#(dee you are wicked) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hannahhook7744 · 5 months ago

Text

Canon & Semi-Canon Character List!;

For @askauradonprep .

LMK if you want me to add kids from other disney media like non-descendants books, sequels, and shows.

This list only includes the next gen kids from descendants (as well as Uliana).

--------------------------------------

Descendants (Mobile Game):

Scarlet.

Carter (Maybe a gender bent version of Scarlet who is dependent on your character's gender or could be a completely separate character).

Note: Diego de Vil was also in this game, if you want a visual on him.

--------------------------------------

Twitter-confirmed:

Elle, daughter of Eric and Ariel.

--------------------------------------

Evie's Wicked Runway:

Mia.

--------------------------------------

Scrapped Characters:

Aziz, son of Aladdin and Jasmine (mentioned in ‘the isle of the lost’ and the d1 script).

Anxelin, daughter of Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert (mentioned somewhere unknown as of now).

Hadie, son of Hades (mentioned in ‘Return to the Isle of the Lost’).

Gigi, daughter of Mother Gothel (Mentioned in an early draft of a d2 script).

--------------------------------------

Concept Art Characters:

Lil Yaz, son of Yzma.

Quinlynn, daughter of the Queen of Hearts (can be seen in 'Good to be Bad'.)

--------------------------------------

Escape from the Isle of the Lost (Book):

Ariana Rose, niece of Aurora and Prince Phillip

Bobby Hood, the son of Robin Hood and Maid Marian.

Derek, the son of Dopey.

Shy, the son of Bashful.

Crabby, the son of Grumpy.

Hap and Cheerful, the sons of Happy.

Snoozy, the son of Sleepy.

Doc II, the son of Doc.

Gesundheit, the son of Sneezy.

Note: I also remember there being a Sneezy Jr and a Gus but I can't find proof, so for now I'll just have them here.

--------------------------------------

Players Mentioned on the Tourney Wiki:

Brendan.

Miguel (#44).

Tyrone (#32).

Akio (#42).

William (#12).

Li (#85).

Emir (#26).

Note: Aziz was also mentioned here on the wiki.

--------------------------------------

Kids Named Only in the Movie:

Taylor (Coach Jenkins called for him during one of the tourney scenes).

--------------------------------------

School of Secrets (Book Series):

Opal, the daughter of Mama Odie.

The Tweedledum and Tweedledee cousins, the sons of Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

Yi-min, the daughter of Yao.

Carina Potts, the daughter of Mrs. Potts.

--------------------------------------

School of Secrets (Web Series):

Unnamed Kid who's Great Uncle is Smee.

Dianne Doan (narration) and Andrea Savo (screen appearances) as Secret Blogger–the unidentified girl filming Auradon Prep's students who may or may not be Lonnie.

Mark Daugherty as School Reporter.

Blake Rosier as Sleepy Jr, son of Sleepy.

Bashful Jr, son of Bashful.

Ben Stillwell as Happy student.

Maxwell Chase as Jock.

Miles Tagtmeyer as Reasonable Student.

Maybe Sarah? (As shown in Chad's phone).

--------------------------------------

Carlos‘s Scavenger hunt (Book):

Henry (White haired little boy who is Carlos's biggest fan).

Unnamed Seven Year Old Son of John Darling.

--------------------------------------

Beyond the isle of the lost (Book):

Ace.

Chester, son of the Cheshire Cat.

Katy/Katy, daughter of the smoking caterpillar.

Twee and Dee, twin daughters of Tweedledee.

Dora, daughter of the Dormouse.

Bill, the former cook of the Duchess's nephew.

--------------------------------------

Descendants 1 (Movie):

Mal, the daughter of Maleficent and Hades.

Evie, the daughter of Evil Queen.

Jay, the son of Jafar.

Carlos De Vil, the son of Cruella De Vil.

Ben, the son of Belle and Beast.

Audrey, the daughter of Aurora and Prince Phillip.

Lonnie, the daughter of Fa Mulan and Li Shang.

Chad Charming, the son of Cinderella and Prince Charming.

Jane, the daughter of the Fairy Godmother.

Doug, the son of Dopey and Doug's mother.

--------------------------------------

Rise of Red (Movie):

Red, daughter of the Queen of Hearts.

Chloe Charming, daughter of Cinderella and Prince Charming.

Maddox Hatter, the Mad Hatter's son.

Morgie, the son of Morgana le Fay.

Uliana/Ulyana, the younger sister of Ursula, and the aunt of Uma.

Unnamed Jasladdin/Jaladdin kid who can't be Aziz because the timeline doesn't work.

Zellie/Meadow, daughter of Rapunzel who may actually be Rapunzel (EDITED TO ADD NOTE: rumor has it that the actress who played Zellie/Meadow does not want her photos used, so if you do write Zellie or plan to use her character you may want to fancast/use a background character from the movies as her or avoid using photos all together. Unless it's proven otherwise).

Note: I’ve only included characters who didn’t exist before the movie. So no teenage versions of the adults. No Merlin, , and no Jack of Diamonds (since we see him as an adult only).

--------------------------------------

The Isle of the Lost (Book):

Anthony Tremaine, the son of Anastasia Tremaine.

Beelzebub, the daughter of Lucifer.

Claudine Frollo, the daughter of Claude Frollo.

Clay Clayton, the son of Clayton.

Diego De Vil, the nephew of Cruella De Vil.

Gaston Jr. and Gaston the Third, the twin sons of Gaston.

Ginny Gothel, the daughter of Mother Gothel.

Harry Badun, the son of Horace.

Jace Badun, the son of Jasper.

Jade, the niece of Jafar.

Harriet Hook, the daughter of Captain Hook.

Lagan and Derelict, the children of Flotsam and Jetsam.

LeFou Deux, the son of LeFou.

Madam Mim's granddaughters.

Othello, the son of Iago.

Sammy Smee, the son of Mr. Smee.

The Evil Step-Granddaughters, six or seven unnamed daughters of Drizella Tremaine.

The Sea Witches who may or may not be related to Ursula.

Spotted Hyenas, the children of Shenzi, Benzai, and Ed.

Reza, the son of a former Royal Astronomer of Agrabah.

Yzla, the daughter of Yzma.

--------------------------------------

Descendants Wicked World (Show):

Freddie Facilier, the daughter of Dr. Facilier.

CJ Hook, the daughter of Captain Hook.

Zevon, the son of Yzma.

Jordan, the daughter of the Genie.

Ally, the daughter of Alice.

Ruby, the daughter of Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert.

--------------------------------------

Return to the Isle of the Lost (Book):

Hadie, the son of Hades.

Mad Maddy, the granddaughter of Madam Mim.

Rick Ratcliffe, the son of Governor Ratcliffe.

Hermie Bing, the daughter of The Ringmaster.

Crocodile Descendants, the children of Tick Tock.

Herkie, the son of Hercules and Megara.

Tiger Peony, the daughter of Tiger Lily.

Artie, the son of King Arthur.

Gordon, the son of Grumpy.

Pin, the son of Pinocchio.

--------------------------------------

Rise of the Isle of the Lost (Book):

Stabbington cousins, the children of the Stabbington brothers.

Arabella, the niece of Ariel and Eric

Li Shang Jr., the son of Fa Mulan and Li Shang.

--------------------------------------

Descendants 2 (Movie):

Kristie Sita plays an unnamed blonde pirate girl amputee in purple seen in Uma’s Crew.

Uma, the daughter of Ursula.

Harry Hook, the son of Captain Hook.

Gil, the son of Gaston.

Dizzy Tremaine, the daughter of Drizella Tremaine.

Note: characters of Uma’s crew have been named in her book, but not all of them and there were plenty of other background kids from the movies and stuff that weren't named.

--------------------------------------

Uma’s Wicked Book:

Jonas, member of Uma’s crew.

Gonzo, member of Uma’s crew.

Bonny, member of Uma’s crew.

Desiree, member of Uma’s crew.

--------------------------------------

Descendants 3 (Movie):

Celia Facilier, the daughter of Dr. Facilier.

Squeaky Smee, one of the twin sons of Mr. Smee.

Squirmy Smee, one of the twin sons of Mr. Smee.

--------------------------------------

Characters Who Were Mentioned That I Have Zero Clue Where They Were Mentioned:

Pirate named Maria/Marya.

--------------------------------------

Application Kids:

A kid who's name starts with Do or Da. Might be named Dawn. May be the child of a witch/someone selling something & a builder.

Cozzy/Coco, child of a writer named 'William' and a doctor named 'Martha'.

Hector/Sticks, child of an entertaynor/entertainer named Vivian and Lotso.

Bug, child of a bug eater (mom) and the implied child of Oogie Boogie.

Seen in this post by @leftbehindtorot :

If I missed anyone, let me know. Thank you for the help, @casinotrio1965 .

#descendants #disney descendants #melissa de la cruz #disney #wicked world #descendants au #disney descendants au #descendants lists #etc

81 notes · View notes

carriedawatermelon · 27 days ago

Text

Ronancetober, prompt three. In which a fish might be dying and Nancy figures some things out. This is silly and soft. In the same universe as my prompt one fic, if you squint.

Prompt: Dead

Nancy’s pulling on her jacket and boots at 11pm on a Wednesday because Robin might’ve killed a fish.

“He’s dead, Nance. Shit, shit, shit. Or he’s gonna be. Oh my god, Dee asked me to feed him for a week and I’ve killed him.”

Fingers the Fish, Robin’s roommate’s betta, is apparently “lethargic” and there’s “a white spot on his fin, maybe?” and “he’s swimming strangely, Nance, I swear.” Nancy’s pretty sure he’s fine. Nancy’s pretty sure the way that Robin described lethargy is just…being a fish, but also, even if he’s not fine, he’s a fish.

Nancy will not let Dee be a dick over this. She will personally buy Dee another fish. She will sit with Robin when she tells her. She will nod seriously when Robin says she’s sorry and he was such a good fish. She will glare the moment Dee even implies this is Robin’s fault, and Dee will notice and stop, because she’s afraid of Nancy, and Nancy likes it that way.

For Robin’s sake, she will also attend whatever ridiculous fish funeral Dee and her performance theater people put on. The two of them will not be able to make eye contact, because they will both immediately start laughing, a lesson they learned at a harvest moon celebration that involved a set of pained, orgasmic noises thrown across an outdoor stage and into the audience by people dressed in tan turtlenecks. She will stand beside Robin and not look at her and inside she will be running a very lengthy commentary on fake problems and people who have more money than sense, which Dee and at least half her troupe do.

(She is not dissimilar to her father sometimes, but Robin tells her it’s “style over substance, Nance, which here is a good thing. Dee is more like Ted than you, when it comes to what matters.” A wicked grin. “Try not to imagine your dad on stage next time we see them.”)

It’s halfway through lacing her second boot, hunched on the little stool by her front door and considering which 7-Eleven is the best option at this hour for Robin’s favorite sour candy, that Nancy realizes. Her hands slow on her shoelaces; her back straightens; and her mouth goes dry.

“Shit,” she says into the silence of her studio apartment. There’s some panic attached to it, but not the usual kind. Certainly not the world-ending danger panic that still sometimes rockets her awake at night. Not even the minor crisis kind that comes with leaving an essay at home or cutting it close with editing deadlines.

It’s more internal, more incredulous. Less what are we going to do and more how could you not have known this? Because with the realization comes the knowledge that it’s been true for a long time. Years maybe. And Nancy has Wheeler genes, which means she is outstanding at ignoring and repressing and turning her head away when she doesn’t want to deal with her feelings. But Nancy’s also spent considerable time trying to learn not to be Ted. She sees a therapist, for god’s sake.

So it’s a really, Nancy? kind of panic there at her front door, slumped back against the wall as she stares at the little side table with her keys and Robin’s keys and the green glazed little dish Robin had made for her in the ceramics class she took their first year of college. A watercolor she did hangs next to Nancy’s bed. She’s in more than half the frames on Nancy’s bookshelves, in the Polaroids on Nancy’s fridge. She has a drawer in Nancy’s dresser and a nightstand that’s all but officially hers, books of poetry and Greek classics stacked in the opening underneath the drawer, which holds a spare pair of reading glasses that Robin wears all the way down her nose. She’s everywhere, and Nancy only wants more. Nancy’s getting herself together to make an hour-long drive on a weeknight because Robin is freaking out over a fish, and the only thing she’ll be able to do is be there with her. Nancy wants to be there with her.

Nancy is, as it turns out, entirely in love with Robin.

“Shit,” she says again, and then forces herself to lace her boots.

After a night of watching Robin watch the fish, of carding her fingers through Robin’s hair on the sofa until she falls asleep in her lap, Nancy drives them both to a pet store, which according to the Yellow Pages ad has considerable knowledge about fish. They talk to a very enthusiastic kid who reminds Nancy of her brother if he ever smiled, and they leave with some droplets. Robin hugs her so hard before she drives back to Evanston that Nancy’s sleep-deprivation-inspired grumpiness evaporates. She holds Robin tightly to herself and breathes her in, which doesn’t feel weird because it’s what she does every single time she says goodbye.

Really, Nancy?

Nancy has college friends. Nancy has good college friends. Nancy has good, queer college friends, who would absolutely mock her for what is maybe the most stereotypically lesbian thing she has ever done, and she regularly assists with set-building for the plays her friend Jamal directs, tool belt firmly in place.

She doesn’t call them.

She picks up her phone and dials a number she still knows by heart and when, on the third ring, Steve picks up with a lazy Hello, Nancy blurts, “I’m in love with Robin.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then, “Nancy?”

“I’m in love with Robin,” she says again, like she has some kind of virus that compels it.

“Nancy,” he says, slower, gentler. “Did you…did you not know?”

“Did I…” She frowns. “Did I not…”

“Oh my god,” he breathes out. “You didn’t know.”

“Steve,” she says, a little helplessly, which she hates so much it makes her want to hang up the phone.

“Oh, okay, yeah. Yeah. Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Nancy. What, uh…do you want to talk about it?” He tries, and yes, she does, because Steve is Robin’s best friend and loves her deeply and it had felt right, to call him, to call someone who could hear her love Robin and go, of course you love her, who could hum and say, isn’t she something?

Instead, she says, only half-sure she wants a real answer, “It’s that obvious?”

He’s kind, when he explains that yes it is in fact that obvious. He talks about all the things Nancy knows, the things that had shot to the front of her mind last night at the door and then in the car and with Robin’s head in her lap and while Robin nodded intently and took notes on fish care.

Really, Nancy?

“Does she know?” She asks, when she feels like she can.

“I mean, I’ve tried to tell her.” A pause. “Sorry about that. I just…uh…”

I thought you knew, he doesn’t say, and Nancy thinks about what it would have been like to realize because Robin did something before she could, pressed her lips to Nancy’s one night before they said goodbye or didn’t let go the way Nancy never wanted her to anyway when they woke up together.

“Does she…” She doesn’t finish the question. Steve shouldn’t be the one to tell her, and Nancy is coming to realize she doesn’t need him to, anyway. “Never mind.” She takes a deep breath. “Thanks, Steve. Really. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Steve laughs. “You’re driving back to Chicago,” he says, voice teasing.

“I am,” she confirms.

“It’s gonna be good, Nance,” he says, in a tone Nancy never expected to hear this way. “You both deserve something good.”

“Thanks,” she says softly. “You do, too, you know?”

“There’s actually…there’s someone you should meet. Both of you. When you come home.”

“Melissa?” Nancy asks, and Steve groans.

“Jesus, Robin. I should’ve known she’d be telling you everything.”

“Not everything,” Nancy corrects. “But she’s very excited about this one. She likes the way you talk about her. She likes the way she makes you feel,” she says, using Robin’s phrasing.

“She makes me feel good,” he says, and Nancy smiles into the receiver.

“Good.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Anyway, Wheeler, stop talking to me and go get the girl. And be prepared for me to ask you about your intentions when you come home for spring break.”

“I don’t think you want to hear about my intentions,” Nancy says, a little lecherously, and Steve barks a laugh.

“Uh-huh, stud, good try but remember how we started this call.”

“Stud?” She snorts, but she does remember. “Thank you again. Really.”

“Go, go,” Steve says, and she hangs up and does just that.

Robin’s got class, and Nancy’s skipping one of her own to make the drive back, but she doesn’t care. It’s an art history survey for a gen ed requirement, massive and boring and Lisa will give her notes anyway. She lets herself into the apartment twenty minutes before Robin’s class lets out, which means she probably has forty-five or so to wait anxiously on Robin’s couch before she gets back.

She stares at Fingers, at the medicine droplets and the page with Robin’s notes sitting next to his bowl. He looks fine. He looks like a fish. He swims in circles.

She tries to read, a long form piece mentioned in one of her journalism classes on Robin’s coffee table where she’d left it last weekend. Eventually, she gives up, eyes unfocused on the page.

When Robin’s key turns in the lock, she’s back staring at Fingers. “Hi,” she calls out.

“Nance?” Robin’s tossing her jacket on the hook, grinning around the corner to see her. Her face falls when she sees Nancy, whose own smile must be an anxious mess.

“He’s not dead,” she says, voice shaking a little, and Robin’s got her arms at Nancy’s biceps, eyes checking over her frantically.

“Nancy, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Really, Nancy?

“Nothing,” she says, forcing a breath, reaching up to squeeze at Robin’s hands on her arms and then stepping forward and wrapping her own around Robin, burying her nose in the fabric of her sweater.

Robin’s arms close around her immediately, holding her closer, and her cheek rests on Nancy’s head as she says, “Okay. Okay. Are you sure? Because you looked…and you’re back here even though…shit, Nance, you have class. What’s wrong?”

Last night I was putting on my boots to come comfort you over a not-dead fish and I realized I was in love with you and it’s both the best thing that’s ever happened to me and terrifying.

That’s not quite what she wants. Nancy’s good at words. She’s going to make a career of it. She’s also brave. She’s had to be. And Steve’s right. This is going to be good. This is Robin, and it’s going to be so, so good.

“I’ve been an idiot,” she says, and then pulls back. Her eyes flash to Fingers, still not dead, and she links her hands with Robin’s, pulls her to the sofa. She wants to look at her and be close to her, so she pulls one leg up and presses it against Robin’s knees where they’re crossed, keeps their fingers linked. Robin’s blue eyes are tracking her closely, concerned, and Nancy reaches up to run a thumb over the furrow between them.

Really, Nancy? But now she’s going to do something about it.

“You’re my favorite person,” she says, and Robin’s worry stays, but a blush blooms in her cheeks. She keeps talking before Robin can say something sweet. “Last night, I was putting on my boots and thinking about you. That’s normal. I’m always thinking about you. Which is another reason why I’m an idiot for not…” She sighs and Robin’s head is slightly tilted now, eyes questioning and blush deep and beautiful against her pale skin. She stays quiet, for Nancy. “Anyway, last night I was thinking about how to make you feel better about Fingers and I was imagining the nightmare funeral Dee would have for him. And I thought about you laughing at that Harvest Moon performance and I realized…I realized I’m in love with you. And I have been for…for a long time.”

“Oh my god,” Robin says lowly, and then she leans forward and kisses Nancy deeply, hands framing her face and tongue licking into her mouth, and Nancy climbs into her lap and holds tight.

Six months later, Fingers dies, and Robin shows up at Nancy’s apartment with the flyer for the funeral, bottom lip in her teeth and laughter in her eyes. They go, dressed in blue and purple as requested, a tribute to his kind. When the lights dim in the basement, a rhythmic grunting emanating from backstage, Nancy squeezes Robin’s hand tightly and does not look at her. When the troupe emerges in jewel tone leotards, writhing and wailing with one another, she feels Robin’s body shaking with laughter. They make it, barely, snacking on vegan cookies and giving a weepy Dee a hug before hustling back to Nancy’s car.

Tears stream down Robin’s face, her breathing ragged with laughter, and Nancy thumbs them away and kisses her. “Rest in peace, Fingers,” she says solemnly, sending Robin off again, and she’s so gorgeous when she laughs.

Nancy’s in love with her. Really.

#ronance #ronance fic #ronancetober

31 notes · View notes

the-halls-of-hatchetfield-high · 4 months ago

Text

well hi there ツ

welcome to the hallowed halls of Hatchetfield High School!

gosh are we pleased to have ya!

... unless you're a Clivesdale loser (in which case, go get f*****)

anyways, feel free to pop in and interact with us!

you can ask anything, or request interactions/scenes between characters and we'll get back to ya in a jiffy :D

you can also chat to finnley (an OC) (they exist in the universe and can be interacted with, or interact with the other characters as you please ♡)

we each have handy dandy colour codes (with our id pics so that you know who you're asking!), you can check them out below.

we look forward to hearing from you super soon,

have a lah dee da da day!

˗ˏˋ pete ´ˎ˗ ˗ˏˋ richie ´ˎ˗ ˗ˏˋ ruth ´ˎ˗

˗ˏˋ steph ´ˎ˗ ˗ˏˋ max ´ˎ˗ ˗ˏˋ grace ´ˎ˗

✿ other RP accounts welcome and encouraged to interact with any characters!! ✿

☺ emoji anons welcome! ☺

*✧ key info under the cut ✧*

// finn. ༄ twenties. they/he. main blog: @riddlingabout //

// any ooc asks, psa posts, or responses will be written like this, and tagged #⋆.˚꩜ finn the admin //

┌─────────────────────┐

please note!

(it's a lot of text so key points are bolded)

~ you can interact with ANY characters from NPMD or select characters from tgwdlm and black friday, please ask if you're unsure! ~

i like to treat each ask as individual, so the characters will interact with you as if it's separate to other asks.

this means you can have fun and total freedom with what / how many / how often you ask questions, and also that the characters can interact with each other or other characters / ships in various ways (e.g. max flirting with grace doesn't stop him flirting with richie, or you, or finn in another ask)

if you'd like to have ongoing interactions with characters or for them to remember you please:

⋙ specify a link to a previous ask,

⋙ name / reblog running RPs

⋙ claim an anon emoji / name! (see below for taken nonnies!)

anons (who have our hearts <3):

🌌, 🌙, 🌸, 🏹, ☀️, 👑, 🦇, 🐐⌛️, 👻, 🦈, 🪶, 🦖, 🐸, 💌🐚☕️, 👁, 🎵🌍🪱, 🧀, 🪼, 🍀, 🏈, 🌿, 🌲, 👁️🪽, 📻

you're more than welcome to flirt with characters (i love flirting) but please be mindful of the fact that i am not a minor (in my twenties) and act accordingly. minors, please do not interact in nsfw ways.

└─────────────────────┘

☆ also, i'm australian, i'll do my darnedest to spell things the american way (hmb anyone, anyone?) but if i slip up, i'm really sorry! ☆

//also also, check out @askhatchetfieldhigh, they inspired me to make this blog (and we have the same colour associations for each character!!) they're wicked cool and i adore them and their blog! //

blog tags:

#nerdy prudes must ask ~ general asks and interactions

#･ ˖˚ ꕤ ask finnie ~ finnley puckett's diary (oc asks / interactions)

#･ ˖˚ ✎ ask petey ~ pete spankoffski's diary (asks / interactions)

#･ ˖˚ ツ ask richie ~ richie lipschitz's diary (asks / interactions)

#･ ˖˚ ✩ ask ruthie ~ ruth fleming's diary (asks / interactions)

#･ ˖˚ ☾ ask stephie ~ steph lauter's diary (asks / interactions)

#･ ˖˚ ༄ ask maxie ~ max jägerman's diary (asks / interactions)

#･ ˖˚ 𐙚 ask gracie ~ grace chasity's diary (asks / interactions)

#nerdy prudes must RP ~ role play scenes and interactions

#⋆.˚꩜ finn the admin ~ admin replies / interactions

#🎨 hatchetfield high art showcase 🫶🏻 ~ fan art!!

(i CANNOT believe that this is a tag i get to create, but your art means the WORLD to me, especially finnley art !! and I want to always be able to find and cherish them, and share them with the beautiful community on this blog <3333)

(thank you very much to @inklore and @saradika-graphics for the CUTEST dividers, they make me so so happy and make the characters feel that much more real

49 notes · View notes

johnwickb1tsch · 8 months ago

Text

A Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 6 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and now featuring @tammykelly

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

ALL CHAPTERS

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

Bradford keeps you cuffed to this chair for a whole lot longer than you can stand. You’ve tried getting out, but only succeeded in cutting steel into your wrists and ankles, leaving bloody raw rings that sting and throb.

You’re not a medical professional by any means, but you know it just can’t be a good thing that your fingers and toes are numb and stiff and bloodless. Of course, maybe that’s in part due to the temperature of this room - the room that he has left you in to rot.

No, not rot, it’s too damn cold to decompose. Freezing. Like the dead of winter without snow. And all you have is this little ripped sundress to protect from it.

Bradford left you here bolted to the floor after letting you know that when you were ready to give up information on Tex and John, you could just say so and it would end.

You won’t. You won’t give that asshole the satisfaction. But, god, you’re cold, thirsty, listless, unable to flex your fingers without hot pain shooting up your arm. And really, you don’t know much about your boys, anyway, right? Except for what the inside of John’s house looks like and the brand of the sometimes too strong cologne Tex uses that makes your nose crinkle up and your toes curl. Little stuff. Would revealing that hurt them?

Of course it would. Of course these government parasites would latch onto every little detail and use it to smoke your boys out. You keep your mouth shut, your eyes on the table. You want to bawl, sob, scream, but make a solemn vow not to give Bradford anything except a blank glare.

You don’t know how you actually manage to fall asleep like this, but a cold bucket water wakes you up, screaming and thrashing, handcuffs cutting deeper into your flesh, blood in the water pooling at your feet.

“Wakey, wakey,” Bradford tells you. “Time to go watch Tweedle Dee and Dumb die.”

“Fuck you,” you try to say, but the chatter of your teeth and violent tremor of your muscles make it impossible to form coherent insults.

Four of Bradicks goons manhandle you into the trunk of a car, and, honest, you do try and fight, kick and bite and scratch while they uncuff you from the chair only to string you back together again.

Before Bradford can close the trunk of the SUV, you look up at him and ask, “why?”

He flicks damp hair off your mouth in an almost fond gesture. “You’re insufferable, anyone ever tell you that?”

You manage to find the gumption and roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, bigger and badder men than you, agent fuckwad.”

He slams the trunk down, leaving you in the darkness. And whoever the driver of this car is does not go gently into this good night. They make sure you roll around and slam into seats and knobs and handles and acquire some nasty bruises.

The next time you see anything, it’s bathed in the white fire headlights of a car army. You feel the need to fold in on yourself, cover up the welts and bruises and wet, shredded, clinging dress. You didn’t even bother to put underwear on before you started rummaging through the kitchen, and now here you are half naked and shaking in front of a group of angry Russians with big guns.

A young man with a thick accent - you assume him to be the recent successor of the Nobokov Bratva - smiles and it sends ice through your blood. “Hank,” he calls, like he’s seeing an old friend. “How are you?”

“Fuck off, Igor. Where are they? And before you go into some fucking Russian monologue about debts and consequences, know that we have a time limit here. I don’t come out in 3 minutes, the agency lights your boys up with c4.”

Igor’s grin turns wider.

The body with the black hood over its face is one you intimately recognize. Your fears are only confirmed as the hood gets torn off and Tex’s bloody, bruised face is revealed.

You make a desperate, croaking sound, and try to go to him, but Bradford pulls you back by the scruff of your neck. You’re pathetic. A pawn in a game. A speck of dust hiding in a corner that can’t even save itself from the vacuum.

“His buddy gave him up,” Igor explains. “Turns out John Wick isn’t that tough when you pin him against a hundred men and his only ally.”

Bradford nudges his gun into the air. “We had a deal, Igor. Both of them. And my wife.”

Igor clicks his tongue like he’s disappointed. It reminds you of John. You feel hot tears spring down cool cheeks. Tex. That fucking bastard. Of course he would sell John out. You should have expected it, but your heart still aches.

You look at John, and he looks back, only able to keep one eye open because the other one is swollen shut. He winks at you, and even though the grin on his face is a weaker version of what it usually is, you know for a fact that this is not John Wick. Oh. Oh.

“Hank,” Igor continues, “do you really need Texas Johnson if you have John Wick? Baba Yaga? How many confirmed kills under his bloody belt? Oh, it must be in the thousands now, eh John?” Igor kicks Tex on the hip, making him grunt in pain.

You glare at the bastard son, and he turns his wicked smile on you. “Ah, this one has fire, and I hear she likes being kidnapped. Maybe I’ll kidnap her for a while before I kill her.”

Bradford gets a ding on his walkie. “Yeah?”

Something about moving in and securing the target and cutting losses, and Bradford sighs.

He pushes you forward, and you land on the wet gravel face first. “My wife, Igor.”

“Oh, yeah, you know you really should have just called her yourself, Hank. These chicken shit assholes didn’t even go to the trouble of actually taking her. They used ai technology to clone her voice.” Igor chuckles. “Don’t worry, we all make mistakes.”

“Fucking bastard,” Bradford - Hank - spits at Tex.

You raise your head to look at him, see his handsome face maybe one more time, and Tex Johnson is scowling, seething, an animal that only gets angrier the more you beat it.

Just like how John’s rare smile unnerved you, Tex’s glare does the same. You’re not sure how it happens. You’re not even sure you’re alive - not after fire tears through the sky and shakes the ground and busts your eardrums open. But Tex is not in handcuffs anymore, and he’s wrapping his arms around you. Gunshots, screaming. One minute you’re in the dirt - the middle of a war zone, and the next you’re cradled against something solid, broad and warm, watching the ground zip by.

You touch your saviors cheek, feel the rough blood caking his facial hair. If you’re dead, this is heaven. Because Tex has got you and you somehow know that he’ll die before ever letting you go again.

“Where’s John?” You ask.

“I missed you too, rattlesnake.”

Johnwickb1tsch:

You are hiding behind a boulder with Tex, his steady arm around your shoulders, holding you upright, if you’re being honest. Bradford’s unkind methods of keeping you immobile rendered your limbs into an unreliable fucking mess.

One last distance to cover, Tex claims, before you reach your getaway vehicle, and with any luck, freedom.

You hurt everywhere, and all you want is to go home.

“What was that, rattlesnake?”

You realize you accidentally said that part aloud, and you sigh, banging your head back against the rock. How insane is it, that your idea of home now is a soft bed with Tex and John wrapped around you?

You should be enemies.

You should be fighting this tooth and nail, trying to find your own escape that doesn’t involve Bradford, the Bratva, or your assassin Beaus.

But the fact is…you don’t want to, anymore.

The system that was supposed to protect innocents like you instead fucked you royally, exposing the true corrupt underbelly of the way the world actually works. You’re beginning to grasp that it’s all a construct to keep the little people like you in line. The elite need a complacent workforce, after all. And that makes you question everything else you’d ever thought was wrong, or right, or something in between.

Tex is looking at you intently, even through his swollen eye, a warmth in his gaze that makes your insides melt. Fuck it. You all might die today. Maybe you should tell him. “I said—”

A hail of bullets cuts you off, Tex shoving you down nearly into the ground. He returns fire with a pistol he picked up from a dead Russian, and you press your hands over your ears, already half deaf from all the explosions and gunfire. Apparently the FBI had descended on the Bratva in what they thought was an ambush, and John…John was killing everyone.

You’d seen a glimpse of it from a distance while Tex had been pulling you to safety. The absolutely savage beauty with which John killed. It was like watching a vicious deadly dance, the artful way that man could seemingly effortlessly unalive a group of armed and dangerous people was a sight to behold.

“I know it’s you, Tex!” rises a hoarse voice from the darkness beyond.

“What’s it to ya, Bradford?” answers Tex, checking his clip to see how many shots remain. He frowns at the one bullet he has left, and he slides it home back into the gun with a menacing click. racking the slide to feed it.

“Slick trick you two played. Well done.”

“Thank you kindly!” Tex looks down at you, making a jerking-off motion with his hand and rolling his eyes. It makes you giggle quietly to yourself, winning that heart-stopping devil-may-care grin.

The fact that the two of you can joke at a time like this probably means you’re both half insane. You’re probably in shock, which is your excuse. You’re afraid Tex doesn’t have one.

“Give me the girl and I’ll let you go!” offers Bradford, winning an incredulous scowl and a shake of the head from Tex. The FBI agent sounds haggard. Desperate. Tex hopes he can take advantage of that. He peers around the boulder and squeezes off a single shot.

This is answered with a full-on barrage, and then the clicking of an empty gun. “Fuck,” you hear off in the distance.

“Stay here,” Tex mouths silently at you. You shake your head, clinging to him, desperate not to be left alone in this chaos. Gripping your chin none too gently, Tex kisses you hard, stealing your breath, and your senses. His hand possessively runs up your thigh, to your bare ass, squeezing you with his fingers maddeningly close to your center. With a devilish glitter in his eye he licks his fingers, whispering, “Keep that warm for me, darlin’.” He renders you into a befuddled little puddle of molten desire, then disappears into the night.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck!

You hear more gunfire, then grunting, the sound of flesh striking flesh. You dare to peek out from your hiding place to see Tex and Bradford fighting with fists, grappling on the ground. Tex gets the upper hand, straddling the FBI agent. Between punches he snarls, “Did I—” punch “hear you,” punch “lay hands” punch “on my woman” punch “over the phone?” punch “you piece” punch “of pig-fucking shit?”

By the time Tex is done with him Bradford can’t give an intelligible answer, just groans with excruciating pain through broken teeth and bloodied lips.

Tex spits on him before standing, and delivers a kick to the man’s ribs for good measure. Bradford grunts again, coughing blood. You run out from behind the boulder on shaky legs, and Tex loops his arm over your shoulders again, pulling you in the direction of your escape route. You’re not sure who’s leaning on who more now.

You look back at Bradford one last time—and see he’s pointing a gun in your direction, specifically, at Tex’s broad back. “Tex!”

You don’t know why you do what you do. It just happens, and you are throwing your weight with what little strength you have left against Tex’s body. “Wha—”

It seems simultaneous. The report of Bradford’s last shot, and a searing pain in your side. It burns, and you whimper in Tex’s arms. He’s shouting something at you, maybe your name, or bawling you out for being stupid. Your ears are ringing, and you watch as though through a tunnel as John—dressed in a black western-style shirt a-la Tex—emerges from the shadows, and shoots Bradford in the head.

“What fucking part of keep her safe and I’ll do the rest did you not understand?” snarls John, going to his knees beside you, his laser-like stare fixed on your side.

“I was!” protests Tex, equally as worried as they examine you. “Goddammit, woman, why did you do that?”

“Shut up,” you manage weakly, winning yourself a grin despite everything.

John produces a black handkerchief, folding it and pressing it to your wound. It hurts. “Keep pressure on it. Time to go.”

They help you to your feet—but your legs aren’t really working. You almost fall again, but Tex hoists you in his arms. “I got you, honey. You’re ok.” You’re not sure who he’s trying to reassure more—you, or him. But you nestle your cheek against his collarbone, and your thought from earlier returns. Home.

Through heavy lids you are vaguely aware of the boys—your boys—loading you into some kind of 4x4 vehicle. As it starts with a mean grumble and you pull away with tires spinning in the dirt you pass out.

-----------------------------

Murmuring voices. A beeping machine. So annoying.

Hands on your side, pulling, prodding. You wish it would stop.

Voices speaking rapidly, not in English.

The bright flash of treetops and sunlight speeding past.

Palm trees. Blue skies. Birds singing.

Fingers sliding through your hair. “You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart. Promise.”

Promises, promises, promises.

When at last you wake, you feel as though you’ve been dreaming for days.

Your vision focuses selectively. First, upon the sloping contours of a muscled bare back adorned with black ink. The chiseled cut of a bicep, and raven-dark waves of hair. Beyond that you see a gauzy curtain waving in the breeze, the shimmer of impossibly blue water just visible beyond. You hear waves, and the plaintive call of sea birds. You can smell salt on the breeze.

Oh. So you’re not dead. Isn’t that nice?

There is a furnace of a body behind you as well, a heavy hand upon the curve of your hip.

The warmth you feel, not just on your skin, but kindling in your heart…is a wonderful, damnable thing.

You lift your head a little, winning a grumble of protest from behind you.

Then you notice dark eyes shining from behind the curtain of that mop of hair on the pillow next to you. “Hello, beautiful.”

“John?” Your voice sounds like you swallowed a cup of borax, like you haven’t spoken in a week. You reach out to touch him, and find that even that makes your side ache.

“Next time,” advises your assassin boyfriend no 1, kissing your fingers, “Just let Tex take the bullet.”

“Hey,” grumbles Tex from behind you, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “That’s not nice.”

__________________

Sweetwolfcupcake:

Things are slow at first. You remember you were thirsty--parched, to be precise, you drank around a jugful of water and you remembered that everything ached. Especially your side. Left shoulder.

How lucky, you think cynically, could have been your spine cord.

Then, Tex gave you a pill, and you were awake enough to eat before you fell asleep again.

This time, you are more aware, more coherent, and surprisingly far more tolerant of the pain. Or maybe it is the painkiller in your system. Whatever, the pain is not a bitch on your shoulder, on your whole body anymore. The bed is soft, it seems like it's late and you are wide awake.

You are alone in the room, you notice. Although (surprisingly), it is a little bit disheartening, it helps you to think. Process things, finally after the storm is over and it has left a silence behind.

So, your life was pretty normal, and then you became an accidental witness to a crime, you were whisked away by the two assassins who were paid to kill you and somehow they decided that you are interesting enough to be kept alive and to be taken for themselves. You are practically dead for the world. They faked it. No one is coming to get you. The one person you thought was on the right side, turned out to be the villain in your story.

Now, coming to Bradford--- asshole showed his true face, the fuckling system failed you, your moral beliefs, your perspectives, everything has toppled down, turned into ashes and through this wasteland, emerge these two handsome assassins who eerily look exactly the same and harbour similar affections for you.

Also, you are falling in love with them.

With your brain in survival mode, you had not even properly registered the torture Bradford put you through, and the dangerous situation he pushed you into. Heck, you barely understood anything before pushing Tex away and taking a bullet for him.

You don't understand where you stand, where your relationship with them stands. But if they are willing to risk themselves to save you. It might just mean something.

You don't feel the tears streaming down your face, not until a few drops land on your hand. You are finally processing. And of course, you are at the brink of ugly crying.

If someone advised you to ugly cry a few days ago, you might have rather held things up within, bottled it all up, gulped it down and raised your chin instead.

But now, you think of it as the only way. You need to let it all out. Too much has happened. Too much has changed too soon. So you allow yourself to ugly cry, not counting the ticking of the clock, not heeding to your pain, not even hearing the door open with urgency.

"Hey, hey, hey--what's wrong, what's wrong?"

It isn't Tex's panicked voice that pulls you out of your deep dive into your own pit of loss, confusion, and misery, but rather his touch, his hands cupping your cheek.

Funny how a few weeks ago, you would rather take any possible escape route to slip through their clutches, and now you can recognize them by their mere touch.

Through the blur of your tears you can see his worried expression, especially his panicked eyes. You feel the bed dip beside you and fingers running through your hair.

"It's alright, let it out, let it all out."

John's voice is steady and soothing as he tries to comfort you. He is much better at deciphering and handling your situation, you assume.

"Does it hurt?" John asks, wiping away your tears. You look up to meet his concerned gaze. But there is something else in it-- something dark, sinister. "What did he do to you?"

You instantly know that he's speaking about Bradford. His thumb rubs against your sore wrist. So, he knows... Of course he knows. Your eyes flicker between your wrist and his eyes. His burning orbs that let you get a hint of why is he so feared in the underworld.

But you have no energy to elaborate any further, you have no energy to even reply. You just shake your head and look away. Lips still quivering, eyes wanting to be, ironically, anywhere but on them.

Tex mutters something under his breath that sounds more or less like a snarl, but you're too far gone to care. You feel John's fingers back on your hair, but you don't look his way. His touch is comforting, yes, but you can't bring yourself to acknowledge that.

Too bad because it is the softest Tex has sounded so far. Nothing is teasing or mean about him at the moment. You would have teased him for the panic in his voice, but you just can't bring yourself to care. It doesn't even occur to you to pass any comment.

Everything that has happened has finally dawned upon you, and you have at last acknowledged it. It's all too much, too bad, and you feel yourself spiraling. But deep down, you know. You somehow know that they won't let you fall into the abyss.

Tammykellly:

- a flashback-

You feel like you are one of the dead doves, forever frozen in a cage that is deafening loneliness and drug-like need for love. Love that’s gonna give you purpose to keep waking up. A visceral need to love and be loved. Love with a price tag of $2.5 million.

Sofa cushions bend under your weight, before you take a sip of your tea. You notice birds fly in the distance, across the dawn sky. You can’t remember the last time you woke up before the sunrise. But this sunrise feels cold and almost menacing. As hot water makes contact with your throat, your chest tightens, as you think of how those little creatures can fly anywhere they wish to, almost always together, in a flock. Your gaze shifts to the water, trickling across the porch outside the panoramic windows, and a tiny squirrel, running around the backyard, bringing food to its nest, before a cat comes to catch it. You feel a sigh, escaping your mouth.

You lean back, listening to the sound of silence. When you’re alone, the peaceful world inside the house is so otherworldly mundane in the sense that you’ve never known before. Your ears take in the distant sound of the washing machine in the laundry room, loaded up by one of the boys, who, you’re sure, are out and about by now. Your eyes notice the dim blueish hue of the living room, that’s connected to the kitchen and the terrace, the misty colour of which seems to have bent the glass, separating both worlds. Two worlds, divided by the bulletproof glass. One world - mocking you, the other - keeping you away from it.

You try not to notice a lump in your throat and burning sensation in your eyes. You don’t bother to wipe a tear, running down your cheek, before placing the cup on the designer coffee table. For you don’t think you should hold anything right now, when, in fact, you can’t hold anything in at all. Your arms wrap around your body, bringing you anything but warmth - a reminder that you’re alone, so utterly alone, no one will see you’re inside this glass house, built by your captors.

But what you don’t know is, the walls have eyes. The walls have ears. And shadows in between the walls hide secrets, spilt by the devils. One of which is watching you with his intense obsidian eyes just around the shadowy corner, letting you cry your heart out, for he knows some lines aren’t meant to be crossed. Yet. He’ll make sure to be your comfort, but for now, he’s just an observer, for he guesses he’s the reason why your cries fill the space. John’s gaze takes in your broken, lonely shaking form, as you’re holding yourself in the middle of the sofa. A tiny smirk curls up the corners of his lips.

The code that is you turns out to be so easy to crack.

You wake up on the couch in the living room from the warmth that touches your skin. The cold blue of the early morning has been replaced by bright yellow midday sunlight. You hear clinking in the kitchen and steady steps towards you, as you stretch. A cup of hot tea appears in front of you, as if it’s been waiting for you to wake up to taste it. Your eyes lock with jet-black chocolate ones, warmth radiating off them, making you feel more cozy and relaxed than the soft cushions you’re sitting on and the scent of your tea.

You feel the sofa fabric dip beside you, a warm body now sitting next to you. John smiles at you: “Change of plans, princess, you’re spending the day with me”. You can’t help but return the gesture, before quickly touching your puffy cheeks and dried up tears. “Oh, what a delight”, - you sit in a way your body is facing his, “what’s Tex up to?” John watches you throw one arm on the back of the couch, taking it as a sign to slightly lean in closer.

He says: “You’re here with me and asking about him?” The warmth of the teacup plays on your fingers again, before it touches your lips that hold a reminiscent scent of toothpaste you’ve used in the morning: “Y’all are like two peas in a pot. One can’t go without the other”. John quirks an eyebrow, seeing you freeze, your mouth slightly open upon realisation. He darkly chuckles but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes: “Cowboy has really gotten to you, hasn’t he?” He can’t help but notice how adorably innocent your wide eyes gaze up at him, still in shock you’re picking up Tex’s manner of speaking.

John lets you place the cup back on the coffee table, and you feel his large hand around your wrist, pulling you closer. “Get over here. Now”, - he tells you, his muscular thighs now in between yours, the thin layer of your silky pyjama shorts doing absolutely nothing, apart from making you feel the harsh fabric of his jeans. He feels your arms loosely wrap around his neck, never breaking the eye contact, letting you study him however much you want, akin to a shark, showing its fins through the murky waters, before disappearing into the depths of the unknown.

And it works, for you’ve been caught by his mesmerising charm, as you notice how pretty he can be from up close, so serenely majestic, wrapped up in your arms, his energy never letting you fully escape him. You run your fingers through his raven hair, mixed with silver strands. You can’t help but feel stuck in the emanating jet-black radiance of his eyes, that you discover have many colours you haven’t seen before.

And that’s how you learn darkness has different shades and they all taste like John. You lean down to kiss him, which he reciprocates without missing a beat, bringing you closer to the whirlpool that might drown you one day. You play with each other’s power of will for a while before you have to pull away for air.

“You taste like oblivion”, - you whisper against his lips. “What does that mean?”, - he replies, a curious glint in his eyes and his lips eager to feel yours again before you let him relish your sweet flavour once more. You pull away slightly to look him in the eyes, watching him study you. You simply state: “It means there’s no way out”, watching a smile appear on his face again, as his hand travels to the back of your neck: “You’re going to be a good girl for us, right?” You don’t reply. For it’s not about the possibility of the fall anymore, but the depth of the crash.

Playful midday sunlight slowly grows into early evening specks of light, splashed across the living room that you’ve been in and out of. Your crying session in the early morning seems like a distant memory, replaced by conversations with John and slow afternoon sex.

Could this be a dream come true?

You can’t help but look over at John, feeling his magnetic gaze on you. Instead of feeling stiff like you often would under his intense dark eyes that emit power and control, you choose to embrace this new feeling of being seen. Moments turn into long seconds, passing through the slick of time in between the kisses.

“Baby”, - John calls you quietly. You hum in response to his lips against your neck. “I want you to fuck me”, - he tells you before looking up into your eyes, that strong threatening flavour of power and attraction catching you deeper in its web.

“Huh?” - you can only manage to get out of your mouth, that might hit the floor at this rate. Strands of hair fall across the man’s face, as he tilts his head, his hawk-like eyes testing the limits of your self-control. He doesn’t wait for you to continue: “Fuck me, before I change my mind”. You don’t even try to hide the possibilities flashing through your eyes from him, knowing exactly what he expects of you.

Behave, be a good girl. It’s all just a game.

You lean down to kiss him, before dragging your lips across the sensitive skin of his throat. “If that’s what you want, sir”, - you lick up to his jawline, before his palm finds its place on your cheek. “Is this what you want?” - he questions and you believe he sounds genuine. For the first time, he watches a playful and almost cunning sparkle appear in your irises. He doesn’t believe the sound of your voice when you tell him: “I want you to beg”, which makes him smirk. Your fingers inch closer to his pubic bone and nether, as you expectantly look at him, at last, giving him the taste of his own medicine.

“Please, fuck me, babygirl”, - John calmly asks, though swallowing, when you wrap your hand around him. Now it’s your turn to return the smirk. “You gotta do better than that, sir”, - you begin to pump him harder, watching his chest rise and fall a bit deeper, as he twitches against your skin when you swipe your thumb across the most sensitive part. It’s so satisfying, seeing a man like him cracking down because of you. A little rattlesnake pinned against a serpent.

“I need you to fuck me”, - his breath becomes a bit more shallow, “now. Please”. You line him up before starting to painstakingly slowly sink down on him, not breaking the eye contact that makes you both feel like the house of glass is about to burst into shards around you. “As you wish”, - you kiss him and bite his lower lip, seeing the way his eyelashes flutter, when you close the distance between your bodies in one move and feel his full length inside of you.

John’s hands grip your thighs, but you don’t move, his questioning eyes find your teasing ones. “I told you to beg”, - you whisper, “so be a good boy and fucking do as you’re told”. You add: “Sir”, for good measure. John’s fingers sink deeper into your skin, both of you knowing it’s gonna get bruised later, which makes you involuntarily clench around him, receiving a guttural hiss from him.

“I want you to fuck yourself on me so hard that the only thing you’ll remember is how to scream my name”, - John’s tongue collects the sweat, dripping down your chest, as you slowly move your hips, both of you feeling every part of the other’s body in the most delightfully hot sense possible. His hands guide you to increase your speed, which you cannot get ahold of controlling anymore. You feel John’s breath on your face: “And you’re gonna do, as you’re told, princess”, he sucks your lower lip and kisses you hard, which earns him a moan from your lips against his mouth. John looks up at you, his eyes filled with brooding darkness that holds a promise of a tsunami, something so primal you dare not to even attempt to overpower. “Yes, sir”, your shuddering breath barely escapes, before his lips hungrily find yours again and you feel yourself move against him, without his hands on your hips, as if your only purpose is to please him.

As the sound of sloppy kisses and moans fill the living room, you don’t care to pay attention to the way John takes in your sweaty form that he knows is desperate for him, while you pick up the pace, his hands placed loosely around your waist. His eyes lazily roll over your body, down to where your skin meets one another, his chest filling with pride and joy that he is the one making cracks appear all over the essence that is you and everything about you.

With every thrust and love bite, you feel yourself lose the control and further tangle in the triangle of devilish delusions, daunting dreams and dangerous desire. With every deep kiss from John, you let go of your position in the Devils’ game and succumb to the faceless decay, akin to a house of cards eaten to ashes by the flames of pretense and a masquerade of hopes. John’s arms pull you closer to his heated body in a possessive embrace, every fibre of his being titillated by the thought of you. For, as you and John cross the joint everlasting limit, you become the incandescence of a fire and the event horizon of all consuming oblivion.

- present -

You get off Tex, his arms still wrapped around your body, the AC blasting on both of you, as you watch the Seychelles sun grow closer to the horizon. Tex kisses you sweetly, making you smile against him: “What was that for?”, you lean back to take a long look at him. “Nothing”, - he replies cheekily, putting a loose strand of hair between your ear. “It’s never nothing with you”, - you chuckle, basking in sunset light, letting Tex stare at your magic after sex glow. You lay your gaze back on him, as he asks: “Is this how you see me?” You feel the warm sunlight lick your skin, as you put your silky dress back on, still careful around the almost completely healed bullet wound, still not used to seeing it on your body. You sit back down: “I don’t know, you tell me. We are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal”. You and Tex watch the ocean waves sparkle under the setting sun, cloudless sky turning more orange and pink with each passing moment of silence between you. You feel a small sigh leave your mouth, thinking about what happened months ago, hoping the sentimental softness for the two men would slip away from your heart with specks of dust.

The more you think about it, the more you begin to sense your blood flow through your veins, your cheeks painted with blush not just because of the sun and the sex.

First, months ago, there was a flood of tears and denial. Now, anger takes the stage, setting up the diverse uncanny possibilities for a deal with the Devil.

You clench your jawline and let it go before saying as softly as you can: “Hey, listen…uh…I gotta talk to you about something”, from the corner of your eye, you can vaguely make out Tex turn his head to face you, as you keep the ocean and palm trees in your direct view, “It’s been bothering me for quite a while and I know it might seem like a silly little thing to you, but it matters to me a lot”.

You finally look at him, choosing not to divide your attention on the way his eyes and skin beautifully glow under orange sunset lights. “Okay, lay it on me”, - Tex tells you in a soft voice, as you pace your breath, so as not to give into the temptation of letting him see right through you.

“It’s about the day I got kidnapped and shot”, you watch Tex stiffen.

“Why didn’t you give me something to cover myself up?” - you question, tilting your head, watching Tex’s eyebrow twitch.

“What are you talking about?”, you hear his deep voice.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you”, - you tighten your jawline again for a split second, “you saw I was literally butt ass naked and you didn’t even offer anything to cover it”. A shuddered breath from the man next to you enters your personal space, as he replies: “There wasn’t enough time”. You raise your brow: “But there was plenty of time to touch me, wasn’t there? You just didn’t care enough, did you?”

You calmly watch him search your eyes, though the smile you have put on reflects none of how you feel. For how you feel is far from letting his hand brush against yours. Your hand slips away onto your thigh, while Tex apologises: “Listen, I’m sorry. I’ll never forgive myself for what happened. All I could think about was saving you”. You stop yourself from clenching your fist, sending an unkind smirk his way.

“Oh, you want a cookie? Having to save me is nothing to be proud of. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place”, a cushion next to you dips, as the man shifts, while you continue: “and, Tex, I was so fucking scared I thought I was out of my mind”.

You poke his chest: “Admit it, you see me as nothing more or less than a plaything”.

Tex seizes the opportunity to snatch your hand, which, in turn, makes you flinch, as he smiles: “That’s not true. You’re my woman”, you shakily wiggle your hand out of his grasp, crossing your arms, chuckling, unamused: “Yeah…I heard when you were punching the life out of Brad”, your voice full of sarcasm and venom, “well, guess what, Tex Johnson, you don’t let dozens of blood thirsty men watch your woman’s private parts”.

Tex doesn’t reply, so you continue: “and it’s not even the fact that you didn’t offer your clothes to cover me that makes me mad”, you inhale slowly before looking into his eyes, illuminated by something more than sunlight. “It’s the fact that you further took away my dignity by touching me. I felt so exposed, so vulnerable and hurt”, your voice raises slightly, your fingers digging into your skin, “and you took advantage of that. You just wanted to show off, didn’t you?”

Suddenly, you feel Tex’s hand on your throat, his breath on your lips, your heart pumping so fast you think it might jump out and spill into the waves of pain when you hear the man’s growl: “I’ve been so good to you for the past few months. We traveled everywhere you wanted”, he makes you lock your eyes on his fiery ones, “Why? Because I care about you”. His jawline dangerously plays under the skin, as he tells you lowly: “Be careful with your words now. Or you’ll pay for it”.

You quietly laugh, earning a look of confusion: “I already did, I fucking took a bullet for you”.

Tex watches your eyes narrow, as you smirk, the fire in your stomach adding fuel to the way you spit in his face, mirroring the growl of his own: “Do you really think a bird forgets how to fly once you lock it in a cage? The thing is, toys break. You don’t wanna see me at a breaking point, do you?”

You feel like you can breathe again, as Tex leans back, saying: “What are you talking about, y/n?”

You lean closer: “You don’t fucking know me, Tex. Neither of you do”, you let yourself drown in the couch cushions, for it’s Tex’s turn to laugh this time, his words and self-indulgent voice punching holes in your soul, as you try your hardest to stop the burning occur around your watery eyes. “We know everything about you. Your background, your family, who are all dead, you got no friends. We know your hopes and dreams, how you like your eggs and pancakes in the morning, how you like your tea in the evening and what you look like when you’re sound asleep. We know what helps you feel better when you’re on your period and how you look like when you’re falling apart because of our touch. Everything”.

You exhale sharply, as the cushion shifts under the weight of the man, when he gets closer: “Look, doll, I’m so sorry”, his voice so unbearably soft, sweet and apologetic you feel your stomach turn, “We are so sorry that it happened and we’ll have to live with that guilt forever. We’ll never let it happen, ever again”.

You slap his hand away, the boiling fire in the pit of your chest coming out sooner than you thought it would, as you scream: “Stop fucking saying that! I’m not your fucking doll!”

You feel tears pooling in your eyes and quickly wipe a fallen one, as you repeat in a low shaky breath: “You don’t know me”, before getting up in a swift motion and storming off, as Tex’s loud voice chases after you: “We never wanna lose you, Y/n!!”

Tex hears a click of the door lock, making him curse, feeling a strong presence behind his back, as it’s coming out of the shadows.

“Let her cool off. You know she doesn’t actually mean any of it”, - John sits down on the couch, handing Tex a beer bottle, which he opens with his bare hands, saying: “Yeah, didn’t sound like it. She started crying, for fuck’s sake”, his voice frustrated and almost sad. The men look ahead at the ocean and palm trees, engulfed in flames of sunset lights. John exhales: “She’ll come around”.

Behind the closed doors, you don’t even understand yourself anymore, for you can’t recognise any of the pieces of who you’re seeing in the mirror.

Point of break when you got nowhere to run looks different on everyone.

They want a plaything? They’ll get it. You’ll get them hanging by the strings. Before they decide to break your wings, completely.

You continue to study yourself in the mirror. Maybe that lucid knife play was a prophecy, disguised as a dream.

The mask of sanity has slipped.

--------------

ALL CHAPTERS

#wicked johnson fic #john wick #tex johnson #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick fic #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #tex johnson x you #tex johnson x reader #yandere

61 notes · View notes

covetyou · 11 months ago

Text

o, christmas tree

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: M (18+ only blog!) warnings: sex toys (so many butt plugs), Dieter being a menace to his PA, no smut, pure silliness. word count: 1.2k summary: As PA to Dieter Bravo, you were used to the strange, unusual and downright weird. What you weren't used to was taking in a shipment of - what? And how many?

A/N: I've had christmas trees/butt plugs on the brain since submitting prompts for secret santas, so I stole this one back (@missredherring I literally couldn't resist, sorry). I wrote most of this while walking my dog on Wednesday, mostly while she itched her ass on the pavement.

This is the last Dieter of me for this year, I sweeeear. Pinky promise.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Being personal assistant to Dieter Bravo certainly had its moments. And this was one of them, as you sign for a delivery at his home of several large boxes that had clinked when the courier had brought them inside and placed them on the ground.

With a polite smile, the courier doesn't meet your eyes as hurries back out the door and into his truck, leaving you alone with the delivery slip wondering what the hell Dieter has purchased now. You cast your eyes down the paper, the company name entirely unfamiliar to you as you reach the boxes contents.

"Three hundred assorted... Dee!"

It has got to be a mistake, you think. He was unpredictable, but there was no reason for him to do something as ridiculous as this. You couldn't even imagine, didn't even want to begin to imagine, what he would do with three hundred -

Thunderous footsteps slam down the stairs, and Dieter is swinging around the last post to greet you. His hair is a mess, when isn't it, and his clothes are slung loosely around his body. You'd seen the tabloids and magazines before you started working for him, and how they often liked to call Dieter a chaotic and unprofessional, but you had to admire his dedication to loungewear and comfort chic. If you could get away with it you'd wear pyjamas all day too.

"What have I done now. You only shout like that when I've done something."

Thrusting the delivery slip into his hands you put your hands on your hips and wait, watching as his eyes quickly scan down the page and a wicked smile pulls across his face.

"Oh, amazing, they're here just in time."

"Dee, you cannot be serious." You found yourself asking him this question often, and yet he almost always was deadly, painfully serious. The look on his face tells you as much.

"Really? Three hundred assorted butt plugs? Assorted, Dee. What does that even mean."

He gives you a look that tells you you should, somehow, absolutely know what it means. When you don't respond, he sighs dramatically.

"Y'know, assorted sizes, colors, materials."

He's still not getting it, or maybe you're not getting it. You've got to be sick, you're having some fever dream inspired by the sex toys he liked to leave all around the place.

"But what are they for?"

"The party. Duh."

You told him a party would be a good idea to celebrate the end of a great year, and at first he'd reluctantly agreed. It had surprised you when his party planning picked up with gusto, and he refused your offers of help saying he had it all under control. You knew you should've been more suspicious. It was always a good idea to be more suspcisious where Dieter was concerned.

You rub your temples. Three hundred assorted butt plugs. For a Christmas party. You'd seen the guest list, some A-listers were invited, along with Dieter's co-stars from the last year and his usual crowd. Even so, it wasn't enough to warrant three hundred of anything - the guest list spanned 100 people at most.

The harsh rip of tape pulls you from your mental gymnastics, and you watch Dieter crack open the first box. The boxes had been heavy, and they'd rattled in way that, now you think about it, screamed assorted. Dieter pulls the first butt plug from the box, holding it to the light and letting the glass gleam.

"Dieter. What do you need butt plugs for, it's a Christmas party."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Decoration. Party favors. Whatever."

When you blink your eyes at him he rolls his at you.

"Figured they look like little Christmas trees, look." He places the plug on the flat of his hand and, you've got to give it to him, he's not wrong. The one he's currently holding is a deep red glass, so it's festive too, but from a glance to the box you can see just about every color thinkable. Assorted is making more and more sense.

He hands the plug to you so he can rummage through the box some more, and you hold it as if it's about to detonate in your hand. You know it's not used (yet), and by god if you hadn't held some questionable things of Dieter's in the past, but it's too early to be dealing with any of this. You just want a coffee and a sit down, and maybe some tylenol now that you were seemingly getting a headache and a pain in your ass all at once.

"What color?" he says over his shoulder, his hands still plunged into the first box.

"What color?"

"Yeah," he says, standing, holding two plugs in each hand. "Which do you think is my color?"

"Dee, I am not picking out a butt plug for you."

"Oh, come on," he whines, stomping his foot a little. "I know you like -"

"No."

He yanks the first plug from your hands, the red one, and thrusts a swirly pink one into your palm. "Fine. Here."

The question is on your lips, but before you can get it out he smirks at you.

"Pink is your color."

Your pants rip in front of him one time, and he's forever bringing up the color of your underwear. He bought you pink copies of your favorite shoes for your birthday, sent pink flowers to your apartment for eight weeks whilst he was away on a shoot without you, kept ruby chocolate in the house to snack on when you'd walk by. The man was a menace, and even though you both knew you found it funny, you keep your face steely as you brandish the pink plug at him.

"You won't be encouraging people to use these at the party, will you, Dee?"

He picks up the first box, groaning as he bends but then chuckling as the glass jingles and tinkles together lightly in the box, and walks down the hall without answering your question.

"Dieter."

You can see the devilish grin on his face from here. The asshole is ignoring you. You follow him down the hall.

"You won't be encouraging people to use them at the Christmas party, will you?"

"I think blue might be my color."

"Dee, stop ignoring me!"

He sets the box down on the kitchen island, rubbing his hands together in glee.

"Tell me you won't be encouraging people to use butt plugs at your party."

He still doesn't answer, and instead strides past you to the door, he grabs another box before lugging it down the hall to dump it next to the first.

"Dieter."

Tearing open the next box, he lets out a very pleased chuckle as he pulls out a considerably larger plug and sets it down on the countertop with a clink. It did look remarkably like a Christmas tree.

"Please."

He taps you on the nose as he fetches the last box and you cast your eyes down with a sigh, turning the pink plug around in your hands in defeat.

And then it catches your eye, a light engraving on the flat base of the plug. Flipping it, you look for a moment before your eyes adjust and register what's written on the bottom.

In beautiful looping cursive are the initials D.B.

Three hundred assorted and monogrammed butt plugs.

"God fucking damn it, Dieter."

tag list: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo & reader #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics

120 notes · View notes

themoodyestj · 1 month ago

Note

Have you heard Jensen's cover of wondering why by The Red Clay Strays? in my opinion is the best he's ever sounded at a convention; he was just amazing, and he clearly loves that song. I bet he thinks about Dee when he sings it, especially this part.

She keeps on loving me Loves me the way I am She's not just along for the ride She's my biggest fan Lord, it's a little old piece of heaven When we lay down at night She keeps on loving me And I keep on wondering why She's got a wicked smile, angel eyes Every guy wanting to hold her close She's as pretty as sin Like the sun sinking down on the California coast She keeps on loving me Loves me the way I am.

I'm just glad he has someone who loves him as he is by his side, because I know that's what he wants, not a bunch of assholes on the internet telling him he's not good enough.

Hello Anon, Thank you for sharing that song with me. You bet he thinks about Danneel? Oh, honey, don't waste your allowance money on that. As I'm sure you'd like me to, I took a long and hard look into the lyrics you sent me. I tweaked them a bit, add a few notes, I hope you dont mind:

She keeps on loving me (Yeah, right)

Loves me the way I am (The way he smells bad, cant act, wont help around the house, with the kids...)

She's not just along for the ride (No, she's along for the money, fame, nepotism roles, clout, prequels, )

She's my biggest fan (No, she's David Spade's biggest fan)

Lord, it's a little old piece of heaven (Because he's a little dead inside)

When we lay down at night (In their separate bedrooms, in that ass big house in CT, or even in different states, or countries, as he prefers, because they work better "at a distance")

She keeps on loving me (Like she loved him during the Rust incident, where she left him alone to deal what an immense ammount of trauma "'cause she could only fly when she was drunk")

And I keep on wondering why (Why he hasnt divorced yet? Me too.)

She's got a wicked smile, angel eyes (Wicked smile, Joker smile, same difference)

Every guy wanting to hold her close (Well, Steve, because even Jensen backs away when she comes close)

She's as pretty as sin (Yes, because what that plastic surgeon did was sinful)

Like the sun sinking down on the California coast (The sun sinks, her looks sink, her career sinks, her credibility sinks)

She keeps on loving me (As long as he keeps bringing his sweet hard earned cash)

Loves me the way I am. (The way he's absent working) I dont know why, but now that i added into the lyrics, it sounds a lot more like Jeneel, does it not?

"I'm just glad he has someone who loves him as he is by his side, because I know that's what he wants, not a bunch of assholes on the internet telling him he's not good enough." Oh you know, honey? Don't say. That sentence alone tells me youre either very naive, or very delulu. Im gonna go with naive, because at least you're salvageable. And i never said hes not good enough, i merely point out that he's not having good enough, and he could get a lot better. Because if you think Jenneel is the example of a perfect relationship and you want to emulate that for yourself, oh sweetie, you are in for a painful awakening. Aim higher. Aim a lot higher.

#anti danneel #anti elta #anti danneel ackles #jensen concern #delulu anons #jensen supportive #anti aas #anti delalas

21 notes · View notes

kararisa · 1 year ago

Text

marigold promises

— 40. i can sense your denial

— previous || masterlist || next

summary: it's been two years since you've been reunited with your childhood friend. while your rivalry has blossomed into something friendly, you can't exactly say the same for the way your heart skips a beat whenever albedo so much as looks at you. however, as the pressure to excel in your academics starts to burn you out, it begs the question: how much force can a person endure before they break?

author's notes:

double update boom shakalaka

featured song: is your bedroom ceiling bored? (feat. Cavetown) by Sody

taglist (i):

@fvkkyu @mintreen @edreee @khyllynnn @xxmirrorballxx @krnzysh @yaefics @unsterblich-prinz @aequha @alch3myy @syriiina @nei-rinn @cridtiins @zestrya @skylions-den @moriiartt @theother-victoria @sunsethw4 @dazaisfavgf @serossidechick @koiir @lazy-sanns @sweetbunnybunbun @dee-zbignuts @redactedhimbo @yurstepm0m @fanfictwarrior @atlaszi @saoiirsee @ireallylikehamsters @kissingkzuha @whosxangel @kitsuvil @orionicchaos @blurr3db3rry @semi-orangeapple @kunikuzushiit @atlatcaheart @wrrapedroundmyfingerlikearing @scarafrisbee @lost-wicked-artist @kairxse @elysiasbae @eurekatanya @empathum @tatiratty @zannivrs @mikismusings @sunoo-bby @astolary

— the taglist is currently CLOSED! shoot me an ask or a reply if you've changed your url or you'd like to be removed.

#genshin smau #genshin impact smau #albedo smau #albedo x reader #albedo x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #albedo fluff #genshin imagines #genshin modern au #genshin college au #marigold promises smau

170 notes · View notes

variouspolltournaments · 5 months ago

Text

Submissions Closed

Next up is the Villain Protagonists Tournament. So long as the protagonist is, was or becomes a villain, they count here.

Submit a Villain Protagonist, along with where they come from and (if you want) propaganda through ask or submit a post.

Submissions will be closing on the 12th of June. Will be doing prelims on the same day, scratch that I'll be doing as many prelims as I can before submissions close, any left over will be done the day of the submissions closing. This is because there a few submissions I'm not sure about.

Top 4 submissions are the ones I submitted myself.

@tournament-announcer

Submissions in bold have propaganda, submissions not in bold do not have propaganda. Whether they do or do not have some already, you are still free to submit some. Those with a line through their name were eliminated in the prelims.

SUBMISSIONS:

Ellen: The Witch's House/The Diary of Ellen

Light Yagami: Death Note

Roxie Hart: Chicago

Alex Wake: Beyond Eden

Yato: Noragami

Koro-sensei: Assassination Classroom

Bucky Barnes: Avengers

Xeno Wingfield: Doctor Stone

Victor Vale: Vicious

Barry Lyndon: Barry Lyndon

Footsoldier D: Go Go Loser Ranger

Medea: Euripedes Medea

Taylor Hebert: Worm

Scourge: Warrior Cats

Tigerstar: Warrior Cats

Megamind: Megamind

Setsuna Higashi: Fresh Precure

Invader Zim: Invader Zim

Valkyrie Cain: Skulduggery Pleasant

William James Moriarty: Moriarty the Patriot

GoodTimesWithScar: Secret Life.

Shen Qingqiu: Scum Villain's Self Saving System

Nimona: Nimona

Ballister Blackheart: Nimona

Artemis Fowl: The Fowl Adventures

Vegeta: Dragon Ball Z

Hiei: Yu Yu Hakusho

Gru: Despicable Me

Dr. Horrible: Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog

Wu Zetian: Iron Widow

Magneto: X-Men

Catherine Foundling: A Practical Guide to Evil.

Nick: Anna and the Apocalypse

Elphaba Thropp: Wicked

The Batter: OFF!

HAL 9000: Space Odyssey

Anakin Skywalker: Star Wars

Darkstalker: Wings of Fire

Alastor: Hazbin Hotel

Zhou Zishu: Word of Honor/Faraway Wanderers

Mr. Wolf: The Bad Guys

Jafar: Twisted

Sauron: Lord of the Rings

Morgoth: The Silmirilion

The Witch of the Waste: Howl's Moving Castle

Dracula: Dracula

Hades: Disney's Hercules

Hannibal Lecter: Hannibal

Heinz Doofenshmirtz: Phineas and Ferb

Raistlin Majere: Dragonlance

Petey: Dog Man

Eric Draven: The Crow

Ainz Ooal Gown: Overlord

Harley Quinn: Harley Quinn 2019

Dexter Morgan: Dexter

Hector con Carne: Evil Con Carne

Mandy: The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy

Rick Sanchez: Rick & Morty

Rusty Venture: The Venture Bros

Eric Cartman: South Park

Utena Hiiragi: Gushing Over Magical Girls

Yuno Gasai: Future Diary

Lucy: Elfen Lied

Belkar Bitterleaf: Order of the Stick

Tomie: Tomie

Punie Tanaka: Magical Witch Punie-chan

Azazel: Yondemasu Yo! Azazel-san

Lucifer: Sin: Seven Mortal Sins

Venom: Venom comics

Ren Hoek: Ren & Stimpy

Demitri Maximoff: Darkstalkers

Sweet Tooth: Twisted Metal

Slappy: Goosebumps Slappyworld

The Warden: Superjail!

Herbert West: Re-Animator

Joker: Joker 2019

Patrick Bateman: American Psycho

Monami: Vampire Girl vs Frankenstein Girl

Sagiri Tengai: Korokoro Soushi

Shion Sonozaki: Higurashi When They Cry

Ai Enma: Hell Girl

Johnny C.: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac

Lenore: Lenore the Cute Little Dead Girl

Takuyoshi Masuoka: Marebito

Deadshot: Secret Six

Catman: Secret Six

Scandal Savage: Secret Six

Ragdoll: Secret Six

Bane: Secret Six

Jeanette: Secret Six

Dennis Reynolds: Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Dee Reynolds: Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Frank Reynolds: Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Charlie Kelly: Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Mac McDonald: Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Zhu Yuanzhang: She Who Became the Sun/The Radiant Emperor

Baru Cormorant: The Traitor Baru Cormorant/The Masquerade

Penelope Akk: Please Don't Tell My Parents I'm a Supervillain

Li Hongzhang: Towards the Republic

Empress Dowager Cixi: Towards the Republic

Cao Cao: Three Kingdoms

Mapleshade: Warrior Cats

Quenthel Baenre: War of the Spider Queen

Jeggred Baenre: War of the Spider Queen

Pharaun Mizzry: War of the Spider Queen

Ryld Argith: War of the Spider Queen

Halisstra Melarn: War of the Spider Queen

Danifae Yauntyrr: War of the Spider Queen

Valas Hune: War of the Spider Queen

Victor Frankenstein: Frankenstein

Adam,Frankenstein’s Monster: Frankenstein

Zuko: Avatar: the Last Airbender

Horus Lupercal: Horus Heresy

Lorgar Aurelian Horus Heresy

Angron: Horus Heresy

Mortarion: Horus Heresy

Magnus the Red: Horus Heresy

Fulgrim: Horus Heresy

Perturabo: Horus Heresy

Konrad Kurze: Horus Heresy

Alpharius Omegan: Horus Heresy

Vorx: The Lords of Silence

Lucius the Eternal: Lucius: The Faultless Blade

Fabius Bile: The Fabius Bile Trilogy

Honsou: Iron Warriors series

Talos Valcoran: Night Lords series

Asdrubael Vect: Path of the Dark Eldar trilogy

Ufthak Blackhawk: Brutal Kunnin/Da Big Dakka

Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka: Ghazghkull Thraka: Prophet of the Waaagh!

Trazyn the Infinite: The Infinite and the Divine

Orikan the Diviner: The Infinite and the Divine

Cryptosporidium-137: Destroy All Humans

Han Jaeho: The Merciless

#villain protagonists tournament #ellen #the witch's house #the diary of ellen #light yagami #death note #roxie hart #chicago #alex wake #beyond eden #submissions

29 notes · View notes

brf-rumortrackinganon · 6 months ago

Text

Met Gala Thoughts

Best in "I thought you were someone else"

(L) Sydney Sweeney as not-Billie Eilish (R) Kendall Jenner as not-Kim Kardashian

Honestly, Kendall looks more like Kim than Kim does at this point.

Best in "Live from Broadway"

Usher, giving Phantom. I hope someone asked him about the Drake/Kendrick beef.

Best in "One Outfit, Two Looks"

(L) Rebecca Ferguson (R) Demi Moore

Best in Technology

Ambika Mod. It's a 3D print of a dress on top of a dress.

Best in "You Could've Done Something Really Meta"

Nicholas Galitzine, whose character in his new film "The Idea Of You" is based on Harry Styles.

Best Rihanna 2.0

Cardi B, who needed 9 assistants to lay out her train.

Reminds me of Rihanna's omelet dress.

Best in "New Look, Who Dis"

Zendaya in her second outfit of the night. Very Blake Lively-ish.

Somewhere inside The Met, Jennifer Lopez was screaming at her assistant for not preparing a second look.

Best in "Couples Who Slay Together, Stay Together"

(L) Eddie and Hannah Redmayne (C) No idea (R) Queen Latifah and Eboni Nichols

Best Cinderella

Quannah Chasinghorse

Best in "Get These People a Career Revival"

L-R. Jude Law, Meg Ryan, Charlie Hunnam, and Michelle Williams

Best of the Gents

(L) Jonathan Bailey (C) Barry Keoghan (R) Colman Domingo, in a tribute to Chadwick Boseman and Andre Leon Talley.

Best in "I Don't Know What You Were Going For But I Guess It Works"

(L) Harris Reed. No idea who that is. (R) Uma Thurman

Best in "Better From The Back"

(L) Tommy and Dee Hilfiger (R) Mindy Kaling

Best "Where Can I Get This I NEED One Yesterday"

A relative is obsessed with dachsunds. I would win Christmas if I got my hands on this. Or a cheat knockoff.

Best in "The More I See Them Appear Together Because They're Contractually Obligated, The Less I Want To See Their Movie"

Cynthia Erivo (Elphaba) and Ariana Grande (Galinda), who've been joined at the hip for the last year to promote Wicked, which comes out in November so there are still six more months of this to go.

Best in "Celebs, They Get Peckish Just Like Us"

Michael Shannon, with a Balenciaga bag. So disappointed it wasn't a party bag of chips. The Balenciaga retails for $1,850 or 115 party-size bags of Lays potato chips from Walmart.

Best in Vintage

(L) Nicole Kidman (R) Lana Del Ray

I was so happy to see a McQueen antler dress show up.

Best in "Oh Dear God Why Are You Here Go Away"

Ben Platt

Kardashians

Jerry Seinfeld and Jimmy Fallon

Lea Michele

Lauren Bezos (though I didn't actually mind her dress)

My Top Looks of the Night

L-R: Karlie Kloss, Nicole Kidman, Elle Fanning, and Gwendoline Christie.

Ultimately...

It was an underwhelming red carpet. The Met Gala serves an incredible purpose, but they've moved too far away from fashion and costume. There are too many actors and people-famous-for-being-famous involved now that have really watered down the fashion, the themes, and the cultural significance of the event. It needs to go back to being the New York elite and High Fashion - people who know how to wear clothes instead of posing with their hands on their hips, sticking out their butts, and pouting.

#met gala 2024

50 notes · View notes

questforgalas · 2 years ago

Text

As always I will hold firm that this blog is a space for positivity while welcoming constructive criticisms of media. I’m a firm believer you can enjoy a media while still accepting it’s flaws/not vibing with an episode/not vibe with some writing choices etc.

I have a lot of emotions swirling in my brain after the Bad Batch panel at Star Wars celebration.

The panel started off with a montage recap of season 2, and I became so emotional watching it. It reminded how much I really loved this season and how beautiful it was cinematically, the development we got with the characters (got extra teary when they showed Crosshair shoot Nolan and the audience erupted, my man deserves all the flowers 😭😭😭), and wonderful development with the story of the clones and the empire.

There was a lot of focus in the beginning of the panel on Omega's development from Season 1 to Season 2 along with her development through Season 2, and her view of what's right and what's wrong being challenged like every child when they experience that everything is not right and just, and it was really heartwarming to watch Michelle talk so passionately about Omega. It's clear she loves this character and is so excited to bring her light to life in the galaxy. I also thought it was interesting when she and Athena (a producer) brought up the fact that Omega is actually older than the batchers, and as much as we view it as "over protective older brothers", Athena and Michelle made the distinction that it's actually "over protective older sister", and that gave me a major perspective switch to her character and her need to put herself in danger regarding the Batch that I hadn't thought about before. I think this realllllly plays into the now very talked about moment in the trailer (that I haven't watched yet) with Crosshair saying "I'm not like them" to Omega - I 10000% believe this is Crosshair, mr. wicked-observant-perceptive-sniper, pushing Omega away because he knows she'll put herself in danger for them and Crosshair genuinely believing he's not worthy of being considered a Batcher anymore and not worthy of her dedication. Someone fucking sedate me and my emotions regarding this pixelated man

Dee saying "I'm very excited by the screws that are turning, the wheels that are grinding, as this story plays out in all of its interesting ways in particular around Crosshair" gave me the air under my wings I need to get me to 2024.

Now, I'm someone who when I watch panels like this, I analyze every smirk and smile and frown and eye glimmer when a spoiler topic comes up, so let's get into when Tech came up (putting under the cut because this is getting long and some people may not want to see Tech conversation yet).

Michelle: stuttered through her whole answer, not in a "overcome with emotions can't talk way" (although she did get choked up initially talking about it which ugh love ya babe 💖) but it came off as she didn't really know what she could say in the moment. "Ok no he doesn't come back in this episode, at least", big pause before "at least"

Dee: probably the most convincing that Tech's gone. Even tone throughout, passionate (for Dee) talk about saying goodbye to this character. Got emotional at the end. BUT THEN when he discusses Tech and Phee's dynamic later in the panel, is all present tense

Jennifer: Got very emotional. Couldn't finish her explanation. Brought on the emphasis of Omega's perspective and Hunter's worst nightmare. Used the word "definitive" a couple times. Had spent other moments in the panel previously talking about how "every time they got involved with the Empire, it didn't end well"

Brad: More emphasis on what happenen when the Batch tangled with the Empire, and Tarkin being the ultimate Empire force at the time. Intercepted by Dee, a lot of finality speak

So, after watching that moment a few times now, I still stand firm that, until the end credits of the series role and no body is returned, Tech will come back, but I will admit that watching the panel brought my assuredness down from 90% to 50%. Unless that entire panel are the best actors and phenomenal at not giving any tells, it was hard to grasp onto hope that Tech will come back after watching that. Which brings me to my criticism

If Tech is actually dead, and the OG 4 Batch are not reunited before the end of Season 3 aka the end of the series, then that will leave a sour taste in my mouth with the series as a whole. Genuinely Season 3 could be the Crosshair show and it would not save the series from my overall opinion if the OG 4 are not together and then the whole Batch family have their conclusion.

I want to be very clear, that conclusion could be all 5 of them chilling on Pabu together (although I think Echo is going to end with being part of the rebellion) or it could be that all of them fall fighting the empire in a blaze of glory together - which I admit seems more likely with the ongoing theme of "they're not just soldiers but they can't get away from it, and every time they engage with the Empire it doesn't end well for them, but now it's personal" - but either way, if it's all of the Batch together I don't care how it ends. I also want to be very clear that I will still love the series and I will still rave about them and blog about them in a positive light, but I will have a very hard time at the conclusion of the series if this doesn't happen.

It narratively and logically makes no sense to me to introduce the Batch as they did in TCW to have them separated within the first 60 minutes of their own series and have a focus be on how out of synch they are when they're not all together, to then continue to separate them with absolutely no sense of closure. It makes no sense to me to emphasize their brotherhood and their sibling dynamic more than any other clone squadron, even the dominos, and that emphasis be really put on Crosshair (after rewatching TCW arc, ALOT of the typical sibling moments are between Crosshair and another batcher. He is the sibling focal point in that arc and "Aftermath") to have him be ripped away from them and never have that reunion with one of his original brothers. It makes no sense to me to have Tech be the one to stand up to Hunter and declare Crosshair as still their brother and they need to go get him to have him then be killed off in a very flat way to not have that reunion moment.

Admittedly, I fell in love with the Batch because of their dynamic in TCW arc, and I expected there to be changes through their series, that's what character development is for. I also admit that the hope that the OG 4 would be reunited kept me coming back each week, which then resulted in me just being hooked and attached in general as I grew to love each batcher, especially Echo and his dynamic with the squad too. But if Tech is really dead, I am just so confused as to why they'd take what hooked so many people on the Batch as a whole and throw it out the window.

With all of this said, I completely recognize that I'm not the creator(s) of this show and I'm not making the decisions, so if the OG 4 reuniting is not an end result, then I may not agree with it but it's not my decision and I still love and appreciate what they've given to/will give us.

So, we obviously have awhile until 2024, and I will be gobbling up every crumb they throw at us as the season comes closer. It is more than likely that by the time the season comes around, I will be emotionally feral and unhinged living in an AU la la land. I am so so excited to see how they conclude this story and very hopeful for what they have in store. Until those end credits role, I will hang onto the hope that the OG 4 + Echo + Omega will be together again, and I'll happily strap in for whatever ride they throw us on.

But please, please, please bring the OG dynamic back.

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #star wars celebration #hunter #crosshair #wrecker #tech #echo #omega #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch wrecker #the bad batch tech #the bad batch echo #the bad batch omega

155 notes · View notes