#Wentworth said so

[average-gotham-citizen]

Pride 2024 #1

[idolbound]

also to say it, Elthina and Meredith are a political combo from hell, but they're like a Mother & Daughter combo from hell

[secretsofthewilde]

Thinking about how after the ending of Wentworth Vera is the only person to know that Joan not only escaped but also saved her life as she did so. How this final moment must have reframed their recent interactions for Vera, making her realize that the two of them had changed one another in more ways than they had realized. Even if they never see each other again from now on, they will be changed irrevocably because of their time together.

Throughout each one of their interactions that season, Vera was aggressive and lashing out at Joan even when it was cruel and went against who she was to do so. If Joan wouldn't be the cruel woman Vera once knew her to be, then she would try to provoke her into becoming that woman again, but in doing so it really just showed that Vera had become the thing she said she'd never be - like Governor Ferguson. Her actions towards Joan/Kath in the final season are emotionally charged in a similar way to when Joan believed that Vera had betrayed her in season 3 and had become paranoid and acted rashly with little concern to others, with the justification that it was all for the "greater good" and that she knew best.

Despite everyone around her and all the evidence suggesting that Joan really was harmless as Kath at the start of season 8, Vera refuses to believe that the woman who had such an impact on her life has gone and is paranoid that she will end up hurt/betrayed if she believes in Kath. This paranoia and stubbornness then leads her to act cruelly towards Kath because she justifies how she is acting as being for the "greater good" of everyone by punishing Joan for her past actions - despite the fact that it's not really Joan she's punishing in those moments. And it's these actions (ordering the spitbag in particular) that cause Joan's memories to return and therefore unleash the monster back into her life.

Vera had taken over the antagonistic role that was once Joan's in their relationship, emulating the authoritative and self-righteous character of her past mentor-and-friend-turned-enemy. And as she took on that role, Joan became the one with little power or control in their relationship, deferring meekly to Vera as her superior in the prison hierarchy. Someone raised to believe that emotions are a weakness was having to recognise and process that not only did she have strong emotions, but that these emotions were brought on because of Vera. Throughout their interactions in the season, Joan is incredibly earnest towards Vera and shows a great level of concern and care for her even if at first she doesn't understand it herself. It is through seeing and talking to Vera again that Joan learns to put others before herself - something that was once Vera's biggest weakness (before she met Joan), has now become a sign of positive growth for Joan.

That's not to say that Vera wasn't still the caring and loving woman we've seen throughout the show or that Joan didn't still engage and desire cruel/violent behaviours , but rather that over the course of their relationship they drew strength from the others weaknesses. Despite any claim of hatred for one another by the final episode, it's impossible to hide just how much the two have changed through knowing one another.

As Joan walks away from Vera and into the distance at the end of the final episode, the symbiotic nature of their relationship comes to an end, but the two of them will be forever changed from knowing one another.

[groovyinsects]

i make way too many spur-of-the-moment characters that i become quickly attached too :/

[joomju]

Persuasion - Charles Musgrove, guy who formerly courted Anne Elliot and asked her to marry him and got turned down - THIS GUY is so kind to Anne.

I mean, she's completely enamored of Wentworth, and seems to feel nothing for this guy, but like.

"Hey Anne that Bennick Bro? Bennick is totally into you. He should be calling at Kellynch soon. Just FYI he read the books you recc'd and everything. I dropped hints and gave him excuses so he could swing by with a pretense about seeing churches."

This is a man with two younger sisters, who has watched the two younger sisters flirt with Most Eligible Bachelor Captain Wentworth. So as an older brother he gets the whole "young lady should know when a young man is into her."

Also this guy could've been, at some point, wondering why Wentworth didn't flirt with Anne Elliot? But if he wondered he never said. It was good for him that Wentworth be more interested in the Musgrove ladies. He's got two sisters who need to be married off.

Also also this guy could've been like "I liked Anne I wish I'd married her instead of Mary dammit." And he could've discouraged other suitors out of some sense of jealousy or something, but he doesn't. He's not passive aggressive about it at all. He just openly is like "and why shouldn't Anne be happy too?"

And it's in such stark contrast to Anne's own immediate family, who do not give a damn about her. Like, yes Anne you were right to turn this guy down but you could've been somewhat happy with him. Happier than you are now. More valued than you are now.

Honestly Anne you just need every excuse to get out of Sir Walter's house.

[bethanydelleman]

The tables turn so beautifully on Captain Wentworth halfway through Persuasion! He disentangles himself from Louisa only to find Anne on the point of being engaged (he believes). I like this passage from his random, unnamed friends:

As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of Captain Wentworth's party began talking of them.

"Mr Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy?"

"Oh! no, that is clear enough. One can guess what will happen there. He is always with them; half lives in the family, I believe. What a very good-looking man!"

"Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at the Wallises, says he is the most agreeable man she ever was in company with."

"She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty, when one comes to look at her. It is not the fashion to say so, but I confess I admire her more than her sister."

"Oh! so do I."

"And so do I. No comparison. But the men are all wild after Miss Elliot. Anne is too delicate for them."

I love it! Wentworth said she was so altered for the worse, his friends think she's prettier than Elizabeth! And Mr. Elliot is SO handsome and well mannered. And he's the heir of Kellynch! Suddenly the old ship (Anne), worn and broken up, is a hot commodity.

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 6: "It's good to be back!"

Dipper POV

I wake up with a splitting headache. I groan as I sit up, pressing and rubbing my fits against the temples of my forehead. I swing my legs off my bed and hiss out in pain from moving to fast.

"Damnit....Bill.." I said while standing up and leaning against the wall for support. "My head...hurts so much."

I hear Bill laugh before he speaks. "Sorry, pinetree, I couldn't help myself. Seeing the fear in those meatsacks' eyes brought so much joy!"

I tense from his shouting. "Please...no screaming." I beg while slowly walking to the restroom next door to my room.

"Right, you had a pretty memorable night, huh?" Bill chuckles.

I take off my t-shirt and sweat pants, turning on the shower to warm water setting. I step inside, letting out a sigh as my tense body slowly relaxes. I lower my body underneath the showerhead, humming to the feeling of the warm water running down my body and soothing my headache.

"Yes, but enough with games. My plan is to bring you back today, but I can't think of who my last sacrifice will be."

"Haha, oh come on, pinetree. I'm sure there's someone out there who's stupid enough to get close to you -"

Bill is cut off by the sound of the bathroom door opening. "Oh! Oops, my bad dude. Didn't know anyone was in here." I hear Soos say.

I sigh heavily, pushing my wet hair from my face. I peek my head out of the shower currant. "So you're saying you didn't hear the water running through the door?"

Soos shrugs his shoulders. "Nope! But I'll wait until you're done. See ya later, dude." He said while walking out.

A smirk plays its way onto my lips as I pull my head back under the showerhead. "I think I found the idiot I can lead to their death...hehe." I chuckle while washing my hair and body.

"I forgot all about good old question mark! This is going to be hilarious to watch playout! Hahaha!" Bill laughs.

"Indeed." I said as I turned the water off and stepped out of the shower.

I wrap a towel around my waist and walk to my room. I open the door and walk inside, locking it behind myself. I drop the towel while walking to my dresser and pull out black shorts and a black tank top along with some boxers.

I dry my body, putting on my clothes. I place the towel on top of my head, and I walk down the stairs. I raise an eyebrow at everyone. No one's in the kitchen, but everyone is in the living room.

"Uh, why is everyone..." I trail off while walking into the living room. I look at the tv blankly. The news is on.

"A crazed serial killer is still on the lose. The bodies that were found and identified as Robert Stacey Valebtino, Tambry, Susan Wentworth, and Pacifica Elias Northwest. The police haven't figured out a clear motive nor how the murders could possibly be linked. I'm Jessica Jimenez, leaving a warning: be at home before sunset, lock your doors and possibly your windows, and stay safe. And now for the weather -"

Stan turns the Tv off to comfort a crying Wendy and Mable. Ford, however, is taking notes on his notepad, possibly writing everything the reporter stated. I sigh, walking over to Wendy, rubbing my hand up and down her back.

"Ahahahaha! Look at all the chaos and fear you put into those meatsacks! So proud of you, pinetree!" Bill cheers.

I feel my cheeks begin to heat up at Bill's words. I shake my head at the sound of Ford's voice. Everyone turns their attention to him.

"Stan and I will be leaving to hunt down this killer. My thoughts are that whoever is doing this has found out how to summon Bill."

Everyone's eyes widen at the mention of Bill, but my eyes hold shock for a different reason. "Just how did Ford figure it out? The deaths aren't linked in anyway....Unless he's referring to me killing two members of the cipher wheel." I thought to myself.

"What makes you think that grunlke Ford?" I question out loud.

"This killer only needs one more life to take. The fact that this killer killed two members of the cipher will speak for itself. So, in order to prevent such a thing from happening, Stan and I will find this killer and turn him or her over to the police."

Everyone nods their head in understanding as the two prepare to leave. "And no one is allowed to leave for any reason. Do I make myself clear?" Stan said rather sternly.

I sigh heavily while everyone else nods. They walk out the front door, leaving Wendy, Soos, Mable, and me.

"Soooooooo....duck detective?"

Wendy drys her tears and stands up. "I c-can't right now....I have to plan h-his funeral." She whispers, her voice cracking.

"And I have to talk with Candy and Grenda like we promised." Mable said while standing up and walking into her room.

"Oh...alright." Soos said sadly.

I watch as the two leave with a smirk on my lips. I glance at Soos as I stand. "Hey Soos, remember how we used to be dino bros?" I ask.

"Yeah, dude! It was so much fun....you know before the fight we had and almost being killed -"

"Right, right. How would you like to be killer hunters?"

"That would be awesome! It's been a while since I've been on an adventure."

"You didn't understand what I asked. Would you like to come with me to find the killer? Stan and Ford are too old to do it alone."

"Uh...I don't know, man, Stan did say not to leave no matter what." Soos points out with uncertainty.

"Oh come oooon Soos! They'll thank us for catching them!" I answer back.

"Well....if you say so! I trust you, Dipper."

"Great! Just let me get a few things, and we'll be on our way." I said while turning to leave the room.

"Hehe, things just got interesting.", Bill hums.

I chuckle while walking up the stairs to my room. "They have...yes they have."

■■■■

Mable POV

I sigh as I lay back in my bed, petting waddles with my good hand. I still can't believe that Dipper did that to me....he changed ever since that day. I blame myself for everything....I was drunk and just wanted to be cool. I can never forgive myself for that.

I sit up, hearing the door open to my room. It's Wendy. She's been down and out since Robbie was killed. She mentioned how he never came home last night but didn't think too much of it. I always thought Robbie and Tembery would last....I wonder what happened.

"Hey, uh Mable, have you seen dipper? I want him to look after the shack while I make a quick run. Soos isn't here either, so...." She trialed on.

"Huh?! But Stan said not to leave....should we tell them?"

She shrugs, "eh maybe...I'm sure they're safe."

But I don't believe it. Something feels off... really off. Dipper is different, far darker than he was back then. I never knew that he got the Cipher wheel on his back...I would sometimes hear him whispering in his room in the middle of the night. I don't know if it's me or the Mable juice, but Dipper isn't... dipper.

I hear Stan and Ford enter my room with a strange expression.....fear? "Grunlke Stan? Grunlke Ford? What's the matter?"

"No time to explain. Where's Dipper and Soos? We looked all over the shake but couldn't find them. We were hoping they were in here..." Ford said while nervously looking around my room.

"I don't know. I saw them walking into the forest through the window, just thought they were going to help you two find the murderer." I point out while smiling.

"Uh kid... we already know who the murderer is." Stan said in disbelief.

"Well, say it, old man." Wendy said in an impatient tone.

"Dipper. He's the killer." Ford finally said, his voice full of dread.

Wendy laughs as if it was a joke, but the look on my grunlkes faces says it all. The feeling in my chest grew heavier. How could my twin brother..be a killer?

I feel tears fill my eyes as I stare down at my broken wrist. "Wh-what makes you think that -"

"No time to explain! Get ready. We are leaving now before it's too late."

"What do you mean?" Wendy questions warily.

"Before Dipper brings back Bill."

□□□□

Dipper POV

As we get closer and closer to Bill's stature, the wider my smile becomes. So close...so so close...

"Aye dude, where are we going?" Soos asks while glancing around. "Isn't this where that Bill guy stature is?"

I turn around and chuckle, my vision flashing to yellow. "Yes. Yes, it is."

I can sense the fear coming off of Soos. It only makes my excitement grow. We approach his stature. I see tree veins wrapped all around his poor stature. I groan at the sight but smile as I hear Soos backing away from me.

"I don't know about this man. Dipper, I think w-we should head back..."

I chuckle, my chuckles changing to laughs, my voice becoming mixed with Bill's. "Sorry, question mark! But pinetree has other things planned."

I drop my bag, pulling out a pistol I took from my father before leaving for gravity falls. I turn around, aiming the gun right in between his eyes. "Dino bros... yeah, sure, when I was twelve. But things are different now....very different. Think about it this way! Your sacrifice will soon bring me happiness!"

Soos eyes begin to fill with tears, which only makes me laugh more. "Dipper, you can't do this, dude! Wh-what about your family?...you can't do this to us!"

"Family?....Bill is my only family." I frown before shooting him, killing him instantly.

I watch his eyes roll back as blood spats on my face. I place my gun back into my bag, picking up Bill's stature and placing it in the middle of an open space. I pull out a can of blue spray paint, drawing a huge circle around it. I then draw a star, the corners over the star with circles on the tips. I reach back into my back for the jars and 5 candles and a lighter.

I quickly place the jars and candles inside the circles on the tips of the star. I quickly open each jar, lighting up the candles. I watch as the red flame quickly turns blue. I stand before my art, my hard work finally paying off.

My smile disappears as I hear my name being called. I ignore it, holding my arms in the air as the palms of my hands glow with blue flames. "L-T-O-L-O-X-A! His time has come to rise! I invoke the ancient power that Bill has returned!!" I shout to the top of my lungs as my body begins to float from the ground.

"We're too late...." I hear Ford whisper in grief.

I watch as Bill's stature begins to float from the ground as the souls merge with it. The sky darkens, and reality freezes, turning to black and white. A bright yellow glow comes from the stature, causing everyone's eyes to shut tightly. Once everything settles down, I'm greeted by the voice I've yearned to hear from outside my head after all these years.

"Oh, gravity falls, it is good to be back! What is this? The second time?"

[medusas-daughter]

Going through a 2010's tv rewatch because why the hell not and I completely forgot about how cunty Leonard Snart is I love him so much and I need Wentworth Miller to be cast in more gay cunty roles he deserves it he literally said he never wants to play a straight man again do me and my mans a favor and cast him in gay cunty shows I beg

[sarahreesbrennan]

Quick Evil Note

To all my wicked darlings, I have now received rather a lot of messages asking me about the influences of Long Live Evil. And I wish to get messages about LLE and truly appreciate the ones I do get! And I wish to answer them. But answers about influences are tricky.

The book has been out in the US for a little over two weeks, and it’s going so well so far, I couldn’t be more delighted and appreciative about its reception.

But also I’ve been informed (not asked) that two of my characters are obviously somehow both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy of Harry Potter, and Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji of Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. (Very puzzling as I don’t think these pairings - and one isn’t a pair - have much in common with each other or with mine. Vague hostility against a vaguely academic backdrop for a bit? For the record… in the book everyone is an adult and I don’t even have any academic backdrops to be vaguely hostile in front of…) This hasn’t happened to me in a long time, because I haven’t had an original novel out in a long time due to illness, and it is upsetting to always be discussed differently than writers who didn’t openly link their real names to their fan identity.

I have very different feelings and new appreciation for fandom than I once had. It’s been amazing to see and meet people who have stuck with me for decades. People are generally way more open and affectionate to and within fandom than they once were. Love matters to me a good deal more than hate. But getting death threats in your early 20s for excitedly telling your Internet friends you were going to publish a book does mark the psyche, and so does having your characters dismissed as other people’s characters.

And we can say there is nothing wrong with fanfiction or writing fanfiction and there isn’t! Fanfiction is great and can be genius. Terry Pratchett wrote Jane Austen fanfiction, and didn’t (and shouldn’t) have people saying Captain Wentworth = Captain Vimes. Still, when a TV show is discussed as ‘like fanfiction’ or when Diana Gabaldon said she didn’t like fanfiction and many said ‘YOU write fanfiction’ it isn’t intended in any kind spirit, even when it’s fannish folk saying it. And it’s just generally odd to have everyone call your apple a tomato, and has had professional consequences for me in the past.

However! All the asks I’ve received have been very kind, and I do want to answer them. I do want to talk about my influences because they are manifold and because I actually think it’s important to always talk about influences. I don’t believe stories exist in isolation - we tell tales in a rich tradition, and also a story doesn’t come alive to me all the way until it’s heard or read.

Long Live Evil is a love letter to fandom: it’s chock full of references to many many stories I’ve loved, to fairytales, myths and legend and Internet memes and epic fantasy and meta. My acknowledgements are endless partly for this reason. I do owe a great debt to many portal fantasies and archetypes and musicals and jokes about genre and plays through the ages, though I do think of my characters as themselves and nobody else.

I was frankly tempted to go ‘Yes I stole EVERYTHING! Bwhahaha!’ But while I am thoroughly enjoying and finding great freedom in my villain era, I do want to talk sincerely to you all as well, especially when asked sincerely interested questions.

But I’m a little scared to do so and have people say ‘AHA! Now we know what it’s fanfiction of’ (it’s happened before) or ignore me and go ‘we know the truth!’ (it’s happened before) and to feel like I’ve injured my book. Long Live Evil means more to me than any other and I really want to get talking about it right, and make sure it has the best reception I can give it.

So. Questions on all Evil topics very very welcome but answers to influence questions may come slowly. Bear with me. I am working on this!

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 6 EPISODE 08 || I AM NOT ALONE ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

Come. Mo chridhe. Lie down.

There's nothing else to do,is there?

Nothing else but wait.

I might say an Act of Contrition.

We did that always the night before a battle.

Just in case.

All right, then. Just in case.

Wait. You say it in French?

Aye. I was fightingwi' French mercenaries then.

I didna want to stand out.

I can say it in Gaelic or English if ye prefer.

English, please. Just this once.

 Oh, my God,

I am heartily sorry for offending Thee.

I detest all my sins for thy just punishments,

but most of all, my God, because they offend Thee.

My God who art all good and deserving of all my love.

How many times, would you say, have I come close to dying?

I don't know.

You were dreadfully ill at the abbey after Wentworth,

and after Culloden, you said you had a terrible fever from your wounds.

You thought you might die.

Only Jenny nursed you through it.

Hmm, forced me through it, more like.

Hmm.

That's when Laoghaire tried to k*ll you.

And you forced me through that.

And likewise when the snake bit me.

Do you count the shipwreck?

You almost died then, not me.

Very well, then. Have it your way.

Hmm.

Then, of course, there's your...

Back. Aye.

You're a hard man to k*ll, I think.

Hmm.

That brings me a great deal of comfort.

Dare I ask why you're bringing this up, though?

 I was thinking about France. A thing that happened to me.

There was an auld fortune teller reading palms.

She grabbed my hand

and spat into my palm

before I could object.

Bent so close,

I could smell the ancient sweat of her.

"T'es un chat, toi," she said.

She said you were a cat?

Mm-hmm.

I tried to pull away, but she held firm.

Then she said, "Neuf."

She said she saw the number nine

written in my hand...and also death.

Do you think you have nine lives?

I hope so.

I never thought that hearing a litany of your near-death experiences would bring me so much peace.

Or maybe it's just the nearness of you.

[mollywog]

Something I find funny about Jane Austen is: she doesn’t f*ck around with dialogue she doesn’t want to write (AKA: end-game main character proposals/acceptances)

Emma/Mr. Knightly

She spoke then, on being so entreated.—What did she say?—Just what she ought, of course.

Lizzie/Mr. Darcy

Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances.

Elinor/Edward

How soon he had walked himself into the proper resolution, however, how soon an opportunity of exercising it occurred, in what manner he expressed himself, and how he was received, need not be particularly told. This only need be said;—that when they all sat down to table at four o'clock, about three hours after his arrival, he had secured his lady, engaged her mother's consent, and was not only in the rapturous profession of the lover, but, in the reality of reason and truth, one of the happiest of men.

Anne/Captain Wentworth

Charles was at the bottom of Union Street again, and the other two proceeding together: and soon words enough had passed between them to decide their direction towards the comparatively quiet and retired gravel walk, where the power of conversation would make the present hour a blessing indeed, and prepare it for all the immortality which the happiest recollections of their own future lives could bestow. There they exchanged again those feelings and those promises which had once before seemed to secure everything, but which had been followed by so many, many years of division and estrangement. There they returned again into the past, more exquisitely happy, perhaps, in their re-union, than when it had been first projected; more tender, more tried, more fixed in a knowledge of each other’s character, truth, and attachment;

Catherine/Henry

Some explanation on his father's account he had to give; but his first purpose was to explain himself, and before they reached Mr. Allen's grounds he had done it so well that Catherine did not think it could ever be repeated too often. She was assured of his affection; and that heart in return was solicited, which, perhaps, they pretty equally knew was already entirely his own;

Fanny/Edward Edmund

I purposely abstain from dates on this occasion, that every one may be at liberty to fix their own, aware that the cure of unconquerable passions, and the transfer of unchanging attachments, must vary much as to time in different people. I only entreat everybody to believe that exactly at the time when it was quite natural that it should be so, and not a week earlier, Edmund did cease to care about Miss Crawford, and became as anxious to marry Fanny as Fanny herself could desire.

[hurricanejane]

Listen. Wentworth Miller doesn't like to play straight characters. He has said that he played his Earth 1 Leonard Snart as pansexual (even tho on screen we are only confirmed that Earth X Leo is gay). In the Arrowverse E1 Len only ever shows interest in Sara, a very woman-loving bisexual who is fierce and energetic and good but willing to play in the gray areas... Who else has those qualities? Barry Allen. A man who inspired Leonard, first to up his game and then to be a hero. And Wentworth Miller is very thoughtful about his characters. So I absolutely believe there was intentional attraction and maybe even love from Leonard's end toward Barry. Like the chemistry between them is unreal and stronger than it is between Len and Sara. So I think unrequited Coldflash is canon and it doesn't take much tweaking to make it two-sided in fanon lol. Just make Barry bisexual instead of Irissexual and we get there. Even Grant Gustin has said there's probably a lot more to the Coldflash relationship than we got to see. Ty for coming to my Coldflash Ted talk that is probably 9 years late at this point.

[jd07201990]

One might think I went a little overboard when I used my talents, to give my old college buddy Charles Wentworth II, the son he'd always wanted. Life threw him a curveball when his little boy just, stayed little. It took only 8 months to change that.

At 19, he was almost fae. 5'4" 110lbs soaking wet, the 3rd Charles in the line was thin, lithe, soft-tempered and good mannered. Clean and neat, always top of his class, the boy was head of the Student Council in High School, when his Father hoped he'd have excelled in Football, the same as his old man.

Charles II knew I'd gone into psychiatry out of college, majoring in Behavioral Studies with a minor in biochemistry. He'd seen what I could do to a person with just 10 minutes of talking. Out like a light, I'd fill their heads with all sorts of triggers, innocent fun to make the guys in the dorms laugh.

But Charles II knew where my interests really were. Behavioral Modification. He'd only seen this one time during our school days, when I tranced Jimmy Palter, the school's most annoying nerd, and by graduation, he'd packed on 50lbs, mostly in his belly, dressed like a hick, and went off to drive Big-Rigs across the country, adding notches to his creaking belt as he screwed his way across country, bedding pretty Diner girls as he hauled goods for my Dad's transport company. Last I'd checked, he was still trucking, with a wife and 5 kids somewhere out west.

Anyway, the strapping young stud you see here, with absolutely no intelligent thought behind those handsome eyes, is Charles Wentworth III. Or, as he preffers now, Chett. Sometimes his football buddies call him Chetworth, but one headlock with their faces pressed to his sweaty pits is enough to stop even the strongest of them, at least for a while. He's an aggressive, hot-blooded powerhouse, and doesn't let anyone forget it.

It had only taken an hour to wriggle my influence into his good natured, innocent mind. His father had asked him to come see me, and an hour later, the boy was thrilled to have sessions with me every day for the foreseeable future. I'd given him a perscription for what he was convinced were vitamins, but were really prototype HGH and Testosterone boosters a friend at a Pharma-Lab in Serbia gives to, well, select clientelle, with the agreement that we send the results asap. Some of this stuff may as well be nuclear Hormone-bombs, its no wonder the FDA refuses to even look at it!

So, A month in, and the boy was a nervous wreck. Trembling with excess energy, his feet tapped anciously during the first sessions, the supplements and my trances sending his body into overdrive. He said he felt like he was on fire, all the time, hot and clammy, and that his body tingled, pent up, wound tight like a spring. I let him suffer with this for a few weeks, I watched as the confusion led to annoyance, and he finally came to my office in the middle of the day, skipping class for the first time in his life, asking me for help. I tried to hid the wicked smirk on my face, and really got down to it. It was easy to drop him down into trance, and from there, My work really began.

4 months in, Chett had gotten a bit of weight on him, his body now tight and toned, working out alone when the gym was empty. The supplements really kicked his body into overdrive, sweat poured from him, soaking his shirts and shorts. He'd complained about it for only a short time, until I convinced him that was the smell of Effort. Of athletic Prowess. Of well-worked Male. As usual, anything I said became the truth, and I soon found him taking sniffs of himself after working out, flexing absentmindedly as he noticed the changes to his body.

By the 6th month, the supplements had shot through his body, setting it into a second puberty of sorts. He grew taller, hitting 6', his legs long with a solid densness that rivaled some of the soccer players. His torso was like a marble statue, each muscle easily traced, as he had very little bodyfat. The Chett was stuffing himself with pritein and calories at my suggestion, really pushing for some size, but his pesky metabolism just wouldn't let him bulk. His father decided that, "Behemoth" as the original plan had intended, wasn't necessary, and we went with "Classic All American Boy" instead. What began as a shrimpy welp, turned into a marble stature, then the beginnings of a diamond-cut stud.

His shoulders widened, giving him that perfect masculine taper, while his face lost its boyish softness, replaced with sharper, more intensly sharp features. His size 7s grew quickly, his feet ruinding sneakers left and right, until he'd leveled off at a wide size 13. His chest began to grow a smattering of hair, his pits were thick, dense wiry bushes. He had that Pretty-Boy look. Fuzzy in all the right places. Sure, he reeked like a Varsity Locker room, but hey, Charles II wanted an athletic son, he knows from our own college days what that entials.

I could see the Sorority Girls and cheerleaders beginning to take notice, but for now, I'd kept Chett firmly away from women. That would come later. I recieved several new prototype supplements, each targeting a different system of the body. By the time he'd finished taking these, he was 6'2" 170, a tall, well built stallion, with nothing but the gym and my trances to quell the neverending storm of energy and hormones flooding his system. He was pent up, on edge, ready to go off anytime. And I knew just what I had to do.

I'd had him on edge for the last 8 monnths. his grades slipped until he nearly got ckicked from school. Luckily, I miraculously had a place for him on the Football team. And he eagerly joined, wanting nothing more than to try and burn off all the aggression on the field. He was a beast from his first practice, I'd programmed everything he'd ever need to know about the game into his mind for months. He absolutley plowed through opponents. It was incredible to see.

I finally let the damn break after a hard-fought summer Game. he'd performed just as I expected. Like a perfectly trained, expert player. Nobody would ever guess Chett had ever been a weedy little boy. Expecially not after I'd set him loose, allowing him to notice the girls all over the field, cheering and buoncing about from player to player. when Sandra Rinaldi, heir to an immense national Grocer's fortune slid up to him, pushing the sweaty hair from his eyes, he couldn't help it. One look at her, and he pounced, kissing her hard right there in the field. 8 months of hormones and denial had been released.

From what I learned through locker room talk in the days following, Chett had given Sandra quite the workout that night, and every day since. Although the two weren't exclusive, Chett tending to get his dick wet anytime, anywhere, with anyone just as programmed, Chett seemed to have a natural incling toward her, and ended up asking her to marry him just after graduation, his father thrilled at the possibility of grandkids and Sandra's inheritence bolstering their own family's fortune.

From tiny waif of a boy, to a true blue American Stud, Charles Wentworth III was now both satisfied and thrilled with his family's future. His strapping, handsome Jock of a son made him proud, cleaning up well for his father to parade him around Gala's and business events, other big-wigs taking notice of the Wentworth's "good genes", not knowing what it took to build the boy up as you see here.

[reallyromealone]

Title: visiting nana

Fandom: Wentworth

Characters: Jacs, Brayden (mentioned)

Fic type: fluff,

Pairings: -

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, child male reader, grandmother jacs

Notes: my boyfriend got me into this show

Summary: jacs grandson (reader) visits her and tells her about all the things his little three year old life experienced since the last visit

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(Name) Was excited while being escorted by his 'uncles' to the visitors area, wearing the little outfit his grandmother had arranged for the boy to have. Only three years old and a ray of sunshine to everyone he saw with little waves and smiles.

Jac's smiled when she saw her little grandson beam at her like she hung the moon "Nana!" The boy giggled and ran towards her and hugged her legs "hello, you" jacs said to her grandson who pulled a picture out of his pocket "oh? Is this for me?" The elderly blonde asked her grandson who smiled "yeah! It's you me and mama!" He pointed to each person in the drawing and Jacs looked at it as if she were impressed.

"My... Didn't know we had an artist!" She exclaimed and (name) swayed happily "my crayon broke before I could draw uncle Brayden..." He mumbled and the woman chuckled "maybe we should upgrade you to pencil crayons" she teased and (name) giggled, crawling into the seat beside her "have you been good in preschool?" She dropped big coin to make sure her grandson had the best education and (name) nodded "we have a-a caperiller! His name's Marty!" He went into detail about the class pet that was (name)s favorite thing "mama said we can't get a caperiller but we can look at em!"

Jacs didn't care for much but she would and has murdered for her grandson.

"Our times almost up so be good for me, yeah?"

"Love you Nana!"

"Nana loves you too, bite size

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Rue the Day

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

CW: Creepy whumper, blood, restraints, magical whump, nonhuman whumpee, multiple whumpees, defiant whumpee, threats of death

“The rabbit is excellent tonight, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Guilford Wentworth sipped from his wine glass. When Kira didn’t answer right away, he smiled, and his teeth seemed stained slightly red. Kira fought back the way her stomach flipped and bile seemed to rise in her throat, fighting to find its way out. 

She had to stay calm. 

“Miss Losna?” Wentworth’s smile widened, giving the lie to the carefully practiced false concern in his voice. “Are you quite all right?”

Kira cleared her throat, blinking rapidly and forcing herself to sip from the wine as well. She kept her eyes on Wentworth, because if she looked at the display behind him, she may not be able to hold the scream back any longer.

There as a whimper, half-suppressed, and Kira set her jaw and told herself to ignore it.

“I am fine,” She managed, and her voice was calm where her heart beat with frantic, frightened wings within her chest. “Rabbit is not my-... it is not a meat I often dine on, is all. The taste is… new to me.”

“Oh? My apologies. I would have chosen a different entree, but I had heard you come from… well, shall we say humble beginnings, and I thought rabbit may be familiar to you.”

His mockery strengthened her nerves. Kira stabbed a bite of rabbit viciously, trying not to think about how the meat had been coated in a bright red berry sauce that tasted too dark and rich. She chewed, and tried not to taste copper.

Because of course there was no copper.

There couldn’t be.

It was all in her mind, all because of-

“I was not raised on rabbit, Lord Wentworth,” She said coldly, and forced her eyes down to the pale ivory ceramic of her plate, painted with a beautifully oceanic blue. Images of mermaids and sea serpents cavorting in stylized waves, blocked in some spots by the rabbit. Just to the edge of the plate, she saw a handful of painted sirens, looking at the other creatures with… melancholy, perhaps.

The whimper came again. 

Kira’s teeth worked the rabbit to nearly nothing before she swallowed. There was something to that soft sound of pain that struck her like a hammer to a gong, her despair ringing in the air so loudly she could nearly hear it. 

“It is not the siren’s fault that your son spoke up,” She managed to say, if only so she could speak over the way the siren’s careful, determined silence had begun to break against the waves of pain. “You shouldn’t punish him for it.”

“So I should end our dinner early and go punish Ford in person?” Wentworth asked, unbothered by the scene behind him, by the sounds the siren could no longer hold back. “You have quite the cold soul, Miss Losna.” His smile widened. “Perhaps I chose you better than I realized.”

“I do not think you should do anything to your son but leave him alone," Kira bit back. "And you did not choose me." Her fork dropped with a clattering against the plate. “I answered an advertisement. You had no idea who I was before I walked up your front steps.”

“True.” Guilford Wentworth tipped his head forward in acknowledgement. "You answered my advertisement for a job."

“I wish to the gods I hadn’t.”

Guilford Wentworth laughed, a harsh, barking sound that nearly made Kira flinch. Somehow, though, she held steady. “I should be honest with you, Miss Losna. I’m not entirely convinced there are any gods at all.”

Kira sat back. Took another drink of wine, and let the room spin a little around her. It loosened her tongue and stiffened her spine, but it also set her cheeks aflame and left her unsteady. Strong, but dizzy, as if spun endlessly in a dance. “That’s blasphemy.”

“It is.” Wentworth nodded, picking up a heavy red fruit and biting into it, red juice on his chin, dripping onto his plate. Kira’s stomach threatened once again to heave itself empty, and she had to grip onto the edges of the table until they nearly cut into her palms to settle the twisting, flipping sensation. “And yet… well, Miss Losna. If there were gods, then you have to assume one of them would have noticed me, hm? I have one of their own. I live longer than men were meant to live. I haven’t aged a day since my siren was bound to me. They are supposedly a gods’ children, aren’t they?”

Kira was silent, then. 

If he wanted to give a speech, let him. She would simply try to get through this meal, and try equally not to be furious with Guilford’s son Ford, whose dismissal from the table had left her alone with this monster masquerading as man.

From the window, the siren’s soft sounds of pain lengthened into a soft wail. Even that, Kira thought with a shiver, sounded like music.

Against her will, she looked at him.

The siren was strung up like a tormented saint, arms up over his head wrapped in rough sailor’s rope that scratched up his skin and smeared it red. His toes barely danced on the floor, barely able to hold even a little of his weight. To stand normally, he had to let his arms hold all his weight, and it tore the ropes in more deeply, bit by bit. Staying on his tiptoes stretched his leg muscles to what must have been screaming agony. 

He was framed by the yellowing evening light coming through the window, nearly making him a silhouette, a suggestion of endless darkness ringed in awful light.

Kira’s eyes burned with what she resolutely denied could be tears as she saw him twisting his wrists a little, blood running in a rivulet down one arm now. The muscle in his arm twitched as the trail worked down to the crook of his elbow, heading towards his shoulder.

He was naked now, the markings that kept him in bondage to Wentworth’s wicked demands on full display. Kia’s heart beat faster than the rabbit whose remains were on her plate had ever been able to run.

Wentworth had given the order in between inane commentary about weather and what grew in the garden’s greenhouses. It had been tossed out like an aside, as if it didn’t matter at all. Areyto had - staring at Kira all the while - begun to tie himself up. He had climbed up himself into position, moved each arm and leg as Wentworth ordered. The butler Babbage, his eyes clouded and cheerfully convinced he was doing something with curtains, had finished stringing him up. 

Once the weight had become to much, Areyto’s eyes had gone blank and empty. He had wiped himself from his own body with the pain.

Or… perhaps only by the work it took to survive it.

He had no ability to die.

Not unless Guilford Wentworth allowed him to.

Servants bustled around - Nadette and Babbage cheerfully refilled empty cups and whisked away each course and brought the next as though they saw nothing. Nadette had come back puzzled as to what she had even been doing upstairs when she was meant to be attending Kira at dinner, and Kira could only pray to gods that may or may not be real that the clarity in her had lasted long enough to find Kira a way out.

They didn’t see the siren for what he was, or even seem to hear his crying.

Kira did.

And she hated Ford, in the moment, for having been here but then getting himself dismissed so she had to be here alone.

“They are,” Kira said, voice trembling a little. “The moon goddess made the ocean’s creatures, sirens, the mer people, the-”

“And yet,” Wentworth interrupted, too committed to his monologue to allow her to cut him off before he was done. Kira stared at Areyto, watching salt tears running down his cheeks, even though his face was utterly blank. “And yet. Look at him, Miss Losna. Look. Does his goddess save him now?”

Kira swallowed, but her throat felt nearly closed and it took far too much effort to manage. “No,” She whispered. “No. His goddess does not save him.”

Lord Wentworth’s fork scraped in dissonance along his plate, dragging Kira’s gaze back to him. “Clearly she doesn’t,” He said, with confidence. “A century and a half, give or take a dozen years here and there, and my siren remains mine. And he will remain mine. There is no goddess of the moon and waters, Miss Losna. There is no god of the land, no mountain deities to worship, no demons hiding in the Maitsa. There is nothing but people, and two kinds of people at that.”

Kira tried to tear her eyes from the siren’s suffering, but all she could make herself look at was the bottom of her emptied wineglass. There wasn’t enough wine in the world to make this bearable.

“The first sort of person goes on living the life prescribed. Does all the right things, says the right words, gets married and bears a few children and then dies. It’s all for nothing. It means nothing. The second sort of person is far more rare.”

Guilford Wentworth stood, and Kira’s breath caught as he picked up the sharpened blade of the knife that had been beside his plate. He turned away from her, walking over to the siren. Kira should have stood, then - stood and run - but she felt frozen. 

“The second sort of person,” Guilford said, voice lower now, “Is one who controls his own fate. Who refuses to live the prescribed life. Who takes control.”

The edge of the knife cut into the unmarked side of the siren’s body, a slow slice echoing the line of his ribs. 

“Hold still for me,” Guilford said, voice low and thick with some sickening emotion Kira didn’t dare name. The siren turned to look at him, and something in his empty face flickered back to life. There was a pleading there. A scream, but a silent one. “Hold, Areyto.”

The siren’s lips trembled as the knife left him and cut again. Blood ran down to his hip, maneuvered around and over it, ran down the inside of one muscled thigh. Kira’s heart beat so hard she had trouble breathing around it now, as if her lungs refused to expand. She took shallow gasps instead. 

Her fingers closed around her own fork, unconsciously, and she pushed herself to her feet. “Stop,” She whispered. 

“Areyto is mine.” A third slice had the siren weeping openly, unable to fight the pain everywhere within him any longer. Guilford raised his free hand and wiped a tear away with his thumb, licking it off the tip and humming, as if he’d tasted the finest wine. “As you will be. I could cut you just like this, and if he commanded it, you would hold perfectly still.”

“I said-” Her voice cracked. She moved, though, without thinking, coming around the edge of the table and heading towards him. The fork seemed to come to life in her hand, silvered metal twisting and heating up until her palm felt like it was burning. But somehow the burn did not hurt at all. “I said for you to stop. He does whatever you want, leave him be. I don’t require this showcase of your power, Lord Wentworth, you already have me held here against my will!”

“Oh, Miss Losna.” Guilford sighed, happily. “You find yourself terribly mistaken. This isn’t about you at all. I’m not doing this to show you my power over him.”

“Then-” Kira came to a stop, a few feet away. The fork in her hand no longer felt like a fork at all. She looked slowly down at it. “Then why are you-”

“Because he is beautiful,” Guilford breathed, looking back to the siren with shining eyes. “Like this. Because there is nothing I cannot do now.”

Kira had no ready rejoinder, and after a heartbeat of trying - and failing - to think of one she gave up. Standing here watching her captor torture a siren who had done nothing but run into him hurt more than it should. Sirens, after all, were monsters who sang men to their deaths, who took sailors to the depths. But Areyto was also a man, if not a human one. One worn down like river rocks, and soon enough he would be fine as sand, and then he would be nothing at all. 

The air felt heavier and heavier around her, as if any moment now she would cease to be able to breathe it. The inside of her head, by contrast, felt too light, floating away from her. 

Torn in two, she decided to hell with false politeness. 

“Why not just get it over with?” She asked, without looking away. The siren seemed to feel her eyes on him and managed to - briefly - meet her gaze. There was something pleading, there, in the darkness of his eyes. 

“It?” Guilford cut him again, and Kira watched skin twitching beneath his knife and wondered if she could simply vomit all over Wentworth to make this awfulness end. In her hand, the for had become long, straightened out. A sort of tiny spear of silver, and it burned hot enough that she knew if she hadn’t been the one to create it, her hand would be blistered and bubbling. 

She raised her chin. “It, Lord Wentworth. Whatever it is you plan to do to me. Destroying my mind, marrying me off to your son, whatever it is you’ve got tucked away to ruin lives for your own amusement. Why not just do it and cease forcing me to… wait?” 

“Ah.” Wentworth smiled. “Well, that’s quite simple, Miss  Losna.”

“It… it is?”

“It is indeed. Areyto? Would you care to explain?”

The siren cut his eyes back to Guilford, staring at him with such open, baleful loathing that the sheer force of the expression took Kira’s breath away. Then the pain overtook his ability to hold the expression and he slumped into sullen silence, seconds ticking past. 

“Areyto.” Guilford Wentworth’s eyes narrowed. “Tell. Her.”

Areyto’s mouth opened without his say-so. Kira watched him as he spoke, rote and lifeless, voice thin and rough with pain. “The magic-... must be written with free will, or… or it is too weak to hold me.”

Kira blinked. “But-... wait. You-... you enthralled your first magician-”

“I had the thrall lifted,” Guilford said, voice going a little softer. He looked away, then, over towards the grand floor-to-ceiling windows. “Every ten years. For two days, I had it lifted. And she strengthened the spell.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Guilford said, almost gently, lifting his own knife just under the siren’s chin, nicking his throat just to watch the blood run from there, too. “If she didn’t, I would ensure my wife would throw herself off the roof.”

Kira took in a breath.

There was only one monster in this room.

She moved all at once, pushed by a swell of emotion that felt like being sucked under by the riptide, and reached up as high as she could. The burning-hot silver in her hand sliced through the ropes that held the siren as if they were made of butter, not heavy hemp, and the siren dropped to the floor all at once with a cry.

She turned, stepping between Guilford and the siren, lifting her chin. 

“You have no such way to force me, Lord Wentworth.”

To her shock, though he did step back from her, Guilford Wentworth did not react with fear or anger. 

Instead… he laughed. “Of course I do.”

“Oh?” Kira shifted, unconsciously moving closer to Areyto, who had not moved from the floor. She could hear him growling, a sound somehow utterly animal and deeply musical, a bass note held unending. Blood smeared under his hands, soaking into the shining wood under him. It was a deep, oxygen-rich burgundy, darker than Kira’s own - a reminder that despite his appearance, he wasn’t human. 

Not that being inhuman meant he deserved any bit of this.

She faced Wentworth head on, chin high, with every ounce of courage she had in her. The wine had gone entirely to her head, but her voice stayed steady and strong. “And what, exactly, will you do to make me obey you and help you make an empire for yourself when I would happily tear out your throat with my own damn teeth if they weren’t so blunt?” 

Behind her, the siren made a new sound.

It wasn’t quite open laughter - he was in far too much pain. But the soft sound, the huff of breath with the barest edge of volume to it, set stronger steel in Kira’s spine just the same. Warmed something in her that had frozen over before. 

“I won't lift a finger to stop you, Miss Losna.” Wentworth moved away, picking up his wine glass and taking another sip. 

Her lip lifted in a snarl at the smug lie he told so easily. “You speak like a man who hasn’t barred all the bedroom windows to keep me inside,” She responded, voice tight.

Wentworth’s smile did not waver or fade, but something in it tightened. “I will not stop you,” He repeated. “But everyone else here will.”

“You will have them… attack me? Do me harm?”

“No. I will have them do themselves harm.”

Kira froze. “What?” Her voice was a whisper. 

Wentworth shrugged. “Every single one of them will die, by their own hand, as soon as you step off of my property. Their deaths will not be quick or clean, and they will be because of you.”

Kira’s jaw worked, her eyes moving to where Nadette and Babbage still stood by the kitchen door, both of them smiling politely and seemingly unaware of the confrontation by the window. “You lie.”

“No, my dear, I do not. The order has already been given.” Wentworth sighed, voice gentling. “It was given as soon as I knew you had already met my siren. If you leave, they will die. You will consign three dozen servants to their deaths, including my butler and of course your own sweet maidservant… even the stable boy will hang himself in the barn. Every one of them will die in some way, and they will know why they do it but be unable to stop. So.” He lifted one hand, twirling his finger in pointed down. “I suggest, Miss Losna, that you drop your weapon, or I will command the first death. Which of course will be the lovely young Nadette.”

Kira hitched in a breath, fear washing cold across her. She stared at Nadette’s smiling face, where she stood across the room, and thought of the terror in the girl when she had grabbed her arm and said I don't want to be here. “I-... You wouldn't. How would your life ever continue-”

“I will. If you refuse me, and I lose my siren’s power, then my life will be short and brutish regardless. I have little to lose, if the creature is lost. So leave and know your selfishness will be their cause of death. And know, also, that I will ensure you are charged by the king with every single murder. After all, I have no magic. But you do. Or so the king will believe. Drop the weapon, Miss Losna. Now.”

“Lord Wentworth-”

“Drop the weapon,” Guilford said, voice lower than ever. “And say, yes, my lord. Or Nadette will drink the vial she carries in her pocket, and you will watch her die in agony.”

Kira stood still for a long moment.

The bit of silver clattered from her numb fingers to the floor. 

When Wentworth's eyebrows raised and he leaned forward, one hand cupped behind his ear as he waited, she swallowed and managed, in a trembling voice, “Y-... Yes, m-my lord.”

“Good girl.” Wentworth's voice was sickly sweet and low. His smile widened once more - too wide, grotesquely stretched. “Sit back down, we still have to enjoy our dessert.”

Kira felt her feet moving without her, drifting back to her chair. Her mind raced and the world around her felt suddenly unreal as she settled, staring down at her plate until Babbage whisked it away and disappeared back into the kitchen again.

Kira looked over at the siren, where he still knelt on the floor.

“You, too,” Wentworth said, beckoning the siren with a single crook of his finger. Areyto pushed himself uncertainly to his feet, struggling to stay upright. His ribs were still bleeding, the smell of it overwhelming and making Kira’s stomach flip again. Or maybe it had never stopped. 

Areyto sat back in his chair, still naked - the servants didn’t seem to notice. Kira couldn’t see anything past his bright eyes and the red of his blood. The sight of him felt real in a way nothing else in this house of horrors did. 

“You will not leave your room again unless summoned,” Wentworth said, imperious now. “If you are found anywhere else, even once, I will begin ordering deaths. If you care about the lives of anyone but yourself, Miss Losna, you will go where you are bid and do what I tell you. And you will bind my siren back to me with all the magic you can use.”

Kira kept her eyes on the siren.

She had no idea what was served for dessert. She heard nothing Wentworth said after that. At some point, she was given leave to return to her rooms and she fled to the stairs, feeling a stab of guilt at leaving the siren once again alone with this monstrous man. But it was not enough guilt to stop her.

Once she had closed the door behind her, she flung herself on her bed, screaming into the heavy soft pillow.

How had she already begun to think of this as her room? This bed as her bed? How could she have been so well encircled and not realized he would use the servants against her?

She screamed again.

This time, she kept it up until her throat burned with it and her voice began to give, going hoarse and rough. She held the pillow against her face until sparks danced behind her closed eyes as she fought for air. Finally, she threw the pillow away, watching it thump onto the floor.

Then she turned to where it had been and saw the crumpled paper there. Kira swallowed, picking the folded piece of paper up and slowly opening it. 

Young Master Ford, Young Miss Nathalie, and the twins all have rooms without bars on the windows. 

Master Ford will come to you at midnight with the siren. 

Miss Nathalie will, too.

Nathalie. Kira felt something in her settle. That would be the eldest daughter from the painting, Ford’s younger sister. Clearly she and Ford felt similarly, if they were going to help Kira and Areyto, or even just Kira…

No.

She wouldn’t leave here without the siren beside her. Areyto needed rescue more than she did, in the end, and it wasn’t his singing that made her believe it. It was her own conviction. Her own certainty.

Kira pushed herself off the bed, then, setting her shoulders with resolution and heading into the bathing room, hoping against hope she could somehow manage to get this dress off all by herself.

She was sorely in need of a bath.

-

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[bethanydelleman]

Bingley was at fault too.....

Bingley's "modesty" is mostly just the result of Darcy's bad influence on him . Darcy said it himself; Bingley kept relying on him so much because it made life for him easier, he knows that he's impulsive and instead of dealing with his flaws, he just relies on Darcy to check him. He knew Jane loved him and the only effect that Jane acting like a lady should act is simply him not knowing how much she liked him, he knew love was there. And because Darcy thought she did not , he decided that she does not love him after all.

Both Darcy and Bingley are irresponsible; Darcy knew Bingley falls out of love all the time and yet he did not think that Jane might form a serious attachment because of his advances. He only cares about Bingley because it's HIS friend not out of a desire to help others.

Bingley hits on Jane immediately and courts her in front of everyone ; then left her after knowing everyone was expecting marriage ; if he wanted to leave, at least he shouldn't make it seem like he was running away from her, this might affect her reputation . I know he had planned to return but Darcy convinced not to; but he should at least claim an excuse that had nothing to do with Jane so he would not embarass her.

I disagree with most of what you are saying here. I don't think Bingley could have possibly been that confident or known that Jane loved him.

Elizabeth admits that Jane is hard to read and no one would have been entirely sure of her love:

He declared himself to have been totally unsuspicious of her sister’s attachment; and she could not help remembering what Charlotte’s opinion had always been. Neither could she deny the justice of his description of Jane. She felt that Jane’s feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her air and manner, not often united with great sensibility.

And also, Jane & Bingley don't spend a ton of time together in the two months that Bingley is at Netherfield. This is not modern dating:

“Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”

I think you are greatly overestimating how well Bingley would understand Jane's heart. He can't ask if she likes him either, it's all about subtle encouragement. We don't know what Darcy and his sisters said to him, but I can see how someone would be persuaded that Jane didn't actually love him. I think modesty is one of Bingley's strengths, not a fault. And, he's also not as persuadable as people sometimes say, we see him stand up to both his sisters and Darcy.

Mrs. Bennet said that Jane was ill-used, but she doesn't suffer any reputation damage. Mrs. Gardiner basically says, "These things happen" and moves on. We have no evidence at all that it hurt Jane in any way except emotionally. Also, Bingley & Jane don't act like Marianne & Willoughby or Wentworth & Louisa, we do not hear that everyone who saw them expected an engagement. It did not go that far. It was a fervent hope, not an honour-bound expectation. It was also a lot of Mrs. Bennet telling everyone that it would happen.

Darcy was wrong, but after the Bennets' display of vulgarity at the ball, he thought he was doing the right thing for his friend. Was he biased? Yes, the narrator tells us so, but that doesn't mean he was irresponsible. If Bingley hadn't been truly in love, he would have been doing the right thing.

That said, both Bingley and Darcy do have flaws, but Bingley is young and being impulsive when you're 23 and filthy rich isn't that bad. Darcy protecting his friend isn't a flaw, though his reasoning wasn't without bias. And I'm sure he does often have a good influence on Bingley.