#and then I think Simon and Claire?

[phantomoftheorpheum]

Hello! I absolutely adore your icons, I think they're so beautiful! By any chance would you consider making icons of Nick Pugliese in School Spirits please? x

Hi, nonny! I’m glad you enjoy the icons! I had a poll on my blog for school spirits icons, so I’m working on them in groups based off of the vote tally from the poll, so Rhonda and Charley are the characters I will be doing next! (if you’re interested in any Nick Pugliese icons where he is not in School Spirits character, lmk, but that will take a little longer, since I have a few requests ahead of that). I’m hoping to get the Rhonda and Charley icons out this week. 💜

[homicidal-slvt]

My mom said last night "Gender doesn't matter. A hoes a hoe." And I feel like that's a TRUE inspirational quote. LMAOOO

[hamartia-grander]

I love when a piece of media has the obvious she/theys, he/theys, the catboy, the angry girl, the holy bisexual, the Mom Who Murders, the hugger of all time, the bitchless flirt, the cocky wet dog, the dad who fucks everything up, the trans diversity loss, and the problematic fave.

[xoxolll]

Waiting is torture.

A question:

Michael stirling 💘

[sea-owl]

Sometimes I like to amuse myself and remember that if we line up the spouses next to the Bridgertons in canonical birth order, not ages birth order, these would be who each other's counterparts.

Simon - Anthony

Michael - Benedict

Kate - Colin

Sophie/Phillip - Daphne

Sophie/Phillip - Eloise

Penelope - Francesca

Gareth - Gregory

Lucy - Hyacinth

[norholy]

amalia's demands will a curt nod from the hunter, a snap of russet irises leveling her for a fraction of a second before flickering abroad. he assessed her recognition of his strain of vampirism, of his misery in becoming the very thing that stole his mother's last breath along with every last drop of her blood. “ indeed,  ” bitter beliefs reside perched within his mind,  awaiting granted release. a stream of immortality sings within his veins, and yet it is not a symphony he particularly rejoices in  —  it is chaos thrumming beneath flesh. self-contempt.   his existence on the brink of expendable now, he has become the very thing he'd so untiringly sought to destroy. “ mortality, my humanity.   i long for the inability to choose whether i will keep it on or not. never did i deem my existence to be in excess until the affliction of vampirism. ”

you have my attention - now do something with it.

[lesbiten]

anyways jennafer newberry was a very cute glinda and lissa deguzman was an absolutely incredible elphaba and i love this musical so much

[rileyslibrary]

I love your sense of humour and have cracked up at your stories multible times. Maby you can find some inspiration in this:

Price ordering the team to an etiquette training so they know how to behave in case they have to go under cover in a more "fancy" environment (or the upcoming mission may require something like this). I'm thinking about Ghosts "sausage fingers" from the origami bit on a delicate litte cake fork... Or him needing to *converse* with someone.

I think putting these hard soldiers in a situation that's out of their comfort zone is always a fun read!

Thank you for letting us enjoy your fantastic writing! <3

Be gentle, man!

Relationship: TF141 x F!Reader with a potential Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader (platonic?) on the horizon. Also there’s an OC in the story.

Word Count: 1,598 (approx. 7-8 min reading time)

Notes: I began writing this last night as a joke, and couldn’t stop. Thank you SO MUCH for inspiring me to do this, anon. It’s a crackfic btw. (There’s a part 2 now here)

———————————————————————

The training room feels out of place compared to its usual purpose. Bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the once-busy gym has been transformed into a classroom for an unlikely lesson—manners, of all things. Table manners, to be precise.

“Talk about Fitness Vs. Finesse,” Soap whispers, and you playfully nudge his side. The comment reaches Gaz’s ears, and he lets out a chuckle. Yet, Price’s death stare reclaims your attention and brings you back to focus.

You all sit around a long, polished mahogany table atop the gym’s boxing ring, admiring the delicate china and crystal glassware set before you. It reminds you of Aunt Claire’s preserved collection, which rarely leaves its cabinet. Lady Theodora, your etiquette instructor, assures you that each piece serves a purpose, and you will put them all to use. Every. Single. One of them.

Lady Theodora, the epitome of timeless confidence, moves gracefully around the table. Her silver hair is slicked back, framing a face that exudes years of wisdom and experience. Her Bordeaux-coloured shawl billows behind her as she glides, catching the gentle breeze her steps create. She pauses behind Price’s chair and reveals the reason behind today’s masterclass: an undercover operation.

“In the world of espionage, where appearances can mean the difference between life and death,” she says in a soft voice, “the art of etiquette becomes a weapon, a shield, and,” she concludes, resting her hand on Price’s shoulder, “your ticket to survival.”

“Bollocks.”

All eyes are drawn to the far end of the table, where a shadowy figure prefers to go unnoticed but isn’t afraid to express doubts. The only visible sign of life is a hand fidgeting with the butterknife.

“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant.” Lady Theodora says, and Ghost leans forward, revealing his unmasked—and visibly annoyed—face.

“We’re soldiers, not knights,” he claims. “Teaching us how to use all these,” he says, motioning to the various utensils before him, “is a waste of time, both yours and mine.”

Lady Theodora regards him gently as if looking at a child throwing a tantrum. She smiles and walks behind him, gripping the back of his chair.

“You seem quite certain of your own competence and doubtful of mine, Mr Riley,” she says, amused.

Ghost tilts his head to the side, partially facing her.

“With all due respect, Lady Theodora,” he replies, “I don’t believe you fully comprehend how such missions operate.”

Lady Theodora lets a light chuckle as she moves closer to Ghost’s face.

“My record of 25 confirmed kills, three of which were accomplished with a butterknife like the one in your hand, might suggest otherwise,” she admits. “Now, would you kindly move your seat forward, Lieutenant? I’ll show you how to act like a proper gentleman.”

Ghost’s Adam’s apple bobbles as he swallows hard. He returns the butterknife to its original position and pushes his chair forward with Lady Theodora’s help.

Gaz clears his throat and looks at Soap.

“Imagine her dinner parties,” he whispers so Price doesn’t hear him, “they must be perfectly executed.”

“Bet she makes a killer soufflé,” Soap whispers back.

You look at them and mutter, “You two are beyond help.” Unfortunately, it’s your own comment that catches Price’s attention this time, and he gives you a stern warning to behave.

“Let’s get started,” Lady Theodora says. “Projecting confidence and grace requires proper posture: sit up straight, shoulders back, and imagine a string pulling you upward from the crown of your head.”

You all adjust your posture, attempting to imitate Lady Theodora. Ghost used to a more relaxed posture, finds it difficult to maintain the required formality. His broad shoulders hunch forward, and he struggles to keep his legs straight.

“Excellent,” Lady Theodora remarks, catching Ghost’s struggle but choosing not to comment further. “Next, we shall delve into the art of dining. Each utensil on the table has a specific purpose, and it is essential to use them correctly.”

She points to the array of utensils laid out before you. Multiple forks, knives, and spoons of various sizes and shapes make the sight overwhelming.

“The outermost utensils are for the earlier courses, while the inner ones are for the later ones.” Lady Theodora says, “It’s like unwrapping a gift, one course at a time.”

You all nod and place the napkin on your lap to begin the process.

Ghost’s ingrained military habits take over when food is served, causing him to devour it quickly. He shovels forkfuls of food into his mouth without looking up and barely pausing to chew.

“Mr Riley,” Lady Theodora addresses Ghost, who shoots his head up to look at her. “I understand the military inclination to eat fast, but we must remember that the food isn’t going anywhere. Take your time, savour each bite, and enjoy your meal, please.”

“Sorry ’bout that.” Ghost mumbles with his mouth full.

Lady Theodora raises an eyebrow. “Mr Riley, it is impolite to speak with your mouth full,” she reminds him. “Please, swallow your food before continuing.”

Ghost swallows and clears his throat. “Apologies, Lady Theodora,” he mutters.

Lady Theodora smiles and nods at Ghost’s response. “Very well, Lieutenant Riley,” she says. “Remember, dining is about more than just the food; it’s also about the company and the experience.”

As the training continues, you witness Soap’s attempts to initiate a proper conversation, only to subconsciously bring up military strategies. Gaz, on the other hand, struggles with small talk and, when asked about his hobbies, blurts out his love of explosions.

“Kerosene is one hell of a—”

“No kerosene talk on the table, Sergeant,” Lady Theodora interrupts. “How about we talk about something more appropriate, like, for example, what did you do today?”

“You’re not going to like it.” He replies.

“Did it involve kerosene?” She asks and receives multiple excited nods from Gaz.

Ghost forgets about his napkin while using the finger bowl and instinctively flicks his hands to dry them. Droplets of water scatter across the table, and Lady Theodora steps forward with a calm smile. She retrieves his napkin and hands it to him. “Remember, Lieutenant,” she whispers, “the napkin is your ally.”

Throughout this ordeal, Price seems to be the only one who already has a natural fluidity in his movements. Like he already knows about etiquette.

You compliment his impeccable manners, but Lady Theodora intervenes before Price can respond.

“Oh, that’s because the Captain already received my services a few years ago,” she reveals, winking.

Price, caught off guard, coughs and sputters, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. After regaining his composure, he clears his throat and grins.

“Yes, well, Lady Theodora’s guidance has been, um, invaluable,” he manages to say and lowers his gaze to his plate. Gaz raises an eyebrow, and Soap gives a sly smile.

With the etiquette training completed, Price gracefully positions his utensils on his plate and folds his napkin. Lady Theodora hands him a file stack, which he distributes to you.

“These files contain detailed background information for your assigned roles,” he explains. “Study them carefully; familiarise yourselves with the personas you will embody, and don’t worry; with Lady Theodora’s help, you’ll have plenty of time to learn how to carry yourselves.”

He watches you all as you take hold of your respective files, scanning the pages and absorbing the details that will shape your performances.

“Gaz, within those pages, you’ll uncover the roadmap to shape your tech persona, along with essential contacts and valuable industry insights,” Price declares.

“A startup entrepreneur,” Gaz mutters and nods, “nice.”

“Soap,” Price continues, “your file contains the lineage and history of an alleged oil tycoon family; you’ll assume the identity of their sole son and heir to the business.”

“Why do I get the oil-moneyed spoiled brat?” Soap protests, “Gaz is the one obsessed with fossil fuel!”

Price looks at Lady Theodora, silently begging her to take the lead.

“Focus on embodying the demeanour of an heir, Sergeant MacTavish,” she comforts Soap. “Acquiring in-depth knowledge of the business is not a top priority now.”

Finally, Price shifts his focus to you and Ghost. His voice softens, and a smile appears on his lips.

“As for the two of you,” he says, “your assignment requires a convincing portrayal of a couple.”

You and Ghost exchange a brief look before returning your focus to the files in your hands.

“Laswell will provide you with a forged marriage certificate and photos of your alleged relationship,” Price continues. “The documents will serve as tangible proof if the need to validate your connection arises.”

“Any chance to let us know who or what we’re after?” Gaz asks, and Price shakes his head.

“Baby steps, Sergeant; we’re waiting for Laswell to give us more intel,” he explains, “but as far as we know, we’re dealing with people who can buy their way out of some very sketchy shit.”

“Language, Captain.” Lady Theodora reminds him.

“Please accept my sincere apologies, Theodora,” he says and turns to Gaz. “I meant sketchy things, Sergeant.”

As they continue discussing the mission, your mind wanders on the latest information. Ghost’s partner? How? You look at the file and then back at Ghost. You see Lady Theodora walking behind Ghost’s chair and leaning close to his ear. She looks at you and whispers to him.

“I told you, Lieutenant,” she says, “I’ll mould you into a proper gentleman.”

Ghost turns to face you as well. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Lady Theodora,” he replies.

But Lady Theodora smiles and touches his shoulder, “Oh, you’ll see, Mr Riley—you’re my gift to unwrap, one course at a time.”

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

[homicidal-slvt]

Thinking about the time I was looking at a spoon and went "Wow!!! This is the perfect shape to carve somebody's eyeball out with!" And proceeded to look at my friend like it was a normal revelation and I would receive support only for him to look absolutely horrified.

[highhhfiveee]

safety net, part three

part two: 🚿 | part four: 🏆

pairing: pornstar!mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: y/n gets a taste of mike's world and things begin to shift. wc: 3.1k tags: lots of mentions of porn, smut (descriptions of sex being filmed, featuring unprotected sex, dirty talk, clit rubbing, squirting, some workplace intimacy lmao), angst?, exposition! proofread many times but if there are still errors, idk what to say lmao

“wow."

"i know right," you say plainly, eyes wide at your best friend, claire, as you take a large gulp of your hot latte. claire cuts her gaze to you, puffing her cheeks out in a sigh. you were always so in awe by her, the feeling proved once again when she'd actually agreed wholeheartedly to view your boyfriend's porn.

"i still don't believe that you're dating him," she sputters with outrage as she points to your computer on the dining room table, open to a still of mike with dick in hand, coming on some dark-haired girl's keen face. "and i don't believe it even more so because you decided to wait six months before telling me. i thought we were best friends!"

you can tell her outrage is whimsical by the way she faints into your arms, and you reach forward to catch her. 

"yeah but, like, best friends from adolescence that don't see each other very often. last time i saw you was three months ago." 

"okay, but by then you'd been dating him for three months, and that's almost half a year!" 

"barely, claire." 

you couldn't even believe that you were dating him. you hadn't known how you two went from meeting outside an underwhelming, overpriced restaurant to making out and cuddling intimately in mike's bed four out of seven days a week. it'd felt like no time had passed at all; you'd just been living without thinking. mike took every worry off your shoulders, freeing you of anxiety in so many ways that you couldn't believe someone that caring and accommodating was real.

he paid for your sessions after you'd mindlessly rambled about not being able to afford this therapist you really liked. he sent you the credentials to his grocery delivery membership, encouraging you to get anything you wanted or needed. you could finally consistently get things that were good, and healthy. he paid your rent, and respected the fact that you didn't want to move in with him and wanted autonomy to work and pay for your other personal expenses.

"i just want you to be happy. you tell me what you want, and we'll make it happen."

he had you and it didn't feel real. you felt like you couldn't tell anyone about it, terrified that everything would crumble if you spoke even a word about him being your partner, so sweet and good and rewarding. you didn't want to hide him, but you didn't want things to collapse. not this time. 

you wouldn't be able to take it this time. 

you explain all this to claire, ending with, "i'm sorry it took so long. i just really want this to last." you'd told her about everything, even about dating simon briefly and how he led you to mike. 

claire nods, chewing on a wedge of pineapple speared by a fork. she's given up her fainting performance, once again munching on her breakfast and clicking the pad on your laptop. the video you two were watching resumes, and you watch her face for bit, eyes shifting around the screen in intrigue, before turning back to it as well.

"you deserve it, y/n. that simon guy sounded like a dickhead. an expired card, and the bathroom excuse? fucking lame." her voice doesn't chop through the amplified sound of both mike and the girl moaning, whiny and feral. they're absolutely gone, and you're really not thinking about simon anymore. fuck him. 

now, you thought of mike.

granted, you hadn't been like the people in mike's videos, up to a certain point. you'd done the kissing and the heavy petting, but you hadn't had sex at all, in any form, and he didn't pressure you into feeling like it was some sort of requirement. he agreed with taking it slow, placing emphasis on the romantic before the sexual. you knew there would be no issues with the sexual; why rush into it when you could have the slow burn, all the tension you wanted up until you were ready?

mike hadn't fought it, and yeah, you thought, you did deserve it. you deserved to be treated like this. 

"called me over for an art date, i guess you still painted," the girl mewls with a devilish smile, licking at mike's---sorry, chase cox's---come around her mouth. 

"mhm, baby. masterpiece, if i do say so myself." mike is so pretty on the screen; sweaty and flustered, but so confident at the same time, polite too. even when he's in an act, he's so attentive; he moves hair away from eyes and wipes spit off chins and cradles waists while he adjusts his hips to hit various angles, turning almost everyone he filmed with into a "braindead fucktoy"---claire's filthy words, not yours (though you didn't mind the idea). 

the video ends with a snippet of aftercare, the both of them wiping at each other's bodies with gentle motions. it's how they all end, and you think it's really nice, showing a crucial part of sex that most people forgo. you'd seen plenty of mike's videos by now, and knew that while some were vastly more kinky than others, they all followed the same formula of care, concern, and curtesy. 

you could tell mike lived by that, too. 

"well, i gotta scoot to work," claire murmurs, leaning down to grab for her bag. "but thank you for inviting me to breakfast so you could show and tell me that you've been dating a wildly handsome, generous, and charismatic sex worker. best videos i've seen by far, honestly. are you seeing him today?" 

you nod sheepishly, and claire laughs into the sky, doctored with comical bitterness. "well, let the record show that i am both extremely jealous and extraordinarily happy for you." she gives you a toothy smile, poking at your shoulder with both index fingers. "seriously. you deserve it all." 

you carry this thought with you as you ride in one of the company's chartered cars, traversing through the roads to their main studio, the biggest one in the city. there were only 4 throughout the metro area, but this one, a gigantic penthouse isolated at the top of a 275-foot tall apartment complex, had the most space and atmosphere of them all. you remember coming here to take your picture for the all-access card mike had given you. he was so happy to gift it to you a few months ago, finally getting through after bugging the execs to give him another card with unhindered access for months. 

"finally got the hard copy, just for you. got your name on it and everything," he'd smiled so wide, clipping it on one of his merch lanyards; white with black, serif text that read, "chase cox world domination". you'd fallen over in laughter, kissing at his cheeks while thanking him between giggles. 

you hadn't been here many times over the last three months, but when you were, you were able to slip through every door and security checkpoint without hassle. people knew who you were and attended to you, telling you exactly where mike was in the studio or offering to get you any refreshments or sundries you were after. you'd always declined, extending extreme gratitude to everyone servicing you, but today, you ask for a bottle of fancy artesian water. you deserve it. 

the few times you'd been here before were usually half-hours after mike had finished a scene, helping him pack up to head home for the day, but this time, you'd come early, wanting to catch a glimpse of him at work. 

you take the elevator to the top, stepping out into the concrete foyer of the industrial workspace. the gray of the material was accented with bright art and other pops of color in furniture and decor that conveyed the new age principles and ideology of the production company. it made sense why the videos were so honored, with the people behind them being young and progressive and on the right side of history (and design). 

there are eight rooms on the floor; three for shooting, three for aesthetics and dressing, one for an office, and one for storage. there were bathrooms in three of them and two down the main hallway that opened into the formal living room/break area and kitchen. you'd been told that mike was in the hunger room; this one set up for messier, more bodily fluid oriented videos, as opposed to the softer passion and kinkier desire shooting rooms. 

the rooms are all hidden behind frosted, sliding glass doors with the titles printed onto placards affixed next to them. you find hunger after walking a little, and gently pull on the handle. the door slides open soundlessly, and you're closing it behind you as you step inside, your eyes locked on the scene in front of you. 

mike and his partner are arranged on a leather couch in a living room set, his hips shoving into her in this perceptive way. he's reading her body language and reacting accordingly, and you can see why she's moaning so genuinely, feet dangling by the ankle over mike's shoulders. the couch is already drenched in liquid, wet and puddled under the girl's ass.

he grabs for the back of the couch to go deeper, leaning down to press kisses on her lips as the cameraman focuses in on where they're connected. the sound is so lewd, and it makes you press your thighs together as you watch alongside the small production crew. 

"feel good? happy to have a friend like me? someone who knows you, knows your body? someone who makes you feel better and come harder than your stupid fucking boyfriend?" his partner mewls out a broken, exasperated, "y-yyesssss" between gritted teeth as her moans get higher and higher pitched. suddenly, she's reaching at mike's back to scratch at his skin, screaming out as mike leans off to the side of her, massaging his fingertips over her clit and cooing, "yeah, just let go. know he's never made you feel like this, wasting this perfect pussy..."

his partner squirts against the camera with a screech, loud and raw but pretty. the lens is covered in a heavy spray of bodily fluid as she arches her back and grinds her mound into mike's hand, chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. "that's fucking it," he encourages, speaking in her ear as he looks down at the mess in his peripherals and rides her through it. "just the way you deserve." you swear he locks eyes with you when he says it, and he only confirms it with the small smirk he throws your way, managing to fit it into the ending of the shot. his eyes twinkle through the aftercare segment, and he talks with his spent coworker, calling, "she just wants to sit for a second" to a PA with a chuckle. 

"okay, ten minute break and then we're shooting the come shot."

her legs slowly straighten out as mike throws the towel he's handed around his waist and slides his feet into the slippers stored behind the couch. he grabs a water from an outstretched hand as he makes his way over to you, smelling like sweat and sex and glistening with this nearly angelic post-fuck glow. it's like he's coming down from the gates of porn heaven.

"hi, my love," he muses, pulling you into a tight hug before saying, "how much did you see?" 

"like right before the squirting. it's very..." you're not sure what to say, really. maybe, just maybe, you need to change your underwear, but you don't want to be weird about it. you're sure he's heard weird, and beyond weird, but you want to maintain composure in front of his coworkers. you give him a tight smile, resting your hand on his pulsing bicep. "just makes me think things." 

"maybe we should add 'thought-provoking' to the list of labels for the company," he jokes, taking a sip of water while winking at you. "you're a genius, baby." 

you're giggling along with him, opening your mouth to continue the joke when two tanned arms reach from behind him to cross in an X over his chest. a head peeks from behind him, and she's immediately unmistakable to you. 

it's his current scene partner, who is also the girl from the video you watched earlier today. the one eager for his come, whining for him to make a mess of her face while letting him beat his dick on her tongue. you think back to all of the videos you've seen her in where she's with mike. she always comes the hardest working with him, and vice versa. something about it makes you sick. 

she's smiling at his cheek, eyes focused on his as he turns his glance towards her. her arms get tighter around him and you notice how she gets closer, pressing her front tighter against his back. "caught your breath?" 

"you know i always do," she brags, licking at her canines as her stare moves to you, looking you up and down with snarky scrutiny. "casting department's starting to slack." 

you shrink, feeling so small that you don't feel like you're interrupting something anymore. you might as well just not be there, and you're about to sink into pitiful posture when mike snarls, "hey, watch yourself. y/n, this is amelie, and li, this is y/n, my girlfriend. i told you about her." the sound of mike saying the nickname turns to bile in your throat, searing you on the way down and keeping you from speaking.

amelie gives you a blank expression now, standing beside mike with no qualms at being fully naked in front of a stranger. "y/n, y/n...not ringing any bells," she places her hands on her hips, tossing her dark, sex-tousled hair over her collarbones. "sorry."

you don't know why you're daunted by her; you're usually daunted by no one, and able to speak up for yourself when people are acting catty. this time, you can't help but be unnerved by her perfection, or how close she is to it. perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect body, perfect boobs...

"i'm kidding," amelie's smooth, beguiling voice rips you from your thoughts, and you're gasping for something to say when she continues, "he's shown me endless pictures, and knows that i think you're gorgeous." her tone picks up the tiniest bit as she quips, "my eyes are up here, by the way." she's throwing you off, frustrating you in so many ways and you're just stammering with mike looking between the two of you.

"i'm sorry---"

"it's really fine. millions of people have seen them, everyone's always thirsty for more of me and chase cox..." she drags the end of her sentence out as she runs the tips of her long, cherry red nails along the back of mike's neck, ending in a laugh.

"'mike schmidt' isn't a porn name, we already had this conversation." 

"neither is chase cox, if we're being real," they launch into a chitchat, and you once again feel like you're intruding. there's no denying that they have insane chemistry, but it still rips at you;  you're aware of them having an entire moment in front of you, complete with the body language and glances and suddenly, you don't care about their connection. mike was your boyfriend, and it didn't matter what she said or did. they'd made so many videos together, yet, every night he came home to you, and not her. 

"yeah, well you're still moaning chase when you come," 

"because i can't dox you like that--"

you clear your throat noisily, gaining their attention with an eyeroll, and amelie observes you and your curled lip with recognition of your game. she didn't expect you to have bite, not with the way you look now. you're not the assertive, 'take-no-shit' girl from the pictures mike showed her. she thinks you're merely a hint of that, and that it completely evaporates when someone lights a fire under your ass, but maybe she's wrong for once. "watched a bunch of your stuff. it was really good, you're talented." 

"thanks," her gratitude is dry and bitchy, and you're about to say more when a PA calls a two minute warning and she squints her eyes into slits at you. "hope you're ready to see a lot more of me." she uses mike's shoulder to pivot with a sly smirk, sauntering back to the now wiped down leather couch, ripples coursing through her ass with every step. 

you look to mike with astonishment, wondering where he's been during this whole thing, and who that girl is, and if she's genuine bad news or simply one of those callous girls that guys love to chase.

mike had defended you, sure, but he'd gotten captured too. what if she's indoctrinating him some--

"she's nice," you blurt, stopping yourself from the overthinking you'd resorted to. you needed to be nice to yourself. you deserved this, deserved everything you had with mike. nothing was taking that away from you, and you could feel secure in that. mike would reassure you.

he does, saying, "isn't she?" with a snicker. "don't worry about her, okay? it's her personality, and she does everyone like that, so she's not just targeting you. ignore her, and if you don't like the small jokes either, i can tell her to knock it off. whatever you want. also, lunch after i wrap?" 

you nod your head, about to say something again when the PA announces that it's time for shooting to start back up. mike gives you a fat kiss on the lips as he drops his towel into a director's chair next to you, and makes his way back over to amelie folded on the couch. her knees are by her chin at a filthy angle, and she's using a squeeze bottle with a tapered tip to squeeze shiny lube all over her clit and both holes. 

mike watches, rubbing his hand all through it to spread it around. amelie bites at her lip as he does, staring up at him with eyes that are filled with unadulterated lust, and he uses the leftover lube on his dick, stroking the slippery surface as he gets harder and harder in his hand. 

the director asks them if they're ready, and when they both answer yes, she says, "okay, we're gonna go insertion, sink in, wait five for the kiss, and go from there. alright...rolling...action." 

amelie flicks her eyes to you in a leer, winking at you like mike did earlier as he plunges into her sopping wet walls. her head falls back against the couch while she outstares you, open-mouthed moans transitioning into "cockdrunk" laughs that you know are calculated.  

you begin to chug your bottle of water, deliberately ogling her in return. you were down with playing a game for two, but not for long. 

lord. the hell i've gone through to get this up /: lmao i need to go to bed. things are about to heat up, so prepare yourselves for what's next to come!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: Xavier had been acting cagey for weeks, a fact you hadn't had the heart to address since Maddie's disappearance. but with his dubious return to school and how he loitered in the periphery of Nicole and Simon's orbit, you thought it was about time to get answers. too bad one pale, cow-eyed jock had other plans.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.4

Xavier knew that whatever oddness you displayed, it was done with intention.

Sticking wads of gum in your hair at recess? Hana's brother had shaved a strip off the top of Hana's head in 5th grade and you'd needed to give your mom a reason. Giving Xavier's dad a casserole in a pan he'd have to return? He and Xavier hadn't had a homecooked meal since Xavier's mom went to visit her sister in 8th grade. Now every other Wednesday was circled on the calendar in Xavier's kitchen, Family Dinner scrawled in red sharpie.

So, whatever had possessed you into your uncharacteristic choice of outfit, Xavier knew there was a reason.

"Don't." You warned as soon as you opened the door.

Xavier smirked, eyeing you as you climbed into the passenger side of his truck. Of your friends, Mathilda was the one who layered herself in dark colors; a walking shadow with sass and a violent streak. You, on the other hand, tended toward a more eclectic wardrobe and never reached for black on black, especially since...

Well. Since.

Xavier recognized your leather jacket, the lapels boasting a collection of button pins and silver studs, and band patches stitched into the sleeves. An accessorized exhibition of your taste in music and social commentary.

The jacket made sense.

What didn't was what was undoubtedly your uncle's Black Sabbath hoodie paired with black skinny jeans tucked into pointed-toe, matte black booties, the small heels on which had click-clacked down the walkway from your front door to the truck.

"Your mom's?" Xavier guessed, referring to the jeans and booties.

"Shush."

"No, no, no," Xavier said mildly, pulling into the road, "I happen to think you make it work. It's giving—" He swept the air in front of him dramatically with one hand, setting the scene, "—Crime in the Dead of Night."

You shoved your backpack into the footwell and buckled your seatbelt before leveling him with a glare. Well, maybe. He couldn't really tell through the enormous sunglasses you'd chosen to complement your peculiar ensemble, but your lips were pursed in that way they got when you were grumpy about something.

"Shut up, Zav."

"No really," Xavier insisted, "Incognito Chic. Doesn't look like you're hiding something at all."

You smacked him on the shoulder, unable to suppress a lighthearted chuckle. "No questions asked." You said, invoking a years-old promise you'd made in the aftermath of what had happened to you that third week of 7th grade.

It was an appeal for support without having to reveal things that didn't make sense yet. Perhaps never would. Just unconditional thereness from someone you trusted to have your back.

A knot curled in Xavier's gut. His grip tightened on the steering wheel for a short second before he managed to tamp back the haunting feelings to the darkest corner of his brain.

He'd taken advantage of that pact in recent weeks. Had asked you a few times to cover for him if Maddie asked after him; even had you send texts about band practice on random days when the schedule hadn't changed since last fall. Every Saturday in Lucas and Hana's garage.

The whole thing with Claire made him feel rotted from the inside out. He could only vaguely remember how it'd started. A dumb decision made at 3am on a Tuesday, swaying from too many hits of his vape and two shots of his dad's whiskey.

And you never questioned him. Not once. Just honored your end of the deal because you believed Xavier was your friend and wouldn't make you aid and abet his sleaze.

Fuck.

A few blocks from school, you reached across the bench seat and placed a hand on Xavier's forearm, tone warm, "You sure about this?" You asked, "Cause we could go to the mall. Or drive up to the lake." Meaning his dad's cabin. "Or into the city."

Xavier gave you a weak smile, "Sounds like you're looking for an excuse to skip." He couldn't blame you. Still, "I need to do this, kiddo. Not just because I don't want the fucking trolls to win, but because there is someone in there who knows what's going on."

"So...what? You're going to track down leads and find Maddie yourself?" You raised an eyebrow. Again, Xavier couldn't quite see it with how much of your face the sunglasses masked, but your forehead shifted in a way to suggest it.

"Hey, I'm open to ideas if you have any you'd like to share."

You sighed heavily, shook your head. "Nah, B, I got nothing. But if you need help, just let me know." You smiled, patted his shoulder, then bent forward to grab your backpack.

Pulling into an empty spot in the parking lot, Xavier wrestled with asking you for another favor. After all the deceit, he should take responsibility for his own shit, but he didn't have the mental fortitude to deal with Mathilda's—albeit well-meaning—stance against his choice to return to school.

She'd made a fuss in the group chat the night before, words all capitalized and stressed in bold, and Xavier wasn't looking forward to listening to the barrage he was sure she'd prepared for him. Hana, Lucas and Eli, Xavier could manage, even if they shared Mathilda's point of view. But Mathilda? Was a force of nature.

You'd just slid out of the truck, were about to shut the door, when Xavier swallowed and forced himself to ask, "Do you think you could run interference?"

You studied him for a moment, likely wondering if it was worth it to take the bullet on Xavier's behalf, and then, "Sure thing, I got you."

Xavier was profoundly grateful to count you as a friend—hell, after all you'd been through together—a sister.

He put every ounce of sincerity behind his words, "Thank you," and offered you a proper smile, all teeth and crinkled eyes. You responded with a smile of your own, bright and buoyant and a boon to the anxiety rending his confidence.

"I'll see you in there." You chirped, stepping back and giving a mock salute, "Good luck!"

Xavier sat in his truck until you disappeared into the school, waited for the door to shut behind you before he leaned over and opened the glovebox. His vape sat on top of a mess of empty takeout wrappers and vintage CDs—the latter a testament to how old his truck was.

He hovered, stock still, chewed the inside of his cheek as his lungs and brain yearned for a taste of sweet-cotton-numbness.

"You know, you don't have to lie to me." Maddie's disappointment was palpable, pressing under Xavier's skin like cold fingers.

"Okay, fine, I'm a total burnout who is skipping class to get high in his car. Congratulations, you got me." He nonchalantly responded.

Maddie smiled, cute, dimpled, and said, "For the record, you're the worst liar in the world."

Xavier's heart broke.

Abruptly, he smacked the glovebox closed and opened his door, hauling himself out of his truck in a blur of movement. He needed to get his ass in gear before he changed his mind and fucked up again.

Today, he was going to make damn sure he did better.

💀___________________________

PART THREE - PART FIVE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[scotianostra]

On February 24th 1303 the Scots, under Simon Fraser and John Comyn beat an English force at The Battle of Roslin.

Now most of my history is self taught that I have picked up over the years, I was brought up near Roslin and my mum did take us there as bairns and told us all about the Chapel, the Apprentice Pillar and The Holy Grail, this was 30 years before Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code novel, so with all that you would think that I will have been told all about The Battle of Roslin?

Nope not a thing, I knew about Stirling Bridge, Bannockburn and Culloden, as well as other battles but I can't recall my mum ever telling me about Roslin, so what I know is all learned over the past 20 years or so.

Fought between the Scots and English during the Wars of Scottish Independence and was a Scottish victory, but it does not figure in many history books and few people up until lately have even heard of it, yet the figures involved, especially on the English side, make it one of the biggest battles ever on Scots soil.

This was during the Wars of Scottish Independence, according to the stories I have read it was more of a fight over the love of a woman rather than a pure Scotland v England "match".

Lady Margaret Ramsay of Dalhousie, who had become betrothed to the handsome Sir Henry St Clair, they of the Knights Templar folk. Enter your typical English arrogant guy in Sir John de Segrave, a seasoned campaigner in many a Scottish battle. Sir John is said to have fallen in love with oor Lady Margaret on may visits to Dalhousie Castle, on hearing of the impending marriage in a fit of jealousy decided he wanted the Lady for himself so sought out to sweep her off her feet and defeat the Scottish army all in one fell swoop.

It's a great tale and sounds like a Hollywood film, but there never was any Lady Margaret Ramsay and we know that Sinclair married one Alicia de Fenton. So that's the romance bit debunked.

What I have also read out about the battle is that Segrove split his army, of 30,000 troops, into three groups, to me this is more believable, well splitting the army, the numbers in my mind will have been a lot less. Anyone who knows the landscape of Roslin Glen will know that it lends itself to the theory that in battle on big force would find it difficult to gather there. The English army in three divisions was also common in armies at the time. The terrain in Roslin in the middle of winter would have made it very difficult for a large army to manouevre, so with that I am pretty sure the numbers have been exaggerated, put it this way, if 30,000 English were defeated at Roslin it would be bigger than Bannockburn.

This brings me to my third point about the battle, why are no accounts of it from people present at it? Well that is easily explained in the fact that one of the commanders of the Scots was John "The Red" Comyn. It's a well know fact that history favours the winners, and we all know that The Bruce and Comyn were bitter rivals so it would be natural for any records of the battle to have been erased by Bruce. Well that's my take on it.

A couple of other details often written about the battle is that William Wallace was present, Wallace by this time had given up the Guardianship and at some point was said to have been in France, when captured he was in possession of a "safe passage" letter from The King of France, so was he there? Again I refer to my local knowledge in that along the River Esk that runs through Roslin Glen, towards Hawthornden Castle is a cave we know as Wallace's Cave, so there is a connection somewhere down the ages with our favourite Scottish patriot.

One as wee story regarding The Battle of Roslin is about the Cistercian Prior Abernethy of Mount Lothian to the west of Balantradoch, the Templar headquarters in Scotland, it was about 5 miles from Roslin, Abernethy, the monk, had been a Templar, a warrior, who had off his armour and lay down his sword to spend the remainder of his life praising God. Now the warrior priest's blood rose again. The life of prayer, compilation of Gregorian chants was abandoned. God had called the Prior to the defence of Scotland. As men prepare for battle each pray to whatever God he knows "let us be victorious."

Monks on horseback were sent to raise the alarm and warn the Scots of the danger facing them, they would have said a prayer for the Scots troops before the battle, as was normal, but another legend is that as the Scottish Army grew tired during the third stage of the battle. Abernethy is said to have been crucial with his local knowledge of the Glen, he also directed the Monks to erect a huge St Andrews Cross on the Pentland Hills, as the Scots tired the Cross was set alight and the Abernethy pointed towards it, saying it was a sign from God, it rallied the troops and the Battle was won.

You will have maybe heard other versions of The Battle of Roslin, a lot of this is my own take and by no means historical.

[bigassmoonchild]

Tears

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You'd never seen Simon cry. He was the scary Ghost, and Ghosts didn't cry. Maybe he had just grown too comfortable with you, because it didn't take long to be pushed back an arms length.

Content Tags: Fluff, Simon Simping, Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Simping, Crying, Senseless Worry, Fear, Fear of Death, Thoughts of Death (NOT suicidal ideation), Hurt/No Comfort, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, No Use of Y/N

A/N: I am so sorry about being awol this week, my heart condition and migraines have whooped my ass. I wasn't expecting how this would turn out, but I enjoy it a lot. Mostly internal thoughts, some interactions here and there. Anyways, here's part 15!

Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist

The few days you spent back home, it was slowly getting better. Your father had accepted Simon, your mother was spending a lot of her time doting on you and Simon, but Clint was still gone. Nowhere to be seen, no one had heard from him.

Arthur still stayed quiet, but you remembered him as the gentle boy he once was. He'd always been that way, especially after everything your father had done when he presented. No one talked about it anymore, but your brother still stepped on eggshells around everyone.

Simon had grown to enjoy spending time with the pack pups, reminiscing on his time with Price's own. Even then, he'd never considered that he would have any of his own. It was terrifying. Clair had pulled him away, baring her teeth and threatening a few different deaths if he'd so much as hurt you.

How dead he'd be if she knew.

And that's all he could think about, watching as Clair doted on her own Omega. Watching as she loved and cared for her pups. Seeing her act like an amazing Alpha, one he'd never thought he would be. Him? Someone's Alpha? It scared him, even so long after it had occurred.

His mind was constantly warring with itself, the old him trying to get him to run, dump his savings onto you and disappear into the wilderness. The other part of him, though, saw you as you existed. In the mornings, hair a mess and eyes still tired. After sex, your eyes slightly glazed over and skin heated.

He could see you, puffy eyed as you admitted your fears to him that first night back. He heard the sobs you gave him, oh so many time.

Simon saw the fire in your eyes as you snapped on him.

And he loved you all the more for it. You were his Omega, his precious mate. What he could consider the love of his life. And yet he looked at you, admiring your older sister with a look in your eye that seemed almost... regretful.

It was then that he really thought. Deeply, on all the past conversations. He had seen a similar regret in your face while driving back to the hotel, eyes still puffy from the crying.

Price, speaking with him one night. "How many people would wish to be mated like that?" Price had once asked him. "She is living, breathing and eating with a man she does not know. You can't make this any more difficult than it is," but this had been the first few weeks of your mating.

Were the two of you still strangers? Or acquaintances now? He didn't even know your favorite color, let alone simple facts about you. And now, as he lay next to you, he feared that perhaps everything had gone too quickly.

Even as he felt your fingers grasping at his sleep shirt, feeling the press of your swollen belly against his side. Everything had happened so quickly, and he hadn't been there for the first, what? Six months? He knew, almost inherently, that it was a poor representation of him.

His Alpha groaned, baring it's teeth at the thought that he was a bad Alpha. Even as he stared at the ceiling, eyes cast over, thoughts prickling over everything. The distaste at the back of Simons throat was strange. His eyes burned, and he blinked his eyes clear.

What the hell? Tears?

Simon was able to get your hands untangled from his shirt, shifting out of bed carefully and finding his way to the bathroom. Shutting the door carefully, he flicked on the light and found his reflection staring at him.

The vision blurred, staring through himself rather than at. He couldn't see himself. Not Simon, barely Ghost, but rather the monster he often thought of in the midst of missions. A killer, someone who took lives, not create. He was a monster, claiming you without permission, and he could feel the heat of his tears pouring down his cheek.s

The door opened, and he couldn't think. Barely heard your voice, calling out, wondering why the hell Alpha smelled sour and was crying. Your arms wrapped around him, pressing a gentle kiss against his back.

You could feel the hiccupped breaths he was taking, you could see the distant look in his eyes through the mirror and his scent was horrid. It smelled purely of distress, pain, even hints of anger. Not the scent of Simon.

Grasping his hand, he followed mindlessly as you dragged him back into the main room, gently pushing him onto the bed. Standing between his legs, you ran your fingers through his hair.

"Simon," you whispered, carefully. "Love, what's wrong? Your scent is so strong, but it isn't you. What's wrong? Please, Simon," and you whispers continued. His eyes remained blank, gone. Even as thoroughly exhausted as you were, you could feel fear twinging in your gut.

You'd never seen Simon like this, but you'd seen soldiers coming back from intense battles who looked like this. Not your Simon, not him. No, maybe there'd be days that he would grow quiet and slightly distant, but he never looked like this.

Even as your hands found his cheeks, your lips pressing against his head, you heard nothing from him. You moved, reaching for the phone you'd tucked somewhere before collapsing into bed, and felt his hands grasp for yours.

His fingers entwined with yours, tugging you closer to him once more. Simons arms wrapped around you, his head resting against your chest. You could hear his sobs, muffled by your body, but you could feel his shoulders shaking.

Pressing your lips to the top of his head, you slowly rocked the two of you side to side. You stayed there, listened, held him. His sobs hurt you, nearly scared you. Such a strong man, an amazing Alpha, broken down into tears. And from what?

You thought, and thought, and thought. There was nothing, you realized, that you could think would cause this. You couldn't remember a thing that happened today that would make him break down. Maybe it had been Clint? Your family initially not accepting him, hurting him?

No. He wouldn't even think about that kind of thing. Sure, he'd had a reddened cheek for some time afterwards, but nothing that would cause him to cry this hard.

Your lips pressed against his head once more, squeezing your arms around him tighter. He sniffled, sobs breaking down into just some hiccups. You could feel your shirt wet, from his tears. You could see your silhouette from the light in the bathroom. The darkness wasn't all encompassing, not in the little hotel room you had.

It was like a gentle blanket, hiding the two of you from the rest of the world. You could feel Simon pull his head up, resting his chin against you while looking up. His eyes blinked long and slow, they were reddened and puffy. His skin was slightly blotchy, but pale from the near hyperventilation.

Neither of you spoke, your fingers brushing the stray tears away before cupping his cheeks. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you gave him a little smile.

"What's wrong, Si?" You broke the silence and he shook his head. His eyes had closed, some more tears breaking free. He tried tugging you closer, your belly stopping you from getting as close as the two of you wanted.

It seemed funny to you. The pup, now seemingly forever separating the two of you just a little. More than you'd been prior to it's conception, it had now separated you. The closest you'd ever get to him would be looking in the same direction, just a step ahead of him. The pup would separate the two of you forever, maybe never gaining that distance back.

But you'd do it all for the loving smiles and little touches you got from him. You'd do it all again if it meant you'd stand right where you were, and you would never change your path. You'd take the same steps every single time if it meant you'd be standing where you were.

And you hoped he could feel it in the way you pressed your lips to his head, squeezed him a little tighter. You hoped he could feel it in the way your fingers ran through his hair, the way you'd always be right by his side.

Maybe he would never know. Even as he tugged you into bed, pulling your back to his chest and burying his face into the nape of your neck. Even while his fingers intertwined with yours, cupping the little pup resting just inches from your hands.

You could only hope, as the two of you woke, he understood how much you truly loved him as you helped clean his face up. Dried tears were a bitch, you knew. You could see the pain in the way his eyes shut a little tighter when the sun rose just a little more. You truly could only hope he would understand how much you loved him as you shut the curtains and curled back up into bed with him.

Maybe, just maybe he would realize how much you loved him while watching his interactions with the family pack pups. Seeing him allowing the little girls and boys paint his nails or play fight with him. Seeing how he treated your mother with such respect, allowing your siblings to do as they pleased to him.

And on the plane home, you could feel him squeeze your hand gently. "I truly love you, Simon," you whispered. "I wouldn't give up a single decision I've made," and he rested his head on yours. "If I had to do it all over, I don't think I'd do anything different," and you could feel his cheek shifting against your head.

"I love you, sweet Omega," he whispered in turn. "With all my heart, I truly mean it when I say I would do anything to make you happy," and his lips pressed against your head. You sighed deeply, allowing sleep to take over you.

Simons fingers brushed along your back, gently shaking you awake. You didn't want to go back, you realized. You wanted Simon all to yourself, maybe have a nice little home in the country. Maybe watch your pups just exist out where they wouldn't have to fear anything.

Keeping Simon to yourself, he would never almost die again. You would never lose each other to the trivial ideations of war. You'd never be given subsidies for his death, and you would never have to plan a funeral for the man you loved.

You wouldn't have to worry about anything if you were able to get him to retire. Maybe the two of you could open a shop, or a little clinic. Help people who needed it the most, ensure everyone was taken care of.

And in the car, you finally spoke up. "Will you stay in the military once the pup is born?" You asked, voice growing quiet. His eyes flashed over to you, his brows furrowed under the balaclava.

"What d'you mean?" He asked. "Obviously I'll get leave to be with the two of you, but I can't just leave my job," he spoke, carefully. You hummed, staring through the windshield.

You didn't look at him. "What if you die? The pup will never know you, it'd be safer to-"

"To what? Go work an office job?" He sounded surprised. "Lovie, working in the military gives me the money we'd need to take care of the pup. This is my life, I can't just drop it all of a sudden. Price is able to balance it all, I can't see why I won't," you looked at your hands, playing with your fingers.

"I'm just worried, s'all," you whispered and you could see him shake his head from your peripheral.

"You needn't worry, I've survived this long. I'm not leaving my job, not for..." he trailed off, not finishing his sentence. You could feel your chest tightening, the dream of the nice little home in the country vanishing just as quick as it had come.

He wouldn't give up his job. Not for you, not for a pup. You were dumb for even thinking it. The car was silent the rest of the drive, you had grabbed your bag as soon as he'd parked and walked yourself back onto the compound.

You would have a lot of work to catch up on, and Simon left you to be. You had entered your office, just staring at the sad little desk and papers stacked on it. You truly were stuck in this life, and you slowly grew to realize you didn't want to be just a doctor.

You'd signed up to be a combat medic, not sit safe and sound in the compound. Had you truly given up your dream? Just for an Alpha, and now his pup? Was this what it meant to be an Omega?

There was no one you would tell that you sat at your desk, door locked and quietly sobbing. You were just so tired, and you wanted to be heard. You knew, unconsciously, it was a big ask of him but you'd hoped, genuinely, that he might hear you out and understand.

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[sea-owl]

Oh my gosh how did I not see it before. Portia is the perfect candidate to have someone isekai as! Might have to steal this idea later though lol. As for Michael and Simon I have a thought on that. With Portia making a name for herself as a business woman, no doubt Agatha Danbury would take notice and invite the baroness for tea with Mary Sharma where Kate and Simon meet and become quick friends which leads to Simon meeting the others. At some point this also leads to little Gareth joining the group.Philip meets Michael when he’s 12 at Eton and brings him home one summer and ever since he’s been apart of the family. Plus it lead to Portia gaining a business partner in Michaels mother and aunt. Now villain stories.

Simon: a man abused by his father leads him to grow cold and unfeeling despite being a rake. Not the biggest villain in the series, but Anthony seduces his mistress Sienna away from him, he decides to get revenge on him by seducing Daphne but refuses to marry her after they are caught kissing in the garden leading to Anthony killing him in a duel (though it was often debated in forums that Simon purposefully lost and was suicidal).

Michael: After his fathers death, his mother dealt with her grief by staying at his cousins house and doting on her nephew while frequently comparing her son to the future earl and having him fall short. As a result, Michael doesn’t tell his mother when one of maids starts touching him inappropriately when he’s 13 and later forces herself on the younger boy. All this leads to Michael being obsessed with his cousin John, viewing him as the perfect person, while trying to find comfort in the arms of many, many women. When he meets Francesca Bridgerton he falls in love at first but seeing her married to John causes him to go mad but rather than hurt either John or Francesca, he commits suicide instead.

Gareth: Another boy who was abused by their father and thus turned to a life of debauchery. Felicity hires him to seduce and ruin Hyacinth but along the way he falls in love with her and decides to kidnap her to Gretna Green only to be killed by her love later on. After befriending Agatha (well more like business frenemies) she casually mentions how one of her acquaintances heard about Gareth’s father drunkenly bragging about how he treats his young son. Cue Lady Danbury removing Gareth from that house and Simon taking him under his wing.

Lucy: Abused by her uncle and his friend, engaged to her gay friend who turns a blind eye towards how her uncle and his father touch his betrothed, her only light seems to be her best friend Hermione. Hermione doesn’t care that Lucy isn’t a pure maiden and takes her under her wing. Actually Hermione is the real villainess, with Lucy as her minion. Hermione, jealous of how Gregory Bridgerton has moved on from her, has Lucy try to seduce Gregory away from his lady love. But seeing his kindness towards her, Lucy warns the girl Gregory loves of Hermione’s plan and takes her place, resulting in her dying in a carriage accident. Of course, Hermione then lies to Lucy’s brother that Gregory Bridgerton planned his sisters death and the two scheme their revenge. Yeah Portia couldn’t care about Hermione much, but she will be damned if she doesn’t save Lucy! It’s actually quite easy, all Portia had to do was prevent the accident set up by Lucy’s uncle to kill her parents and her uncle is tossed in jail while Lucy grows up in a loving home and Lucy instead befriends Felicity and Gareth.

Will this work for how it ties in?

I should be fair to the others and give them an in with Portia's wayward home for villains. Original post here. 

The first post will have Kate, Sophie, Phillip, and Penelope’s book villain backstories. 

(Also I love seeing people create their own versions of my aus or adding on their own head canons. If anyone feels inspired please feel free to write or draw or whatever medium you want to use. Then tag me! I want to see it!)

Ok so here are my interpretations for their backstories/How they were as villains in book order:

Simon: Simon Basset is the first villain in the series. Being deemed useless since his birth his father basically had him locked away and isolated. This took a massive toll on his psyche and made him paranoid. It did not bode well when Simon’s father realized he could torture him more by throwing him in school where he would never be alone. Simon traded one prison to another, only this had horrible neighbors. The worst of these neighbors was Anthony Bridgerton. Anthony and Simon never got along, while Anthony acted as a teen boy would Simon was jumpy and was constantly stuck in survival mode. The final straw for Simon was a prank gone wrong and had broken the one thing Simon was able to smuggle from his mom. Fine, if Anthony did not care for other’s precious things, then Simon would destroy what was precious to Anthony. One ruined sister could ruin them all. Doesn’t Daphne debut in a year or two?

...

Michael: Michael Stirling is the villain in the 6th book in the series.  Much like Kate Michael turned cold after being constantly found lesser compared to his cousin John, but unlike Kate he wanted that warmth back. Michael first thought that he had to be perfect like his cousin. When that did not work, Michael had tried to get it back through losing himself to debauchery. But then he met Francesca Bridgerton. Francesca, John’s fiancé, brought back the warmth that Michael craved so dearly, but she was engaged to John. John didn’t need this warmth like Michael did though, John had others that gave him warmth like Michael’s own mother. Michael needed that warmth, Michael needed Francesca. The night before John and Francesca were to wed Michael objected and stole the bride

...

Gareth: Gareth St. Clair is the co-villain of the 7th book in the series. The second, illegitimate, son of Baron St. Clair, his adopted father had seen it fit to neglect him to the point where he was living in poverty and starving. Despite Baron St. Clair’s attempt to kill him Gareth somehow miraculously survived. Desperately wanting the life of his much-loved older half-brother, Gareth had made a deal with devil. Felicity Featherington was back and wanted revenge for the execution for the only family member she loved and loved her. She thought a sister for a sister was fair. She seduced Gareth with the promise of the missing Whistledown money and the title if he helped her kill Hyacinth Bridgerton. 

...

Lucy: The final villain in the series is Lucy Abernathy in the 8th book. A fan of the Featheringtons’ work she modeled her killings after by exposing her victims scandals and carving them into their bodies. If they just so happen to be suitors Hermione rejected and if people looking for a connection led to her, well no skin off Lucy’s back. Hermione shouldn’t have used her just to fuck with Lucy’s scum brother. Lucy supposed she hasn’t always been this way, but after the death of her parents she had become numb. It didn’t help that her uncle kept selling her to the highest bidder. The challenge of the hunt was the only thing to give Lucy a thrill, and she just set her sights on her biggest challenge yet, Gregory Bridgerton. 

Now let me see how we can add the others in:

Simon: Simon was back in London for five minutes before his beloved godmother pushed him into her carriage and set out for the countryside. 

“Aunt Agatha where are we going?” Simon asked her. 

“There have been some rumors whispering about and I want to see if they are true,” Lady Danbury said, almost cryptically. 

Simon knew he wasn’t getting anything more out of her so he just settled in and waited to see where they ended up. 

Simon didn’t know what he was expecting when they pulled up to a country estate but what greeted him and Lady Danbury was nothing he could have imagined. The only way he could really describe it was chaos. 

There were two girls practicing shooting with shotguns, they looked to be the oldest and youngest of them. 

Three girls, two red heads, and a blonde, all about the same age, sat in a circle with different art supplies and they seemed to be drawing a boy who sat in the middle of the circle wearing nothing but a kilt. 

The last group seemed to be the calmest as they were only reading until Simon listened in and heard that they were acting out different death scenarios for some sort of story they were creating as they went along. The book they had was on different poisonous plants. 

Sitting under a tent with a pitcher of lemonade between were two women who Simon was guessing were the mothers to at least some of this brood. 

“Lady Featherington,” Lady Danbury called. 

The red head of the two women looked up, surprise on her face. “Lady Danbury, this is a surprise.”

Of course, his aunt didn’t even tell the host they were coming. She did love her dramatics. 

“Simon, go introduce yourself to the other children. You need more friends,” Lady Danbury said with a wave. 

Simon sighed, but then tensed up. He feels like he’s being sized up. Turning around he could see all the groups stopped what they were doing and were openly staring at him. 

The one wearing a kilt came up to him and began to lead him to the others. “So we hear you need more friends.” 

...

Michael: 13 year old Phillip had done half a year at Eton before deciding absolutely the fuck not. He would get a better education at home, and it was cleaner, and in the countryside. He takes his crazy ass best friend and his pseudo sisters before dealing with these animals again. The only saving grace about this place was his new friend the 16 year old Michael, and Phillip was about to pull a Penelope and drag Michael home with him. Phillip wrote to Portia that he was coming home and bringing a guest. 

During the next break Michael had indeed gone home with Phillip, but that was more to do with the fact if he went back to Scotland he would have to listen to his mother and aunt dote on John again. Michael loves his cousin, honestly, but dear god could it get annoying. Besides Phillip’s home sounded interesting, he said he was a ward, and that he was the only boy in the house. 

So Michael went to visit, and then never left. Phillip was right, there was a better education to be had here, and he quite enjoyed the shenanigans he got into with Phillip and the girls. Portia did force him to write home and visit once in in a while, but now that he wasn’t constantly around his family all the time Michael found his relationships with his family improved greatly. 

...

Gareth: Upon the return to London Felicity is feeling lonely. Which is understandable, Kate, Sophie, and Prudence were all just launched into society, Philippa is getting ready to for her own debut next year, Phillip is getting ready to go to University, and Penelope and Edwina are looking at possibly starting to make business transactions under their mothers' guidance. It also didn't help that Felicity was the youngest at the age of 7 while the next two closest in age to her were 14.

One day Felicity comes across a ten year old boy in the park trying to read. Felicity was confused, she was only 7 but she could read better than him. For over an hour she sat with him and helped him get through a few chapters. When Felicity asked why he was struggling so much the boy told her that his father never taught him nor let anyone else teach him. Felicity gasped, education was important in the Featherington household, and then immediately took him to Portia.

"Mama this boy-" Felicity stopped herself and turned back to the boy. "What is your name?"

"Gareth St. Clair," the boy answered.

Felicity nodded and then turned back to Portia. "Mama this boy's father refuses to teach him how to read!"

Portia recognizes the name and immediately began scanning the boy over for any injuries. He was too skinny, she could see his ribs through his clothes, and his skin looked pale. The boy honestly looked like a stray wind could blow him over. No wonder Felicity dragged him to her so easily.

The next time Portia saw Lady Danbury she mentioned that her daughter had met Gareth, but the boy didn't seem to be in good health. That sent Lady Danbury after St. Clair where she immediately removed Gareth from the household and into her's. She and Simon began to try to play catch up for all the things Gareth was neglected for his health and education. Gareth went over to the Featherington household a few times a week to get some reading lessons from his new friend Felicity.

...

Lucy: Like Gareth Felicity had discovered Lucy. Portia could tell Felicity was getting bored at home now that Gareth was at Eton, so she signed her up for a watercolor class. There she had met Lucy and Hermione. Over the course of three months the girls had grown close. Close enough that Lucy felt comfortable enough to ask an important question. 

“Felicity, do you know how old your sisters were when they first got their monthlies?” Lucy asked in a hushed whisper. 

Felicity thought about it. The only one she could really remember when they got their first first monthly was Penelope and she had been about 13? Yeah, that sounds about right. “About thirteen.” 

Lucy looked surprised, and disappointed. “Oh.”

Felicity’s new sibling senses kicked in. “Why do you ask?”

Hermione answered, “Lucy’s uncle said when she had her first monthly she would be ready for Haselby.”

“Hermione!” Lucy exclaimed. 

Hermione’s answer didn’t sound right to Felicity, who had gone home and repeated it to Portia. Portia marched down to the Abernathy household and left with a new ward that same day. No one’s quite sure how she did it. They did know however that Richard could visit his sister, but should their uncle step a single foot on their property Portia will let Felicity use him as target practice for her shotgun. 

...

For those that need a quick flow chart here’s the official order everyone joined the family and their ages. If they weren’t there in the first part when they probably should have been after this we’re just gonna ignore it and pretend they were:

Phillip became a ward when Penelope dragged him home when she was 8 and he was 10. 

Michael comes to visit and just never leaves when he is 16, Phillip is 13, and Penelope is 11. 

Sophie is taken in as a ward at 16. Penelope is 12, Phillip is 14, and Michael is 17. 

Kate is 19 when they meet the Featherington. Penelope is 13, Phillip is 15, Michael is 18, and Sophie is 17.

Simon meets everyone about six months after Kate was introduced. He is 25 and everyone else is roughly the same age. 

The year everyone returns to London Simon is 26, Kate is 20, Michael is 19 Sophie is 18, Phillip is 16, and Penelope is 14. Michael went traveling to India based on Kate’s stories, and Simon is busy with running Clyvedon. They were there for the first ball though.

Gareth also gets introduced the first year back in London. He is ten when Felicity finds him and she is 7. 

Finally Lucy is 10 when Felicity, also 10 befriends her. Simon is 29, Kate is 23, Michael is 22, Sophie is 21, Phillip is 19, Penelope is 17, and Gareth is 13. 

The year the Bridgerton boys ask the girls to dance Simon is 31, Kate is 25, Michael is 24, Sophie is 23, Phillip is 21, Penelope is 19, Gareth is 15, and Lucy is 13. 

[lethalchiralium]

Johnny was back in the morning, carrying a pack of furs and a bundle of meat, a smile on his face as soon as he saw his smiling little baby. You kissed her hair as he set down his bounty, he instantly scooped up his daughter who cooed at the sight of her dad.

“How was Missoula?” You asked as you pulled your shawl tighter around your torso.

“Damn borin’, missed ye ‘n the big one, an’ of course, my babe.” He kissed Claire’s forehead, she squealed in response. “Price sold a lot.”

You gently pat his back, ushering him inside. “S’good. Simon’ll be home before sundown.” You grabbed his furs and meat, carrying it inside and kicking the door closed with your boot. Johnny instantly found himself on the couch, gently rubbing the baby’s back.

“Johnny.” You moved back into the kitchen, taking a drink out of your cup.

“Yes, luv?”

“Are you sure you don’t hear the noises at night?”

He paused, giving you a unfazed look. “Here? No, I told ye ya just need more sleep.”

You set down your cup full of water, staring at your husband. “You try being the only food your baby wants. Shit’s hard.” You scratched your jaw a little, watching Claire smack her dad’s face. “I’m just worried. What if something’s really out there? What if we’re not actually safe here?”

“I’ll check th’ traps wance ah get some Claire time, a’richt?” He kissed Claire’s face again, the girl screeched with excitement. Worry was still nestled deep in your belly, your hand absentmindedly rubbed your collarbone to give yourself some ease. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe it is just the wind, or a squirrel or something.

But you knew it in your gut. Your gut was almost never wrong. You prayed it was wrong.

“Johnny, I think-“

The front door slammed into the wall, scaring all three of you but you were the first to snap into action, seeing a bloody faced Simon clutching his head. Claire began to screech from being startled, you darted towards your husband as he stumbled into the house with Price holding him up by the back of his shirt.

“Simon! Simon, baby, what happened?” Your hand peeled Simon’s hand from his head, walking backwards as Price pushed him into the house. Blood poured from his head and you felt your heart rate speed up in record time.

“Fuckin’ horse.” He mumbled, you looked at the gash on his hairline and the blurry look in his eyes. You haven’t seen him this dazed since he got hit over the head with a rifle years and years ago. You examined the cut as you led him to the couch, taking his bloody hand and helping him sit down. He decompressed into it immediately, chest and legs finally settling like he had worked for a thousand years straight.

You looked at Price, who had a few bloody scuffs on his arm. “What happened?”

“Horse bucked him off without warnin’ into a fence post.” He said, you nodded before ducking the few feet into your kitchen - your bandages and wet cloths were in hand in moments. You looked at your friend, watching his worried look turn to steeled as he met your gaze. “Grab my whiskey, would you?”

“Not m’bourbon.” Simon murmured from his place, you glanced into your bedroom to see the concerned face of Johnny, holding a crying Claire. You gave him a little nod before returning to Simon’s side, instantly gently wiping away the crusted and dripping blood. “S’cold, baby.”

“I know.” You whispered. “Just wanna clean you up before I bandage you.”

“M’fine. Don’t know why he even brought me here, just needed a minute to get up.”

Price handed you the whiskey bottle and a clean rag. “You were down for a good while.”

Your head whipped up to look at him. “And why didn’t you come get me?”

“He’s fine now.” He shrugged, gesturing towards your husband. “He’s talking and awake.”

“Fuckin’ men.” You grumbled, dropping the cold rag onto Simon’s lap before opening the bottle of whiskey. You took a swig, of course, and then poured some onto a new rag. You began to disinfect the wound, to which Simon squirmed, panting as he whined in pain. “Stay still-“

“Baby, it hurts-“

“I know it does, gotta get it cleaned and bandaged. M’almost done.” Your fingers were nimble as you began to bandage his wound, wrapping the long cloth around his thick head tightly. You never missed the way Simon looked at you, so comfortable in your presence. You tied it off after ripping it off near the end, tossing the excess onto the couch before handing him the whiskey.

He graciously took it, took a generous swig before handing it back to you. “How’d I look, doc?” He smirked, pink lips chapped but his smile still full of adoration.

“You’re fine.” Your hand settled on his thigh, gently rubbing it. “You’re not gonna be happy with what I have to say, though.”

“I’m still gonna work the horses, maybe just in a few days.”

“No more sex until that hit is healed.”

He groaned, disappointment tangled in his throat. “But-“

“I’m leavin’.” Price declared, sensing you were about to air some intimate details, you didn’t even acknowledge his departure.

“There’s three of us. You two bump heads, me and you bump heads. I like my daughter having both of her fathers.”

“Head hits are nothing.”

Your eyes flickered down to his eyes, watching them dart away from your stare. “‘Til they’re something.”

His glare had moved towards the bedroom door, Claire still crying in the room. He grunted a little, annoyed as he looked back to you. “Bring her here.”

“You’re funny.”

“Not joking.”

“Simon, you’re still bloody.” You pointed towards his hand, his shirt, the side of his cheek.

He gave you a piercing stare, voice low. “She knows I’m here. If she hasn’t stopped her cryin’ yet, she’s not going to. Give her to me.”

You stared back at your husband, hand rubbing on his thigh before you plucked the bottle of whiskey from his grasp. You turned towards the bedroom, calling for Johnny. He instantly appeared, holding a clearly upset and wiggling baby. Her little head shaking back and forth, tears and snot running down her chunky face as she looked at you.

Johnny’s eyebrows furrowed, moving Claire up his chest a little. “Everything a’right?”

“He wants her.” You nodded towards Simon.

Johnny chuckled dryly. “Like that? Nae.” Both of you looked down to Claire, whose hands were out in the direction of Simon, grabbing the air towards him as she cried. “…Fine. If ye pass out and drop ‘er-“

Simon groaned, one hand held out to grab Claire. “I’m not going to drop her.” Johnny gave him a stern look, his other hand held out. “I’m on the fuckin’ couch. She’s not gonna get away from me that easy.” Johnny handed her to him, Simon instantly smiled as her little hands gripped onto his sleeves. “Are you, darling?” She sniffled, still whining and crying, yet Simon holding her seemed to calm her to an extent. He brought her head to his lips, kissing her soft skin. “You love your Papa, don’t you?”

[soaps-mohawk]

Piggy-backing off of the ask about how it's hard to imagine being in Omega's shoes and not getting to have fun with body mods or hair colors (it's fun that we all just... take other people's thoughts and can keep building on them as a community, I love it here)

Imagine Simon caves and brings Omega along when he gets a tattoo added to his sleeve for her, and halfway through the appointment she just wanders out of the room to look around. They get in the car and he realizes she went and got her ears pierced while he was being tattooed. Think Claire's-level little strawberries or teddy-bear head studs and she is just SO excited over them but he snorts at her on accident and she pouts the entire ride home 🥺 (He makes it up to her however she sees fit. Cooking her dinner... doing her laundry for the week... railing her into next Tuesday...)

-🌙

Lmao she sneaks away to get her ears pierced that's so cute 🥹 she'd so get teddy bear ones just to make him more annoyed lmaooo.

He's doing her laundry for sure, but also railing her into next Tuesday 😌