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miraculouscontent · 3 years ago

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Didn’t Need Burrow (May 30th-July 5th)

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Narrative basically ret-cons bad behavior of someone who isn't Marinette.

Oh yay! Alya V2!

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need Burrow to know that Mouse!Mylene will be called Multimouse.

I read somewhere that her name will be Polymouse but the source was broken.

Please be a mistake back when we saw the hero names and Mylene didn’t get her own name.

I’d also like to add a bonus that either Mylene gets named that without her consent (like someone calls her that), or Mylene names herself that without any knowledge of Multimouse!Marinette at all.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need burrow: Assuming Luka×Zoe actually happens, there will be no build up whatsoever. In one episode, they just happen to get trapped together somewhere, talk for like ten seconds and start dating immediately afterwards. Basically the same as Alya×Nino bc none of the ships in this show (other than Lukanette and Adrigami) had any sort of meaningful developement before happening

A relationship beyond the love square getting development??? That’s cute.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need burrow: Nino is gonna realize that Alya has the fox miraculous full time now and because of that he's gonna get pissy and so somehow Alya will be outta commission and Nino will be there so Marinette will give him a miraculous, Alya will probably say something encouraging about Nino, and then HE'LL get a full time miraculous to.

The only reason I don’t feel like this won’t happen is that it doesn’t direct anywhere near as much blame onto Marinette.

Anonymous asked:

Don't need burrow to know Chat will get angry at Ladybug and maybe Rena because Rena is now a permanent hero and he'll spend the day being a dick, but he'll be forced to work with Rena and realize things are good, but he'll only apologize to Rena.

Ladybug is just used to being chopped liver I assume.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Adrigami is restored, while Lukanette isn't.

Marinette will be too busy being forced by the narrative to continue caring about Adrien.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need burrow, Su Han will only reappear at the end of the season and then disappear again.

“Hi, Su-Ha--oh, there he goes.”

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Adrien decide to confess his secret identity as Chat Noir to Nathalie. She decide to don't tell him that his father is Hawkmoth (but also decide to don't tell Gabriel that his son is Chat Noir)

God, the Agreste drama intensifies. Kill me.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette actually REJECTS Adrien after the identity reveal after it hits her all at once that HE did all the awful, questionable things Chat Noir did. This allows the Love Square Drama to continue, with Marinette being slammed for DARING to be upset/have STANDARDS - everyone claims that she's set the bar too impossibly high and is responsible for her own romantic misery, while Adrien continues being coddled by other temporary love interests while waiting for her to wise up.

Uggggggh.

I’m just waiting for Ladybug to loudly reject Chat Noir and then she falls for him soon after and bonus if Chat rubs it in her face that she’s moved on or the narrative ignores Chat’s past actions as Ladybug is all like, “WOW HE’S SO RESPECTFUL NOW.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Ladybug's continued rejections of Chat Noir are directly compared to Gabriel's shitty parenting -- both of them are denying Adrien things he wants, and these crimes against Sadrien are depicted as equally awful. (If not weighted towards Ladybug being worse because sHe'S bReAkInG hIs WiDdLe HeArT~~~)

This one wins for making me the most upset.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t need burrow: Juleka will become the tiger hero in another Julerose-centric episode, but this time Rose is akumatized (into princess fragrance again, but this time with a sentimonster so it’s DiFfErEnT). It will chronologically take place after guilt trip, but Rose’s disability will not be acknowledged, even in passing.

I swear, if I have to see a repeat akuma ONE MORE TIME!!!

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t need burrow: The major conflict of the season will be Marinette repeating “mistakes” (this can be similar to not keeping chat 100% in the loop till he throws a fit or having a human to depend on emotionally about miraculous stuff) Bonus: The show doesn’t show the good that came out of her actions and only the bad (Not having a breakdown and etc)

Yup. Definitely Marinette’s fault that she needed to rely on someone so she didn’t have a breakdown. She should’ve buried her emotions and broke down every day instead.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: After the show runners give into another fan theory of new permanent heroes, they will quickly show why this was a mistake. Bonus if it’s the very next episode (because if Marinette did it then it has to be bad)

This already felt super likely and then you added “because if Marinette did it then it has to be bad” and now I’m just sad because it’s doubly right.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Marinette, who dreams of being a fashion designer, designs something that’s just ugly. Bonus if it’s never addressed/characters just say it’s great so the show doesn’t look bad at designing clothes

Does Ladybug count? Still can’t believe Chat Noir gets the “complex” outfit with actual thought and Ladybug gets the onesie.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: It's revealed that Emilie intended to use the Miraculi they'd found to 'give Adrien the world'. This is treated as a sympathetic motive because, as Word of God constantly insists, Adrien is perfect and deserves everything he desires, regardless of how anyone else feels about it. Thus it doesn't matter what horrific things his parents did or intended; their goals are treated as righteous, with Ladybug being Wrong to oppose them.

They just want what’s best for their son!!

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: There will be a plot in which LADYBUG is accused of not caring about civilians, with Adrien/Chat Noir getting to lecture her as if HE has the moral high ground. Or any ground to stand on. His abysmal track record is completely ignored, retconned, or otherwise treated as inapplicable; we likely get a singular moment where he suddenly Gives A Shit about protecting one of his friends/classmates, which is treated as proof that he Always Cares About Such Matters.

Bonus if it’s Ladybug choosing not to defend/save someone who spited her/deserves it, which is “clearly worse” than Chat Noir threatening to let Paris drown in “Syren.” Ladybug is not allowed to be human and also not allowed to show people that there are consequences for their actions, proving that they/Chat can take advantage and mock her as much as they want with no repurcussions.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Sabrina and Chloe have another Friendship Breakup; when Sabrina seems poised to actually get away from her abusive 'BFF' for good, Adrien intervenes/whines at Marinette to help him fix it, because it's nOt FaAaAaIr for Chloe to be aLl AlOoOoOoNe...

Is it too late to make Adrien disappear and have it look like an accident.

Anonymous asked:

DNB: In a Shocking Twist, Cats are revealed to be cursed - the majority suffer some catastrophic fate as the Ring eventually causes their Destruction. Only True Love can break it, making Ladybug's refusal to give in to Chat Noir's advances a literal matter of life-and-death and 'justifying' all of his behavior. Bonus if it's retconned that *Adrien always knew this*, despite nothing in his behavior ever indicating he believed himself to be on borrowed time. Because Angstrese.

Also bonus if this is also used as just another way to make him seem sympathetic. Double bonus if this information is brought up after Ladybug snaps at Chat Noir, and she’s told this information to make her feel guilty.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: If Adrien reveal someone his secret identity, it will be ... obviously Wayhem.

Nino: hello darkness--

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Goat!Marc, Rooster!Nathaniel and even Ox!Ivan will be buffed out because not even the boys in this show are allowed to keep their own body shapes when they become superheroes.

I’m positive Ivan especially will be beefed up. The civilian models are really awkward at times and clearly not prepared to be put in onesies (it’s hard to explain and maybe someone more experienced with propotions/anatomy will be able to say it better, but their limbs don’t have a lot of “shape” to them I guess?).

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t need burrow: Alya’s miraculous looks exactly the same in it’s “camouflage” mode solely so Lila can easily switch her necklace with Alya’s. (seriously why does it not change that bothers the hell out of me)

If that happens, I’d put money on Alya not getting called out on it. Good to know you put so much priority on “secrecy,” Alya.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t need burrow: A kwami swap will happen again somehow. Marinette will uncharacteristically scold Adrien way more harshly than normal AGAIN to make him feel bad about himself and this will further the (Adrien melodrama depression arc) of him feeling useless/ replaced. Bonus points if Alya picks up his slack.

Honestly, I was here for the scolding in “Reflekdoll” just because there weren’t consequences for her for once.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: There will be Sad Noir galore. Its all Ladybug’s fault, naturally.

Naturally.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Episode where Sabrina gets Dog Miraculous will be Chloe-centric (or Bourgeois sisters centric)

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: the episode where Sabrina gets the Dog Miraculous (which seems inevitable now, ugh) will heavily feature or even focus on Chloé, despite the fact that Chloé has already had a couple of episodes focusing largely on her this season. Sabrina’s introduction as a hero will have about as much focus as Kim’s or will be jammed into the last five minutes of the episode. Bonus points if they manage to deny her a proper transformation sequence like they did Kagami.

Roger: *exists and desperately needs development on his policy that caused Sabrina to become Chloe’s slave in the first place*

show: okay but--

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Under pressure, Marinette admits to Alya and/or Tikki that she doesn't mind the attention (aka constant harassment) Chat Noir gives her; parroting common claims by sexual harassers, she says it makes her feel *special* and *noticed*. She may also insist that she still wishes he would focus on the AKUMA/their responsibilities more, but the obvious point of this scene is to 'justify' his behavior with evidence that 'she enjoys it'.

MARINETTE

PLEASE

YOU DESERVE SO MUCH BETTER

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: There will be a joke about Chat Noir *copping a feel* on Ladybug after an akuma sends them into an awkward position. Ladybug's shock and discomfort is played for laughs; bonus if he quips about her suit not leaving much to the imagination. Adrien is in a fantastic mood afterwards, considering that to be the 'best battle yet'. (Alternatively, another heroine is victimized and Ladybug is visibly jealous/her annoyance at Chat is treated like jealousy.)

I’m not adding this to the spreadsheet just because a scene like that is too dicey for a kid’s show (though, believe me, if it were to happen, I’m putting that on it’s own damn card), but I will say that this would 100% happen if this were an anime/aimed towards an older audience.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien tricks Alya into thinking that Chat Noir already knows Ladybug's secret identity, thusly learning that she's Marinette. This is passed off as all MARI's fault, naturally. If Alya apologizes at all, it's in a backhanded, "But why didn't he know this already?" sort of fashion.

It’s Marinette’s fault for telling Alya her identity in the first place.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Post-Reveal, Marinette struggles to reconcile how her crush is also her abusive slacker 'partner'. Adrien, by contrast, accepts her as Ladybug immediately... though his words make clear that he doesn't give a shit who SHE is, just that she's Ladybug. Naturally, this is treated as Mari needing to learn how to accept Adrien for who he is, all while insisting that his many flaws and failings aren't issues at all.

i hate it, thanks

Anonymous asked:

DNB: The RLBS is EXPLICITLY punishment for Marinette: after a mutual reveal, Adrien declares that they can't get together as civilians until she accepts him as Chat Noir. Mari is forced to awkwardly pursue Chat as Ladybug while he strings her along/humiliates her; meanwhile, Adrien trolls her with shallow gestures to fluster her/rile up their shipper classmates, who ride her ass for not 'sealing the deal' and making their relationship official. Alya, aware of everything, is the WORST about it.

I presume that “RLBS” is “Reverse Love BS” which... yes.

Also, that whole “she needs to accept him as Chat Noir” infuriates me because that’s been a fandom thing forever.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: The only reason Sabrina got Dog Miraculous is because of a scene where Chloe literally "Kick the Dog".

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow to know that despite Sabrina almost certainly getting a miraculous and becoming a hero, the fact that she deserves better than being abused by Chloé and is a worthwhile individual in her own right will not be addressed. Because StATuS QuO!

I just had a horrible thought that they’ll do the episode like--

Chloe treats Sabrina terribly like usual, Sabrina ditches Chloe and Chloe is miserable + takes it out on everyone else for it, then Chloe gets akumatized over it and Sabrina gets the dog (for “loyalty”), which leads to Sabrina going back to Chloe so that Chloe will direct the abuse more solely towards Sabrina because “she takes it out on others otherwise”/she’s “used to it”/”it’s her responsibility and this is the right thing to do.” This will also be presented as the “right choice” and Chloe and Sabrina’s relationship will basically not change for the sake of leaving Chloe the way she is.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Cat Noir is gonna throw a Syren-Sized fit if/when he finds out that Ladybug dares to have a support network through Alya (not a very GOOD support network, but one nonetheless).

Still waiting for the “lesson” where Ladybug is told she’s not allowed to have emotions/be vulnerable.

Oh wait, that’s the show.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need Burrow: Adrien/Chat Noir will angst and fish for sympathy points instead of apologizing for the 40th time in the series.

Every time.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Luka is gonna say that Adrien and Marinette are made for each other. This is the last appearance that he will make in the show (with exception to background/shipping fuel between him and somebody else w̶h̶o̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶b̶a̶b̶l̶y̶ ̶e̶i̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶Z̶o̶è̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶K̶a̶g̶a̶m̶i̶).

Considering the ““““parellel”“““ episodes of “Truth” and “Lies,” I’m just ready for the same thing that happened with Kagami in “Mr. Pigeon 72.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Trixx plays pranks on Alya's family and is a little troll; he particularly loves teasing the twins, since any claims they might make about seeing a 'magical flying fox' will be passed off as childish imaginings. Alya blames Marinette for this more than she does Trixx.

Marineeeette, raise your “children” better!!

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Alya will wind up spilling Ladybug's secret identity to Nino because 'she needs to talk to SOMEONE about this!' (and Mari CLEARLY doesn't count for anything) and trusts her boyfriend.

I would also imagine Alya going on about Marinette’s secret to Nino without explicitly telling him.

Also, this will be an episode in this season because Alya couldn’t even keep it in for ONE SEASON (”Animan” all over again).

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Ladybug will be seriously injured during an akuma battle, with circumstances preventing them from winning the fight/repairing the damage with Miraculous Cure right away. Adrien/Chat Noir attempts to exploit the situation to learn 'his lady's' secret identity. The narrative REFUSES to call him out on this; it's entirely on Marinette to protect herself by hiding the truth despite her injuries.

Bonus because “Ladybug” seemed to imply that their almost invincible in their suits, though I imagine if they get hurt, it’ll be Chat Noir and used for angst (like in “Miraculer”).

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette will combine Miraculi more often to cut down on having to track down others all the time and put them in danger. (And also because the merch guys want more stuff to base toys off of.) She gets condemned for being a 'glory hound' and 'taught' that she needs to rely upon others more often, no matter what sort of risks that might entail (she'll get blamed for that anyway) or how they might let her down (again, always her fault).

Marinette: *tries not to burden others and instead does what the narrative has convinced her of; bearing the world’s weight alone until she breaks*

show: gOd, mArIneTtE--

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chat Noir's tendency to screw around, flirt, and not read or work with his allies at all gets Rena Rouge, Vesperia or one of the other heroes hurt. Naturally, this is played for Sadrien above all else -- if Ladybug or anyone else DARES to show any anger towards him for it, it's depicted as completely unjustified and unfair. Bonus if the injured party insists that it's okay.

They neeeed Chat Noir to lighten the mood! He’s worth the risk!

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: RLBS is kicked off by Marinette being utterly HUMILIATED by Adrien publicly rejecting her once he can't ignore her crush anymore, spurring her to give up on him 'for good'. Adrien decides that he misses her chasing after him and starts pursuing her, with Alya and others encouraging her to accept his advances/telling her that she's crazy to reject him even after what he did. Marinette's utter misery over the whole ordeal is treated as HILARIOUS.

It’s not like he mEaNt to embarrass you, Marinette!!!

Marinette didn’t meant to do a lot of things too but you don’t see the show giving her any slack.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien/Chat Noir starts treating Alya/Rena Rouge with exactly as much 'respect' as he gives Ladybug -- which is to say, nothing but lip service paired with stunts like refusing to help unless she spills Ladybug's secrets. Alya naturally blames Marinette for this.

I’m torn on whether he’d “””respect her””” as much as Ladybug or give her even more respect, probably on the premise that “Ladybug chose her,” and that somehow proves that Chat Noir is a good guy in all this (while, again, disrespecting/not trusting Ladybug/making his own decisions at every corner).

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien/Chat Noir attempts to charm Alya/Rena Rouge into sharing Ladybug's secrets with him, possibly making Nino jealous in the process.

*sees “Rocketear” trailer*

oh no...

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: We get another 'Bad Future' episode centered on Sadrien; this time around, it features him losing the Ring, painting this popular plotline as a horrible idea because Adrien is Perfect and Never Does Anything Wrong, and should never be punished for his actions. No matter how it happens, Marinette is blamed for it; bonus if somebody angrily tells her that SHE should have lost HER Miraculous instead.

Wouldn’t be surprised, but that would also mean making a new model of a cat hero.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: It's revealed that part of the reason Alix/Bunnix refuses to share any 'Spoilers' about how the future is 'meant to go' is because Marinette Suffers Incredibly in the process, and Alix knows that she'd try to find some other way... and assumes that she'd fail in the process. This is treated as entirely valid and Marinette, if she learns that this is part why Bunnix won't tell her shit, has to accept that she's just doomed to be Fate's personal punching bag. Sucks to be her!

It’s “meant to be.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette/Ladybug is told outright that she's a horrible person for not respecting Chat Noir's feelings for her. Bonus points if it's Alya, citing Mari's crush on Adrien as proof that she should know how it feels to constantly fail at getting your crush's attention. (Alternately, Adrien venting to her about how *unfair* it is that Ladybug's so cruel to her partner, unaware of the dramatic irony.) Triple-7 Jackpot of Shit if this contributes to the RLBS becoming a thing.

UGGGGGH.

And of course Chat Noir wouldn’t get the same treament and it’ll be like, “WELL ADRIEN DOESN’T kNoW sO--”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Instead of Lila, Chloe is revealed to be the next holder of the Butterfly Miraculous. This shows Chloe as "irredeemable" while successfully writing Lila out of the show.

Meanwhile, the writers’ script is frantically scribbled on with red marker.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Reveal that post about Lila being future Hawkmoth was Red Herring (or in this case orange herring)

Dumb herring.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need a burrow;

By the end of the series, Gabriel will have a redemption arc to feel sympathy for him :o

guys he’s so sad don’t you see--

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien's inability to choose between the 'love of his life' and the abusive shitbag excuse of a sire who'd just smacked him like a ping-pong ball foreshadows that he will ultimate choose Gabriel after learning that he's Hawk/Shadowmoth. This will be entirely blamed on Marinette not being able to keep him by her side because 'she didn't love/cherish/appreciate him enough'!

After “Guiltrip” and the whole, “I don’t say this enough--” line, I’d buy it and now I’m sad.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: The RLBS is kicked off by Chat Noir switching sides and joining Hawk/Shadowmoth. Ladybug is forced to appeal to Chat's 'love' for her, with Alya, Tikki, and various other 'friends'/allies blaming her for his defection. Meanwhile, Sadrien starts pursuing Marinette as an outlet for his mangst, 'unintentionally' making her more miserably conflicted in the process.

She rejected him and therefore he’s in his right to switch sides. She never even gave him a chance!!!

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien is a Sentimonster/was created by other Miraculous magic by the Agrestes, who desired a 'perfect/model son'. This is used to further the narrative that his entitlement is actually a Good Thing: Adrien was not MEANT to have any wants/needs/desires of his own, but mysteriously developed them anyway. Thus Marinette NEEDS to cater to his every whim because it's sO mIrAcUlOuS that he HAS them in the first place. Hooray...?

His very EXISTENCE is MIRACULOUS, Marinette!!!

Also, Astruc will act like this was amazingly foreshadowed in “Ladybug” where Ladybug comments on Sentibug’s perfection.and with Astruc always called Adrien perfect (either on his own or through other characters).

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Another Shocking Familial Connection is revealed: Felix is not Adrien's cousin, but Gabriel and Emilie's original son, whom they shunted off on her sister and replaced with the 'perfect' Adrien. 50-50 split on whether this is used to excuse all of Felix's shitty behavior or if he's demonized further -- 'See, THIS is why they replaced him! ANYONE would choose the Perfect Adrien over someone like THAT!'

Why not both????

It’s like the Chloe-Zoe situation but male.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: After learning that Rena Rouge has become Ladybug's confidant, Chat Noir outright REFUSES to help at a critical moment, sneering about how 'you ladies CLEARLY don't need me'. As with everything else, the blame for his latest stunt is laid neatly at Marinette's feet, because Adrien is never EVER responsible for his own actions.

They’ll probably blame Marinette because Ladybug “didn’t tell him right away.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Circumstances force Adrien to be Mr. Bug again (since they already have the models). Much is milked from how HAAAAAAAARRRRD his temporary responsibilities are on him, and he reiterates afterwards how happy he is that he doesn't have to deal with that all the time. No actual sympathy for Ladybug's situation is displayed, though stans treat it as such; what we're actually SHOWN is that Adrien only cares about the burden when HE'S the one stuck carrying it.

As per usual, no one cares about Marinette’s problems until it directly affects THEM, and then they’ll go back to not caring.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: With all of the other abusive behavior Adrien has shown towards Ladybug, it's only a matter of time before we get a 'Why did you make me hit you?' moment. No akuma influence; just him physically lashing out at her because he's an entitled little shit upset over not getting his way, followed by the inevitable bleating about how bad HE feels and how he'll 'never do it again'. Naturally, this is presented as though Marinette 'deserved it' and must accept his apology.

Show, don’t do this to me, I swear--

I’d be surprised if this did happen, but more because it’s like wow the lack of self-awareness is even worse than I thought.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: We get a Very Special Episode about sexual harassment... which not only refuses to acknowledge Adrien's behavior as such, but asserts that he would NEVER touch 'his lady' in any kind of inappropriate fashion. Bonus: he harasses her in that very same episode to 'prove' that his behavior isn't inappropriate.

So “Felix” but worse...

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: The reason why ML Writers made Zoe an actress is to justify why she managed to recognize that Lila is "Liar that lies" instantly after meeting her.

Waiting for the moment where Zoe talks to Marinette to address Marinette “acting like she’s not in love with Adrien.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Lila steals the Fox Pendant from Alya/does something that affects her *personally*. Alya then reads Marinette the riot act, demanding to know "Why didn't you WARN ME about her?!" (None of the times that she DID count because Alya dismissed them as her 'just being jealous', which is, of course, entirely Mari's fault.) Bonus if we allude back to her claiming that 'good reporters do their research' and how she expected MARI to provide her her with proof of her claims.

Marinette: *thousand yard stare*

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: When Lila is exposed, Marinette gets blamed for all the harm she caused with her various deceptions, since she tried to warn others and couldn't convince anyone of the truth. Adrien 'taking the high road' is largely glossed over; if anyone finds out that HE knew too and never did anything to warn anyone, he's quickly forgiven for 'not knowing any better'.

See, Marinette, if you just hadn’t tRiEd--

And Adrien was just trying to “be nice to everyone equally” so he’s forgiven.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien/Chat Noir outright admits that he dislikes Rena/the other heroes being around since they make him feel unnecessary. This is treated as a perfectly reasonable and valid complaint rather than a slacker piss-moaning about being shown up by others making actual EFFORT.

*flashbacks to “You’re not trying to replace me with a turtle, are you?” after Carapace shows up LITERALLY ONCE*

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: We get a retread of the NYC Special's Angstrian when he accidentally ('accidentally?') Cataclysms Rena/somebody else. Bonus if the victim once again argues that THEIR experiences/trauma are FAR less important than his. (Especially if it's Alya, Nino, Max... somebody who ALSO happens to be a character of color temporarily killed off to make the spoiled white rich brat feel sorry for himself.)

It’s an accident and also probably “Ladybug’s fault.”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien/Chat Noir skips an akuma attack/shows up late to find it was resolved without him, and mopes about how 'his lady doesn't need him anymore', requiring somebody else to massage his ego. Bonus points if somebody (likely Ladybug) is demonized for getting annoyed at him for being late/a no-show, because HOW DARE they take defending Paris seriously?!

Well excuse us, Chat, next time we’ll just awkwardly stall for twenty minutes.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chat Noir will 'accidentally' Cataclysm one of the protective Charms so that its holder can be akumatized again. Bonus if he does this to Alya/one of the other heroes.

Probably Chloe.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: The protective charms are ultimately rendered effectively pointless when Adrien switches sides and starts using his powers to destroy them. Naturally, Marinette is held completely responsible for his actions, because God FORBID he ever be called to account for himself. Not when his 'partner' is around to absorb all the blame.

You didn’t make him feel loVeD, Marinette.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien pulls a Chloe with his own attempt at engineered heroics, putting the lives of others on the line to 'prove his value'. Ladybug is completely blamed for the stunt; bonus if someone accuses her of 'not learning anything' from what happened with Chloe.

Hate it. Hate it a lot.

We already got him trying to cause/hoping for akuma, so this isn’t too far off.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien gives Zoe better advice for dealing with her bullies. His policy for handling Chloe and Lila remains the same as ever. (In other words, only Marinette has to 'be the better person' and keep suffering at the hands of her abusers, since it maintains his preferred status quo. But it's no skin off his nose if Zoe's situation changes/improves.)

I also imagine that Adrien would give this advice without Marinette onscreen, so Adrien won’t be called out on it.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Alya will reveal Marinette’s identity to someone (possibly Nino) and the show will then punish Marinette for trusting Alya in the first place. Bonus point if the show then says she should have trusted Adrien/Chat Noir because he would never have betrayed her trust.

I’m just remembering the fandom’s complaints and wow I hate it.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Ladybug Miraculous basically change into Poor man's version of Green Lantern's Ring

*stares at the phone in “Optigami” that somehow picks up on the kwamis’ voices* hm

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: Marinette will look through the future and see one where she and Luka get together, except it’s portrayed as bad and abusive, more so if he knows her secret identity, and the only way for her to escape it is by getting with Chat Noir(and not...you know, anybody else. Or being single. Or MAKING THE RELATIONSHIP WORK!!!). Chat Noir sees it too, and gloat about in her face, since it proved that they were “meant for each other, m’lady!” Bonus points if someone calls Thomas Ass Truck out on this shit, and he either replies that it was the best thing to do, claims it doesn’t matter how Lukanette is treated/the love square ends up together because they’re “made for each other” anyway, or even tries to pass it off as “girl power”, because how could we let the female lead get with the respe—oops, I mean abusive guy over the one who treats her te—oops, I mean respectfully and like a “gentleman” would?! And then he’ll follow up by blocking them for daring to question the Ridiculous Relationship Rhombus and respect the “non-endgame” ship. Even wor—oops! I mean, better, if love square shippers use this opportunity to gloat about how “I always knew Adrien and Marinette(notice how they always place his name first?!) were perfect for each other, Luka wasn’t good enough for Marinette, take that, Lukanette shippers!” declaring it “anti-salt”.

bfgkdjfgdfg god

Also, the only problem with this idea is that it would mean making an adult model for Luka.

Bonus if another “disadvantage” to Marinette dating Luka is that Luka isn’t high class.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette will be told outright to 'Get over yourself' and stop bringing up valid complaints about Chat Noir's shitty behavior, as the series becomes increasingly overt with its subtext about how one of Marinette's Biggest Mistakes is having STANDARDS.

Ignoring that Luka exists, of course, and if it’s mentioned that Luka exists then cue, “OH BUT SHE DOESN’T AAAACTUALLY LOVE LUKA.”

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need Burrow: SentiWiFi (Lady WiFi Sentimonster)

SentiEveryone at this point...

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Nino is again robbed of screentime by Sentimonster based on him.

*sees “Sentibubbler” title and trailer*

Did--did you predict the future??

...I mean, we’ve been doing that the whole time, but damn.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Alya will continue shoving Marinette towards Adrien, then mockingly ask 'Didn't you want to give romance a break?' or something along those lines. Showing that not only is she fully aware of Marinette's wishes and doesn't give a damn, but implicitly blaming Marinette for her inability to stick to them, despite how SHE is the one forcing the issue.

“We all know that you WANT HIM, Marinette! Stop denying yourself!!!”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: When Marinette gets a spot of hope regarding her relationship woes, Alya leaps in to take all the credit for the apparent success. Once the light turns out to be an incoming Drama Train that blindsides Marinette and leaves her humiliated and heartbroken, Alya insists that it's entirely MARI's fault that things went off the rails.

Waiting for a line from Alya about how she’s doing everything right and Marinette must be really hopeless if Alya’s schemes aren’t working...

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Alya and Nino will get into a bit of Relationship Drama in order to further reinforce the series' double standards. (Such as 'It's OK for boys to lie, but girls shouldn't have any secrets.' Or 'Boys can hold grudges, but girls must forgive every trespass.' Or 'Girls shouldn't told boys to impossible standards like expecting to be treated with basic human decency.') Bonus points if Marinette gets blamed for it.

Yup.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: The subtext about Marinette not deserving a GOOD love interest is further emphasized by Kagami and Luka getting together. Kagami comments on how she can trust Luka not to lie to her; this is the closest she gets to explaining to Marinette WHY she broke things off with Adrien in the first place. After all, it doesn't matter if Adrien lies to Marinette; they're 'meant for each other'.

I’m still not over Kagami saying that the guy who lied to her is “made for” her only friend????

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Zoe learns a valuable lesson about the importance of Being Herself with Luka's help, teasing the idea of the two of them getting together.

“Bonus” for Marinette saying that Zoe and Luka are made for each other.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chat Noir deliberately strings Vesperia along in a ploy to make Ladybug jealous. Zoe is naturally heartbroken when she learns the truth. Her pain is blamed entirely on Marinette, since Adrien can NEVER be held accountable for his own actions.

Ladybug, you should’ve seen this coming!!

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need burrow (kinda?), Astruc apparently is aware that his perfect Adrien is flawed as Chat Noir (he said so on twitter), and I fear that if anyone ever asks him why the two sides of Adrien so different, he'll reveal that the cat miraculous changes the holder's personality or some shit, which will cause "Anti Adrien Salt" to explode, screaming "the salter's claims aren't valid anymore, it's not Adrien's fault, it's the miraculous!!!1!!111!!!!¡¡!¡¡¡!!!"

I feel like he denied that back when he still had a Tumblr but gosh I’m just waiting for it to be confirmed because FANON THEORIES.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien gets a taste of what Marinette goes through constantly when he/Chat Noir suffers a bit of minor humiliation over his crush. His pain and angst over this is played DEAD SERIOUS, treated as though he's suffering through the WORST THING EVER even though whatever happened pales in comparison to what Marinette has endured. Anyone who dares so much as chuckle at what happened is villainized, since only a MONSTER would find his suffering funny.

I’m seething.

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need a Burrow: Return of Sentibug (for fanservice)

Bonus if they kill her off again. Something something “only one Ladybug” something.

neyla9 asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: So if Zoe gets sent to a new boarding school after being in Paris for a few months (there is a chance the writers will just completely ignore that this was established in Sole Crusher, in which case this probably won't happen), I predict that Zoe was brought in specifically to redeem Chloe, rubbing it in Marinette's face that she failed at redeeming Chloe, and force Marinette to give Chloe the bee miraculous back

Most likely. Apparently needed to bring someone else in to make Marinette feel worse.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien abandons/ditches his responsibilities as a hero because he's too busy sulking over his ego being bruised by some slight (real or imagined). Marinette is naturally blamed for this.

Oh, of course!

Marinette probably had to be late for patrol so he was intentionally late for something, and then was like well you did it to me, so--

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chloe will get another tiresome 'Will she or won't she be redeemed?' arc, only to backstab/betray everyone again. Astruc will preen and croon on social media about how gullible anyone that thinks she could ever be redeemable is. Bonus points if Chloe's damning act that proves she's unsalvageable is something ADRIEN has done.

Meanwhile, Nino is back here absolutely collecting DUST!!!

I guess you gotta be a horrible person/make Marinette suffer to get screen time.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Chloe will discover Vesperia's secret identity and steal the Bee Miraculous, then spitefully out Zoe so that SHE can't be a heroine anymore.

Marinette is running out of teens at this point but finding new ones would mean more models.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Zoe is used to teach Marinette that she's too harsh on others for lying, and should accept that they can be dishonest sometimes. (Especially Adrien.) As a natural follow-up, Marinette is blamed/punished for falling for a friend's lies -- because CLEARLY it's not Alya/Adrien/anyone else's fault if she believes their bullshit!

No one’s perfect, Marinette! People are human!!

...Except you, of course.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Despite the incident with SentiNino, Shadow Moth will *successfully* obtain a miraculous by using the same trick. Bonus points if it's Marinette/Ladybug who falls for it... though really, she'll be blamed regardless.

Double bonus if she doesn’t fall for it but it still goes through.

Anonymous asked:

DNB: The 'Shocking Twist' of Adrien/Chat Noir betraying Team Miraculous and joining his father will be presented as though it's entirely Marinette/Ladybug's fault, with Adrien acting as though he Had No Choice and angsting about being 'forced' to betray his lady and friends. The series never acknowledges how self-serving his motives actually are, and any call-outs he gets are treated as Wrong and Awful and Blaming Poor Innocent Victim Adrien.

“hE’s jUsT tRyinG tO sAvE hIs mOm”

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: 'Borrowing' from many a Salt Fic, Marinette will thank her for 'proving who my *real* friends are'. This entails giving Adrien, Alya and possibly others credit for always standing by her, believing in her, and various other things that they never actually did.

I’m presuming “her” means “everyone”/”the girl squad” and yup.

Better tell than show I guess.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Alya will be retconned into having 'never believed anything Lila said'. Or at least, she will CLAIM that she never believed her.

I WILL BE SO UPSET

Also prepared for them to handwave it, like, “oh whatever, now I’m helping you since I know so it’s all good!”

Anonymous asked:

Don't Need Burrow: Similarities between Luka and Zoe were only red herring. Zoe will become Kagami's new love interest (and Kagami and Zoe's dynamic will be suspiciously similar do Fanon!Marigami)

But that would imply they care enough about LGBT rep.

Though they could always pull a Voltron and slip it in at the very end.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Marinette will suffer the toll/backlash from using multiple Miraculi ONLY for the sake of making that her Latest Mistake. Her past successes are only acknowledged as a way of painting her as arrogant for assuming she could continue doing so safely.

She’ll probably be yelled at and told not to “keep doing everything herself” even though that’s what the narrative keeps telling her to do.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow: Adrien discovers his father's secret identity and hides it... and this is painted as an act of incredible self-sacrifice rather than selfishness. Rather than treating it as a betrayal of Ladybug/Team Miraculous, the series focuses on his angst and 'inner struggle', pretending there's something heroic about him refusing to expose Hawkmoth and potentially put an end to his terrorizing Paris.

Deep breaths, Clarity.

Anonymous asked:

Didn't need burrow: Alya will get to keep her boyfriend despite her being involved with the miraculous box n stuff, unlike Marinette. Why, you ask? Easy, the bond between Luka and Mari just isn't sTrOnG eNoUgH for them to last through difficult times, like Alya and Nino do so easily.

Ignoring that Marinette and Luka only just got together and also that Marinette has it WAY different than Alya.

But no I guess. Adrien and Marinette are “made for each other” so gotta discredit Lukanette whenever. Marinette isn’t allowed to be happy, we know.

Anonymous asked:

Didn’t Need Burrow: The one time Marinette gets a break from akumas and her responsibilities all hell breaks loose and the lesson for that episode will be that Marinette and Marinette alone must carry the burden of being Ladybug and Guardian.

Marinette: *gets five minutes of sleep*

Paris: *catches on fire*

Anonymous asked:

Didn't Need Burrow (Can I do two at once?): "Crocoduel" will not acknowledge the Lukanette breakup at all, and the titular Akuma will just be Guitar Villain and Captain Hardrock again.

(You’re allowed two, absolutely!)

I’d like to add as well that, even if they do acknowledge the Lukanette breakup, Marinette will talk to Luka about it but then be like, “I’m not focusing on love right now and I’m too busy so I’m sorry for everything that happened,” even as everyone keeps pushing for the love square.

#category: salt #Didn't Need Burrow #other: ask and answer #((This was supposed to come out earlier but I've been SUPER nauseous lately.))

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op-peccatori · 5 years ago

Text

Wicked Eyes & Wicked Hearts | Chrollo Lucilfer (nsfw)

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer/Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Word Count: 8073

Summary: Over the course of your life, you’ve picked up several bad habits you’d be better off without. However, there is one in particular that you just can’t seem to quit–one with wicked eyes and lethal charm.

a/n: the culmination of months’ worth of absolute, raw THIRST for this sexy asshole. I hate him!!!! I had to get this out of my system so I can go back to writing for my MLQC boys.

the title is a quest from one of my all-time favourite games-DA: Inquisition. I do not own it, nor do I own Chrollo/Hunter x Hunter.

(warnings/tags under the cut)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, explicit language, pwp, oral sex (semi-public), vaginal sex, OOC+possessive Chrollo because we’re pretending he has any capacity for love outside the spider, some soft!yandere if you squint, unhealthy relationship, gotta edit this once I’ve apologised to a picture of Kurapika

Dark red swirls in the glass with slow twists of your wrist, your chin resting in the palm of your hand as you sit at the bar.

The marble-top your elbow rests on is just as ornate as everything else in the ballroom, and as pretty as it all is to look at–you’re bored out of your mind. Clad in soft satin, skin exfoliated and highlighted to perfection, your makeup subtle but precise; this is not how you’d pictured your night going.

A glance over your shoulder confirms your best friend’s continued safety, although you hadn’t actually come here to guard him. He had enticed you with promises of inexhaustible alcohol, food, and plenty of eye-candy. Your hopes of finding a secret corner with a handsome stranger are dwindling, and there is very little fun to be had alone when your partner in crime has the host of the party wrapped around him.

A Prince tenth in line to the throne–but royalty nonetheless, a man Stefan seems inexplicably smitten with. You’re currently on royal property, and the experience isn’t as exciting as it should be. This is not somewhere you want to get wasted, which helps you keep one of the promises you’ve made to yourself: that you’ll stop getting inebriated to the point of losing common sense.

It’s the start of a new year, after all. Or it will be, in about two hours.

Just as you take another sip, there’s a brush of a hand over your shoulder–your pulse quickens as your breath stutters, and you curse yourself for the hope that blooms in your chest even as you turn around. Soft blue eyes lock with yours, and the butterflies in your stomach die a quick death.

“Hi, I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been on your own for a while...” You blink up at the blond man, who takes it as an indication to continue. “Would it be safe to assume you aren’t waiting for anybody and ask if I could sit here?” he adds, pointing at the empty seat next to you.

Are you waiting for someone?

‘No.’

You smile up at him, gesturing for him to take a seat. “I’m ___.”

“I’m John.” He waves down the bartender. “I’ll have what the lady’s having.” He waits for the drink to be placed in front of him before turning back to you, swivelling in his chair to face you. “So, ___–this might be a little straightforward, but how is it that a lady as beautiful as you are all alone?”

His words would have been annoying, had they not been said with complete sincerity and a touch of bafflement. He appears to be in his early thirties, garbed in an immaculate white suit, his hair coiffed neatly.

“I did come here with a friend, actually. But he’s a little,” you punctuate your next words with a nod at the couple grinding on the dance floor, completely offbeat to the pop song playing in the background. “Pre-occupied. Can’t hold it against him, though.”

“They do look rather smitten with each other,” he agrees, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“What about you? No hot date for NYE?” The man looks like he could be on the cover of a fashion magazine, and you can already see a few pairs of envious eyes trained on the two you.

It’s then that he wiggles his hand, a silver band glinting from around his finger. “My date’s out of the country, on business. I work with the Prince, so I figured I might as well skip the moping tonight.”

Something unwinds in your chest, even though you should be at least a little disappointed. “Crying yourself to sleep wouldn’t be a great start to the year, huh?“

“Hey, I don’t do that every day,” he says, mock outrage colouring his tone. “And no, it wouldn’t be–according to my wife.”

“Well, then, if it’s decent company you’re looking for, I’ll try my best,” you say seriously, your lips curling up when he laughs. “We’ll need to make sure you’re far from tearful when you talk to her.”

“I’d be grateful if you could manage that. Wouldn’t be easy, this is the first time we’re not together in about five years,” he sighs, morose, before at straightening back up. “You didn’t fully answer my question, though.”

“Hm?”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t seen the boys hovering, hoping for a glance. Have none of them managed to catch your eye?”

You’re a bit taken aback by the question, as John looks genuinely invested in your answer.

“Um, no. Not really.“ Your heart squeezes pathetically within its cage and you hope it doesn’t show on your face.

“What about the redhead by the window? I’ve met him a few times, he seems like a decent fellow.” You both look over your shoulders simultaneously, studying the man in question. He notices right away, perking up, and you both turn back to the bar.

You squint at him suspiciously. “John, are you trying to play wingman?”

“I’m just a sucker for romance. And you looked lonely,” he shrugs, unfazed by your offended look. “Unless you’re just not interested in that.”

You pause to take another sip, weighing your words in your head. You wonder what you should say, and if there is even anything to say. John, however, seems to have found something in your expression, nodding swiftly.

“Ah. I see.”

“You do?”

“Yep,” he affirms, studying your face as if he’s discovered a crucial clue. “There is someone.”

You avert your eyes uncomfortably, suppressing the urge to slump over. “No, there isn’t...not exactly.”

“Whoever he is, he’s an idiot for not being here with you tonight.”

“I couldn’t exactly ask him,” you laugh, genuinely amused by the thought. “We’re not like that.”

John shakes his head, reaching out to pat the back of your hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if it troubles you.”

“I don’t think there is anything to talk about,” you say nonchalantly, but John doesn’t seem to buy it. He smiles gently, waving down the bartender for refills.

“You know, ___, you have very expressive eyes.”

You can’t quite bring yourself to say anything to that.

“And if he can’t see what I, a near stranger, can see in your eyes–then my point stands. He’s an idiot.”

With that, you seem to have made a new friend. It’s the first time you’ve even hinted at your secret heartache to someone besides Stefan. It’s ridiculous, really, but it’s your reality. One that you can’t seem to escape no matter how hard you try.

When John asks if you want to dance, you agree, all too eager to escape the jumbled mess of your thoughts. He’s a good partner, if a bit clumsy. His wife is the one who usually leads, he tells you. You’re amused by how often he seems to bring up his wife, but it’s quite endearing. His love for her oozes from his tone, his eyes, his words and you can only wonder if you will ever get to experience this.

John twirls you around the marbled floor with a lot of enthusiasm, drawing high-pitched giggles from you and exasperated looks from those around you. And so you’re confused when, just as he begins to send you spinning once more, his eyes move to a point over your head, perplexity bleeding into his expression. You only get a glimpse of it before you’re spinning–only for John’s grip on your hand to slip away as you’re spin right into another figure.

The subtle tones of leather and coffee hit your senses and your heart stumbles at the familiar combination. Your eyes rove over the sleek black suit, the white shirt stretching over lean muscles, the hands resting on your waist, holding you in place. Your eyes fly up before you finish processing all of this, and this time, when clever grey eyes meet yours, your heart flutters hopelessly.

“Chrollo.”

“___,” he greets you with a smile that borders on flirtatious, unfairly thick lashes lowering slightly as he takes in your attire. The one habit you haven’t been able to quit, pulling you closer, brushing his lips over the shell of your ear. “You look beautiful.”

Your face feels warm, yet you try for indifference despite it. You glance back at John, who’s still staring at you with a raised brow, looking a little too interested. “Isn’t this place a little too...low-scale for you?” you say pointedly, looking around to see if any of his friends are here with him. There’s nothing for him to take here, no treasure to steal, as far as you know. Unless...

Alarmed, your eyes fly back to him. He couldn’t be here to kill somebody.

He looks amused by your words, but when you try to step away his grip only tightens, sending electrifying flutters down your spine. “There’s no need to look so worried. Now,” he begins, looking over your head at John. “Won’t you introduce me to your...friend?”

It’s the last thing you want to do, but John doesn’t seem to realize that as he steps up to you both with a wide smile. “I’m John.”

“Chrollo,” he says with a charming grin that only serves to tighten the ball of anxiety and delight in your stomach.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” John says, shaking his hand joyously, before looking back at you. “I guess he’s not an idiot after all, huh?”

You wish the ground would open up and swallow you, avoiding Chrollo’s eyes when they try to meet yours.

‘John, for the love of all that is holy-please shut up,’ you think hard, staring him at him desperately, hoping he’ll get it. He does seem to understand something, but it’s not what you meant.

“Well then, I’ll leave ___ in your capable hands, Chrollo,” he chuckles, waggling his brows at you. “Have fun, kiddos.” With that, he leaves you standing in the middle of the crowd with the man you’ve been hoping and dreading to see for months.

‘Kiddos.’ In any other situation, you would’ve found it hilarious. Said right to his face, you can only hope he’s in a forgiving mood.

As the music transitions into something gentler, Chrollo pulls you close again. The lights dim as you both sway to the music, and your heart finally settles down. You’re nearly hidden away in the middle of the floor, surrounded by countless dancing partners and friends, but you barely register their presence.

“Your date gave you up faster than I thought he would,” he remarks, his hand shifting on your waist, the other clasping your trembling hand firmly.

“He’s married,” you say flatly. He simply cocks a brow at you, and you nearly marvel at how easy it is to fall back into this.

“I know.”

“He’s a friend!”

“Must be, if you’ve already discussed me with him.” His tone is sly, and your embarrassment makes a swift comeback.

“Who says I was talking about you?” you say retort, twirling into a spin, only for your voice to die in your throat as it ends with his face close, the tip of your nose brushing his.

His eyes, previously clear and twinkling, are somehow brighter with something dangerous lurking in their depths.

“He was right, you know,” Chrollo murmurs, his breath mingling with yours. “Your eyes really do give you away.”

Your heart pounds as you’re spun around, your back pressed into his front, still swaying almost unconsciously. Your body moves with every subtle shift of his, his fingers undulating along your sides almost covetously. Once more, you can only marvel at your overactive imagination as it offers up flashes of your previous encounters involving the infamous spider, and the things you could do if you could just find a quiet place.

“You never said what brought you here,” you say, swallowing heavily when you feel his warm breath on the nape of your neck.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He turns you back around, and there’s a subtle smile curling along his mouth. “Unless you do think I’m an idiot.”

Flustered, you look away, but he tugs at your waist until there’s less than an inch between you.

“I have to wonder, though,” he muses, his hand sliding down to rest on the swell of your ass while the other slithers up your back. Your hands brace against his chest lightly. “If you weren’t actually expecting me–who, then, did you doll up for?”

At this, you sniff delicately, finding your balance and refraining from rolling your eyes. “Do I need to dress up for someone? It’s NYE.” Granted, you had been hoping he would show up, but there is no way in hell you would ever admit that.

“And here I thought this was all for me,” he sighs, and his tone would have actually led you to believe he was hurt–if not for the way he squeezes your plump rear, and the fact that you do, to a certain extent, know him.

And so you hesitate, going over words you could and shouldn’t say.

“That was a little presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?” you tease lightly, glancing up at him before averting your eyes quickly.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he counters, his smile sharp and knavish. His lips brush your cheek, his next words breathed into your skin. “After all, you’re well aware of how much I love you in satin.”

Yes, you do.

Your mind, the traitorous thing that it is, stumbles over the ‘I love you’ despite the accompanying words. Even so, you duck your head, aware of how easily he can still read you.

“I just liked the dress,” you grumble, annoyed by his breathy laugh at your pout.

“I like it too. Then-“ He’s closer now, his mouth at your ear, your breasts pressing into his chest. “I guess you really liked the gift I sent you too?”

For a second, you’re unable to comprehend his words. Your mind tries to work through the events of the evening–when, when, when?

Chrollo, who has by now pulled back to be entertained by your reaction, spots the panic in your eyes at once. “Ah, don’t worry, you didn’t accidentally flash anyone.”

His words are reassuring, and yet there’s a hidden implication in them. “Did you...was it here?” you ask slowly.

At your question, his gentle smile shifts into something more cunning. “No.”

You stare at him in mortification.

“I didn’t actually mean to peek,” he clarifies, making you feel a bit better–and then he continues. “You should’ve drawn the curtains.” You live on the fifteenth floor. “And you looked so sad as you were looking at my gift, I just-“

Unable to bring yourself to continue listening, you step away hastily, your fists clenched at his teasing tone. Without waiting for another word, you turn on your heel and exit through the first door you come across.

The fact of the matter is–you had been sad. You had sat there with that box in your hands for over an hour. Because you missed him. You ached for him, after months of radio silence. You had thought that was it, that it was done because he’d never gone so long without making even a brief appearance to turn your life upside down.

Because, despite everything–him being who he is, never saying goodbye, just leaving behind cold sheets and a fading scent–he’s carved himself a place in your heart so deeply you’re unsure if you will ever be able to evict him. You’ve certainly tried.

You’ve stalked your way out of the room to what looks like the poolside; this side of the building is just as grand as the ballroom, with its carefully carved pillars and the shallow pools of water you catch glimpses of through archways, that seem to cover the entirety of one side of the room.

You don’t feel his presence behind you but you duck behind a wall anyway, coming to face the still water. Your face is still uncomfortably warm, your eyes burning–with tears, with anger, and with the aching vulnerability of being seen through so easily yet again. You’ve experienced his sharp perceptiveness first-hand, but this is the firm time he’s referred to your feelings for him so openly, if indirectly.

You sense him nearby, shifting to look around the safety of the wall when you feel his hand catching yours from behind you; his arms slide around your waist before you can whirl around, pulling you back into his chest. It leaves you facing the gilded walls instead, the slight chill in the air cut off by the warmth emanating from him.

It's when you feel his lips on your neck that the fight leaves you, the brief contact frustratingly soothing. "Did I go too far?"

"Yes."

You feel his mouth curve up, pressed as it is into your skin. "Which part?"

The words bubble at the back of your throat, but you swallow them stubbornly. His thumb rubs small circles over the skin under your breast, sparking every nerve to attention, if he moves his hand just a little–

“It couldn’t have been me watching you dress,” he says casually, sliding his mouth further up and sideways until he’s kissing the tender skin underneath your ear. “That’s something you enjoy, if I recall correctly...”

Your lips part slightly as he nips at your skin playfully.

“Chrollo, someone might see us,” you whisper, knowing full well he doesn’t care–and neither do you, not really. He just laughs at your attempt at stilling his wandering hands and mouth.

“No one’s going to be around to see us,” he assures you, teeth grazing the delicate shell of your ear.

“Ah, but-“

“Don’t try to change the subject, ___.” His words are accompanied by a chiding tug at your earlobe. His hand splays at your hip, his mouth returning to peppering soft kisses along the slender slope of your neck.

Your hand settles on top of his, fingers lacing together as your eyes blink shut. His nose burrows briefly into the junction between your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

“I’ve missed you too, you know,” he purrs, the words coiling around your heart, squeezing it tight. “But it appears I’ve neglected you.”

“Wh-what?”

“No? Isn’t that why you tried to fuck that hunter after your last job?”

Once more, the words are said so nonchalantly that you almost don’t realise what he’s said until you try to turn around and he pins you against the wall instead, using his body to keep you in place as he goes back to mouthing at your skin.

“How do you-“ know? How the fuck does he know? Your mind spins, your instincts tingling despite his casual tone.

“It didn’t quite work out, though, did it?” he asks almost sympathetically. “He said you didn’t actually seem that into it. I’m curious–what exactly were you trying to accomplish?”

“Chrollo,” you ask quietly, trying to keep your voice steady despite your heart thumping its panic throughout your body. “What did you do?”

“Don’t sound so suspicious, sweetheart.” His hips press into the curve of your ass, and a desperate sort of thrill thrums through you when you feel his bulge against you. “We just had a little chat.”

He doesn’t say more, his silence expectant now. He’s looking for an answer, you realise, heart sinking at the thought of even hinting at the emotional turmoil you went through when you’d thought he was done with you–after you had told him to never seek you out again, and he had left without protest.

“I thought we were done,” you say in a rush. “That’s why.”

“Hm.”

He was gone for months without a word. He’s never said anything to imply that he expects something from you, coming and going as he pleases. This time, you refused to wait for him. You wanted to move on.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you say carefully. This could go a number of ways, and you nearly wince imagining the bruising your heart could take from his reply. “Especially after...what I said.”

His chin falls to rest on your shoulder.

“I understand,” he says. He sounds like it too.

“You...do?“

“Of course. I know I’ve been remiss in informing you of certain things. I won’t lie to you–when I found out your eyes have been straying elsewhere, it did hurt.” His words throw you for a loop, and this is not what you’d thought he’d say.

“I’m...sorry?” you say hesitantly, turning your head so you could see his expression, to see if he was messing around again. You don’t expect the quiet intensity in his eyes, belying his nonchalant tone entirely.

“Me too,” he smiles, and it’s not his pretty one. He kisses your cheek softly, keeping his lips pressing into your skin. “But this is one thing you should know about me–I don’t share.”

You know you’re not at fault, but you feel a kernel of guilt in sprout to life, one you're determined to ignore.

“I didn’t realise I was yours to share," you say coolly. Or not share, in this case. You say it with the aim of ruffling that cool composure, to find some of the same in yourself.

He kisses the corner of your mouth tenderly.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. By the time we’re done,” his whispers against your lips, smiling slightly as your eyelashes brush the tops of your cheek. "You'll know exactly who you belong to." His mouth is on yours before you can even open your eyes, working your lips open, stealing your words and your breath in one go. You can't help the soft noise in your throat when his hand comes up to wrap around your neck, squeezing lightly as you nearly melt back into him.

Every thought of resistance leaves you the moment he licks into your mouth. You suck at his tongue languidly, feeling drunk off the taste of him, your senses filled with his scent.

It's when his hand sneaks beneath the hem of your dress, caressing the warm flesh of your inner thigh, that raw desire sparks like liquid fire through your veins–it's helped along by his other hand sliding down your chest from the base of your throat to cup the bare flesh of your breast. He breaks the kiss to raise a brow at you, his smooth expression flickering at the sight of the nigh pained look that comes over your face when he tugs roughly at a taut nipple.

"So you did skip it. Pity, I would've liked to see the full set," Chrollo mumbles almost to himself. "You'll have to show me later." His tongue sweeps into your mouth swiftly, his mouth swallowing your soft moan when you feel him cup your mound. You're grinding into his palm before you even realize it, your body aching to feel him within you after the long absence. A low whine escapes you when he pulls away to turn you around, pushing you back into the wall and sliding the pad of his finger along your clothed entrance.

Your hands splay across his tensing abdomen, his body belying his tranquil expression as your lips find his pulse point, licking tight swirls over it. You widen your stance, silently begging him to move his fingers, but he seems content to brush them over the damp lace indolently.

Deciding to take the matter into your hands, you reach for the waistband of his pants, ready to sink to your knees and suck until he gives you what you want. However, your plan is halted before you can even implement it, with Chrollo once again pinning you in place with his body, his hands coming to rest on the wall on either side of your head; his leg slides between your knees, his firm thigh pressing into your dripping heat, applying the delicious sort of pressure you've been dreaming of for weeks. You grind down on it, and he lets you–only for a moment, before a hand to your hip puts a stop to it.

In the silence, the sound of your heavy breathing is loud. You're dizzy with lust and confusion until you see the insidious smirk tugging at his mouth. Your uncomfortable squirming is also cut off, and you think you might just explode.

"Chrollo," you plead, desperate to move. You can only imagine how pitiful you look, with the beseeching look in your tearful eyes, and your hands tug at the lapel of his jacket. "Please, please, d-don't..."

"Don't?" he prompts when you trail off, his thigh rubbing into you, birthing relief that withers when he stops right away. You whimper softly, leaning into his touch when his hand cups your cheek.

"D-don't tease me." Your helpless desire is apparent in your tone, and you spot the satisfied glint in his eyes when he leans in to steal another kiss.

"Oh, don't make such a cute face, sweetheart," he half-groans, pressing his forehead to yours. "It makes me want to ruin you." He emphasizes his words with a slow slide of his thigh, before stepping away. Every protest dies in your throat when he sinks to his knees before you, calloused palms spreading your legs further as he nearly buries his face in the apex of your thighs. You strain to catch a glimpse of him, your breath robbed from you when you hear him inhale strongly as if enjoying a favourite perfume. He mouths at you through the barrier of your underwear, the heat of his mouth discernible even through it.

"Fuck, Chrollo," you moan, bucking your hips into his mouth, yelping when he nips at you in reprimand.

His deft fingers reach behind you, unclasping the panties and sliding them off. You're not at all surprised when he stuffs them into his back pocket, but you’re stunned when he spreads your cunt and drags his tongue along your swollen lips. Your knees start to tremble with every lick, and you're unsure as to how you remain standing when he lifts one of your legs to curl it over his shoulder, his tongue delving deeper through your dripping walls. This time, he doesn't stop you from grinding down; his hands, tight bands on your hips, digging into your skin as they help you undulate over his tongue.

You try to muffle your moans as best you can, desire and fear coiling together low in your belly–you've known him long enough to be somewhat familiar with his style, and you know how much he enjoys robbing you of that absolute bliss until he's ready to give it to you. And so you roll your hips frantically, angling them just right, hoping you can grab your orgasm before he's done savouring the taste of you. The thought sends a hot jolt through you, drawing your attention to the way he's lapping at your sex with more fervour than you'd thought him capable of.

Perhaps Chrollo really had missed you.

His tongue drags over your clit and you're so, so close and he knows–he knows, and so he pulls away, leaving you twitching but not daring to tug at his hair insistently, the way you want to. Your dismayed expression seems to provide some measure of amusement–but you’re not fooled even in your disoriented state, noting his blown-out pupils as he licks his lips. There’s a ghost of a smile across them when he rises to his feet to pull you into a kiss, the taste of you on his tongue making your head spin.

"You're a cruel bastard," you breathe. He blinks in slight confusion. Months without him, and he won't even let you come.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asks, tilting his head as if trying to hear better. "You don't want me to fuck you?"

"I want! I want-you."

"Me?" he asks, still feigning obliviousness. “I’m right here.”

You tug at his tie pitifully.

"Your hands," you moan softly, nuzzling his jaw cajolingly. "Your mouth. Your cock." He looks thoughtful for a moment, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You wait with bated breath, knowing how much he likes to hear you plead.

"But sweetheart–do you deserve my cock?"

The words have the same impact as being doused bucket of chilled water. No, you won't get to come right now.

"I..." His eyes warn you to think carefully. "...No?"

"No? Why is that?"

Your face burns as you look away, unable to believe you have to face these consequences even though you’ve done nothing wrong. Technically, you're a free agent. Chrollo never said a word to imply otherwise, and so you decided to test the waters, just once. To try to escape the web that was Chrollo Lucilfer, to see if you could, because it's not as if he would ever find out.

You were wrong, and it's come back to bite you in the ass.

"Because I...tried to...with someone."

There's absolute silence after you finish your sentence, and you have to wonder if he'll walk away after obtaining that admission.

"Yes," he begins, a knuckle under your chin tilting your head up. You're struck dumb by the lethal look in his eye as he stares at you. "You were going to let him fuck you."

"...Yes."

"But you didn't." It's not a question–not the one you know he's about to ask.

"No, I didn't," you admit, your eyes squeezed shut as something in your chest quivers at the prospect of what's coming.

"Why?"

You don't know what to say. Or rather, you don't know how to tell him why you had run out of that hotel room that night, flashes of him filling your head until you couldn't even look at the other man without cringing.

"Don't make me repeat myself," he warns, his tone affecting a measure of sternness that contrasts greatly with his previous geniality.

"I couldn't-" Your eyes still closed in resignation. "Because he wasn't you."

Because despite every effort you’ve put into trying to escape him, he always finds you. And you fall into his arms like the complete fool you that you are, unable to resist him. You crave him when he’s not around.

Worse still, it’s not just the sex. It hasn’t been for a long time. Not since you first saw him reading by the window, lost in his book, his ridiculous coat gone and his hair falling in messy waves around his face. It had hit you with the force of an enhancer’s punch, filling your heart up and spilling over, and you haven’t been the same ever since.

“Was that so hard?” he nearly croons, kissing your forehead as if he hadn’t just cornered you into a difficult position. “Look at me, ___.” A peek at his face has your breath catching in your throat at how pleased he looks. It’s in how his smile actually reaches his eyes, for once. The dark delight glittering in them, combined with his straining bulge pressing into your hip threatens to derail your thought process all over again. “You couldn’t fuck him, because he wasn’t me. You understand, don’t you?”

In this, you know you understand more than he probably does. “Yes.”

“Good girl. Let’s go.”

‘Wait-what?’

“Where?” you ask in confusion, stumbling after him as he interlocks your fingers together and pulls you along. Your hotel room is always an option, but that idea is discarded when he tugs you through a hallway you don’t recognize. It doesn’t look like he’s leading you to the exit–you seem to be going deeper into the grand building. “Where are we going?”

“As tempting as it is, I’d rather not fuck you where somebody would eventually find us,” Chrollo explains, smiling over his shoulder at your baffled expression, his hand squeezing yours.

In other words, he wants to take his sweet time with you. Lovely thought, but it still doesn’t explain where you’re going.

“And so...”

“And so I’ve made other arrangements for us. I think you’ll like it.”

You almost hiss at him to lower his voice, which echoes off the marble floor in the empty hall. But there doesn’t seem to be anyone to hear him, which strikes you as odd–this is a royal figure’s birthday party. There should definitely be more security.

That’s something Chrollo is clearly not worried about, and you decide you don’t want to know.

He finally comes to a stop in front of a heavy door of white wood, carved with roses painted a shimmering gold. He pushes it open with no preamble, pulling you in behind him and shutting the door, the click of the lock loud in the large room. Your eyes have nearly adjusted to the dark of the room when he turns the lights on; the lights being crystal candelabras hanging on the walls, which are curved to form a circular room instead of the usual square.

It’s stunning, from the white wooden dresser to the full-length ornate mirror framed with carved gold roses, but your eyes are drawn back to the main attraction: the king-sized bed with its pretty blue velvet headboard and its pretty blue velvet bedcovers that are thick enough to be called blankets. There are heavy drapes on either side of the bed, and several pillows lining the top of it.

You’re immediately overcome by the urge to throw yourself on the mattress.

“Chrollo,” you begin, your mouth feeling like cotton. “How did you manage this?”

He smiles indulgently, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around you, surveying the room with an almost critical eye. “It’s a bit brighter than I would prefer, but...”

But this is exactly the kind of room you would like. And so the fly walks back into the parlour.

“It’s stunning,” you exclaim, nearly overwhelmed by the delicate beauty surrounding you. “But we’re not supposed to be here, are we?”

“Depends on who you ask.” He shrugs, toying with the straps of your dress. “And if you ask me–I think I want to fuck you on that bed.”

A shiver runs down your spine as he tugs the thin straps down, one at a time, pressing his lips to your shoulders.

“There’s a lovely bath too, but we’ll explore that later,” he continues, pulling at your zipper slowly until it reveals the bare skin of your back, inch by inch. “Do you like it?“

“I love it,” you gasp, feeling the cool air on your heated skin as he pulls your dress down until it’s pooled at your feet. You stand, completely exposed to his gaze, embarrassed warmth blooming all over your body. And then his hand is at the small of your back, urging you towards the bed.

“Ah, forgive me,” he slides his jacket off smoothly, draping it around your shoulders. “I’ll get the fire started. Why don’t you take a seat?”

You do as you’re bid with a pounding heart, watching him stride over to the–you guessed it–marble fireplace. Chrollo’s always been charming, but you’re not sure what to make of this. It’s romantic beyond belief, and something you had never expected from him in a million years.

You sit on the side of the bed, sniffing discretely at his jacket, stifling a low gasp at his intoxicating scent. As he walks over to stand before you, between your spread thighs, you can’t help but smile as you tilt your head back to look at him and he kisses you deeply. Deft hands slide the jacket off your shoulders, throwing it over the back of an armchair, before reaching for your hair.

He doesn’t rush; he’s slow, yet gentle as he tugs at the pins keeping your low bun in place, sliding them out carefully until there’s a small pile of them on the bedside table and your hair is spilling over your back. Skilful fingers rub at your scalp, chasing the slight ache away, and you’re nearly overwhelmed by the intimacy of the act.

He crouches down, reaching for your feet, unbuckling the straps on your heels and sliding them off, taking a moment to rub the soles of your feet. You’re convinced you’re in a dream, or that you’ve died. This is not good for your heart.

“Did I mention you look beautiful?” he half-jokes, looking at you through half-lidded eyes as you reach for the cloth around his forehead, tugging it loose to reveal his tattoo.

“I think so,” you say casually, but your trembling fingers give you away as you loosen his tie next. “But I won’t stop you if you want to tell me again.”

He laughs as he stands, the sound coming out huskier than he probably intended as you reach up to unbutton his shirt, trying to keep from rushing; you struggle a little with the buttons on his wrists, but he’s patient as you finally slip it off his arms. You lean in when the pale expanse of his torso is unveiled, pressing your lips to every inch of skin you can reach–soft, open-mouthed kisses that have him stroking your hair in approval.

You know you don’t imagine the slight hitch in his breath when you reach for the fly of his pants, unzipping him carefully and nuzzling at his straining length through his silk briefs. Your eager mouth traces his bulge until he tugs at your hair lightly, and then you reach for the waistband of his underwear. You don’t look away from his freed cock, your mouth watering at the slight glistening visible at its head. You wait impatiently as he folds his clothes and leaves them on the armchair, knowing his slow movements are in part due to how badly you want to taste him.

Which is why you take immense pleasure in the way his light chuckle gets cut off when you take the tip of his cock into your mouth, sucking softly, tasting him with your eager tongue. Your moan vibrates around him. It’s not because he tastes good–it’s because it’s so purely him. It sends thrilling flutters through you, and you’re glad you’ve left the shame behind.

You’re well aware of what it does to Chrollo when he sees the pure bliss on your face as you suck his cock.

Sure enough, his hand tangles in your hair, flexing and tugging to keep his calm. You appreciate that about him; Chrollo rarely loses his composure. But there are moments, where he just unravels and moans and squirms and you keep those close to your heart, cherishing them deeply. You want to collect more of those tonight.

Chrollo stops you just as you feel him twitch in your mouth, feeling the telltale tensing of the muscles in his thighs where you caress them lovingly. His grip on your hair tightens until you've let him slip out of your mouth, shifting to lay on your back as he climbs over you, between your legs, ebony strands framing his face haphazardly. You part your legs further in a silent, pleading invitation and his lips twitch as he ducks his head to run his tongue over your nipples instead. His hair tickles your skin as he lavishes your breasts with his attention, any attempts at pulling him closer thwarted by his hands pinning your wrists to the bed.

His hot mouth leaves blushing speckles across your chest, and even as you squirm, you wait. He slides his fingers into you first, and your eyes flutter shut at the nimble fingers moving along your walls, curling and rubbing where it makes you writhe. You whimper in protest when he pulls them out just as your walls start fluttering around them, knowing he won’t make you wait too long.

Or he might, so the moment he loosens his hold on you, you act–a quick twist of your hips leaves you straddling his hips, leaving trails of ardent kisses across his abdomen, over taut muscles and old scars. His eyes are bright when you straighten to take his cock in your hand, not hesitating even for a second as you lift your hips to bring it to your entrance, sinking down on it with a shuddering breath and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, his fingers digging into your hips as watches your cunt engulf his stiff length, squeezing him tight as if in greeting. “Look at you, always taking my cock so well.“

“God, I’ve missed you,” you moan, struggling to stay upright at the feeling of fullness. “You feel so good.” You know he's watching, taking in every single movement–the slow grind of your hips, the swaying of your breasts, willing to let you fuck yourself on his cock to your heart's desire.

You falter when he begins to thrust up, meeting every roll of your hips with his own, a smile still teasing across his lips as your motions become swifter, your eyes losing focus as you stumble towards that sweet, sweet unravelling. You won't let him snatch it away from you, not again, and you know he will if he sees you waver even a little.

"Look at me."

You do, locking eyes with his, the molten grey of his eyes shaking your unsteady heart further. "I-I'm so c-close-"

"Would you like a little help?" He waits for your frantic nod before revving up his thrusts, reaching almost casually for your swollen nub as you bounce wildly on his cock, rubbing it dexterously and propelling you over the edge. It makes you keen, your head thrown back, your walls palpitating–then his arms are around you, your face pressed into the side of his neck as you quiver minutely.

You come down from the high with soft, dirty whispers in your ear, your breasts pressing into the firm planes of his chest and–you realize with a jolt–his length still hot and hard in you.

"There we go," he murmurs approvingly as you pull away to look at him. He still looks infuriatingly unruffled, but the evidence of his ardour is straining within you and his fingers still dig into your skin sporadically. It flickers in his eyes, behind his mask of cool composure, almost admiring as he takes in your wrecked state. And so, you wait. "You okay?"

"Mhm." You kiss the palm of his hand as it moves to cup your jaw, earning you an appreciative smile.

"That was beautiful. Now-" He shifts you off his lap, pulling out without any warning, making you hiss at the sensitivity. “On your hands and knees, sweetheart,” he commands roughly, his palm coming down on your ass in a firm snack, and you scramble to follow it, crawling to the middle of the bed where you wait for him on trembling limbs. You don't have to wait long.

He’s too selfish to deny himself your inviting heat, and you’re proven correct when you feel his swollen head pressing into your slit, pushing through with no resistance. He grinds into you languidly, the palm of a hand sliding down to take a handful of your ass in it, an approving grunt leaving him as you push your hips back into him, moving them in slow, tight circles.

It’s when you start to whimper his name that he finally pulls out halfway, snapping his hips into yours in a powerful thrust, repeating the motion over and over again until your back arches and you’re half-babbling, half-screaming, nearly incoherent. The sound of his skin slapping against yours is loud, obscene and only adds to your slow descent into madness. It hurts, but you would die before you let him stop.

Then, Chrollo is leaning over you, one arm braced against the bed while the other dances along the length of your spine to curl around your body, his hand catching a swaying breast immediately. He doesn’t stop drilling into you even for a moment, even when your walls clamp down around him the moment you feel his teeth sink into your shoulder.

“I want you to come around my cock, ___. Will you do that for me?” he rasps against your skin.

“Chro-fuck,” you wail, the scream of his name cut off when his hand wanders down to your sex, his fingers trapping your clit between them. Your climax renders you speechless this time, your eyes glazing over as it crashes against you. His mouth is at your ear, his voice seeming like it’s come from across the room.

“Such a good girl,” he groans, his thrusts nearly faltering as he feels your heat fluttering madly–but they resume instantly, fucking your through your daze, quickening as he chases his own end. It finds him swiftly, encouraged by your pained moans at how sensitive your sex is. What startles you are his harsh whispers against your skin as his length finally twitches, pulsing within you. “You're so good for me, sweetheart–I’m not giving you up, never-“

You squeeze him hard and he curses as your cunt milks every single drop from his slowly softening cock, his fervent words–even if they were said in the throes of passion–sending tendrils of warmth through your chest.

You struggle to catch your breath as he buries his head in your hair, not pulling out just yet. You’re both then startled when your arms give out, leaving your face buried in the velvet bedspread–and you feel him slip out with a laugh, allowing you to turn until you’re laying on your side, facing him. He runs a hand through his hair, his flushed cheeks belying his level expression. It brings you a secret delight when you see that it extends all the way down to his chest, easily noticeable on his pale skin. You don’t consider it a good fuck unless it leaves Chrollo with rosy cheeks.

You know he’s not big on cuddling, choosing to lay on his side facing you. There is still something deeply intimate about the way he watches you reach your calm, your hair no doubt a mess and your face glowing, unattractively reddened. Chrollo reaches over to sweep your hair away from your face, and you do the same, brushing his damp bangs away from his eyes.

And then he’s kissing you again, languidly, deeply, as if he’s savouring it. You can’t help but smile into it, your heart feeling full when you feel him mirror it, a soft, contented noise leaving him.

A part of you thinks it’s all for show. The bigger part of you doesn’t care, because it feels so fucking good. Because he’s running his fingers over your skin, pressing kisses lazily. Try as you might, you can't quite keep your eyes open.

“I’ll go get us some food. Why don’t you take a nap?” he suggests, already moving to follow through.

"Ah, wait-" you protest, reaching for him, but the words die in your throat. You don't want it to end, not now, but you don't know how to say that–knowing he's probably got bigger, nefarious things to do. Your struggle is futile, because Chrollo reads you easily, shifting you on the bed to pull the bedspread back and over you. "I-you-"

"We've got plenty of time, don't worry," he assures you. "But you'll need some food before we can go play in the bath."

His sly smile tells you exactly what he means by that. What you interpret from that is that he's not leaving right away. The relief must be clear on your face because he leans in, tilting his head curiously.

"Did you think were done?" He laughs when you look away in embarrassment, trying to duck under the covers. He hugs you through them, tucking your head under his chin. “Already?”

“I didn’t say anything!” Your voice is muffled but he still chuckles at the hint of annoyance in it.

"Oh, no, sweetheart," he coos, lifting the soft cover of your shield and pressing his lips to your temple. "You still have so much more to learn. And I never make the same mistake twice."

#chrollo lucilfer #adultrio #chrollo lucifer #hunter x hunter #hxh smut #hxh #hunter x hunter fanfiction #hunter x hunter headcanons #will I finally be able to sleep at night #IM SORRY KURAPIKA

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gothic-safari-clown · 4 years ago

Text

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 21: The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Word count: 1522

Ooh, the chapter title is the same as the fic title

Elianna could not have been more proud of her mask. She had spent every second of her free time measuring and adjusting and sewing and sending Jonathan to the store to get what she needed: something he found tedious, she was sure.

Either way, she had gotten it finished with one day to spare, and she was positively giddy. Even Jonathan had seemed impressed, and from what she could tell by what he had said, Scarecrow was thrilled with her dedication to the fear project. When she had finished, Jonathan had surprised her with a fear gas sleeve rig like his, and she was aching for the chance to use both of her new toys.

It was getting dark out when Jonathan came into her office, looking annoyed.

"Rachel Dawes is on her way here," he monotoned, making her frown. She had yet to meet Dawes, but she had been causing trouble for them from the start.

"Why?"

"Apparently," he began with a sigh, removing the doorstopper to let it swing closed, "she disagrees with the fact that Falcone got moved here. She finds his mental break suspicious."

"She's really up on her white horse, huh?" Jonathan scoffed in response.

"Either way, she might back off if she thinks I have a second opinion on this case. Are you up for a little acting?"

"Absolutely. What's the plan for if she doesn't buy it?"

"You have your mask on you?" El nodded, fondly remembering Jonathan talking her through making the false bottom of her briefcase.

"We match now!"

"Yes, we do. Just make sure it closes all the way when you're done with it."

"Good, she'll be here in a little under an hour. And we're the only ones here besides the orderlies, so I just got Falcone's men downstairs to supervise. Hopefully, everything will be able to go smoothly tomorrow."

"I'm sure it will just focus on the task at hand."

El had been surprised when Jonathan told her that he had managed to pay off some of Falcone's thugs to be loyal to them, and more than a little suspicious. But after meeting them and working with them for a few days, she was actually very grateful that she and Jonathan had people to delegate to for the last few days of work.

.xXx.

Dawes ended up arriving much earlier than projected, which only served to irritate Jonathan further. The entire walk to Falcone's cell was spent with him practically fuming and El becoming more and more curious about just how annoying one person could actually be.

"Miss Dawes, this is most irregular," Jonathan spoke as they approached, not giving the woman a chance to get the first word in. El caught on to the energy and jumped in before the other woman could get a word out.

"I'm Doctor Montgomery, I've been consulting on this case, and I speak for both of us when I say that we have nothing further to add to the report we filed with the judge."

"I have some questions about your report."

"Such as?" Jonathan challenged while El arranged her face into what she hoped was something patient and expectant. God, she really is tiresome.

"Isn't it convenient for a fifty-two-year-old man who had no history of mental illness to suddenly have a complete psychotic breakdown just when he's about to be indicted?" She had a fair point, but El made sure to keep her face impassive.

"Well, as you can see for yourself, there's nothing convenient about his symptoms." Oh dear, he's getting pissed. The woman didn't have a response planned for that, so she turned her attention stubbornly back to the man behind the glass, who was muttering to himself.

"What's 'scarecrow?'" The brunette fired off. El took it upon herself to reply so that Jonathan wouldn't snap.

"Patients suffering from delusional episodes often focus their paranoia on an external tormentor," she explained, doing her best to keep her voice pleasant and collegial. "Usually one conforming to Jungian archetypes. In this case," she gestured to the glass, "a scarecrow."

"And he's drugged?" This question seemed to amuse Jonathan.

"Psychopharmacology is my primary field. I'm a strong advocate." The thought of Jonathan being an 'advocate' for anything nearly made El laugh. "Outside, he was a giant. In here, only the mind can grant you power." Dawes shifted her eyes between the pair through narrowed eyes.

"You two enjoy the reversal." Jonathan allowed himself a mildly amused smile if only for a second.

"Doctor Montgomery and I respect the mind's power over the body." El nodded in agreement.

"It's why we do what we do," she smiled, keeping up her friendly persona. She was hoping that if she did her part properly, maybe it would lessen the suspicion on Jonathan, but it didn't seem to work. In fact, Dawes sent a scowl in her direction.

"I do what I do to keep thugs like Falcone behind bars, not in therapy." With that, she breezed past them toward the elevator. Jonathan and El shared a look, knowing what had to happen next. She was still talking as they turned to catch up with her. "I want my own psychiatric consultant to have full access to Falcone, including bloodwork. Find out exactly what you two put him on." El rolled her eyes, thankful that the Dawes's back was still turned to her.

"First thing tomorrow then," Jonathan sighed as they flanked her at the elevator doors, knowing what had to come next.

"Tonight," she charged into the elevator ahead of them, and El suddenly understood very well why Jonathan and Scarecrow seemed to hate the brunette so much. She herself was struggling not to choke her out right there in the elevator. "I've already paged Doctor Lehmann at County General" as if they were supposed to know who that was. Maybe Jonathan did, but judging by his lack of reaction, probably not.

Jonathan inserting his key to take them to the basement didn't go unnoticed by the redhead, but Dawes didn't seem to catch it. "As you wish," he forced out through gritted teeth as the door closed behind them.

Dawes gave Elianna a questioning look when the doors opened to reveal the basement, to which El replied with a reassuring smile.

"This way, please," Jonathan directed, leading them into the hallway. "There's something I think you should see."

The one thing that El didn't understand was how they would get her through the secret panel in the closet. She was going over different scenarios in her head when Jonathan passed the door and instead approached a larger one at the end of the hallway where it turned and pushed the double doors open dramatically.

They all came forward to stand on a balcony overlooking the workroom that El had grown familiar with, one level above where the secret panel led out. She understood now why they took the other way: the stairs going from the level they were standing on to the next level down had been taken out.

The redhead watched the dawning horror on the attorney's face as she took in what was happening as Jonathan spoke again.

"This is where we make the medicine." No, not Jonathan. It was subtle, but once she heard it, it was unmistakable. That was Scarecrow mimicking Jonathan's voice. Dawes was too shocked to notice the slight change in cadence, and her gaze was affixed to an inmate pouring a drum of the toxin directly into a busted open water pipe.

Not just any inmate either. Zsasz. Feeling someone watching him, he looked up in curiosity; when he saw El standing there, he shuddered and quickly turned back to what he was doing, his breath coming in broken gasps as he remembered something he would rather not. Elianna grinned when she saw Rachel make the connection and snap her head to look at her. "You-!" she managed to gasp out.

"Me," El confirmed with a wink. A low chuckle drew their attention back to the bespectacled man beside them.

"Perhaps you should have some, Miss Dawes. Clear your head." The brunette woman bolted for the elevator, and the two leftover partners in crime shared a look. Scarecrow smiled at El, a full smile; something she had never seen from Jonathan. It was sort of nice to see, and she smiled back as Scarecrow produced his face fluidly from their briefcase.

Rachel had reached the elevator. Luckily for the scheming pair, it wouldn't budge without the basement key. All Rachel managed to see when the elevator doors opened again were two masks, one burlap and one that seemed to be lined on the outside with faux leather, fashioned into a long, sleek beak.

Then, a cloud of gas—fired at the same time that she gasped in fear—and she coughed as the gas entered her lungs. When she looked back up, the masks had been distorted and twisted, oozing from the holes and crawling with...god, something. It didn't matter because they each seized an arm and dragged her back out of the elevator before her thoughts dissolved completely.

#The Mind’s Power Over the Body #Jonathan Crane #scarecrow #batman begins #Nolanverse #Elianna Montgomery #jonathan crane x ofc #multi chapter fic #slight au #Attraction To The Insane #cillian murphy #cillian murphy scarecrow #tmpotb chapter 21

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7-wonders · 5 years ago

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Hit and Run

Summary: The fallout of an unexpected tryst, and (Y/N)’s first official foray into the criminal underworld.

Word Count: 3055

A/N: Thanks for sticking around as I make empty promises, here’s Memento Mori chapter 4!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

The training gym remains silent as (Y/N) and Duncan feel the weight of what they’ve just done. Duncan has a content grin on his face as he stands, fixing himself until he looks like he hadn’t even been training, let alone fucking the woman who he’s blackmailing. The look of disgust on (Y/N)’s face makes him stifle a laugh as he holds out a hand for her to take. Instead, she just stares at him, slowly making herself look presentable without Duncan’s help.

“The look on your face directly contradicts the beautiful sounds you were making earlier,” Duncan teases.

(Y/N) can feel her face heating up as she stands, pushing Duncan to the side. “What we did was a mistake,” she says seriously.

“Really? Because I quite enjoyed it, and I think you did too.”

“Duncan, that can’t happen again.”

The smile falls off of his face, and he scowls. “And why is that?”

“Because I try not to make a habit of having sex with people that I can’t stand!”

“Aw, you can’t stand me?” Duncan sneers. “Is that why you were so eager for me to fuck your little cunt?”

“You say that like you’re not the one who kissed me first.”

(Y/N) feels a sense of self-satisfaction when she sees how Duncan’s jaw clenches from her verbal barb. Enough of a silence commences that (Y/N) thinks she’s free to go, turning to leave and finally be free of the specter that is Duncan Shepherd. Duncan decides otherwise, grabbing her upper arm roughly and spinning her back around.

“Tomorrow night, you’re getting indoctrinated into my world. I have an arms sale that I’m overseeing at 10, and you’re going to be there with me.”

“Will I be free of my burden, then?” The second question goes unsaid, but it hangs in the air like a cloud: will I be free of you?

“That’s for me to decide,” Duncan spits, letting go of (Y/N)’s arm before she can shake herself out of his grasp.

“Fuck you, Duncan.” (Y/N) grabs her belongings from where they were thrown on the floor before nearly running for the door.

Duncan manages to get one last jab in before the door swings shut behind you, shouting “you already did!”

(Y/N) groans angrily once she’s outside, the cool air doing little to calm her down. The sun’s just beginning to dip below the horizon, and she pulls her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt to keep warm while she walks. Her mind churns with all of the possible ways she could’ve verbally wounded him besides just saying “fuck you.” He’s so infuriating, so confounding, so--she’s yanked out of her thoughts (thankfully, since her thoughts were beginning to drift towards the sexual encounter she had just found herself in) by her phone ringing in her sweatshirt pocket.

Assuming that it’s Duncan calling to threaten her, she doesn’t even glance at the screen before answering with a harsh “what!”

“Whoa, was not expecting that from you.”

Her shoulders relax when she hears the honeyed voice on the other end. “Sorry Madison, I thought you were someone else.”

Madison Montgomery is not the type of person (Y/N) thought she would ever be friends with. A former child actress with enough stories of rehab stints to rival her IMDb filmography, their paths are not two that would normally ever cross. Madison’s “friend,” Zoe (no matter how many times the two insist they’re just friends, (Y/N) sees the longing glances and the soft touches the pair exchange when they believe she’s not looking), was one of (Y/N)’s first friends when she moved to D.C. After becoming close with the political science student following a few school events both were required to be at, befriending Madison came naturally.

“By the sound of your voice when you answered, I’m assuming you’re glad it’s me instead of whoever else you thought it might be.”

“I’m definitely glad to be hearing from you.” It’s not a lie; Madison has been distant lately, and it was starting to make (Y/N) worry that she had done something wrong. “You went off the grid for a bit.”

“I was in negotiations for a new project, and it was taking up most of my freetime.”

“Did you get it?”

“Hopefully. They said that I’ll hear back soon. Anyways, I’m in D.C. for a few days and was wondering if you could find time in your busy schedule to hang out with me and Zoe who, might I add, has already said she could,” Madison says like she isn’t solely in the city to see Zoe.

“Absolutely! Just let me know what dates and times work for you and I’ll work something out.”

“Tomorrow night? We could have a wine night at Zoe’s after she gets done with work at around 8.”

The initial excitement (Y/N) feels at the plans with her friends fades away when she realizes she has other obligations tomorrow night. “Shit, I can’t. Maybe the next day?”

“Do you have a date, (Y/N)?”

She scoffs. “I wish. I have to go to this boring study group for class.”

“Skip it.”

“I can’t, it’s for a class I’m already struggling enough in.” Fuck, she really hates having to lie to people she cares about.

“Boo, why do you have to care about your grades and your future career?” Madison sighs. “Alright, we’ll do something when you don’t have to study.”

“I’m sorry, Mads.”

“Hmm, you should be.” She doesn’t mean it, but it still stings a bit. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, then.”

“See you Wednesday.” Madison hangs up the phone before (Y/N) even finishes speaking; if it were anybody else doing that, she would think they were mad at her, but that’s just typical Madison behavior.

Ducking back into the throng of people walking to and from their destinations, (Y/N) feels a pit of dread in her stomach as the knowledge of tomorrow begins to set in. Not only will she be seeing the man who she fucked and then proceeded to get into a fight with, but she’ll also be observing an extremely illegal arms deal taking place between mafia groups. She can only hope that she’ll make it out of tomorrow’s events unscathed, both physically and emotionally.

Duncan picks (Y/N) up outside of her apartment at precisely 9:00 p.m., citing a need to be early to the deal in some underhanded way to assert his family’s dominance. (Y/N) tries not to ogle at the car she’s currently riding, but that’s a task she’s failed at since the moment she saw the sleek black exterior parked on the side of the street. Duncan, of course, notices how desperately she tries to look unaffected by riding in a car that costs triple her college education.

“You look like you’re scared merely breathing will ruin the car,” Duncan teases, the first words either of them have said all night.

“I kind of am. This is the nicest car that I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Well, thank you. It’s an--”

“Aston Martin One-77, I know.” (Y/N) ducks her head in embarrassment when Duncan looks at her with wide eyes, assuming she shouldn’t have interrupted him. “I’m sorry, I know that was rude, but I’ve always really liked cars and while I don’t know a lot about fixing them or their engines or such, I love seeing a car and being able to name the make and model.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just wasn’t aware that you liked cars.” He shoots her a sly glance, subtly revving the car to watch how her eyes light up. “If I had known, I would have picked you up in one of my cars a whole lot sooner.”

“Wait, you have more like this?”

“Of course. You’re not the only one who has an interest in cars.”

She’s thoroughly impressed now, a fact Duncan would know even if he wasn’t able to read people’s emotions like they’re the summary on the dust-jacket of a book. He had been worried that she was either going to blow up about what had happened yesterday or completely ignore him, so this was a welcome surprise. As long as she doesn’t feel like talking about the events of the previous day, Duncan certainly won’t bring it up.

The location of this covert sale is, much like every other mafia-based experience, disguised behind a plain exterior. This time, it’s a small grocery store just over the Potomac that serves as the facade for illicit activities. Duncan parks the car in a side street so as not to arouse suspicion, turning the silent engine off before handing (Y/N) a gun.

“Don’t you have bodyguards to keep you from dying?”

“Yes, but...things can tend to go sideways during these types of events. It’s already a liability bringing you along, and since you know how to handle yourself around a gun now, it does no harm to be over prepared.”

(Y/N) eyes it warily, taking the weapon and checking the safety before tucking it in the waistband of her jeans. Duncan waits for (Y/N) to get out of the car before leading her up the stairs and through a loading dock. Even if she wasn’t too scared to go to the cops and she tried to put the Shepherds in jail, she wouldn’t be able to lead them to the location of the deal in this maze of a basement.

There’s already a small crowd in the room that they end up in, and (Y/N) holds back a shudder when she sees Langdon lurking in the corner. It’s obvious that a 10:00 meeting means 9:30 for syndicated crime, and Duncan’s a fan of being fashionably late.

“Mr. Shepherd,” the assumed leader, a tall raven-haired man with a Scottish accent, greets. “Have a seat.”

“I think I’ll remain standing, thank you, Mr. McCown.”

The man just barely scowls before turning his eyes on (Y/N). “Who’s the girl? You said no backup.”

“She’s hardly backup,” Duncan chuckles, a statement that (Y/N) takes minor offense to. “We agreed on one man each. I have Langdon, and you have Collum. (Y/N), here, is simply collateral damage.”

“Hmph.” McCown doesn’t look too pleased, but relents. “Are we gonna do business, then, or not?”

Duncan motions for Langdon with his left hand, who carries two large duffel bags to the table. Unzipping them, he reveals a variety of automatic weapons. McCown leans over the table to study the weapons, doing a mental count before reaching for the bags.

“Not so fast.” Langdon snatches the guns away from McCown upon Duncan’s word. “The money?”

Pulling open his suit jacket, the opposing crime boss sets stacks of hundred dollar bills on the table. Duncan appraises each stack quickly, thumbing through the paper with a learned precision. Each man watches the other as they grab their respective earnings, neither willing to be the loser in this staring contest.

“You know, I couldn’t help but to notice you were a thousand short of the agreed-upon total,” Duncan says coolly.

“It’s all there, I just saw you count it!”

“The tax? (Y/N)’s eyes flit between the men, Duncan’s jaw tightening in annoyance. “This is not your first time doing business with us, Frasier, surely you must know that there is a fee to bring your men into our territory.”

McCown smiles thinly, reluctantly pulling another wad of cash from his pocket. Duncan smugly takes it, and it’s when he’s counting the cash that everything goes awry.

(Y/N) doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The Scottish leader is zipping up the weapons bags and D.C.’s most notorious is tucking the money into his own jacket. She’s not sure what Langdon detects: a tic on someone’s face, the flinch of a hand, or even just the way a person breathes. Within a second, he’s got a handgun drawn and pointed at McCown’s right hand man, firing before the other man can even release the safety on his own gun.

Duncan ducks, pulling (Y/N) down under him as gunfire is exchanged. Her heart hammers in her chest, ears ringing from the harsh sounds above her as the shots start to taper off. She doesn’t even have time to process what just happened before Langdon’s yelling at them to go, Duncan hauling her up and throwing a duffel bag at her before dragging her out of the room. The clouds of gun smoke make it impossible to see who, or what, is damaged, and her eyes and lungs sting from the acrid scent as she runs up the stairs with Duncan.

Flinging herself into the car, she doesn’t even have time to put a seatbelt on before Duncan’s peeling out of the alley with the tires squealing. Instead of being frightened, Duncan actually looks excited as he checks behind his shoulder to make sure he’s not being followed. (Y/N), on the other hand, sits next to him in utter bewilderment.

“What the fuck was that?” (Y/N) exclaims, tossing the bag down at her feet when she realizes she’s still holding assault weapons.

“That was an attempted underhanded deal.” He clarifies upon her bemused shrug. “Frasier McCown and his gang thought that they would shoot me before taking the weapons and their money.”

“They were trying to kill you?”

“Probably not. They were most likely just trying to make sure I would go down before worrying about the repercussions later.”

“Langdon killed them, then?”

“I don’t know for sure, but he’s absolutely deadly with a gun. You’ve seen how skillfully he kills people.”

(Y/N) nods, remembering how the shot that killed the blue-haired Malakai seemed to come from nowhere. Looking out the window, the freeway passes by in a blur as Duncan drives towards downtown D.C. He’s trying to lose them, she realizes, on the off-chance that they are being followed.

Swinging into an empty parking lot off of 14th Street, the car lurches forward as Duncan abruptly parks. His hand gently brushes (Y/N)’s cheek, and she nearly bites his finger off until she feels the sting of a fresh cut on her face.

“You’re hurt,” Duncan notes with a frown.

“Oh, I probably just got scraped when we went to the ground. It’s fine, I think I’ll live.”

Duncan scoffs, rolling his eyes as he examines her to make sure there are no other wounds. Besides the battle wound on her cheek, she seems okay.

“What--” (Y/N) starts, clearing her throat, “are you hurt?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“(Y/N), you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve been in these situations before, and I have no doubt that I’ll be in situations like that again. This was your first time being caught in a firefight, and you’re shaking, so I just want to make sure you’re not in shock.”

“I’m not…” (Y/N)’s about to argue until she looks down and sees that her hands are shaking. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Duncan mocks. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good.” She starts to lightly giggle before breaking out into full-on laughter, making Duncan worry that she actually is going into shock. “No, seriously! I’m fine, I just--that was kind of cool.”

Duncan looks at her incredulously. “You thought that was cool?”

“Yes! It felt like I was in a James Bond movie.”

Despite his attempts to be serious, Duncan finds himself smiling at her exuberant laughter. “Well, I’m glad you thought that was fun. Hopefully we won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”

Later, (Y/N) will swear it’s the adrenaline rush that makes her act so foolishly. But with the silence in the car, and the way that Duncan’s smiling at her, it feels like she’ll spontaneously combust if she doesn’t kiss him immediately. Before she can remind herself why this is a bad idea, she leans in and presses her lips to his.

Duncan, thankfully, doesn’t immediately push her off and question her sanity. His lips are just as soft as they were yesterday, one hand going to grip the back of her neck while the other brushes against her cheek. (Y/N)’s hands find purchase in his now-messy hair, fingers threading through the strands as Duncan licks at her bottom lip. This time there’s no resistance from (Y/N), her mouth opening to allow Duncan’s tongue entrance while they grab onto each other like they’ll be torn away otherwise.

Relishing in the breathy moans (Y/N)’s beginning to let out, Duncan reluctantly pulls himself away from her lips in order to trail kisses down her neck. Laving his tongue against her thrumming pulse, Duncan grins when (Y/N) whines as he blows air over the wet patch, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He begins to suck a bruise just below the spot he just marked, nipping just enough to make (Y/N) yelp before surging back up to her lips.

(Y/N)’s head is spinning, the mix of adrenaline and lust making her almost dizzy. When Duncan finally releases her from his grasp after minutes? hours? an undetermined amount of time, she lets out a whine that sounds almost pathetic. Duncan wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, lips swollen from the extended amounts of pressure as he suddenly and inexplicably starts to drive. (Y/N)’s about to question why he stopped when, like a flash of lightning, the situation hits her with striking clarity. Kissing Duncan Shepherd in an abandoned parking lot like a couple of horny teenagers directly goes against everything she told him after their “training” yesterday.

From the driver’s seat, Duncan smirks when she faces the window with her arms crossed over her chest, obviously realizing her little slip-up. “Another mistake?” He can’t help himself from taunting her, especially not when she looks so upset with herself.

(Y/N) sneers. “Shut up.” Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Duncan how she subtly clenches her thighs together in search of relief, giving him a self-righteous sense of satisfaction.

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#Duncan Shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd imagines #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd smut #hoc #hoc imagine #hoc imagines #house of cards #house of cards imagine #ahs imagine #ahs apocalypse imagine

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kurtty-drabbles · 4 years ago

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Postwoman au (Part 4)

N/A: This all AU begins thanks to a cute comic of a postwoman sending letters to mermaids. So...we´ll get some action here. Also, I think Kitty and Krampus will have more time to bond and for Kitty to feel comfortable with him...like in Model verse. Well, here we go.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @muninandhugin

Getting the hangs up of any new job is something one takes time-yes, time is a bit relative, some bosses expect you to follow the flow of the company since yesterday and show no compassion, except, platitudes towards new workers- and even in a society where magical creatures, mutants, and humans can co-exist in peace. The only truth that is irrevocable is how society still works in a capitalist mindset. And the magic community is no different. Kitty arrives for her new day working for Krampus. The succubus secretary now is bestowing a more sporty look- too similar to that famous feminine soccer player everyone seems crazy about it- and has no regard for Kitty.

"Still room 23," she says without care or looking into Kitty´s eyes. Kitty can label her as rude. "Go, I´ve things to do" and Kitty will be glad to go but if she can confront a Krampus, well, she can confront a rude secretary.

"Look, I get you may not like humans. But I´m working here now...can you try to be less bitchy with me?"

"No, darling...I´m bitchy. And I´m even more bitchy because my last date turns out in failure. The man wanted to date the real one" she points at her looks "instead of me...and the rules prevented me to do anything against him"

"And...are you hungry?"

"No, just salty. And don´t worry, if I was hungry. Santa and Krampus wouldn´t let me in...I have my fill don´t worry. But my ego on the other hand..." and well, that´s enough of personal information.

"Well, even so. Don´t snap at me. I´ve nothing to do with your problems...got it?" she said looking at the succubus´s eyes firm and the creature shurgs off now doing her nails.

Well, at least, she´s not planning to eat me.

And with that Kitty uses her key and is now in room 23. All the while she wonders if she is respected here- "Am I a pet human or I really work here?"- and Krampus is there. In his desk folding some papers and now his golden eyes meet with her brown one. "I can feel your questions...Kitty, ask away then" and she has no time to fear- truth to be told, she fears but is too brash to let the fear sink in- and without further ado. She makes her questions.

"How do you know a person truly deserves to be punished? Yes, you show me...there´re bad children out there" Kitty amends before she was forced to see those crimes again. Sometimes, children can be needlessly cruel and Kitty doesn´t want to face that.

Krampus snaps his finger and a mini-version of himself bamf into the desk. Kitty would find the creature cute if it wasn´t by the fact this creature works for Krampus. The little creature is gazing at Kitty-titling his head and speaking Bamf as its only word for communication- and is waving his tail.

"They do the job for me. They´re my eyes. So to speak. They´re called Bamfs" he looks amused either at the said bamf or to the fact Kitty is caressing the said bamf´s head. -gingerly touches. His fur is like velvet and Kitty has to wonder if anything if Krampus´s fur is really soft as the bamf- and she speaks again. "Ok. They spy for you. But...still, errors can happen"

"Not in my profession. Not on my job. You see, I have more eyes than you can imagine. Wind spirits, faes, and sometimes even Gods keep me update on who is naughty and who isn´t. Also, sometimes, a person is naughty but I can´t interfere"

"Why?" and Kurt/Krampus come closer and has a sort of malicious glee in his eyes. "Me and Santa are your bosses. But we have our bosses as well...and sometimes, mortals are punished by them...and trust me, they´re way worse than me" and Kitty won´t back down.

"Ok, what´s the point of your torture? I mean, you´d not seem a sadistic type" Krampus is somewhat amused by this line. "if you were, you would have tortured me a long time ago. So, you aren´t torturing people just because..."

"True, I´d torture people and give the chance of them to change. Remember Katzchen" he drawled out. "I´m responsible for revenge. I seek out those who committed terrible deeds. I´m not after innocents"

"And how many people have changed after, uhm, everything?"

"20% of them. Some can change. Some humans have the chance to turn the new page and be a better version of themselves...while others...will rather die than admit faults"

"What if you try to take someone who is close to me?"

"I wouldn´t" and Kitty thinks is because some contract or law established. "All your friends have a pure soul and are sinless. I have no reason to go after any of your friends, family, and even some people you see daily. They all are good souls Kitty...just like you" he concludes. Those words sink in.

"I´ll not kill for you" not a question. A fact. Krampus is not bothered by that.

"You´re not here to help torture others nor to kill. So, of course, I wouldn´t ever ask this to you. Anything else?"

"Why Galaticus indicated me?"

"Ok, that I can´t answer. Look, he never did that in the past. If he indicated you...he has his reasons. I can feel you´re afraid. I´m a bit afraid too...again, Galaticus never indicated anyone..." the man swallows hard and now the bamf is cuddling with him. "this is new to me too"

Oh...I never thought about this angle.

"So, since we´re working together...let´s get along. This is new to us, but, we´re here now" Kitty concludes and maybe her curiosity is satiated for now.

(Not really. She has no idea what Krampus is. And she is not sure if she can just ask this to him- wouldn´t that be rude?- she vouches to do some research more deep research about her boss)

"Do you have more questions?"

"For now? No" and Krampus seems more amused- too extrovert. Not what some movies portray him to be- "I have a mission for you. Say, do you know about the Little mermaid?" and before Kitty can answer. "Not the Disney version"

"Yes, a very depressing story" Kitty interjected. "Why?"

"Well, I have something I need you to deliver to the sea witch" and with a snap of his fingers a purple box materialized in his desk. "I need you to return this to the witch. She made me a favor a couple of years ago...and I´m now paying" and Kitty looks between the box and her boss.

"Krampus, I can´t breathe underwater"

"I know...do you know Neverland?"Krampus asked grinning. And Kitty is quick to quips.

"Isn´t that place where Peter Pan lives? The man is facing some big sues and did some serious crimes" and she eyes Krampus who only shurgs in response. "Not every crime is dealt with me, Kitty, and yes...he did those crimes, but, anyway...the Sea Witch likes to hang out in the lakes of Neverland with all her entourage of mermaids." and if Kitty thought this would be an aquatic adventure. She´s wrong.

"And how is the Sea Witch? I mean, how she looks like?...I´m guessing she´s not like Disney"

"Correct and don´t mention that version to her. She hates it. Her name is Ursula, by the way, but, even if you didn´t know her name...she has two different colors in her eyes. One is green and the other is blue. That´s the signal of a Sea Witch" and adds just to make his point come across. "And is really, really rare. She´s not happy that Disney made her a villain or made her ugly...her words, not mine. She´s one of the prettiest mermaids in the court and has magic"

"Will she sue Disney?"

"She has magic but she´s not that powerful"

"Ok, not going ask what´s inside"

"Well..."

"I SAID I´LL NOT ASK WHAT´S INSIDE"

And using her key she´s gone. Krampus almost pouts. He was looking forward to sharing this story with someone.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Neverland is just like Kitty imagined. And the mermaids are just like Kitty imagined to be. Pretty ladies -unashamed of everything else. Tits out. No shame- and as Krampus mentioned, it was easy to located Ursula- what Kitty has to deal is to talk with pretty ladies and deliver the box. No big deal. She can do it.

I can do it. I can do it.

Stepping on the rocks in the pond where the mermaids are Kitty speaks. "I´m working for Krampus...he has a delivery to you" and shows the box and Ursula grins wide and the mermaids- who may or may not have thought in prank Kitty. Now, change their sentiments to be more friendly- and Ursula hugs the box as if her life depends on it.

Kitty does not wish to know what is inside.

"Thank you. I was waiting for this for a long time. Please, let me reward you" and the mermaids took her cue and are making a necklace to Kitty- a token of their gratitude. If Ursula is happy. They´re happy too- and once-promising is just a necklace and not a curse ("dear, cursed necklace are out fashion years ago")- Kitty accepts the necklace (seashells and aquatic flowers she never heard before) and manages to talk with the mermaids.

"Now that Peter is arrested. We rule Neverland...and those pirates hate that"

"And the animals?"

"Ah, the unicorns don´t care...as long we don´t bother them"

And now the box is delivered and Kitty has a good relationship with the mermaids("come to visit us, Kitty, we can talk more") Kitty uses the key to return.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Happy hour with the boss was never something Kitty was counting, but, alas her boss wanted to take her out to celebrate ("the mermaids don´t like messengers so easily") and offers to take her to a nice coffee shop- once she made clear she doesn´t like go to clubs- and Kitty is wondering if Krampus works in the law of the fae.

"Uhm, Krampus..."

"Kurt, my name is Kurt...and we´re outside the working place. You can call me Kurt...well, you can call me Kurt anytime you want. Call me Krampus is just as if I call you human"

Oh, he has a point.

"Ok, Kurt"

"Say, Kitty, I have some question for you" and Kitty decides to buy her coffee and cupcake before he could do it. Even if he´s not a fae...she doesn´t like men to pay for her stuff.

"Ok"

"Are you married?"

"Not sure how this has to do with anything...but, my first boyfriend propose to me. I rejected him. I´m not interested in marrying"

"Kitty, what you wanted to do with your life?"

"Live well"

"Do you fear me?"

"A little...but I think is all because how new this is to me"

And Krampus smiles.

"Think we can be friends?"

"Maybe? I´m too introvert, you seem to extrovert but hey, some of my friends are extroverts..."

#Postwoman au #kitty pryde #kurt wagner #Krampus!Kurt #kurtty yet #Mermaids #based on a comic #Kitty has questions #she will befriend Krampus or is the other way around?

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nelllraiser · 5 years ago

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your ass is grass | deirdre & nell

TIMING: after deirdre’s fateful call with regan’s dad. (yes, this is old) PARTIES: @deathduty and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: regan is grass. nell still hates mimes. deirdre isn’t a rotten egg. penises.

HellaHairFlip Today at 12:40 AM: do u have anything to add walmart dentist Today at 12:41 AM: add that i love u :/

A lot of things were going wrong for Deirdre, she was happy at least at sneaking into a nearby recreation center was not one. “Move your feet, Penelope. We’ve got something very important to steal.” The door clinked open and the banshee pushed it open, waiting for the human to follow her in. She adjusted the mask on her face, an unnecessary precaution, probably, but she might have taken any excuse to wear a mime mask. They were truly terrifying. “We can’t commit theft if that’s how slow you’re going to move. Don’t witches have more self-respect than this?” The cold night air drifted in behind her, a perfect day for a little criminal activity. Penelope wasn’t her first choice in companions, but she’d need the witch for the spell once they were done here. So it was convenient, more than anything.

Of all the things to steal, Nell was rather...surprised that it was only fake grass that was needed as an ingredient for breaking a fae promise. “I’m moving fine!” she hissed back, feeling rather dramatic in her all black outfit along with the ski mask over her eyes. “And did you have to wear a mime mask of all things? Cursed creatures. Snobby know-it-alls. They probably think you’re emulating them.” Nevertheless, she thought it’d be rather fun to commit a little bit of theft, even if it was only grass. Besides, if she got brought home by cops— it wouldn’t be the first time. “So why do we need grass anyway?” she asked as they closed in on their target.

“Why aren’t you wearing the mime mask I bought you?” Deirdre hissed, though her anger deflated a moment later. If someone saw them, it’d be the mime and the bargain bin bank robber, and she’d kill to see that headline somewhere. “We can’t be a team like this.” She knew Penelope couldn’t see the smirk on her face, but she hoped the child could feel it. “This was the only mask left in the store,” she groaned, leading the witch through the halls until they reached one of the fields. Glorious, beautiful turf shone back at her through the small window in the double doors. Deirdre pushed on the handle and unsurprisingly found it clunk back at her with the telltale signs of being, equally unsurprisingly, locked. “I told you on the way here: we need the grass for the spell. It takes two parts, fae components and then something representative of the spell. My darling Regan is the grass, or the not-grass, but her father thinks of her like grass.” She looked up at the mechanism that held the door in place and turned back to the witch, gesturing up at it. “Can you do anything about that? I don’t suppose you know any convenient door opening spells, do you?”

“Because mimes are the literal scourge of the Earth!” Nell’s voice was full with the passion of a thousand suns on that matter. “I’d rather die than impersonate a mime.” Damn. She would have liked to be a team, though. Nell hadn’t thought of that. “Maybe if you’d gotten anything else but the mimes- we could have been the super cool theft tag team. I feel like we could have even just made homemade masks. A fun bonding activity, don’t you think?” She was only half-joking. It’d probably be amusing to see what sort of mask Deirdre might fashion. “Yeah, yeah, but why is Regan grass? None of your analogies make sense.” Nevertheless, she gave a bit of a smug smile as Deirdre requested her services. With a simple few words, and the passing of her hand over the mechanism, the door was ready to go. “Now who’s lacking self-respect?” The retort didn’t make any sense, sure. But it made her feel a little better.

“You really...hate mimes.” Deirdre blinked, simply listening to the child. She hadn’t expected it to be such a hot-button issue, but she also hadn’t expected to be stealing grass in the middle of the night with someone who was, effectively, a child. “I don’t do crafts, I make people do crafts for me and then I throw them out,” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest as though it were the most obvious of fact---that she would never degrade herself doing anything lowly. “Regan isn’t the grass, her dad wants her to be grass: easily maintained, something to look at. He only cares enough to keep his lawn looking the way he wants it, no matter what that means. Regan isn’t grass, she’s better than---oh, forget it. Why am I even explaining this to you?” But her explanation served as filler between Penelope’s spell and the door clicking open. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to say, Penelope,” Deirdre smiled, pushing open the door and pausing at the threshold between the field and the hall. Then she turned, her smile twisting with mischief, “last one in is a rotten egg.” And being right at the door, Deirdre took the first step on to the fake grass and was, unceremoniously, not the rotten egg. “You humans have some delightful phrases, although I hope this doesn’t mean I just turned you into an egg.” She paused, “the last one in is not a rotten egg.” She turned back, pulling a knife from her back and gesturing around. “Do you want to do anything else or shall I get started on the grass.”

“They’re my biggest and most mortal enemy on this Earth,” Nell finished succinctly before thinking to continue on with. “Though often I doubt if they’re actually mortal. Especially that weird one that walks on all fours.” Nevertheless, her disdain for the mimes dissipated as she traded it for amusement. “Crafts can be fun.” Nell wasn’t entirely sure if she’d entirely caught the whole ‘grass’ analogy, but she was fairly certain she at least understood it well enough to be able to replicate the spell Deirdre was teaching her...if she ever needed to. Surely being able to do away with fae promises was something that would come in handy one day. “No fair! I wasn’t warned! You’re supposed to count down from three or something.” She was, quite understandably, quite miffed at having found herself the rotten egg, though she was quickly placated by Deirdre’s rectification of the situation. “Oh- that’s much better. Thank you. I could feel my yolk forming as we spoke.” Nell scanned the surrounding area, as if someone was waiting to jump out and yell, ‘Gotcha!’. Though could they actually be arrested for taking fake grass? “No, no, please proceed with your grazing. I’ll be here.” She squinted at the knife. “You know you could probably just pull the fake grass up...right?”

“Oh! You’ve seen that thing too?” Deirdre knew they were getting off-topic, but what was a chat about mimes while they stole fake grass? “I was with someone who cut its head off and the cursed thing just grew right back! Such a shame, really. I would have loved to pick through the bones that thing must leave…” she paused, gazing off, lost in the fantast in her head. “If any,” Deirdre murmured finally, shaking her head and moving along. “I think you’d look like Humpty Dumpty if you were an egg. You know, with the eyes and the mouth and the small little legs dangling over your brick wall.” Deirdre bent down, stabbing her knife into the grass and digging out a clean square for them to take. “This is more fun,” she glanced up, working through her patch of grass, “you’re not terrible for a human, Penelope. Certainly more fun than some---”

“Hey!” A voice boomed through the walls, and the jangling of keys followed. “Is anybody in there?” The double doors on the other side clanked open, and an old man dressed in security blues hobbled in. “You whippersnappers better not be painting any more penises here!”

In a moment, Nell put two and two together, her brow furrowing together a bit. “Wait, are you talking about Shiloh? She was telling me she cut it’s head off!” She’d been a bit jealous that she hadn’t been there to witness that, or have the honor of cutting it off— even if it wasn’t it’s real head. “But true...it’d probably be some pretty weird bones.” Her nose wrinkled, immediately rejecting Deirdre’s egg classification of her. “Ew, no. I couldn’t be. I don’t fall off of walls. I’m gonna be like a...dragon egg. You can be a chicken egg,” she joked with a little shrug. But she nodded sagely at the other woman’s claim, knowing firsthand that it truly was more fun to cut things with a knife. “Aww, Deirdre. Careful now. I’ll start thinking you like me or-” But her head snapped towards the voice that had yelled out, and she took in the sight of the night guard. “Do you have enough grass yet??” she asked in a hurried tone, not really wanting to be taken home in the back of a cop car or something. “Damn- we should have drawn some penises, though,” she finished under her breath.

“You know Shiloh too?” Deirdre, astonished again, blinked. It really was a small town. “Is Humpty Dumpty not a beloved story, Penelope?” She teased, making quick work of the turf below and slinging it over her shoulder once a sizable enough square has been cut. “I do like you, human. I say this now because you’ve suggested phallic defacement and of that, I am always a fan.” The guard finally snapped his flashlight to life and cast its orange-tinted light over to the two trespassers.

“Oi! You two there better not be drawin’ any penises or else I’m--” he paused, squitining. Then he took a cautious step forward. “Are you….are you two stealin’ grass?”

Deirdre snapped up, down with her thievery but not so done with her mischief. She turned to Penelope and gave a wide smirk, then turned back. “It was her!” And with no remorse, she pointed at the younger girl and dashed from the field with her fake-grass. She spared one singular glance backwards, seeing the security guard waving his light around and giving a very slow chase. He was too shocked to speak into his transerver to report the crime, but not shocked enough to trip over as he attempted to give chase. He hollered behind them, “a mime and a ski-enthusiast are stealing grass! A mime and a ski-enthusiast! My wife said it could never happen! I knew I was right to worry!”

‘Bitch!” Nell called after Deirdre, though it was colored with some amusement. “You’ll never catch us alive!” She yelled dramatically before hauling ass after Deirdre, rather quick on her feet. But then the other woman’s words about phallic drawings as well as the security guard’s were running through her head. And truly...she couldn’t resist. In a moment she was waving a hand over the grass, and a giant, stark white penis was glowing up from the greenery. Who cared if she used a little magic while her identity was hidden? As the man’s voice continued to yell after them, her joyful laugh flitted through the air, all too pleased with her art as her and Deirdre made their grand escape.

#chatzy #your ass is grass #ch:deirdre #wickedswriting

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cruzrogue · 5 years ago

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Fighting Actions

#Fictober19 @fictober-event

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for fanfiction:

Prompt number: 20 “You could talk about it, you know?”

Xtra prompt: "So you think u r field ready huh?" prompt suggestion is a continuation to that one, where Felicity gets her turn to defend herself. I can see L getting angry and raising her hand to hit Felicity. But unbeknownst to the team, Sara trained Felicity in some moves after a handsy guy at verdant and put L on the ground.

Fandom (AU if applicable): #arrow fanfiction #olicity

Rating:PG13

Felicity Smoak vs Laurel Lance

Warnings/Tags: Mild name calling and a small fighting piece.

Summary: Continuation to Fighting Words, instead of Diggle its Felicity vs Laurel. After trying to be nice and work with the sister of a fallen friend Felicity has had it with the inconsiderate woman in the lair she calls a part of her home.

Notes: A companion piece to prompt 6 “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?” John Diggle vs Laurel Lance

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

Fighting Actions on A03

Oliver can tell something is up with his girl Wednesday. She’s just doing her best to keep her distance from him. The lair is only so wide in space. It’s hard not to focus on certain spots and one of them is Felicity’s workspace. The one area that everyone seems to intersect on. The brains of any operation goes through that spot. That specific station she uses also progressed since its conception to be the eyes and ears on the field where her voice has on many occasions more than he can count on both hands led them from certain doom. She uses her craft to engage in keeping them safe as filters through intel rapidly and he is always in awe on how the heart of the team keeps a certain flare of positivity. She really is something else and right now he notices that she isn’t herself.

Pulling a chair in a manner that tells her he’s coming over to talk. Like a real sit down tête-à-tête. If she is bothered by this, he can’t tell she hasn’t really moved a muscle as she’s stiff in his presence.

“You could talk about it, you know?” He says this hoping it opens her up just a bit. Something is bothering her and he’s like to know what. Now that he is close he is noticing something she’s doing her best to cover her hand. Why didn’t he notice this earlier? These moments observing her, he not once saw her type her hands under the table away from prying eyes. His focus on her face mostly but he won’t deny that he did a once over from her toes up her legs until the view was constricted by the table hiding a good portion of her body from where he was standing earlier. “Felicity? What is wrong with your hands?”

A long sigh of hers and he’s now is beyond worried. “It’s really just one hand.” Then she is quiet again and Oliver counts slowly to three because there is no way he’d make it to ten.

“Let me see?”

“I just have a swollen hand and I have it wrapped in ice. I’m good.”

In a more direct authoritative voice, “Let me see.” That gets her to finally really look at him as she’s been trying to hide in plain sight. Pulling out her hands from under the table. He can see her right hand is wrapped with a towel. Taking it softly he begins to unwrap the cloth around her hand to see a large ice bag against her knuckles. Their purple. It could be the coldness of the ice which she shouldn’t have directly on her skin for long periods of time. He’s worried even more now.

“I’ve had it wrapped for fifteen minutes, I’ve been trying to look calm so you’d do your thing and I could peek at my hand.”

“Felicity, did you… did you get into a fight?”

She pulls her hand back about to ice it again when Oliver places his hand over hers in a hoover fashion so not to really touch and hurt her.

“Let’s check your hand. You’ve had it on ice for a good amount of time. We don’t want to constrict the blood vessels.” He takes the ice from her. “We can add ice again later. Right now let’s allow the injured area to get the blood flow back. Allow for the healing process to begin.”

“Okay.”

“In the meantime you can tell me how this injury came to be.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Does it happen to include another woman by let’s say the name Laurel?”

“What? Why do you ask?” Felicity eyes are like saucers and that answers his question even though he’ll wait for her answer.

“Felicity?”

“Alright. Yes, it does evolve your perfect ex.”

“Perfect?” He tries not to laugh. Are they talking about the same woman? His ex is far from perfect and he doesn’t like that Felicity even feels inferior to a woman who struts around acting all mighty while pushing people’s buttons. He knows John has told his peace to Laurel. Making sure the woman knows exactly where she stands. In a way he’s noticed since that confrontation two weeks ago that John and Laurel have a more admirable relationship.

“Since Sara died, Laurel… Well I can understand her anger. I’ve tried to not let her spite get to me but tonight…” Felicity stops she doesn’t need Oliver’s sympathy. She’ the odd girl out the one of them that can’t fight.

“I prefer if you don’t ever need to fight.” She moans she said that last part out loud. “From where I am sitting, you must have a great right hook.”

“What?”

“I was upstairs tending to Laurel’s nosebleed she wouldn’t tell me what happened. I thought she got into another over her head situation. Gave her another speech of a few boxing lessons doesn’t equate to a vigilante fighter.”

“Do you think she listened?”

“If she is so perfect like you stated she would. Now we both know she’s like a Chihuahua all bark and maybe she’ll get some moves. I mean she’ll have to if…” He shakes his head. “She doesn’t belong here; her place is in the courtroom when her bark is the strongest.”

“I used her own sister’s teachings to punch her in the face. I am a horrible person.”

“Sara taught you some moves?”

“Don’t get mad.”

Oliver makes a pfft sound.

“No really Oliver.”

“Felicity? When someone says those words it means you know very well what you are about to tell me will make me mad.”

Her eyes shut in realization but now that she opened her mouth she just tells him about the guy who took a liking to her. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and well Sara intervened the first time and showed Felicity some moves. What started as just how to break from a hold became a lot more lessons in self-defense. So much so that when the creep made his move and she politely told him no, she had to knock some sense into him. It’s a secret she shares with Quentin Lance as he hauled the man to jail. She told the man his daughter is the reason she could even protect herself. Seeing the unknown pride show in the man’s eyes was enough for a moment between them.

“Why didn’t you tell John or myself? Even Roy would…”

“Because I’m not a damsel-in-distress. I can’t always rely on others when I’m by myself.”

“Felicity, it’s not that I…”

“Oh please. You’re like a caveman at times.” She waves her good hand at him. “I don’t need every guy who gives me the sideway glance to have an arrow somewhere on their appendage.”

He rolls his tongue to his cheek. She got him there. He’d have no problem tending to anyone who would assume to hurt her. “Okay, your right. I would have done some damage to this creep. Is he still a bother?”

“No. He moved. I have him on a program I created to keep tabs of… You know what? It’s not important.”

Oliver’s jaw tightens. She just told him indirectly that there is a list of suspects that have made enough of a mess in her orbit to be in a program created to keep tabs on them.

“Felicity?”

“You know what? I’m starting to have feeling in my hand again. It’s still throbs. Should I place ice on it again?”

“In a bit. I want to check it before we ice it again. It may not need it. Now about this program.”

“Oliver, it’s no big deal. It just something I created after my first stalker in college.” That wasn’t the right thing to say apparently because she can see the vein in his neck throb. “None of these people are in Starling anyways so…”

“I want to know who they are.”

“Now?” He looks at her hand. He should check it without any distraction.

“Later. I want to know more about these people. I know you’ll think I’m overreacting but it would make me feel better if I just know. Okay?”

“Fine.” She shrugs not worried about her safety.

“For now, you can tell me what happened between you and Laurel.” He can see she’s about to oppose. “And don’t you say nothing!”

Her sigh of defeat makes him give her a small smile.

“Fine!” She begins how she was working on her programs. Some were just updating while others she was adding some crime statistics to calculate a future problem. When Roy left to go hang with his girlfriend as Laurel came in a little more agitated than usual. The woman started nick picking things. Like she ran the place.

“Laurel, what brings you here?” Felicity tries to be pleasant, she wasn’t expecting Laurel to be here on a Friday night. The club upstairs is in full swing. She can hear the bass just above her. The new DJ is rocking the house.

“I don’t need a reason to come by.” Laurel looks at an empty spot near the glass cases. She may just place her things there. “Why is it so drafty in here?”

“It’s not any different than most nights.” Felicity just observes the woman who is walking around where Oliver places his leathers. “I just thought you had that court thing where you were planning to talk to that witness.”

“What? Are you keeping my schedule?”

“No, you just mentioned it the last time you were here.”

Laurel just hums a “hmm” out loud.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Felicity? I don’t need your help. Just go back to typing, you know what you’re good at and let me do my thing.”

“I know the layout of the foundry quite well. I helped design it. If there is anything…”

“Can’t you take a hint. I said I was fine. Why are you here anyways?”

Felicity is stumped. Usually Laurel is just snippy but still reasonable. “Laurel I’m always here. This is my domain.”

“I never understood that? Is your life so empty that you need to hold onto a basement of a club? That’s just so pathetic.”

“I don’t consider it ridiculous not when I helped Oliver save a girl from being taken advantage of or John saving a couple from a mugging.”

“All you did is what? They were probably on their way to do it anyways.”

“You don’t think to highly of me. Do you? Not until you need something.”

“There is nothing really you have I need. You come off as a replacement piece. Easily replaceable. Maybe I should take a few computer classes at the community center and viola be following little dots on screens too.”

“Those dots don’t magically appear. I created the programs that has Oliver, John, and Roy tagged and yes color coded but you think you can just sit in my chair and what? Play a game with their lives because what I have set up is not a video game system. It blood, sweat, and tears of frustration creating programs that will keep my boys alive.”

“Yet you can’t figure out who killed my sister.”

“Why is this on me? You were there at the scene. You didn’t see no one and yet place all this stress on a family she cared for to. Granted you are her sister. You’re not the only one who cared about Sara.”

“You have some nerve.”

“Me? I’m not the one strutting around like a peacock. Someone who keeps being ruffed up because she doesn’t take this lifestyle seriously.” Felicity can’t help it now; this woman has ruffed her feathers to many times. She is no one’s doormat and if this woman wants to play with the big boys she better understand that Felicity Smoak is the keeper of this house.

This journey started with Oliver and John and it works because they have a deep respect for each other’s abilities. She’s all for feminism but there be hell to pay if Laurel thinks all because she’s a woman and is learning to fight in the world of vigilantism that she’ll outrank her. There is a fierce lioness in Felicity and protecting anyone in this family is her priority. When and if Laurel can cut it she’d be included but for now the woman is on a trial basis. It is this outsider who needs to prove herself.

“Says the keyboard warrior.” Laurel has had it with this girl. A person that has wiggled herself into Oliver Queen’s life. “You don’t put your life on the line. You’re just a technician.”

“Is that the only thing about me you don’t like or is there a certain someone that is over you that you need to take out on me?”

“Pfft, that one and only date. Don’t kid yourself.” Felicity stands her ground as it seems Laurel needs to get closer to maybe intimidate what she perceives as a threat. “Ollie will keep you around as long as it benefits him. As I said don’t kid yourself into believing there will ever be a you and him.”

“Finally we get what really irks you. He isn’t a prize to be won. If you think you need to scare off any competition than you really never had him.”

“You think you know him from what… The three years of being in his radar. I know Ollie before the Gambit and I know him now. You will never really know him.”

Felicity can’t help but laugh. This woman has some delusional problems. She thinks knowing Oliver pre-Gambit is the man she’d want to know. The boy slept with his girlfriend’s sister and who knows how many others. There be no way she’d even give him a glance back then especially those were the times that her hacktivism played a large roll in who she wanted to be.

“I am supposedly lucky because I’d hate to be stuck calling him a nickname that makes him cringe when you say it.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous? I can be many things but I’m over being jealous of you. I don’t envy you at all. Like I haven’t noticed how sweet you seem to be when you want something and then how flippant you can be when there is nothing in it for you.” Felicity still considers the woman to be perfect in certain ways. She can’t help that there is still lingering feelings of the last few years. All-in-all she truly considers Laurel to be a stubborn mule and maybe if they clean this air between them they could move forward. Becoming a family means there are times for a thrown down. As long as there is a respect built on it. At this moment she can’t see that happening but she lives a strange life so anything is possible.

Her frame just towering slightly over Felicity as an added incentive to try to make Felicity feel powerless. Laurel just gets this smirk on her face as what she’s about to say will triumph anything, “You’re still that nobody that you introduced yourself to me as. That geeky chick working in a basement of a club. One thing about Ollie and you should know this really well you’ve seen him with all these beauties he has no problem using and discarding is that he also is attracted to strong women. Something you are not.”

“Ouch!” Felicity is so over this conversation. Laurel really does underestimate her opponent. “The thing is Laurel. I don’t know who you bullied in school? I don’t know if you even black mailed your way through law. You reek of obstinacy. Thinking you are above everyone else. You may try act like a queen bee but your nothing but an omega.”

That is all it takes to have Laurel try to smack Felicity. Telling her that her character isn’t all that. Felicity side steps easily already anticipating an attack. Even shooting out to protect herself from an incoming punch. It’s after a “Pow” that Felicity just looks at the woman on the floor holding her face now. She can’t help her babbling words that fall from her lips, "So you think you are field ready huh?" Taking a step back. “Taken down by a technician.”

Felicity looks at how Oliver is bobbing his head to her story. His fingers have been slowly petting her hand as he seems to be in awe.

“I never really meant to hurt her physically just wound her pride. Fighting words became fighting actions and I’m not sorry. I drew the line she’s not bossing me around again.”

“I don’t think she’ll dare to.”

“You probably should do some damage control. She could make our lives more difficult.”

He nods in agreement but for now he just wants to show Felicity how proud he is of her. This woman tried diplomacy and after being pushed around really stood her ground. “If you’ll wait here I have a container of chocolate mint upstairs in the cooler.”

“You do?”

He nods as he gets up to get her the ice cream he bought recently. For some reason he thought she’d need it and he is glad he held on to it till this moment. Before he reaches the first step he turns and tells Felicity, “So you know, you are one of the most-strongest individuals I have ever met and for once Laurel is right I do have a thing for strong women.” He is up the steps before she can form a sentence.

Leaving Felicity to smile even if her hand still aches badly, “Shoot note to self: Hitting stubborn people in the head side effect is like punching a brick wall.”

#fictober19 #olicity #oliver queen #felicity smoak

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askiisoft · 5 years ago

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FAN ART FRIDAY: ALL THE WARRIORS, Part 2

And to think I was planning to fit all of the OCs into one week...yeah, not happening. With 50+ entries and counting, I’ll be lucky to fit them all into four parts.

Welcome back to Part 2 of “All The Warriors”, a multi-week showcase of the Katana ZERO community’s awesome fan characters! The volume of submissions for this event has been mind-blowing, to the point where I’ve had to create a dedicated Excel spreadsheet to keep track of them all. If you haven’t submitted your character yet, there’s still one week left! If you have, rest assured that it’ll will be included eventually, so please be patient!

For those who missed it, don’t forget to check out Part 1 of this series.

[WARNING: The work herein is based on fan creations, and should not be considered canon.]

Alpha 13, “Believer” by @DokusatsuMurXer

What is the loneliest number? ‘One’, you say? Nope, it’s 13...Alpha 13, that is.

Being one of the first Alpha-series NULL, it’s likely that Thirteen joined purely out of adoration for the illusive “Great Scientist”—a noble cause compared to the violent psychosis that defined the later Gamma-series NULL. While it’s clear he’s taken lives in service of his one-sided infatuation, it’s hard not to see him as another victim, still pining for his senpai’s attention even after everyone’s graduated and moved away years ago. Why do we always love the one who will hurt us the most?

According to @DokusatsuMurXer’s, the drunken swirls in his Post-war portrait are hiding something much steamier. I can only imagine.

Please, senpai. By @DokusatsuMurXer

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Beta 6, “Blade” by @Khwany_kawawii

In the Third District, there’s only two ways to get what you need: by coercion, or by force. Beta 6 opts for both, and seems to have a reputation on par with The Dragon amongst hapless goons. Ironically, it seems amnesiac NULL like Blade or Zero are the ones who kept going on killing sprees after the war, instead of throwing in with criminal syndicates or settling into an ordinary day job.

Her giant curtain of hair, while a bit ridiculous-looking standing still, would certainly add a sense of dynamism as she flipped and pirouetted in midair, tossing knives left and right. Also, knives.

“With no drugs, I will die. But with the drugs...I am the Killing Angel.” By @Khwany_kawawii

—

Ema by @Khwany_kawawii

Well, would you look at that. Not only is Ema our first non-NULL OC, but also the first...*drum roll*...Cromag! That’s right—as a child, Ema barely survived a NULL attack that killed her family, and she’s dedicated her life to finding whoever was responsible ever since.

The concept of a private eye in Katana ZERO’s neo-noir metropolis, especially one who suffers from such intense trauma and racial discrimination, has fantastic plot potential. What if she finds the NULL who orphaned her, but they don’t remember it? What if they have to team up? I can’t help but wonder how long an average woman (bionic arm aside) could survive in this dark underbelly of drugged-up super-soldiers...

—

Gamma 4 by @camellia_066

Not every hero dies on a battlefield.

Being a commander means taking responsibility for those under your command. For some that extends beyond wartime, and especially so after the one-way process of becoming NULL; while an Alpha could skip doses of Chronos with nothing more than a nosebleed, a Gamma might require twice the dosage just to stay lucid.

Maybe the weight of New Mecca’s defeat was too much for him to bear. Maybe he knew that a cure for Chronos was a pipedream. But it was better to die for the slim chance of salvation than witness his former comrades slaughter one another for just another dose.

—

Gamma 12 by @wqwrppwu

So this is who’s been stealing my Uber Eats.

The idea of a Gamma-level NULL—especially one as devious-looking as Gamma 12—working as a pizza guy is hilarious to me. I have a soft spot for features like thin noses, wild eyes, and razor teeth that just scream “bad guy, stay away”. Most other NULL would just kill the cashier and take what they want, but Twelve uses his powers to steal booze and cigarettes and get away with it, every time.

It makes sense that he’d be best friends with Alpha 25, “Pomidor” (see Part 1) thanks to their mutual eccentricity and love of mayhem.

Camaraderie at work. By @wqwrppwu

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Gamma 5 by twink-182

Beta 6 had better be a wizard to claim the nickname “Blade”, given how many Gamma-level knife experts roam the city’s underbelly. Once part of Fifteen’s circle of former NULL, Gamma 5 evidently saw the writing on the wall and decided to leave before his comrade’s vendetta drew him deeper into danger. Otherwise, who knows, we might have had a quick, teleporting knife-thrower heckling us throughout the Headhunter boss fight...yeah, maybe it’s for the best that he’s M.I.A.

I’m guessing the photo and red string is just another point on Fifteen’s byzantine conspiracy board; I hope we get to see the whole thing one day.

—

Alpha 4 by @kym0433

As with any conflict, the end of Cromag War produced massive windfalls for organized crime in terms of illegal weapons, war drugs, and super-soldiers thirsty for Chronos. Luckily for Alpha 4, the Chinese had carved out their own niche in New Mecca’s Chinatown, and they offered him a steady supply of "ke le nuo si”, as they called it, plus a cushy job as a bodyguard; after all, who would dare to start trouble on their turf? Who, but a certain samurai who walked up to the roulette table one day...

While Ted might not be the strongest NULL, he leads the pack in terms of fashion. No musty olive fatigues for this killer—whether it’s a traditional patterned chengshan or tasseled shawl, Ted makes it look awesome. No one would even suspect he’s hiding weapons under there!

By @kym0433

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Beta 24, “Cecil” by @Tacoyaki86

Contrary to popular belief, the inability to feel pain is not a superpower, especially when paired with a military specialization as hazardous as demolitions and bomb disposal. Imagine not realizing your hands got blown off until you reached for a sip of coffee. That, and you’d be stone deaf from constant close-range explosions and minigun fire.

Knowing that, I can understand Beta 24′s desire to spend a quiet veterancy at a manga café, where the otaku don’t want to chat anyway and the biggest risks are coffee burns and paper cuts.

Also, is that chevron on his beret the same as Headhunter’s? That must indicate rank, or possibly explosives experts. Given Headhunter’s propensity for sticky mines and suicide vests, I’d believe it.

“Detonation successful!” By @Tacoyaki86

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Gamma 767, “Retana” by @TailWood

Given how many NULL prefer close-range weapons like knives, swords, and bludgeons, having to fire artillery from kilometers away must seem like a crushing indignity for a Gamma like 767: slowing time just means it takes longer for his rockets to hit their targets, and he can’t even collect any trophies to show off to the guys at the bar once they’re off-duty! But hey, someone’s got to do it; I don’t think even the sharpest steel would do much against a tank...

By @TailWood

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Gamma 9, “Nara” by @couriervictor

Sadism and sharp objects don’t pair well together. It was never explained why Headhunter chose to wear her old uniform everywhere, but in Gamma 9′s case it’s pretty clear: he’s an elite, and he wants you to know it. Lack of physical strength doesn’t matter, since everyone in Katana ZERO died in one hit anyway, and his affinity for throwing knives reminds me of Biker’s levels from Hotline Miami. More knives.

—

Alpha 35, “Sako” by @matsumatsu_kou

For a Gamma NULL, overcoming a debilitating wound is as simple as using their powers to ‘reset’ and try again until they can win the battle without a single scratch. Sadly, that wasn’t an option for their lesser Alpha brethren, as evidenced by Alpha 35.

There have been known cases of NULL choosing to retain scars and other superficial injuries as badges of honor, but if there’s a reason why Sako chooses to fight with a blind eye and busted arm, it’s beyond me. However, if Proto-15 is anything to go by, battle damage is a huge plus for you ferals out there, and it gives him an extra place to store those KNIVES. *snickt*

By @matsumatsu_kou

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Beta 74 by @cheezysucks

“Take everything from a man but his weapon, and do not judge him thereafter.”

Even in the far-flung future of New Mecca, it seems PTSD still haunts soldiers returning from conflict, even those as exceptional as NULL—if a near-death experience is harrowing, imagine the trauma of countless actual deaths, each instance being dragged backwards in time to start over.

Still, as far as ex-NULL go, Beta 74 chose as honest a job as his ilk can manage, given their stigma abroad. And oh, wow, is he wearing a pair of those funky four-eyed night-vision goggles? Look them up, they’re real, and just as absurd-looking.

—

Gamma 5, “Heatseeker” by 6at

Pour one out for another fallen warrior, Gamma 5 (yes, I know there was already a Gamma 5 earlier, won’t be the last time this happens). Five seems more like a tactical fire commander than your average NULL, with actual combat armor and a bubble helmet seemingly inspired by early concept versions of Headhunter’s gear, replete with a digitized HUD; pretty slick-looking, I must say.

Knowing how far far New Mecca went to cover up the NULL program, I’m surprised they let Five live as long as they did, though his hermetic lifestyle likely made him a minimal risk. I’m guessing he was terminated around the same time the government halted the production of Chronos. Coincidence?

Seems like ‘Heatseeker’ attracted a bit too much heat, heh heh.

—

And that was Part 2 of our Katana ZERO OC event. Is your finger tired from scrolling yet? Not as much as mine...

Click here to read ‘Part 3: Was Going To Be The Finale But I’m Drowning’. Thanks immensely to every single artist who’s submitted their characters and expanded the world of Katana ZERO just a bit more!

By @wqwrppwu

#askiisoft #Devolver Digital #fan art #fan art friday #original character #do #not #steal #katanazero #katana zero

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minervacasterly · 6 years ago

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With the Heart and Stomach of a King, She was a Rock that Bent to no Wind: How Queen Elizabeth I used her femininity to her advantage.

"Though the sex to which I belong is considered weak, you will nevertheless find me a rock that bends to no weak."~Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland, Governor of the Church of England and longest reigning monarch of the Tudor Dynasty.Translation "do not mess with this bad ass Queen B!"There are many quotes that you can find of Elizabeth I that are simply kick ass and help us understand what she was all about. She used her femininity and the status quo regarding women in power to her advantage and she was often pragmatic on issues of religion and foreign policy which ensured her a successful and long reign.That's not to say that she was flawless. Several historians have been critical of her policies, pointing out where she erred. However; we have to remember that we are looking at these events in retrospect, something that these figures didn't have the advantage of.Queen Elizabeth was born in September of 1533, known as Princess for less than three years before her father annulled his marriage to her mother so he could marry again and sire a son. Elizabeth's only defendant during her childhood years as a royal bastard was her half-sister, the Lady Mary who also became a bastard after their father annulled his union to her mother to marry Elizabeth's. Mary didn't get along with Anne but she came to love her little sister and it was thanks to her advocacy that she was brought back to court and given new clothes after she outgrew her old ones.Elizabeth Tudor had less than an ideal life after that. Relying on her words and silence to keep herself out of trouble and enemy lines. Sometimes she was successful, sometimes she wasn't but one thing is clear: Seeing queens, including her cousin and stepmother, Kitty Howard, fall and annulled, taught her a lot. In her biography on the Tudors and Stewarts and Kathryn Parr, Linda Porter states that it was Henry VIII's last wife that taught Elizabeth everything she needed to know about female power. Kathryn Parr used her intelligence, her love of books, fashion, and cordiality to make herself into a powerful figure that was eventually appointed Regent (the only other one of Henry VIII's Queens to be given that position besides Catherine of Aragon) during his absence.Fast forward to Mary I's reign. Edward VI's reign had been troubling for Elizabeth. Always a lover of fashion and cordial behavior, she soon learned how easy it was for someone to stain her reputation, even when she was an unwilling participant of Thomas Seymour's courtship.While some blame Kathryn Parr for letting this go, it is unclear just how far Thomas Seymour's attentions went. Sources, whether primary or secondary (written many years later and from supposedly eye witnesses accounts) suggest that it did go that far. Elizabeth would wake up earlier than her stepmother and her last husband so Thomas Seymour wouldn't sneak up into her bedroom. When Kathryn Parr died as a result of childbed fever, Thomas Seymour began to conspire against his brother and in no time he found himself in the Tower with a head short.Elizabeth was questioned along with her former governess, Kat Ashley whose husband reprimanded her for her encouraging Thomas Seymour's advances after his wife had died.It is unclear what role she had in the Wyatt Rebellion or in the Grey-Dudley Protestant Regime before that. One thing is clear though, her words were her shield and her silence, her most deadly weapon. By distancing herself from the Grey-Dudley regime, she convinced her sister that she wasn't her enemy. Indeed, she even played a major role during her coronation, riding on a carriage of silver trappings with their former stepmother, Lady Anne of Cleves. But come the Wyatt Rebellion, she was questioned and so where her servants. Elizabeth never forgave her sister for this transgression. It was Philip of Spain, Mary I's husband's intervention that saved her.One can only imagine the stress that Elizabeth went through being lodged in the SAME rooms her mother once was lodged in for her coronation and later during her imprisonment as she awaited her death. When Elizabeth got out she was put under house arrest and carefully watched.During Elizabeth I's reign there were rumors that Margaret Douglas was responsible for Mary I's treatment of her half-sister. It is unlikely that Elizabeth I believed some of her cronies who spread these rumors in an effort to tarnish the Countess of Lennox reputation. There was very little truth in them. Mary I's actions were her own but like her, Elizabeth I couldn't afford to put all the blame of her. A House divided was bad for business. When Mary I rallied the commons and her noble supporters against Jane Grey and her supporters, she laid the blame of Edward VI's actions at their doorstep (especially on John Dudley, given that he had no royal connections unlike Henry Grey who was married to her cousin, Frances Brandon). And Elizabeth I was angry with Margaret Douglas at the time for having conspired against her to wed her eldest son to the Queen of Scots, so she was going to use whatever weapons she had to levy them against her.Elizabeth I's view on Mary's actions can be best examined by what she told the Count de Feria when he visited her at Hatfield, where most of Mary I's court had gathered, eager to please their future queen. She told the Spanish Count that she owed nothing to her sister seeing as she had served her loyally and she (Mary) had rewarded her loyalty by accusing her of the most heinous crimes and locking her in the Tower.While Margaret Douglas rose through the ranks of favoritism after Elizabeth was cast out of Mary's inner circle, it is unlikely that Mary would have ever considered doing what her half-brother did. In spite of her reservations towards her sister, she knew that in order to keep their grandfather's legacy going, another Tudor had to take the center stage and the best way to achieve that was to allow a peaceful transition of power so Elizabeth was kept in the line of succession. On November of 1558, eight months after Mary I had made her will, Elizabeth I became Queen. Like one of her namesakes and her great-grandmother, it is said that she received this glorious news while she was under an oak tree and as soon as she was given the ring of state, she quoted one of the psalms."This is the Lord's doing and it is marvelous in our eyes."Elizabeth Tudor became the second Queen Regnant of the British Isles on Sunday, January 15th, 1559.he day began after Elizabeth made her way from the Tower of London, dressed in crimson parliament robes walking on blue cloth which had been laid for her all the way to the Abbey. The Spanish Ambassador, Feria, refused to be present but the Venetian Ambassador,Schifanoya was there and he reported everything he saw. According to him and other contemporary accounts, as Elizabeth made her way to the Abbey, there were stages erected for her that depicted once again her noble lineage through her father and his parents, and included Henry VIII’s collections of tapestries -especially one depicting the Acts of the Apostles based on the designs by Raphael. This symbolized the late Tudor monarch’s devotion and Bess further emphasized hers after she emerged from a curtained sector where she changed into her new clothes, and then was led by the Bishop of Carlisle to the stage where she was proclaimed Queen.The customary question was asked. If the people would like Elizabeth to be their Queen or not, and the people cried “Yea, yea!”. Then the trumpets sounded, the organs were played and the bells rang and Elizabeth and the Bishop descended to the altar where she knelt before it to hear the sermon and then took the oath.After this was said and done, she withdrew to the traverse to change for the final part in the ceremony, the anointing. She emerged wearing a kirtle of gold and silver. Prostrating herself before the altar, leaning on cloth of gold cushions, she was anointed on the shoulders, breast, hands, arms and forehead.Three crowns were placed on her head, after which she was completely arrayed in gold and to everyone who was there, she seemed indeed, seemed not human but like a golden figure, an icon, almost god-like as her father always tried to appear.Elizabeth ever the pragmatist, had intended to create a hybrid of the Protestant Church her brother had enforced on the population and the Marian Catholic reformed Church her sister had also tried to enforce. As Starkey explains:“It was now time of the coronation mass, which followed, with Elizabeth’s personally enforced innovations. The Epistle was read twice, first in Latin and then in English…. Then the bishop brought the Gospel. This too was read twice, in the old liturgical language and again in the Tudor vernacular, which has, to us, become almost as remote, beautiful as the Latin. Elizabeth now repeated her gesture of the day before and kissed the Bible -and, it is safe to guess, the English one.”Furthermore Jasper Ridley adds in his respective biography of Elizabeth:“After he [Bishop of Carlisle] had crowned her, a Mass was held in Latin; but the celebrant, her chaplain, spoke the words of consecration in English and did not elevate the Host.”The Coronation pardon was then given and the Queen traveled from Westminster Abbey to the Palace Great Hall to enjoy her coronation banquet. As she passed the great crowds, she greeted them with that same smile from her accession and it won them over again.Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland continued with most of her half-brother and half-sister's policies while expanding the Protestant agenda. As previously stated, in matters of religion, Elizabeth I took on a pragmatic approach, not wishing to voice her support of the Netherlands or the Dutch, or even the Huguenots in France since they believed in a Republican government and hardly recognized the authority of a King over his or her subjects. Her animosity towards John Knox, the infamous radical Protestant preacher in Scotland stemmed from his controversial pamphlets published in 1558, the year she succeeded her half-sister, in which he condemned female monarchy. While John Knox tried to justify his remarks by stating that his attack was an attack on Catholic female monarchs and other women in power, and not exclusively on her, Queen Elizabeth I didn't let him so easily off the hook and during the remainder of her life, he wasn't allowed to step on English soil.Elizabeth I however, recognized his usefulness against her royal cousin, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots and when the latter interests no longer suited her own, Elizabeth I covertly supported the Protestant lords and religious leaders against her.During her last years, Elizabeth I began to disagree more and more with these types of radical preachers. She saw them as dangerous to the institution of monarchy. Parliament's powers had been expanded with her father, and while she relied on them, the two often clashed. Most of her lords sympathized with these radical preachers and when Elizabeth I wanted to punish them by giving them a harsher sentence, they intervened, guaranteeing they wouldn't be executed or spent a long time in prison.Another area Queen Elizabeth I clashed with her subjects was on the issue of her royal cousin. Fiction often portray them as enemies and while they were, for some time, Elizabeth I seemed favorable to the idea of Mary, Queen of Scots succeeding her AS LONG as she married someone that Elizabeth I agreed with. She even sent her favorite, Robert Dudley but this option for Mary Stuart was too scandalous.Why?Because Queen Elizabeth I declared that the best way to ensure a happy union between the two was to move in with her. And as Anne Boleyn played by Natalie Dormer said in the Tudors, you can't have three people in a marriage. You just can't.Tired of waiting for a clear response, Mary, Queen of Scots accepted her other royal cousin's proposal to marry her eldest son, a handsome young man who was also a Stewart through his father and like Mary, descended from Princess Margaret Tudor via her second marriage to the Earl of Angus. The marriage as we all know, was disastrous and ended in tragedy. Mary was blamed for his assassination and in short time married one of his other alleged assassins, the Earl of Bothwell. Bothwell ended up abandoning her and her unborn children when the going got tough and when she was surrounded by enemies and former allies, she miscarried her twins and capitulated to her captors, abdicating in her son's favor.Queen Elizabeth I wasn't directly involved in King James VI of Scotland's upbringing but she received many reports regarding the young King. When the King heard of his mother's sentence, he appealed to the Queen in a way that didn't seem to side too favorable of her, but Elizabeth I ignored his request.In what has been described as one of Elizabeth's clever ways of excusing herself off her royal cousin's execution, she wrote to Philip II of Spain and other monarchs that she never intended for things to go this far and were it had been truly up to her, she would have never signed her execution warrant.The truth is, she did sign the execution warrant and she wasn't coerced or forced. Like with half-sister's actions, Elizabeth I's actions were entirely her own. However, her royal cousin's execution always haunted her. It was a difficult decision to make because she was one who valued royal authority above all else and this action set a precedent for future monarchs to be held accountable to their subjects. Elizabeth I's last years have been under heavy criticism. The truth regarding the Armada's defeat is as much clouded in mystery as it is in propaganda. In the first episode of her documentary series "British History's Biggest Fibs"; historian, Dr. Lucy Worsley describes how successful the Tudor regime was in pushing their agenda and having their version of events become the official story.In his book entitled "Armada", the late Garrett Mattingly aptly described the events based on primary sources, letters and other documents, that resulted in the disastrous Spanish navy's defeat. For one, the Spanish vessels were terribly large which made them slower. The English ships were poised to shoot everything that moved and wasn't English and given the horrible weather, it was easier for them to hit their target.During this time, Elizabeth I gave her most famous speech at Tilbury where she said that while she had the "weak and frail" body of a woman, she had "the heart and stomach of a King" and a "King of England" at that! Like her father, Queen Elizabeth was a good public speaker and like her mother, she was subtle enough to know how to handle foreign emissaries, promising them nothing and also denying nothing.As a lover of fashion, she knew the power behind it and used her public image to replace previously beloved religious figures among the Catholic population. It was during these years that she came to be known as Virgin Queen, and using biblical and classical imagery that compared her to Deborah, Esther, Athena, Artemis and Hera, she used her status as an unmarried woman to become a pseudo-religious icon.But not all was well in paradise. As she got older, her ladies and noblemen began to mock her and considered her efforts to become a nationalistic and religious symbol ridiculous. Some even went as far as to laugh behind her back and Elizabeth I responded equally by mocking them and humiliating them after they refused to obey her orders and tried to outshine her by wearing expensive bright colored gowns.Elizabeth I did her best to cope with loss as she had done with other obstacles. The loss of her longtime favorite, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester affected her greatly and so did her stepson’s betrayal, Robert Deveraux, the Earl of Essex. Before she became 50, her councilors once again continued to pressure her into making a royal marriage and while she continued to make vague promises to would-be-suitors, it is possible she might have entertained a married life but decided against it. Entering marriage would have meant giving up most of her freedoms. It would have meant that the question surrounding female monarchy would have come up again, with some of her husband’s potential foreign allies ruling in his favor, or worse, once she had a male heir, he would have moved against her in the same fashion as Mary Stuart’s last two husbands.Elizabeth I always refused to name an heir. She always gave vague promises, and at times denied nothing nor promised anything, being as subtle as her mother and as you would expect a highborn lady to be. The reason why Elizabeth I never wanted to make her choice of an heir official, regardless of whom she favored at one point, was because she had seen how courtiers had flocked to her like vultures once they realized that her half-sister Mary I wasn’t going to live any longer. Elizabeth I was tired of political intrigue although she continued to fight the good fight and take on her enemies.It was also during her last years that she looked for new allies. Catherine de Medici was one of her strongest allies/rivals, someone who deeply admired Elizabeth. It is possible that Elizabeth I also admired her. What other foreign woman who’d been previously scorned and mocked had achieved so much in so little time following her husband’s death and her sons’ ascensions? As Charles IX became more insecure, Catherine convinced him to appoint her Governor of France. This gave almost unlimited powers, allowing her to give orders in her son’s name, in spite of the fact that he had reached his age of majority long time since then.But regardless of their personal feelings, they were always set these aside in favor of their position and (in Catherine’s case) their offspring.Catherine de Medici had no qualms to act against her enemies, especially her former daughter-in-law’s maternal relative, the Guises who went as far as to encourage Protestant lynching when Catherine sided with Huguenots, including one of their leaders, Jeanne III of Navarre. "... Catherine de Medici had every cause to regret the bull against Elizabeth. Her goal, after all was the reduction of tension, not its increase. On 8 August 1570 the Treaty of St Germain finally brought peace: freedom of conscience and freedom of worship limited to certain locations ..." (Sarah Gristwood, Game of Queens)The St. Bartholomew Massacre left a bad taste in everybody's mouths, including Queen Elizabeth I and her councilors. Mary, Queen of Scots' execution had been the catalyst for the Anglo-Spanish war. Following the end of the Valois dynasty and the end of the Bourbon with the late Jeanne III’s son, Henry IV, becoming the new King of France, France once again became England’s ally. Henry IV thanked Elizabeth I for her support but as time went on, he sided with the major Catholic powers forming a Holy League against Elizabeth I that sought to depose her and install Philip II’s eldest daughter, Isabella Clara Eugenia.Not cowed by her country’s forced isolation, she looked to the Middle East for potential allies. The woman who made this alliance possible was none other than Safiye Sultan. Like Catherine de Medici before her she had risen through the ranks due to being her husband (Murad III) chief wife and their son’s regent. And also like the former Governor of France, in spite of Mehmed III reaching his majority, she was still an influential figure who refused to let go of her position as her son’s consultant and adviser. She greatly admired a woman like Elizabeth I who used her single statues to bolster her image, and present herself as a virtuous, nationalistic and religious icon and an ideal substitute for the Virgin Mary -a figure whose cult had been very popular in England. When Elizabeth I became frustrated with her son, she wrote to her mother knowing that Safiye was the true power behind the throne. The two women exchanged gifts and letters, with Safiye congratulating Elizabeth for her victories and he gracious behavior towards her.“…both Murad III and Mehmed III’s reigns notoriously, was ruled mainly from the harem. Elizabeth had employed very similar tactics on Barton’s advice six years earlier in 1593, using Safiye as her intermediary in an attempt to influence the direction of the Hungarian war. At that time, her letter had been accompanied by a few handsome gifts, paid for by the Levant Company. These consisted of a ‘jewel of Her Majesty’s picture’ (possibly a Hilliard miniature) set with rubies and diamonds, three great tilt plates, ten garments of cloth of gold and a very fine case of glass bottles, silver and gilt.” (John Guy, Elizabeth I: The Forgotten Years)Elizabeth I spent her last years looking back at her triumphs and failures, ridding herself of potential rivals and refusing to assure her councilors of anything that would reflect her personal opinion regarding who her successor should be. But she must have sensed the end as she once again saw the courtiers beginning to flock to James VI of Scotland, eagerly waiting for her to give her last breath.Elizabeth I sponsored many artists and play writers, including the famous William Shakespeare whose plays greatly contributed to the English language and gave us many phrases that we still use today. One of her favorite plays was Henry V because of the character of Falstaff. She found him the most likable of all of the play's characters. Like one of her ancestors, she began to identify with Richard II whose excesses led to his deposition and was the catalyst behind the wars of the roses that ended with the destruction of the Houses of Lancaster and York and the Plantagenet Dynasty.At she was quoted to have said: “I am Richard II, know ye not that?”Elizabeth I didn't like the way Richard II had been -and still was- portrayed and her opinion might have influenced Shakespeare to make him into a pitiful character.Besides considering his treatment of his subjects unjust, there was another reason why she might have identified with Richard II. Like her father, she firmly believed in the divinity of Kings and took her role as Head of the Church seriously. When she was told her sister had died and was presented with her royal ring, she quoted one of the psalms, saying that “this is the lord’s doing and it is marvelous before our eyes.” As God's representative on Earth, an act against her was an act against the Almighty. And also like her father, she shared his dislike for those who questioned royal authority. Despite the various plots and opposition against her, Elizabeth I endured but she knew her time was coming and she prepared for it. On February 1603, she settled her affairs regarding her officials in Ireland, ensuring that the next monarch would have complete control of that Isle and that there would be no more disruptions from Catholic rebels or rogue officers. Nevertheless, she refused to appear weak before her ministers insisting that nothing was wrong with her.On the 24th of March 1603, Queen Elizabeth I died at Richmond Palace at the age of sixty nine. Ironically it was the same place her grandfather and founder of her dynasty had died ninety three and eleven months earlier.Elizabeth I’s Funerary Procession took place a month later, on the 28th of April. She was carried from Whitehall to Westminster Abbey where she was laid to rest on the Lady Chapel.“It was an impressive occasion: the hearse was drawn by four horses hung with black velvet, surmounted by a life-sized wax effigy of the late Queen, dressed in her state robes and crown, an orb and scepter in its hands; over it was a canopy of state supported by six earls.” (Alison Weir, The Life of Elizabeth I)“Westminster” Chronicler John Stow wrote, “was surcharged with multitudes of all sorts of people in their streets, houses, windows, leads and gutters, that came out to see the obsequy.” After the Mass had ended, her household servants broke their white staves and tossed them at her tomb to symbolize the end of their allegiance.Truly, it was a sight to see and also a reminder than it was the end of an era. Gone were the days of the Tudors, now it would be the Stuarts who reigned.She was buried at the Lady Chapel that Henry VII had ordered be built for himself and his descendants, at Westminster Abbey. It was in this place where her paternal grandparents and great-grandmother and half-sister were also buried.Three years later, King James I decided to rebury her in a different vault and honor her memory by building a magnificent burial. Unfortunately, this monument didn’t include an effigy of the Queen’s sister, Mary I who was reburied with her.The plaque on her tomb reads the following:“Consorts both in throne and grave, here we rest two sisters, Elizabeth & Mary, in hope of our resurrection.”Queen Elizabeth I remains one of the most celebrated figures in English history and considered one of the best monarch in world history. Often she will be reduced to a mere caricature in which she is either an angelic figure who could do no wrong or thrown off that pedestal it in favor of the other extreme that depicts her as Europe's greatest prostitute or as a boy. The "Bisley Boy" legend was first popularized by none other than Victorian and Gothic writer, Bram Stoker. Bram Stoker was fascinated by the legend and took it seriously. A few years ago, a mystery writer said that it was possible she could have been a man and what was his reasoning behind this?Nothing, except the usual "she didn't get married and she never had kids with her favorites". Here's a thought for these people: Do some research! Read the primary sources and then read well-researched books by historians and biographers who've also written extensively on this topic.In Anna Whitelock's biography on Queen Elizabeth I's court, "The Queen's Bed", she quickly debunks this bogus story by offering us an insight of what court life was like. Just think about it.Elizabeth I was surrounded by women day and night. As Queen Regnant, she was dressed by her ladies and undressed by them. She was even attended during her bath. Don't you think some of them would have noticed she was a man if indeed she was? I know people love a good conspiracy once in a while but come on!Also, just because she didn't get married and possibly wasn't intimate with her favorites, doesn't mean she was a man. Her reign was unique given that she refused to marry, but given her past experiences and how England wasn't (fully) used to the idea of female monarchy, we can see why she chose to take this route.Elizabeth I's reign continues to fascinate many people and it is proof that sometimes the impossible can become possible.She became Queen when she was twenty five years old. Her reign lasted forty-four years, outlasting that of her father and the other Tudors.Known as “Glorianna”, “Good Queen Bess” and “the Virgin Queen” for her refusal to marry, she also had one colony in North America named after her. She is the third longest female monarch in English history and to some, one of the most important women in history. In his biography on Elizabeth I, David Starkey says that what differentiated her from her sister was that while Mary “aimed for a heavenly crown; Elizabeth aimed for an earthly one.”Sources:1. Elizabeth: The Struggle for the Throne by David Starkey2. The Life of Queen Elizabeth I by Alison Weir3. Game of Queens by Sarah Gristwood4. Elizabeth I: The Forgotten Years by John Guy5. Tudors vs Stewarts by Linda Porter6. Katherine the Queen: The Life of Katherine Parr, Henry VIII's last Wife by Linda Porter7. The Queen's Bed: An Intimate Account of Elizabeth's Court by Anna Whitelock8. Tudor by Leanda de Lisle9. The Private Lives of the Tudors by Tracy Borman

#Tudor #history #Queen Elizabeth I

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pendragonfics · 7 years ago

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Pretty

Paring: Bruce Banner/Reader

Tags: female reader, friends to lovers, hulk needs a hug, hulk feels, science experiments, science bros, fluff, self-esteem issues, Superfamily.

Summary: Dr _________ works in the labs at the Avengers Compound, usually in the presence of Dr Bruce Banner, working on their project. She isn't often around Hulk, but still, she knows a thing or two about her lab partner, and his alter ego.

Alternatively titled, Tony Stark has too much time on his hands and too much interest in Bruce Banner's love-life.

Word Count: 3,055

Current Date: 2017-11-13

Some days he has no idea how he’ll do it, but every single day it still gets done. That’s the great Bruce Banner for you – he seems to be a mix of healthy scepticism, dad jokes and scientific formulae, but when really, he’s just a guy. Someone who made mistakes, like any other human…but instead of them being just a scar of the past, they are his present. His future. Dr Banner scouted you when you completed university with a fresh degree on biochemistry and evolutionary development, and while it was quite exciting to be an official scientist working with the Avengers, it was even more exciting that you were his lab partner to work on more humanitarian projects…and make sure there were less of those projects like the Ultron disaster.

You think highly of your lab partner, just like you do of all the people you are surrounded by in the facility; it was an honour that you were to work alongside world renowned scientists like Dr Helen Cho, Dr Jane Foster…the list goes on. Apart from how amazing the job was, though, you did love working with Dr Banner.

Which meant, for his former lab partner…

“Dr _________, be honest,” Tony Stark waltzed into the lab, like he owned the place. Well, he did own the facility, but still. Being humble never killed anyone. “What’s messier, my life, or my hair?”

You glance up from the computer monitor where you’re sequencing a genome, and frown. Like always, his hair is flawless, gelled the right way that makes all the women who read the weekly tabloids’ panties get wet. “No comment.” You reply, focusing back on the genetic code, where you’re trying to figure out how to replicate the same arrangement of genes that was required for the experiment. When you glance up once more from your screen to see that Mr Stark is still standing there, expecting an answer, you sigh. “Okay, uh, your life?”

He makes a noise like a groan. “Uh, wrong. Neither. I’m great.”

Bruce harrumphs from the Bunsen burner and beaker of the genetic solution before him. “Don’t let Pepper hear you say that, Shell Head.”

Tony smacks his lips together, and in retaliation, says, “C’mon, Bruce, what’s messier, your life or your hair?”

It’s only now you notice there’s a small tinge of green above his collar, and pausing your sequencing program, you place a hand on your lab partner’s shoulder. His dark brown eyes meet yours, and without words shared, you see the edge being taken from his stare, the pigment leaving his skin. He takes a deep breath – in through his nose, out through his mouth – and gives you a kind smile.

“Thanks, _________,” he nods.

Tony doesn’t get an answer to his question.

---

You’re in the library, making some serious headway through the latest book in the series you love. It’s your day off, after all, and when you’re not being a total nerd in the Avengers’ laboratory, you’re being a total dork in the library, in a world of the author’s, surrounded by the fictional life you would all but die to be a part of.

Except –

“_________, what’s this one about?” Pietro Maximoff was all over the place, as always. He was a good guy, yes, but he had a way of being completely mature when it came to serious matters surrounding life, death, and his sister…and a way of being puerile everywhere else. “None of these books are interesting…”

You slide your bookmark into the pages, and look across to the elder Maximoff. He’s laying upside down from the couch, his legs up, head hanging like a bobble-head doll. In his hands is a copy of The Time Traveller’s Wife.

“It’s my day off, Maximoff.” You say, not budging from your seat. You’re quite comfortable, and there’s no force on Earth that could get you to get out from your favourite seat in all of the library. No, scratch that, all the Avengers Compound. “If you want to mess with someone, I suggest that new guy, Ant Man.”

Pietro shakes his head. “I pranked him just this morning,” he confesses, still upside down, “I put mice in his bed.” You don’t question it. He nearly pranked you a few times, and you don’t try to get in on it, or know a detail. You’re a good lab assistant. Not an accessory to a crime. “How can you just read and read and read…?” he asks.

You don’t have to think. “Books are always there for me.” you tell him, “I grew up in a rough neighbourhood, and even though he was a soldier, my Dad read to me. Got me and my sister interested in science, using my brain. My stepdad wasn’t a fan of it, but jokes on him. I’m not working nights at a cannery.”

Pietro’s silent. Then, “Your Dad’s dead?”

You nod, “Gulf War.” Suddenly, you’re not in the mood for the fantasy fictional adventures in your book, and you stand up. “I’ll see you around, Pietro.” Even though you’re not a super-fast speedster, you don’t waste time leaving the library. But, in doing that, you don’t look where you’re going, and really, through the tears, you hardly see who you knock into, and land onto the floor of the library with.

“_________,” Bruce Banner manages to say. “What’s wrong?”

Your tears increase. You’re sobbing now, having relived something you’d rather not touch with a very long stick, because you’ve just knocked down your lab partner like a footballer, and that even through the tears, you can see a green tinge upon his forearm. “I – I’m – sorry,” you manage to say, wiping your eyes on the back of your shirtsleeve. “I didn’t see you –,”

You’re too busy babbling to see the tinge disappearing, but Bruce isn’t overcome with a crop of sadness, and picks up your book, and straightening the bent cover, brushes off the dirt from it. “Is this the latest book in the series?” He asks you, handing it to you, “I used to read these when I was about your age, wow, I didn’t know the author was still writing them!”

You nod. “It’s really, really good.”

“What happened to that character, the asshole?” he asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.

You shake your head, and laugh softly. “Spoilers, Dr Banner.”

Watching from the other end of the Avengers facility the security surveillance footage from his Stark phone, the Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist raised a brow at what he was seeing, causing the pancakes he was cooking for young Mr Parker, Steve, and himself to burn.

---

It’s a gala, dedicated to the fifth anniversary of the Battle of New York, or, commonly known to the public as The Incident. It’s just an excuse for the team to be seen in public together, as the press love to have it, and for everyone to get all dressed up for the night in very expensive clothing. Since you weren’t there for the original assembling of the Avengers, you don’t suppose they need you down in Manhattan for the event, and in yoga pants and a terribly old band tee, you’re taking the afternoon that you usually have off to enjoy the unseasonably quiet common area to yourself.

But that’s not what’s on the agenda, apparently, as Helen Cho rushes past wearing a white knee-length dress that covers her shoulder in a cape-like fashion. “_________!” She cries out, aghast, “I have been bribed, poked, prodded and humiliated from my lab coat into this thing! You cannot stay here when I have to look like this!” She all but lifts you from the couch, and shoves you in the direction of your bedroom. “Please, please, get ready, we’re leaving soon!”

You’re standing there, half-naked and afraid, and suddenly, you feel like the only thing you have that will pass as fancy is the lingerie that you bought for an ex-boyfriend who had broken it off with you the day after you purchased the silk and lace thing. But luckily for you, your twin sister (a researcher in Antarctica) gave you her nice non-winter clothes before departing to penguin land, and there’s a slip dress with a thin mesh layer embroidered with flowers. Luckily, you’re the same size, because in just ten minutes, you’re made up and hair acceptable, and being dragged off with Helen into the Quinjet that’s flying directly to the tower.

Clint Barton flies, as always, wearing a sort of bowtie and button-down, and Wanda has a dress that’s the colour of dark red wine, and with her eye makeup, looks like a force to be reckoned with.

So much your quiet introvert’s-night-in plans.

When you get there, the party is already kicked off, with the DJ playing popping hits after one another. You can see Thor dancing beside Steve, who both seem to have a flask in hand of something you won’t touch. There’s Vision, standing beside Dr Richards, and his wife, Susan, and they’re listening to Hank Pym intently. Your eyes find Bruce Banner’s, where he sits at the fringe, nursing a drink, keeping an eye on young Peter Parker who seems to be curled up in Bruce’s jacket.

You place a hand on Helen’s, and motion to the dance floor. “Enjoy yourself,” you tell her, and as she goes off to boogie, you gravitate to where your lab partner is, stopping only to grab a glass of champagne at the bar.

“Don’t we look out of place,” you say, taking a seat beside Bruce. “Enjoying yourself?”

He shrugs. “Trying to.” Frowning, he adds, “I didn’t know you were coming tonight, thought you wanted to binge Netflix.”

You laugh at that, and taking a sip of your drink, you say, “I was, until Dr Cho intercepted my plans. I’m not complaining, at least I don’t have to pay for my drinks,” you raise a brow, “So, about the project, the altering of genes? I never got a brief as why you wanted to work on it. I thought you were more of a biophysicist, rather than a genetic pioneer,” you comment. “In case you didn’t know, cloning is illegal.”

It’s Bruce’s turn to laugh. “I’m not planning on making any copies of any of the Avengers, if that’s what you’re asking,” he jokes, and glancing beside him, he watches as Peter nestles into his side. “I’m trying to find a way to separate me.”

You’re silent for a second. While you’re close with Bruce Banner, you don’t quite know the same man that his close friends do, his ex-lover Betty Ross did. But you do know of the stories, that the man who had been hit with gamma radiation hated the creature he became afterward.

“Okay.”

He’s silent, then, “Okay?” he repeats. “You’re not going to fight me on this?”

“I don’t want my personal opinions to cloud my scientific judgement, Dr Banner,” you clear your throat. “I – I’m still just a scientist, one year out from my PhD in the job that’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” You tell him honestly.

“Bruce! Bruce!” Thor calls out, beckoning him from the dancefloor. “Join us!”

You take this opportunity to excuse yourself, going to find the bathroom to cool off. Thank goodness that you’d only had one drink, because if it were a few more, you might have accidently confessed that you had some feelings for your co-worker. But when you’re gone from the seat beside him, the only thing left behind is the flute of champagne, you’re not there to see Bruce’s smile falter, and to see him decline to invitation to dance. Instead, he stays beside the sleeping Spider Man, and thinks about what he just said to you.

From the bar, Tony Stark might have beer-goggles on, but he can still see what’s going on between his friend and Dr _________ as clear as day.

---

It’s a very sunny day, and while you really should be working on the research to see how to separate Bruce Banner from The Hulk, you’re enjoying the warmth. It is supposed to be autumn, after all, and you’re not one for sitting around idly when there could be a day in the sun at stake. Well, not usually. But today, all the Avengers are out on the lawn, practicing their battle skills. Steve is battling it out with Bucky, Sam is flying around, as is Vision, and Tony. Clint and Nat are sparring, Wanda waiting on the side. Pietro is lifting weights. Bruce is doing push ups.

You’re eating a bagel all the while, sitting on a makeshift picnic blanket of your over shirt, your eyes following the team from a nearby hillock where you sit away, not distracting them. Because you’re not a hero, or even, a combatant, you don’t have to work on your fitness, at least, to this sort of extreme. You like to use the team’s swimming pool, and the yoga room when you have time. But now, you’re watching them show off their sheens of sweat, and gratefully, aren’t in that melee.

But it isn’t in any sort of order when Sam is knocked out from the sky somewhere near where Bruce is, and apart from the cursing you can hear the ex-military man doing, you can see the shaking of Bruce’s shoulders. Visually see the green spreading over his shoulders.

“Code green!” Tony calls out. “Bruce – hey –,” but he doesn’t finish, because before him, is not Bruce. It’s Hulk. And being shocked by the Falcon falling from the sky, he’s stressed. He’s mad.

You shove the rest of your bagel into your mouth, and against of running the opposite way, like someone else might, you don’t do that. You run toward where the Avengers are retreating, stopping only when Pietro catches your wrist, holding you back.

“You cannot, you need to go,” he tells you.

You shake your head. “I’ve studied his cells, he’s as human as he is Bruce Banner when he is Hulk,” you tell the speedster. “He’s just green, and frightened.” You shake your hand from his grip, and slowly this time, walk toward where the Hulk is.

“_________,” Tony warns.

You shake your head, and in a firm tone with a hard edge, you say, “Let me.”

Hearing your voice, the Hulk turns to you. He’s taller than you remember seeing last time you had observed him for your scientific analysis, but that’s probably because you’re about one hundred times closer than the minimum safe distance from him. Teeth gritted, he huffs, fist formed, arm raised.

“Hey, Hulk,” you smile, sitting down on the grass. “It’s _________. You know me, I’m a scientist. I work with your friend, Bruce.” You’re slow in every movement, treating the green beast before you like you would a deer or any other wild animal. “I just want to talk with you.”

Tony’s silent. Dumbfounded. From what you can see, he’s got a weird look on his face, like talking to the Hulk won’t fix a thing about the current situation. But against his judgement, your request is heard by the green big guy, and he seats himself down, opposite you.

“You want to talk?” he says, voice deep and rumbling, much like thunder.

You nod. “Yeah, about, uh, our friend Bruce. He’s very smart.” You say.

Hulk agrees, “Yes. You are…smart too.”

You smile, “Thank you, Hulk,” you push your hands into the grass, and noticing a stray purple flower growing in the grass, you pluck it from the earth. Even if it is a weed, you don’t care. You hold it out to Hulk, and say, “I heard you like purple.”

His hands are big, but still, he manages to take the flower from you, and holding it, he inspects the gift. “Pretty.”

You nod. “Yeah, pretty,” you echo, “When I was a little girl, I noticed that people aren’t very nice to things that aren’t pretty.” You tell the Hulk, and taking a deep breath, you add, “I wasn’t very pretty when I was younger. But I knew that I was worth something even though not everyone valued me.”

“_________ is pretty,” Hulk tells you, tucking the flower behind his ear.

You laugh at that. “Thanks, Hulk. No, I know that now. It’s just…I wanted you to know that you’re not just what the Avengers have you on the team for, to me.” You’re quiet, and add, “Hulk, our friend Bruce…he’s still learning that all of him is pretty. Like I learned when I was younger.”

Tony blinks, unsure of what’s going on.

Hulk is silent for a moment, considering what you’re saying. “What…”

Slowly, you pick yourself from the ground, and walking toward the Hulk, climb upon his leg, walking toward where his bare chest is. “Inside here, and outside too, you’re pretty. All of you, and all of Bruce Banner.” You place your hand upon where his heart is, and under his thick skin, you feel where his heartbeat is, fast, strong, but when you look to him, it slows, calming. “It’s okay.”

He nods.

Hours later, after more talking, you’re left with Bruce Banner in half-shredded shorts, and the team wondering what exactly happened. You help him inside, and going the extra mile, make sure that after he eats the nightly meal, he does all the regular things before going to sleep. But when you’re in your grass-stained jeans and plaid shirt, Bruce is in his pinstripe pyjamas, toothbrush in mouth, he spits the toothpaste, and asks a question.

“Did you really mean what you said back there?” He asks.

You nod, holding your arms close to your chest, “Yeah. All of it.”

A pink tinge covers his cheeks. “I’m pretty.”

---

Tony puts Peter to bed, and turns to Steve in the loungeroom of their suit, absolutely exhausted after the day, and the occurrence that happened during training earlier. Steve is wearing his Iron Man boxers, and a holey old Dodgers shirt that belongs in a museum, and is flicking through different TV stations that have equally boring shows on. As Tony sits, he turns the screen off, and faces the other man.

“How much meddling did you do to get those two together?” Steve asks.

Tony grins.

#bruce banner #bruce x reader #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner/reader #hulk #hulk x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #thor fanfic #superfamily #super family #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #Female reader

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hayffiebird · 7 years ago

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Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate, The Birth

Day 1: Mistletoe And Wine: It is that time of the year when mistletoe and mulled wine lead to all sorts of shenanigans! Since Hayffismas week happened to coincide with Effie’s due month in this story I decided to go against my earlier decision and give you the birth of Hayffie’s child. Works as well as a oneshot if you don’t want to read the full story. Well, unless you want to, then it’s here.

Fluff ahoy!

The epilogue

Effie liked to think she had her ”shit together”, to use Haymitch’s expression. That he was the impulsive one in their duo (when really it was the other way around.) Haymitch if anyone knew how feisty she could be. Behind that woman’s smiles and perfectly composed features was a temperament that showed on the Richter scale. Like now. More than ever before. The apartment was all prepared for the baby. Everything was childproofed, they had packed and repacked her hospital bag, a nursery was set up with the very eager, unasked help of Octavia, Flavius and Venia who showered them with toys and stuffed animals, one creepier than the next. Haymitch even read some of Effie’s baby books so he wouldn’t be a complete waste of space when the time came. The only thing missing now was the actual baby.

But Effie’s due date came and went. The same with the next day and the next. She used to be just mildly uncomfortable but when eleven days had passed and the kid still didn’t feel like making an appearance it was like living in a firework storage during a thunder storm. All it took was one spark. “I should have known!” Effie cussed, on day 12. “It’s your child I’m carrying after all, of course he will be late!” Haymitch stood precariously on a step ladder trying to fasten a mistletoe over the door. He threw a glance at the miserable, flushed planet on the couch that was Effie Trinket. Normally he’d tease her but he knew better than giving her a reason. She had an easy time finding those anyway. It was a real talent too because no matter what it was she always found a way to make it all Haymitch’s fault. His worst crime, the most unforgivable, was his inability to have sex with her. “It’s the least you can do when I didn’t even get to finish when we made him!” To Haymitch’s credit though he did his very best. But being rather cramped up by now the baby moved around so much and more than ever if Haymitch so much as touched Effie. Kid didn’t want him there, that’s what it felt like. Effie tried to explain, more and more agitated every time, that the baby just reacted to her rapid heartbeat but it was no use. Then add to that his fear of hurting the little kid and Haymitch got limper than a melted marshmallow. He tried other things she liked but he was so cautious with her, mostly it just added to her frustration. At least Christmas was coming up and Haymitch found a new way to keep Effie’s spirits high and himself from being kicked out of the apartment. If there was one Capitol-y streak you couldn’t quite wash out of Effie Trinket it was her love for decorating. Whether it was her hair or her face, her clothes or her home it didn’t matter. She used to love finding the perfect combination of colors and patterns and she was a sucker for big holidays. Not right now she wasn’t. Now she was just busy feeling fed up and never even mentioned Christmas. So Haymitch took matters in to his own hands and the expression on Effie’s face when he walked in carrying a Christmas tree was worth every pricked finger. They decorated the tree with green and blue and red and golden ornaments and other decorations she kept from her childhood. And instead of nagging him to death she kissed and hugged him and from that point on, whenever she asked for something he went out and got it. Garlands, socks for the fireplace or – like today – a mistletoe. Anything she wanted. And Haymitch lived to see another day. Now the place was so disgustingly Christmassy there wasn’t a thing left she could complain about. Not the decorations, anyway. “It’s so hot!” Effie fanned herself with her hands. The cup of alcohol-free mulled wine that he made her stood untouched on the coffee table. “Can’t you open a window or something?” “Already did, Effs.” “Well, open another then or is that too hard? Last time I checked we have plenty to choose from. I’m bursting into flames here!” Haymitch held in a sigh as he climbed down the ladder. “You’re gonna freeze us to death, sweetheart.” He opened a second window and grabbed a blanket from the armchair. “May I approach thee?” Effie threw him a death stare. Her cheeks were so flushed. Like them baby angels on the ceiling of Eleven’s Justice Building. “Are you being smart with me, Haymitch Abernathy?” “Oh, boy,” Haymitch muttered. He wrapped the blanket around himself and joined her on the couch. Rested his hand on her belly that seemed just about to burst. “Your mother’s gettin’ on my last nerve, kid. Better bust a move before she bites my head for real.” Effie sighed defeated and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I am going clinically insane.” She put her hand over his that rested on her stomach. “It’s close to two weeks now. What is he waiting for?” “He probably won’t show until he’s sure mum and dad are ready to have him” “Please, don’t say that, I’ll be pregnant forever,” Effie murmured. He laced their fingers together and she peered up at the new addition in the doorway. “At least the mistletoe came up nicely and… ow! I’m getting kicked in the guts. Wonderful. Just great.” A smile curved Haymitch’s lips. He leaned in and gave their little latecomer a kiss before he heaved himself up. “Come, princess. Up you go and enough with the pity party.” Effie eyed him suspiciously. She didn’t move. “Let’s have a smooch under the thing.” “The mistletoe.” “Yeah, whatever. Up with ya. I’ll sweep you off your Capitol feet.” “Mm,” Effie puffed, counting the distance she’d have to walk from the couch to the doorway. “Can’t you just kiss me here?” “Come on, Effs. I’m working my ass off creatin’ a moment here.” He took her other hand as well while complaining all the way there Effie let him help her to the mistletoe. “Are you seriously having a stab at romance, Haymitch?” she asked when they stood under it, holding hands. “You?” “That’s right so shut up before you ruin it, princess.” A smile tugged at her lips when Haymitch rested one hand against the small of her back, gently moving her closer; as close as her big stomach allowed. He cupped her cheek, eyes locked on hers and it was amazing how he could make her heart flutter, even after all these years. She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers and sweet merciful heaven Haymitch Abernathy knew how to kiss! He’d always been a natural in that department. The tip of his tongue only just brushed against her lips and she parted them. A quiet moan escaped her and she held on to a fistful of his shirt, thankful to have his arms around her. She didn’t trust that her knees wouldn’t weaken and give way. “Haymitch,” she sighed against his lips. And that was when it happened. Without any kind of warning and with such force you’d think someone tipped over a bucket between Effie’s thighs it splashed on to the floor, up Effie’s legs, up Haymitch’s legs. “What the…!” They stared at the mess on the floor and back up at again. “My water broke,” Effie gasped. “Haymitch, you made my water break!” xXx If the baby was fashionably late just like Haymitch it turned out he was every bit as stubborn as well. “It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!” Effie threw her head back against the pillow, crushing his hand in her fist. Haymitch was pale as a sheet. He felt completely powerless, useless. He didn’t know what to do and if he told her “You’re gonna be OK” one more time he didn’t think he’d get out of this alive. He just stood there like a damn fool, bathing in sweat while his stomach made somersault after somersault. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he said but when he made a beeline for the bathroom Effie yanked him right back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going? Huh!” Her face was bright red and wet with perspiration. “If I don’t get to walk out, you don’t get to walk out! It’s your magic semen that got us in this situation in the first place! You. Stupid. Piece. Of. Shit!” she pressed out through gritted teeth. ”Good thing you don’t want to sleep with me because I am never having sex with you again! Be sure of that, Haymitch!” “You can do this, Eff. I know you…” “Shut up! Not a word from you or I swear to God I’ll take the hacksaw and cut it clean off as soon as we get home! Yes, I will!” But when it happened, it happened quickly. One moment it was just them and then suddenly someone else was there too, demanding to be acknowledged. Haymitch stared at the red, bawling little creature in the midwife’s arms, smeared in God knows what. His eardrums nearly popped at the sound the boy was making and Haymitch couldn’t look away. He and Effie both. “This was a fine little specimen,” the midwife smiled. She took care of him, swaddled him up and laid him on Effie’s chest. Effie who just moments ago screamed bloody murdered chuckled through tears when she felt the weight of him. “Look at you. Big baby.” Feeling his mother so close and hearing her voice had a calming effect on the baby. He stopped crying, just peered up at them in wonderment and they got a glimpse of a pair of Capitol blue eyes, Effie’s eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks, she didn’t do any attempt to hide it and even Haymitch found himself swallowing and swallowing. One of the nurses pulled up an armchair to him and he thankfully sat down. Effie reached out her hand to him. “I’m so glad I had sex with you.” “Boy, do you blow hot and cold,” Haymitch said weakly. Effie smiled and her gaze returned to her son. Their son. His eyes were already closing. Small wonder, Haymitch thought. He did have a pretty rough day. “What a precious little bundle,” Effie murmured. “He looks like me, don’t you think? Beautiful and special. One of a kind. Someone you remember.” Haymitch brushed one of the baby’s chubby cheeks. “Look at the size of those,” he commented in fascination. “Haymitch,” Effie sucked in a breath. “Don’t criticize my baby!” “Wasn’t criticizin’. Just an observation.” He caressed the little tufts of hair on the boy’s head. “And he ain’t all yours, Eff. He’s got my hair and everything. You don’t get all the credit.” Effie smiled and when he leaned in and kissed her it felt like the most natural thing in the world. “Would you like to hold him?” Haymitch was positive the child would start screaming again as soon as the nurse placed him in his waiting arms. Haymitch swallowed thickly and just sat there, stiff as a statue. He never had someone so pure and innocent sleeping on his arm since his brother was alive. The nurse spoke to Effie but he hardly noticed. He only had eyes for his child. “Do you want me to take him now?” Effie finally asked but Haymitch shook his head. “Little while longer,” he mumbled. He touched one of those tiny fists and the boy immediately took hold of his pinkie – an iron grip for someone so little and no matter how many times Haymitch swallowed he couldn’t get rid of the lump in his throat. Effie eventually drifted off to sleep but Haymitch couldn’t. He just stared at his son. Drank him with his eyes like he’d never get enough and he marveled at the thought you could love someone so new so deeply so soon. Owen. He just wished his family had been there to see him. Usually he did everything in his power to not think of them, it just hurt too much. But he hadn’t slept in over 24 hours and he couldn’t push them away now when his heart was so full. Pa would’ve smiled with shiny eyes and ask if he could hold him. Ma would say, “Now you take good care of him, Haymitch” and Amadeus would just caress the baby’s little wisps of hair ever so softly. Owen gave a stir. He puckered his lips, rubbed his face against Haymitch’s chest, searching for food. Effie heard the whimpers and reached out her arms towards the sound, still half asleep. God, it was hard to pass him over, even to Effie. She put the baby to her breast and the whimpers stopped. The boy’s eyes closed again as he sucked rhythmically while he kept a firm grip on his father’s pinkie. Haymitch had never seen someone more content and at peace with his world. And Effie, she was glowing. No makeup, face damp, her hair a mess but she looked so healthy, so happy it pinched his heart. I love you. He could have said it. He almost said it. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, the peacefulness of the whole scene or the fact she just birthed his child he didn’t know. He just ached to tell her. Those three little words he hadn’t uttered in decades. But Effie wouldn’t even believe him. She’d probably just laugh it off and ask if he hit his head while she slept. So he didn’t say it. Not today. But it didn’t make it any less true.

#hayffie #hayffismas #hayffismas week #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #and baby trinket-abernathy #maybe our mistakes are what make our fate #the epilogue

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whimstories · 7 years ago

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Camp NanoWriMo Word Sprints

Summary: Three prompts, three sprints, following the story of Bella who fell from her dimension into an alternate 19th century Britain.

A/N: It’s an idea I’m still fleshing out but it was fun to just throw some scenes together. The word count was the amount I finished in that time but i played around after the time as well. Feedback is always appreciated, enjoy!

“I can’t do this.”

(10 min//227 words )

Bella scrunched her nose, looking down at the gaudy outfit.

“What is this.” Her voice sounded so despondent she realized it was rude, but she could not describe this mess of fabric in front of her to add to the shock of being in an unfamiliar home.

The female to her right cocked her head in confusion.

“Your dress for the evening, Miss. Do you not like them?”

“This is a dress? Why does it look,” she made an upside bowl shape with her hands, trying to think of a proper word. “like a circus tent?” The servant looked more confused, if not amused.

“It is part of the current fashions, Miss. Though our Mistress does not commonly partake in such grand garments, we like to keep our wardrobe updated for convenience. I assure you, it is very common in the higher circles.”

“Do they have a problem with gravity in the higher circles?” Bella mumbled. She picked up a white article of clothing that was very stiff and had holes and lacing on one side. She almost felt afraid. “I can’t do this “current fashion”. Do you have anything plain? I noticed your Mistress wears pants and a shirt, I would be very comfortable in that. Please.”

The woman’s eyes went wide for a moment, shocked at the proclamation, which was confusing.

“I suppose you do not know, but it is not common for women to wear such things as the mistress. But I will fetch you plainer dresses, if you wish.”

Bella sighed and slumped her shoulders, feeling tired.

“I understand. Thank you, again.”

“I don’t want you.”

(20 min//438 words)

Yve was sitting outside behind the house. She was lounging in her high waisted tan pants and a white blouse, holding something delicate in her hands, twirling it around. When Bella turned the bend and saw the item, it was a flower. Yve tilted her head and smiled at the flower then began plucking the pedals one at a time.

“Who knew our beloved mistress could be so cruel to nature.” Bella announced. Yve jumped in her spot and turned her head towards Bella, her eyes wide.

“Bella. I thought you were out today.” Bella sat beside Yve on the lawn, wrestling with the flowing fabric twisting around her ankles.

“My business was finished fast. I know a thing or two about being precise. So, what are you doing to the flower? You looked pretty intense.” Bella asked, a smile on her face.

Yve’s face took on a rosy hue and she cleared her throat. She turned the flower faster between her fingers.

“A silly game. Have you heard of a flower oracle?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You take a flower, customarily a daisy but it is no matter, and choose something you wish to know. Such as…what do I want to eat today?” Yve dropped the flower next to her hip and reached for another nearby. “You begin with either a positive or a negative and pluck the petals until they are gone. I want,” Yve plucked a flower “I don’t want” Yve plucked another. She continued until the flower was at the end. “Once you reach the last, that is the answer you seek. Here, you try.”

Yve placed a purple flower in Bella’s hands and Bella thought for a moment.

“Does it matter if someone else hears? Like when you wish upon a star, it’s bad luck if someone hears the wish?” Bella asked. Yve huffed a laugh.

“I don’t believe so, but perhaps truth is louder without language.”

Bella hummed an agreement. After her meeting with the grimy “gentleman” at the shops today she was still thinking about her future in this world. She glanced at Yve’s face, kind and expectant. When she first met her she always thought her uptight and arrogant, no different from the rich cads in her world. Getting to know Yves was a new experience in a million ways. She was intelligent, fun, and spontaneous. She never saw quiet strength without condescension, but Yve showed kindness and passion. She never let her status undermine her morals and obligations. Bella never admired someone so much. Bella never wanted to be with someone so much.

Bella looked back at the flower and plucked a petal. I want you. I don’t want you. I want you. I don’t…

This was the first admission she had to identify her feelings toward Yve. A type of person she had never experienced.

Her chest felt light; she tucked her chin and smiled. She continued plucking. It did not matter what the flower said for she knew what this feeling was. It was new and something she did not expect but, glancing at Yve, she was willing to take a chance.

She was holding the last petal between her fingers, staring at Yve.

“What was it?” Yve asked raising her brows.

“I don’t.” Bella laughed and smiled. Yve smiled in return.

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s good because actions mean a hell of a lot more.”

A/N: AND THEY KISS

“Is that my shirt?”

(30 min// 558 words)

“Hey, Yve. Do you know what chocolate is?”

Yve sat at her desk, her left hand hovering over ivory parchment. She looked out of character, but Bella was still unfamiliar with Yve’s usual nature to make a comment. Her hair was down and messy, Bella saw the same pants from yesterday, and her shoulders were hunched into a slouch. She barely glanced at Bella when she asked the question.

“No, I must say I am unfamiliar.” She responded carefully. It was quiet for a moment and Bella refused to move from the door. The servants mentioned Yve’s sudden change in behavior, whatever that amounted to, and, as a guest, they suggested Bella should try to keep her company to repay the kindness of being allowed to stay at the castle. Bella agreed it was a small price to pay in respect to crashing an 8-foot solid metal pod into guest quarters then receiving room and board as a consequence. For the worst luck in the world, she would say she is doing well.

Yve shifted in the silence and shuffled the parchment away from her to glance at another. Her shoulders were raised tightly and she looked determined at her papers. Perhaps this isn't the best time, Bella thought. Bella opened her mouth to speak again when Yve dared a swift glance and spoke.

“Perhaps, you could elaborate on this “shocklet”. Is it common where you are from?”

Bella grinned and walked to the chair in front of Yve’s dark oak desk. She looked at it briefly to consider the beautiful, symmetric style in such an archaic era.

“Yes, very common. It’s a bitter food that can be mixed with sugar and cream to make a sweet treat that melts in your mouth. It’s the bomb. Or, um, it’s really delicious, is what I meant. I’ve been here a month, yeah? I’m having massive withdrawals. If you ever saw me on the floor, groaning and flailing like a pubescent toddler, chocolate is the culprit. You know, chocolate is made from cocoa beans, which can only grow in areas with high humidity and a lot of rain. Which for me means, I couldn’t grow a single seed on 90% of the planet. That form of cruelty only loses to being thrown into another dimension, you know?” Bella knew she had a knack for pointless rambling, that’s what happens when you don't partake in enough social interaction, and there was a fifty-fifty chance it won her favors or got her kicked out of the county.

Yve smiled down at her papers. Point to Miss Withdrawl-Syndrome, Bella cheered.

“Am I to believe you’re describing some form of narcotic mass produced into an innocent sweet treat?” Yve penned another stroke onto her paper, her eyes less intense on the task.

“What, no! Well, if we’re being hypothetical, maybe. I’m but a sheep to the corporate conglomerate of Willy Wonka bars.” Yve laughed, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and eyes glittering.

“Willy Wonka? You say many strange things, but I can not believe that is an acceptable name in any time or place on this planet.”

“But it’s such a beautiful name. Can you not imagine the grace of entering a room with such a name?” Bella sat up straight in her chair and plucked a paper from Yve’s desk and pretended to read in a pretentious tone “‘I now announce, forthwith and hither, The Infamous Sir Duke Grand Duchess King Willy Wonka of the Oompa Loompa Society.’ Yes, I think he sounds dreamy.”

Yve had leaned forward on the desk, her pen and papers placed well away from her sight. Her eyes were focused on Bella’s face, glittering like a grand joke was before her and she tried not to laugh. Bella felt her neck flush and she touched the spot in nervousness.

Yve continued to stare. Perhaps Bella’s silly antics were bordering on insulting.

“What is it?” Bella stammered. She began fiddling with her hair to distract from Yve’s eye contact.

Yve squinted down at Bella for a moment and her almost smile descended into a grim line. Bella thought she heard a clack, like teeth clenching together.

“Where did you find those garments?” Yve asked.

“Well, my usual clothes are rather unique compared to yours, but “male fashion” is the best equivalent. Though the dresses are beautiful! I’m grateful, but I like to see my limbs when I walk. At least, usually.”

Yve’s hands clutched together in front of her face so only her gaze was seen.

“I understand, but I am curious to where the staff acquired it.” Yve pressed the question like it would solve a grand investigation.

“I’m not sure. They were pretty happy handing it to me, so I assumed it was something they had to wait on. I’ve never had something so nice, by the way. The texture of the fabric is really something.” Bella began to rub the fabric around the collar between her fingers. Yve continued to look disgruntled.

Okay, what the hell. I thought we were getting somewhere for barely two seconds and now she sees another female wearing “forbidden male clothes” and she shuts down. Is it a crime for two women under the same roof to be comfortable? Shit, why does that sound so probable.

#camp nanowrimo #word sprint #writing #drabble #writing prompt #original #storytime

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the-revisionist · 8 years ago

Text

The Tristan Chord, chapter 15

[Edited to fix typos, thank you @farminglesbian, and to change a musical selection that came to me out of the blue.]

xv. the book of miracles

The tragedy isn’t that love doesn’t last. The tragedy is the love that lasts. —Shirley Hazzard, The Transit of Venus

“High fructose corn syrup.”

The phrase, dropped like a gauntlet at dinner, brings idle conversation to a halt. It is spoken by Lawrence, who points in a very melodramatic j’accuse fashion at Flora.

In turn, Flora blinks at him slowly, decides he’s playing at something, and giggles.

Why do I not have normal children? Caroline wonders. One is terrified of Latin and cries at soppy commercials on telly, the other apparently hears voices and is seriously considering going to clown school. The jury, however, is still out on Flora. Please be normal, she silently begs the child. If I screw you up somehow, I won’t be able to bear it. Meanwhile the others assembled around the table—Alan, Celia, and Greg—stare at her, awaiting a Solomon-like proclamation on Lawrence’s bizarre declaration.

Caroline makes them wait. She gulps wine, girds her loins, and unfurls a mighty sigh. “What are you on about?” she asks Lawrence.

“She said it.” Lawrence wags his finger at his sister. “The other day. Quite clearly, I might add. At breakfast, I swear she was looking right at the cornflakes box—”

Greg gasps. “You didn’t let her eat any of those, did you?”

“What? No.” Irritated at the interruption, Lawrence screws up his face in a profoundly unattractive fashion, the expression on a scatological scale somewhere in the not-so-vast plane between taking a shit and actually smelling one.

“Good,” Greg says, “because they do have high fructose corn syrup in them. Corn flakes are the devil.”

God, I am going to be completely pissed before this night is over if this keeps up, Caroline thinks as she polishes off her second glass of wine. “Can I quote you on that?”

“That’s not the point,” Lawrence says. “The point is, like, totally out of the blue, she just says ‘high fructose corn syrup.’ Just like that. And I was like, ‘What did you say?’ And she looked all smug and wouldn’t say anything else! Not a single word. And she won’t say it now. She just won’t. I’ve been trying all day to get her to say it.”

Bright with paternal enthusiasm, Greg gives it a go: “Flora. Sweetheart. Say, ‘high fructose corn syrup!’”

Celia pinches her brow.

Thoughtfully Flora regards her dinner plate. She positions several tiny pieces of broccoli upright on their stalks near a mound of uneaten casserole, creating a little mini-forest surrounding a hilly terrain. Caroline interprets this as a potential clue to a future occupation: Maybe she will become a naturalist. Or an urban planner. Or a demented celebrity chef.

“See? Nothing. She’s gaslighting me,” Lawrence says.

“Very significant achievement for two years old,” Alan observes. His mobile pings and he pulls it out of his pocket.

Celia glares at him. “Don’t look at it.”

“Just a peek.”

“I said don’t look at it.”

“I’m looking at it.”

“Don’t look at it.”

“I have to!” Alan protests.

“It’s dinnertime. You’re being very rude.”

“You know I have to,” he repeats. “Could be urgent.”

“They’re fine. The worst is over, that’s what the weather service says.”

“It’s still raining,” Alan says plaintively.

It’s been raining for a week, and as a result the valley is flooded. Well, Halifax is flooded; as for Harrogate, Caroline cannot help but summon words of wisdom from Gillian’s own personal saint, Morrissey: the rain falls hard on a humdrum town. It’s not exactly flooding of biblical proportions all around, as a rather hysterical local weatherman had decreed, but bad enough that Gillian’s farm and sheep have felt the effects: washed-out roads, power out, ruined hay, sheep driven to higher ground, and bad enough that Raff has been bunkered at the farm alone with his mother for three days and serving as the reluctant point person in keeping everyone else informed via increasingly irate and desperate texts to his grandfather.

“Well?” Celia prompts. “What does our Raff say?”

Alan squints at the mobile and enunciates slowly: “‘Is matricide a crime?’”

Lawrence gives his mother an inscrutable look. Caroline glares back in a manner that, she hopes, conveys that she will not be very easy to kill. Which he should certainly be aware of by now. He sulks and resumes surveillance of his sister, who tosses a piece of broccoli in his direction; whether it’s a peace offering or a come at me bro challenge cannot be discerned.

“Oh, dear,” murmurs Celia.

“Also, they’re almost out of toilet paper!” Alan places the mobile on the table. “That settles it. I think I should go out there.”

“But the roads may be bad, love.”

“Roads are fine now, rain should stop tomorrow.”

Celia’s eyes narrow. “Thought you said Gillian isn’t convinced the rain will stop.”

“Well—”

“‘She knows rain,’ you said. You always make her sound like she’s some sort of bloody American Indian, out on the prairie doing a rain dance.”

“There’s a mental image,” Caroline says. She starts clearing the table.

Alan frowns. “Harry will come with. If I ask, he will. We’d be all right, together. I just want to know they’re all right, want to see with my own two eyes.”

“Why don’t you sleep on it?”

“‘Sleep on it,’” Alan grumbles. “You’re just hoping I’ll forget.”

“Yes, dear, I am.”

In the kitchen Caroline stacks plates on the counter and grabs a casserole dish to scrape out before putting it in the dishwasher. As she turns around she finds her mother has magically materialized before her with the shocking stealth of a malevolent, enchanted garden gnome; rearing back to avoid certain collision, the contents of the dish—mixed remnants of noodles, various vegetables, and crumbly tofu in some kind of peanut sauce that Greg said was inspired by West African cuisine even though Caroline thinks he probably knows as much about West African cuisine as she knows about Renaissance poetry or the inner workings of her Jeep—find themselves gloppily splayed against her chest before gently sliding down her shirt and plopping onto the kitchen floor.

She counts to ten—normally an effective way of tempering her reactions, but in this case with random food gunk clinging to an expensive silk blouse finds herself going full on sacrilegious: “Jesus Fucking Christ!”

Lawrence enters the kitchen and then quickly backpedals out.

“Must you sneak up on people like that?” Caroline shouts.

“Must you swear like that? Gillian really is an awful influence on you.” Celia frowns at the floor. “Now that’s a right mess.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“I’m sorry but I wanted to talk to you alone, while I had the chance,” Celia says in an undertone.

“Well you’ve a captive audience now, so fire away.”

“You need to go to the farm tomorrow.”

Of course, the old woman would ask her to do precisely the one thing she does not want to do. “Why?”

“If you don’t go, Alan will and he’ll drag Harry along, and those two together—good God. If they don’t get stuck in the mud somewhere or lost God knows where while chasing errant sheep, Harry will drink all of Gillian’s wine and you know how she gets about that. In other words, they will drive her right ’round the bend and none of us, ever, will hear the end of it—well, I won’t hear the end of it, because she’ll blame me for not keeping her father put. She said as much to me when the rains started. She actually called me, can you believe it? She never calls me unless someone has a gun to her head. But she told me to keep him here.” Celia pauses to recharge from this breathless petition and plays with her necklace—pearls, a gift from Alan on their first anniversary. “He’s in fine fettle these days but I know, I just know, he will push himself trying to help her if he goes out there now and I don’t want him to risk making himself sick again.”

“I understand, but why me? Why not send—Greg?” As Caroline marvels at the nonsense out of her mouth, Celia seems to seriously ponder it but exactly five seconds later they burst into simultaneous fits of laughter.

“You are really funny sometimes,” Celia chortles.

“I know. Missed my calling.”

“But really, love. It’s not like you’d have to actually do anything strenuous. Just take them some food, you’ve got that leftover origami—

“—orecchiette,” Caroline says.

“—oh, and toilet paper, and just sweep the floors, wash the dishes, say an encouraging word or two and you’ll have done your duty.”

Like a wife, Caroline thinks.

“So will you?”

She sighs. “If you think it will—”

“Ah, wonderful! Thank you, love! You’ll go tomorrow then, will you? I’ll tell Alan right now.” Celia whirls out of the kitchen.

“I didn’t say yes yet,” she shouts at Celia’s retreating form.

Celia cackles triumphantly. “You’re my favorite daughter!”

She stares at the greasy smears on the floor.

The beginning of the flood had arrived at a most inopportune time: immediately after the pub kiss, which had left her fiery-cheeked and dazed on the ride home, quietly holding herself as she stared at pearl drops of light random and fleeting against the panorama of darkness. Twice William asked if she was all right. Later, alone in bed, she touched herself briefly and found no satisfaction in doing so. Bored before I even began, she had thought and then, oh Christ, quoting Morrissey, and finally, dismally she threw herself off the cliff into sleep. She woke to a morning heavily cloaked in rain and fog, the relentless downpour hissing with such persistence that when it briefly let up three days later the air rang with empty glory, not unlike the ripe silence following the violent peal of church bells.

At least Raff will get a good laugh out of seeing her in Wellies; she will actually get use of the pair that she bought years ago at the last threat of flooding. In fact, she is excited to wear the boots because they are a lovely, glossy black that will go smashingly with practically anything. Oh Christ, she sighs, and imagines the women’s mag headline: Dressing for Natural Catastrophe: What to Wear!

The drive to the farm the next afternoon is fraught with detours and muddy roads along a horizon that reminds Caroline of a Rothko: dark gray land and light gray sky cauterized together with a ragged white line across the horizon, the gleaming line absorbing every bit of light that daytime can possibly spare. Splinters of thin, light rain fall against the windshield. In the drive up to the farmhouse the Jeep gets caught in a muddy rut; she manages to back out and then maneuver around it, but the flood-damaged dirt road is bumpier than usual and despite the Jeep’s otherwise excellent shock absorbers Caroline gets a shaky, tediously unsatisfying ride that brings to mind the nadir of her sexual relationship with John.

As she pulls up within sight of the farmhouse she sees that Raff has spotted the Jeep from afar and he awaits her impatiently, bouncing on his heels. She is unprepared for the intensity of his greeting: He throws himself into her arms like a long-lost son or lover. She doubts she will receive a similarly enthusiastic reaction from Gillian; Christ knows you certainly don’t deserve it, she thinks.

“Thank God!” he says. “A normal person.”

“It’s nice to be thought of in that way,” Caroline replies.

“Please tell me you brought—”

“—toilet paper, yes, and pasta, sandwiches, biscuits, salad—”

“None of that healthy stuff for us,” Raff says. “Oooh, look at those fancy Wellies! Very chic, Cazza. You look like a farmer on telly—like you could be on a show about a sheep farmer who solves murders all the time.”

Caroline rolls her eyes in mock exasperation. “So where’s your mum?”

“Out in barn. I find it’s best to keep her out there, away from polite society.”

After they’ve unloaded the Jeep she reluctantly follows Raff out to the barn while he talks of dead sheep, wet hay, and power outages; the sheep were two dumb, young ewes that fell down a ravine, some of the hay might be salvageable but at least half of it might be bad, and the power is back on.

They find Gillian pulling an empty wheelbarrow into the barn. From the knees down her jeans and boots are spackled with mud. Her left elbow looks skinned and the sleeve of the flannel shirt on that arm is torn, and her hair is greasy and pulled back into a ponytail. At the sight of Caroline she drops the wheelbarrow; the clatter echoes and Caroline jumps. Gillian frowns and tugs at her work gloves.

Over the past week Caroline has rehearsed various speeches in her head ranging from the florid to the plainspoken, but all these thoughtful peregrinations made her wish she could simply present Gillian with a Venn diagram of intersecting emotions where each panic-riddled state or practical consideration included Gillian as the common element. Additionally the circular aspect of the diagram alluded rather obviously to Caroline’s typical mental roundabouts on the subject. Even allowing for Raff’s presence, what comes out of her mouth is still light years from either an articulate summation of the current chaos of her mind, or a poetic expression of inchoate desire:

“I come bearing toilet paper,” she says.

As expected she gets Gillian’s flinty look of irritated incomprehension, not unlike the time Greg tried to educate her on the nutritional value of mung beans in refutation of Gillian’s steadfast refusal to eat anything called mung.

“Sometimes you don’t get the hero you want,” Raff says as he claps a hand on Caroline’s shoulder, “but the hero you need.”

Gillian shuffles, stares at the floor. “That’s great.”

“There’s food,” Raff adds. “She’s brought food.”

“Good.” Gillian pretends that peeling off work gloves and tossing them onto a tool bench is an effort requiring both massive strength and supreme concentration.

Resigned to his mother’s surliness, Raff merely shoots her an exasperated look.

Look at me, Caroline thinks, but now Gillian busies herself with wiping dry the handle of some dangerous-looking tool that could easily be used for disembowelment and so she quickly turns her attention back to Raff. “Are you hungry?” she squeaks at him.

“I am, but I was gonna shove off—” He hesitates, fixing a glance on his mother. “—if that’s still all right.”

Gillian nods, digs around in her jeans pocket. In flight, the keys to the Landy flash across the barn.

Raff swipes at the air and catches them. His face softens as he jiggles the keys in his palm. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I told you it’s all right. So go on already, go see your girls. Come back tomorrow.”

Not content to proffer a mere thank you, Raff strides across the barn and engulfs his mother in a bear hug. Caroline allows herself to be amused at the spectacle of Gillian squirming, looking irritated, then pleased, then smiling, and then berating her son’s manhood: “All right, stop hugging me before you start growing ovaries.”

Would that be such a bad thing? Caroline decides not to say this.

“I love you, man,” Raff drawls oafishly in imitation of an American drunkard.

This makes Gillian chuckle and Caroline experience a brief fit of jealousy. There was a time when she used to make Gillian laugh; was that gone now, did the leaden intensity of this thing between them somehow drain the light from their relationship as the cursed, bloody flooded valley drained the sun from the sky?

She clears her throat and asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

Back to the squinty glare. “Yeah.” Gillian grabs a wide broom. She swaggers in Caroline’s general direction and then effortlessly tosses the broom at Caroline, who manages an awkward catch of it. “Sweep in here. Muck it out a bit.”

Once again irritated at Gillian’s behavior, Raff asks pointedly, “What are you gonna do?”

“Well,” Gillian drawls as she continues walking away from them, “since we’ve got toilet paper, thought I’d celebrate by taking a shit.”

They watch her leave. While she walks down the path to the house she occasionally glares up at the sky, as if daring it to rain more.

Raff shakes his head. “She’s really too much.”

You have no idea, Caroline wants to say. Instead she hugs Raff again before he sprints out to the Land Rover. As he drives away, he waves with frantic, grateful desperation, as if she ceded a place on a lifeboat for him. It’s like Titanic and she is Leonardo DiCaprio, Raff is Kate Winslet, and Gillian is the fucking iceberg. No matter, Caroline smiles bravely in a quintessentially English well chaps we’re doomed fashion while waving listlessly back at Raff and murmuring, “God help me.”

After sweeping the barn Caroline sits gingerly on an ancient stool that should be consigned to the woodpile. The stool wobbles and abruptly she stands. She rubs her back, stares at the large metal tool chest tucked under the tool bench. The red enameled exterior has clearly seen better days; the tool chest’s squat body is covered with dents and dings and dirt. There are five drawers of varying sizes, ranging from the smallest at the top to the largest at the bottom. The largest drawer looks a bit crumpled, as if it had been targeted in Gillian-driven fit of pique; as a result, it does not close properly. Caroline is not certain what compels her—other than sheer nosiness—but she pries open the drawer. It is crammed with books: Both paperbacks and hardcovers, all in varying stages of age and decrepitude. History, poetry, literature. Even a Stephen Hawking book. Philip Larkin. J.B. Priestley. Wallace Stevens. Barbara Tuchman. A book called The Transit of Venus catches her eye—her hope that it is actually about astronomy is immediately dashed by an abstract, pastel cover that indicates it’s a novel or perhaps poetry. Some of the paperbacks are warped with damp, their pages as furbelowed as the skirts of a Victorian matron.

All of these, Gillian’s books–as hidden and damaged as she is.

Caroline knows now that she has misjudged Gillian from day one. Thought she was reckless when in fact she possessed patience borne from a lifetime of denials and disappointments. Thought she was fragile and frail until Caroline discovered the untold muscles and sinew coiled under her skin and the sure and steady grip of her hands. Thought she was an uneducated rube and not a woman who secretly read books in a damp dim barn—probably because she didn’t want her shit husband to find out and knock her upside the head and who does it now simply because it’s a force of habit or is unwilling to admit to anyone that she needs the grace of solitude. Or both. Thought she was incapable of fidelity or love when she would gladly accept the smallest scrap of anything remotely resembling love, including its many seductive duplicities.

Tell me a lie, tell me you love me.

The glinting rain, which had stopped shortly before she arrived, picks up again, deepening the puddles and dips along the rough path that leads to the farmhouse. She imagines Gillian walking this path everyday, through all kinds of weather. Day in, day out. Sun warming her skin, wind stiffening her clothes, rain soaking her bones, snowflakes dusting her hair. Or on days when she’s hungover, or menstruating, or too wired on coffee, or walking with a spring in her step because she had if off with someone she met recently and it was good. Or walking slowly because Eddie has broken her ribs and they’re still mending.

Gillian told her this story while in that strangely lucid state of drunkenness that lent itself to her compulsive confessions: She had been too frightened to go to hospital because they would have asked too many questions, so she spent a fortnight in bed feigning a bout of flu to everyone until finally, with her torso bound up with bandages—the perpetrator himself had gently wrapped her up while crying and saying it will never happen again, I swear to you—and stuffed with as much paracetamol and oxycodone as she could take, she went back to work, doing some light chores every day. The path to the barn every morning was the hardest bit, she had said, like walking a gauntlet and every uneven step sent waves of pain beating against her core; once she got past that, everything seemed easier. A miracle then, a bloody fucking miracle that she did not die, a miracle that the man Celia Dawson reacquainted herself with after so many years was not just a widower but a bereft parent showing them photos of his lost child—a handsome, weary woman with haunted eyes the elusive shade of sky, sea, and earth commingled. There, that’s her, that’s my Gillian.

Caroline riffles the stiff, yellowed pages of The Transit of Venus. As words flutter by she encounters her name in the book several times. There are signs and miracles on this rainy day to be interpreted and treasured in equal measure, and the last one is divination for the disbeliever: She stands here looking at Gillian’s books and know that this, all of this, is heading where it’s heading despite her complete and utter lack of faith.

CHAPTER SOUNDTRACK:

The Smiths:

“There is a Light That Never Goes Out” “William, It Was Really Nothing,”

EDITED TO ADD:

Patricia Barber, “You Don’t Know Me”

Note: The great Shirley Hazzard died recently, so the reference to her novel in this chapter is a hat tip to an extraordinary writer who, I fear, will not be as remembered and revered as she should be.

#are we cool vincent #Caroline x Gillian #the one with the books

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thickasthievesrpg-hidden · 8 years ago

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WELCOME TO THE HEIST, ERIN!

YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF ADELAIDE ROTHSCHILD

A note from Admin Risa: One of the most important aspects of Adelaide that I’ve looked for again and again is her voice. Yes, there are backstories and tragedies and men like Evan who were the ones to get away - but in portraying a character, what is more important than the way they speak, carry themselves, act? Aside from being a lovely, passionately written app, you showed me precisely what I was searching for, Erin; and for that I’m so glad to place Adelaide in your hands! Congratulations on your acceptance! You’ve been to the museums, the banks, the isolated manors with their black dogs and gilded keys. You’ve stolen their necklaces, their jewels, the prized heirlooms in their vaults and their safes.They’ll watch out for you. Please visit the after acceptance page and submit your account within the next 24 hours – we’re excited to have you with us!

I. INTRODUCTION

Name/Alias + Pronouns:

Hello, my name is Erin! My confidence in my first application was lack severely after submitted it, so while I’m not ‘redoing’ it necessarily, I want to kind of just go back through and add much more than I had previously because I know that I can give it much more than I did the first time around. I really love this group and Adelaide, so if that means resubmitting a whole new application that surpasses my other one then so be it. Also, my preferred pronouns are she/her.

Age:

I am 20 years of age, though I’m turning 21 in two months!

Timezone + Activity

My current timezone is CST. As for my activity, I will just kind of reiterate what I said in my original application by saying that I am a very active roleplayer. I always try my best to be one of the most active people in the groups I join because I know how important activity is to the success of a group. Without us constantly being on the dash, doing replies, striking up threads, plotting, etc. the roleplay just doesn’t work so I’m always making sure I am constantly giving that time and attention to whatever roleplay that I am apart of. Especially this group because you so highly deserve it. My excitement for TaT is endless and I’ve stalked this group for months with hopes of one day working up the nerve to reply, so I can tell you now that it will take a lot to keep me away from the dash. To put my activity in a number though, I would say a solid 7-8. I work very early mornings most of the time, so my days are pretty free to spent on the dash! Starting the 17th, I will be taking some online college classes, so there will be days that I do dedicated my time to that because school does come first, but I will still make sure to dedicate a chunk of my time to this fantastic roleplay.

I. BASICS

Desired Role:

Adelaide Noel Rothschild

Analysis:

sexuality/romantic preference — After debating this with myself quite a bit, I see Adelaide being incredibly bisexual, but in denial about it. There are girls, beautiful women, who she’s felt sparks around before and it never really made sense to her. She’d always dismissed it as approval of the female species, but whenever there is a girl that gets overly friendly with Adelaide, soft touches and bright smiles, she feels her heart racing a little faster, her cheeks burning pink. It’s so foreign to her, but deep down she likes the rush she gets, not that she’d ever admit that to herself, let alone out loud.

birthdate — april 20th, 1991. ( I changed this because I wanted Miss. Adelaide to be an Aries )

birthplace/hometown — London

occupation — Being a socialite is a full time job, though not everyone would see it that way. Constantly in the spotlight, Adelaide does a lot more as the “IT” girl of today’s society than most do in their entire lives. She makes an impact, her every moved splashed across magazines title’s with scandalous titles and constant 'how to’s’ on how to be just.like.Adelaide. It’s a pressure normal people don’t have to feel, eyes always watching, eager fans waiting in the wings to see which fashion trend you’ll set next or which gown you’ll be dawning to the charity event of the year. Some crack under the intense weight of the world prying into their private lives, but Adelaide makes it look effortless. She is built for this world, this life. She commands attention and keeps it with no issues, something she never got previously, her incredible taste in clothing and her gold card handy tools in her shoot to success. Not only that, but it’s the perfect front. All eyes are on her trivial aspects. The little things that only small minded people really evaluate deeply. No one really assumes what is going on behind clothes doors, the crimes she commits with a pretty smile and sparkling eyes. Fashion icon. Socialite. Adelaide Rothschild is who you want to be, but also the one person you fear the most. A deadly combination that makes her time in the limelight unfleeting, a throne held with a iron fist.

criminal occupation — Being an inside woman is a job made for Adelaide. Her quick tongue and innate ease makes fooling the targets an easy feat. She can play up the innocent act as easy as anything else, fluttering lashes and lilted tones making it easy for her deceptive cover eat up any sucker that dare believe it. She gains trust and demands respect, something that those around her are too scared to debate, making her efforts on the inside simple and effective. Though her skills as an acquisitioner aren’t bad either. With this, Adelaide can drop the act, her fierce side shining through as she gets stuff done with an incredible heat and pace, mean tongue spitting angrily to make sure she gets what she wants, when she wants it without an hitches in her plan. It makes for a better heist when all tools are acquired timely and appropriately and that’s why her family can always count on Adelaide to deliver when needed.

Adelaide’s pronouns are going to be a preferred she/her.

Shopping is the brunette’s go to. Almost like a form of therapy that any normal person could never afford. Who needs therapists when you have credit cards and great taste? Long day? Seems like a good time to acquire a new pair of shoes. Frustrating people? Looks like a swipe or two of that black card on a new watch and a designer purse couldn’t hurt. It’s like an instinct for Adelaide, to throw herself into purchasing nice things to heal any kind of emptiness inside of her.

Mannerisms: Whenever she speaks, especially to her lessers, Adelaide often has a uncaring and apathetic tone about her. It’s a habit she picked up long ago, after suffering through the many heartbreaks life decided to throw her way. It’s something that she doesn’t do intentionally, but by remaining uninterested, there is no way she can grow close to people she doesn’t need within her life.

Four Characteristics:

+ Disciplined: Like most of those she works around, Adelaide is incredibly disciplined. It takes a lot to make her lose her cool, especially in a work environment. There is no room for mistakes or emotions in heists and Adelaide is a pro when it comes to remaining calm and focused, her sights set on finishing the job with no hiccups. There are rules to be followed and she follows the path set before her perfectly with no issues.

+ Meticulous: Going hand in hand with her need for perfect, Adelaide is someone who is incredibly meticulous in every aspect of her life. Every detail long thought out, ever bit of research thoroughly done. There is no rock left unturned with this Rothschild and it has always been that way. If she does something, she does it to the fullest extent. As she often quotes, with the straightest face in the world, “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

- Cynical: Adelaide is if nothing but cynical about…well everything. For someone who has been walked all over her entire life, hurtful punches coming from left and right, it’s nearly impossible that Adelaide not be choked full of cynicism. Mostly held towards the male species and their awful ulterior motives, Adelaide is distrustful of so much and that is just who she is.

- Apathetic: Throughout her life, Adelaide has always been slightly apathetic, but now even more so. If she doesn’t need to care about it, then she won’t, simple as that. If it doesn’t benefit her in any way, then why does she need to show interest towards it? Though fake when needing to be, her apathetic attitude reigns through often in her every day life. If she lets herself care, she’ll get hurt. So it’s best just not to care at all.

Expansion:

XANTHE: The one person in the world who Adelaide used to love the most. Her other half that has long since been separated from her, leaving a gaping hole in Adelaide where Xanthe should be. The light that always brightened up her dark little world, gone in an instant and unsure if it’s ever coming back. Adelaide misses her cousin and her best friend greatly, that ache in her heart quite never easing, but that is something she would never admit. There is too much that keeps them apart, a chasm that keeps opening up further between them without any words actually being spoken. She knows she needs Xanthe, but will she have her back? Probably not, at least never in the way they used to be, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t want it…there’s just something too heavy weighing on that thin line that makes any kind of rekindling next to impossible for the girls.

CIRO: The biggest pain in Adelaide’s ass. A nuisance, a non-entity on her radar that pops back up to pester her whenever it’s least convenient for her. Sniveling, conniving, any word negative word in Adelaide’s vocabulary has at one time been spit at in Ciro’s direction, followed by inevitable eye rolls and endless scoffing. He’s just like every other male in this world, untrustable and unreliable, but part of Adelaide has always bee curious about him. Sure, he’s the actual spawn of Satan himself, but who is he exactly? What lies beneath that incredibly irritating surface? Obviously nothing she would ever like, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t grow curious about him from time to time.

HALE: They have never been close and that has always been okay with Adelaide. Her brother is every she isn’t and that has always been a center of irritation for the girl. Though whether she would want to admit it or not, Adelaide would go to war if anyone ever hurt Hale. Claws would come out. Fighting words would fly. She can’t relate to her brother, and that’s okay, but she doesn’t need to understand him to kill anyone that crosses him or uses him to smear the Rothschild name.

II. WRITING

Para Sample(s):

ONE.

Morning sunlight slated through the french windows, bright hazel eyes fluttering open as she roused from her soundless sleep, brunette curls tussled crazily from a graceful head turning fitfully on a silk pillow throughout the night. She couldn’t remember what is was that she’d been fretting about in when asleep, but she recalled the feeling it gave her. Her stomach had felt knotted, like a strong hand had carelessly punched her in the gut without a regret. It had to have been a dream about Evan, his face still plaguing her nightmares even till this day. It was silly, she knew that, but it was something she couldn’t help. Deep down, Adelaide knew there was still incredible resentment there, but she had done such a good job of shoving all that nonsense away and burying it that it surprised her even now that she was still bitter about that fateful night. That had been why she’d slinked up to a bar in some five star hotel the evening before and order the strongest drink possible, her head clouded with too much crap that it was nearly impossible for her to focus on anything else than numbing the noise. It was a night she needn’t remember, nothing of importance coming to mind as she attempted to shovel through the slightly drunken memories replying through her brain. It was clear that she had been too drunk to find her way home, the room surrounding her beautiful, but unfamiliar.

The silk white sheet wrapped around her body proved useful as she tucked it in around all the right places and sat up, a migraine pounding away at her temples. “Christ,” She grumbled sleepily as she attempted to get her bearings. The room was simple, but decorated nicely. The ottoman placed aside the right side of the bed had her clothes folded neatly upon it, underwear neatly propped on the top of the pile. Odd, but expected. Adelaide wasn’t usually one to sleep naked, but it made sense that even in her drunken state, she would still had taken the time to effortlessly fold her nice clothing and set them aside before crawling between expensive sheets.

Looking to her left however, was a mistake. A male figure, naked unfortunately, was stretched out beside her, still sleeping soundly. A mop of dark hair covered his head, the ends sticking up in a typical ‘sex hair’ fashion, a thought that made Adelaide smirk to herself. Whoever he was, they had fun, she could tell that much. Now that it was morning though, it was over and she needed to get away when she could, hoping desperately she could slip out of this situation without waking her naked companion up. It needed to be as quick and painless as possible and the only way to achieve that was to get out with little to no communication with the male she’d spent the night with. He was probably nice, not that she cared, but it wasn’t how things worked with Adelaide. She’d turned herself off to niceties with male species and she planned to keep it that way.

The second she moved, toes just barely gracing the carpet, the male stirred, tired moans escaping his lips.

“Shit, shit, shit,” She whispered, watching him carefully as she bit her lip in anticipation. Hopefully he’d stay asleep and she could collect her things and go.

With no luck, the male lifted his head slowly, turning to look in Adelaide’s direction and immediately her heart dropped into her stomach.

It was Ciro.

“Cappechi!?” She blanched, tone shrill and unwitting as the surprise of her life hit the small girl like a wrecking ball, “What…what the hell!?”

It took a second for the male to register the situation, sleepy eyes blinking a few times before growing to the size of melons, Ciro immediately scrambling up from his comfortable position in a panic.

“Sheet! Please!” Adelaide shrieked as the male was still naked and showing all, apparently for the second time.

Ciro quickly grabbed the nearest pillow he could get his hands on, covering his exposed parts with pink cheeks and a nervous smile. There was nothing funny about this situation, at all. How could he be enjoying this?

“Well, would you look at that. Seems as if I got under your skin quite literally this time Rothschild,” Ciro grinned eve wider, eyebrows wiggling as he assessed her standing across the room in nothing but a thin sheet, clothing sat beside her neatly.

“Oh bugger off, you prick!” She forcefully tossed her own pillow in his direction, the object bouncing off his torso and falling to the ground with no effect on him whatsoever and that stupid smile pasted across his lips.

Adelaide scooped up her clothes quickly and dashes to the ajar bathroom door, slamming it behind her for good measure. How could she do this? Ciro of all people? She didn’t even remember him being there last night! When had he come into the picture? And more importantly, when had they gotten their clothes off and into bed with one another? This was it, this was the last time Adelaide was ever going to drink.

( I know this would never happen, but i thought it would be something fun to include. To give a little light to your dark princess. I also hope it makes you laugh! If it’s not what you’re looking for, please please let me know and i will happily write another one for you. )

TWO.

It was deathly quite. Not a single sound dared to interrupt the utter silence that settled over the room the second Xanthe and Adelaide were in the same capacity. The air in the room was thin, it felt as if it were being slowly sucked out, leaving Adelaide’s chest tight as she tried to keep herself calm. There was no use in getting angry. Not now, not ever….not with her. A screaming match would resolve nothing, but is that even what they were here for? To resolve something? To put the pieces of their broken lives back together? No. It wouldn’t work anyway. It was like their relationship was a fine glass mirror, shattered by a force so strong that the many shards making up the structure could never quite be put back the same way, no matter how hard they may try. Bleeding and broken hands could pick up the sections for rest of their lives, but all they would be left with is an object that is merely a shadow of its former self.

Xanthe eyes had looked everywhere but in Adelaide’s direction, while the brunette herself couldn’t keep her gaze away from her cousin. Radiant as always, Xanthe hadn’t changed a bit. Other than having filled out, a certain maturity added to her already poised frame, she was exactly the same person she always was other than the frown twisted on her mouth. She’d spent the last few minutes mindlessly picking at her flawless nails, still frowning. It was unnerving almost to see such a perfect face with such a negative expression, but she knew very well it was because of her.

Neither of them wanted this. Being here, sitting across this table from the girl who used to be her whole world, it was painful. It felt like the universe was playing some kind of cruel joke on her, all the pressed negative energy flooding back up as they sat in silence, neither girl daring to be the one to speak. That would be the one giving in, the weaker one.

“Ladies, cut it out. You’re going to die if you sit here any longer,” Hale exasperated as he skirted through the dining room, careless demeanor adding only a little bit of relief to the tense room before it floated away with him as he went. Surprisingly enough, his comment made the blonde’s eye flit upward, focusing in on the brunette sat across the lengthy dining room table. It wasn’t a pleasant look. A glare that no person would ever want to be on the other side of, not from a women like Xanthe - even Adelaide suddenly felt small and insignificant, shrinking back into Xanthe’s shadow much like the old days where she have practically lived there.

“Mon Dieu, Addy. Say something,” Her word were soft, but the slight undertone of frustration was obvious to anyone that knew Xanthe well enough.

“What is there to say?” Adelaide didn’t want to have this discussion, probably ever, but their families had parent trapped them together and forced them into this. Most likely they were on either side of the doors, ears pressed tightly against the oak as they eavesdropped, clearly less brave than her brother.

“I don’t know. I thought maybe if we…would ever be in this situation, I’d be able to say all the things I’ve needed to. I was hoping there would be things that you would want to say to me.”

It seemed simple enough, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t admit how desperately she needed Xanthe, how much she had missed the girl sat across from her. There was too much that was broken, too much that hurt, but man did she need Xanthe. Almost more than she needed to breathe. Adelaide wasn’t weak. That was something everyone knew, but now, in the presence of the one person who she thought knew her the most, Adelaide felt her walls dropping. The emotions she bit back and swallowed down long ago were rising up, like a hot bile in her throat as tears burned the back of her beautiful eyes. Painted lips pressed tight, throating aching as she held back the flood threatening to spill over.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Starter Example:

If it’s okay, I was just going to refer to the starter I wrote in my other application, because that is pretty much the same thing I was going to write here. Since it is a new application though, if you need me to write a new one then I can.

III. FREESTYLE/EXTRA

My tag for Adelaide on my writing blog. I will be posting in this tag quite a bit, so any other extra stuff like memes, musings, etc. will be posted there.

QUOTES: “You can’t make people love you, but you can make them fear you.”

“Not everyone wants to be Adelaide Rothschild.” “Not everyone can be.”

My playlist for Adelaide:

Material Girl - Madonna

Primadonna Girl - Marina and the Diamonds

Problem - Natalia Kills

How To Be A Heartbreaker - Marina and the Diamonds

Young and Beautiful - Lana Del Rey

Bitch - The Plastiscines

Shoutout To My Ex - Little Mix

Royals - Lorde

Vogue - Madonna

She’s Not Afraid - One Direction

Uptown Girl - Billy Joel

#accepted #accepted: adelaide

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minervacasterly · 8 years ago

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With the Heart and Stomach of a King, She was a Rock that Bent to no Wind: How Queen Elizabeth I used her femininity to her advantage.

There are many quotes that you can find of Elizabeth I that are simply kick ass and help us understand what she was all about. She used her femininity and the status quo regarding women in power to her advantage and she was often pragmatic on issues of religion and foreign policy which ensured her a successful and long reign. That's not to say that she was flawless. Several historians have been critical of her policies, pointing out where she erred. However; we have to remember that we are looking at these events in retrospect, something that these figures didn't have the advantage of.

Queen Elizabeth was born in September of 1533, known as Princess for less than three years before her father annulled his marriage to her mother so he could marry again and sire a son. Elizabeth's only defendant during her childhood years as a royal bastard was her half-sister, the Lady Mary who also became a bastard after their father annulled his union to her mother to marry Elizabeth's. Mary didn't get along with Anne but she came to love her little sister and it was thanks to her advocacy that she was brought back to court and given new clothes after she outgrew her old ones. Elizabeth Tudor had less than an ideal life after that. Relying on her words and silence to keep herself out of trouble and enemy lines. Sometimes she was successful, sometimes she wasn't but one thing is clear: Seeing queens, including her cousin and stepmother, Kitty Howard, fall and annulled, taught her a lot. In her biography on the Tudors and Stewarts and Kathryn Parr, Linda Porter states that it was Henry VIII's last wife that taught Elizabeth everything she needed to know about female power. Kathryn Parr used her intelligence, her love of books, fashion, and cordiality to make herself into a powerful figure that was eventually appointed Regent (the only other one of Henry VIII's Queens to be given that position besides Catherine of Aragon) during his absence.

Fast forward to Mary I's reign. Edward VI's reign had been troubling for Elizabeth. Always a lover of fashion and cordial behavior, she soon learned how easy it was for someone to stain her reputation, even when she was an unwilling participant of Thomas Seymour's courtship. While some blame Kathryn Parr for letting this go, it is unclear just how far Thomas Seymour's attentions went. Sources, whether primary or secondary (written many years later and from supposedly eye witnesses accounts) suggest that it did go that far. Elizabeth would wake up earlier than her stepmother and her last husband so Thomas Seymour wouldn't sneak up into her bedroom. When Kathryn Parr died as a result of childbed fever, Thomas Seymour began to conspire against his brother and in no time he found himself in the Tower with a head short. Elizabeth was questioned along with her former governess, Kat Ashley whose husband reprimanded her for her encouraging Thomas Seymour's advances after his wife had died.

It is unclear what role she had in the Wyatt Rebellion or in the Grey-Dudley Protestant Regime before that. One thing is clear though, her words were her shield and her silence, her most deadly weapon. By distancing herself from the Grey-Dudley regime, she convinced her sister that she wasn't her enemy. Indeed, she even played a major role during her coronation, riding on a carriage of silver trappings with their former stepmother, Lady Anne of Cleves. But come the Wyatt Rebellion, she was questioned and so where her servants. Elizabeth never forgave her sister for this transgression. It was Philip of Spain, Mary I's husband's intervention that saved her. One can only imagine the stress that Elizabeth went through being lodged in the SAME rooms her mother once was lodged in for her coronation and later during her imprisonment as she awaited her death. When Elizabeth got out she was put under house arrest and carefully watched. During Elizabeth I's reign there were rumors that Margaret Douglas was responsible for Mary I's treatment of her half-sister. It is unlikely that Elizabeth I believed some of her cronies who spread these rumors in an effort to tarnish the Countess of Lennox reputation. There was very little truth in them. Mary I's actions were her own but like her, Elizabeth I couldn't afford to put all the blame of her. A House divided was bad for business. When Mary I rallied the commons and her noble supporters against Jane Grey and her supporters, she laid the blame of Edward VI's actions at their doorstep (especially on John Dudley, given that he had no royal connections unlike Henry Grey who was married to her cousin, Frances Brandon). And Elizabeth I was angry with Margaret Douglas at the time for having conspired against her to wed her eldest son to the Queen of Scots, so she was going to use whatever weapons she had to levy them against her. Elizabeth I's view on Mary's actions can be best examined by what she told the Count de Feria when he visited her at Hatfield, where most of Mary I's court had gathered, eager to please their future queen. She told the Spanish Count that she owed nothing to her sister seeing as she had served her loyally and she (Mary) had rewarded her loyalty by accusing her of the most heinous crimes and locking her in the Tower. While Margaret Douglas rose through the ranks of favoritism after Elizabeth was cast out of Mary's inner circle, it is unlikely that Mary would have ever considered doing what her half-brother did. In spite of her reservations towards her sister, she knew that in order to keep their grandfather's legacy going, another Tudor had to take the center stage and the best way to achieve that was to allow a peaceful transition of power so Elizabeth was kept in the line of succession. On November of 1558, eight months after Mary I had made her will, Elizabeth I became Queen. Like one of her namesakes and her great-grandmother, it is said that she received this glorious news while she was under an oak tree and as soon as she was given the ring of state, she quoted one of the psalms. "This is the Lord's doing and it is marvelous in our eyes." Elizabeth Tudor became the second Queen Regnant of the British Isles on Sunday, January 15th, 1559. he day began after Elizabeth made her way from the Tower of London, dressed in crimson parliament robes walking on blue cloth which had been laid for her all the way to the Abbey. The Spanish Ambassador, Feria, refused to be present but the Venetian Ambassador,Schifanoya was there and he reported everything he saw. According to him and other contemporary accounts, as Elizabeth made her way to the Abbey, there were stages erected for her that depicted once again her noble lineage through her father and his parents, and included Henry VIII’s collections of tapestries -especially one depicting the Acts of the Apostles based on the designs by Raphael. This symbolized the late Tudor monarch’s devotion and Bess further emphasized hers after she emerged from a curtained sector where she changed into her new clothes, and then was led by the Bishop of Carlisle to the stage where she was proclaimed Queen. The customary question was asked. If the people would like Elizabeth to be their Queen or not, and the people cried “Yea, yea!”. Then the trumpets sounded, the organs were played and the bells rang and Elizabeth and the Bishop descended to the altar where she knelt before it to hear the sermon and then took the oath. After this was said and done, she withdrew to the traverse to change for the final part in the ceremony, the anointing. She emerged wearing a kirtle of gold and silver. Prostrating herself before the altar, leaning on cloth of gold cushions, she was anointed on the shoulders, breast, hands, arms and forehead. Three crowns were placed on her head, after which she was completely arrayed in gold and to everyone who was there, she seemed indeed, seemed not human but like a golden figure, an icon, almost god-like as her father always tried to appear. Elizabeth ever the pragmatist, had intended to create a hybrid of the Protestant Church her brother had enforced on the population and the Marian Catholic reformed Church her sister had also tried to enforce. As Starkey explains: “It was now time of the coronation mass, which followed, with Elizabeth’s personally enforced innovations. The Epistle was read twice, first in Latin and then in English…. Then the bishop brought the Gospel. This too was read twice, in the old liturgical language and again in the Tudor vernacular, which has, to us, become almost as remote, beautiful as the Latin. Elizabeth now repeated her gesture of the day before and kissed the Bible -and, it is safe to guess, the English one.” Furthermore Jasper Ridley adds in his respective biography of Elizabeth: “After he [Bishop of Carlisle] had crowned her, a Mass was held in Latin; but the celebrant, her chaplain, spoke the words of consecration in English and did not elevate the Host.” The Coronation pardon was then given and the Queen traveled from Westminster Abbey to the Palace Great Hall to enjoy her coronation banquet. As she passed the great crowds, she greeted them with that same smile from her accession and it won them over again.

Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland continued with most of her half-brother and half-sister's policies while expanding the Protestant agenda. As previously stated, in matters of religion, Elizabeth I took on a pragmatic approach, not wishing to voice her support of the Netherlands or the Dutch, or even the Huguenots in France since they believed in a Republican government and hardly recognized the authority of a King over his or her subjects. Her animosity towards John Knox, the infamous radical Protestant preacher in Scotland stemmed from his controversial pamphlets published in 1558, the year she succeeded her half-sister, in which he condemned female monarchy. While John Knox tried to justify his remarks by stating that his attack was an attack on Catholic female monarchs and other women in power, and not exclusively on her, Queen Elizabeth I didn't let him so easily off the hook and during the remainder of her life, he wasn't allowed to step on English soil. Elizabeth I however, recognized his usefulness against her royal cousin, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots and when the latter interests no longer suited her own, Elizabeth I covertly supported the Protestant lords and religious leaders against her. During her last years, Elizabeth I began to disagree more and more with these types of radical preachers. She saw them as dangerous to the institution of monarchy. Parliament's powers had been expanded with her father, and while she relied on them, the two often clashed. Most of her lords sympathized with these radical preachers and when Elizabeth I wanted to punish them by giving them a harsher sentence, they intervened, guaranteeing they wouldn't be executed or spent a long time in prison.

Another area Queen Elizabeth I clashed with her subjects was on the issue of her royal cousin. Fiction often portray them as enemies and while they were, for some time, Elizabeth I seemed favorable to the idea of Mary, Queen of Scots succeeding her AS LONG as she married someone that Elizabeth I agreed with. She even sent her favorite, Robert Dudley but this option for Mary Stuart was too scandalous. Why? Because Queen Elizabeth I declared that the best way to ensure a happy union between the two was to move in with her. And as Anne Boleyn played by Natalie Dormer said in the Tudors, you can't have three people in a marriage. You just can't. Tired of waiting for a clear response, Mary, Queen of Scots accepted her other royal cousin's proposal to marry her eldest son, a handsome young man who was also a Stewart through his father and like Mary, descended from Princess Margaret Tudor via her second marriage to the Earl of Angus. The marriage as we all know, was disastrous and ended in tragedy. Mary was blamed for his assassination and in short time married one of his other alleged assassins, the Earl of Bothwell. Bothwell ended up abandoning her and her unborn children when the going got tough and when she was surrounded by enemies and former allies, she miscarried her twins and capitulated to her captors, abdicating in her son's favor. Queen Elizabeth I wasn't directly involved in King James VI of Scotland's upbringing but she received many reports regarding the young King. When the King heard of his mother's sentence, he appealed to the Queen in a way that didn't seem to side too favorable of her, but Elizabeth I ignored his request. In what has been described as one of Elizabeth's clever ways of excusing herself off her royal cousin's execution, she wrote to Philip II of Spain and other monarchs that she never intended for things to go this far and were it had been truly up to her, she would have never signed her execution warrant. The truth is, she did sign the execution warrant and she wasn't coerced or forced. Like with half-sister's actions, Elizabeth I's actions were entirely her own. However, her royal cousin's execution always haunted her. It was a difficult decision to make because she was one who valued royal authority above all else and this action set a precedent for future monarchs to be held accountable to their subjects.

Elizabeth I's last years have been under heavy criticism. The truth regarding the Armada's defeat is as much clouded in mystery as it is in propaganda. In the first episode of her documentary series "British History's Biggest Fibs"; historian, Dr. Lucy Worsley describes how successful the Tudor regime was in pushing their agenda and having their version of events become the official story. In his book entitled "Armada", the late Garrett Mattingly aptly described the events based on primary sources, letters and other documents, that resulted in the disastrous Spanish navy's defeat. For one, the Spanish vessels were terribly large which made them slower. The English ships were poised to shoot everything that moved and wasn't English and given the horrible weather, it was easier for them to hit their target. During this time, Elizabeth I gave her most famous speech at Tilbury where she said that while she had the "weak and frail" body of a woman, she had "the heart and stomach of a King" and a "King of England" at that! Like her father, Queen Elizabeth was a good public speaker and like her mother, she was subtle enough to know how to handle foreign emissaries, promising them nothing and also denying nothing. As a lover of fashion, she knew the power behind it and used her public image to replace previously beloved religious figures among the Catholic population. It was during these years that she came to be known as Virgin Queen, and using biblical and classical imagery that compared her to Deborah, Esther, Athena, Artemis and Hera, she used her status as an unmarried woman to become a pseudo-religious icon.

But not all was well in paradise. As she got older, her ladies and noblemen began to mock her and considered her efforts to become a nationalistic and religious symbol ridiculous. Some even went as far as to laugh behind her back and Elizabeth I responded equally by mocking them and humiliating them after they refused to obey her orders and tried to outshine her by wearing expensive bright colored gowns.

Elizabeth I did her best to cope with loss as she had done with other obstacles. The loss of her longtime favorite, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester affected her greatly and so did her stepson’s betrayal, Robert Deveraux, the Earl of Essex. Before she became 50, her councilors once again continued to pressure her into making a royal marriage and while she continued to make vague promises to would-be-suitors, it is possible she might have entertained a married life but decided against it. Entering marriage would have meant giving up most of her freedoms. It would have meant that the question surrounding female monarchy would have come up again, with some of her husband’s potential foreign allies ruling in his favor, or worse, once she had a male heir, he would have moved against her in the same fashion as Mary Stuart’s last two husbands.

Elizabeth I always refused to name an heir. She always gave vague promises, and at times denied nothing nor promised anything, being as subtle as her mother and as you would expect a highborn lady to be. The reason why Elizabeth I never wanted to make her choice of an heir official, regardless of whom she favored at one point, was because she had seen how courtiers had flocked to her like vultures once they realized that her half-sister Mary I wasn’t going to live any longer. Elizabeth I was tired of political intrigue although she continued to fight the good fight and take on her enemies.

It was also during her last years that she looked for new allies. Catherine de Medici was one of her strongest allies/rivals, someone who deeply admired Elizabeth. It is possible that Elizabeth I also admired her. What other foreign woman who’d been previously scorned and mocked had achieved so much in so little time following her husband’s death and her sons’ ascensions? As Charles IX became more insecure, Catherine convinced him to appoint her Governor of France. This gave almost unlimited powers, allowing her to give orders in her son’s name, in spite of the fact that he had reached his age of majority long time since then. But regardless of their personal feelings, they were always set these aside in favor of their position and (in Catherine’s case) their offspring. Catherine de Medici had no qualms to act against her enemies, especially her former daughter-in-law’s maternal relative, the Guises who went as far as to encourage Protestant lynching when Catherine sided with Huguenots, including one of their leaders, Jeanne III of Navarre. "... Catherine de Medici had every cause to regret the bull against Elizabeth. Her goal, after all was the reduction of tension, not its increase. On 8 August 1570 the Treaty of St Germain finally brought peace: freedom of conscience and freedom of worship limited to certain locations ..." (Sarah Gristwood, Game of Queens) The St. Bartholomew Massacre left a bad taste in everybody's mouths, including Queen Elizabeth I and her councilors. Mary, Queen of Scots' execution had been the catalyst for the Anglo-Spanish war. Following the end of the Valois dynasty and the end of the Bourbon with the late Jeanne III’s son, Henry IV, becoming the new King of France, France once again became England’s ally. Henry IV thanked Elizabeth I for her support but as time went on, he sided with the major Catholic powers forming a Holy League against Elizabeth I that sought to depose her and install Philip II’s eldest daughter, Isabella Clara Eugenia.

Not cowed by her country’s forced isolation, she looked to the Middle East for potential allies. The woman who made this alliance possible was none other than Safiye Sultan. Like Catherine de Medici before her she had risen through the ranks due to being her husband (Murad III) chief wife and their son’s regent. And also like the former Governor of France, in spite of Mehmed III reaching his majority, she was still an influential figure who refused to let go of her position as her son’s consultant and adviser. She greatly admired a woman like Elizabeth I who used her single statues to bolster her image, and present herself as a virtuous, nationalistic and religious icon and an ideal substitute for the Virgin Mary -a figure whose cult had been very popular in England. When Elizabeth I became frustrated with her son, she wrote to her mother knowing that Safiye was the true power behind the throne. The two women exchanged gifts and letters, with Safiye congratulating Elizabeth for her victories and he gracious behavior towards her. “…both Murad III and Mehmed III’s reigns notoriously, was ruled mainly from the harem. Elizabeth had employed very similar tactics on Barton’s advice six years earlier in 1593, using Safiye as her intermediary in an attempt to influence the direction of the Hungarian war. At that time, her letter had been accompanied by a few handsome gifts, paid for by the Levant Company. These consisted of a ‘jewel of Her Majesty’s picture’ (possibly a Hilliard miniature) set with rubies and diamonds, three great tilt plates, ten garments of cloth of gold and a very fine case of glass bottles, silver and gilt.” (John Guy, Elizabeth I: The Forgotten Years)

Elizabeth I spent her last years looking back at her triumphs and failures, ridding herself of potential rivals and refusing to assure her councilors of anything that would reflect her personal opinion regarding who her successor should be. But she must have sensed the end as she once again saw the courtiers beginning to flock to James VI of Scotland, eagerly waiting for her to give her last breath. Elizabeth I sponsored many artists and play writers, including the famous William Shakespeare whose plays greatly contributed to the English language and gave us many phrases that we still use today. One of her favorite plays was Henry V because of the character of Falstaff. She found him the most likable of all of the play's characters. Like one of her ancestors, she began to identify with Richard II whose excesses led to his deposition and was the catalyst behind the wars of the roses that ended with the destruction of the Houses of Lancaster and York and the Plantagenet Dynasty. At she was quoted to have said: “I am Richard II, know ye not that?” Elizabeth I didn't like the way Richard II had been -and still was- portrayed and her opinion might have influenced Shakespeare to make him into a pitiful character. Besides considering his treatment of his subjects unjust, there was another reason why she might have identified with Richard II. Like her father, she firmly believed in the divinity of Kings and took her role as Head of the Church seriously. When she was told her sister had died and was presented with her royal ring, she quoted one of the psalms, saying that “this is the lord’s doing and it is marvelous before our eyes.” As God's representative on Earth, an act against her was an act against the Almighty. And also like her father, she shared his dislike for those who questioned royal authority.

Despite the various plots and opposition against her, Elizabeth I endured but she knew her time was coming and she prepared for it. On February 1603, she settled her affairs regarding her officials in Ireland, ensuring that the next monarch would have complete control of that Isle and that there would be no more disruptions from Catholic rebels or rogue officers. Nevertheless, she refused to appear weak before her ministers insisting that nothing was wrong with her. On the 24th of March 1603, Queen Elizabeth I died at Richmond Palace at the age of sixty nine. Ironically it was the same place her grandfather and founder of her dynasty had died ninety three and eleven months earlier. Elizabeth I’s Funerary Procession took place a month later, on the 28th of April. She was carried from Whitehall to Westminster Abbey where she was laid to rest on the Lady Chapel. “It was an impressive occasion: the hearse was drawn by four horses hung with black velvet, surmounted by a life-sized wax effigy of the late Queen, dressed in her state robes and crown, an orb and scepter in its hands; over it was a canopy of state supported by six earls.” (Alison Weir, The Life of Elizabeth I)

“Westminster” Chronicler John Stow wrote, “was surcharged with multitudes of all sorts of people in their streets, houses, windows, leads and gutters, that came out to see the obsequy.” After the Mass had ended, her household servants broke their white staves and tossed them at her tomb to symbolize the end of their allegiance. Truly, it was a sight to see and also a reminder than it was the end of an era. Gone were the days of the Tudors, now it would be the Stuarts who reigned. She was buried at the Lady Chapel that Henry VII had ordered be built for himself and his descendants, at Westminster Abbey. It was in this place where her paternal grandparents and great-grandmother and half-sister were also buried. Three years later, King James I decided to rebury her in a different vault and honor her memory by building a magnificent burial. Unfortunately, this monument didn’t include an effigy of the Queen’s sister, Mary I who was reburied with her. The plaque on her tomb reads the following: “Consorts both in throne and grave, here we rest two sisters, Elizabeth & Mary, in hope of our resurrection.”

Queen Elizabeth I remains one of the most celebrated figures in English history and considered one of the best monarch in world history. Often she will be reduced to a mere caricature in which she is either an angelic figure who could do no wrong or thrown off that pedestal it in favor of the other extreme that depicts her as Europe's greatest prostitute or as a boy. The "Bisley Boy" legend was first popularized by none other than Victorian and Gothic writer, Bram Stoker. Bram Stoker was fascinated by the legend and took it seriously. A few years ago, a mystery writer said that it was possible she could have been a man and what was his reasoning behind this? Nothing, except the usual "she didn't get married and she never had kids with her favorites". Here's a thought for these people: Do some research! Read the primary sources and then read well-researched books by historians and biographers who've also written extensively on this topic. In Anna Whitelock's biography on Queen Elizabeth I's court, "The Queen's Bed", she quickly debunks this bogus story by offering us an insight of what court life was like. Just think about it. Elizabeth I was surrounded by women day and night. As Queen Regnant, she was dressed by her ladies and undressed by them. She was even attended during her bath. Don't you think some of them would have noticed she was a man if indeed she was? I know people love a good conspiracy once in a while but come on! Also, just because she didn't get married and possibly wasn't intimate with her favorites, doesn't mean she was a man. Her reign was unique given that she refused to marry, but given her past experiences and how England wasn't (fully) used to the idea of female monarchy, we can see why she chose to take this route.

Elizabeth I's reign continues to fascinate many people and it is proof that sometimes the impossible can become possible. She became Queen when she was twenty five years old. Her reign lasted forty-four years, outlasting that of her father and the other Tudors. Known as “Glorianna”, “Good Queen Bess” and “the Virgin Queen” for her refusal to marry, she also had one colony in North America named after her. She is the third longest female monarch in English history and to some, one of the most important women in history. In his biography on Elizabeth I, David Starkey says that what differentiated her from her sister was that while Mary “aimed for a heavenly crown; Elizabeth aimed for an earthly one.”

Sources: 1. Elizabeth: The Struggle for the Throne by David Starkey 2. The Life of Queen Elizabeth I by Alison Weir 3. Game of Queens by Sarah Gristwood 4. Elizabeth I: The Forgotten Years by John Guy 5. Tudors vs Stewarts by Linda Porter 6. Katherine the Queen: The Life of Katherine Parr, Henry VIII's last Wife by Linda Porter 7. The Queen's Bed: An Intimate Account of Elizabeth's Court by Anna Whitelock 8. Tudor by Leanda de Lisle 9. The Private Lives of the Tudors by Tracy Borman

#Elizabeth I of England and Ireland #Tudor History

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