#Christmas in Cape May

[thereadingcafe]

[sandythereadingcafe]

REVIEW TOUR

CHRISTMAS IN CAPE MAY (Sunshine Sisters) by Jennifer Probst at The Reading Cafe:

'The premise is entertaining, engaging and sweet'

[brucewaynehater101]

DC Santa is a troll so when he knows he's going to die and he sends his powers to the young heroes he knows he's about to traumatize, he tweaks things just a little, he's got the time after all, he goes all over the world in a night, the comet is in slow motion to him, not that he'd move, and these little chaotic gremlins have been so good despite everything life has thrown at him and he really owes them quite a backlog of gifts

While Santa may go to apocalypse every year, he goes nowhere near Gotham

To Tim, Tim knows everyone's deepest desire with a look, this ability is especially effective in December. Tim becomes the master of picking out the best holiday and birthday presents

Cassie can speak and understand ALL the languages she comes across

People now automatically have some level of trust towards Greta, know that she's a nice person who would protect them to the best of her ability, had she stayed in the superhero community, she would have attained dick grayson levels of trust among the other capes

Kon has a sense of who's on the naughty list and who's on the nice list, makes it easier to steer away from creepers now who would take advantage of him since it's not like he has a grown up to help him figure that out

Bart is even faster and yet his metabolism is evened out a bit, he's less desperately hungry all the time, can get away with just snacks instead of eating an entire all you can eat buffet, though he's still capable of that, and he has even more of a sweet tooth than before

Slobo is capable of lifting even more than Lobo, the sort of strength and balance one would need to carry a sack filled with presents for the world, or the universe

Anita gets a knack for Christmas magic, the little illusions that bring a little extra joy to a person's life and when she and Tim collaborate they find they can put into motion butterfly effects, tiny actions that cause huge, joyous results, and Anita's gingerbread houses never rot

Cissie gets the anonymity, there are so many Santas but no one could ever tell you which one is real, in the future she never has to worry about someone connection her heroic past to her civilian present, except for her friends of course

I love this AU/hc so much, and how you included more than just the core four for it.

For Tim, I know he's absolutely using that power of his for no good. He uses it to make villains (and some Bats) cry when he mentions or even gets them their deepest desire. I am curious if the deepest desire is only for physical stuff or for the unattainable too (like I bet Dick would love to do a Flying Graysons routine with his parents one more time).

I love Cassie's cause she probably freaks the JL out when she starts speaking thr same dialect of an alien species no one has even heard of before.

Greta's is perfect. I hope she finds lots of use for it in her retirement. I would love a spin off of her just utilizing that power when she goes to college, gets a job, etc.

Kon's makes me want to cry. It's amazing for him, but the reasoning is so sad. I hope YJ is able to help him and that he's better able to take care of himself with this.

I like to imagine Anita's parents/kids looking up to her in amazement as her gingerbread house still stays standing after 5 months.

I'm glad Bart has more choice in his need to eat. Tim probably helps him by buying lots of food, but it's nice that Bart, in this AU, doesn't have to constantly be eating as much.

I don't know as much about Slobo (which is a damn right shame), but it seems DC did him dirty (something about him slowly dying and then sacrificing himself???). Anyways, I hope his strength helps him feel more reassured with himself and confident. I hope he can use it to uplift those he cares about.

Cissie's sounds great. There's tons of stories about the price of fame being a lack of privacy. With this, maybe she'll be able to have a normal life as well

[the-witch-of-one-piece]

🎃Tokyo Revengers Dad's : Halloween edition 🎃 Ft: 20+ daddy's TW: none (unedited) Resident: @enchantedforest-network Photo: Tokyo Revengers x Tower Records Cafe

Taiju

-one of his kids would dress as a shark (tell me I’m wrong). When he sees them walking in front of them he could see the sale of the costume mimic like a shark's tail. -Would his kids trick or treat in the upper scale areas in Tokyo they get the good candy (the king size candy bars). -Would be the type to finish trick or treating early so it wouldn’t get too late.

Hanma

-Three kids dress them as lock, shock and barrel from the nightmare before Christmas. -Definitely cause mischief with his kids and teach them the fun of ding dong ditching or TP’ing someone's house if they didn’t give candy out. -Would pick some of the candies from his kids bucket but they would happily share with him

Chifuyu

-His child would be either a black cat or a witch and carry around a stuffed black cat. -Go with group friends and they all take their kids trick or treating. -Check his kids candy to make sure it is safe for them to eat.

Takemichi 

-When his child said they want to be a superhero he goes all out for them, cape, mask even giving them a super cool hero name. -spend hours trick or treating till it gets every late. -His child would get tired and he would end up carrying them all the way home while they slept.

Kokonoi

-Wouldn’t settle for ordinary costumes would make sure his kids had the best costumes made out of the finest materials. -Throw a Halloween party with a big candy bar they kids would be in heaven. -Have a decorated wall so he could take pictures with his kids in there costumes 

Ran

-would spend hours at the Halloween store trying to pick out the best costume for his kids. Enjoys every minute of it to see his baby's eyes light up with excitement. -One of the dads that would dress up with his kids.  -Would rehearse with them and teach them how to say ‘trick or treat’ 

Rindou 

-Kids would be some type of battle character either from mortal kombat or street fighters.  -He has confidence his kids would win any kind of costume contest. -Scoping the competition on the kids costume contest give a smirk ‘my kiddo got this in the bag’ waiting for them to announce his kid was the winner of the costume contest.

Nahoya

-Twins he's gonna have one angel and one devil. IF one kiddo a little devil with a pitch fork. -Taking his kid trick or treating when there is a full bowl of candy left in front of the step no one is looking takes handful handy putting it into his littles one’s bag -Then he decided to empty the full bowl into his little one's bag and take off quickly.

Draken 

-Taking his precious little one to the pumpkin patch to pick out a pumpkin. -When finding the perfect pumpkins they would crave them together but the pumpkin carving he would be the one carving them he wouldn't let his little one do it.  -They would pick out the face then he would cut it out. -When taking out the seed from the inside he would see the gross yet funny look on his baby's face and laugh.

Mikey

-His baby would definitely be wearing a mini Toman uniform just like daddy would on Halloween. -He and his sibling would all take their kids trick or treating together.  -Would start telling the kids which candy they wouldn’t like so when they give him that candy he secretly wanted those candies all along. 

Hakkai 

-Having a Halloween party knowing it may be a challenge for him to take his kids trick or treating due to him being recognized by fans. -If his kids are going to be a certain theme he would join them like the Adams family or the Munsters but have his own style in it.  -All the desserts and foods would be themed all around Halloween like cupcakes that look like brains, drinks that would call witches brew, and spider cookies.

Mitsuya

-Would make his babies their costumes every year like the best daddy. His baby wanna be a ‘rainbow pony princess’ daddy got you. -Would let them know every time when they are trick or treating to say thank you after getting candy from the house they got it from. -would make sure they wouldn’t eat all the candy in one sitting and would give them one piece before bed.

Baji

-Baji would send photos to his mom with photos of the grandkid(s) and their costumes. -Would go to the same houses to get double the candy. -If they get home late from trick or treating he would make them some yakisoba noodles to eat

Kazutora

-Attend his littles ones' school Halloween parade record the whole entire parade.  -If his little one is unable to take the steps at someone's house because the steps are too big he would pick them up and place them on the top step. -When they get home they would watch a Halloween special of his kids favorite show.

Shinichiro 

-He and his kids decorate the house from head to toe with Halloween items.  -If his babies wanted their face painted he would paint their faces and do a decent job on it. -The following day he would prank his kids about eating all their Halloween candy but when he sees them crying he would apologize and give them the candy.

Takeomi

-Would have enjoyed taking his kiddos out for Halloween festivities but when they get older the enjoy more of watching scary movies -Watching classic slasher movies, ordering food and buying the candy they want to eat. -he would also have a large bowl of candy when he gets trick or treating and give them handfuls of candy. 

Wakasa 

-if he sees his baby scared to go up to a house because the decorations are too scary he would go with them to make sure they are comfortable. - He would dress up like Dracula and his baby a little vampire he would tell them ‘let’s go my little bat’ -When his baby empties there bucket they would go through the candy and would randomly give him candies that they think he would like. 

Arashi 

-He sees a haunted house on first instinct ‘oh hell to the nooooo’ but if his kiddo wants to go in he has to put a brave face on.  - He would be jumped scared a lot in the haunted house he would try to control his reflexes so he doesn’t knock anyone out -He admires that his child don't seem to be afraid of these types of things. Would go through every haunted house they wanted to for the night

Izana

-When practicing for the Halloween performance he would want it recorded so he could have memories of them when they were in their costume being so small. -He would enjoy making the sugar cookies with ghosts on them during this time of year. -Keep every Halloween costume because you don't have the heart to toss them, they hold valuable memories to him.

Sanzu

-Blog entire Oct month from when the kids find their costumes to the day it was Halloween. -Teach his kids ‘trick or treat that smells like my feet.’ -He and his kids would learn how to do Thriller or the monster mash dance.

Muto

-Kids would dress up in classic 50’s attire pompadours and leather jackets   -Making sure the brush their teeth before bed to avoid cavities from the amount of candy they got -If the kids watched a scary movie he knew that they would be staying in his bed for the next few nights. 

Kisaki

-If he missed trick or treating the way he would make it up to the kids is to take them to the store and let them pick out which candies they want.  -That cart would be filled up in 0.5 seconds full of candy picked by his kids.  -He would promise them that next year he will make sure he will be there with them so they can trick or treat together. 

Kakucho 

-If he saw his baby crying because they were took scared of a character or a person he would tell them ‘you have 5 seconds to leave or I will kick your ass for scaring my child’  -would cheer up his baby and make sure they won’t cry anymore let them don’t daddy wouldn't let anything happen to them. -Avoid homes that are too scary for his baby. He wants to make sure they have a great time. 

Inui 

-His kids love hearing him do scary stories and would make them think they are true on how he tells the story like the boogeyman.  - if his kids doubt on of his stories he would hear like the wall/floors slightly creek and catch the kids attention then he would speak ‘they are listening to you.’ -Google how to make spooky snacks with the kids. He would enjoy creating snacks and eating them with the babies. The kitchen would be a mess. 

Trunk or treat (all dad’s)

-If each man showed up with their kids they would have candy for days. -Big party for the kids to enjoy with a variety of things to do. -Each man would compete about who’s kid(s) the cutest. Because in their mind there are kids who are the cutest. -One big photo of all the kids together in their costumes even the older ones who aren't in costumes, because no matter how older they get those will still be there babies T^T

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[multifanatics]

Waiting Out a Storm

A/N: I put nearly everyone in this so I could get a taste of their characters. I nearly fell asleep writing this so hopefully its not horrible.

Warnings: Sexual content, General fluffiness, Anxiety due to storms, There could be more that I didn't think of.

Edward Nygma // Riddler

It’s raining and he’s unable to hear himself think against the loud noise of the wind.

He’s annoyed nonetheless, he can’t get work done in these conditions. 

Makes himself hot chocolate and steals all the blankets in the house. 

If you're nice to him he’ll maybe share one blanket but don’t count on it. 

If the power goes out and there’s nothing to do. 

He’s offering you to warm him up. 

He gets cold and hates being cold. 

He’s miserable and makes it your problem more than it is his.

If you seem nervous or scared because of the storm he may be more accommodating to letting you have blankets. MAYBE. 

One way or another definitely leads to sex.

Victor Fries // Freeze

It’s snowing in Gotham? It’s Christmas for Victor. 

The wind and heavy snow he’ll be outside the entire time.

That is of course if you aren’t at all nervous due to the blizzard. 

If you are that’s alright, He’ll stay inside for you. 

Making sure you are warm enough. 

You both are going to sit on the couch and watch your favorite movie. 

Power goes out? May not be what you want but he’s willing to play chess or any other type of board game with you. 

If you ask him, he may be willing to try and keep you warmer. Even if his body temperature is lower then the current storm. 

Keeps you wrapped up in blankets no matter what. 

His body temperature can handle the negatives but yours can’t or at least shouldn’t. 

Harvey Dent // Two Face

Harvey hates storms, while Harv doesn’t mind them. 

Harvey will cuddle you under piles of blankets clinging to you for warmth. 

While Harv will more than likely be found outside if the coin allows him to be. 

Otherwise Harv is indoors and clung to you in a much different way than Harvey. 

Harv typically has his hands on your hips, chin on your shoulder everywhere you go. 

While Harvey is much more a pile of blankets and cuddles.

Human furnace and knows it. 

Harv would be much more open to fucking for warmth, even offers. 

Harvey strikes me as the kind of man who would build a pillow fort during a storm if you’re both anxious or the power is out. 

While Harv would be fine just falling asleep.  

Jonathan Crane // Scarecrow 

One of the first things you told him was your fear of storms. 

And now he gets to watch how you react.

He does not leave your side during the storm for personal reasons that can range from your warmth to your fear.

Horror movies, blankets, and hot chocolate. 

If the power goes out? Horror stories with a flashlight like they do at camps in October. 

Cuddle him and tell him about your fear he was a psychiatrist after all maybe he can help… or make it much worse by accident, possibly. 

I’m in the middle of him waiting for you to offer sex or he doesn’t enjoy it during a storm. 

I see him as a “No power, no problem.” kind of guy and somehow getting everything he needed done. 

He gets cold and sort of carries around a blanket like a cape. Over his shoulders and occasionally encasing him if he stands still. 

Paranoia is his specialty, don't try to hide it from him, he’ll find out anyway. 

Jervis Tetch // Mad Hatter

Tea party in the dark even if the power is working.

Definitely at least a little bit anxious himself. 

Is against any kind of “more heat” ideas you can think of. 

He has a routine, hiding in blankets and drinking tea in the dark and silence.

Though since you’re there maybe it doesn’t have to be silent. 

Sharing blankets is a must with him, maybe not all cuddly but definitely share your blankets. 

Can be clinging if he’s extra anxious. 

He keeps the power off even if it’s working. He can’t hypnotize the lights to stay on so he rather not have the surprise. 

Super sweet if you are anxious as well. 

Recites his favorite poetry, books, or lines from a movie.  

Joker 

His current hideout has a backup generator so don’t worry about the lights going out

What? If there’s no lights how is he supposed to know if people actually enjoy his jokes? 

He’s nowhere to be seen except you know he’s in the same place as you. 

He takes this time to get more work done. 

If you need him for warmth you can sit on his lap while he works. 

If he doesn’t have anything to get done? He’ll drive you mad with a bunch of different jokes. 

He doesn’t cuddle and he won’t screw around during a storm. 

Gives you blankets then sits next to you.

He doesn’t get cold, maybe a little bit but it’s not something he can’t handle.

If you’re anxious he can always offer a kiss and some jokes. 

Oswald Cobblepot // Penguin

It’s storming? Since when? 

He has to look outside to know it’s storming. 

He’s not at all phased by any type of storm unless he’s caught wind of someone plotting against him. 

You need to voice to him you’re nervous and want him to stay around otherwise he’ll be off working. 

If you voice to him you are anxious he’ll offer to watch a movie or something. 

He’s burying you in the warmest blankets if you say you’re cold and you have goosebumps. 

He’s actually very understanding and not very bothered by you at all. 

It was about time he took a break anyway. 

He has backup generators for backup generators he has power in all ways that matter. 

If you want to screw around he’ll cockwarm but he’s only going to mess around if the mood takes him.  

Harleen Quinzel // Harley Quinn 

She complains. 

She hates the cold but surprisingly doesn't mind storms. 

Harley will cuddle or at least fall asleep on your chest or shoulder.

Will steal your blankets. 

Clingy in a non clingy way. She’ll go up to you and stare at you until you get a clue, if you don’t then she minds her own business. 

Definitely down for messing around, much more teasing. 

She will do whatever the hell you want too.

She’ll talk about the days before she became Harley Quinn, and how much colder the cells are at Arkham. 

If you manage to snuggle up to her she’ll share her blankets. 

She clears all anxiety with her degree. 

Pamley Isley // Poison Ivy

Claims its nature letting go.

LOVES storms and doesn’t mind the cold. 

Checks on her plants during the storm. 

Disregards you unless you pay attention to her.

Say you're cold and she will make the best herbal tea. 

She’s calming your anxiety with talk of which plants grow better in the cold and why they need the cold. 

She understands nature and wants nothing more than to ensure everything she likes is alright. 

She shares her blankets with you. 

Would watch whatever. 

You fall asleep and she’ll leave you a few blankets and go outside to enjoy the storm.

[ltwilliammowett]

The final door is no. 24 and that means today is Christmas Eve and so let's see who greets us today and it's the old lady herself. HMS Victory is here to wish you a Merry Christmas.

HMS Victory in Snow

More about her here:

Our famous lady was designed by Sir Thomas Slade, Senior Surveyor of the Royal Navy. She was launched in 1765 and used around 6000 trees of which 90% were oak, the remainder being elm, pine and fir. She was not commissioned until 1778 and this long period of weathering resulted in her timbers being well seasoned which was a major reason for her long life. She was a First Rate Ship of the Line with an outfit of 100 guns on 3 decks.

She was in active service for 34 years. She served as the flagship to a number of distinguished Admirals and fought at the first Battle of Ushant in 1778 (Keppel), the Second Battle of Ushant in 1781 (Kempenfelt) and the Battle of Cape St Vincent in 1797 (Jervis). In 1797, she was pronounced unfit for further active service and was due to be converted to a hospital ship. However, when HMS Impregnable was lost in October 1797 leaving the Admiralty short of a First Rate, the decision was taken to refit Victory which took place at Chatham between 1800-1803.

As part of an extensive reconstruction, extra gun ports were added, increasing her guns from 100 to 104, the magazine was lined with copper, the masts were replaced and the paint scheme changed from red to the black and yellow seen today. She sailed for Portsmouth in April 1803 and Nelson hoisted his Flag onboard in May 1803 as Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean Fleet. Admiral Lord Nelson was Victory’s most famous Admiral.

On 21 October 1805, she led the British Fleet under his command into battle against a Franco-Spanish force off Cape Trafalgar. Nelson was shot at the height of the battle and died at 16.30 when victory was assured. SHe suffered a lot of punishment, 57 men were killed and 102 wounded, and the ship was so badly damaged that she had to be towed to Gibraltar for emergency repairs before returning home with Nelson’s body onboard.

After further service in the Baltic and off the coast of Spain, she was placed in reserve in 1812 and was moored off Gosport as a depot ship. Flagship of the Port Admiral, Portsmouth from 1824, she became flagship of the Commander-in-Chief in 1899. She then slowly deteriorated at her moorings until a campaign to save her was started in 1921 by the Society of Nautical Research (SNR).

In 1922 she was moved into No 2 dock Portsmouth, the oldest drydock in the world, for restoration. The work was completed in 1924 and preservation continued under the supervision of the Society for Nautical Research. The ship subsequently underwent another extensive restoration programme to make her appearance as close as possible to that at Trafalgar, for the bicentenary of the battle in October 2005. She is still in commission as the flagship of the Second Sea Lord/Commander-in-Chief Naval Home Command.

[bk-4-trash-fire]

Ok sagau cult of the lamb Christmas special

I don't have a photo to use so I have this place holder

Please don't spam my post I don't want to block you

For today was the best day the cult could have.

And the worst for the archons

For the cult fest, drink, sing, and dance for a day uncaring of the worries the world brings

And also they're naked

JESUS they're naked

Ya know this isn't so bad

All you have to do is stand in a corner

And not look at...

Well...

Anything.

Moving on..

Zhongli is not doing ok..

Watching a group of people collectively get naked is something he never needed to see

And the creator doing it felt like both a blessing and a punishment

It's not helping the creator is pushing him to get naked too

Zhongli trying his best not to rip off his pants: your grace are you sure this is appropriate?

Creator, wearing nothing but a cape: yeah I see no problem....take off the pants

Ei was having a crisis on this festive day not knowing if these feelings are killing her or helping her

Ei trying not to explode while looking at the creator: may I ask why you don't have clothes on your grace?

Creator smashed out their mind holding half a bottle of alcohol: C H E E M A S

Venti.

Venti is having a blast.

His clothes are gone within seconds

He's having the time of his life drinking and singing songs

Venti: your grace why do you have this tradition?

Creator: I got high with leshy the day I made this holiday and still don't remember what the hell it was even about. But if I can get drunk and naked for a day then whatever I said must've been genius

That's all for now but give me any ideas you want for the next robot stray chapter

[zepskies]

Omgggg i loved your “love actually” one shot, it is truly the best Christmas film about!

Which got me thinking, Halloween, what would Soldier boy be like around autumn, does he like when his girlfriend forces him to dress up? I doubt it. Or when she had a marathon of horror films…🎃 and baked apple pie and had thriller by Michael Jackson on repeat!

Hey, hun!

Omg thanks so much! Love Actually (the movie) is the absolute best. And I had sooo much fun writing "Love Actually!"

But that's such a great question... To be honest, I think he would say "fuck no" to actually dressing up in a Halloween costume. 😂 We already know how he feels about capes...

The closest he might get (with a lot of cajoling and bribing on your part) is one of the older versions of his super suits, if he still has them. Or literally dressing in a black normal dress suit and saying, "What? I'm Bruce Wayne." 😈

But he would most definitely do the horror movie marathon with you (smirking and wrapping an arm around you when you inevitably hid your face in his shoulder during The Exorcist).

He would 💯 be stealing candy out of the bowl. Unapologetic when you glare at him. "Damn it, Ben. That's for the kids!"

He would devour apple pie and tolerate the first few repeats of "Thriller," until he gets so annoyed that he yanks your phone away and changes the song himself. "I can't fucking take it anymore! He may be the King of Pop, but this shit's gotta go."

Ben would, however, want to help you pick out your costume. Sluttier the better, of course. 🙄 He's nothing if not predictable there.

Unless you're going to a party though. Then he'd want you to keep it classy and sexy but not too sexy. He doesn't want to spend the whole night keeping an eye out for (who he deems, in his mind) other skeevy bastards.

You would hate for him to break your friends, so you'd probably compromise with him. But at the end of the night, maybe you give your boyfriend a little "peep show," so to speak.

Thanks so much for your question! This was too fun! I'm going to put a new section in my Soldier Boy Masterlist for "headcanons and imagines."

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[momachan]

"Dear Batman... Okay, I admit that always looked WEIRD on the Christmas card... but I have to tell you, sometimes it felt even WEIRDER to write "Dear Bruce"... Sometimes, I wonder what you call me in your head. When you think about me, I mean. If you think about me. Reading those FILES of yours... I guess it was the first time I was ever sure that you sometimes wonderer the same kind of THINGS. And I don't want you to WONDER about me. I want you to be SURE. Thing is I don't know how to reassure you in WORDS. I mean, there ARE no words. What AM I, Bruce? Your son? Your trainee? Your soldier? Your "sidekick"? Your ward? "Ward." I HATE that word. It stopped having any MEANING the minute I turned EIGHTEEN, and I was afraid I would, too. Stop having MEANING, I mean for YOU. So, in the absence of binding WORDS, I try to show you who I am in ACTION. And I find I can't stop MOVING. Sometimes it's because I feel like I have to keep UP with you, and sometimes it's because I feel I have to keep AHEAD of the others. You don't know what it's about EITHER, do you? All the PEOPLE around you?.. Sometimes I think they just GATHER of their own ACCORD... pulled by the same MAGNETISM and MISSION that keeps me in ORBIT, and I'm so grateful for them... so glad not to be ALONE out here... that I don't give it a second thought. But other times, Batman... Bruce... no, Batman, I think you deliberately CALLED them to your side... and I can't BELIEVE you'd have the GALL. You eventually HEARD ME OUT on the issue, but I don't think you ever really GOT how much it HURT me when you chose Azrael to stand IN for you instead of ME. The only thing I hate more than WEARING that cape and cowl and imagining a world without you IN it... is watching someone ELSE do it. I know you have your reasons for everything you do, and I know you don't always think... I BELIEVE that, I DO believe that, I'm not ever worried that you haven't thought things THROUGH, I'm sometimes worried that I don't factor into your thinking. Or that if I do, you're worrying that I can't take care of myself. It ocurred to me for the first time today, that maybe it's not about that. You're not an easy man to be close to, Bruce. As much as you may care about any of us, any of THIS, I know you'd trade it all in a heartbeat if you could have your parents back. And I have never really admitted this to anyone, but I don't think I would. Trade, I mean. And I don't think I'm ready to see your face if I TOLD you that. Which is why I'm never gonna send this letter. I miss my parents with my whole heart, Batman, I do. But I wouldn't trade this for the world. Love, Dick."

Batman: Gotham Knights: Contested. Sibling Rivarly.

[aspoonofsugar]

Merry Schnees-Mas!

It's Christmas, so here comes a short meta on the Schnees' secondary allusion, which is rooted in the founder of the SDC: Nicholas Schnee.

NICHOLAS AS SANTA CLAUS

Nicholas alludes to Santa Claus:

He is called "Old Nick"

He has a white beard and wears a red cape with white fur

He lives in the Kingdom of Winter and is the Head of the Schnee (snow) family

He is famous for being fair and generous

He is the founder of a company who produces the equivalent of magic (Dust) and is known all around the world

Under his leadership the SDC is small, but famous for its quality, fairness and genuine values.

JACQUES AS A GOBLIN-JACK FROST

Jacques alludes to Jack Frost:

His name Jacques is similar to Jack and his surname Gelè means frost in French

He is associated with cold, as he makes his family's life cold and lonely through his abuse

Jack Frost is often depicted positively and is even considered Santa Claus's helper. For example, he makes snow fall, so that Santa can camouflage himself in the sky. Obviously, Jacques is an inversion, as he tricks Willow and Nicholas in trusting him with the SDC. In short, he is a false friend to them: he acts as the embodyment of winter, only to reveal himself as a cruel goblin. Like the one who builds the evil mirror in The Snow Queen. Or like Santa Claus's most famous enemies.

Under him, the Company grows and starts exporting in the whole world. Still, the workers are exploited and more and more unethical methods are used. The SDC and the Schnee Family both lose their identity.

THE TRUE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS

Let's review:

Nicholas founds a company built on mutual help, fairness and quality

Jacques comes and makes it bigger and more successful, but sacrifices its people for it

Doesn't it sound similar to what capitalism does to Santa Claus and Christmas itself?

Then the point may very well be that the Schnee Family needs to rediscover the "true meaning of Christmas" and Nicholas's original ideals.

Luckily, a certain snowflake is on it:

Weiss: I don’t know who you think you are, but let me tell you who I am: I am the granddaughter of a hero and a child of a villain. I am a citizen of a fallen Kingdom and an heir to nothing. I will not be defined by my name because I will be the one to define it. I am Weiss Schnee, and I am a Huntress!

Weiss is bound to rebuild the Schnee Family legacy and to define what her surname stands for.

Interestingly, our Snowhite is also tied to resurrection (as per her fairy tale) and to religious symbolism:

And what is Christmas, if not the celebration of Jesus's birthday? The child who will die and be reborn to save humanity?

I would say our Snow Angel's chances to succeed are pretty high!

Merry Christmas to whoever celebrates! And Happy Holidays to everybody!

[730kc]

Hi~ you may have secretly thought that I am not going to finish it, but: I am finished with the Cosplay 🔥 Kaito will follow next year, including a shooting at a castle, but for now little Conan is on his own. This weekend we're going to visit a medieval Christmas market in Germany as we did not make it to any other festival. Have a look at my Tumblr for preview photos of my cosplay. I hope you like it, even if it's not perfect. If something is missing, hmu - maybe I can add it (like, there are push buttons missing on the cape, I'll add them later. But anything else 🙏🏻)

Uwahh!! That's so exciting!!!! You worked so hard to get things right to the detail! T__T!! (disclaimer: even we have a hard time remembering the details and just wing it as we go skjfhfhfh;;; So a lot of kudos to you for paying so much attention to accuracy!) (Christmas markets are so lovely, the warm and cozy vibes are so nice~ I hope you have fun!!

Recently, we visited the UK (not quite Germany), but the temperature was so freezing, so I hope I hope you're able to stay warm during the cold winter?! especially in Conan's shorts! 😭 )

[justaphan]

POTO Fics by Mertens

More than any other Phantom of the Opera fic writer, I find myself consuming Mertens’ works over and over for the pleasing writing style, the complex emotions, and the raw and realistic portrayals of Christines in particular. Mertens’ writing is how I also got into modern AUs! 

I’ve never done any rec list for this fandom so let’s start with my fav fics from @intothemertensverse! (Hi there! Thank you!) 

Gustave Daae’s Daughter: A disfigured man on the edges of society with a good heart, Erik has been Gustave Daae’s closest friend for years. When Gustave realizes his time is almost up after contracting an incurable disease, he leaves his two most prized possessions to his friend—his violin, and his daughter. In progress as of 01/09/2023. If you’re not reading this then honestly what do you actually do with all the hours of your life? Some big surprises in this one. Featuring Ayesha and also Angst with a capital A. 

A Love There Is No Cure For from Sonnet 86: A fic of epic proportions but it can be read independently of the larger verse it’s in. Major Leroux influences, and follows the SLOW BURNING journey of how Christine’s grumpy old insecure teacher became the happiest man alive (including all the very awkward sex). Mertens’ masterpiece. 

An Old Fashioned Love Song: After an incident results in Christine needing to fulfill community service, she volunteers at the local old folks home where a chance meeting with a resident will change both of their lives forever. Cranky 80-year-old disabled Erik? I love this little goblin so much. You will too.  

Saved From Solitude: Feeling anxious and unable to sleep in his own house, Erik spends the night in Christine’s dressing room to get some much needed rest. He’s certain Christine will never find out—as long as he wakes up on time. Erik may seem tall, dark, and imposing, but he’s actually the sweetest sleepy old man with a cane. I want to tuck him into bed myself. Bonus total BAMF Christine!

Scuffle in Box Five: The Ghost had requested that Box Five be kept empty, but on the night of Mlle Daae's first performance, Box Five is most certainly not empty. There is popcorn in this fic and it just makes it ten times funnier. 

And Ask Me To Open Up The Gate For You: Christine Daae has tried every trick in the book to achieve the clear complexion she so desires, and all without result—every trick, that is, except for one. She can’t do it on her own, but perhaps her beloved Maestro will be able to lend his assistance in the matter. In progress as of 01/09/2023. This one is so innovative and different! POTO London Christine Alternate Holly Anne Hull’s Instagram Story had a callout for long-term acne solutions, and turns out a few people told her to go get pregnant to achieve clear skin :D 

First Impressions: Erik takes Christine to his home and the cape flip goes awry. BLESS YOUR HEART ERIK!!!

Just Us Two: The day after the performance, Christine spends the day with her son, just like she promised. A beautiful, poignant continuation of Love Never Dies focused on mother and son. 

Like Everyone Else: Mr. Y has cracked the code of blending in to society. At least, he thinks he has. LND-inspired crack. Just hysterical. Honestly how could anyone argue against Erik moving to New York, it’s plot-powering gold! 

Mr. Y’s Christmas Surprise: Erik accidentally and inadvertently invents the ugly Christmas sweater. SEE COMMENTS ABOVE

Joyeuses Pâques (sans masque): Erik tries to celebrate Easter with his family on Coney Island—and what better way to celebrate than with a visit from the Easter Bunny? Guys just a reminder that Christine moved across the ocean to live with this guy, so.   

My Three Eriks: Erik doesn’t actually speak in the third person. OR “What do you mean James Gant and James Hume aren’t the same person” Shit gets too real in the lair, and it’s laugh out loud funny. 

The Nanny: College dropout Christine Dee lands what appears to be a dream job in taking care of a reclusive rich man’s seven year old boy. As she settles into her new life, however, she discovers a mysterious secret about her boss’s former wife that threatens to unravel everything. Modern AU. Definitely Gerik. Very relatable and insecure Christine. Very funny too. It’s a thrilling murder mystery and it’s very hard to stop reading once you start. 

Baby Shark: Erik is haunted by a certain song his neighbor is playing. Modern AU. I thought this was going to be a crack!fic but I was profoundly moved by it. Both Erik and Christine are a hot mess. A very refreshing take! 

Honolulu Sun: After two years of relative isolation during the pandemic, Christine is a little chattier than usual with a strange masked man in the grocery store. I’m more than a little bit obsessed with this one. Give me all the Gustave Sr./Erik bonding!!!

Boulevard of Broken Dreams: Wealthy Opera Populaire patron Raoul de Chagny has been kidnapped and the Opera managers have been receiving threatening letters regarding emerging star Christine Daaé. Private Investigators Erik and Antoinette have been called in to get to the bottom of what's going on, which means they'll have to be keeping a close eye on the safety of the young soprano. It really is a shame, then, that Erik seems to hate Christine who in turn seems horrified of Erik - but things aren't always what they seem. Film Noir AU. Big sweeping fic. Angles that haven’t been explored before. And an Erik that deserves to be seen!  

[rosewaterandivy]

Summary: ease your armor where you stand, the flashing helmet and plate of bronze, take the spear and return the lyre.

Pairing: s.h. x f!oc

W.C.: 5.3k

Warnings: 19th century etiquette and decorum, Jason Carver jumpscare, god forbid a woman do anything 🙄

m.list | playlist

II. Traîner quelqu’un dans le boue

The debut of Miss Eleanor Fairchild was wildly successful in that it certainly gave the blue bloods of New York something to talk about over the Christmas holidays. In fact, the Fairchild manse was positively filled to the brim with floral arrangements and the silver dish in the foyer is overflowing with calling cards.

Marian radiates in pride, her first major ball thrown with ample aplomb. Her husband, Christopher, is more wary of it all.

“Aren’t things supposed to calm down over the holidays?” He grouses from behind his newspaper once morning at the end of December.

“Really darling, to hear you tell it one would think the entire endeavor was an abysmal failure,” His wife admonishes from her spot by the fireplace.

She catches Pierce’s eye as he steps into the room with a crisp envelope and is about to hand it over to Christopher until Marian daintily plucks it from his grasp. Thumbing it open, she reads it quickly before a gasp falls from her lips.

“Oh my.”

This gets her husband’s attention as he finally extricates himself from the morning paper. He stands behind his wife, one hand curling at her waist as he reads over her shoulder.

“The Astors,” He says after a moment. “Well, I’ll be.”

Marian, coming to her senses, calls to Pierce, “Have Miss Eleanor come down, please. We should get her to the dressmaker before they close for the day.”

She turns in Christopher’s grasp, color high in her cheeks. “She’s done better than we could have possibly hoped,” Her voice is soft, as if she’s afraid to break the spell the unexpected invitation has cast.

Chris drops a chaste kiss to her brow. “Well, she is rather clever, darling.”

“Yes, of course,” She says with a laugh, “But I wasn’t sure with all that business between Mr. Harrington and—”

“You called for me?”

Marian turns and steps from her husband at your entrance. She crosses the room with quick stride and take your hand in hers, giving it a loving squeeze. Her eyes are glassy as she gives a ladylike sniff to clear her sinuses.

“Yes, my dove.” She hands you a pristine card, watching as you read though it. “As you can see, we’ve been invited to Mrs. Astor’s January ball.”

Briefly, you grapple for what this could possibly mean. You thought the winter season was over, but less than a month later here’s another ball held by the Grand Dame herself. Refusal is clearly not an option, not if Marian’s emotional display was anything to go by.

“H-how wonderful,” You say, trying to weave in a note of cheer to your voice.

“Quite the feather in your cap,” Your brother pipes up from his chair as he settles down with the morning paper once more. “Marian says it’s all due to your debut.”

At this, Marian excuses herself to have Pierce ready the Harrington equipage and get the maids to gather the capes and hats. You assume that you’re soon to be whisked off to the dressmaker though you can hardly imagine how to yet another gown would fit into your already cramped wardrobe.

Settled in on the seat of the coach with Marian sitting across from you, your head spins. To be invited by the Grand Dame herself was an honor. And Marian was positively giddy over your good fortune, it would only secure your pristine reputation, according to her.

“Who knows, you may well be in the running to win the season.”

“I’m sorry, win?” A scoff escapes from your lips, “I was unaware entering into society was a competition.”

She laughs, “Oh no dear, not merely entering society,” She leans forward, as if to share a secret. “But catching the attention of Mrs. Astor and a few gentlemen of good breeding is.”

The thought makes your stomach roil.

“And what does winning the season look like?”

Marian leans back to her side of the coach, “Well a respectable marriage, of course.”

Your heart leaps to your throat.

“Right, of course.”

How could you have forgotten that?! If you continued to “succeed” as Marian was clearly hoping you would, by this time next year you’d be some man’s wife with a grand house of your own to run and fill with children.

Before your thoughts can run away with you, the driver slows to a stop in front of the dressmaker’s shop and you’re whisked away to be poked and prodded for a few hours while Marian and the seamstress held up various swaths of fabric to determine which one suited your coloring best.

And by the time you return home later that evening, two more letters are waiting in the foyer. One is an invitation from the newly minted Mrs. Vanderbilt to attend her masquerade ball, while the other is in the younger Mr. Harrington’s familiar hand.

Unfortunately, it is not addressed to you, but to Christopher.

But a new arrangement of flowers does greet you as you open your bedroom door—white carnations, pink peonies, and sprigs of lavender— faithfulness, bashfulness, and devotion. Accompanied by the Harrington stationary, and signed with a flourish, Cordially yours, S. Harrington.

Amelia Harrington all but hustles her son out of the door, “You are to return their repaired carriage and not linger like a lovelorn youth beneath Miss Fairchild’s window.”

For someone who was angling for her son to make an advantageous match, Amelia was sure going about it in a curious way.

Steve’s valet helps him into his coat before passing him his gloves and hat.

“Of course, mother.”

She flicks the imperceptible dust from his shoulders as she says, “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” She steps back and raises her brow, “A fresh cutting of flowers weekly, I mean really Steven.”

He smiles to himself, mindful of his mother’s quiet admonishment.

“Who said I was trying to be subtle about it?”

His mother huffs indignantly. “Right, my mistake. It seems you truly are your father’s son.”

Steve leans over to brush a kiss to her powdered cheek and says teasingly, “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He leaves quickly before she can swat at him, and steps into the newly repaired Fairchild carriage.

Per his message to Christopher, Steve plans to deliver the repaired coach and leave with his equipage— the whole matter settled and put behind them. But if the Mrs. Fairchild just so happens to extend an invitation for tea, or if your brother wants to discuss business in his study… Well, how could he possibly refuse?

Steve is dismayed to learn that you’re dining with Miss Buckley and Miss Wheeler this evening and are subsequently absent upon his arrival. But, as luck may have it, Marian does extend an invitation for dinner and Christopher would, in fact, be keen to discuss some business over brandy.

And that is how Steve Harrington finds himself in a dimly lit corridor, about to make his way downstairs and out to his coach when he collides with someone in the hall. His hands dart out to steady them, this person shrouded in shadow, his fingers finding purchase on soft skin and beginnings of silk opera gloves.

There’s a crackle of heat between you, his hands lighting up your skin, your pulse quickening in his grasp.

You should step back, step away and make your apologies. Marie said she would only be a moment downstairs, where could that blasted girl be now? You can’t be alone with him, not like this, maybe not ever. And it’s not because Steven Harrington is bad news, because how could he be with the way Robin goes on about him?

His fingers skate down your arms following the seam of your gloves, and your mind goes fuzzy because he does that thing again. That seemingly simple thing that is enough to make your knees quiver and chest heave; he drags an elegant finger along the underside of your wrist and pauses right on your pulse. Almost as if he’s trying to keep time with it.

“Apologies,” He manages to get out, voice raspy from the liquor and cigars.

The scent of him is comforting, like wood smoke from the study and tobacco from the cigars your brother and late father favored. But there’s something else there, something distinctly him— sweet like amber, or maybe that’s just the brandy on his breath. Hopefully, he can’t smell the port on yours…

And, oh god, neither of you should be close enough to determine that.

You make to step back, but stumble as your heel catches the hem of your dress. But before you can fall to heap on the floor, Steve pulls you up and steadies you, one hand hovering at your waist, while the other remains resting on at the pulse on the underside of your wrist. His thumb rubs at the delicate bones there, and it would be soothing if you weren’t so embarrassed.

“I–I need to go,” You say, instead of thanks because, clearly, all the laws etiquette have flown right out of your head. “My lady’s maid isn’t—”

Steve tenses at that, his brow furrows as his fingers slip from your wrist. He nods and takes a step back, as a gentleman would. As he probably should have in the first place if he hadn’t been so concerned for you, so caught off guard at your sudden appearance in the dark corridor.

And if he was loathe to leave you at the ball, he’s even more so now. The easy smile you had entered with is gone, replaced with a tight one, eyes downcast and looking anywhere but him. It’s his fault, surely, he shouldn’t have taken such liberties with you and he definitely shouldn’t have had that last glass of brandy.

There’s a fussing noise from a few doors down that breaks the silence. You turn toward it and make your excuse:

“That’ll be my nephew, I should see where the nursemaid is at.”

He expects you to scamper back down the stairs to find the aforementioned woman, but instead you gather your skirt in one hand and walk off toward the wailing babe. The door, partially open, gives way easily under your hand. As you enter the nursery, your nephew’s squalling falls to simple fussing, seemingly delighted at your arrival.

The stairs just so happen to take Steve past the nursery door as he descends, the split second floor providing a gallery to peer down on the main level. Through the balustrade sees you coo at the babbling boy, heaving him up into your arms, and watches as the babe settles on your chest.

And in the back of his mind, Steve knows that he shouldn’t be seeing this moment, it’s far to intimate and familiar. But he really can’t bring himself to look away.

You nuzzle your nose against the downy hairs on the boy’s head, relishing in his sweet scent and warmth. You sway slowly, rocking him with a soft tune as you skate your fingers up and down his back. Steve’s never seen anything quite like it, and in that moment, something blooms in his chest and he finds himself smiling as he quietly slips out the door.

The Astor ball came and went like a dream, a wisp of something unexpectedly wonderful.

Marian was pleased at the good showing you’d made, the gentlemen's names that littered your dance card. And Christopher was more than happy to entertain the fathers of prominent families who asked after you.

Everything was coming up roses for the Fairchilds, or so it would seem.

While the men you’d shared dances with were nothing but respectful and kind, your heart plummeted once you noticed Mr. Harrington’s absence. And yes, it wasn’t a requirement, per se, for men to attend each ball or charity function, but it pained you all the same when the night drew to a close and your pulse lacked the familiar thrum that came from his attentive grasp.

The affable Mr. Byers offered up an explanation for Mr. Harrington’s absence:

“I believe the family is in Boston on business.”

Whereas, Mr. Munson was adamant:

“Checking up on that horse of his, I’d wager. The racing season soon will be upon us.”

Mr. Hargrove was less than helpful:

“I don’t make it a habit to keep up with the comings and goings of one Steven Harrington.”

But, Mr. Hagan luckily, was more than happy to report:

“Oh, Harrington? He’s checking in on the country house upstate.”

Well, at least that settled it. If only you didn’t have to endure four turns around the floor with four different men to get your answers. That being said, they had all also been warned by Mr. Harrington to not let you fall into the hands of—

“Jason Carver,” The blond man says with a bow as he takes your hand.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Carver,” You reply automatically, the years of etiquette lessons doing their work as you drop into a curtsy.

The four gentlemen to your left look, understandably, concerned at this turn of events.

Mr. Carver goes to write his name in the final slot on your dance card, when someone careens into him, spilling a flute of champagne down the side of his lapel. Mr. Munson stumbles and attempts to right himself by swinging an arm around Mr. Carver’s shoulders.

“Apologies, my good man.” He says patting Mr. Carver’s chest and giving you a subtle wink. Then, when discovering the growing dampness on Mr. Carver’s tailcoat, he bemoans that fact that: “We can’t have you dancing with the belle of the ball looking like you’ve come in from the docks!” And finally, drags Mr. Carver out of the ballroom and into the smoking room to remedy the problem.

But before Mr. Hagan or Mr. Byers can secure your attention, another man has stepped forth to lay claim to your final dance.

He’s older and polished, yet somehow familiar as he brushes away the beginnings of Carver’s name to replace it with his own: Harrington.

You glance up, flummoxed, because the only Harrington you know is painfully absent this evening.

He gives you a comforting and paternal smile as he takes your hand in his for the final waltz. And after a few measures says, “It would appear that my son is rather taken with you, Miss Fairchild.”

The elder Mr. Harrington leads you with ease across the floor, his wife looking on with approval as she bends Marian’s ear. Christopher had retreated to the smoking room after Mr. Munson and Mr. Carver with a look of disapproval and had yet to return.

“That’s nice of you to say, Mr. Harrington.”

He turns you delicately, waiting until you're facing him again to ask, “And you? Are you fond of him Miss Fairchild?”

Suddenly, you feel quite dizzy and it’s not due to the turns of the waltz.

And in that moment, you realize you are being studied and scrutinized; it’s just as Marian had said, to win the season was to make an advantageous marriage. But, to your mind, it seemed all too quick for this to be unfolding.

“Your son has been…” You trail off, searching for the appropriate words. The ones that will keep you and your reputation safe. “He’s been exceedingly kind to me, Mr. Harrington.”

He nods, approvingly. “I would hope so, he well ought to be.”

The dance is quickly coming to a close, but there are few more turns around the floor to be had and more than a few tricks up Mr. Harrington’s sleeve. He asks after your education, your parents, and upbringing; inquires about your travels, your interests, and what you’re currently doing to pass the bitter New York winter.

“I’m re-reading the Greeks,” You supply, for that is how you’ve been prattling away the hours at present. “The Iliad as of today.”

He smiles and you can see vestiges of his son in his expression; there’s comfort in that.

“Ah yes, Achilles and his rage. A fascinating tale.”

You nod in agreement. “While Homer paints Achilles as a classic tragic hero, I find the story of the Trojans to evoke more pathos.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, of course,” You smile, luxuriating in a conversation about one of your favorite stories. “To see the dynasty and power of Troy fall in such a tragic way… I, for one, find it all the more compelling because they were deaf to the warnings of their doom.”

“Cassandra,” Mr. Harrington supplies.

“Yes, the women are quite something, that cannot be discounted.” He turns you again and you catch sight of Christopher joining his wife and Mrs. Harrington across the room. Facing your partner, you continue: “I realize that everyone favors Achilles because the gods favored him, but I find myself more fixated on his Trojan counterpart.”

The music hits its crescendo and begins to wind down, drawing the evening to a close.

“And why do you think that is, Miss Fairchild?”

“Oh well, it seems rather obvious to me.” Your feet follow his in the final steps of the waltz, you meet his gaze before taking a step back to curtsey and say: “Because Hector, above being a son of Troy and a leader of men, is an unfailingly good and brave man.”

The song ends, and polite applause is issued. You curtsy and the elder Harrington bows.

“Hmm, right you are Miss Fairchild.” And there’s that familiar smile again, “Right you are.”

He gingerly takes your arm in his and leads you off the floor toward your chaperones. Giving you a secret smile, he leans down to say, “I hope to hear more of your insights one day, my dear.”

And the night ends just as it began, as if you were waking from a dream.

Mrs. Alva Vanderbilt requests the honor of your company at her masquerade ball this Spring at La Petite Château. One must arrive wearing the costume supplied on the enclosed cards. Eligible bachelors are to don masks and their assigned partners are to unmask them. Dancing will begin at Eleven o’clock.

The icy winter gave way into a brisk spring, New York positively bustling with anticipation of the Vanderbilt ball. Invitations had been hand delivered by servants in livery, and young socialites had been practicing quadrilles for weeks on end. Dressmakers and cobblers were booked months ago, services secured soon after the invitations had arrived.

The costumes, by Marian’s own account, were to be as historically accurate as possible. And she thanked her good fortune for not having the stress of dressing as a fallen matriarch of France or a Russian tsarina.

The Fairchilds had lucked into the roles from Greek myth. Marian was to be the famed Helen of Troy, while Christopher was cast as the dashing Paris. You, meanwhile, were to dress as the lovelorn Andromache, with Gus as your son Astyanax.

Although it was rather an odd choice to have Marian and Chris playing one of literature’s infamous pairs star-crossed lovers, it was not for you to question Mrs. Vanderbilt’s judgement. Especially when it afforded you a rather needed respite from a gown with excessive ornamentation. Besides, you were rather fond of Andromache despite her tragic circumstances.

And because your brother was married, it only made sense that he be paired with his wife. While you, an unmarried woman in society, would be paired with an eligible bachelor. It’s a thought you choose not to linger on, content to let the dressmaker alter and shape the costume to her liking while Marian fusses with your hair and jewels.

“I hadn’t anticipated a need for gold this season, at least not until we were in Newport.”

Keeping to the historically accurate theme and to compliment the gown, Marian was on a mission to simpler gold and silver pieces rather than more readily available paste jewels or the more precious gems from your mother’s estate.

The costume itself was lovely, a simple gown resembling a pelpos in a lovely blue. The skirt only partially bustled so as to create a cascading drape of fabric. Fortunately, you would be able to get away with a looser more comfortable corset since the bodice differed from the fashionable bateau cut and would be secured with brooches at each shoulder.

Since you’d be carting around Gus all evening, you considered it a fair trade.

Your hair, Marian and Marie decided, would be braided at the crown with the rest pinned up, a few pieces left loose to frame your face and topped off with a simple gold coronet. Gold bangles would adorn one wrist with a matching cuff on the other. For footwear, handmade leather sandals with small heel would suffice. And you’d have a simple white stole to serve as a himation or cloak if you caught a chill.

The shop bell rings as the door opens.

“If only I cold find something for your coronet,” Marian fusses, thoroughly put out because she couldn’t seem to acquire the final piece for your costume.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine if I go without one,” You say, turning as the seamstress tells you to. “Really, Marian, the costume itself is lovely.”

She pouts, “But she was royalty, you should have a—”

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the seamstress hastily bundles you off to the back of the store, as Marian turns to see none other than Mrs. Harrington walk into the shop.

“Apologies,” She says, “It would seem I’m rather early for my appointment.” Her eyes trail two figures at the back of the store before one is hidden behind a dressing screen. “How do you do Mrs. Fairchild?”

“Oh very well, Mrs. Harrington. Just ticking off our list for the ball. And you?”

“Ah, I’m doing the very same.” She settles on the settee next to Marian. “The Misters Harrington are all set, but I have one final fitting for my costume.” Her lips pull in a jovial smile, “Oh to be a man without a care in the world.”

Marian can’t help but laugh along with the older woman. And that’s precisely what they’re doing when you emerge from the backroom.

“What a lovely surprise,” Mrs. Harrington greets, rising to take your hand. “I didn’t mean to snoop on your appointment dear, truly.”

You curtsy, “Of course not Mrs. Harrington, and we certainly didn’t mean to take so much of Elizabeth’s time today.”

“Think nothing of it,” She says with a smile, “But if I may be so bold, the sliver I saw of your costume was utterly enchanting.”

You thank her profusely, and say your goodbyes. Her eyes trailing after you as you step into the carriage. For some reason, your heart won’t stop racing.

Later that evening, Marie is called downstairs during dinner to take a delivery up to your room. She brushes down her skirt and apron, excusing herself from the servants' table. Pierce waits in his solemn way at the door with a finely crafted wooden box in his gloved hands.

Placing it into her hands he says, “This came for Miss Fairchild, she is to add it to her costume for the ball.”

Puzzled, she glances up. “No note?”

Pierce shakes his head, “None whatsoever.”

Slowly and carefully, Marie takes the stairs to deposit the jewelry box on your bureau for tomorrow. As she slides the box into its place of honor amongst the golden bracelets and brooches, her curiosity gets the better of her.

A soft gasp falls from her mouth as she quietly opens the box. For nestled among its indigo velvet lining rests a beautifully elegant and refined golden coronet.

Steve, it is clear once he’s arrived at the Vanderbilt manse, La Petite Château, has never been more nervous in his life. Not only is he attending a ball for which he must arrived masked only for his assigned partner to unmask him (what madness is that?!), but he is wearing leather sandals and a kilt with leather tassels in March.

He has never longed for trousers more than in this moment.

He exits the coach first and offers his hand to assist his mother as she descends. He’s carrying a bronze and horsehair helmet, currently propped against his hip. In lieu of a coat, he’s wearing a blood red cape, and armbands along with a breastplate of bronze. There’s also the matter of the sword at his other hip that keeps getting in his way, but that is neither here nor there.

His mother is a resplendent Hecuba to his father’s stoic King Priam.

Yes, they seem to have made a mighty fine showing for such a tragic tale.

Amelia brushes a few errant locks of hair from her son’s face before he can don the bronze helmet. A clever way around the masquerade requirement of the evening; and all the more dramatic for whomever was to unmask him.

“Now,” She says, voice soft and maternal, “Regardless of who unmasks you tonight…” Her fingers fuss with the red fabric at his shoulder. “You should find Miss Fairchild as soon you are able.”

Steve nods, finding his voice lodged somewhere in his throat at present.

“We’ll be summering in Newport soon, and I know you’d rather not wait until the end of the season to make your intentions known. The sooner we can secure the courtship, the better— your father are in agreement on that.”

“She’s a fine girl, son,” His father chimes in as Steve puts the helmet on. “A rare find.”

More carriages are arriving by the minute, so with that, the Harringtons make their way into the Vanderbilt ballroom.

The Fairchilds arrive not long after, and refreshments are served before the dancing can begin around eleven o’clock.

With Gus babbling at your hip, you don’t have much time to search for Mr. Harrington. In fact, you’re not even sure he would attend given his absence at the last ball. His parents, of course, would be there, his mother’s presence at the dressmakers guaranteed it.

Seated with your brother and Marian for dinner, you pass Gus off to his nursemaid who accompanied the family. She’s dressed as the milk mother to Astyanax, comely in her cream colored pelpos. He parts from you with a small fuss, and a part of you is already mourning his absence.

“You’re good with him,” Marian smiles conspiratorially, “He’s grown quite attached to you.”

You smile back serenely, “And I him.”

After the fanfare of dinner and drinks, Mrs. Alva Vanderbilt, who had quite stolen the evening with her costume of ‘electric light’ with a lit and battery-powered skirt, announced that the unmasking was to take place before the dancing would begin.

Everyone is ushered into the ballroom as the help begins to clear the table and refresh the drinks. The symphony begins to play softly in the background, the growing sound of voices rising over the music.

Gus, sated from his nap during dinner, grabs for you as the nursemaid passes him over. His chubby hands rest on the brooch at your shoulder, his little fingers skating along the golden disc. You will yourself to take deep breaths to alleviate the rising panic in your chest.

Logically, one would assume that the eligible gentlemen and ladies would be paired along a similar, if not the same theme. Unfortunately for you, there was no shortage of Greco-Roman costumes for the evening. Already you had surmised the presence of Cupid and Psyche, Echo and Narcissus; Janus with his two faces and Pandora with her box.

And nowhere had you caught sight of one Steven Harrington.

A few of the braver ladies step out from the crowd, inviting the gentlemen to do the same, and the games begin. Juliet finds her Romeo, Guinevere her Lancelot, and Isolde her Tristan. The numbers on the dancefloor keep dwindling, but you play your cards close to the vest as you entertain Gus at your hip.

The lone centurion that approaches is an immediate no go, as a jubilant Cleopatra eagerly reveals her Anthony.

But another soldier in regalia remains, as do a few other men, and you could’ve sworn that you’d spied a lone Oberon awaiting his Titania.

Cautiously, you step forward, ankle flashing briefly as your skirt moves with you. Gus is less sure of this turn of events, preferring to nuzzle against you as the stranger approaches, and you assess one another warily.

The helmet hides his face from view, but you take in the cocked angle of his head, how it allows his eyes to travel the length of you— from the hem of your dress to the coronet on your head. He’s slowly taking you in, as you are him, and it’d be almost a luxury if not for the pairs of eyes trained on you.

From across the way, you catch sight of Robin and Nancy, their cheeks flushed from the champagne and excitement of the evening. They’re whispering to each other behind Nancy’s fan, their eyes bright with mischief.

As if they are privy to something you are not.

A wail from Gus steals your attention, frightened by the helmet the stranger is sporting, and you know your time is up.

Surely, there must be some sign that this is Alva’s match for you? Some inkling or hint on his costume, maybe?

Shushing Gus with nonsense words and a low, soft voice, your eyes travel the length and breadth of this man before you. And there, on his breastplate of bronze, is the etching of a warhorse.

A smile breaks across your face as you take a step closer and raise your voice to say, “Well, if it isn’t Hector, breaker of horses.”

And it’s like a scene from a painting, or The Iliad itself, when the man goes to remove his horsehair helm. Gus, dressed as Hector’s son Scamandrius, stops his cries when the face of the man beneath is finally revealed.

It’s a sight that nearly steals your breath, because your match was clearly versed in the classics as well, and does just as Hector did— taking the infant from your grasp and holding him against his breastplate. Gus is thrilled by the change of venue; if your gold brooches were amusing than the breastplate, polished to a high sheen is fascinating. The baby laughs at his own reflection, eyes wide and curious.

A hush had fallen over the crowd as the scene unfolded before them. Amelia Harrington’s eyes fell to a familiar gold coronet, Samuel Harrington caught Christopher’s attention and nodded toward the smoking room for discussion, Marian’s eyes welled with happy tears, while Nancy and Robin took note of the pleasant and calm expression on your face.

No one was the wiser as your Hector, oh so discreetly, held your bangle-adorned wrist and skated a finger across your palm to rest against your thrumming pulse. He passed off Gus to the nursemaid and toed his helmet to the side.

“Andromache,” He says with a playful smile, “The honor is all mine.”

And with that, he pulls you into his arms as the first dance of the evening begins. You could swear that your feet never once touched the ground that evening as Steven Harrington spun you across the floor.

Miss Fairchild,

I must avail myself upon your good nature and express my deepest regrets for my behavior at the ball last night. It was not my intention to engage you so readily after your debut knowing, as I do, the feelings you harbor about the season, et al. If it is amenable, I would like to apologize to you personally— it is my most ardent hope that my recklessness not endanger our friendship. If that is agreeable to you, you can expect my call Sunday afternoon.

Very sincerely,

S. Harrington

_

Dearest reader,

It would seem that Mrs. Vanderbilt’s masquerade was quite the fête of the spring season. I even heard tell that our newly minted debutante was less than generous with her dancecard, more preoccupied with the city’s favorite bachelor and his furious pursuit.

Will there be an announcement before we decamp to Newport? Or will this infatuation prove to be just another passing fancy?

Keep your eyes and ears pealed, loyal readers, until then.

[sl-newsie]

Snow Day (Carlos de Vil x Silvermist Daughter) *Christmas Special* 🎄

'Can I request a Carlos descendants holiday fic with friends to lovers/everybody knows but them tropes? But the reader is an AK, adopted daughter of Silvermist.’ Here we go!

“No! Cut it out, Elvin!” I shout as I sprint through the icy wind. “You know I don’t like the cold!”

The white-blonde boy behind me jumps up to lean off a lamppost. “What’s the matter? Too afraid to have fun?”

I give an annoyed huff and hug my cape around me tighter. “Just because you’re the son of Jack Frost doesn’t mean you have to make my life a living nightmare with your pranks! Now for the last time, leave me alone!”

In a final effort I let out a water blast that sends Elvin flying into a snowbank, then dash down the street to hide inside Miss Muffet’s Bakery. 

“Oh- Sylvia! Hi! What’s going on-?!”

In my haste I almost run into a familiar face, though this is one face I am always excited to see!

“Shh!” I hold up a hand to silence Carlos. “I’m hiding!”

His eyes widen. “Oh!” He joins me behind the cookie display. “May I ask from whom?” Carlos whispers back.

“Ugh. It’s Elvin Frost. Son of Elsa and Jack Frost, and an icy pain in my side. He’s visiting from Arendelle, and has become the reason why I hate snow days.”

“Hate snow days?” Carlos laughs. “How could anyone hate snow days? I mean, look around!” He gestures to the billowing snow swirling around the window. “It’s so- so…”

“Magical?”

“Exactly!”

Ever since Carlos came to Auradon last summer, I’ve always been fond of his childlike energy. Not many kids in Auradon appreciate the little things like he does, so it goes without saying that we’d become friends. Mom’s always so busy controlling the water elements she didn’t have time to look after me, so she sent me to be adopted by Jack Beanstalk. But like Carlos, I’ve learned to enjoy other things. However, snow isn’t one of them.

“My wings can’t stand the bitter cold. If I stay outside too long, they freeze and wither away. It also doesn’t help that my water powers freeze in the winter. Water and cold do not mix well for me.”

Carlos’ face falls. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.”

I wave it off. “It’s alright.”

“It’s just that… we didn’t get snow on the Isle.”

That’s why he loves the snow. I can’t be mad at him for that. How could he have known anyway? It’s his first Christmas in Auradon, so he wouldn’t know.

“I guess if you’ve never seen it, snow can be very magical,” I attempt a cheerful smile. “I’m glad you enjoy it! You should go play outside.”

Carlos still isn’t convinced. “But it’s not as fun if you’re not there, Sylvia. Would you maybe wanna stay here for a hot chocolate?”

My spirits lift and my wings start fluttering. “That sounds wonderful! I’d love to!”

“Great! Um- maybe we could sit down instead of hiding behind the counter?”

I nod eagerly and start flying to a nearby table, too excited to remember not to use my wings indoors.

“Oh- right.” I flutter down, and my height difference shows. Since I’m the descendant of a fairy, I’ve been short my whole life.

“That never gets old,” Carlos comments with a grin.

I tilt my head in confusion. “What?”

“Your wings. I think they’re beautiful.”

His kind words send us both into blushing messes, so I try to change the subject.

"Where's Dude?"

Carlos chuckles. "He hates the cold, so he's currently sleeping in front of the fire in my dorm."

By now a waitress shows up to take our order.

“What’ll it be, hon?”

I don’t miss a beat. “A large old-fashioned hot chocolate extreme with peppermint dust, whipped cream, and marshmallows, please!”

Carlos’ jaw drops. 

I roll my eyes. “It’s my favorite holiday drink, I don’t care if it gives me a heart attack.”

“It sounds fantastic! I’ll have one too!” He smiles at the waitress, who just nods and walks off.

This snow day just got so much better!

Evie’s POV

“We’ve got to get them together!” I huff as I pace the dorm room.

“But they are together,” Jay states bluntly. “Haven’t you seen them around?”

I roll my eyes. “I mean, they need to know that they love each other, right? It’s like they’re completely oblivious to it!”

Jay lazily gets up from the couch and walks over to the window. “I wouldn’t say they look too upset.”

“What?”

I dash over and peer through the frosted glass to see Carlos and Sylvia walking hand-in-hand through the snow, each holding to-go mugs.

“Oh my God. Are they on a… date?”

Jay shrugs. “Guess we don’t gotta step in after all.”

I’m still unconvinced. “No, no. It’s been going on like this for months! They look happy hanging out together, but won’t confess their feelings! Come on!” I grab Jay’s sleeve and start dragging him out the door. “I want to see this for myself!”

Sylvia’s POV

Ok, if all snow days involve drinking hot chocolate with Carlos then I want one every day! 

“What’s been your favorite snow activity?” I ask Carlos, who keeps looking at the snow outside as if we’re in a real-life snow globe.

“Definitely making snowmen. Or snowball fights! Wait- have you ever ice skated?”

I let out a carefree laugh as I sip my cocoa. “Yes, it comes very naturally when I can control water.”

“What’s your favorite snow activity?”

I come to a stop in the flurrying snow, remembering how much I used to love winter as a kid.

“I… I liked making snow angels,” I whisper.

Carlos gets an unreadable expression. “Why don’t you now?”

I shake my head and gesture to the frozen ground. “I don’t like risking direct snow contact with my wings. Plus, all the snow that melts under me begins to freeze to my cape.”

The freckled VK looks distant for a second, then seems to get an idea. 

“Wait a sec!” He quickly slides off his own coat and lays it on the fluffy snow. “Now you have a double cover!”

I smile sadly at his thoughtful gesture. “Carlos, that’s really sweet. But I’m not sure-”

“Come on, it’ll only be for a second!” Carlos takes my hand and pulls me closer. “We’ll head straight back indoors, I promise.”

I must admit, Carlos’ pleading eyes combined with the sparkling snow is all too taunting to pass up despite my usual refusals.

With a deep breath, I hug my cape tighter around me and turn around to gently lie down on the soft blanket of snow. The cooler surface is refreshing, flooding my mind with childhood memories. Slowly, I bring my arms out to form the angel, and when I do I feel Carlos lay down beside me.

“Are you having fun?” He asks sincerely.

“Yes,” I answer in a relaxed tone, then seem to rethink something. “Carlos… Do you like spending time with me?”

Carlos doesn’t take more than 2 seconds to respond. “Of course! You’re always so full of fun ideas, and having a water balloon fight with you is one of the best things ever!”

I nod. “Does that mean… you enjoy my company? You like… me?”

By now we’ve both realized where this conversation might be going, but thankfully Carlos doesn’t seem weirded out by it and doesn’t slide away.

“Ok, don’t water-blast me for this,” Carlos takes a deep breath. “Would you be mad if I said I did like you? Maybe… as more than a friend?”

Is this what I think it is?

“So is this a date?” I stand up and my wings start getting excited, threatening to shake loose from my cape. “Oh no- I can’t be out too long!”

Carlos sees my panicked face and stands up with me to dust the snow off my cape. Then out of nowhere, he sweeps me up bridal-style and rushes me across the grounds to the dorm building entrance. We don’t speak, there’s no need to. I trust him not to drop me. Through speaking with actions Carlos shows me just how much he cares, and it sends my spirits soaring. I don’t know if it’s the sugar in the hot chocolate or my dilated emotions, but my heart’s racing like a rabbit!

When we get inside and the warmth engulfs my wings again, Carlos gently lets me down.

“I supposed I did mean for this to be a date,” Carlos admits. “I’m sorry you got too cold.”

For some reason my stubborn eyes can’t leave his cute face. “It’s my fault, I got too excited. I just wish I could stand the cold longer so I could enjoy it with you,” I say in a sad tone.

“I’d keep you warm.” Carlos leans in closer and wraps his arms around me, firm enough to show his affection but not too tight to damage my wings.

Using what courage I can muster, I turn my head up. “I know you will.” And with that, I press a soft kiss to his cheek.

Carlos’ face goes as red as a cherry, and immediately I regret being so bold.

“I’m sorry! God, I’m so bad at this- I just messed everything up- and now you’re mad-!”

Carlos cuts me off by leaning in to kiss my lips and my eyes close on instinct. If it weren’t for my wings going into hummingbird mode, this would be a really tender moment. 

When we break apart to breathe, I hear Carlos let out a surprised gasp.

“Sylvia, um… As much as I love your wings, would you mind letting me down?” He jokes.

My eyes pop open and I look down to find that my wings have lifted us up a good 5 feet in the air.

“Oh! Right. Sorry about that,” I gush as I lower us down, with Carlos still hugging me to him.

“Does this mean we can have more snow dates?” I ask in a timid voice.

Carlos grins. “That sounds fun! I think I just found my new favorite snow activity!”

I mirror his happiness with my own smile and grip his hand. “I think we’ve had enough snow for today, so how about watching a Christmas movie?”

“Perfect!” 

Carlos starts leading me back to his dorm, and when we pass by Evie and Jay in the hallway I swear I hear Evie mutter “It’s about time.” 

God, I love snow days!

@laylasshiftingtonight

[toasecretsanta]

(1 of 2 fics)

Merry Christmas ToA fandom!!!

I [@firealder2005] was given @literallyjusttoa this year, and this fic is based off her prompt of Poseidon and Apollo bonding time!!!

I will have the fic up on my Ao3 once the submission is posted :3

Warnings: Just to be safe, I have the fic rated M for implied noncon because. well. Ancient times be ancient times, you know?

This was meant to be combined with the other fic I have but uh. I got carried away lmao

Let us begin!

Save Me, ‘Cuz I’m Fallin’

A soft curse left his lips as he adjusted his grip on the stack of bricks in his arms. Apollo blew a puff of air towards a curl of hair that had fallen into his eyes, warily scanning the people around him as he set his bricks down. He tucked that free strand back behind his ear, wiping his dusty, achy hands on his tunic as the slowly-growing wall before him casted a long shadow over him, the sunset looming from behind.

“Hey!” Apollo slightly jumped as a hand clamped down on his shoulder, roughly spinning him around. One of the guards stationed around the wall glared at him, eyes partially obscured by the helmet on his head. Apollo wondered why people wore those if they obstructed their view. It was terribly constricting.

The guard shook him again. “The king demands your presence. He’s not happy with you.”

Apollo swallowed and began surreptitiously looking for his one and only ally within these ever-growing, ever-entrapping walls — Poseidon. In the years he’d been quite literally slaving away in Ilios, he always felt a lot more comfortable dealing with its king without the older, formidable god at his side. Even if at times there wasn’t much Poseidon could do…

Apollo was thankful to catch sight of his uncle. Poseidon’s hair had grown unruly during their punishment, yet he was still able to cut an imposing figure through the polis as the slaves of Ilios were finally able to pause their back-breaking work and rest.

“Come on!” The guard grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. Apollo stumbled, the sandals on his feet slipping over the pebbles beneath them, and the guard snorted as he fell onto his knees. “Get up!” he barked, the fold of his cape snapping as the former god staggered back to his feet. “We don’t have all night!”

Apollo ducked his head and mutely nodded, wincing a bit as the scrapes on his knees stung. A quick look told Apollo they would heal within seconds, but it did little to reassure the nervousness growing in his throat. Gods, he hated it when Laomedon called for him…

He attempted to swallow the lump. No luck.

Glancing almost desperately over his shoulder, Apollo managed to catch Poseidon’s eye and gave him his best HELP! LAOMEDON WANTS TO TALK TO ME! look. It must have translated quite well, for Poseidon began shoving his way through the dwindling crowd and stormed after Apollo and the guard, who still had not removed his adamantine-grip from his arm. Rude.

“You! Guard!” His uncle’s voice boomed through the air. A slave he may be now, but nothing could ever take away the blood-freezing depths of his words. “Where are you taking my nephew?”

The guard’s head had snapped around to face Poseidon, who loomed a good foot taller than the Dardanian. Despite the angry behemoth before him, the guard clearly had a nice stash of bravery somewhere within him — or he was stupid, depending on your point of view.

Personally, if Apollo had been on the receiving end of the furious stare Poseidon was giving this Dardanian, he would have scampered out of the way faster than Arion could run.

“Your indolent nephew,” the guard sneered. “Is to come to the king. He has some words to share with him.”

“Very well,” Poseidon tersely replied, eyes storming like the Adriatic Sea on a bad day. “Lead the way.”

The guard hesitated, his grip on Apollo’s arm loosening a bit, much to his relief. He pulled it out of his grasp and hid a wince at the twinge that shot up to his shoulder. Thanks a lot, he grumbled, rubbing at the blossoming bruise. Not like that’s gonna make carrying bricks even more of a pain or anything…

Then again, he healed fast. Maybe he wouldn’t have to deal with a stinging arm in the morning.

Though…Apollo nervously folded his hands together as the Dardanian guard jerkily motioned for him and Poseidon to follow. By the attitude of the guard, he clearly didn’t think Apollo would exist when Eos decided to paint the sky pink with her fingers.

Apollo kept his eyes fixed on the dirt below, ignoring the sleepy city around him. He stifled a yawn that pulled at his throat, and jumped when Poseidon nudged his shoulder with his own.

“You good?” he murmured under his breath, eyeing the guard marching before them with an intense look of dislike.

The younger god nodded, shakily inhaling as he muttered a “yes” in response.

“Tired?”

“As always.”

A ghost of the jovial grin Apollo remembered appeared on his uncle’s face. “Just remember — once that stupid wall is done, we’re out of here.”

Apollo felt his own lips curl into a smile just as the guard quickened his pace and entered the throne room. Yeah, he couldn’t wait for this stupid punishment to be over. Apollo swatted at the sheer curtains hanging from the doorways, tensing as he spotted the king of Ilios seated on his throne, fingers tapping the armrest ominously.

“The slave you ordered, sir,” the guard bowed.

Laomedon barely gave Apollo a glance. “Why is he here?” He idly lifted a finger to point at Poseidon, who crossed his arms and glared at the king.

The guard cleared his throat, mouth opening as he clearly scrambled to explain how he was cowed into letting Poseidon in, when the king sighed and waved him away.

“Nevermind,” he inspected his nails. “Just go.” The guard quickly bowed once more before shuffling off.

Apollo clasped his hands before him and kept his gaze on the three steps leading up to the throne as Laomedon’s stare finally declared him entertaining enough for attention.

“So,” the king idly leaned forward, eyes fixed on Apollo. It made him distinctively uncomfortable. “I read the recent report on my wall’s construction.” A beat passed. “And I saw something…rather disappointing.” Laomedon rose from his throne and stood at the top of the stairs. “You do remember why your father made me your master, correct?”

Apollo silently nodded as Poseidon’s glare darkened.

“Good,” Laomedon took a step down. His voice darkened. “Then why,” Another step. “Are you failing,” His robes swished as he took the final step. “To meet your assigned quota?” The king’s scowl was harsh, burning into Apollo’s skin as he bit his lip.

“I–I,” Apollo stammered. Damn, he knew this was going to come back to bite him! “I know, I was supposed to get it done by today but I had to cover Aeacus’s quota too—”

“Quiet,” Laomedon’s eyes were still dark as Apollo’s jaw snapped shut against his will. “I don’t want excuses, Apollo. Zeus said to make sure you and Poseidon learned your places in the presence of a king, and that is exactly what I shall do.”

Apollo gulped and tried to hold back a tremor as Laomedon’s ruthless gaze pinned him down. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve been late,” Apollo dropped his gaze from Laomedon’s. “I let those be then, because I thought perhaps you still needed a little extra time to learn. Apparently I was wrong.”

Laomedon’s face split into a smirk. “Come here,” he snapped to the empty space in front of him. “Now.”

In less than a second, Apollo moved to obey. He gritted his teeth, once again attempting to fight against the compulsion, but like every single time before, it was no use.

A hand flashed out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. Poseidon’s gaze was as sharp as a shark’s as he stared Laomedon down. “No. He can stay right here to listen to what you have to say.”

Laomedon tutted. “Poseidon, let him go and stay put. Apollo — come here.”

Jerkily, Poseidon’s hand released Apollo and the younger god attempted to shoot his uncle with an assuring smile. He feared he only managed a grimace.

Taking a steadying breath, Apollo rolled his shoulders back and approached Laomedon, who was still smirking at his fuming uncle before snapping his dark eyes to him. The way the king steepled his fingers gave him an eerie resemblance to Zeus.

Of course, Apollo reflected as he steadily met Laomedon’s self-satisfied stare. He doesn’t quite have the intimidation factor down nearly as well. Though he had to admit, the way the king’s eyes flashed at Apollo’s nerve to meet him eye-to-eye was also very reminiscent of Zeus.

Apollo didn’t know if he meant it as a compliment or not.

Laomedon sighed, as if Apollo had caused him immense stress and disappointment. He tipped his head and clucked his tongue. “Now all that’s left is to find a proper punishment for you.”

The god recoiled at that, but Laomedon didn’t let him get far. He snatched the front of Apollo’s tunic and yanked him back toward him and grabbed his chin. “Since the wall isn’t tough enough work for you, perhaps a few months tending my lovely fields? By yourself?”

The ichor in his veins turned to ice. “That’ll take forever!” he protested.

“The winter months are almost upon us,” Poseidon added. Apollo couldn’t see his face, but he knew his uncle must be thunderous by the dark rumble of his words. “Not only would it be impossible for Apollo to accomplish alone, even with his lyre, but it would deprive your people of much-needed food the next year. Surely you’d know this.”

Laomedon’s eyes glanced behind Apollo, where Poseidon presumably was, hands still tight on Apollo’s tunic and face. He hummed. “I suppose,” he shrugged. “I would hate to have to punish my people because of you, Apollo.” The king’s brow furrowed, as if contemplating his choices. Personally, Apollo didn’t think it was a very good look on him.

Then the king got a wicked gleam in his eyes that also wasn’t a good look on him and set Apollo on edge.

“Of course…” Laomedon nearly purred and wow, his grandmother Rhea’s lions would be offended by how bad he made it sound. The king’s lips curved, a cruel tilt to his head, as he bared his teeth in a grin. “I could just sell you. Though I’d hate to be deprived of your company…”

A sharp inhale was sucked into Apollo’s lungs just as Poseidon let out a snarl.

Laomedon tilted Apollo’s head from side to side. His brows furrowed once more, though in a way that was like a lazy housecat able to play with an exhausted mouse at its paws. “You would fetch a fine price with that pretty face…”

The heart in his chest cavity thumped like a lone, rabid wolf ready to lash out to defend itself from a band of hunters. Apollo swallowed and shook his head.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t,” he nervously laughed. Under any other circumstances, he actually would have been quite offended at the idea that he wouldn’t be worth a lot of drachma, he was a gorgeous, talented god after all thank you very much, but he didn’t fancy getting tossed in the amphora and haggled over like livestock either. “Like you said, I’m awful at work — who’d want a slave who can’t work?”

“They would if they were a god,” much to Apollo’s growing horror, Laomedon seemed to actually be considering the idea, like actually thinking about it. “I’m sure Zeus would understand that you needed a harsher hand.”

“Absolutely not,” Poseidon interjected, his own scowl as harsh as the suggestion Laomedon had put forth. “First of all, my brother assigned us to you — he would not approve of you selling Apollo off. Secondly…” the older sea god drew himself to his full height and pinned the king with a raging stare. “I will not let you. You try it, and I swear I will kill you myself.”

Apollo hardly dared to breathe as slave and master — or god and mortal, he reminded himself — stared each other down. Poseidon’s face was simultaneously as stony as the walls of Ilios itself, and as wrathful as the seas he ruled. He was a true contradiction, and one not to cross.

Laomedon seemed to have realized that himself. His jaw ticked, eyes narrowing with a hint of…unease, perhaps? Wariness?

A cruel master Laomedon may be, but at least he wasn’t a stupid one. Poseidon would have killed him long ago if he had been.

“Then tell me, Poseidon,” Laomedon sounded equally irritated and irate. “What should Apollo’s punishment be?” The unease in his dark eyes was replaced with a brief flash that instinctively made Apollo wary. “Perhaps serving me more…directly in my palace?”

Apollo scowled. “I’d rather fight Python again.”

“Not to mention,” Poseidon called. “We’ll be down a worker for the walls — you said you want them built within a year, yes? Taking Apollo away from it would slow production.”

Laomedon gave a long sigh, absently brushing his thumb over Apollo’s cheek as he gave Poseidon a look.

“Well, since you’re so interested…” Laomedon released Apollo’s jaw — much to the god’s relief — but kept his grip on his tunic. The younger god attempted to subtly rub at his chin as Poseidon drew forth, the salty scent he carried with him drifting around Apollo. He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief at his uncle’s closeness.

“You can decide,” the king triumphantly declared. The relief Apollo felt was instantly squashed, and he stared with wide eyes first at Laomedon, then at Poseidon. His uncle had tensed, jaw clenched as he glared at Laomedon with nothing but pure dislike. “But of course,” Laomedon added slyly, finally relinquishing his hold on Apollo’s tunic with a lazy shrug, flicking at a strand of golden hair. “I retain the right to deny it and proceed with my idea.”

A wail of despair welled in Apollo’s throat, though he thankfully managed to swallow it back down. Though maybe a whimper escaped in the process.

This was it. Laomedon wasn’t going to be deterred by threats of what Zeus would do to him. There was no way he was going to accept whatever idea Poseidon came up with, not if he could humiliate a god of Apollo’s caliber.

Apollo silently cursed his father for taking off with Laomedon’s uncle. Why, oh why did Laomedon have to take his anger out on the most gorgeous god on Olympus? Was it because Ganymede had been snatched for his beauty and he was trying to make himself feel better by demeaning Apollo in such a way?

If so, he was so petty. Apollo hadn’t even been involved in that whole fiasco!

Poseidon had yet to say anything, his silence brewing a dangerous hurricane of potent emotions.

Laomedon, on the other hand, seemed to almost be enjoying himself. “We don’t have all night,” he tutted. “And I have a dowry to begin preparing for Proclia’s future marriage, so please do not waste my time.”

Apollo vaguely remembered Proclia. She was about thirteen, with long red hair and kind brown eyes. She had kindly given him some water one day when he’d been exhausted from brick-laying — much nicer than her pig of a father.

He hoped she was married to someone good. Though Laomedon didn’t seem to have an eye for such suitors. Maybe he could nudge Hymenaeus into helping…hmm…

Poseidon crossed his arms, face still shadowed with his storm, before he tersely nodded. “Very well. I suggest Apollo protect your cattle in the fields of Mount Ida. It’s been attacked lately by wild dogs, wolves, and other various beasts, am I correct?”

Laomedon frowned and tipped his head. “You are,” he agreed. “I have been losing the young cattle lately…ever since my father was king, anyway,” he added with a curl of his lips. Apollo winced and inwardly thought, Ganymede. The youth had used to protect Ilios’s herd of cattle…up until he caught Zeus’s fancy.

Apollo then arched a brow. Was it possible Poseidon was trying to appease Laomedon’s resentment of his uncle’s apotheosis with Apollo’s services in the very fields Ganymede had been taken from? He supposed it would be best to temper that anger…

…though did it have to come at the cost of him?

Laomedon, however, didn’t seem convinced. “Difficult that service may be,” he mused, fingers steepled once again. “I’m afraid I’m not quite satisfied with it. Any amendments to make? If not, I’ll be all too happy to get your nephew started on his new assignment.”

Assignment! Apollo scoffed, yet his hands shook at the possibility. He clenched them tightly as a  low growl left Poseidon’s throat. “An amendment it is, then,” he clenched his own fists and sarcastically muttered; “Do you have any suggestions?”

The king thoughtfully hummed. “You know, perhaps I do.”

Poseidon blinked. Apollo tensed. Clearly, his uncle had meant the comment in jest, but Laomedon had not taken it that way.

“How about this…” Laomedon crossed his arms and studied the two of them. “Apollo works in the fields, protecting my prized cattle, while you, Poseidon, take on his work on the walls. I’m sure you can handle a double workload better than Apollo.” Apollo quietly huffed at the slight. “Aeacus is almost recovered from his bout of sickness anyway,” Laomedon continued. “So he can continue his third of the wall soon enough.” The king then raised a finger. “But the condition is that Apollo will also get the mortar and bricks you will build with…from my palace.”

Apollo glanced at Poseidon out of the corner of his eye. His uncle caught it. Despite his unease, Apollo knew this was the best deal they were going to get. He gave a slight nod — I can do this. 

Poseidon inclined his head. “We accept the terms.” He announced.

Laomedon slyly smiled. “Good. Now go,” he pointed at the curtain-covered door behind them. “Best get some rest. You have work tomorrow.”

Work they had, indeed. 

Over the months, as Eurus’s autumn winds turned away and allowed Boreas’s chilly breath to descend over Ilios, Apollo spent his mornings quickly gathering as much mortar and bricks as he could, thanking his godly strength that he was able to carry so much, dodging running into Laomedon in the process, and delivering it to Poseidon before rushing to Mount Ida and perching on an outcrop, keeping a careful eye on the cattle and the wintry woods around him. A few times he had to fend off a particularly hungry wolf before communicating to it about a much better place to hunt, with deer roaming despite these barren months. The little guy had given him a thankful nuzzle before darting away in the direction Apollo had pointed.

“Never seen a wolf do that, before,” a feminine voice made Apollo jolt and he spun around, still half-kneeling from where he’d been speaking with the wolf. A girl around his age — that is to say, his human age of eighteen — stood before him. Her pale hair was braided, like bundles of flax woven into a fine basket. Pearls sat in her braids. Her dark skin was clean. Her eyes were like pools of fresh, spring water. Her peplos a rosy pink, like Eos’s lovely dawn. “They usually growl when they see humans.”

Apollo self-consciously adjusted his straw hat, thankful the only thing marring his own visage was the occasional smudge of dirt, though that itself was minorly annoying when faced with a pretty girl.

“Well,” he modestly shrugged and rose to his feet, casually leaning against his shepherd’s staff. “I suppose that’s because most humans don’t have anything good to say.”

The girl considered him. “I suppose,” she nodded. “I wouldn’t know the first thing to say to a wolf anyway. I’d probably communicate something along the lines of ‘I want to eat your young’ instead of ‘Hello, my name is Ourea. What’s yours?’.”

Apollo cracked a grin. “Was that an indirect way of introducing yourself? And to get my name?”

The girl — Ourea, Apollo noted, a name meaning ‘mountains’, as well as the name of some of Gaea’s offspring — smiled and gave a modest shrug of her own. “Perhaps. Not everyday you meet a man who can speak wolf.”

“It’s sadly a lost art,” Apollo mock-sighed. “Very few are able to master such a skill.”

“Oh?” Ourea drifted closer and intently stared at him. Her eyes were very distracting. Apollo had never really paid attention to the beauty of water before, but wow. It definitely deserved a few odes, perhaps even a sonnet. The way the sunlight shone off her eyes…it was like marveling at a sunset over the sea.

“Care to teach me?”

Apollo smiled. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Ourea was rather good company. She was in the field waiting for him when he came to watch the herd, and he would impart to her the language of wolves — their code, their way of life, and how they communicated. She had trouble with it at first, which was a given. Mortals weren’t usually interested in learning about each other, let alone an animal, but he was fascinated with Ourea’s determination to push through his lessons.

They met everyday. Winter began to wane. Poseidon would give him a sly look every morning he came to drop off the day’s delivery of mortar and bricks, and shot a shit-eating grin his way at night when he returned a bit more flushed than usual and his tunic ajar.

Some people would think it weird that Poseidon wasn’t objecting to Apollo dating his daughter — after all, fathers were supposed to want their daughters to actually be able to marry the man they were seeing.

Poseidon though wasn’t a mortal father. He rarely interacted with his children, though he lent a hand if they asked for it. When Apollo had inquired about his opinion, his uncle had merely shrugged and said; “If Ourea wants you, I see no reason why she can’t.”

Apollo had to admit. Ourea’s presence was becoming a particular bright spot in Ilios. Not only would she meet him in the meadow, but also at the walls in the mornings and watch as he passed the materials to her father, waving cheekily at him whenever he playfully wrinkled his nose at her.

One particular bright spot was a nice night between them the day the walls were finished. The formidable stones rose high into the air, fortifying the main city even better than the outer city’s walls did — because they were built by two gods, of course.

And maybe Apollo had helped speed the process up a bit by playing his lyre as the construction came close to the end. His godly power had been greatly reduced thanks to his punishment, but he’d been able to manipulate the bricks into their proper places, creating a strong barrier to protect Ilios’s people — people who included Ourea…and his own child now.

He still remembered the day she told him, breath lingering around his ear, eyes shining as she whispered; “I’m expecting!”

Poseidon had clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated both of them. And nine months later, Ourea failed to arrive in the meadow. Apollo spent the rest of the day anxiously pacing the field, his restlessness no doubt warding off would-be attackers, though few they were as Notus’s summer sighs began.

Apollo practically ran back to Ilios in his haste to find Ourea, and find her he did. Her mother was busy attending to her, while his lover sat up in bed, a bundle in her arms. Her hair was down and pearlless, but her smile was as bright as the sea’s gems.

“Ileus,” she said. “After our city.”

The god bent down and placed a gentle kiss first on Ourea, then on Ileus. “Perfect,” he murmured. “He’s perfect.”

He and Poseidon were still technically in Laomedon’s service, even with the walls complete. Thanks to their godly intervention, the walls were finished earlier than planned — which was good, for Apollo could pop in and visit Ourea and Ileus more often, but also irksome. He missed having his full godly power at his disposal. He could’ve properly helped Ourea’s birthing pains. He could’ve — would show Laomedon what happens when you treat not one, but two gods cruelly.

Though despite the disgruntlement and unease Laomedon put in him, Apollo made a silent promise to protect this city. Not all of its inhabitants were as demeaning as their king — most treated him and Poseidon with the respect gods of their caliber deserved, and very few had dared to belittle Ourea for having a child out of wedlock, not with the knowledge that Apollo had fathered him.

All in all, Apollo was in high spirits. The walls were done. He and Poseidon were about to get paid for their work once autumn came about. Ourea swore Ileus was trying to imitate a wolf’s howl the night before — bless his little soul, already taking after his parents!

The snakes put a bit of a damper on his mood, three months later.

It happened fast. The guards along the walls raised the alarm as three massive drakons rushed the walls. Apollo had been transfixed to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away as the first drakon rammed into Poseidon’s wall. It screeched when it failed to topple it.

The second attempted the same with Apollo’s wall. It too fell prey to its invulnerability.

Meanwhile the third…Apollo remained rooted to the ground as it crashed through Aeacus’s third of the wall. Stone crumbled. Mortar cracked. Ash was flung into the air as the drakon stomped through, roared triumphantly, before turning tail and charging away, its brethren on its heels, screaming like a battalion of armed warriors.

Faintly, Apollo heard Poseidon swear and sensed Ourea clutch Ileus to her chest, as if afraid the drakons would return and snatch him away. The baby’s bright blue eyes stared at the drakons in awe, his pale hair askew.

Equally as faintly, Apollo could hear the rumbles of stone falling, though the walls around him remained intact, except for Aeacus’s third. He could feel the tremors echoing through the ground, the clanging of bronze-on-bronze.

A war would be fought here. A great one.

Apollo’s smokey green eyes rolled back into his head and his breaths turned harsh;

“Unyielding walls, made of stone,

Heed my words and be known.

None shall shake your roots of steel,

But beware the tenth year.

Red-haired Pyrrus to pluck you down,

And Ilion will fall by Aeacus’s crown.”

Hands grasped his shoulders and shook. Apollo dazedly jerked his head, blinking with bewildered pale gold eyes at the creased face of Poseidon.

“Apollo,” his uncle’s dark green eyes were fixed on him with a serious, intent expression. “Apollo, was that…”

The younger god swallowed and nodded. “I believe so.” He breathed through his nose. “It was a prophecy.”

“A prophecy?” Ourea breathed, blue eyes as wide as the pools of water in Ilios’s forests. “But what…what could it mean?”

Apollo frowned, biting his lip for a moment as he considered the prophecy, absently snapping his fingers for a papyrus scroll and reed pen. He quickly scrawled the prophecy down, studying the words.

Prophecies were tricky things. They liked to make you think you figured them out, or successfully averted them, before pulling the rug out from under you. (Just ask Acrisius)

However…he squinted suspiciously at the words before him.

Unyielding walls, made of stone, heed my words and be known.

Apollo eyed the walls of Troy as citizens and slaves alike clustered around the broken wall, clamoring over each other about how to fix it.

None shall shake your roots of steel, but beware the tenth year.

Unease filled his stomach. Beware the tenth year…tenth year the walls were built? Or perhaps…

The sound of bronze weapons clashing and the ground cracking apart from an earthquake ripped through his ears once more.

No. Beware the tenth year of war.

Red-haired Pyrrus to pluck you down, and Ilion will fall by Aeacus’s crown.

The wall. The wall that fell…it was built by Aeacus, not a god. That made it the weakest point, the prime place for attack…

Or it meant —

Apollo shoved the thought away. No. No. Ilion couldn’t…

“Apollo?” Poseidon asked. “Do you know what it means?”

The younger god glanced between the intense eyes of his uncle and the anxious ones of his lover.

“I have…a suspicion,” he admitted. He met Ourea’s worried face and softly said; “I think it says the walls will fall…and so will Ilion.”

Ourea pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes widening as she held Ileus tighter, making him whine as he attempted to wiggle out of her hold, making grabby hand at Apollo. He held out his fingers and allowed Ileus to snatch them, lips curving slightly as the boy attempted to stick them in his mouth.

Poseidon had turned and stared consideringly at the walls. Apollo stiffened as he heard him mumble “Good riddance” with a slight vindictive gleam in his storming eyes as people darted around, beginning to hastily repair the damage done to the wall.

Apollo couldn’t find it within himself to agree. He knew Poseidon only said it because of how harshly Laomedon had treated them, but personally, Apollo didn’t believe Ilion deserved to crumble to the ground because of the actions of one lousy king.

Plus…Apollo fervently looked into Ourea’s concerned eyes. Placing a kiss on her lips before ruffling Ileus’s hair, making the child babble, he knew one thing about himself.

Ilion was his city. And he would do his damndest to circumvent its fate — or at the very least, delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

They were his people, just like he was their god. And nothing would ever change that.

He eyed the palace with wariness. Steeling himself, he tapped Poseidon’s shoulder and said; “We should talk to Laomedon. He needs to know.”

Poseidon hummed and shrugged. “Very well. He’s also due to pay us back for our work.”

With that, his uncle marched towards the palace, leaving the commotion of the crumbled walls behind. Apollo took Ourea’s hand and gently squeezed it, smiling lightly as he clutched the papyrus with Ilion’s fatal fate written upon it.

“We’ll be back,” he whispered. He hesitated, then drew both her and Ileus into a hug. Ourea’s free hand rested on his arm as she laid her head on his shoulder. “And don’t worry,” he added quietly. “I’ll keep Ilion safe.”

“How?” Ourea’s words were muffled slightly. “If it’s prophesied…”

Apollo rubbed her back and kissed her hair. “I’m the god of prophecy,” he grinned. “I’ll find a way.”

I hope, he left unsaid.

----------

“No.”

Apollo blinked, mouth slightly open as he stared incredulously at Laomedon. The king sat on his throne, as relaxed as a lazy lion, the side of his face leaning on his hand as he coyly smirked at the two gods.

“No?” Poseidon spat. “That was the deal, you ungrateful, impious bdelyròs!”

Laomedon clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “No need for that kind of language, Poseidon. Especially around your nephew.”

Apollo glared at him. “I’ve heard worse, thanks.”

The king shrugged. “I suppose you have,” he agreed, raking his gaze over the younger god. “You have had some…choice words, at times. But I digress,” Apollo scowled at how relaxed Laomedon looked, like he wasn’t insulting them — oh, he knew very well how demeaning this was! It wasn’t enough that ordered them about and yanked them around for his own amusement, abusing the control he had over them, but now he denied them their deserved pay!

“You have made a very unwise decision,” Poseidon softly stated, mouth curving slightly into a snarl. “When we regain our places on Olympus, we are no longer in your service, nor under your command. We are free to do as we please…” he narrowed his eyes and gave the bored king a mocking smile. “I can promise you my wrath will be felt quite soon.”

“Ah…” Laomedon clutched his chest, as if suddenly struck with a heart-attack. Apollo secretly wished for it to happen, for the terrible man to bite the dust. “The thing is, Poseidon…neither of you are allowed to harm me, even after your punishment is finished.” He bared his crooked teeth in a grin. “I’m untouchable, while I can still very much touch you.”

Apollo clenched his fists, the papyrus in one of them crumpling, before crossing his arms. “Says who?” He demanded.

“Says your father,” Laomedon’s grin was sharp as he sat up straight in his throne. “After all, the lesson was all about not challenging a king, was it not? Taking vengeance on me would mean you haven’t learnt your lesson.”

Apollo was furious. He wasn’t allowed to give Laomedon a piece of his mind? To throttle him for everything he put him through? Completely unfair! How could father let him do this?

Angry, Apollo stalked up the stairs and slapped the papyrus onto the throne’s arm. “Maybe this will get you to rethink,” he hissed as Laomedon’s dark stare first roamed over him before idly glancing at the papyrus. “Or do you not care about Ilion’s destruction?”

Laomedon’s face twisted and he seized Apollo by the strap of his chiton, yanking him close enough for him to murmur darkly; “Careful there,” His hot breath made Apollo flinch away. “I still own you.”

He ripped himself out of Laomedon’s grip and gave him a vehement stare. “You own nothing,” he muttered contemptuously. Apollo glanced over his shoulder to Poseidon, who had his arms crossed and face twisted into a mean scowl.

Apollo turned back to Laomedon. He pointed to the papyrus. “The future of your kingdom is on that scroll,” he darkly warned. “I really think you should reconsider this choice — it may lead to Ilion’s ruin.”

Laomedon gave a disbelieving snort. “Ilion is the crown jewel of Anatolia,” his nose scrunched up as he gave the younger god a condescending look. “Our warriors are of the highest caliber. My children married to powerful allies. Very few would dare to challenge us — let alone be able to destroy us, dear Apollo.” 

He then leaned forward, finger tapping idly on the papyrus as he hummed. “Not to mention you are our patron god, duty-bound to come to our aid.” He glanced at the scroll and lightly snorted. “Barely half of this makes sense! Garbled nonsense.”

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Smart men can decipher a mystery,” he growled. “Wise men learn from it.”

His stomach twisted as Laomedon pretended to not hear him. Apollo glanced at his uncle, whose stormy expression made him shiver.

He had warned Laomedon. He warned him of the present and future danger to Ilion. But he refused to listen.

And that arrogance will cost him. Dearly.

It is, after all, part of the duty of a god, Apollo reflected as he and Poseidon silently exited the throne room, stalking through the grand halls with glowers. Hubris is so commonly a mortal’s fatal flaw…and Laomedon will be no different.

 —

I refrained from my usual rambles so if you want my rambles see my Ao3 for the fic upload there! :3

[viviannesmonster]

(Villainous) Blackhat rant

Blackhat is as old as time and is immortal. He's also retired and this is why he doesn't actually fight anyone and has Flug, Demencia, and 505 take care of everything. (I also believe that the reason he started the organization to begin with is because he got bored and wanted something new to do).

I believe that if it were absolutely necessary (which it probably never will be necessary due to how powerful and strong blackhat is) he would fight someone. He's destroyed countless heroes and has described it as "stepping on ants" and has said that none of them were a challenge to him.

Despite being incapable of love (and hating it actually) I feel like Blackhat has had lovers in the past and will have many more in the future.

Here me out.

I feel like he would use his charm to seduce people into doing what he wants for his own desires and interests, stringing them along to do his bidding all while never having any actual feelings. It's been shown that Blackhat is charming, seductive, and somewhat flirtatious. This doesn't mean that Blackhat feels love however, it's probably out of boredorm.

I feel like this is how Demencia became involved in the organization. What I think happened is Blackhat seduced her at one point and left her soon after. But Demencia being the crazy bitch she is, followed after Blackhat and became a villain just for him. Of course, I think she genuinely enjoys being a villain due to her crazy ass nature but I still think this is how it started. And after she was hired into the organization, she obsesses over Blackhat and annoys him to pieces at times. However, he feeds her obsession at times. Example Number One, at the end of one of the orientation videos, Demencia sets up an entire scheme to kill a hero to impress Blackhat. She returns with the hero's cape and shows it to Blackhat, she then asks if she did a good job. Blackhat then grabs her chin and gets close to her face, making her think that he'll kiss her. But he doesn't do that, instead he just says no and lets go of her. Example Number 2, as seen in the episode with the haunted house, he leans close to her and towers over her as he flicks his tongue out at her calling her dear as well, making her blush horribly. (I would too not going to lie) Those two examples are of Blackhat fueling her obsession. Like adding water to a gas fire. And there's no way Demencia would be this crazy in love and obsessed just by looking at him. He must have done something with her or said something to her to make her act this crazy for him. (Just goes to show how powerful Blackhat's charm is) And on another note, Demencia is so in love with Blackhat that she does anything at his command, such as taking off the wrestler's mask, despite the mask controlling her body.

(See?)

Fun Facts about Blackhat that you may or may not know:

Blackhat has gotten drunk off poison before, so drunk that he started giggling uncontrollably and foaming at the mouth. While he was drunk, he tore up one of his Hat Bot-Sentinals.

Blackhat celebrates Christmas. Probably for the sake of business sales.

Blackhat has conquered the world before. Twice.

Blackhat wears another hat under his hat. Who knows how many hats he wears to hide that bald head.

Blackhat drank brain juice and blood from one of his Hat Bots during the episode with the wrestler's mask.

Blackhat owns a "resort" for henchmen. While it's made to look like a resort, it's made to torture henchmens who are deemed unfit to work anymore, because they're not sent back after they arrive at the resort.

Blackhat also owns a camp for children to grow into villains, and if the children don't come out on top, they die.

This part may or may not be canon, but almost every villain in the cartoon network universe is under Blackhat's rule. (And he has punished and/or killed each villain he reviewed in the orientation videos)

Blackhat knows Villainous is a TV show and uses it as a brainwashing service to dominate the world and turn it all to villainy. (apparently)

Blackhat has blown up planets before.

Blackhat has had other employees before Flug, Demencia, and 505. In one of the orientation videos, it's implied that he threw up on a former employee and it killed them.

Since Villainous is originally in the Spainish dub, Blackhat able and allowed to swear.

We've only ever seen under Blackhat's coat once (during a musical that Demencia preformed when she asked why she loves Blackhat during the Q&A finale orientation video) Blackhat is seen lifting his coat onto his shoulders, but before he does that, we see a wears a long sleeved red polo shirt along with his black tie and grey vest.

Blackhat has torn through his gloves before. But in the new redesign Blackhat got about a month ago when Villainous was getting released on max for the United States, he taps his claws together and you can hear them click together, so he probably doesn't wear gloves anymore.

That's all I can of for right now.

Thanks for reading

I also think Blackhat's hot as fuck-