#my god i love catty light fury but that is in fact a personality i made up for her in my head

[westwindy1]

'i hate the light fury's personality' WHAT DO YOU MEAN?????? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT????

[daltonacademia]

There’s A Time For Daring - 1

charlie dalton x fem!reader [post events of the movie]

word count: 1.7k

warning: allusions to sex / slight sexual harrassment? drinking, mentions of neil’s suicide, horrible parents 

Charlie couldn’t help but emit a low growl as his vomit-inducing, picture-perfect, high-society mother and father, whom he despised, prodded him towards the expansive front entrance of Nealson Preparatory School located in southern Vermont. His fuschia-lipped, cakey-faced mother, Cynthia Dalton, was a well-dressed, dignified housewife by day and charming socialite by night; she was particularly harsh as she trampled his pen-stained oxfords with her spearish kitten heels. His eyes shot daggers at the snow-strewn path below, a familiar fire burning in his core.

There were many things Charlie was tempted to furiously spit out at his parents, but instead, he managed to keep his jaw clamped shut, his pearly whites digging into the light pink of his lips hard enough to draw blood. No matter what he shouted, cried, pleaded, they wouldn’t budge. They never would. And it was infuriating.

“Charles! Being expelled from such a prestigious school is no laughing matter, young man. That school cost us quite the pretty penny! How dare you defy the rules to the extent of expulsion. It’s disgraceful, and I will tolerate it no longer!” Charlie’s mother shrieked, furious tears smudging the thick mascara that coated her eyelashes.

“You’ll be shipped off to Nealson Preparatory School in February, and if I hear so much as a single mention of your name not followed with overwhelming compliments, you can expect nasty, nasty consequences! Go pack your things, you’ll be staying with Aunt Barbara until the first of February finally arrives!” The rims of Charlie’s brown eyes stung with anger, frustration, and furthest down, sadness. He was diminished to nothing but an image-ruiner to his mother. The person who was supposed to love him, protect him, save him from the horrors of this hell called Earth.

Mr. Dalton silently observed the boisterous outburst from his expensive leather armchair across the den, a glass of strong, half-drunk whiskey in his palm. Charlie couldn’t bear to see their despicable faces any longer, and as his body felt no longer under his control, stomped up the stairs in a huff, rapidly swiping away the glassy tears spilling from his eyes. Thoughts of running away, escaping it all, flooded his unstable mind. ‘I get why you did it, Neil. I really do. But did you have to go so soon?’ 

But instead of lingering on the image of Neil any longer, he hastily threw his bare necessities into his suitcase, which was still covered in an array of Welton Academy stickers.

The grounds of Nealson were unsurprisingly well-maintained; it reminded him a lot of Welton. The impeccably manicured lawns, gleaming, icy blue lake, the gothic stone arches and pillars. It was eerily similar to Hellton, even down to the ice-cold blanket of snow coating the distant rolling hills. It’s beautiful, Charlie thought, surveying the slow sprinkling of snow, No, it’s hideous. 

Before he could fully vomit at the vile grounds of his new school, his parents fiercely shoved him inside the Headmaster’s dingy office, politely taking the vacant mahogany seats beside him. Charlie couldn’t be bothered to listen to a word his parents said with pearly white smiles, which were no doubt tooth-rotting, sugar-coated lies about the real reason he was expelled over a month prior. 

He knew that they couldn’t just be transparent and tell the Headmaster that he had socked the utterly vile Richard Cameron’s face in (rightfully so, in his opinion), or that he was a star member of the infamous Dead Poets Society, or that he had gone to the extreme lengths to stage a phone call from none other than God himself. It didn’t work like that. 

His mother’s cheeky, artificial voice sounded precisely the same as it always had: carefully rehearsed and slathered with naivety. Seemingly without hesitation, the catty woman could deflect any less-than-pleasant questions or insinuations about her “golden role-model” son, who’s admittedly “a little misguided at times”. 

The new headmaster seated across from him appeared to be around the same age as Mr. Nolan, which, as far as Charlie was concerned, was older than the Cretaceous period at least. His pale-as-a-ghost skin was wrinkled and paper-thin; his patchy, gelled side-swept hair was (very obviously) dyed a deep, midnight black, reminiscent of an off-brand Elvis. 

Charlie’s ears continued to mute the awkward conversation happening amongst him, his focus instead shifting around to the various awards and certificates lining the ivory walls. They all seemed so phony; ‘Best Headmaster- 1947-1959’, ‘Nealson Academy: Exceeds Expectations’. The Headmaster had even framed his high school superlative: ‘Voted Most Likely to Succeed’. What a pathetic-

In a swift blur, his parents rose from their seats, his mother clutching her magenta purse with matching pursed lips. Charlie was handed a hefty, stapled packet packed full of school rules and guidelines with a denture-toothed smile from Headmaster ‘Campbell’. This’d make some decent kindling, he thought as he yanked the packet from his clammy clutches, leafing through its pages with a smirk, this garbage’s almost laughable.

A syncopated rhythm of raps on the door, followed by a gravelly, ‘come in', presented his new dorm escort. His chauffeur just so happened to be you, the accomplished and universally admired student body president in the same grade as the newcomer. You were dutifully donning Nealson’s horrendous uniform: a crisp, white button-up accented with a blue and silver tie was topped with a depressing grey sweater vest. An equally loathsome pleated skirt concealed your thighs, and your ankles were shielded from the chilly February air with black crew socks. 

You extended your perfectly manicured, soft hand out to your brand-new peer with a yearbook-worthy smile, introducing, “Hi. Welcome to Nealson, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You swore you heard the brunette mutter something disrespectful under his breath, but nonetheless, he, rather unprofessionally, shook your hand with an eye roll. Things between the two of you were not starting off the way you hoped, but you were determined to make a good impression. The best impression possible.

“Charlie Dalton,” he replied with a mischievous smirk. The brunette standing in front of you reeked of cigarettes, and there was the slightest smell of cheap beer clinging to his clothes. His brown hair was messy, springing out in every direction, despite the water furiously combed through it. His eyes glinted with rebellion, a look so alluring yet dangerous.

“I’ll be showing you to your dorm, which you’ll sleep in for the remainder of the year.” Since Dalton was starting in February, he only had five months of studying before long-awaited senior year. Mr. Campbell waved the two of you off, and with that, you trekked towards the Boys’ wing, Dalton sauntering at your side. 

The walk through the main corridor was silent and awkward. You had tried to enchant him with fun facts about Nealson and its (extensively selective) history, much to his obvious boredom and dismay. His umber eyes glazed the walls, uninterested in the decor. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, but for all you knew, it could be on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. 

After a while of treading through the high-ceilinged corridors illuminated with fleeting pale rays of sunlight, the boy next to you made no attempt to hide him drawing designs up and down your body. 

“I’ve never been to a school with both boys and girls,” he drawled with a smirk. “Do things ever get exciting around here?”

You shook your head no while indiscreetly tugging down the hem of your skirt uncomfortably, and he said, “Do you think you’d maybe wanna spend the night with me in my dorm? Make sure I’m all settled in?”

Your whole body, from head to toe, froze. The audacity of this… creep! Your tongue poked, nearly stabbed, the back of your teeth, wanting to unleash a select few words to the disgusting Dalton beside you. But alas, if he were to tell anyone of your fiery wrath, you’d be demoted from class president faster than you could explain what really happened. It’s a corrupt system, sure, but even with the power that comes with such a title, there was no way to mend it.

Eventually, while you were wrapped up in the furies of your mind, Dalton revealed a small, autographed golf ball from his trousers pocket and began throwing it up and down above his head casually with every step. 

“Can you not?” you snapped at the chestnut-haired boy after he tossed the sphere up and down again in an arch. “Don’t wanna get in trouble on your first day, do you?”  

“You think this’ll get me in trouble? Have a little fun, it won’t kill you. I promise.” Dalton turned his gaze towards you, an annoyed but smug grin painted on his lips. He slowly tossed the golf ball to your hands, intending for you to catch it. However, the small ball evaded your grasp, instead bouncing around the hardwood floors below you, creating a series of loud, reverberating thunks.

“You were supposed to catch it, you know,” Dalton teased, nonchalantly watching you chase after the rogue orb. After it was finally safe in your clutches, you stomped over to the no-good newbie, irritated. 

“Nealson’s strict. They don’t let stuff like creating an awful lot of racket go unreprimanded.” You were seething; red-hot blood pumped through your veins. Dalton didn’t look anything but utterly amused.

“Wow, you’re just about one of the biggest suck-ups I’ve seen in a while.”

“A what?” you growled.

“A suck-up. A rule-following poster child of excellence? A bratty, know-it-all? Anything along those lines?” He sputtered insults so nonchalantly, it made your blood boil and eyes sting.

“You better watch it, Dalton. I don’t know who you think you are-”

“I’m the best thing that’s happened to this school, by the looks of it.” 

You had nothing left to say to this conceited shuck of a boy who really thought that he was all that and a side of fries. Well he wasn’t! Not in the slightest! And if his first day of classes wouldn’t drill it into him, you would.

The rest of the walk was pin-drop silent and tense. No more fun facts about Nealson escaped your downturned lips, just the light patting of his beat-up oxfords and your pristine mary-janes on the polished wood floor. The hallways seemed more depressing than usual, their framed portraits and condensated windows didn’t fill you with the motivation that you came to expect.

After finally arriving at the boys’ dormitories, you grumbled, “well, this is it. Have a swell life, Dalton.”

“Right back at ya, Y/L/N. Let’s hope this isn’t the last time we meet.” He gave you a cheeky wink before slamming the door in your face.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Real Housewives of Storybrooke (16/?)

A fic based on this premise here, following the lives of Storybrooke’s elite wives, with all the scandal, bitching and backstabbing that goes on behind the scenes of high society…

This verse is open for prompts!

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [Twelve] [Thirteen] [Fourteen] [Fifteen] [AO3]

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BELLE

Belle turned this way and that, looking at herself critically in the full-length mirror. Her morning sickness had finally managed to get itself under control and she was feeling well enough to head out to the gala with Cameron tonight, but she couldn’t help feeling like her pregnancy was suddenly obvious to the world at large, despite her not being anywhere near close to showing. She felt as if there was a huge sign hanging over her head announcing it to everyone.

Perhaps it was just because she knew that she was much paler than usual due to a lack of regular diet and she was wearing more make-up to cover it, but hopefully the atmospheric lighting in the ballroom where the party was taking place would help with that. 

Cam slipped into the room and came over to her, putting an arm around her waist and leaning in to kiss her forehead gently, not wanting to ruin her make-up or coiffeur. 

“The taxi’s here,” he said. “Are you ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” She gave a twirl, the skirt of her golden silk gown flying out around her legs. “I’m not sure I’ll be up for much more dancing than that this evening, but do I look all right anyway?”

“You look perfect, as you always do.” Cameron took her hand but made no move to leave the bedroom. “You know that you don’t have to come if you don’t want to; if you would be more comfortable staying here.”

“No, I’m definitely going after putting all this work into getting ready.” She smiled. “Honestly, I’ve been looking forward to this occasion. Well, I was looking forward to it until I started throwing up all the time. Since then all I’ve been looking forward to is not throwing up. Still, it’s always nice to be able to go out and show you off. I like having my dapper husband on my arm. Especially when he’s wearing a bow tie.”

She let go of his hand in order to adjust the tie, not that it really needed it. Cameron was always impeccably turned out whenever he left the house, which was why it was so much more exciting when she got him hot and bothered and dishevelled. She had not been in the mood for much of that lately, but she was hoping that it would come with time. Mary Margaret had commented on the middle trimester of happy hormones when she had been expecting Neal. 

“Come on,” he said. “We’d better go or else we’ll end up being unfashionably fashionably late. I know you’re not one who likes to make a big entrance.”

The taxi ride to the venue wasn’t all that long, but Belle wouldn’t have liked to walk it in her dress and heels. She hadn’t been all that involved in the planning, needing to focus on doing her day job when she could and taking care of herself when she couldn’t, but Ariel had been giving her regular updates, and as she and Cameron stepped into the ballroom, she could see that Regina had once again outdone herself when it came to presentation. She really should set up a sideline in party planning, and Belle wondered how she’d ended up working in local government in the first place when she had such artistic and organisational flair. 

“Belle! I’m so glad that you came!” 

Ariel was the first person in the crowds who noticed their arrival, and Belle was glad of it. She wondered if Ariel and Eric had been hanging around by the entrance all evening for the express purpose of catching her on the way in. 

“Mr Gold, I’m going to have to borrow your wife for a moment to tell her just how ravishing she looks.” Without any further comment, Ariel hooked her arm through Belle’s and pulled her away in the direction of the buffet table. Cameron was happy to let her go, accepting a glass of champagne from one of the waiters circling unobtrusively. 

“You really do look wonderful,” Ariel said. “Now I see what they mean about pregnant women glowing.”

“I think that’s probably more to do with the lights reflecting off the dress,” Belle said. “I feel about as far away from glowing as it’s possible to be at the moment. You look amazing too.”

Ariel swished the skirt of her mermaid tail dress, completely covered in sequins that faded from purple down to green. “I know, isn’t it shiny? It’s super-heavy though, you wouldn’t believe how much tape I’ve got holding it up. Anyway, that isn’t why I cornered you.”

“No, I kind of gathered that much. You’re about as subtle as a brick. What do you need to warn me of?”

Ariel pointed to the left in the direction of the bar where Zelena was entertaining a crowd of hangers-on. 

“Yes, well, I know we all hoped that she wouldn’t come, but it was really wishful thinking, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Ariel sighed. “Still, she seems to be on a roll tonight. I’m half-expecting her to start charging for gossip.”

“Well, I know to steer clear of her at the best of times, but thanks for the warning.”

Ariel patted her shoulder. “Any time. Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

“I’d kill for a triple vodka and tonic but somehow I don’t think that’s going to be a good idea, so I’ll settle for orange juice. I need some sugar and food probably isn’t a great thought right now.”

Ariel grabbed a waiter and sent him off to source some orange juice, and in the meantime they turned to speak to Robin, who was, as expected, trying to hide behind the buffet table. 

“I don’t even have the excuse of needing to watch Roland, because he’s with Marian this week,” he lamented. “I’m beginning to consider texting her to make up some kind of fake emergency to get me out of this, but at the same time, I want to stay and support Regina. I just don’t like wearing the penguin suit.”

“You look very dashing in it. Who knew that you scrubbed up so well, Robin?”

“I did.” Regina came over and kissed his cheek. “Hello Belle. It’s good to see you; you haven’t been out and about for a while. Is everything ok?”

Belle nodded. “Yes, it’s fine, thank you. I’ve just been a bit under the weather, that’s all.” She wondered if Regina had already put two and two together.

“Uh oh.” Robin took a step back behind Regina. “Here comes trouble.”

Belle looked up to see that Zelena had shaken off her hangers on at the bar and was coming over to them. 

“Let’s hope that we can make her go away quickly.” Cameron had come over, slipping his arm around Belle’s waist. “Can we just pretend that she’s not here and that she’s not speaking?”

“Hello, everyone.” Zelena had reached them. “Belle, it’s so good to see you, you’ve been lying low recently. I do believe congratulations are in order.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“Yes.” Zelena nodded in Belle’s direction. “She’s finally managed to get herself knocked up, haven’t you, dear? Got your claws in good and proper.”

All of a sudden, despite the music from the band and the general chatter of all of the other people around them, Belle was certain that she could have heard a pin drop. Everyone in their circle was looking at her and Zelena, and Belle felt her face begin to drain as her stomach rolled. 

“Oh, sorry, was it a secret? Oops.” 

Belle just felt sick, and something in the back of her mind weighed up the pros and cons of the mortification of throwing up in public versus the satisfaction of throwing up all over Zelena. No one was speaking. Everyone was just looking at her. 

Then she heard Cam’s voice, low and quiet and so very, very dangerous. 

“Never speak to my wife like that. In fact, never speak to me or my wife again.”

“Get out,” Regina said. “Leave. Now. Go. You’re the vilest and most revolting person I’ve ever had the displeasure to know. How dare you?”

“What, tell the truth? Look at her, she can’t deny it. I saw her coming out of the maternity clinic at the hospital looking very pleased with herself.”

“Mom, that’s awful.” Robyn peered into the circle from behind her father’s shoulder, her face stricken. “God, I knew you were catty and mean, but that’s something else. So what if Belle is pregnant? It’s not for you to tell the world that.”

“Darling, I was simply concerned…”

“Like hell you were,” Robyn snarled. “No, you just wanted to cause a scene at someone else’s expense like you always do. You’re pathetic.”

Belle’s nausea was gradually subsiding, and all she felt was anger, an icy ball of fury building up in the pit of her stomach and bubbling there. 

“You know, Zelena, I pity you. You’re so sad, and so lonely, and you’re so unable to find happiness in your life that you’ve decided that everyone else in the world has to be unhappy alongside you so that you can feel superior. You’ve been determined to punish me for being the one that Cameron chose over you, ever since we first became a couple, and for the most part, I’ve never fought back against you. I’ve never felt the need, because I know that Cameron loves me, and I love him and his feelings towards you… Well, there aren’t any. No matter the amount of mud you sling my way, you’ve never succeeded in making me feel insecure in my marriage. You’ve made me sad, you’ve made me angry, you’ve made me so enraged I hit you round the face, which I’m sure you don’t want a repeat of. But ultimately, you’ve always failed, because every time you try and come between us, it just makes us stick together even more. And now we’re having a child together, one that we have wanted and planned for over six months, and you can’t stand that all your efforts have failed. You’re a sad, pathetic little creature and you’re lashing out in your pain. I’d feel sorry for you if you weren’t such a horrible human being.”

She turned to Cam, who was looking at her with awestruck admiration. “I don’t think we need to stay here any longer, Cam. Will you dance with me?”

Cam offered her his free arm. “It would be my pleasure, my darling.”

“Not too fast and twirly,” Belle muttered as they made their way through the dumbfounded crowds towards the dancefloor. “I still might throw up at any second and I’d rather projectile vomit over her than you.”

Cam just kissed her, long and deep and in a way that could leave no-one in any doubt as to the solidity of their relationship. 

“Belle, you are a wonder, and I think I may just have fallen in love with you all over again. That was masterful.”

“I’m shaking like a leaf, but it felt good to say it. Everything just became clear. It was like a veil had lifted. She’s cowed me one too many times before, but suddenly, I just stopped feeling that way.”

As they swayed softly to the music together, Belle looked over Cam’s shoulder to see Robyn dragging her mother towards the exit, both looking absolutely furious. Despite everything, she smiled, resting her head against Cam’s neck and feeling his arm warm and solid around her back. 

Nothing was going to bring her down now.