angelo Bronte, but the idea that you now have nowhere to go is a little terrifying. You have no money, no provisions. Nothing. 

Arthur turns to look at you, seeing your soft face frozen in stunned silence. His own countenance turns sheepish as he now realizes that he has cost you your home. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to get you tossed out.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” You shake your head and place a grateful hand along Arthur’s arm. “You probably did me a favor.” Your smile is warm and forgiving, but it doesn’t make him feel any less responsible for your new predicament. “But I meant what I said, Mr. Morgan. Thank you,” you whisper emphatically. Your gentle voice causes butterflies to flutter in his belly. 

“You have anywhere to go now?” Arthur asks, his blue eyes burning into your own. God, how you could get lost in those eyes for hours. 

Sadly, you shake your head, confirming his suspicions. 

“Well, then,” interrupts Dutch from where he still stands behind you, “If that is the case, you are welcome to come with us, Miss Y/L/N.” He offers you another of his charming smiles as he holds open Arthur’s jacket as you slide your arms in, and he pulls the oversized garment protectively over your shoulders. He then offers you his arm to escort you away from the party, with his entourage in tow. 

Arthur gives a lofty eye-roll to the heavens at Dutch’s attempt to swoon you, causing Mr. Matthews to chuckle at the interaction. But you smile graciously at Mr. Van der Linde’s offer as you gladly accept his arm and begin to walk with him. You look back over your shoulder and give Arthur a demure little grin, which he returns as he follows you and Dutch out to the front of the property towards the awaiting carriages with Mr. Matthews and Mr. Williamson close behind. 

“Thank you, Mr. Van Der Linde,” you smile brightly up at him. “I just may have to take you up on that offer.” 

Masterlist for more Arthur goodness

Taglist: @appalachiancowboy99 @rivetingrosie4

[granddaughterofdemeter]

Hey, could you make child of Hades hcs? Nico's younger sibling, please make it gn!reader

ofc <3

Child of Hades HCs

[GN!reader & Nico Di Angelo]

You were a new camper when you got claimed by Hades. Really, the clear pity on the other demigods' faces as they faced your apparent older brother, Nico, made anxiety course through your veins.'

People told you he was cold and harsh but he was nice to you. A bit of indifference came your way, but after a month where you didn't bother him is when he decided to invite you over for dinner with your father.

To be frank, it was scary sure. Hades didn't look like he was a very loving father. But compared to his brothers, Gods, he was a good one. He cared about his kids, and you were thankful for that.

Actually, the only thing you hadn't brought up to Nico was his ex-crush on Percy. He got mad when someone told you about it, and if you wanna be a good younger sibling, you got to make sure that he won't get angry about it near his very kind boyfriend, Will.

"yeah i had a crush on Percy back then, but i was young and impressionable, i already got over it"

" Neeks, you're like 13, he ain't your ex-husband that cheated on you, killed your cat, and made you vow to never love again!"

"What's your point?"

A dramatic older brother is the best kind of brother ❤️

For the bolded convo I got inspo from @tangerine-brooks

banner creator is posted on my pinned post

[xo-xojj]

Masterlist

Smut = *

Fluff= ~

Angst = +

Percy Jackson and the olympians

Percy Jackson

Thinkin bout you~

Grover

Luke Castellan

The Sweetest Thing~

Nico di angelo

Will solace

TSITP

Jeremiah fisher

Conrad fisher

Steven Conklin

Cameron

American housewife

Oliver Otto

Supernatural~

Hold Me Close~+

These Walls~+

Test Drive/Adore*~

Just like that*

Cooper Bradford

Sturniolo triplets

Nick Sturniolo

Matt sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo

OBX

JJ Maybank

Pope Heyward

John b

Rafe Cameron

Topper Thornton

DC

Jason Todd

Bruce Wayne

Dick Grayson

Damian Wayne

CHUCKY(tv series)

Jake Wheeler

Juinor Wheeler

Devon Evans

Grant Collins

Others

Walker Scobell

Charlie Bushnell

Mason Thames

Tom holland

Chris Evans

Jeremy Sumpter(js him alone❤️)

Eternal Sunshine(Gavin Gore)~

Heaven Can Wait(Gavin Gore)*

Series

Gossip Girl S1 (Ghostin)

Characters(00)

Prologue(00)

Pilot(01)

The Wild Brunch(02)

Poison Ivy(03)

Bad News Blair(04)

Dare Devil(05)

The Hands maids Tale(06)

Victor/Victrola(07)

Seventeen Candles(08)

Blair Waldorf Must Pie(09)

Hi, Society(010)

Roman Holiday(011)

School Lies(012)

A Thin Line Between Chuck and Nate(013)

The Blair Bitch Project(014)

Desperately Seeking Serena(015)

All About My Brother(016)

Woman On The Verge(017)

Much ‘I Do’ About Nothing(018)

Random Oneshots

Phineas Smith x Male!oc/reader

More coming soon

[missluthorwillseeyounow]

#11 Kara

Thanks in advance and I love your writing so very much ❤️

Thank you!!! I love your writing toooo!!!

11. If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

In a scenario where the two Karas are presented to each person to choose, the following would happen:

Alex would ask them something from their teenage years:

"Who was your first kiss?"

"Mark Sikorsky. I broke his nose."

"Who was my first kiss?"

"Which one are we talking here? Your 'practice' kisses with Vicki during your sleepovers that you thought I didn't know about, or your actual first kiss? That was Angelo Tufo. You broke his nose."

Nia would look between the 2 Karas, pause, then scream: "Lena Luthor is a villain!" and the first one to indignantly threaten to fight her would be the real Kara.

I'd love to say that Lena would figure it immediately out on her own, but Lena (the genius) didn't even figure out that Kara was Supergirl, so that might not fly.

I do like to think she would spend some time looking between the two Karas, gazing deep into each one's eyes. Finally, Lena would take the real Kara’s hands and smile, "There you are."

Kara's eyes widen incredulously. "How did you know??"

Lena smiles. "No one else looks at me the way you do."

[king-of-the-ghosts]

"With great power... comes great need to take a nap. Wake me up later,"

Hello, my name is Nico di Angelo, my boyfriend convinced me to get this app.

Heres some info about me I guess.

Name: Nico di Angelo.

Age: Fifteen.

Godly parent: Hades, my father.

( @yes-im-hades ☠️)

Mortal parent: That is none of your business. (Maria di Angelo)

Significant other: Will Solace, my lovely boyfriend. (<3)

( @sunshine-and-socialanxiety 💛☀️)

Siblings: Hazel Levesque, Elizabeth Morta, Naomi, and... Bianca, my lovely sisters.

( @gemstonequeen 💎)

( @thathadeschild 💀)

( @random-daughter-of-hades 🕳)

( @not-so-dead-sister 🖤)

My 'bestie': Luna Dark

(@thementallyillapollochild 🌙)

Pronouns: He/him

Other:

@fire-boy-official Leo Valdez. 🔥

@wise-girltm Annabeth Chase. 🦉

@jason-the-kabob Jason Grace. ⚡️

@goat-boy-underwood Grover Underwood. 🌳

@i-can-see-stars-again Zoe Nightshade. ⭐️

@miss-beauty-queen Piper McLean. 🗡

@silenasblogies Silena Beauregard. 🩷

@yes-im-aphrodite Aphrodite. ❤️

@by-the-decree-of-my-crown Zeus. 🖕

@reyna-dontcallmerara Reyna Ramírez-Arellano. 👑

@my-sisters-and-the-moon Artemis. 🌑

@best-country-singer Naomi Solace. 🎤

@official-drakon-slayer Clarisse La Rue. ⚔️

@bestdemigodarcherever Kayla Knowles. 🌞

@kit-kat-flowers Katie Gardener. 🌱

@totally-percy-jackson Percy Jackson. 🏄‍♂️

@amusing-little-things Amphitrite Nereidia. 👸

@fucking-alone-for-an-eternity Calypso. 🐚

(Luna forced me to add the emojis)

That is all you need to know.

(thank you @zourrysecrets for the headers and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the divider)

Ooc

HELLO this blog is run by @/spacegirlisawalunareclipes, I also run @/thementallyunwellapollochild !!!

This is mostly for self indulgent reasons, I wanted a nico rp blog that would interact with Luna how I wanted the two to interact, so I made this

Also yes I headcannon nico types super properly and shit

SO HERES THE TAGS I WILL USE!!

ic tag: nico is speaking

ooc tag: nico is silent

(These dividers are from @k1ssyoursister)

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Daffodil - Javi G. x Reader

Daffodil (Narcissus) - Unrequited love

Summary: You've fallen in love with your boss, and he's about to propose to someone who isn't you.

Pairing: Javi G. x Reader

Word Count: 871

Warnings: Angst, unrequited love, complicated relationships, mentions of abandonment, Javi is clueless until it's too late

This one is angsty, everyone! Day 22 of In Bloom kinda hurts, but I hope you like it anyway!

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are super appreciated! ❤️

You’d dreamed of this moment for as long as you’d worked for Javi. Him down on one knee, a ring box held out to you and a broad smile on his face. 

“So? What do you think?” he asked, but you could barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. 

Your mouth was dry, your palms sweaty. “I-I think she’ll love it, Javi.” 

Javi nodded, looking down at the ring again. “Yes, it’s very Gabriella, isn’t it? Classic, beautiful. I knew it was perfect!” 

He snapped the ring box shut and rose to his feet, “Will you get a reservation at Saint Angelo’s for this Friday? It’s her birthday, I think it’ll be the perfect opportunity to ask her to be my wife.” 

Javi’s brown eyes were sparkling as he talked about his plan to propose to Gabriella. You wore a smile so fake you were sure he would notice and say something, but what else could you do when your heart was breaking? 

“Yeah,” you choked out, but he didn’t notice. He simply nodded, thanked you, and left your office. The second he was gone, you slumped back in your chair. 

You’d been in love with Javier Gutierrez for almost as long as you’d been working for him as his Personal Assistant. He was so sweet and loyal, and sure his obsession with Nicolas Cage was a little weird but over time you came to find it endearing. When your boyfriend had dumped you and kicked you out of the apartment you shared, Javi hadn’t hesitated to offer you his pool house rent-free. 

“You’re here all the time anyway,” he’d smiled, “Might as well get rid of that long commute.” 

Gabriella had finally joined him from Mallorca, which meant you’d come face-to-face with the reality that Javi was taken. When she’d been in Spain, it had been way too easy to forget. As a big-shot producer, Javi was invited to parties and premieres and openings all the time, and you’d usually accompany him as his plus-one. Those days were over. 

And, as of Friday, they’d be gone forever. 

Oh well, you thought, not like those nights meant anything anyway. 

You knew you’d be involved in the wedding planning. The engagement party, wedding shower, bachelor/ette’s parties…could you handle that? Watching the man you were in love with marry another woman? 

On one hand, you were a professional. Falling for your boss was your own damn fault, and if it had been so easy to fall in love how hard could it be to fall out of it? Maybe all the wedding stuff would shake you out of it. 

On the other, you knew yourself. Once you’d fallen you were down forever. This crush on Javi wouldn’t go away, especially not as you waited for him to be officially off the market. From here, you couldn’t see another way to deal with this entire situation. 

You called the restaurant first and secured Javi’s reservation, requesting a special bottle of champagne and a private table. 

A few more phone calls and you had a plan. 

You just had to wait until Friday.

_________________

Friday morning started as usual — you rolled out of bed and walked to the main house to get coffee and breakfast, then upstairs to your office until Javi woke up around ten. 

He sauntered into your office as usual, sleep-rumpled and absolutely adorable. 

“Hola, querida,” he said, voice lower than usual with drowsiness. “Any good news to start the day?” 

“Contracts are rolling in for the crew on your next project, but Amy needs confirmation on audition times for next month,” you reported, “and your reservation for tonight is all set. I’ve got some errands to run today, so you’ll have to get yourself ready but I laid out some outfit options for you in your closet.” 

You got up from your chair, packing up your bag. Without warning, Javi rounded your desk and gathered you in his arms. You tensed in his hug, knowing that it wasn’t anything to read into. He only saw you as his employee, at best a friend. 

“What would I do without you, hmm?” he asked, letting you go but grabbing your hands and squeezing. 

You could only shrug. 

_____________

Gabriella said no. Javi’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way back into the house. Her life was in Mallorca, his was in LA. They loved each other, but the long distance and different life goals had made things too complicated. 

Javi sighed and scrolled through his phone, texting your number. A few seconds later, he heard the chime coming from his kitchen. He smiled at the thought of you there already, waiting for him to come home with good news. 

When he rounded the corner, you weren’t there. Your phone was propped up on the side of the fruit bowl, sitting on top of a white envelope. 

He pulled a folded few pages out of the envelope. It was your resignation letter, no forwarding address, and a personal letter thanking him for his kindness and wishing him every happiness with his future marriage. 

Javi had never felt so empty. No Gabriella, no you. How would he manage? 

[burnheartmusic]

I love Nico Di Angelo so much that friends have picked up on it and tease me about it.

I’m fine with that. ❤️

[avaetin]

This has taken over my life---

@haiseiscute333

“Welcome to the Oscars, live from the red carpet from the Dolby Theater in Los Angeles! I'm your host, Kayla Knowles, and for the next hour, we're going to be talking to the many nominees and presenters of this show-...”

“-....As we prepare to welcome our first guest, remember to breathe it all in, because tonight, we are part of something truly special. Tonight, we gather to celebrate the magic of the silver screen and the small screen, where dreams come true and where Hollywood truly shines.

So, without further ado, let the Oscars begin!”

…

…

…

“- Let’s just take you down the red carpet. As you can see, we have America’s all-time male sweetheart, Percy Jackson, in his black tux, looking good. You can see people yelling, trying to make eye contact with him. With him is America's sweetheart, Annabeth Chase, looking absolutely beautiful in her sparkling silver Gucci gown!”

—-

Comment section from the live video:

Perc4beth4evr: OMG! My parents are finally here! They look so gorgeous together! The perfect golden couple! ❤️❤️❤️ THEDaughter: Took them long enough to come out as a couple! We all knew he was dating her for two years now. ImOfficial: ❤️❤️❤️ BitterDingy: ❤️❤️❤️ HonesToxic: You're all delulus. They don't even look in love. I'm pretty sure he was with someone else. Perc4beth4vr: YOU TAKE THAT BACK!

—-

…

…

“Thank you, Alabaster. Hope you have a wonderful time inside as well-! Ah! Over there! It's the industry's charming darling, Nico di Angelo! Oh, he certainly lives up to his name - he looks so dashing and adorable in his white designer tuxedo!”

—-

Comment section from the live video: NDAPS: IM JUST A BABY— 😍😍😍 NicosAngel: NICOOOOOO! BABY BOY ASDFGHJKL Cat-astrophe: I HAVE LEGAL ADOPTION PAPERS PLS COME HOME WIV ME NOW Shituation: Everyday, I wake up just to see his gorgeous face 😫

—-

“Wait. Is that… Did Nico di Angelo bring a partner with him this year?”

—-

Comment section from the live video: NDAPS: HOLD UP. WAITWAITWAIT OUR MEOW MEOW BRING A WHAT NOW??? NicoApologist: Our baby grew up so fast 😭 NicosAngel: NOOOOOOOO!!! WHO DARES CORRUPT MY ANGEL?!?!

—-

“Oh my! Nico di Angelo did bring a partner to this year's event, and-! No. Nonononono. This can't be real. Who has the right to look THAT gorgeous? The press is going crazy over them, look at all those flashing lights! They're clearly wearing matching tuxedos as well! Is this Nico's mystery partner?”

—-

Comment section from the live video: NDAPS: HOLY JESUS CHRIST ON A MOTORBIKE! I MUST HAVE ASCENDED TO HEAVEN! IM SEEING AN ANGEL AND A GOD AT THE SAME TIME— Perc4beth4vr: Doesn't that guy look like Percy? Sorrynotsorry: Not everything's about Jackson. Clearly that guy looks way better. NicosAngel: I apologize for what I said. Please corrupt my angel, Mr. Greek God. For you, I'll make an exception. MY ANGEL IS SMILING SO MUCH RIGHT NOW I HAVEN'T SEEN HIM THIS HAPPY 😭😭😭 THEY LOOK LIKE THE PERFECT COUPLE, I DEMAND WEDDING INVITATIONS ASAP 🤧🤧🤧 excuseyou: Did Percy stop at the end of the carpet or was it just me who noticed? troll.on.a.roll: Kayla is us right now. She's fangirling over Nico just as hard as everyone else lol

—-

Kayla: Nico! Wow, you look drop-dead gorgeous! How are you feeling this evening? (hugs him)

Nico: Kayla! You look stunning as well. (hugs her back) I'm doing great! The best, actually.

Kayla: Oh, is it because of your mystery partner? (smiling playfully before turning towards the other male) Are we going to know his name tonight, or are the netizens going to have to do their thorough investigations?

Nico: (laughs) As fun as that is… Let me introduce to everyone, Aeon Oceanus. My fiance. (lifts one of his hands to show off a silver diamond-studded ring)

—-

Comment section from the live video: … … … … NDAPS: Did he say fiance? narrowcrepe: !!! NicosAngel: YUUUUUUS! I CALLED IT! I DEMAND AN INVITATION! FRONT ROW! ILL EVEN BE THE CARPET YOU WALK DOWN ON JUST SO I CAN SEE YOU GET MARRIED- excuseyou: Percy looks constipated hmm… Sorrynotsorry: NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT THAT TALENTLESS NEWBIE 🙄 Dundundun: But for real! I sense drama. Like, this guy really looks a lot like Jackson. I won't be surprised if they're related.

—-

Kayla: M-Marriage? Wow! That's amazing! No wonder you're glowing tonight. It must be love.

Nico: Ah, well, it's also my first time bringing a partner to an awarding ceremony. It feels amazing, knowing that from today onwards, I have no need to hide my relationship with my partner.

—- Comment section from the live video: excuseyou: Definitely constipated. Sorrynotsorry: Someone kick this Percy-stan out. —-

Kayla: And how about you… Mr. Oceanus?

Aeon: Aeon’s fine.

Kayla: How are you feeling tonight?

Aeon: I feel like I’m on cloud nine (smiles warmly). Having the love of my life acknowledge our relationship publicly, and having the public know that I am his as much as he’s mine… (pulls Nico close to press a kiss to his forehead) Perfect. Everything’s perfect.

—-

Comment section from the live video: NDAPS: HE SAID THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE OMG!!! EAT THAT PERCABETH SHIPPERS, YOU CAN HAVE YOUR GOLDEN COUPLE, WE HAVE OUR PLATINUM COUPLE! NicosAngel: 😭🥳😭🥳😭🥳😭 Perc4beth4evr: !!! Shituation: The way Nico closed his eyes, and his lips curling to the softest of smiles when Aeon pulled him close and kissed his forehead--- Dear God, I have a new reason to wake up everyday

—-

Kayla: That’s wonderful! All right, I won’t keep you guys any longer. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening. And Nico, all the best for the awarding!

Kayla: (whispers, but microphone catches it) And all the best for your wedding.

Nico: (laughs) Thanks, Kayla. (walks into the event with Aeon, hand-in-hand)

[m0nsterqzzz]

☆ MASTERLIST ☆

(❤️) fluff

(🌧️) angst no comfort

(❤️‍🩹) angst/comfort

Marvel:

Natasha Romanoff:

Snow Days ❤️

Fluff Alphabet ❤️

A Sense of Impending Doom 🌧️

In This Universe ❤️

The Three Times She Proposed and the One Time You Said Yes ❤️

Wanda Maximoff:

Something Stupid ❤️

Liar Liar ❤️

Happy Endings in the Avengers Compound ❤️

Something Small ❤️

Pretty and Smart ❤️

Carol Danvers:

Baby Flerkens ❤️

Kate Bishop:

The Little Things ❤️‍🩹

Kamala Khan:

Tony Stark:

Puzzles Can Be Fun ❤️

Steve Rogers:

Bucky Barnes:

Thor Odinson:

PJO:

Clarisse La Rue:

Capture the Flag ❤️

Cat's Out of the Bag La Rue ❤️

Happy Wife Happy Life ❤️

Happy Wife Happy Life (part two) ❤️

Dating Headcanons

Dating Headcanons

Thalia Grace:

Percy Jackson:

Zoe Nightshade:

Sally Jackson:

Bianca Di Angelo:

Nico Di Angelo:

Annabeth Chase:

The Hunger Games:

Katniss Everdeen:

You're You ❤️

The Gift ❤️

Paying Attention ❤️

What Did I Say About the Arrows? ❤️

You Drew Star's Around my Scar's ❤️

Feed Into Her Ego ❤️

Clove Kentwell:

The Real Victory ❤️

Peeta Mellark:

Johanna Mason:

Finnick Odair:

Fame:

Taylor Swift:

[joelsdagger]

Noelle my love! ❤️🧡❤️ I’m so sorry you’re in the ER, i hope everything’s okay?? 🥺 sending you tons of love and big big hugs 🫂🧡

for the ask game, how about 1 and 24??

i hope you’re well and ILYSM bby!!! 🥰❤️

- @sugarcoated-lame 🧡

kricket!!!!! so lovely to see you!! i am happy to report that i am well, dosed up on meds, and have been in bed watching elf and other fun christmas movies since last night hehehe. thank you for asking these and for all the love, i'm quadrupling it and sending it back to you my sweet!! 💗

1. favorite fic you wrote this year

you're really gonna make me do this again huh? i am shit at hyping up my own work but ummm i'll say only then, i am good. it brought me a lot of comfort when i really needed it. it felt so safe and comforting (i self-inserted heavily with that one lmaoo) and i think that's the closest i'll ever get to old man jackson!joel, settling down and really getting that quiet life he deserves after years and years. at least to me, that's how i imagine he'd turn out if he....ya know didn't go golfing. just a sweet, caring, loving old man taking care of someone he loves. besides that though - writing emotion is a weakness of mine, but i think i got pretty darn close to describing those feelings, at least as accurately as i experience them, and the reception has been making me all emo - it's been nonstop tears over here on my end. 

24. favorite fic you read this year?

san angelo by @macfrog hands down. i think i revisit it every month. no joke. that fic was the first time i had to really sit in silence after finishing it. i was questioning things. i was feeling things. and i don't think i've recovered honestly. to take a small tidbit from the games - a mere mention of something you normally wouldn't think twice about and create THAT masterpiece - is just unfuckingbelievable. max is truly a master of her craft, she can make you laugh. she can make you cry. she can make you horny. she can make you ache. all in the span of one sentence honestly. that's what that fic did to me. it was an insane rollercoaster of feels and if you haven't read it, you haven't lived until you do. 

- fanfic asks -

[heliads]

Hi 👋🏻 I was wondering if I could request a readerxpercy Jackson characters platonic, who’s a child of hades who’s a very sunny small cinnamon roll who likes to wear sundresses but is also really awkward and they kind of have to navigate there new life at camp half blood after being claimed love you stuff btw❤️

me when appearances are deceiving

masterlist

Percy Jackson gets weird around dead people. It’s a habit he’s tried his hardest to shake, but honestly, he doesn’t feel that he should be punished for this. Who doesn’t flinch at the sight of a corpse up and walking like they’re late for brunch plans with the other rotting besties?

Well, Percy does know one person seemingly born without that natural aversion to the deceased. They’re the reason he’s in such a predicament, actually. See, this is just what he gets for trying to be warm and welcoming. If Percy had just left the kind, happy, welcome-to-Camp-Half-Blood, you’re-going-to-die-now part to the actual camp tour guides, he wouldn’t be stuck trying to wake the dead.

As if Percy hasn’t done enough of this. The first time he heard about the plan, he was hit by a thousand flashbacks of a rather sullen Nico de Angelo, mossy gravestones, and French fries sinking alarmingly into a pit of endless earth. Gods, he hadn’t been able to eat McDonald’s for weeks without thinking about moldy flesh, and that truly is a crime against humanity.

That was Nico, though. This is Y/N. Y/N L/N to be precise, a new demigod to Camp Half-Blood and so not Percy’s problem except for the fact that they kind of are. Percy had been minding his own business at camp– well, as much as any hyperactive kid can– when they’d approached him asking for help. Percy had seen this as his chance to prove himself helpful and he’d agreed. If only Y/N had warned him about the corpse sightings before Percy said he was down. Then he might have been able to weasel out of this mess.

Then again, he probably should have seen this coming. Y/N is a child of Hades, one of the rare descendants of the god of the Underworld that Percy has had the privilege of meeting. They’re also utterly unlike any other child of the dead that Percy has met, probably because they’re actually an optimist. Y/N has a bright smile and wears sundresses. Y/N grins infectiously and leads the Hades cabin at nightly camp sing-a-longs, which actually isn’t hard to do. Nico still looks like he wants to melt into the ground every time someone strikes up a tune unless Will Solace gets on his case.

Percy worries about Y/N sometimes. Despite the fact that there’s really no point in distrusting a demigod because of their godly parent (unless that godly parent is Ares, then Percy is totally justified in any and all irritation), Y/N’s status as a Hades kid hasn’t exactly won them the warmest of welcomes from the other campers. Y/N’s slowly winning them over because it only takes one conversation with them to learn that they’re not a weirdo, but still. The going is slow. Maybe Percy could help with that.

The situation had come about just this morning. Percy was finishing up his breakfast with his usual gusto (blue waffles and blueberry syrup, you will always be a creation worthy of the gods themselves) when Y/N had approached him hesitantly. At first, they’d hardly been able to get the words out, and then it had all come out at once and he’d been swept away on a tidal wave of explanations and anticipated reactions.

He’d asked Y/N to slow down on the walk over back to his cabin. In the end, what he managed to put together was this:  Y/N needed help with a situation that required the help of someone who might be able to defend them from attack if it came to that. Y/N has only been at camp for two short months, which isn’t a whole lot of time to pick up the nuance of sword fighting as compared to Percy’s years of experience. Sure, a lot of that came from picking fights he probably should have ran from, but sometimes you just have to face your problems head on, right? Right?

Anyway, Percy felt proud that someone would ask him for help, so he said no before he could stop himself. It had been a while since he was out on a quest, maybe he was itching for something to do after all.

Well, he’s certainly found himself a good amount of trouble then. Y/N’s grin split their face with eager excitement when Percy agreed to help out, and they’d gestured for him to follow them to the woods.

See, that should have been his first sign that something was going to go wrong. Nothing good ever happens in the woods surrounding Camp Half-Blood. Percy can rattle off about a thousand and one mishaps that all took place in the shadowy oaks and desolate hollows of the camp wilderness. If the monsters roaming the forest weren’t enough, Percy has found Labyrinth entrances, been stung by a scorpion thanks to Luke Castellan’s betrayal, and launched an assault against an infestation of Myrmekes all within those same oaken confines.

Not the greatest place to start this favor, to say the least. Speaking of which, Percy still doesn’t really have a good idea what exactly he’s doing here. Sure, Y/N told him, but he might have been spacing out during that conversation. In his defense, he had seen Annabeth walking by when Y/N was finally getting to that point, and she’d had her hair down. As if he could be expected to pay attention under such circumstances.

Y/N finally comes to a stop in the middle of a rough clearing. “This should do well,” they decide.

Percy nods solemnly, eyeing the blank earth like he has any idea what is going. “Yes, it should. Just to make sure everything’s ironed out, uh, it’s going to do well for what, again?”

“Raising the dead,” Y/N says without a trace of hesitation.

Percy blinks. “Sorry, I think I heard you wrong. We’re doing what?”

“There’s a dead person, and I want to talk to them,” Y/N clarifies.

Percy turns to them. “There are a lot of dead people in the world. Who are you trying to talk to, and why? And why am I here for this? And why are we doing this on camp grounds? And–”

Y/N cuts him off before he can really get going, which Percy only mildly dislikes. “Listen, I know it sounds like a lot, and I’m super sorry, but this is important. I had a dream from my dad.”

“I see,” Percy says, like the mere mention of a dream clears up everything. In all honesty, it kind of does. Percy has received his share of godly commandments through dreams. For some reason, if it weren’t enough for the gods to ruin his life by giving him impossible tasks, they always take it upon themselves to mess up his beauty rest as well. He can’t have anything around here.

“Yeah,” Y/N says slowly, “he was there in the dream, and he said I needed to talk to someone. A soldier who died in the Revolutionary War. Apparently they know something that will help with the defense of the camp.”

Percy frowns. “If Hades knows who you need to talk to, why doesn’t he just tell you outright? Especially if it’s to protect the camp, that’s serious.”

Unconsciously, Percy reaches into his pocket to tap Riptide and make sure it’s still there. He doesn’t like the thought that there’s something wrong with the camp. He’s done enough time worrying over Thalia’s tree and the like. If the defenses are failing and no one knows about it but the god of the Underworld, well, it doesn’t exactly sound good.

Y/N groans. “Believe me, I asked him that myself. He just said some nonsense about needing to trust the journey and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. I woke up not too long after that.”

“Sounds like a god,” Percy muses. Thunder rumbles overheard, and he fights the urge to flash an obscene gesture at the sky. He doubts it would give Y/N any more faith in him, though, and they’re already looking at him like they expect him to run.

“Well,” he says slowly, hating himself for going along with this truly awful plan, “let’s talk to a dead guy, then.”

Y/N’s face brightens in an instant. “You’ll do it with me? Really?”

“Oh, I’m not going to be doing it,” Percy clarifies in a rush, “That’s all you, sorry. I will stand here and look menacing behind you, though. Ghosts can be a bit of a mess. I feel like you could use some reinforcements.”

“That would be perfect,” Y/N admits.

They kneel on the ground, gently pushing some dirt away with their hand while grabbing a small flask with their other. Judging by the ease with which they unscrew the lid of the vial and pour a dark liquid on the ground, this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. Percy isn’t sure if that makes him more or less concerned.

“What, uh, is that stuff?” Percy asks, trying not to seem too conspicuously freaked out. This may not be his first ghost-summoning rodeo, but that doesn’t mean he’s down with everything. 

“Iced tea,” Y/N says matter-of-factly, “They’re Revolutionary War era, right? I feel like they’ll be called to tea. Or at least want to dump it in the Boston Harbor.”

Percy has to respect that logic. He’s certain he could do no better, at least. Y/N murmurs a few words in what sounds like Ancient Greek, and a cold wind blows through the clearing, making Percy’s nerves stand on edge. As he watches, indistinct shapes form at the edges of the forest, a few braver ones daring to approach and sip at the pool of tea. It occurs to him that this might be the strangest tea party he’s ever attended, and it takes everything in Percy to not start laughing. He’s not sure the ghosts would take to that all that well.

One solidifies more than the others after drinking. Y/N narrows their eyes at it. “Who sent you here?”

It opens a rotting jaw to answer. “Hadesssss.”

The word comes out in a hiss of smoke and dying exhales. Percy had pulled out Riptide the second Y/N started chanting (usually a good time to have weapons in hand), and his knuckles clench around the grip now. He does not like that sound. This is so not a good morning.

Y/N nods. “What do you know about camp defenses?”

The guy takes a while to respond. Percy likes to think it’s because the ghost is particularly well-spoken and not because it has to get the other half of its jaw to swing back in place before it can answer. Definitely not that.

“There’ssss a curse upon the boundariessss,” it whispers decomposedly, “it liftsss every hundred yearsssssss.”

“What do we have to do to fix it?” Y/N asks. Percy has to admire their determination. He would like to run, but they’re still there, just as focused as ever.

The ghost considers this. “There’s a ssssscroll owned by the centaur. Read it before nightfall and your livessss will be sssssspared.”

Y/N starts to ask another question, but the ghost’s eyes roll back in its head. “Death callssss me back,” it moans, “sssstay alive, child of Hadessssss.”

The ghost is pulled away from them, back towards the edge of the forest, away into nothingness. Some of the other ghosts surge towards the small lake of tea in the hopes of gaining more energy now that the main speaker is gone, but Percy steps in front, blade extended, and they back off. Soon enough, all of the dead are gone, and it’s just the two of them alone in the clearing.

“Well,” Y/N says brightly, “I think that went well.”

“You do?” Percy asks, frowning.

“Sure,” they explain, “we have answers, don’t we? That’s great.”

A voice sounds from behind them. “I think I’d like some answers.”

Percy turns around to see Chiron coming to a stop, arms folded. “Why are the two of you in the woods unsupervised? Percy, you know the rules.”

Percy winces. Totally forgot about that. He’s probably skipping arts and crafts. Given Percy’s lack of skills related to sculpture, though, maybe that’s for the best. He thinks he might have actually traumatized the instructor with his last clay piece. In Percy’s defense, though, his centerpiece really wasn’t supposed to look that much like a Gorgon.

“I was just thinking,” he says slowly, trying to think of some way to warn Chiron without actually mentioning the fact that they’d been summoning the dead, “You know, since the camp has been around so long. Got to be hundreds of years, right? So cool that the defenses have held up so long. You know, and they don’t have to be, uh, renewed, right? Not like a contractually obligated thing to keep performing a spell every century. That would be crazy.”

Chiron blinks in surprise, and then his eyes widen. “Actually, one such spell does exist. Thank you for reminding me, Percy. Out of curiosity, how did you have such good timing? I imagine anyone who knows about that spell is long since dead?”

“Dead?” Percy repeats, the picture of innocence. “Well, that’s ridiculous. Who could talk to the dead, right? Certainly not me. Or Y/N. I just had, you know, a good auspicious dream. I love dreams. Have them all the time, actually.”

Chiron stares at him, and Percy gets that familiar feeling that the centaur can see straight through his soul and read his mind. At last, he lifts a shoulder. “Dreams can certainly hold meaning. Well, thank you anyway.”

Chiron turns to leave, but pauses at the edge of the clearing. Percy allows himself a small moment of celebration that they’d managed to get out of this without getting caught.

“Oh, and Y/N?” The centaur says, “Next time you summon the dead, do it with adult supervision. Or at least adult supervision with a better alibi.”

“Will do,” Y/N calls cheerfully, and Chiron leaves without another word.

Well, it’s not Percy’s strangest morning. He’s sure he’ll have more, too. He grins at Y/N, who breaks out into laughter.

“What do you say we head back into camp?” Percy suggests.

“That sounds great to me,” Y/N says. 

The sun lights their way back through the waving trees. Percy decides that he’s had his fill of dead people for a while. No ghosts for at least the next month. It’s a new personal rule.

pjo tag list: @w1shes43, @fadedver, @anxiety-werewolf

[bugwolfsstuff]

okay heres a wip of the demigod social media fic

i am probs gonna put the rest on ao3 so i dont accidentally tag people while writing it.

Also this is probably going to help me in the long run lmao. Chat fics dont need to be grammatically correct which might help with insecurity and perfectionism for me and its a crackfic so I don't need to worry about making sense.

@thel1ghtningthief @smileyalater

The usernames used here are:

Demi-tokOFFICAL— controlled collectively by Cabin nine

JerryTheMuse — Jerry from the Apollo Cabin

Nico-Di-Angelo — doesnt need explaining. don't worry he'll get his own special user once he gets better with tech

⚡BADBOYSUPREME❤️— Leo

🍇Jacob_Macob⚒️ — Jake Mason from the Hephaestus cabin

@ Demi-tokOFFICAL (written through voice to text) 

Hi counsellors and others. Nyssa B from the Hephaestus cabin here, if you're reading this then you like most —if not all of us demigods have been given one of our— Cabin nine—the best cabin’s latest inventions!  Demigod phones!  Yay!  First off, all demigod platforms are completely safe and monster proof, so you can take and use it anywhere including outside of Camp! They also come preinstalled with all the basics and our new demigod only social medias!  Second off, Chiron and Mr. D do NOT know about this project. We — Cabin 9, prefer to keep it that way so if you want to continue using our platforms in a free, unmonitored by—  —stinky adults!  Thank you, Harley—If you want to keep our phones unmonitored by stinky adults you WILL try your hardest to keep it that way and try to hide the phones somewhere safe or use them discreetly.  If the phone detects Chiron noticing it, it will explode to prevent him from finding out.  That was my idea!  It was, so, remember! HAVE FUN AND DONT TELL THE ADULTS!  Signing off, Nyssa Barrera and Harley. 

#Demi-tok #Hephaestus-cabin-is-best-cabin #you-know-it's-true #suck-it-Ares-cabin 

30 Likes. 4:30 PM 

Comments 

@ JerryTheMuse 

Can’t believe we got Demigod phones before GTA6 

5 Likes. 4:32 PM 

@ Nico-Di-Angelo 

How do we use these things? 

2 Likes. 7:45PM 

@ Demi-tokOFFICAL replying to @ Nico-Di-Angelo 

For our less technologically able friends like you, @ 🍇Jacob_Macob⚒️ ️ is offering classes —Shane (Nyssa had to leave) 

5 Likes. 7:49PM 

@⚡BADBOYSUPREME❤️replying to @ Nico-Di-Angelo 

Did @ Demi-tokOFFICAL just call Nico old??? 

3 Likes. 7:52PM

[ask-hfttmnt]

WELCOME TO THE BLOG!

RULES:

NO NSFW!! Keep things at least PG-14. We are mostly minors, and even then I don't think any of us wanna hear inappropriate nonsense. It's just plain gross and uncomforting.

No heavy flirting!! Jokes and little things are fine, but too much of it all the time can make us uncomfortable, especially since we are all teens.

ABSOLUTELY NO TCEST, PROSHIPPERS, LEORAI SHIPPERS, ETC! GET THAT SHIT OUT OF HERE AND STAY OUT!! Please and thank you <3

Be respectful, please! No one here wants to deal with total jerks and haters. Don't like this? Keep to yourself and leave. We aren't forcing anyone to stay.

Be patient with us! We are sometimes busy and don't always have the time to respond or the motivation to be online.

No spamming! We will get to you when we can. If we don't answer something, it's because it's either unrelated, breaks the rules, or we just haven't seen it yet.

Lastly, have fun! No need to be shy. We try to be as friendly as possible (most of us at least).

[[MORE BELOW CUT]]

INTRODUCTIONS:

💙"Wusup! Name's Leonardo, but you can call me Leo or Leon. I'm the cool leader in blue and the oldest Hamato brother! I'm also the most handsome, haha! Feel free to stick around and chat."

💜"Greetings. I'm Donatello. Some of my other names include Donnie, Don, Dee... you get the gist. I'm the brains of the group because SOMEONE around here needed an education. I'm the second oldest and sadly "twins" with Mr. Massive-Ego. If I'm not busy, I'll talk I guess.."

❤️"Sup. I'm Raphael. Or just Raph works too. I'm the muscle among my brothers. Don't let my size fool you, I happen to be the middle child. So... yeah."

🧡"HI HI HI HI! I'm Michelangelo! Or Mikey, Mike, Michael, Angelo... whichever works! I'm the youngest brother and most playful and creative! I love to meet new people, so don't be shy!"

💛"Hello there! I'm April O'Neil, but just April works! I'm a close friend of the turtles and have been for some time now. If I'm not busy at work, I'll try to answer what I can!"

🩶"Yo! This is the one and only Casey Jones. I'm an athletic guy who likes to do my part in keeping this city safe from all sorts of trouble. If I'm not busy, feel free to swing by and chat!"

🩷"Hiii! I'm Angelica Jones, but you can call me Angel or Angie too if you want. I'm Casey's younger sibling, and he thought it would be a good idea to have me try and talk to people, so here I am! I'm not very chatty, though, but I will try my best to respond to what I can."

💚"Howdy, I guess. Name's North. I'm honestly just here because the others wouldn't shut up till I agreed to do this. Ask whatever, just know I won't answer something I deem too personal.."

🖤"Sup laddies and lassies. The name's Shep. North dragged me into this as well, so ask me anything I suppose. Just don't get all hurt if my answers are too brutal for ya."

TAGS:

#that blue dude = Leo

#donniepedia = Donnie

#big red = Raph

#mike n ike = Mikey

#april showers = April

#hockey talky = Casey

#little angel = Angie

#sly fox = North

#shepticeye = Shep

#other talks = anyone else getting involved

#yappin = just talking about random things (rambling)

#friendly chats = answering the ask box

#arts n crafts = showing off drawings or projects

interactions = interacting with other accounts (mostly reblogs)

OOC:

Hello! I'm the mod for this blog and the creator of this AU! This is an RP blog based on my own TMNT AU known as Hunt for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Any other RP blogs, feel free to interact if you want!

My main blog is @rosewashereyt and my tmnt blog is @rosey-mango

#rose is here = ooc related stuff

If you see things in double brackets [[---]], it's ooc as well!

Shep is an OC that belongs to Sunny aka @atiredweirdo

Any interactions with him go through Sunny first, just fyi!

[empirearchives]

Okay, this is the first time I’ve seen anything about Napoleon being canonically a demigod son of Hades. At first, this annoyed me, but then I remembered that Nico di Angelo is the son of Hades, and my heart filled with joy thinking about Napoleon and Nico canonically being brothers ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ and I’m going to mentally pretend the H*tler thing isn’t canon because wtf.

(Also, tbf, Hades definitely isn’t the worst god and has faced demonization, not unlike Napoleon).

Anyway, I’m going to just assume that Rick doesn’t know anything about the Napoleonic era, which is completely fair and understandable. Because if he did, he would know that Napoleon would be the son of Zeus or possibly Athena (I have my reasons), and that’s not even a compliment btw, but whatever.