#otp: i'm in your corner

[siribear]

so anyway i haven't posted anything for this story on tumblr in like 3 years apparently?

basically whisper went to the institute and almost died.

here we go:

MacCready wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

When he woke up this morning, there were the usual sounds of Sanctuary that he’s grown used to, fond of: the kids’ lessons drifting out of broken windows, farmers scraping at the land, the hum of the generators powering the lights and signs and water pumps of the neighborhood. Now, it’s the soft sniffling of mourners, a sad track playing through the ham radio connected to the Castle, and shovels scraping the dirt as he and a handful of other residents dig the old psyker’s grave.

MacCready didn’t know her all that well, but Mama Murphy helped Duncan find a toy he misplaced soon after getting here, and he hasn’t minded her since. But as he looks over the faces of the ones gathered near her grave, he counts a lot more people than he’s ever seen at a funeral before. He kinda wishes he sat and talked to her more, especially since he passed her every morning when he took Duncan to school by himself.

Speaking of - he looks up to see Duncan still tucked in next to Alice, holding tight to her hand. Lucky kid, he thinks for a moment, before looking at Alice herself. Her eyes might be on the grave at his feet - almost finished, even though he hasn’t helped for several minutes now - but her gaze is glazed over. She’s somewhere else entirely, swaying like her dress in the wind.

He picks up a shovelful of dirt before someone notices him staring. Though between the music and the crying, he doesn’t think anyone actually would.

When the grave is dug and Mama Murphy lowered into it, Marcy is the first to speak. They’ve all known each other since Quincy, MacCready learns, and things were pretty bad before they got as good as they are. Marcy didn’t trust her until Sanctuary started rebuilding, she helped Jun through the worst moments after his son died, Sturges used to think of her as his own grandma, and Preston used to go to her for advice when the Minutemen first fell apart.

And then the eyes of the present Museum Survivors turn to Alice, waiting. She looks smaller now. It’s not the denim dress, even though he’s never seen her outside of jeans and some kind of shirt (hers or Deacon’s or the one time without). It’s as if when she came back, she left some big part of her behind.

“Like everyone else here, Mama Murphy saved my life.” There’s a gasp and hush through the radio. Someone certainly didn’t expect to hear from her. “When we first met, I didn’t know who I was. So I made someone up. Someone they needed. Someone I needed to be.

“The last thing she told me was that, even though there was a decision I was struggling with at the time, whatever I chose would be the right thing. Honestly, it scared me that she knew me better than I know myself, but at least she thought the best of me.” Even he can’t help but chuckle, though he has trouble imagining her doing anything but the right thing.

“Because of that, I never thanked her enough for saving my life, and the lives of those I care deeply about. And now the only way I can do that is to keep going. To turn Sanctuary, the Minutemen, the whole Commonwealth, if I can, into a place she’d be proud of. A place people can be safe. A place where they can pass in peace, at home in their beds, surrounded by people that care about them. That’s how I’ll carry her memory with me.”

There’s a reverent silence that follows, and then more crying, and then Duncan pipes up with a heartfelt, “Me, too!” that brings some levity. Alice picks him up and balances him on her hip. Duncan waves when he can finally spot him over the crowd, and when MacCready waves back, Alice smiles. And if standing next to her as she freed him from Winlock and Barnes and the gunners, or as she risked her life for Duncan’s serum, that right there - that would have him joining with the Minutemen in a heartbeat.

That's a smile that should be on the recruitment posters.

-

Preston has a million and one questions for her once the funeral is over and Mama Murphy is buried. Is she okay? Is her son okay? When did she get back? Does she need anything? She lets him go on, until finally Sturges tells him to give her a chance to answer at least one of them.

“I’ll be down there soon, I promise. There’s something I need to do up here, first.” There’s a scrap of paper in the breast pocket of her dress: he’ll be there. Just wait one more day. There weren’t any jet inhalers in the room when they found her, she was told. Mama Murphy said she knew how she was going to go… so maybe it was a package deal of information. It’s a hope she carries to keep the gnawing feeling of guilt at bay.

Whisper runs a finger along the top of the ham radio. “I got that party favor you asked for, Sturges,” she says, intentionally vague.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. Preston, could you get everyone together for the party? I’m thinking it’ll be a big one.”

She hears his clothing rustle sharply. “Yes, General. I’ll make sure everyone’s ready to celebrate your return. Did you need anything else, ma’am?”

“No.” She stands. “Just be prepared for any party crashers, will you? I appreciate all you do.”

Preston clears his throat. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll see you soon.”

-

With school canceled for the day, MacCready takes Duncan back home and Whisper is left to what she hopes is her final stake out. The violin pieces over Radio Freedom are more somber, but the message to her keeps on its loop. She has no doubt the Brotherhood listen in to their station, and if they hadn’t been listening in to her conversation with Preston and Sturges, there’s no reason to give them cause to wonder.

She flips over to Diamond City Radio with a hiss of static then straight into I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire. She hums along, foot bobbing to the tune. Anxiety tightens in her chest with every breeze that rustles the dead leaves, but whenever she turns her head, she’s still alone. Honestly. How long does it take to cross the Commonwealth these days? Whisper did it in a few days and all it cost her was a few days of sleep!

Head in her hands, she groans.

A twig snaps. Just the one. Her hand twitches toward Deliverer resting on the surface of her lookout. The sound of footsteps grows closer. Whisper stands and turns to look behind her -

-  And out from the forest, finally, steps Deacon, dressed in his dirty white tee, hands tucked into the pockets of a familiar pair of distressed jeans.”Hey, partner. You wouldn’t believe the traffic getting up here. It was terrible.”

Whisper blinks. Tears prick the corner of her eyes. Her bottom lip quivers. Then she grabs her gun and aims it at him before he can get too close. His eyebrows shoot up over the frames of his sunglasses, as do his hands to the air. The pistol is shaky in her hand, even with the other braced under it to keep her steady.

“Do you have a geiger counter?”

Deacon relaxes, and she almost does. But she can’t. Not yet. “Mine is in the shop.”

The dam breaks. She tosses the pistol to the ground and runs to him, tears already streaming down her cheeks. She tucks her head against his shoulder, and he holds her to him with one hand cradling the back of her head and the other trailing gently up and down her spine. He smells like sweat and gunfire and stale cigarettes and catacomb air. He smells like home.

“I’m sorry,” she hears him say. “I’m so sorry, partner. We should have found another way. You shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“It’s my own fault.” She lifts her head to look up at him, and from her angle she can see the furrow of his brow. “I bulled over everyone else because it had to be me. I didn’t think - ” She wraps her arms around him tighter. “I had no idea what I was walking into.”

“Whisper.” He takes her by the shoulders, gently pries her off him. “What did they do to you?”

She looks over to the vault and wipes away a stray tear. “I think it’s better if I start from the beginning.”

-

Whisper isn’t the first one to try to get into Vault 111. Deacon knows. He’s sat up in that very same lookout that he found her and watched and waited as others attempted to break in. But no other stolen vault pip-boy or percussive maintenance could persuade the door to open. Yet when she pulls the cord out from her own pip-boy and plugs it into the door control mechanism, the machine flickers to life.

“I said that I would tell you everything when I got back,” she says, voice still a little rough.

Of all the things he thought he’d see when he got up on that hill (a trap, an Institute courser, three super mutants in a trenchcoat - ), Whisper pulling a gun on him then breaking down wasn’t one of them. He’s never seen her cry before, he realizes. Not that he’s much of a cryer himself, but for someone with as much on her shoulders as she’s had, he’s surprised she didn’t break sooner.

Whisper presses the button, and just outside, the blast doors slide open in the middle, like a great eye waking up.

“The first time I went down here,” she breaks the silence and begins walking toward the vault-tec symbol painted into the metal door. “I was dressed almost the same.” She flares the skirt of her dress. “We were supposed to go to a ceremony. Nate was going to give a speech, get a medal for his service. And then we were going to go shopping for Shaun’s Halloween costume.”

Deacon follows her onto the symbol and waits. The ground feels unsteady on his feet, and when it rumbles, he half expects for the metal to fall out from beneath them, for them to tumble down into the vault below. Instead, the ground rises up around them, until it passes over their heads, and the only light are the fluorescents built into the wall of the large elevator.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he answers, as casually as he can. He’s still processing the small bits of information he’s gotten. First: her pip-boy worked on the door. Second: first time she went down here?

“If you had a second chance at a life with Barbara, right now, would you take it?”

Now he turns to her. The elevator ride casts her face in light, then shadow, then light, but her expression is neutral. Not expectant. If he chose to lie to her now, she would understand and move on, as always.

“I’m not the same person she married anymore.”

She turns away, the corner of a smile casting a sharper shadow across her face. She’s pleased with his answer, at least.

“That’s how I felt.”

“What?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.” The elevator hits the bottom with a slight pistoning bounce. Deacon spreads his arms and feet wide to brace himself for the whole thing to come down, but Whisper grabs him calmly by the forearm. “It’s okay. We’re at the bottom.” A high mesh fence surrounds the elevator; the opening slides around to the back, and then they’re free to enter the vault.

It looks just like the entrance to vault 81, from here.

“Watch your step getting out. The floor is uneven.” Deacon toes the edge of the elevator floor and finds the lip she’s talking about. He steps over it. “It’s okay. We were all in shock when we reached the bottom, too.”

“Whisper, who’s ‘we,’ exactly?”

Still holding on to him, she leads him up the stairs, across the grated bridge, down a long, narrow hallway. Windows lining the walls peer into rooms lined with individual pieces of heavy machinery, each uniformly the same. Metal boxes, with water leaking out from underneath them.

“My neighbors and I,” she says. “We were led just down here.”

There’s no atrium to greet them at the end of the hall, no welcoming signs of life. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something isn’t right.

“Here.” He doesn’t know when she released his arm, but now she gestures at a terminal jutting from the wall. “The guest list. Nate and I were last minute additions.”

He steps up slowly. Compared to before, Whisper’s calm. Not serene, but… detached. He looks over the list; names and descriptions, male, male, female, male and infant… Nathaniel and Shaun Ward. Female: Claire Ward.

When he turns to look beside him, she isn’t there. Instead, she’s standing in front of one of the machines, one hand on the glass window. He passes by the dead bodies in the other pods as he walks down the remainder of the room. Sealed shut, the bodies aren’t even decomposing. They could be sleeping. Her neighbors.

“The one behind me was mine,” she says without looking away. “A little over two hundred years ago, I stepped into that pod. We didn’t - we didn’t know. They said it was for decontamination. We had just seen the bomb drop. The one that made the Glowing Sea? I’m sure none of us ever could have thought…. ” She takes a deep breath. He feels himself mimic her.

Then it all comes out. From start to finish; from bomb drop to Institute and back. She ends it with, “Deacon, this is my husband.” Whisper’s got good taste, he has to admit. Handsome - not even death could take that from him - and a vain part of him can’t help but notice Nate is also a ginger. “Shaun tried to tell me that they… saved him. I know we say synths are people, but that wasn’t my Nate. He was programmed to… to… 

“He wanted to try again at raising a family. But I walked away.”

“That’s why you asked about Barbara.”

She wraps her arms around herself and shivers. “Yeah.” With a look to her husband’s pod, “I don’t know if Nate could look at me the same after all I’ve done. He fought in the Great War, but… I’m not the same woman he came home to afterward.”

He shrugs. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

Whisper stares. “I - thank you.” She coughs. “Can we, um, can we go? This place still makes me uncomfortable.”

Deacon steps in beside her, puts an arm around her shoulders. “I get why the catacombs bothered you so much now. Don’t look at me like that. You were more jumpy down there than you were walking through raider-infested territory.” He stops when they’re halfway back to the entrance. “You, er - didn’t want to bury him just yet?”

She pulls him back along. “When this is over. We’ve already buried one person today, anyway.” At his look, she clarifies, “Mama Murphy.”

“Sorry to hear.” He steps into the elevator, and when she sends them up, he’s hit with a wave of vertigo as the floor disappears below them. She draws his attention with a hand on his cheek.

“How many agents am I facing when we get back up there?”

“It’s just me here, partner.”

Two of her fingers walk their way up his chest. His heart skips a beat. “Really? I didn’t think they’d trust me after…” The fingers fall away.

“Well…” He lets the word trail off, high and pitchy. “You’d still be waiting for me if I hadn’t snuck out when I did.”

She hangs her head. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

The sun breaks over the top of the elevator, spreading over them like the world’s quickest - and most welcome - sunrise. He grabs her hand and swiftly leads them off the elevator before the earth decides it wants to swallow them back up.

“Did you know?”

“I know a lot of things, pal. What do you want to know about what I know?” She huffs, and there’s a grin threatening to break her frown.

“About… any of that. I saw the rail sign up on the hill. Have you just been humoring me this whole time? Letting me think I had this big secret, but everyone was in on it?”

Ah. “Not exactly.” They walk past the gate of the would-be military checkpoint. The skeletons have all gone since he’s last been up here himself. “I had PAM look into past Institute sightings, and this place came up. Figured it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye out, but for the longest time it seemed like a bust.” The bustle of Sanctuary is good to see. Exactly what he’s been begging Desdemona for the Railroad to branch out into. “Once again, you found us before we could officially find you.”

She squeezes his hand.

-

“Allie!” Lost in her own thoughts, Whisper doesn’t see Duncan until he runs into her and wraps his arms around her thigh.”Dad took me out on patrol with him since we didn’t have school today! We didn’t go too far though, but I saw a molerat and a bloatfly and Dogmeat and I played fetch with a stick.” He takes one long, inhaling breath. “Where did you go? Who’s he?”

Duncan maneuvers around to put her squarely between him and Deacon. She pets his head as he goes shy and cautious around the newcomer. “This is Deacon. He’s a very good friend of mine. He’s a little silly sometimes, but you can trust him. I promise.”

“Mac’s kid, huh?” Deacon says, kneeling. “I can see the resemblance.” Whisper grins, feeling Duncan lose his tight grip on her just a little.

“Why do you wear those?” Duncan asks, pointing at Deacon’s sunglasses. “No one else does.”

Deacon’s voice dips low into a conspiratorial whisper. Duncan leans in close. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says, looking between her and Duncan, “but these hide my reptile eyes.”

Whisper explains what he means when Duncan gives her a confused look. At that, the little boy’s own eyes go wide. “Can I see?”

Deacon stands and props himself up by the elbow now resting on her shoulder. “Sorry, kid. Wouldn’t want to scare her.”

Duncan frowns. “But if Allie’s your friend, she wouldn’t be scared.”

A conceding nod that she feels in her shoulder. “You’re probably right. But I like having her around, so I won’t risk it. Hey, Mac.”

“Deacon.” MacCready looks between them, then down to Duncan now standing comfortably next to Deacon. “Does that mean you’re leaving now?”

Her hand that’s been idly combing through Duncan’s hair stops. “I - ”

“No!” Duncan whines. “I don’t want you to go.” He clings back to her leg. “What if you don’t come back? Like mama?”

Whisper picks him up before he can work himself up into a full blown meltdown. She walks them toward their home instead of continuing to draw attention in the middle of the road as they always seem to do. Duncan murmurs a litany of you can’t go, you can’t go into her ear in between sniffles and mucousy coughs. In return, she whispers anything she needs to, to soothe him. When she sets him down on his own bed, he only holds onto her neck tighter. MacCready sits down next to him, one hand on his back. Deacon, she hears lean against the doorframe.

“Please don’t go,” Duncan says, muffled against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I have to. But I’ll come back, okay? I’ll come back, just for you.”

He pulls away, eyes big and watery. Snot runs freely down one nostril. “Do you promise?”

She holds one pinky up in front of him. “I promise. Pinky promise.” His little finger wraps around hers. “There, that means it’s real.” He wipes his nose with his sleeve.

“Are you going away tonight?”

She looks to Deacon. Originally, she wanted to, but now - Deacon yawns, long and loud, and stretches his hands up to the top of the doorframe. “Boy, am I tired. I don’t think I could head out tonight if I tried.”

She mouths thank you over Duncan’s head. “How about we all have dinner together tonight, then Deacon and I will head out in the morning.”

“Okay!”

“That means we need to get you all washed up, kid.” MacCready gathers his son in his arms, and he goes easily. “Sorry about that. He’s - kind of attached to you.”

Whisper smiles. “Well so am I.”

-

“Thank you again,” Whisper says once they’re back in her bedroom. Outside the closed door, Codsworth prepares dinner with a clatter of pots and pans. “How long do you think we have until Des sends a search party looking for you?”

Deacon sits cross legged on the bed. “We can spare the night, anyway. Any longer and I’d have to send a note with one of your caravans.”

“Well, good. I’d hate to leave Duncan like that. He’s a good kid.”

“And he adores you enough to rub snot all over your dress.” He gestures her closer, and puts his fingers to work undoing the buttons down the front. Slowly, he unhooks the fabric around each one, the knuckle of his forefinger leaving a trail across her bare skin.

Stepping closer between his newly splayed thighs, she says, “Speaking of, thank you for earlier, also.” She hadn’t expected to fall apart so suddenly. With all the relief at seeing him again, knowing it was really him, there was no more room for the tension welled up inside her, and it had only one place to go. “I won’t make it a habit.”

“Mi shoulder es su shoulder, sugar.” He shrugs her out of the blouse. The skirt hangs on by the belt, but he doesn’t make a move to uncinch it. Instead, he runs his hands across her stomach, up to the hem of her bra, her muscles fluttering at the touch - and then he flinches back.

She looks down at him and his hands frozen an inch away from her skin. “Deacon?” No answer. With a finger under his chin, she forces him to look at her. “What’s wrong?” Her other hand removes his sunglasses and places them on the bed. There are no reptilian eyes staring back at her, instead all she sees is blue eyes filled with -

The door to the bedroom swings open without so much as a knock. “Hey, Codsworth says dinner’s almost - Jesus - “ Whisper takes a half step away and covers herself with her arms. MacCready quickly slips back into the hall. When she looks back at Deacon, he’s already standing with his sunglasses back on. “Look, Duncan’s waiting at the table. If you two are done - ?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Is all Deacon says with notable false cheer before leaving without so much as a glance in her direction.

Whisper covers her mouth, either to hold back a sob or to stop herself from being sick, she isn’t sure yet.

“Hey,” MacCready says, stepping slightly more into the room but eyes firmly on the floor. “Everything okay?”

Whisper buttons up the dress, snot be damned. “Yeah, Mac.” She sounds normal to her ears, at least. “Everything’s fine.”

Except it isn’t. She’s seen Deacon afraid before, but never of her.

-

Duncan keeps dinner from being awkward. He insisted on sitting next to her, which leaves MacCready on the other side of the table and Deacon at the head beside Duncan. Conversation flows as Duncan wills it, their little conductor oblivious to how the adults do their best to avoid looking each other in the eye.

“It’s okay if you go now,” he says with the most glowing approval. “Because daddy’s going, and he can keep you safe from bad guys, like you said.”

“What?” MacCready asks when her look is questioning. “Were you just going to leave me behind?”

Yes, she thinks. Because you have this little boy to live for. “No, of course not. The more the merrier.”

He leans back. The chair bears his weight with only a small protesting squeak. “Good. I still owe ya for… you know.”

Duncan shines under the spotlight MacCready casts on him. “I’m gonna be as strong as dad one day. Then I can protect you, too.”

Whisper steeples her hands over the table, then rests her chin on them. “Is that so? You know you have to eat your greens first.” A pile of green stalks, like too tall broccoli, lays untouched on his plate. Duncan glares at it as if she just asked him to eat bloatfly.

“They’re gross, though. I don’t want to eat them.”

“Eat up, kid. You’re gonna hurt Codsworth’s feelings if you don’t.” The Mr. Handy is in sleep mode in the laundry closet, unable to dispute the claim. Duncan still pushes his plate away.

“You’re such a dad about it, Mac.” Deacon pipes up. “Watch this. Hey, little Mac.” Duncan’s favorite new nickname gets his full attention. Deacon leans over the table, and his own plate with a slightly smaller pile of vegetables, and grins. “I bet you can’t eat all yours before I eat mine.”

Turned to Deacon as he is, Whisper can’t see the kid’s reaction, but she can see his back straighten at the challenge. “Nu-uh.”

Deacon goads him further, “I bet you don’t even eat one before I finish eating.” Duncan jerks his plate back and holds his fork in a fisted death grip. He goes to stab one of the stalks, Deacon grabs his arm. “Whoa there. Rules first, right?” The little boy nods eagerly. “You have to chew and swallow each one before you eat the next. And show your dad, too, so I know you’re not cheating.”

“Okay. Allie has to make sure you’re not cheating too.”

“I’ll make sure he isn’t being sneaky. Don’t worry.” Deacon grins.

“Count us in, partner.” 

She does, and at Go! Duncan tears into his vegetables with the gusto of a starving animal. He chews quickly, swallows, then makes a loud ah! sound every time he shows his dad his empty mouth. He barely looks at Deacon, eating as slowly as if his greens were the mirelurk they ate at Coastal Cottage, but when he does Deacon makes a show of chewing quickly and struggling to keep up. And Whisper can’t keep her eyes off him. Not because of the contest, even though she has to give him a Vault-boy worthy thumbs up whenever Duncan is looking, but because she’s missed this. Missed him. And in this moment she gets a glimpse of… something too intangible to put a name to, just yet.

She finds she wants to, though.

“I win!” Duncan startles her with his shout. “Look, you didn’t even finish,” he gloats.

“Nope, kid, you got me.” Deacon sighs theatrically, one hand on his stomach. “I concede my defeat. You are the better green eater.”

“What do I get?”

“Duncan,” MacCready chides, but Deacon hushes him.

“Come on, dad, it’s only fair. He won. Say, ever heard of Grognak?”

That opener gets the two of them started on a whole conversation about comics, with Duncan hanging on Deacon’s every word. Whisper and MacCready clear the table of plates and empty nuka cola bottles (the bottle caps go into MacCready’s pocket), with Whisper pausing only to take a chance to press a kiss to Deacon’s temple. Her own victory is to feel him lean into it.

At the sink, Whisper washes and MacCready dries. Whisper tunes her pip-boy to DCR. “You’re sure you want to come along? I - “ quieter now, though Duncan isn’t paying attention, “... I plan on going after the Institute. It’s going to be dangerous.”

MacCready shrugs. “You’re my boss. My… general. Is that what I’m supposed to call you? Whatever.”

“But Duncan - ”

“Isn’t safe with the Institute still around. I’m doing this for him, too. C'mon, let me do this.”

“I can see where he gets that sweet pleading look from.” She looks up at him, tall and lanky, as if a stiff breeze could knock him over. “One condition.” She raises one soapy finger. “You cut your hair. It’s getting way past regulation.”

He laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

-

The departure of MacCready and his son finds Whisper leaning against the back of her couch and Deacon staring at the door as if he’s debating whether or not he wants to leave as well.

Whisper doesn’t let him. “Deacon, talk to me.”

She watches as his demeanor changes; his shoulders shift down in resignation, then up in acceptance. “What do you want to talk about?”

Her and Nate had a rule: never let the sun go down on bad feelings. “Are we good? I’m sorry I kept everything from you - from everyone, really - but I guess I thought...” She wilts like what remains of her centuries old garden.

Deacon puts a friendly hand on her shoulder. “You and me, we’re always good. If you had told me that story when we first met, I’d have laughed in your face. Probably.”

He holds himself stiffly. Keeps a healthy distance between them. “Then why did you flinch when you touched me?”

“Random muscle spasms. When you get older you’ll get them too - ”

“Deacon.” Her tone is desperate.

He runs a hand over his head and walks a contemplative little circle in front of her. “Fuck. Well, I’m dead anyway if I’m wrong.” She stops him before he can make himself dizzy. “Your… your scars are gone.”

Whisper blinks. She had put her hands on Nate and she knew. “Oh. Oh. No, they - the Institute had to stitch me back up after - ” After Glory downed her. Her blood spilling out onto the ground, her strength getting weaker, staining Deacon’s shirt red. “I’m not a synth, Deacon. I’m still - me.”

His mouth is a thin frown. “Whisper, I don’t think you realize how bad you got hurt in Bunker Hill.”

Anger rises to the surface. “So tell me. Because I sure as hell felt how bad I got hurt.”

Deacon looks at his hands as if she should see something in them. “I held your-your guts in my hands, Whisper. What I wasn’t trying to hold in was… ” He takes a shuddered breath. “... was on the ground. Or quickly on its way.”

“I was in an autodoc for three days,” she says, shrilly. Once again, Deacon flinches. “I wasn’t replaced. I can’t be - it wouldn’t make sense - ”

Once again his hands are on her shoulders, gentler now, soothing. “It’s okay. It’s okay, we’ll deal with this.”

She shrugs him off. “Listen to me. Shaun hates synths. He doesn’t even see them as human, so he wouldn’t make me one. Not when he wants me to lead the Institute. His legacy.”

“He remade your husband,” he helpfully supplies.

“For me. So I would stay.” A knot forms in her throat, the truth difficult to swallow. “Besides, if I was a synth, they would have just programmed me to love him, instead.” She’s going to cry again, she can feel it. The dam’s already broken, and now it’s all free to rush out. Her legs give out like a tree uprooted in the deluge, and she slides to the floor with a sob. “It would have been easier,” she hiccups.

She hears Deacon join her on the ground before he pulls her to him again. “I thought you were a synth the moment I saw you again,” he confesses into her hair. “I didn’t think there was any way you could have survived. I even thought about going under the knife again. Getting a new face, so I didn’t have to stare at the one that watched you die.

“Whisper, I flinched because I thought you had been replaced, and, for that moment, I didn't care.”

Didn’t care? If she was replaced, the Institute could ruin the Railroad, the Minutemen, the fragile peace they’ve cultivated across the Commonwealth. “Deacon…? What are you saying?”

He leans back, but still huddled close like they’re sharing a secret. His nose nudges the hollow of her cheekbone, and every breath breezes across the curve of her neck. “One last test.” For this, he removes his sunglasses, and the apprehension glittering in his eyes can be felt in the shaky grip he has at the nape of her neck. “Whisper, what’s my name?”

A shiver runs down her spine at the roughness of his voice. “You told me to forget in the morning,” she answers, even though she never did. 

The hand at her neck reaches up to tangle in her hair, and then Deacon kisses her first.

She had asked him once why he never did before, when insecurity made her feel as if she was forcing intimacy on him despite his enthusiastic response. Plausible deniability, he told her. Lies are always more believable with a little bit of truth dashed in, and if Des pressed him about starting something with her, well, it would be the truth if he said no.

There is nothing plausibly deniable about his tongue caressing the soft palate of her mouth, or her keening whine in response. She climbs into his lap, throwing a leg over his to straddle his hips. She pulls away to breathe, and he takes the opportunity to kiss a trail from the hollow of her throat up to her jaw.

Whisper moans his name - his real name - and is rewarded with his hand hiking up her skirt to her hip. He kneads the skin there, thumb dipping under the band of her underwear. She thinks of his poor knees when he shifts. “Deacon,” she struggles out, mind a fog, and nothing registers but his hands and his mouth. ���Take me to bed.”

His hand on her hip yanks her hard against him, and she feels just how excited he is at that suggestion. “Your wish is my command, sugar.”

Legs hooked behind his back, she anchors herself to him as he carries them - almost back to her bedroom. Her back hits the wall outside the door. With one hand, he locks her wrists above her head. When he kisses her again, his hips mimic the thrust of his tongue. The other hand works the buttons of her dress. The cool air is a relief against the flush spread across her body, the burning heat spreading through her veins, flame set alight every time he touches her. She rocks her hips forward. WIth a soft hiss, he releases her wrists and finally carries her to her bed.

Even when he deposits her on the mattress, they aren’t apart for long. As if even letting her go for a second pains him. If he isn’t touching her, she’ll disappear for good. She sits up to pull her dress over her head. He helps her, fingers skimming every inch of skin he exposes. 

He dips his head to her breasts and licks the valley between them. Whisper arches against him, grinding down against his still too-clothed lap. God help her when he unhooks her bra and draws a nipple lightly between his teeth. She goes when he eases her back down to the mattress. He hovers over her, eyes roving, and even in the dark she can see his pupils are blown wide.

Whisper runs her hands up under his shirt to help him out of it. With a hiss of fabric, it joins her dress and bra somewhere on the floor. Her hands go to the button of his jeans before stopping, finding the the rough scars across his torso. The one just below his ribs from the mirelurk queen, the peppering of scars from gunshot and knife wounds, and a new one high up on his collarbone. He watches her as she maps them out, his chest steadily rising and falling as he catches his breath.

“Everything accounted for?” He huffs.

She hums low. She presses a kiss to the scar on his collarbone. “What happened here?”

“Bunker Hill. Ran into a Courser but your, uh, Brotherhood friend helped me out.”

Whisper shows him just how glad she is that he survived.

Their next steps are slower, more deliberate. No longer frantic, but tempered. Want still simmering beneath the surface, but no longer threatening to burn out all sense. Deacon begins again, mouth moving determinedly south. One finger hooks through the band of her underwear, and she arches again to slip them off. Still he takes his time, pressing kiss after kiss to the inside of her thighs. And just when she hopes he’ll grant her some relief, he glances at her over the planes of her stomach and grins. He rests one of her legs on his shoulder, presses another kiss to her thigh. Then one hard swipe of his tongue has her loudly moaning his name.

He’s always been good with his tongue, but now it’ll be the death of her. Sometimes, she swears she recognizes a snippet of shorthand that he writes into her until another swipe erases any semblance of thought like an eraser to a chalkboard. Once he introduces his fingers, it isn’t long until he has her seeing stars.

When she comes back down, he’s pillowed his cheek against her thigh, watching her and looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Knew I missed you for a reason,” she sighs with a grin. “Come here.”

He does, and it’s her turn to taste herself on his tongue. His jeans and briefs join the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and then she finally gets to learn the feel of him entirely against her. No longer hindered by just-get-naked-enough, Deacon fits a knee underneath hers and hikes her leg at an angle. Open beneath him, she urges him forward, and he finally thrusts home.

They moan together. Whisper’s head falls back further into the pillow, and Deacon pulls out and buries himself again. His breath is hot and heavy against her shoulder, the only sound other than flesh against flesh and encouragement moaned in the dark.

Pleasure builds quickly, welling in her core and tightening every nerve. Deacon’s hips stutter, pace uneven, fingers caressing where they’re joined in an effort to send them over together. He whines Alice in her ear and she builds her home in it. The tension snaps, and she’s falling hard, taking him with her, and together they’re tumbling limp limbed on the mattress.

-

The afterglow finds Whisper’s head on Deacon’s chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. It’s almost enough to lull her to sleep, mental and physical exhaustion doing its best to pull her under.

“Go to bed,” Deacon rumbles. Hypocrite, she thinks. Under the blanket, his fingers keep a lazy circle on her hip. Every fifth circle he dips down into the vee of her hips, then returns. “We have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Not that early.” He’s already half hard in her hand. “We have to say good-bye to everyone.”

“Not that early,” he agrees.

She rides him until names given and made blur together in unbroken breaths of oh, god, and please, and fuck, and they come apart again when words have no meaning and the feel of them is enough.

[thequeenofsastiel]

Thinking about this:

So what I love about this is how completely accurate it is to describe your kink orientation as a "need". Because it's not just something I would like out of a relationship. It's not a want. It's a need. I'm actively unhappy in vanilla relationships(or that one time I spent a year trying to be in a relationship with another sub *shudder*). I need to be able to submit to my partner. And honestly I just need to be able to submit in general. Not having that feels like I'm suffocating. So Louis saying that he and Armand had figured out what they NEEDED from each other, not wanted, but needed, is perfectly accurate.

Also look at the love in their eyes!!!! You'll NEVER convince me that they weren't in love in Dubai.

[okmcintyre]

Masterlist #2 Bellarke Fanfiction Recs

It's been a couple more years & I'm very happy to report there's been ✨lots✨ more amazing fics shared in our corner of fandom. Y'all know the drill: linking older modern!au recs, the dropship/delinquent-only stories list, a few canonverse recs and of course the OG Masterlist from 2020.

Feel free to add your faves! 💛

Canonverse unless noted otherwise, + fics of of all ratings, so keep your eyes peeled!

Good Days and Bad Days by tiredwetdog 

where have you wandered, my only child? by carrieevew

Little steps by bellofthetolppl

With you in my arms (everything feels alright) by orphan_account 

so this is how rumors get started by ChronicTonsillitis

Bellamy Blake needs to touch some grass by b00mgh

Weathering the Storm by PenguinofProse

Hold on to me (I'm a little unsteady) by TheWordsInMyHead

take a running start by glowinghorizons

the whole world stops by whatspastisprologue

so this is how rumors get started by ChronicTonsillitis

Show Me What I'm Looking For by bitscrawford

What We Built by elle_stone

Can't Find Paradise On The Ground by icantloseyoutoo

It Doesn't End Here by immortalpramheda

You Make it Real by PnclSktch

i'm on my knees, your faith in shreds by stoneage_woman

the radio is playing your favourite song (open the door) by theinvisibledisaster

Hold me still by bellofthetolppl

a kiss is a secret which takes the lips for the ear by troubledpancakes

one less day to be alone by glowinghorizons 

A Short Story About Love by twosuns

must've been some kind of kiss (grounder!au) by carrieevew

Don't Look Back, You're Not Going That Way (viking!au) by andsowemeetagain

And Now You're Home (praimfaya!au) by asroarke

When the Sky Meets the Ground (grounder!au) by Peggysousfan

No Man is an Island, Entire of Itself (hanahaki!au) by MyHeartOfHearts

Walk the Line (doctor/criminal!au) by TheWordsInMyHead

The Other Half of my Soul (soulmate!au) by ZouWrites 

Lone Wolf (nightblood!au) by Peggysousfan

May the Waves Bring You Home (modern!au) by RogueTwelve

The Best Man (bellmillerbffs!au) by PenguinofProse

Mirror Mirror On the Wall (soulmates!au) by SPNOUAT

If My Wishes Came True (modern!au) by bookwormforalways

so I stayed in the darkness with you (soulmates!au) by burninghoneyatdusk

Pieces of Us (modern!au) by daenoora

i think i should go (you said maybe don't) (modern!au) by blaketrash

Only Fools Rush In (modern!au with a twist) by onlyherefor1

Black Out Days (apocalypsey!au) by TotalBellarkeTrash

(do you remember?) dancing in stilettoes in the snow (modern!au) by carrieevew

Share Your Address (modern!au) by useyourtelescope

Better Than Revenge (B/C/L!au) by Excuseyouclarke 

Your words on my skin (soulmate!au) by not_a_total_basket_case

Better with you. (artclass!au) by Luminouswriter 

I Thought The Worst Was Behind Us (modern!au) by onlyherefor1

proposal interruptus (modern!au) by carrieevew

One Way to Find Out (clurphybffs!au) by Silverloc

bet on it (bet on me) (modern!au) by griffenly

The House Guest (modern!au) by Shippershape

After Me Comes The Flood (modern!au) by theinvisibledisaster

I Found Peace in Your Violence (modern!dystopiaish!au) by eyessharpweaponshot

Take Care of Me (And My Heart) (modern!au) by QueenoftheWallflowers 

And in Other News... (news!au) by Jeanie205

love enough to fill me up (domestic!au) by jackiefreckles

Fading Out (soulmates!au) by PenguinofProse

[fated] happenstance (soulmates!au) by she_who_the_river_could_not_hold

The Dying of the Light (wartime!au) by starsonfire

Bellarke The 100 Instagram AU (socialmedia!au) by OhLenaLena

I Don't Want to Dream About You (modern!au) by Dayo488

Too Aware of Where Your Lips Have Been (modern!au) by MissMR

When Bellamy Met Clarke (whenharrymetsally!au) by onlyherefor1

Submarine Man (modern!au) by twosuns

[silverskyy]

[ID: the first post is gifs of sparkly text in different colors and fonts. "This Summer" in red, "A Man Afraid Of Flying" in green, "And An Angel Afraid Of Falling" in blue, "Will Meet In The Middle" in rainbow.

The second post is a tag screenshot reading "#and then they didnt 😔 #good omens". /end ID]

[hmslusitania]

For the OTP prompts - TimKon #2 👀

Please enjoy some boys being very silly in a nebulous Young Justice timeline, to the prompt of "I'm dying." "You're not dying."

“I’m dying,” Kon proclaims, draping himself dramatically over the back of the couch in their headquarters, his wrist pressed to his forehead like a caricature of a Victorian maiden swooning on a fainting couch.

“You’re not dying,” Tim snaps, rolling his eyes. He’s trying to fill out reports, because that had been part of the Justice League’s terms for letting them continue to operate — paperwork. He and Cassie had rock-paper-scissored about which of them had to do said paperwork, and after losing and taking one look at the Batman-formatted report papers, she’d declared that she was making him Young Justice’s secretary, and declared it his responsibility.

“You don’t know,” Kon complains, pushing off from the ground so he rolls all the way over the back of the couch. He manages to twist while he falls so that he lands on his stomach with his arms folded around one of the throw pillows Cissie had brought in because they “brightened up the place.” “I totally could be.”

“You can’t actually die of boredom,” Tim scolds.

“I’m sure there’s gotta be a rogue somewhere who can do that,” Kon says, which is… almost certainly true and Tim kinda hates that. “For all you know, I got whammied by it, and now unless you entertain me, I’m gonna die of the stupidest bullshit ever.”

“I am the wrong Robin if you want entertainment,” Tim says. “Dick was the one who was a literal circus performer.”

“Yeah, because I’m just gonna pop over to Titans tower and ask Nightwing to do backflips for my entertainment,” Kon scoffs.

“Well, I’m not gonna do backflips for your entertainment,” Tim replies, signs the bottom of the report, and flips it into the finished stack. As he reaches for the next one, Kon scrambles down to the end of the couch closest to Tim’s table.

“Can you actually do a backflip?” he asks.

Tim sighs. “Yeah.”

“Woooow,” Kon says, dragging the syllable out. Tim makes the mistake of glancing his way and discovers Kon watching him with a challenge brightening his face. “That would be super hot, if I believed you.”

“See, I know you’re just trying to goad me, so that’s not gonna work,” Tim says, and focuses on his paperwork. The looming, omnipresent threat of Bruce’s disapproval if he doesn’t get them filled out correctly and in a timely manner is good enough incentive to keep him from being distracted by Kon’s… everything.

“Sure, okay,” Kon says, and flips over onto his back with his hands folded behind his head. Tim makes a further mistake when he looks again and gets a good eyeful of the way Kon’s biceps are straining the leather of his jacket these days.

In a kinder world, growing up surrounded by superheroes had rendered him immune to distraction by traditional superhero physique. Unfortunately, no one’s ever accused their corner of the multiverse of being a kinder world.

Well. Except Earth-3 people, but that’s a special case.

“I’ll just sit here, content in the knowledge you lied about something stupid so that you could sound cool,” Kon says.

It shouldn’t actually get to him, but it does, and Tim kind of hates himself for that a little.

Grumbling the whole time so Kon knows exactly how much of a pain in the ass he’s being, Tim stands up, checks his clearances, and does a backflip, exactly like Dick taught him.

To his surprise, Kon doesn’t verbally respond. When Tim looks over to see what’s wrong with him, or what’s distracted him, he finds Kon just… staring at him. Blinking widely. Face slightly pink.

It makes Tim blush in response as well, without meaning to, and he kind of hates that too.

“See, I was just fucking with you—”

“Yeah, I noticed, actually.”

“—but that was actually super hot.”

Tim’s blush goes from faint to on-the-verge-of-combustion, and he takes his seat back at the table to keep doing his reports, vividly aware that Kon is now staring at him from the couch with an expression on his face that’s not wholly dissimilar to one of Damian’s cats when it’s getting ready to pounce.

“Tim,” Kon says, and Tim swears to god there’s a hint of a purr in the back of his throat.

Kryptonians and Cats. There’s probably a whole research paper in there Tim could cook up if he wanted to.

“I’m trying to keep the Justice League from shutting us down,” Tim protests. “I’m not doing another backflip for you.”

Kon huffs and launches himself into the air only to hover over Tim’s head, looking down at him and looming ominously. Tim doesn’t flinch when Kon leans down to grab his face in both hands, but it’s only Batman training that saves him. Batman training, and rapidly growing annoyance when Kon squishes his cheeks together and lowers down until Kon’s upside down face is directly in front of his.

“Tim,” Kon repeats. “You’re hot.”

“Thanks,” Tim says, voice coming out weirdly squashed thanks to Kon’s compression of his face. “So are you.”

Kon beams at him and brushes the tip of his nose against Tim’s, and then drops down another few inches so he can kiss him.

It’s not their first kiss, or even their first outside of sleepover night truth or dare and spin-the-bottle games, but this whole thing developing between them is still new enough that it might be within the counting-on-his-fingers range.

Kon nibbles lightly on his bottom lip and then faster than Tim can blink, he’s flipping around in mid-air only to land in Tim’s lap, hands still squishing Tim’s cheeks together.

“And I think, you should kiss me some more before I die of boredom and you have to find a new heavy hitter for your team,” Kon says. “Think about it. Do you want to get this paperwork submitted just on time rather than obnoxiously early, or do you want to have to figure out how to fill out paperwork for ‘I accidentally let Kon-El languish away to nothing out of boredom because I wouldn’t kiss him’ paperwork?”

“I think I’d make up a different cause of death for the paperwork,” Tim replies, waits until Kon’s scrunched up his nose and his whole face in disappointment, and only then does he give up on paperwork for the time being, and kiss him.

[leclerclov3]

｡･:*˚:✧｡ P1 baby

masterlist

✰ pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

✰ warning: none

✰ summary: It was no secret that ferrari was a whole shit show this season thos however did not stop charles from giving his all to the team that didn't even care about him.

✰ word count:0,5k

You sit in Charles' driver's room waiting for him to come back from yet another bad qualifying.

"Hey baby.." you say softly as he walks in he immediately comes over to you hugging you and nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

"I just don't know what I'm doing wrong... I've been practicing nonstop staying focused going over strategies what else do I need to do" he says desperately.

You can't help but feel awful as he lays and rants in your arms. you rub his back comfortingly "Shh baby it's alright none of this is your fault..you've been amazing you have given them your all there is not much else you could do. You are doing your best and that's enough even more than that ough and I'm sure all of this will pay off in the future. you're amazing love don't you ever forget it" You kiss his forehead.

he looks up "Thank you y/n I don't know what I would do without you..." he smiles a small but genuine smile "I'll give it my best tomorrow I’ll try to win...for you" he pecks your lips and lays back down the exhaustion from qualifying finally getting to him as he drifts off...

Sunday comes and you can't say that you aren't excited for what today will bring after your little talk with Charles he seemed happier..more sure of himself and it gave you hope...hope that after all of this, he'd still be ok...

The race starts and turns one is as chaotic as always but Charles manages to snag P1 you know that it's too early to celebrate but you can't seem to shake off the excitement that's bubbling in your stomach...

Lap 7 passes he's still in the lead then lap 20 and then the final lap there is a fierce battle going on between Charles and Max right now and you can't help but feel anxious as they get closer and closer to the finish line...you see max over take Charles in the 2nd to last corner and as you begin to lose hope Charles sneaks back and snags P1 for himself.

The whole Ferrari garage is going wild as well as you, with tears in your eyes you run to Parc fermé getting right in front of the brackets. You excitedly wait for Charles to get here. And as his car parks right at that P1 spot and he gets out of the car you both lock eyes it's like no one existed around you too. He runs straight to you taking off his helmet hugging you tightly and then giving you a kiss that you will never forget... After that day it was safe to say that you knew that he'd be alright..

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe and others

yourusername knew you could do it ❤️

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charles_leclerc couldn’t do it without you cheri

↳yourusername ❤️❤️

lilymhe the absolute cutest

↳alex_albon excuse me

↳yourusername it’s only the truth alex

francisca.cgomez so cute 🤍

↳yourusername 💕

user18 my otp

user5 when is it my turn

user92 that should be me 🎵🎵

｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:✧｡｡･:*˚:

Second fic is finished this one is a little different from the first but i still hope you liked it let me know if you have any feedback and enjoy your day <3

[theredtrails]

Hey peeps!

I'm super happy to see the X-Men fandom thriving again with the upcoming release of X-Men '97, and even happier to share that I'm a page artist for @rogue-gambit-fan-zine!

Here's a sneak peak of the X-Men The Animated Series inspired piece I made to illustrate @jehilew' fantastic fic, so be sure to check it out if you're in a nostalgic mood for some Rogue/Gambit goodness 💗💗 They are one of my earliest and most nostalgic OTPs, so it was a blast to work alongside so many talented writers and artists 🥰

Preorders are just around the corner, so keep your eyes peeled 👀

[leynaeithnea]

I didnt get an ask for this BUT WE'RE BACK

my Wisdom saga reaction/analysis!!!!!

26. Legendary

TELEMACHUS MY BOYYYY

THE MELODY AT THE BEGINNING OF LEGENDARY IS SO COOL

the instruments aaah, lowkey obssessed

"its jus tme myself and i" perimedes would like u

"living in this world you left behind".........this song makes oyu think so much about what life has been in Ithica in those years since Odysseus had to leave, he was loved, he is *King*, AH

"dreaming of all these monster, that ill never to get to fight" better this way, u dont wanna end up like your daddy

"but boy i wish i could so i could bring the world some light" BABY BOY

"Cause I'm stuck with your stories, but no clue who you are And no idea if you're dead or just too far" his mother wouldve told him so many stories :aniTears:

"Somebody tell me, come and give me a sign if I fight those monsters, is it you I'll find?" PLS HE jusT WANTS TO FIND HIS DAD GIVE THIS MAN HIS FATHER

"If so, then give me sirens and a cyclops Give me giants and a hydra" hes just naming every monster he can think of of the myths he grew up with

"I know life and fate are scary but I wanna be legendary" U GO BOY; I LOVE YOU, also such a mood

"I'll fight the harpies and chimeras, the Minotaur, even Cerberus I know life and fate are scary but I wanna be l-l-l-l-legendary"....yea same like the two parts before, any monster he can think of, he gotta be one of us kids who read a lot

THEN The droppp in his voice, HE SOUNDS SO SCARED

"There are strangers in our halls" That must be TERRIFYING, just imagine that, dozens of men in your home just prying on your mother and youre too young to do anything rly

"Trying to win the heart of my mom, but she is standing tall" THAT VOCAL PERFORMANCE, W FOR PENELOPE; GIRLBOSS

"108 old faces of men who call me small" EW; 108 IS SO MANY BRO; SO MANY????? Also "old faces" ISJGSEIGJ "who call me small" boy, i feel so bad for you

"They keep taking space and it's not much longer we can stall" !!!! HES WORKING WITH HIS MOTHER TRYING TO HOLD THEM OFF; AH AAAAH, also fuck them, leave their home alone, god he must feel so unsafe in his own home :screams:

"'Cause they're getting impatient, dangerous too" oh no :( so scared lil boy

"And I would fight them if I was half as strong as you" HE LOOKS UP TO HIM SO MUCH AH

"Somebody help me, come and give me the strength Can I do whatever it takes to keep my mom safe?" HES ALSO A MOMMY BOY; AND HONESTLY GOOD FOR HIM; STAND BY HER SIDE; U GO BOY, 🥹

Chrous SLAPs

"Where is he? Where is the man who'll have you to wife? " bitch stay away (also cut song reference!)

"Where is he? Where is the man with whom you'll spend your life?" HE IS ON His WAY HOme SO STAY THE FUCK AWAYYYYYYYY ARGG ILL FIGHT U

"Cause it's been 20 years, 20 years" 20 FUCKING YEARS??? THATS AS OLD AS I AM (and telemachus for that measure, same age, yay!) BUT BRO IMAGINE WAITING FOR YOUR HUSBAND TO COME HOME FOR 20 YEARS; PENELOPE X ODY OTP; PENELOPE FIGHTING OFF 108 SUITORS FOR 20 YEARS AND ODY FIGHTING OF *GODS* Trying TO TRAP AND USE AND KEEP HIM, THEY DESERVE EACH OTHER

"And we still have no king" >:) >:) imagine an island without leader for 20 years oh boy h boy, the power vacuum, 108 people who want to take his place

"Give me a chance, a single opportunity and I'll overcome these obstacles and scrutiny and-" HE WANTS TO SO BADLY he juST DOESNT KNOW HOW AND WHEre TO START BC AH, also the music sounds like he just tries to sneak around his palace, to not get caught by the suitors, dodging and on guard, i can just imagine him ducking his head and looking at every corner for smth danger-

"Boy".......that slapped hard, FUCK YOU ANTINOUS (hi perimedes :) )

"When's your tramp of a mother gonna choose a new husband?" FUCK YOU STAY AWAY (the dELIVERY)

"OoooOOoh" we have a new choir! the crew is ded but we have the suitors now hah, ill take it, love me some choir responses

"Why don't you open her room so we can have fun with her?" THE AUDACITY? WHORE FUCKING BASTARD STAY THE FUCK AWAY

"Dont you dare, call my mother a tramp" U GO BOY; TELL HIM (be careful, dont get hurt) THE VOCAL DELIVERY OF THAT LINE IS SO gOOD

"OoooOOoh" chiorr

" I just did, Whatchu gonna do about it, champ?" FUCK OFF ANTINOUS, DONT BE SO SMUG FUCK U

"Somebody tell me, Come and give me a sign, If I fight this monster, Is it you I'll find?" u desrve your dad so much, he'll come home, promise...promise....hold on, be stronk, u got this boy, also "this monster" its none from your stories, no this is real, its worse its right infront of you AH

Sorry for the swearing :") AH I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH, ONE OF MY FAVS FOR SURE (...we'll come back after recency bias but i dont think itll change)

EDIT: DANGER MOTIF WHEN ANTINOUNS JOINS IN!!!!! (are there more? im new to this PLS TELL ME)

@lorethebookworm

[silver-and-stars]

Are they already doomed ?

HEADLAND: [...] Obviously, the end, that last shot, was very inspired by the end of Fight Club just standing there together, ready to watch the world burn. The tragedy is that we know that's not gonna happen because we've seen Plagueis, so we know this is not possible. It was actually the actors’ idea to hold hands, and it was a really, really good idea. [...]

The OTP to end all OTPs. I'm still emotionally scarred from The Rise of Skywalker where there was this weird backpedaling where they were like, “Oh, it was a kiss of gratitude. It was like completely platonic.” First of all, I don't kiss people on the mouth to say thank you for saving my life. Are we wrong to be reading that there’s some romance there? HEADLAND: No! Because that was the whole thing that happened after The Rise of Skywalker. They were like, “It was a kiss of gratitude,” and I was like, “And what if I walked into traffic?” So are we right to read romance into the hand-hold? HEADLAND: Oh, yeah! Again, they’re Sith. It's a different vibe. To me, it's gonna hit different because of their allegiance and who they are. So, yes, it is framed as romantic, but I do think, again, it's not gonna turn out great. I think if he's training her, “One to hold the power, one to crave it.” So they're starting off as equals, but what's gonna happen? Like in Romeo and Juliet, it's amazing because right at the beginning they're like, “Okay, these two die. Let's start the play.” As you're watching this incredible love story unfold, and it's one of the most beautifully iconic plays ever written, in the back of your mind, you're like, “This is not going to turn out well.” I want to clarify: They are not necessarily doomed or destined to fail as a team. But the Sith rule of two denotes a power imbalance. Which clearly, due to the final shot, is not their relationship. Also, Plagueis complicates their journey as Sith, because we know his apprentice is eventually Palpatine. They will not defeat him.

https://collider.com/the-acolyte-episode-8-explained-leslye-headland/

Oh no...

She has already plan for their doom.

She is so into the ship, from the interview you can see she is really invested and interested in their dynamic, in Osha (less in Mae imo, because Osha is the one breaking the father-daughter bound, not Mae who is more a motivator for Osha). But in her mind this is already ending in tragedy.

I just want them to run off into the sunset, to get to be evil without dying for it. It's not like irl evil gets punished, so just let them disappear to some corner of their vast galaxy.

And if they have to die, truly do it Romeo and Juliet style : still in love and devoted to each other, dying together because the world around them pushes them to it. Give us the true lasting Sith powercouple, the girl going Dark Side and sticking to it and the guy not betraying her.

Also "it was the actors' idea to hold hands". They get it. Probs to them for that.

Also that tackle at Wookipedia and the Reylo denial, bless.

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 19 - Field Day

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: It's off to the bridal boutique, but Harper and Olivia have a secondary agenda...

Word Count: 6,200

Rating/Warnings: M (royal bitchiness, possible emotional abuse, kidnapping, threats of murder)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: So, I have tried to keep everything as realistic and accurate as possible in terms of the locations that are touched on in this chapter. The only thing that is made up is the antique store. As usual, translations for the French and Italian are at the end.

Chapter 19 - Field Day

The five-minute drive to the bridal boutique is every bit as excruciatingly awkward as can be expected.

"What part of we are already running late is so difficult to comprehend?" derides Madeleine before the limo door even shuts. "When I tell you to hurry, I expect you to do exactly that!"

"I'm sorry, Lady Madeleine," stammers Penelope tearfully. "The heel of my shoe became caught on—"

"Save it!" the Countess of Fydelia snaps. "If you cannot do something as simple as totter down a corridor without breaking your neck, then frankly, I do not see how you are supposed to be of use to me."

Penelope's face turns whiter than a sheet. "I—"

"As lest you forget, I took you on as a lady-in-waiting as a favour to your family, given the historically close personal relationship between our fathers," Madeleine reminds her with a steely edge to her voice. "But that does not mean that I cannot send you packing just as easily. And if you do not get your act together, then that is exactly what will happen. Am I clear!"

"Yes," Penelope whimpers, lowering her gaze.

"What was that?" demands Madeleine imperiously.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And the same goes for the rest of you," adds Madeleine, casting the haughty gleam of her gaze over the limo. "One misstep — proverbial or otherwise — and you are gone. Not just from my employ, but from court as well."

Shifting my gaze over to Hana, I see that she is just as perturbed as I am about this borderline psychotic power-trip.

Talk about being a queen bitch...

Olivia scoffs from her seat in the corner. "How about you try making a threat you can actually carry out..."

Madeleine bristles. "As Queen I will have the authority to—"

"Do exactly what Christian permits you to do," Olivia interjects flatly, examining her nails. "As lest you forget, you will only ever be a queen consort — not queen regnant."

The Countess of Fydelia's eyes narrow. "That is but a technicality."

"I still wouldn't overplay my hand," Olivia cautions with a smile. "Wouldn't want to get caught out on a technicality now, would you?"

Madeleine glares down the length of the limo like a viscous viper.

"Didn't think so," smirks the Duchess of Lythikos as the driver pulls the vehicle to a stop...

...and the paps immediately descend on us like a swarm of black flies.

"What the—?" I blurt, catching the flash of the cameras through the blacked-out windows. "When did they get here?"

"Five minutes ago," replies Madeleine tartly, slotting a pair of shades on.

My jaw drops. "You... told them where we were going?"

"Of course," she affirms as the Royal Guard who had been riding shotgun manages to squeeze his way through the human press to open the door. "Royal patronage elevates the esteem and profile of any institution. It is only right that the press should be invited to cover the visit."

"Like that's the only reason..." I mutter as Madeleine steps out of the limo and the roar of the crowd becomes deafening.

"Contessa!" several people shout. "Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore!"

"It's horse shite, by the way," Olivia advises as she slides past me. "The only thing she is looking to promote is herself."

"Well, she definitely seems to be succeeding..." I admit, watching the Guards struggle to hold the photographers back as Madeleine sashays her way towards the doors of the boutique.

Olivia scoffs. "It's an act of desperation. Nothing more. She knows she is on thin footing with Christian... and the public."

"Great..." I groan, pulling Drake's blue aviators from my clutch as I, too, exit the limo.

Rather than being an unfortunate one-off, it seems like yesterday's altercation at the Apple Harvest Festival was actually the opening salvo in a concerted campaign of media brinksmanship that Madeleine is determined to win.... at my expense.

Yet, I'm just not sure I have it in me to play her contrived publicity game. The paps have already up-ended my life more completely than I would've ever thought possible, so the last thing I want to do is pander to their voracious appetite for scandal.

"Duchessa Harper! Duchessa Harper!" the photographers shout as I step out onto the sidewalk. "You made it to Italy! What do you think of the city so far?"

"You did not travel with the King and future Queen! Were you forced to make alternative arrangements because of your argument?"

"Will you attend the opera tonight?"

"When was the last time you spoke to your family? Is it true you cut all ties with them?"

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to keep my head down and my feet moving forward as the invasive questions zing over my head like bullets. Camera bulbs flash in my face as the photographers press in, trying to get that front page close-up...

...and that's when I spot him.

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat as recognition hits me like a punch in the chest.

Oh, my God, the photographer from Applewood!

He's standing in the second row, regarding me almost casually, like a tourist at a zoo, faded red baseball cap slung backwards over his head, just as in the picture Ana de Luca had saved on the flash drive.

Our eyes meet and I stumble to a stop, unable to tear my gaze away, my morbid curiosity overpowering my senses even as the paps close in around me...

...but then I feel the warmth of a hand on my back and the sound of a familiar voice brings me back to earth.

"Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle," Allard assures me, appearing at my side to shield me from the press invasion.

Glancing up, I see that Schweitzer has taken up position in front of me, using his body like a blocker to force a path through the crush.

Curling into the safety offered by my Guard's no-nonsense attitude, I let them whisk me into the boutique.

"Thank you..." I say sincerely as we pass through the doorway into the foyer.

Allard relinquishes his hold on me with a nod. "Certainement. Vous allez bien?"

"Yeah..." I reply, heart pounding as I try to recollect my bearings. "I just—"

"Oh, my gosh!" gasps Hana, stumbling into the boutique behind us. "That was horrible!"

"C'est le bordel!" agrees Kiara as she and Penelope manage to squeeze themselves through the press before the Guards shut the door. "Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?"

"She wasn't," Olivia replies flatly, shooting an accusatory glance over her shoulder at Madeleine, who is already being given a queen's welcome by the boutique's owner.

A tense silence descends as we all process this assessment.

"I... I suppose we should go through," Hana suggests eventually.

"Oui," Kiara affirms with a huff, smoothing the front of her dress. "Sa Majesté expects our assistance."

Penelope glances uncertainly towards the fuss being made over Madeleine. "I don't think she's expecting mine..."

"Don't be silly!" Kiara admonishes, looping her arm through her friend's to tug her forward. "She just had a petite éclat. Every bride gets nervous and she is under a lot of pressure to maintain constant perfection. But that is why we need to help her, non?"

Penelope looks like she's about to disagree, before finally acquiescing with a sigh. "I just miss Merlin and Morgana..."

"J'sais..." consoles Kiara, patting her reassuringly on the back of the hand. "Hopefully once the tour is finished, Madeleine will allow you to send for them."

"I doubt it..." Penelope mutters meekly as they join Madeleine in the store proper. "She said she hates yappy little dogs. You don't suppose they have anything here with poodles on them, do you?"

"I don't think this boutique specialises in that type of lingerie..."

"Oh..."

"I'm sure they have some pretty floral designs, though!" Hana offers encouragingly. "Italian lace is known around the world for its intricate rebrodè detailing."

"Yes, because that's what men care about on the wedding night..." Olivia mutters dryly, turning towards me. "You coming, or what?"

"Huh?" I ask, snapping my head up. "Umm... Yeah. Sorry."

"You better be," she snips disdainfully as she starts down the foyer as well. "I refuse to be the only sane participant in this clown show..."

I glance warily back towards the front of the boutique, where the paps were still battling each other, trying to snap a shot of us through the tastefully curated window displays.

"What?" Olivia objects after a beat. "No snide comment? No wry clap-back? You're not conveniently coming down with a sudden fever, are you?"

"I... I saw him," I admit, tearing my gaze away from the feeding frenzy outside.

Olivia grabs my wrist to yank me to a stop. "Saw who?"

"The photographer," I say tightly, pulling my arms around myself in a bid to stop myself from shivering, despite the record-breaking temperatures outside. "From Applewood."

"Dion Guillard..." clarifies Olivia, staring at me intently. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I nod.

Olivia purses her lips. "He could be here on his own volition, or because someone invited him. Either way, we should make use of this opportunity."

"How?"

"By making him an offer he can't refuse," she replies slyly, pulling her phone out.

My eyes widen. "You mean right now? But Madeleine—"

"Has enough sycophants coddling her already," she counters flippantly as she quickly types up a text. "We only have one chance to do this. Do you want the truth, or not?"

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "I do."

"Good," she nods, slotting her phone away again. "You don't mind if I borrow your hunks, do you?"

"Umm..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she responds, clicking her fingers authoritatively at Allard and Schweitzer. "Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes."

Before I have a chance to respond, Olivia has already spun on her heel and is striding towards the rear of the store, my two Guards in tow.

"'Kay..." I mutter under my breath.

I have no idea what Olivia's plan is... much less how she thinks to arrange a clandestine meeting with the photographer under Madeleine's nose while there's an entire army of paps parked outside watching our every move.

But I've learned during the course of the social season that the Scarlet Duchess is as enterprising as she is resourceful, having pulled a number of successful ploys in a bid to advance herself in the competition. And Drake seems to trust her implicitly, otherwise, he wouldn't have asked her to keep an eye on me while he's off in Dubai.

So, it looks like I'm just going to have to trust her, too.

Taking a deep breath, I move towards the other end of the shop floor, pretending to peruse the various items on offer while I wait for the allotted time to tick down.

Luckily, Madeleine is busy loudly shooting down each and every lingerie option that is presented to her by both the boutique staff and her increasingly frazzled ladies-in-waiting, so nobody really notices when I announce a pretend visit to the restroom.

Slipping back out into the foyer, I move as casually as possible towards the back of the store, knowing that the paps are still watching me like hawks through the windows.

Rounding the corner, I allow myself to speed up a bit, casting my gaze left and right, looking for Olivia...

...when I'm suddenly yanked into a dimly-lit storeroom stacked with cardboard boxes and plastic-wrapped veils and dresses.

"Hey! What the—?" I protest as the door is shut promptly behind me.

"You're late," Olivia informs me dryly, clicking the lone light bulb on above us.

"Sorry, I had t—"

I reel back in horror as my eyes land on the bound and gagged form of Dion Guillard perched on top of a box of lingerie.

"Oh, my God!" I gasp. "When the heck did this turn into a kidnapping?"

"Ten minutes ago," she replies breezily.

I drop my head in my hands. "I am going to jail... I am literally going to jail..."

"Oh, ye of little faith..." Olivia admonishes, stepping over to the photographer.

He shrinks instantly back from her.

My brows shoot skywards. "Jesus Christ... What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," she shrugs. "Yet..."

A chill runs down my spine. Apparently, Olivia's reputation is more than well deserved...

"I presume you know who we are?" she asks Dion levelly, coming to a stop in front of him.

The man nods tightly, brows bunched together beneath the line of his baseball cap.

"And your current circumstances leave you under no illusions as to the lengths we're willing to go to obtain — by force, or otherwise — the clear and unvarnished truth?"

His gaze slips to meet mine for a second before sliding back to Olivia's to give her the barest of nods.

"Good," she smiles, reaching towards him. "Then this will go that much faster."

In one quick motion, she yanks the scrunched-up handkerchief from the photographer's mouth, making him wheeze.

"Sa mère la pute de—"

"Who are you working for?" Olivia demands, folding her arms.

Dion spits on the floor next to her feet. "I'm a freelancer. I work for—"

"We know who you are," Olivia interjects with a wave of her hand. "You're a lowlife slug who's willing to do anything to make a name for himself. You demonstrated as much when you sold compromising photos of my friend here to the press. The question is, who hired you?"

Dion scoffs. "Nobody hired me. I work for myself! That is what I've been trying to—!"

"Liar," Olivia accuses. "We know you didn't just stumble upon this by yourself. Who's your client?"

"Nom de dieu..." he disparages under his breath. "I told you already, I—"

Olivia is suddenly up in his face, knife pressed to his throat. "And I didn't like your answer."

Dion jerks back instinctively. "Your petite friend is correct... You are going to jail..."

"They'll have to find your body first," she tells him silkily. "What little will be left of it, anyway... Because no one here is going to the police. And I'm sure that your so-called friends out the front will secretly be glad for your unexplained loss. The freelance photography business is oh-so cutthroat, after all..."

"Tu es une salle grace..." he snarls through clenched teeth.

Olivia presses the knife tighter. "Then you should know that it's not in your interest to test what's left of my patience..."

Dion laughs bitterly. "À quoi ça rime? You say already that you will just—"

"What if we paid you?" I interject, stepping forward.

Olivia's head snaps angrily around. "Harper, stay out of—!"

"Paid me?" the photographer cuts in, eyes swirling to meet mine with interest.

"To give us the information we're after... voluntarily," I clarify, in a bid to avoid the impending bloodshed. "And to sell us the photos from Applewood."

Dion frowns. "I already sold the pictures to the papers..."

"Not all of them," I correct, hoping against hope that my gut instinct is correct and I haven't just torpedoed Olivia's interrogation for nothing. "You only sold the ones you were told to sell — the ones that fit your client's narrative."

Dion seems to assess me in a new light. "You come prepared... Fine. I'll do as you ask... for five million."

"Ducats?" asks Olivia.

"Euros."

I very narrowly catch my jaw from falling to the floor at the sound of the obscene price tag.

"You've been paid once already," counters Olivia. "The highest we can go is one million."

"Four," insists Dion, somehow managing to find the balls to negotiate even with a knife pressed to his throat. "There are a lot of pictures."

"Which no one else is willing to buy, so two is our best and final offer."

"Three," declares Dion. "And I'll forget this conversation ever happened."

Olivia purses her lips for a moment, before whipping the knife away with a flourish. "Fine. Start talking."

Dion lets out a low exhale. "I received a call some days before the Jamboree. The person had a tip on one of the Prince's suitors, and said it would make big news if it got out. Naturally, I was interested."

"Who was this person?" I ask.

"I don't have a name," he replies. "The tip was anonymous, and the call came from a hidden number."

"Was it a man or a woman?" Olivia queries.

"A man."

Olivia and I exchange a glance. Tariq or Godfrey.

"How did you get into Applewood?" I ask, turning back to Dion.

"A security pass was delivered to my apartment. No return address," he adds before either of us can ask.

"And that didn't seem suspicious?" I press.

"Demoiselle," he scoffs. "I am a paparazzo. I am not going to... How you Américans say? Count the teeth of a dog?"

"Look a gift horse in the mouth..." I correct dryly.

"Once on the estate, I took some pictures of the Jamboree — in the event, you know... nothing came of the tip — but then I received a message on my phone that the suitor in question was on her way back to her room with her paramour, andI should make myself ready."

"How did you know which room to go to?" I cut in.

"There was a blueprint of the manor included in the same envelope that provided me my security pass," Dion explains. "It was your room that was marked."

His words hit me like a kick to the guts.

It's been clear for a while that my run-in with Tariq has been anything but chance. But to learn the malicious extent of the planning that had gone into setting it up makes me want to actually puke.

Who was sick enough to even think up something so twisted?

"What then?" asks Olivia, diverting Dion's attention from my momentary muteness.

He shrugs. "I took the photos, and left."

"How?" I croak in disbelief. "How could you just stand there while—?"

"I am a journalist," he shrugs apathetically. "My business is to be impartial..."

"You watched me get assaulted," I hiss through trembling lips. "There is nothing impartial about that!"

He shrugs again. "Affairs are messy. Maybe you should choose your lovers more carefully."

I feel my fists clench at my sides as I take a step forward. "He is not—"

Olivia's hand pulls me back. "How did you deliver the photos?"

"There was no delivery," Dion counters with the same level of nonchalance that he's exhibited since he started talking. "I selected the best pictures and put them out to offer to the newspapers. The Sun offered the most for them, so I sold to them the exclusive rights to publish."

"That's it?" queries Olivia. "No one else was given copies?"

Dion scoffs. "Absolutement pas! Selling copies to anyone else would violate the license agreement with the most influential tabloid newspaper in the country! Why would I put myself out of business? I am not an idiot..."

"You didn't send any samples to the person who tipped you off?" I press, having finally managed to regain my composure somewhat.

"Non," he insists. "I said before — he was not a client. I have no obligation for him. And even if I did, I have no way to contact him because—"

"—the conversations were anonymous," I finish wearily.

Apart from lending credence to our suspicions that Godfrey may have had a hand in the set-up, this conversation has confirmed literally nothing.

The people involved in the plot have been too careful in covering up their tracks.

Which means that all our hopes now rest with Tariq... and Drake's ability to find him.

Dion nods. "C'est correct. And I told you everything you asked. We still have a deal, yes?"

"On the condition that you hand over all the remaining photographs — including any digital and backup copies — and disappear off to a godforsaken island somewhere," Olivia clarifies.

Dion nods eagerly. "Naturellement. I always desired early retirement."

"Good," she approves, cutting the bonds from his wrists with a cold smile. "Otherwise I will personally ensure that you don't live to spend a single Euro of your newly acquired millions."

The flash of the wicked-looking blade so close to his groin causes the photographer to blanch involuntarily. "Je le jure."

Olivia flashes him a cold smile. "We'll be in touch..."

"You're just letting him go?" I hiss into Olivia's ear as Dion pushes himself up.

"Unless you would prefer to dump him in the Tiber?"

I reel back. "What! No! I just—"

"Your instinct was right," she advises softly, as Dion gathers his bag and Allard escorts him back out. "He is an opportunistic shark. He just had to be made to believe that he was fleecing us."

My eyes widen. "So, you played bad cop deliberately."

"As you said, this is my area of expertise," she smirks. "And I knew you would not be able to keep your sentimentality at the door."

"Umm, thanks... I think..." I mutter. "But where are we supposed to get three million Euros from? We may both be aristos, but neither of us is Jeff Bezos..."

"The Palace has a designated slush fund set aside for these sorts of expenditures," Olivia assures me breezily, slotting her knife away. "Since you are now a member of the royal family, we'll just send the bill to Jonathan."

I slant her a wry look. "I'm pretty sure that's not what either he or Christian had in mind when they decided to clean up my image..."

"Oh, please!" she admonishes, stepping back out into the corridor as well. "As recently as last year, Constantine was authorising expenditures of five to ten million Euros to stop pictures of Leo shagging B-list actresses on top of various vehicles making it onto the front pages. Three million Euros is trump change for the Rys."

"If you say so," I concede, my mind still reeling from astronomical sums of money that had been so casually bandied about. "Let's just hope Dion doesn't screw us over..."

"He won't," she assures me. "Nobody is stupid enough to cross a Nevrakis."

"The people who blackmailed you did..." I remind her cautiously.

Olivia's mouth tightens as we reach the end of the corridor. "Which was their first mistake. And one that they will pay for dearly."

"You never actually told me what they threatened you with on the night of the Coronation Ball..."

Olivia glances at me sharply. "The less you know the better."

"But—"

"It is for your own protection," she insists. "You haven't played this game long enough to know how to handle something so... explosive."

My eyes widen. "What? More explosive than—?"

Olivia clamps her hand over my mouth. "What did I tell you on the plane?"

"Sorry..." I mumble through her fingers.

She withdraws her hand. "If — on the very slim chance — I require assistance, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, you should rejoin the bridal parade."

"Why? Where are you going?" I ask as Olivia moves towards the back loading doors.

"None of your business," she ripostes, disappearing outside.

"Bye to you, too..." I snip as the door slams closed in her wake.

Olivia may now be on my side, but she is still as caustic as ever.

Turning back towards the main part of the boutique. I barely make it four steps before Madeleine's shrieks of outrage — and the sound of breaking glass — echo down the hallway.

"How many times do I have to tell you, no thongs! They are ribald and tasteless!"

"Yeah, no..." I mutter under my breath as I promptly spin on my heel to head back towards the rear of the store.

I don't care what Kiara may have said earlier; I have no interest in spending the rest of the morning being trapped in a bridal boutique, being screamed at by Madeleine. I have much better things to do with my time... and sanity, especially given that I'm still trying to mentally and emotionally process what the photographer had said. And after everything else that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, a small break would definitely go a long way in diffusing my pent-up stress.

Admittedly, a part of me feels bad for leaving Hana behind to suffer the full brunt of Madeleine's tirade, but trying to pull her away as well would only jeopardise my chances of making a successful getaway. I'll just have to think of some other way to make it up to her.

Not wanting her to get into any unwarranted trouble on my account, I decide to pull out my phone to send her a quick text letting her know that I'm not feeling well, and that I'll hopefully see her at the opera in the evening.

Slotting my phone back into my clutch, I push the back doors of the boutique open with a decisive shove, and step out into the sunshine.

Letting my eyes adjust to the brightness outside, I find myself in a small courtyard. On a whim, I turn back towards my Guards.

"Which way to the Trevi Fountain?" I ask, pulling my sunglasses back down over my face.

Allard and Schweitzer trade glances, clearly uneasy with this request.

"Demoiselle, that is not a prudent—"

"—way to get lost in the crowd?" I counter. "I can't think of a better one. If I don't advertise myself, no one will know I'm even there. Especially while the paps are tied up on the other side of the building."

My Guards don't seem convinced. "Commandant Walker left specific instructions to—"

"I'm not planning on disappearing on you," I assure them. "I just want to make a quick detour to grab some pastries, and check out the fountain. So, which way is it?"

Perhaps seeing that I'm not going to be swayed by any cautionary counter-argument, Schweitzer gives Allard a one-shouldered shrug of acquiescence.

Allard pulls a face before finally resigning himself as well. "Par ici," he says, indicating the far side of the courtyard.

"Thanks," I chirp with a smile, setting out across the cobblestones...

...and promptly get the heel of my stiletto pumps stuck in a crack between the stones.

"Eugh," I grumble, as I manage to wrench myself free after a brief battle. "I really didn't think this through..."

"Would Demoiselle require a taxi?" asks Schweitzer as he helps steady me from behind.

"I was hoping to walk..." I admit sheepishly.

"Via Borgognona is nearby," Allard suggests. "It is a well-known shopping street, though quieter than the more famous Via Condotti. Demoiselle might find more... comfortable footwear there."

"Not to mention some more appropriate clothes in general," I gripe, already feeling the tight fabric of my pencil dress start to stick to me. "How far away is it?"

"Just around the corner."

I flash him a bright smile. "Perfect!"

With Allard leading the way, and Schweitzer holding my hand, we manage to cross the courtyard without further incident, and sneak past the paps still thronging the front of the bridal boutique without getting spotted.

Crossing the pedestrianised thoroughfare, my Guards usher me down a narrower street that is lined on either side by cream-coloured buildings casting some welcome shade in the midday heat.

We pass a smattering of tourists and locals, but luckily everyone seems to be too absorbed in their phones or personal conversations to pay any specific attention to me.

And — more importantly — as Allard promised, the street is composed entirely of fashionable-looking independent boutiques.

"Let's try this one," I suggest, indicating the arched entryway of a store with an Italian name that I do not recognise, but which nevertheless seems to have several options for sandals on offer. And — given the scalding nature of the weather — an open-toe option is definitely appealing right now!

Stepping into the air-conditioned entranceway, I am immediately greeted by an immaculately made up woman with a severe ponytail, who starts questioning me in rapid-fire Italian.

"Umm..."

Luckily, I am saved from the embarrassment of trying to cobble together some kind of inappropriate response with the very limited — and wholly unhelpful — Italian that Bertrand had managed to teach me on the plane by Allard, who steps deftly up to my side.

"Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe."

"Che tipo de scarpe?"

"Sandals," I say, having understood the gist of the question. "No heel."

"Prego," the assistant says, flicking her hand towards some minimalist shelving.

"Gracia," I acknowledge with a smile.

Moving over to the indicated section, I quickly assess the options...

...and nearly die when I lay eyes on the price tags.

"Almost a thousand Euros...?" I gripe under my breath "For a few scraps of leather...?"

But then my eyes land on a pair bejewelled, gladiator-style sandals.

Given my limited window of opportunity to sneak in some sight-seeing before people start to question my absence, I don't have the luxury of being able to hunt for a bargain. And if I'm going to end up forking out this much money on a pair of shoes, I'm at least going to spend it on something that I like the look of.

And these sandals definitely fit the bill.

Decision made, I pull out my phone to quickly find out how my normal US shoe size converts to the vastly different European sizing, and turn back to the patiently waiting assistant.

"Size 36, please."

With a nod, she disappears 'round the back.

While she's gone, I take the opportunity to look up the location of the little pastry shop that the President had mentioned.

Since I'm heading towards the Trevi Fountain anyway, and Madeleine had pulled us out of this morning's meeting before the refreshments could be served, I had been serious when I told my Guards of my intent to tackle two birds with one stone. Especially since it's nearly lunchtime, and chances are I won't otherwise see food until the opera this evening.

The assistant reappears with my selection, and after a quick try-on, I give her a nod to ring up the extortionate purchase, being excessively grateful that I still have cash left in my US account, given that I don't actually have access to my new Cordonian accounts yet.

Stepping back out onto the street, I change out my shoes, slotting my pumps away into the high-end bag that I've been given, and dumping the shoebox in a nearby trash can.

My toes flex gratefully in their newfound freedom as I cross the street to the clothing boutique, wondering how much a top and pair of jean shorts is going to set me back...

In the end, however, I am pleasantly surprised to emerge back onto the street in a simple, white wrap-dress, a straw Panama hat, and a matching straw bucket bag in which I've stowed my old dress and shoes, all for under two hundred Euros, which means I was able to make recourse to the money Drake had given me, and still have plenty of cash left over for other potential emergencies.

"Thanks for the suggestion," I tell Allard sincerely. "It has definitely saved me from melting into the pavement!"

"De rien, Demoiselle," he acknowledges with a smile. "Are you ready to continue?"

"Lead the way, Monsieur!" I tell him with a grin.

Taking up poll position with a scoff — with Schweitzer bringing up the rear — Allard takes us left at the next intersection to zig-zag us down various side streets, presumably in a bid to avoid both the ferocity of the midday sun, and the chances of me being recognised on the busier avenues.

But, the back route pays off, and within ten minutes, I find myself standing on the edge of the crowded plaza that serves as the gateway to the romantic monument.

"Wow..." I breathe, taking it all in. "It sure is busy!"

Allard and Schweitzer exchange a tense look, no doubt worried about the prospect of being able to keep tabs on me in the press.

"I'll be fine," I assure them. "Just a quick peek and then we can get moving."

Neither of them look convinced, but they don't try to dissuade me as I plunge into the crowd.

Skirting around wedding parties, tour groups, and other miscellaneous sightseers, I manage to work my way to the front of the throng, and my mouth parts with a gasp at the sight spread out before me.

The four-storey monument rises up from the base of the fountain, framing the dynamically positioned statues from under whose feet the water gushes into the aquamarine pool.

It's like a Renaissance painting brought to life.

But, while I'm glad to have made the trip out here to see it in person, I can't help but feel my chest tighten morosely as I gaze up at the beauty of the world-famous landmark.

I didn't necessarily realise it at the time, but part of the reason why I enjoyed my outing in the Cordonian capital so much was because I had Drake to share the adventure with. And it was the same in Avignon — his wry quips and local knowledge had definitely brought the whole experience to life, making me see the city through different eyes than I probably would have had I been by myself... like I am now.

Eugh... I miss him...

Reaching for the ties of my bag on impulse, I pull the fastenings apart just enough to plunge my hand inside. Finding my purse, I snap it open and extract a Euro from the coin pouch.

Squeezing my fingers 'round the warmth of the metal, I clench my eyes shut with a heartfelt wish as I turn back towards the fountain...

...before sending the coin flipping through the air to land in the water before me with a soft plop.

Blinking my eyes open, I am somewhat disappointed to find myself still standing solo by the railing, and Drake has not magically appeared before me like the hot Italian guy did in The Lizzy McGuire Movie.

"Worth a shot..." I console myself somewhat dejectedly as I reach back into my bag to extract my phone so I could snap a couple of pictures to send to my mom.

Mission accomplished, I turn away from the fountain to make my way back to the edge of the square, Allard and Schweitzer falling into step behind me as I scan the various store-fronts clustered around the fountain, searching for the bakery with the pistachio croissants.

My eyes suddenly land on something in one of the window displays...

...and without really thinking about it, I let my feet carry me inside.

The little brass bell above the door jingles as I step into the cramped confines of what appears to be a shop selling a motley collection of antiques and touristy knick-knacks. A wizened old man sporting glasses and a thick head of white hair looks up at the sound of my arrival.

"Buon pomeriggio, signorina," he greets. "Posso aiutarla a cercare?"

"Umm... sì," I say hesitantly. "Hai avo... in the window?" I point at the item that had caught my eye with an embarrassed flush.

The man's face cracks into a grin. "Ah, certamente!"

Stepping out from behind the counter, he ambles his way over to the window display, to pull back the protective glass. Reaching in, he lifts up the silver chain and holds it out to me.

I run the tip of my finger across the edge of the pendant with a smile. "It's perfect."

"For you?" he asks, lifting the chain up to my neck indicatively.

"No," I laugh. "It's a present... Por mi amore?"

His eyes light up. "Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi!"

"Gracia," I say as he scuttles excitedly back behind the counter in search of a box.

Pulling one out with a conspiratorial flourish, he sets about packaging up the piece as if he were swaddling a precious child for a hazardous journey, even managing to dig out a slightly dusty ribbon to tie on top.

"Cento euro," he declares, presenting the completed ensemble to me.

Pulling my wallet out, I extract my card. "Visa?"

"Sì! Ovviamente!" he proclaims, slapping a brand new Square card machine onto the counter, that was starkly at odds with the otherwise Ollivander-esque décor of the place.

Slotting my card into the reader, I complete the purchase, and am just about to reach for the box to stow it away in my bag when I feel a sudden presence behind me.

"This is becoming a bad habit with you..."

I freeze at the sound of the familiar voice.

No way...

The story continues in Chapter 20 - Steal Me Away

A/N: As per usual, translations below:

Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle - We got you, m'lady

At the bridal boutique:

Contessa! Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore! - Countess! Countess! Over here, please!

Certainement. Vous allez bien? - Certainly. Are you alright?

C'est le bordel! Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?" - What mess! What was she thinking?

Sa mère la pute de— - Your mother is a whore of a—

Nom de dieu - Oh, my God!

Tu es une salle grace - You're a real bitch

Absolutement pas! - Absolutely not!

Je le jure - I swear

Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe - She is looking for some new shoes.

Out and About

Par ici - This way

Che tipo de scarpe? - What kind of shoes?

Prego - Please

Gracia - Thanks

De rien, Demoiselle - No problem, m'lady

Buon pomeriggio, signorina. Posso aiutarla a cercare? - Good afternoon, miss. Can I help you find anything?

Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi! - Ah, lovely! I will wrap it up for you!

Por mi amore?* - For my love?

*This is a completely butchered attempt at Italian. The grammatically correct way to say it would be 'È per il mio amore'. However, Harper is improvising, so she's not going to get things completely correct 😇

Cento euro - One hundred Euros

Sì! Ovviamente! - Yes! Of course!

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[windcarvedlyre]

I'm gonna turn that meme around on you: Venti and Jean? :>

(ask meme)

Ty :D

Honestly my answers will sort of be an inversion of yours: Jean as someone I really appreciate but I'm not actively into and Venti as unhealthy obsession and fandom bicycle. (Thanks for introducing me to that term, lol.)

Jean

How I feel about her: I don't brainrot over her for her own sake, but as my de facto main in co-op, the permanent healer in my overworld team, and one of Mondstadt's most important characters I'm very fond of her. She deserves more breaks. So so much.

Her design fascinates me too; if you use the alt version of her default outfit it looks very modest and like everything's covered when she's standing still, only for more skin to be exposed on her upper torso when you run or otherwise move around. It feels like a visual reflection of how she hides/suppresses the more human, emotional parts of herself to perform her role.

Romantic ships: I'm not actively into any but Jean/Lisa just makes sense to me. Lisa is such a fun character to bounce off her. You've got me intrigued about Jean/Eula and Jean/Kaeya as well, and I should look into Jean/Diluc too.

I s2g her voice lines make her sound like she's starting to have a crush on Traveller too. That could be really wholesome; they could periodically show up in Mond, speedrun solving a ton of citizens' problems, and whisk her off to beautiful corners of Teyvat she'd never dream of having time to visit otherwise. And they both have sibling issues... I'm selling myself on this as I type it, dear lord.

Platonic OTPs: All of the above are also wonderful platonically. Also Jean and Venti!! God!!! I neeeed more interactions between them; it's a massive shame the game never showed us Jean or Diluc processing the Venti-Barbatos reveal and the religious crisis that would definitely cause. Especially for Jean! I wish this oneshot was a longer multichapter so badly.

I'm fascinated by the idea of them having a lot in common under the surface, especially if we compare Jean to how Venti may have been in Mond's cultivation period. Even their outfits have a lot of design elements in common!

Additionally, considering her parallels with/idolisation of Vennessa, I love the idea of Venti having unresolved guilt/unprocessed trauma about whatever happened to Vennessa in the end + maybe her overworking herself for Mondstadt until her death, and him screaming internally watching Jean go down the same path. I can't get enough of fics where he helps her relax for once. The two of them should go on some long field trip where they coax each other into acknowledging they're people that feel things.

Unpopular opinion: Not sure I have any! I'm not familiar with general fandom opinions about her but I'd be surprised if I saw someone severely mischaracterising her, tbh. She doesn't feel like a difficult character to grasp. Maybe my perception's skewed since I tend to obsess over human dumpster fires, though.

Something I wish would happen: mainly (gestures at the platonic section), but seconding you that we need her to make progress with Barbara too. I'd love to see her be dragged into more shenanigans with Diluc as well, though I'm biased as a combined-Diluc-and-Jean main.

Venti

How I feel about him: I probably need help with the amount I think about this goddamn character. I didn't truly understand the term 'comfort character' until I started obsessing over him. I project onto him a bit too much and I want to emotionally smash him to bits and scrape him together again.

Even without the brainrot, he's just fascinating; he's clearly a significant character that will almost certainly be tied to massive lore drops later on, and the vague hints about him having time powers mean that even the way he fundamentally experiences reality can be theorised about with wildly different ideas being equally valid.

He has me freezing up at every damn mention of wind and/or time and/or music in this god-forsaken game. And there are a lot of them.

Romantic ships: as I said, he's the fandom bicycle for me. Everyone gets a ride. I especially love zhongven in multiple permutations, and their longevity means fanworks for other Venti ships can easily slot in past zhongven as well. Otherwise I really like kaeven, I used to be more into diluven but kaeven has completely eclipsed it for me, and I'm really intrigued about the potential of furiven as well (though I usually approach that platonically).

Non-romantic OTPs: any of the above if not being done romantically, plus Venti+Jean and Venti+Vennessa (see Jean's section lmao) and Venti+everyone in old mond- especially NB and RHW. And I really really want to see him interact with Furina. There are so many people he either has a fascinating relationship with already or has potential to.

While it's not a ship, I find the idea that he's slept with the Tsaritsa at least once pre-fallout very funny.

Edit: Venti having a non-reciprocated crush on Vennessa is interesting as well.

Unpopular opinions: I'm not sure I have any in a tumblr fandom context? Maybe that any ships between him and a mortal who's grown up worshipping him (like diluc/venti, jean/venti, etc) would be a lot more of an emotional minefield for both parties than people tend to explore, with the mortal having to go through a religious crisis while Venti clearly just wants to be treated like a person + could be paranoid as hell about whether their consent to anything is genuine.

That's not a criticism of those ships, though! The opposite, actually. I'd love to see a long fic that really digs into that.

Something I wish would happen: ...there are so many things I could put here. The main ones are a) a Venti-is-Barbatos reveal (and maybe a reveal of his darker secrets, like any abyss ties) to all of Mondstadt, forcing him to stop avoiding his problems for once, and b) for Venti to be pushed into a corner and/or go apeshit and reveal just how much he was lying about his power level.

I need a Vennessa-Venti reunion as well. Please please please.

[stetervault]

Why do you have a problem with Scott not wanting to murder people? It's not wrong to not want to kill. I think you're just biased becuse he's not morally bankrupt like Stiles or Peter (your faves).

Jesus I can't believe I'm still receiving these asks in this year of our lord 2023 but okay I have ten minutes before I need to leave the house, I can answer this.

First of all, you are absolutely right, I am 1000% biased towards Stiles and Peter because they're my favourite characters and my TW otp. Idk anybody who likes a character and ship and isn't at least a little more fond of them than any other characters/ships.

But second of all, I do not have a problem with a character not wanting to kill. It's a little boring to write because I like my characters feral and unhinged these days, but it's not like I haven't written them myself. That's not the issue here. What are you even talking about? Scott absolutely wants to kill. WHEN IT BENEFITS HIM.

Peter killing people for revenge is a big no-no. But then Scott is told that killing the Alpha can change him back? Then killing someone is suddenly perfectly alright. It doesn't matter that he didn't succeed in the end. That's just because Derek was faster, not because he didn't want to kill Peter.

And it's not just once. There's also Gerard, and okay, we all want Gerard dead, that's not the point. The point is, Scott plotted premeditated murder against the guy by swapping out his cancer pills with literal poison and then forced Derek to bite him. He absolutely 100% was out to kill Gerard because Gerard threatened his mom, and that's fine. I have issues with how he went about it, but it's not like I have a problem with him trying to take out Gerard when he's backed into a corner like that. The problem is his double standards, and it's one thing if he was young, and it was a personality flaw he would fix over time, but the thing is, he never grows out of it, because ten thousand seasons down the road, Donovan threatens Stiles' dad and literally tries to kill Stiles, so Stiles ends up accidentally killing the guy out of self-defense, but what's Scott's response? "There's always another choice." He doesn't let Stiles explain, doesn't give him the benefit of the doubt, he just walks away.

And there are other incidents where his hypocrisy just defies all sense and logic, but we're supposed to view him as this paragon of goodness and justice? Why is it okay for Scott to murder people but not anybody else? Because other people actually end up with dead bodies and he doesn't? That doesn't make Scott not want to kill. That just makes him bad at killing.

My biggest problem with Scott is that he is a huge-ass hypocrite, but he/the show never, not once, acknowledges that or tries to fix it in any way. Whether or not he wants to kill isn't the issue. It's that he only approves of it when killing someone benefits him, but when it doesn't involve him, he feels free to judge and condemn others for it.

[surfinminho]

Kinktober day 9- Age gap w/ Felix

⤷ warnings: fem!reader, dom!Felix, unprotected sex, oral(m), cumming in mouth, sex while otp(?)

⤷ word count: 1,38k

⤷Taglist : @greysweaters-blog @hannie-bees @ashydoinwhat @chansbabygirlsstuff @hiddlestandom @stanskzsstuff @mal-lunar-28 @leeracha @linos-kitten @bonateukna @ihrtlix

⤷ permanent taglist: @iadorethemskz

*please dm me if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.*

(Reader is 22 Felix is 34)

this was wrong, you knew it but you couldn't help it. He was the CEO of some big company and you were simply a secretary.its not ideal for you to date the "big guy" of the company. If anyone found out you were at high risk to lose your job.

It was almost like a ritual, every year the company would have something like a party to celebrate all the achievements and new workers for that year. You were supposed to start working the next day yet still being invited to go. What's the harm in going?  The email you got said your boss is 'Mr.Lee'. You've heard not alot of people get to even see him let alone work alongside him. You were estatic to say the least.

When you get to the place, it was packed. You maneuver your way through the abundance of people towards a seat in the corner, you weren't much of a talkative or outgoing person so sitting in the corner on your phone was perfect for you.

Towards the end of the night, you find yourself in the hallway pressed up against the wall, felix kissing you like he's never kissed anyone before.

When you walked into a hallway, getting lost. Maybe it was because you had one to many drinks to have or maybe you just need some dick. You turned the corner to see a man, couldn't be older than 35 leaning against the wall legs crossed and his phone in his hand. When you look closer you realize it's the CEO, lee Felix. Besides the meeting you had with him a few weeks ago, you never really met him or officially "met".

He looks up from his phone when he heard footsteps. "Ah, __! Nice to see you again." He held out his hand to meet yours, keeping a firm grip on your palms.

"How do you like this so far?" He puts away his phone walking towards you.

"Oh! It's great, though I'm not one to, put myself out there you know?" You laugh at him before trying to get to your destination.

As soon as you take a step his hand stops you "I want to properly talk to you, like a conversation." he smiles, lighting dragging you back towards the wall he was leaning on.

You guys ended up talking for God knows how long. Talking about any random thing that comes to mind.

You come to find out that he's a really sweet person. Talking about his other friends who work in different departments, and stuff he does for his sister's. He was such a gentleman.

"You're such a pretty girl __, did you know?"

"I am?" You cock an eyebrow, confused at the sudden statement.

"Prettiest girl I've ever seen" he leans in, head tucked into your neck. With every breath he takes you feel the hairs on you back rise. You try and ease away from the situation, but with no where to move hence your back against wall. You find him gorgeous, obviously. He looks like a fucking angel in all the photos you see, nonetheless when his front is pressed up against yours.

"This dress is gorgeous on you, where'd you get it?" His voice drops an octive, rubbing you sides.

"Oh, it's a gift! I almost feel bad since it's a really expensive brand." It was a gift, so you didn't lie. From your friend you happens to model. They received a dress but it was the wrong size, leading them to give the dress to you.

"Really now? What brand baby" he cups your ass over the dress.

"Louis Vuitton" you look around to see if anybody is near or passing by.

"Let me buy you every dress in this color."

The statement caught you odd guard. Buy you stuff? Your friend never told you what the price of the dress was, in the hopes that you wouldn't return it. But you found it anyway, the price shocking you. 1 million dollars. You wouldn't have taken it if you knew. So having him say that he wants to buy you more?

"No, there's no need really!" You laugh trying to avoid to conversation.

"But I want to. C'mon let me spoil you."

__________________________________________

You found yourself inbetween his legs making out with him. You didn't want to let him buy you things, but you couldn't help but stay with him. Not because of his money, but because of his personality. He was a sweet soul, always being a gentleman. You like to think him giving you stuff is just a extra.

"let me please you" he whispers inbetween kisses, slipping down your straps of your tank top.

"I- we have work in like 30 minutes, w-we can't?"

"We shouldn't." He corrected "but I want to. Please baby? I'll call out sick for both of us" you wanted to, but you felt guilty for keeping him from his job.

"Okay."

He starts pulling down your pants, keeping your panties on.

He traces his thumb over the wet patch forming on your panties.

"Such a naughty girl. Getting this wet because of what? Some kissing? Pathetic."

He goes back to kissing your neck, going downwards until he reaches your breasts.

Your breath hitches,  waiting for him to do something.

He doesn't pull the loose fitted clothing off, instead sucking on whatever was available.

He pulls down his pants with one hand, other hand hold you still.

He pulls his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock.

He nudges the tip on your clit trying to make you moan.

"I'm gonna give you the phone. Call and say you wont be available to come into work today."

You looked at him like you were seeing double. "You're joking?" You try to get him to laugh or even let out a little giggle but you get nothing.

"Do I look like I'm joking? Call them now." He's rubbing tip slowly along your folds.

"Im waiting I dont have all day."

You dial the number waiting for the person on the other end answers. As soon as they pick up Felix thrusts all the way into you.

He leans forward, elbows balancing up.

"Put it on speaker"

You remove the phone from your ear and put it on speaker, resting it on your side.

"H-Hello, yes good morning"

The other person on the line seems to be too happy for their own good.

"Good morning! How are you today" you can tell there is a smile lacing their face.

As soon as you begin to speak, his thrusts begin to quicken in pace. Hips barely meeting your thighs.

"A-ah yes about that, I am not feeling w-well today so I won't be able to make it fuck" he brings his hands to start rubbing figure 8s on your clit

"Sorry, what was that last part?"

"N-nothing!"

"Hm, okay. Well hope you feel better. Have a nice d-."

You didn't even wait for them to finish their statement, hanging up the phone immediately.

"Maybe kitten needs a reward. Did so good following directions right?"

"Y-yes please." you whine, trying to get him to move faster.

He flips you over, grabbing your hips before he starts to pound into you.

"S-such a tight fucking pussy. Only for me right?"

You nod Into the bedsheets unable to say anything.

"Words kitten"

'y- a-ah shit" he reaches over to your breasts, pinching your nipples.

"Baby, you're cumming, how can I move when you're clenching down on me like that" he grabs your hips pushing them off of his cock.

"Wanna cum in your mouth"

He proceeds to manhandle your body to get you in a kneeling position.

"Open." You stick your tongue out, waiting for him to feed you his cock.

He slides only the tip in when he starts jerking it off.

"Such a good girl hm? Making me use your holes like these"

You looked up at him and started to gently suckle on the tip.

"s-shit gonna cum in your mouth. You want it right."

You tried to nod your head but he shoves his cock down your throat.

"Then fucking take it"

[violets-and-books]

wylan for the ask game please!

Thank you so much for the ask!! 🩷

I love Wylan, I feel like this is gonna be tough

Favourite thing: How stubborn he is. Man knows what he wants and he won't be budged, and I truly love that for him

Least favourite thing: ... Nothing? 🥺

But, in all seriousness, the fact that he doesn't play piano in canon. I feel like this has just gotten phased out of collective fandom memory but he doesn't actually play piano, I don't think? He's more a flute guy

Favourite line: Oooh, can I do one from the show and one from the books? I'm gonna do that

Book line: "Music. Numbers. Equations. They're not like words. They... they don't get mixed up." (The fucking bravery behind admitting this has me WEAK)

Show line: "Alby Rollins can't help who his father is. You can't punish him for that. I won't help you with that." (Jack Wolfe, the man that you are for how sincere this line was)

BrOTP: Wylan and Matthias!! So underrated and I ADORE them

OTP: Wylan and Jesper, obviously

NOTP: One I've seen that I wasn't a fan of was Wylan and Inej. It's just not really to my taste, in my head, they fit more as just friends

Random headcanon: Wylan has some very severe trust issues

Unpopular opinion: I don't really know what opinions are popular and unpopular cos I've created myself a very specific fandom bubble but.... idk if this is an unpopular opinion but I think he and Alys would actually get on really well, if they just had the chance to communicate, yknow?

Song I associate with them: Corner of the Sky from Pippin. Easily the first song that came to my head

Favourite pic of them: All of them. *grabby hands* Gimme gimme gimme, I love my boy

In short, I love him, your honour <33

[linkspooky]

requesting shou and ryou!

Why I like them / Why I don't

I'll do these two at the same time, because the two of them are a set.

What I like the most about Shou is that he's deeply unlikable. His arc is very non-standard for a sidekick character who's defined by his lack of confidence. He doesn't slowly gain confidence and learn independence so much as he just latches onto Judai at first sight and uses him as a crutch, and like the show acknowledges right away how unhealthy this is. Then when Judai stops being the perfect big brother that Sho projected onto him as, he almost completely abandons him.

Sho is the only little brother I like though, because he's a character with flaws and agency of his own. Mokuba, Haruto, both only exist as plot objects to give Kaiba and Kite sympathetic motivations. Truly, the best sibling relationship in the entirety of Yu-Gi-Oh!

Which neatly dovetails into Ryo because Shou and Ryo's relationship only makes Ryo look worse. Ryo is such a shit brother, and I'm not saying this because he makes his brother wear shock collars and electrocutes him until he passes out. Ryo's just like, this big brother with a superiority complex that sabotages his brothers self esteem at every corner. Ryo's so naturally gifted he doesn't get that people learn at different rates. I think half of his treatment of Sho is that logic, "Well, Sho needs someone to be harsh on him so he'll grow. Honestly, Ryo probably projects himself a lot onto Sho. It's not from lack of care for Sho, but actually how close the two brothers are. Ryo's logic is likely WELL I CAN HANDLE IT SO SHO CAN TOO. it's ironic because part of Ryo's early characterization is the respectful duel where you understand understand your opponents, but he doesn't understand Sho at all for like ninety percent of the show. He seems like Sho as a little brother and extension of himself and not his own person.

What I like about their appearance

I like how Sho resembles Yugi a lot, from his height to his silhouette. it adds to the deconstruction element of his character. By relying on the pharaoh Yugi slowly gains confidence in himself. Relying on Judai to do literally EVERYTHING stunts Sho's grwoth and poisons their friendship.

Ryo's design is absolutely perfect. No notes. He dresses like a thirteen year old's idea of what cool is.

Do I prefer their dub names or original names?

Hell Kaiser Ryo is the coolest fucking name ever, as well as Kaiser Sho, Zane and Cyrus couldn't possibly surpass that.

OTP

Kaiser / Fubuki is a favorite for me. Literally every time they interact it's golden. If they got to interact more than just, one duel, then they'd probably be my second favorite ship... but like characters are underdeveloped in GX compared to Judai, water is wet.

NOTP

I don't have one. I guess Judai and Shou because their relationship is super unhealthy. I don't see them as brothers at all either.-

OT3

Don't have one either.

Favourite card they use

The risk of powerbond is their attack points will be dealt to you at the end of the turn.

Favourite moment they were in

Hell Kaiser Ryo being dragged to an underground dueling match in a cage where he gets shocked until he reaches his breaking point, and also develops a fetish for shock collars. Truly one of the most Yu-Gi-Oh moments in all of YuGiOh.

Least favourite moment

I appreciate the spirit of Shou remembering Judai's words that even if a friend went to the dark side and there was nothing you could do to help them the least you could do is watch over them until the end because they're your friend. On the other hand, Shou took "Watch over them" to literally mean just sit there and do fucking nothing while observing from afar.

[withahappyrefrain]

For the January OTP Prompts:

“I wish everyday could be like this” about Bradley and Birdie please ❤️

In honor of it being my first day back from winter break, let's see how these two spend Birdie's time off from school!

To call it a winter break was laughable. In San Diego, there was a better chance of getting out of school due to a power outage than due to snow.

Bradley's name for it was much more appropriate: time to snuggle my (future) wife.

"Roo, I gotta get up to feed the animals!" You tried to sound exasperated, but that was difficult with his mustache tickling the back of your neck. You weren't one for sleeping in on your days off, whereas Bradley was the opposite.

"It's too cold Birdie, gotta keep you warm," his voice was slightly muffled from pressing his face against your hair. Your heart flutters upon feeling his strong arms wrap themselves around your waist, keeping you firmly in bed.

"It's fifty-two degrees!" You practically shrieked as you tried to wiggle yourself out of his grip, to no avail.

"Exactly, it's cold," he smiled at the sound of your laughter, music to his ears.

"Aren't you from Virginia?" You scoffed, "Where there are mountains and snow?"

"I grew up near the coast, aka the beach. Now let me kiss you."

Laughter filled your shared bedroom as Bradley flipped you from your side to your back.

You tried to fight back, Bradley would give you that. For a brief moment, you thought you had the upper hand, tickling the sides of his bare stomach. His deep laughter began to fill the room, mixing with yours.

It was a beautiful sight; the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how his hazel eyes shined, how he made you feel so loved without saying a word.

You were so lost in the wonder that was Bradley Bradshaw, your hands fell to the sides, allowing him to quickly grab your wrists and pin them above your head.

"No fair," you hiss, "You're playing dirty."

He simply smirked, his head dropping down to your neck, "Thought you liked it when I played dirty, Mrs. Bradshaw."

You tried to ignore the way his deep voice made your thighs clench, fueled by the need to show you weren't complete putty in his hands because he used his favorite nickname on you.

"Well, if that's how you're gonna play," you turned your head to the side, "Shuna!"

Bradley's eyes widened upon hearing the sound of paws hitting the wooden floor, getting louder as they got closer to your bedroom.

Your rescue dog appeared at the door frame, tail wagging upon seeing her two favorite humans.

"Shuna! Go see Roo!" You exclaimed.

"You little- ahh! Shuna!" Bradley tried to cover his face with his arms, but to no avail. Shuna had jumped on the bed and was already licking Bradley, making her affection to him well known.

"Shuna, you gotta stop doing Mama Bird's dirty work," Bradley's arms scooped up Shuna, holding her like one would with a baby (minus the four limbs sticking up).

"Wouldn't have to if dad wouldn't play dirty," you teased, leaning over so Shuna would relieve Bradley and lick your face instead.

Shuna settled inbetween you two, making herself right at home in the bed.

Your hand reached out to pet her and instead found Bradley's, his fingers entwining with yours.

"I wish everyday could be like this," he said softly, looking over at you.

"Me too Roo, me too."

"Of course, to make it perfect, we just need a few little ones running away-" you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your cheeks were burning up at the implication of having kids, specifically Bradley's.

"How about you propose first, Romeo?" You smiled, squeezing his hand.

"I'm working on it. You said eight months was the minimum you needed to date before entertaining the idea of getting engaged, right?" Of course he would remember that, he remembered everything.

"Yes. Entertain a proposal, not accept one."

Bradley's eyes narrowed, gleaming with mischief, "I got two months left to convince ya. I'm confident Birdie."