#the soap opera of fics

[atlabeth]

(not so) simple pt 4 - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: SO. UM. once again this took fucking forever to come out which is kind of insane when you think about it because i've had 7000 words of this chapter written for like 4 months. truly wild. 2 babies have been born in the time that it's taken me to write this mini series but anyways there’s a lot happening here, shoutout to anthony for finally getting some more pov parts, the fun thing about your mc being out of commission for a while is that you have no choice but to write for the other characters. equality we love to see it. anyways most of it is angst, but it’ll all be wrapped up with a little regency romance bow i promise

wc: 7.6k

warning(s): aftermath of the end of last chapter which is angst. stab wound, talks of death, mentions of edmund's death, quite a bit of crying, anthony bridgerton's inner angst, miss worthing makes poor decisions. not a happy chapter but WHAT CAN YOU DO

“What were you thinking?” Violet demanded.

Anthony could barely hear his mother over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears, the pure terror gripping his heart. He’d no idea how to respond to her. He doubted she would like to hear that he, indeed, was very much not thinking. 

And he was certainly not thinking much now, what with you on the brink of death with their doctor and his apprentice the only thing there to stop you. He could be of no help to you, bent half over in his chair, head in his hands, the image of you collapsing burned into his mind. 

“Anthony Bridgerton, answer me.” Violet stood over him, her face flushed and eyes filled with anger and fear. “What were you thinking, bringing Miss Worthing out into the city?” 

“I cannot deal with your questions right now, Mother!” he snapped, something letting loose inside of him. Anthony would have been ashamed had he any sense. “My future wife is in that room fighting for her life, and it is because I was not able to protect her. I am hardly able to form words at the moment, Mother, so please—” Anthony’s voice broke, and he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Please just be quiet.” 

It took a bit of nerve to be such an ass in front of his very own mother, but Anthony apparently had plenty of nerve at the moment. After you collapsed, he’d done the only thing he could think of in the moment and brought you back to Bridgerton House—it was closer than your residence, and if their physician had been able to keep his mother alive through eight pregnancies, then surely he could bring you back. 

Now, though, he was not so sure. Every other option seemed to be plaguing his mind, for your blood still stained his hands and his clothing and Anthony didn’t know if he would ever be able to get it off. 

His father died in his arms from something so small as a bee, and yet you had been stabbed. How were you meant to come back from that?

The door suddenly slammed open, and when Anthony glanced up, his insides twisted. 

“Where is she?” Eloise demanded. Her windblown hair matched the wild look in her eyes, and the flush of her cheeks and haggard breathing told him everything. She was meant to be promenading with Penelope Featherington—her speed on foot was admirable. 

“With our physician,” Violet responded. She seemed more subdued now, and though Anthony knew he would apologize profusely later, he could not find it in himself now. He could hardly find anything in himself apart from panic.

“With our physician—” She turned on Anthony, her gloved hands clenched into fists. “What in God’s name happened, Anthony?”

He allowed himself a moment to breathe before he responded. “She was stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” Eloise cried. “She was with you! How could she have been stabbed?”

“I was not with her when it happened—”

She scoffed. “That is a likely fucking story.”

“Eloise,” Violet said, “language.”

“I do not care about my language,” Eloise spat, gesturing wildly with her hands. “My best friend has been stabbed— I will say whatever I please!”

And then, as if to just add fuel to their fire, Benedict rushed in. Anthony held back a slightly unhinged laugh and shook his head. You were dying and they were out here arguing. 

“I’ve made sure this hallway is off limits like you said, Mother.” Benedict looked just as shaken as the rest of them, and in a strange way Anthony was grateful. You’d grown closer to his family than he’d known. “Your lady’s maid is outside the door alongside a footman ensuring privacy, and your driver is on route to the Worthing residence to alert her parents. They’ve all been sworn to secrecy—no one will be disturbed, least of all Miss Worthing.”

“Thank you, Benedict.” Violet sighed, and she collapsed into an armchair. “At least one of us is in order.”

Benedict sat down on the sofa, his words coming out in a mumble. “I am hardly in order.”

The fire seemed to have died down in Eloise, for however temporary a time, and she settled down next to Benedict. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her.

“She’ll be okay,” Eloise whispered, “right?”

No one answered for a moment. At last, Anthony looked up, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Yes,” he rasped, hoping with everything in him that his words would be true. “She will be okay.”

He would not have been able to live with any other outcome, not when it was his fault in the first place that you were in this position. 

Anthony didn’t know what he should have done, but he should have done something. He should have brought you to your senses and suggested a promenade in the park instead. He should have called on you at your estate, safe and sound in your drawing room. He should have been arm in arm with you, his heart steadily melting as you smiled and laughed and made him aware of all things good in the world. 

He could not lose you. Not when he still had so much to tell you, so many words left unsaid. 

Not when you didn’t know he loved you. 

“I’m sorry, Anthony.” He looked up at the sound of Eloise’s voice—though she did not look at him and her arms were still crossed, the sincerity of it was not lost on him. “I know it was not your fault.” 

His chest tightened. It was his fault. 

“You clearly care about her,” she said. “It is not fair to pin this on you.” 

“Sometimes we hurt the people we care about,” he said, his voice hollow. 

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “But not this time.” 

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Eloise had been at odds with him for nearly this entire season because of their ruse. Though she knew of its falsity, she still chastised him for taking up time that could have been spent with her, still rolled her eyes when he announced his leave to go see you, still questioned why he had to go after her best friend. 

But Eloise was driven by her emotions, no matter how red hot or icy cold they may have been. At this moment, her concern for you outweighed anything, and she recognized the same in him. 

So Anthony nodded. Once, twice, hardly moving but a clear acknowledgment. He glanced at his mother and brother, both unfocused with glassy eyes. His mother’s were red-rimmed, and she held a handkerchief tightly in one hand. The guilt hidden from earlier struck. 

He silently thanked their governess for keeping Gregory and Hyacinth occupied, thanked that Francesca was on an outing of her own. The last thing he needed was for his littlest siblings to find out that the woman they believed to soon be their sister was one misstep away from death. And thank God for Colin’s decision to spend the day with Mondrich—one of his younger brothers in the heat of the moment was enough. 

Anthony let out a shuddering sigh, screwing his eyes shut for a moment before he ran a hand through his hair then planted his palms on his knees. He could hardly sit still but he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to get his nervous energy out. 

All he could think of was you. Of how the last word you spoke was his name. Of your dried blood on his hands, staining his clothing where he had held you. Anthony barely kept you from hitting the ground when you collapsed, and he nearly did the same once he reached his residence. 

Yelling at any servant in the proximity to call for the physician, unaware of his mother trying to calm him until she shook him by the shoulders, having to literally be forced out of the room by the physician’s assistant once they arrived because he refused to leave your side.  

It all felt like a blur, and yet he remembered it perfectly. It all played on repeat in his mind no matter how much he tried to block it out. 

The door slammed open this time, and when Anthony looked up, he felt as if he could wither away.

“Where is my daughter?” Cecilia Worthing demanded, her husband trailing after her. She was all out of sorts, with an even wilder look in her eyes and a deathly grip on her skirts. Mr. Worthing’s expression made his heart sink, with his haunted eyes and taut lips. 

“I am so sorry, Cecilia,” Violet rasped, and she crossed the room and enveloped her in her arms. It took a moment for your mother to respond, but she returned the hug as a sob escaped her. 

“Your footman said she had been injured,” your father said levelly, though his voice shook ever so slightly. “How?”

“She was stabbed,” Anthony spoke up, forcing himself to look at your parents. “Some zealot in the city. I brought her here as quick as I could.”

“The city—” your father started.

“Stabbed?” your mother interrupted, halfway into hysterics. “How?”

“We got caught up in the midst of a riot,” he said quietly. “We were separated, and I assume it happened then.”

Mrs. Worthing let out another sob as she pulled her husband into her arms, and though he kept a semblance of solemnity as he whispered to his wife and held her close, Anthony could see the fear in his eyes. 

How could he possibly offer reassurance? It felt different, staring at the desperation of your parents. The horrific realization that they might leave a family of two, might have to bury their only child. 

His stomach twisted and Anthony’s head fell into his hands again. He couldn’t. 

Eventually, Philip helped his wife onto the couch, and she remained curled into his side. No one said a word—how could they?

Apart from whispered reassurances between your parents and even shorter conversations between Benedict and Eloise, their saddened group continued in silence for the better part of an hour. No one spoke louder than a whisper, no one rose and left—they just sat together in their fear, hoping and praying that the inevitable could be denied. 

Until the door creaked open and each of their heads snapped towards the noise. Anthony shot up at the first glimpse of their physician’s assistant. 

“What news?” he asked immediately. The tension in the room had grown to be near palpably thick. 

“The surgery went well,” the assistant said, and all the air dissipated from Anthony’s chest. “Miss Worthing lives. The doctor is ensuring a final few things, but provided our treatment is followed, we believe she will recover fully.”

Anthony fell back against the couch with a breathless laugh, and Mrs. Worthing sank against her husband, wrecked by thankful sobs. Eloise’s smile was enough to brighten the whole room, Benedict’s relief just as obvious. Violet just let out an exhausted sigh, her hand pressed to her heart. 

“Thank you,” your father said. “Can we see her?” 

“Miss Worthing is resting,” he said. “You will not be able to speak to—” 

“We do not care,” your father asserted. “I need to see that my daughter is still alive.” 

The physician’s assistant nodded after a moment, and the tension lessened in his shoulders. He helped your mother up, their hands clasped tightly together, and Mrs. Worthing looked at Anthony. You truly had your mother’s eyes. 

“Will you come with us, my lord?” she asked. 

“Oh, I—” 

“You are family,” she said softly. “You’ve a right to join us.”

Emotion swelled in Anthony’s chest, and it took a moment for words to come to him. 

“Of course,” he finally said, inclining his head. “And it is just Anthony between us. Please.” 

The slightest smile spread across her lips as she nodded, and they all stood up together. Anthony took her offered arm and they started down the hallway together, your father on her other side. 

How strange it was to be arm in arm with your mother. She thought the man beside her would be her future son-in-law, when he was truly nothing but a liar. 

No, he thought, not wholly a liar. Not anymore. Because they believed that Anthony was to be your husband. And if there was anything this had proven to him, it was that he wanted nothing more than for it to be true.

Anthony just had to figure out a way to tell you. How strange that it would be the most difficult part of this ruse. 

Violet’s maid and the footman stepped aside when they arrived and the assistant opened the door. Anthony followed your parents in, and his heart nearly stopped upon seeing you.

Your mother’s eyes filled with tears as she approached your bedside, and, after a nod from the doctor, brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laid the back of her hand against your forehead. 

“She’s burning up,” she whispered. 

“It is typical after surgery,” the doctor said. “With any luck, she will sweat it out. I will monitor her throughout.” 

Your mother nodded, a shaky sigh escaping her, and she took your hand. 

“I am so sorry, darling,” she whispered. “I am so sorry I was not there for you.” She brought your intertwined hands up and lightly kissed the back of your hand. “I love you more than anything. Please, come back to us soon.” 

Your father joined her, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I do not know if you can hear us,” he said, voice slightly shaky, “but we are here for you. We will be here when you awaken, and every moment onwards.” 

Mrs. Worthing looked back at Anthony, inclining her head towards you. Anthony swallowed his doubt as he moved forward, but the breath was stolen from him when he could fully see you. 

Your eyes were closed. Your chest rose and fell just so, hardly noticeable, thin linens provided by the doctor rested over you, and sweat beaded on your brow. Alongside the discoloration of your skin, you looked… 

You looked as if you were dead. 

And Anthony knew that you were not—for God’s sake, you were breathing—but all he could think about, all he could see, was his father, all those years ago, dying in front of him while he could not do a single thing to stop it. And he felt that same helplessness with you; just standing there, watching, unable to do anything but hope. 

“We are here for you,” he whispered. “...I am here for you. No matter what, I am here for you. Just know that, if nothing else.” 

Your mother’s watery smile made him look to the doctor for fear of the same emotions eliciting even further in him. 

“When will she wake?” Anthony asked. His voice sounded almost foreign to him. 

“In a few hours, with any luck,” the doctor said. “At the very most, it will be the end of the day.” 

“We will gladly host her until she is able enough,” Anthony said, looking at your parents. “And we have plenty of spare rooms for you to choose from if you wish to remain by her side during those days.” 

“Thank you, Anthony.” Your mother placed her hands on his shoulders, though she had to look up at him, and she smiled. “You make her so happy. It will be my greatest pleasure to officially welcome you into our family.” 

Anthony’s throat bobbed. God above, he hoped that was the truth. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. “She… she means a great deal to me.” 

“You’re a good man, Bridgerton,” your father said. “I’m thankful my daughter will end up with someone like you.” 

“Your approval means the world,” he said, and he found he meant it wholly. 

The doctor cleared his throat. “It would be best for her visitors to be limited as of now. The parents can stay, but…” 

Anthony nodded, smoothing his lapels. “Of course.” 

“We will alert you of anything,” your mother said. Anthony nodded again, and he allowed himself one more moment to look at you before he left. 

You were alright. You would be alright. That was all that mattered. 

Still, when he found himself alone in the hallway, finally able to breathe again, he still had that weight on his shoulders. 

A revelation such as the one he’d had should have been a blessing, a relief. A man in love was meant to be a happy one. But a man in love did not usually find his feelings in the midst of season-long ruse whilst his beloved fought on her deathbed.  

Anthony blew out a loose sigh, shaking his head as he continued through the halls. Being on his own, he found, was worse than sitting in silence with his family. He was trying to think of something to say, trying to gather his emotions and push them aside so he could be the man of the house as he was meant to be, but when he reached the room from before he was only met with Eloise. 

She looked up from the floor, and he noticed the puffiness of her eyes, her slightly blotchy skin. His heart sank yet again. 

“Benedict helped Mother to bed,” she explained, her throat bobbing. “All of this exhausted her. I’ve no idea where he is now.” 

Anthony nodded, his mind still wandering. “Ah.” 

“How is she?” Eloise asked, her brows knit in concern. 

“As well as she can be.” Anthony sighed. “She has a fever, but she’s resting. Her parents are with her and the doctor is watching over her. He said she should awaken before the end of the day.” 

The furrow softened as she smiled. It was good to see her smile. “Good. That— that’s good. I’m glad.” 

“And how are you, Eloise?” Anthony asked, folding his arms. 

“As well as I can be,” she responded wryly. Anthony’s lips twitched in a momentary smile, but she leaned against the couch and let out a sigh of her own. “This all certainly ended in the best way it could have.” 

“The best way would have been for it to have never happened,” he said. “I should have prevented it—I was meant to keep her safe.” 

“Brother,” she said wearily, “I already told you that you cannot blame yourself.” 

“And I’ve never been one for listening to you,” he said dryly, “have I?” 

Eloise huffed a laugh and shook her head. “I am not a fool, Anthony. I know what is happening between you two.” 

Anthony frowned. “Eloise—”

“You love her,” she said bluntly. “Do you not?” 

He tried to say something, but no words would follow. He could only stare at his sister and her nerve, resulting in a small smile from her. 

“You are not that talented an actor, brother,” she said. “It is easier for me to believe the two of you are truly in love than that you could actually trick me in such a way.” 

He blinked. “You believe she loves me?” 

Eloise laughed, turning her head slightly. “I do,” she said. “And seeing as you are not denying it, I believe that means you love her.” 

Anthony bit the inside of his cheek. So the two of you could fool the entirety of the ton for over half the season, but apparently not Eloise. How typical. 

He walked over and took a seat on the couch next to his sister, leaving a bit of space between them. He took a deep breath before he spoke. 

“I do.” He glanced at her. “I love her.” 

Saying it aloud—admitting the truth of feelings he’d been fighting for so long—brought him an unexpected lightness. One other person knew both truths: that they had been lying about their love, and that Anthony had been lying about his lies. 

It would have been laughable had he not been so unsure of everything else. 

It took Eloise a moment to say anything back. For a while, she merely looked at him, unreadable depths in her eyes. He didn’t think he would ever be able to fully decipher his sister. 

“I know my blessing means very little in the scheme of things,” she finally said. “But know that if this does come into fruition… I will support you two. Every step of the way.” 

The smile that spread across Anthony’s lips was brighter than anything he’d experienced today, and he inclined his head. “Truly?” 

“Yes, truly,” Eloise said, a smile of her own growing though she tried to hide it as she glanced away. “It is not a big deal. Do not make it out to be one. There are far worse men that she could end up with.” 

“Alright,” he said, unabashed in his joy. For such a solemn day, Eloise had turned his mood around. 

“And I will also keep your secret,” she said breezily, “again, so do not worry about that.” 

“You say it does not mean much,” Anthony said, “but you are wrong. Your support means more to me than you know.” 

She shifted, seemingly bolstered ever so slightly by his praise. “...I’m glad.” 

He smiled as he stood back up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his outfit. Anthony grimaced as his hands came into view. He was in dire need of a bath and some new clothes. He could not deal with your blood on him for much longer. 

“I must be going,” Anthony said. “I need to clean up. And,” he sighed, “ensure that none of this has spread to the rest of the ton.” 

Eloise hummed, and Anthony was nearly at the door when she spoke up again. 

“...Thank you. For being here for me.” 

His expression softened as he glanced back at her. “I will always be here for you.” 

Her lips curved just so. Anthony had never been so thankful to no longer be at odds with one of his siblings. 

-

Your head hurt. 

That was the first thing you could truly understand as your eyes slowly cracked open, squinting while you came to. You blinked a multitude of times, trying to regain your bearings and relieve the dryness of your eyes. 

It took another moment for them to adjust to the darkness—the curtains were closed, but no light filtered through. How long had you been asleep? 

You grimaced as you shifted ever so slightly, a dull but constant ache in your chest leaving you stiff, but there was a weight of a hand in yours. You glanced over and recognized your mother, asleep but still grasping your hand. 

You smiled. She came for you after all. 

But as you tried to shift further in the bed, you groaned, a sharp column of pain shooting through you. Your mother’s eyes shot open, her body starting from instinct, but it took a moment for her to truly realize it all. 

“Nice of you to wake up,” you said wryly. 

“You—” tears sprung in her eyes, and her lips spread in a grateful grin— “You must be alright if your first words are to antagonize your mother.” 

“I am still here,” you said. You didn’t want to tell her you didn’t think you would make it. That you thought your fate was sealed when you pulled your hand away to nothing but blood. 

“That you are,” she said breathily. “Are you alright, though? How do you feel? Does it hurt?” 

“I believe I am alright,” you responded, “I feel… tired. And my chest aches.” 

“The doctor said that would be expected,” she murmured. “What do you remember?” 

“...That depends,” you said. “What do you know?” 

Your mother gave you a look as she said your full name. “This is not the time for games.” 

Your cheeks heated and you averted your eyes. “I was in the city with Anthony. I was stabbed after a riot broke out. That is all I remember.” 

“Lord Bridgerton is the reason you are alive,” your mother said. “He brought you back to Bridgerton House, and their doctor saved your life.” 

Somehow it was possible for your face to burn even more. You dragged Anthony out to that meeting, and you repaid him by making him drag your near lifeless body all the way back to his estate. 

You were the worst fake fiancee a man could have. 

You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears and you rapidly blinked them away. 

“Where is he?” you asked quietly. “Where is Anth— Lord Bridgerton?” 

Your mother gave you a knowing look. “It is alright to call him by his name, darling. It is quite clear how much he cares for you.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You could not do this. “Where is he?” 

“He is with his family,” she said. “You caused everyone quite a fright.” 

“I can imagine,” you said hollowly. 

“Would you like to see him?” she asked. “Because I am sure he—” 

“No.” The haste with which you sat up drew out another wince. “No— I…” 

You closed your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip. You could not do this. 

Your mother said your name softly. “What is it?” 

You opened your eyes, ignoring the wetness around them as you looked at her. “Anthony and I cannot marry.” 

She blinked. It looked as if it took a moment for your words to sink in. “What?” 

“We cannot marry,” you repeated. “We— we never could marry. Our courtship is a ruse.” 

Your mother blinked again, this time wholly taken aback. “What?” 

“It is a ruse,” you repeated, more forcefully. “I wanted to escape the baron, and Anthony wanted to escape a thousand desperate debutantes. I proposed a mock courtship between us, and he accepted.” 

Her brows furrowed deeper than ever before, as if she still couldn’t fully believe it. “You lied to me.” 

“To everyone,” you said. You hadn’t a clue what had gotten into you, tearing apart a story carefully crafted throughout nearly the entire season, but something burned inside of you. You couldn’t keep going with this—you couldn’t keep stringing Anthony along, not when your feelings were far more real than they had any right to be. 

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would you do such a thing?” 

“Because I did not want to marry,” you repeated. “The baron is nothing more than a lecher, and the thought of any sort of marriage to him disgusted me, but you and Father refused to listen to me. The only way to get out of it was for you to believe I had caught the affections of someone better. Anthony Bridgerton’s word was certainly better than mine in the eyes of the ton.” 

Your mother stared at the floor for much longer than you anticipated, and you could not tear your eyes away from her. 

“Mother,” you said quietly, “say something. Please.” 

“I do not quite know what to say.” She finally looked at you, and your throat bobbed. “All of our plans have hinged on this marriage for the entirety of the season. What am I to tell your father?” 

“Do not tell him,” you begged. “Please. It is enough that you know— I could not handle the shame if he were to as well.” 

“I do not keep secrets as well as you,” your mother snapped. “Marrying into the Bridgerton family would have saved us, both in riches and name. Even your dowry would have gone to use for something of your choosing.” She shook her head, clasping her hands together.  “And now you have almost died and we will have to control this and I just—” 

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you interrupted. 

That ceased her arguments quite quickly. “What?” 

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you repeated. “He has both riches and name.” 

Your mother frowned as she gripped your hands tighter. “You despise him. You got yourself into this entire mess in order to avoid him—you’ve said so yourself.” 

“What choice do I have?” you asked desperately. “His name is enough to weather the scandal I’ve created. His money will secure a life for you and Father, and he has a fine pedigree. It is the only way to save the Worthing name.” 

“Have you not considered the very man who has been courting you this season?” Your mother gestured with her hand. “Look where you are, darling! Lord Bridgerton has offered up his estate to us so we can be near you as you heal. Your courtship may have started as a ruse, but the man clearly feels something for you!” 

“We have become very good friends over the course of the season,” you said, “and I am thankful for it. But I cannot taint the Bridgerton name further.” 

“Dearest—”

“It is necessary,” you interrupted, but your quick movement brought on a sharp thread of pain in your chest and you winced. 

“Do not push yourself,” your mother whispered, and you nodded. 

“It is necessary,” you repeated, though slower. “My rebellion was just… naivete. I will not be the reason for our family’s ruin borne from my own stubbornness. I will secure our legacy, I will secure my future—I will marry Lord Cardew, and… and I will finally stop trying to resist my fate.” 

Your mother stared at you, and you stared back. “You said it yourself—our family’s well being hinges on my marrying into wealth. What sane man would consider me after what I’ve done?” 

She continued to look at you long and hard, her expression one of unreadable depths. “You are sure?” 

No, you wanted to say. You had never been less sure of anything in your life. But you could see no other choice. So you nodded. 

Your mother glanced away from you with a sigh, eyes searching the room for a moment before she nodded as well. “...Alright. If that is what you wish, your father and I will contact him once you are recovered.” 

“Mother—” 

“That is non-negotiable,” she said, and she smiled at you. “You may be blossoming into a true lady, but you are still my daughter. And I will not allow my daughter to do anything until she is fully healed.” 

You nodded. “Alright.” 

“I am sure that it goes without saying that you are never going to be allowed out of our sight until you are married and settled?” your mother said, and though it caused a sharp pain in your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I assumed just as much, Mother.” 

-

Dearest Reader,

It is a fact well known throughout Mayfair that the social season requires the full attention of every single person, frantic mamas and bored bachelors alike. It is a game of wits unlike any other, and this season has proven no different. The middle of our merriment marks many of the most eligible debutantes as engaged — this author pays special attention to the season’s diamond, Lady Adelaida Kennington, who has found her happy ending with the young Earl Pembroke.

Though congratulations may be due to another lady of the ton, one of the simple yet highly discussed Worthing family — as it seems, Miss Worthing has tossed aside the much desired Viscount Bridgerton for the hand of the Baron Jonathan Cardew. One can only be left to wonder what Lord Bridgerton must have done to go from an obviously incoming proposal back to his rakish ways in little more than a night, but it most certainly has to do with Miss Worthing’s recent disappearance from society. Word has passed around of her frequent visits to the lesser parts of London, engaging in activity that can only be described as scandalous. Perhaps it was not the fault of the viscount indeed—Miss Worthing may have finally pushed Lord Bridgerton to his limits. 

No matter the reason for the ending of the courtship, this author must extend her thanks to the pairing for providing such material for my pen. It is not every day a nobody in the ton manages to bring down two families at once. Perhaps Miss Worthing deserves congratulations for conducting this fantastical feat all on her own. If it was outrage she was searching for, she has certainly earned it. 

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown 

You huffed a sigh and threw the leaflet across the room, letting your head fall back against the wooden headboard. It was one thing for Lady Whistledown to criticize you, it was another thing entirely for her to bring your family and the Bridgertons into it. You deserved everything that came towards you for what you had done, but your parents, the Bridgertons, Anthony— they were not a part of any of it. 

Especially when all your father had done was visit the Cardew estate to have a conversation with the man, see if he was open to the possibility of a marriage with you. Nothing was at all set in stone, but the way Whistledown told it, you were already steps from the chapel with a ring on your finger. 

So now, as if it weren’t enough that you were bed bound until your physician deemed you recovered for regular activity, as if it weren’t enough that you were likely set to be married by the end of the season, as if it weren’t enough that you were constantly denying Anthony’s requests to visit you, every single one of your idiotic mistakes was revealed to the ton through a woman too cowardly to write without a pseudonym. 

If you ever found Lady Whistledown, you thought bitterly, you would strangle her. 

The silence in your room was broken by the door opening, and when you looked up you were greeted with Julia’s face. The usual smile she bore when around you was not there, but before you could ask she answered your unspoken question. 

“I apologise for the interruption, my lady, but you have a visitor. He insisted on seeing you.” 

A small part of you knew who it was even before she stepped aside, but when Anthony Bridgerton walked into your room your breath still hitched the tiniest bit. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked immediately, holding back a grimace as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. 

“I had to see you,” Anthony said. 

“And you chose to do so by invading my privacy.” 

“I have not heard a single word directly from you nor your pen since the accident,” he said, his voice not without a slight barb. But underneath it all, an uncommon hurt festered inside of him. You could not see it, exactly, but you could sense it. “Forgive me for wanting to confirm with my own eyes that you were still alive.” 

“I will remain here as a chaperone,” Julia said, closing the door behind her. “You may talk as freely as you please — I will not repeat a single word.” Anthony nodded and pulled the stool away from the vanity so he could be closer to you, then sat down. 

Despite Julia’s reassurance, neither of you spoke a word. The silence began to weigh heavily, the tension growing so thick it could be cut with a knife. For so long you had been rejecting Anthony’s requested meetings, not wanting to see him after what you had done. You feared for how he would react, both to your complete ignorance of him after your nearly fatal injury and your acceptance of Lord Cardew’s courtship. 

You left Bridgerton House without a word mere hours after your ill-fated decision despite the protests of your parents—you could not stay there for another moment under Anthony’s good graces, not when you had doomed any possible future with him. You did not deserve a single millimeter of Bridgerton good will. 

You stared down at the covers you laid under, fidgeting with your hands in your lap as you focused on everything except your visitor. You could not bring yourself to meet Anthony’s gaze, though you’d felt his own on you for the past five minutes. 

“Is it true?” 

You finally looked up at his sudden question, meeting the intensity of those dark brown eyes you’d lost yourself in so many times. “Is what true?” 

“Your marriage to Jonathan Cardew,” he said stiffly. “Is it true?” 

Just as quickly, you glanced away. It was near impossible to even be in the same room as the viscount since you had made the decision, even more so to think of the reason why it was that way. So instead, you just nodded. 

“Yes. If all works out, we are to be wed at the end of the season.” 

“Why?” Anthony leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees as his hands clenched into loose fists. “You openly despise the man—you asked me to court you to avoid him. Why in the name of all things rational would you willingly enter a marriage with him?” 

“He will provide for me,” you said. “He has money, he has land, and he is a respectable member of society. He has already been content with the possibility of marriage once, and his name is enough to weather the scandal I have created. It is the smartest choice available.”

“And what of us?” He had an almost wild look in his eyes, and the worst desire took root in you to root your fingers in his hair and ease the troubles you’d caused him. “We have spent the near entirety of the season becoming closer, and you are willing to just throw it all away for a man like Cardew?” 

“I could not trap you in a marriage you do not want,” you insisted. “You deserve more than a woman you share no love for, Anthony, and to be married to the woman who made a fool of your entire family. Lord Cardew is the only option.”

“Even if all of that is true, that does not mean it is a smart choice!” he exclaimed. “He is not a safe man to be around! If he has been pursuing you so strongly and only backed off because of my influence, what do you think will happen when you are his legal wife with no sort of protection?” 

You swallowed thickly at his words. “He is not that sort of man, Anthony. He may be… horrid, and a complete egoist, but it will be a life of comfort. And that is the life that I need.” 

Anthony laughed breathlessly, completely devoid of mirth as he frowned. “You cannot be serious. I have been by your side for an entire season of feminist rants and marriage complaints, half of which revolved around Cardew himself, and now you are telling me that you are just— just alright with this sort of compliance?” 

“Nearly dying because of my own idiotic choices has forced me to reexamine my life,” you said plainly. “If I had been even the slightest bit unlucky, I would have perished on those streets, and what would I have had to show for myself? A rebellion that I was only able to take part in because of the privilege I so often fought against?” 

“You have made a difference,” Anthony insisted. “You provided for women that no one has the gall to look out for. You’ve spoken out for your own rights, you’ve stood up for your own interests rather than sit around and take what you have been given.”

“I have been fighting against a life that so many less fortunate than myself would kill for,” you said. “I believed death to be a better fate than being forced to marry a man I did not love, but when I was on death’s door, I realized how foolish I was— how utterly selfish.” 

“You are not selfish,” Anthony said, but you shook your head. 

“I am. Unbelievably so.” You huffed a mirthless laugh as you looked at him. “My parents did not love each other when they married, but they were friends. They could tolerate the other’s presence, and neither of them were fortunate enough to be able to care about anything else. They have grown to love each other in their own way, of course, and they are in a better situation now, but they could not have known it would turn out that way. They did what they had to for the sake of their families and themselves, and it is time I do the same.” 

“Love matches are rare,” you murmured. “And even if I were granted the opportunity… I would not deserve it.”

Anthony shook his head. “Do not say that.” 

“It is the truth,” you said, letting out yet another humorless laugh. “I have been horrible to my mother when all she has ever wanted is a better life for me than she had. I have fought her for every step of the way for no other reason than my hubris and the dim belief that I deserved different than everyone else simply because I wanted it, no matter what the greater good was. How can that not be selfish, Anthony?” 

“You do not have to do this,” he insisted. “You said you dreamed of unmarried life! You told me your fantasies of escaping from society, of living on your own and depending on no one but yourself. You are willing to give all of that up, just like that?”

“I was a fool for ever doing so!” you exclaimed. “Anthony, this world is hard enough on its own for married women — what do you think will become of my family if I do not marry? What do you think will become of me?”

“But you are strong.” Anthony leaned forward, his brow knit in determination. “You are strong, and intelligent, and fully capable of managing on your own. Spinster brand be damned, if it is what you wish, you will flourish completely!”

“Will I?” you questioned, and you gestured at yourself. “I am bound to this room of my own doing because I refused to see the truth of the world around me. I was young and naive to believe I could achieve anything of the sort I dreamed of without consequences, and I will be naive no longer.”

“If you insist on marrying, at least find somebody else,” Anthony begged. “You will be miserable for the rest of your life if you marry Jonathan Cardew.” 

“I cannot afford to marry for love, my lord,” you said simply, “and even if I could find a man who loved me, I could never love them back. I would not force anyone into a marriage they did not want, not when…” You trailed off, the words catching in your throat.

You shook your head, choking them down. “It is not important.”

“Please do not marry him,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I beg of you.” 

“Then who should I marry?” you asked, almost brazenly. “Who should I marry, if not him? I am certainly not one for options.”

You did not know what you wanted Anthony to say. To marry him? That he felt the same for you as you did for him? That, while you were indeed a fool for falling for him, he was one as well. That he would not leave you, not now, nor ever. 

But instead he just stared at you with those dark brown eyes that even now could make you melt, a million emotions brewing inside of them yet none of them being given an outlet. 

“I do not know,” he murmured, and your heart sank. “But I beg of you, do not let it be him.”

“It is not your decision to make,” you said quietly. “Soon I will be engaged to Lord Cardew, and I will be out of your life.”

There was an underlying desperation in Anthony’s eyes as he looked at you now, that storm of emotions thundering inside of him begging to be expressed. “I do not want you out of my life.”

The words felt like poison leaving your lips. “You do not have a choice.” 

Before Anthony could protest any further, you stood up and looked over at your lady’s maid. “Please escort Lord Bridgerton outside. I wish to be alone.” 

“My lady, are you—” 

“Julia,” you said, your voice strained, “please.” 

She nodded and she gestured for Anthony towards the door, but he did not move a centimeter.

Anthony said your name with such pain that you could not even stand to look at him, the inside of your lip drawn so tightly between your teeth that you could taste blood all in the effort to prevent tears from emerging.

“Do not make this harder than it has to be,” you whispered. “I beg of you, Anthony.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” Julia said quietly, “please obey my lady’s wishes.”

He stared at you with desperation before he finally nodded and walked out the door, Julia closing it behind him. 

You screwed your eyes shut as you dug the heels of your palms into your forehead, letting out a frustrated sob as your hands dropped back down. The pinpricks of tears were already starting, and while you were thankful you were alone, you already longed for Anthony’s presence. 

You wished, more than ever, that things could be how they used to be. You wished you’d never even made this ridiculous deal with him—then you would not be in such pain, yearning for a man you could never have while the reputation of you and your family was destroyed and your life fell to pieces around you. You could not do a single thing about it, and you could not blame a single soul for it other than yourself. 

You’d never felt so useless.

-

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. pls dont ask to be added because i do not do tag lists anymore!! follow me or rb the masterlist or something idk @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart @seninjakitey @vlodi @arianagrandes-things @preciousbabypeter @youraliendaddo @stupidlittlebei @illuminwtesz @eringaitskill @otheliesstuff @users09 @chloepluto1306 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @m-rae23 @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @diemdurantia @theyoungestchild0w0 @mschievousx @alwaysreading1019 @ibelieveindragons141 @pretzywetzy

[blackynsupremacy]

HIS BIGGEST FAN

pairing: nicholas a. chavez x black!fem!reader

summary: for as long as you’ve known her, your grandmother has always enjoyed watching daytime soap operas, such as general hospital. she’s even more delighted when gets to have a “date” with you and your boyfriend, who happens to portray her favorite character, spencer cassadine.

contains: established relationship, romance, cavity inducing fluff, cuddling, kissing, reassurance, nicholas being the best boyfriend ever, kind words, grandma loves her some nicholas.

taglist: @supaprettyg @xoxoglittergossip @sabrinasopposite @hnch33rios @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @elitesanjisimp @ellethespaceunicorn @stereotypicalbarbie @rosiestalez @camiesully @tryingtograspctrl @gxuxhdjdu

“and voila! you look so amazing, baby.”

you chime after perfectly adjusting the black bow tie that rested on the collar of his pristine white button up shirt. you both get a glimpse of his final look in the full sized mirror of the luxury suite you guys secured for your visit in your hometown. your boyfriend of two years, nicholas chavez, was indeed what your uncles would call it “clean” as he donned a noir tuxedo and bow tie. you couldn’t help, but to inwardly swoon at the sight of the obvious outline of his toned build within the suit. the sweet, musky scent of his cologne put your senses in a hypnotic daze and his plush, chocolate tresses were shiny and brushed smoothly to the side with a couple of loose curls cascading along his forehead. nicholas looked good.

one would assume that this was a normal get dolled up date between you and nicholas, but this outing was more special. you were back in your hometown because nicholas has met most of your immediate family such as your parents, but not any of your grandparents yet, specifically your maternal grandmother. you loved your grandma to pieces and would protect her just as she has done for you in your childhood and adolescence. anyone could see that you were her favorite. she’d spoil you with the best of her homemade meals, the best gifts for special occasions, and you never forgot when she would discreetly slip a twenty in your palm while she gave fives to your cousins. you would never forget that she basically raised you from kindergarten to fifth grade while your parents worked long hours the week and they’d pick you up on weekends. one thing that you knew very well about your grandma was that she was invested in her “stories”. they were just daytime soap operas and her favorite of all time was general hospital. ever since day one in ‘sixty-three, your grandmother hasn’t missed a single episode. it’s amazing that her memory was starting to get faded as she was getting older, but rest assured, she could recall an entire episode from ‘seventy-four if she wanted to! word for word and bar for bar. as a kid, you would catch a confused glimpse of the tv-programming while you were at her house. you had no clue what was happening, but grandma was invested, so you might as well be. now, as an adult, you don’t have the time to regularly catch up on the show on your own, but you made it your duty to record the episodes for your grandmother to make sure her streak wasn’t broken.

one year prior to meeting nicholas, you visited your grandma to just cook her lunch and kick it with her stories. as you both sat and watched, you realized that so much has changed with the show over the years, both the plot line and the characters. your grandmother enthusiastically nudges you when her favorite couple by the names of “trina” and “spencer” appear on the screen. they were a beautiful interracial couple of people who looked to be right in your age range. the woman was african american with gorgeous, dark brown skin and long straight black hair. the man was a brunette caucasian that was tall, muscular, and definitely handsome. you assumed that your grandmother caught your lingering gaze on the man and she teased you saying that he would exactly be your type, you just laughed her off and continued watching the episode because this man was a whole celebrity, so the chances of you and him crossing paths were very slim.

but never zero.

fast forward to a year later, you were flown out by your friend in l.a. that was interning for the costume design team on the set for a netflix docudrama series based on the case of the menendez brothers. the premiere was quickly approaching and she was allowed to bring a plus one, which would be you. as you guys were getting ready, she gave you the details about the designer fashion used in the show and you chuckled as she couldn’t stop talking about how fine the actors playing the brothers were.

“girl, i can’t wait for you to meet the crew tonight! on my soul the one who plays lyle would definitely be your type.” she hypes once you guys pull up to the venue. the hollywood life was like a dream. camera’s flashing from every corner, people wanting your autograph, giving exclusive interviews, and just the general buzzing of excitement in the air as you both entered on the red carpet. just only a few minutes before the screening started, your friend had to go talk with a team member, leaving the next few empty seats beside you open. your eyes dart around the room as you nervously wait for your friend’s return until you hear a male voice.

“uh, hey, is this seat taken?” he politely asked. you didn’t really get a look at him because the house lights of the theater were cut off, but you could see that was really tall and muscular based off of his silhouette. with a shake of your head, you gesture towards the seat next to you in which he graciously sat, giving you a soft spoken thank you. you gulp a bit now that you were even more nervous than before, out of habit your knee nervously bounced up and down the more your impatience was growing. out of the corner of his eye, he noticed your fidgeting.

“hey, i hate to bother you again, but are you alright? you seem a bit nervous.” he alluded to your still bouncing knee. you take a deep breath to promptly regulate, stopping your movements and turning your head to the stranger.

“my bad, i’m just waiting for my friend to get back. she’s like the only i person i know here, it’s a little embarrassing.” you whispered with a nervous chuckle.

“well, in that case, my name’s nicholas. what’s yours?”

“y/n.”

“nice to meet you. that’s pretty name for a what i assume is a pretty girl. it’s kind of hard to see in here.”

you both quietly chuckle and you thank him for the compliment before he speaks one final time before the screening officially starts.

“now, you shouldn’t be so nervous because you know two people here.”

the smile that was etched on your face didn’t disappear after you two got to see each other in the well-lit room of the after-party. god, this man was more good-looking than you pictured him to be and by the way he was throwing game, he found you to be a sight for sore eyes also. for some odd reason, it felt like you’ve seen him somewhere before, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. you forgot that your friend was even your ride until you realized that she was ready to turn in for the night. you and nicholas didn’t want to leave without at least exchanging numbers and that’s how those texts turned to late night talks to continuous dates. after a few months of dating, you two were officially an item and you decided to move to l.a. to be closer.

on about the third date, you told nicholas that you had that feeling that you’ve seen him before, but you don’t know where from. you knew it definitely wasn’t in person, so it had to be on television. it all came together when he told you that was also working on none other than general hospital as, you guessed it, spencer cassadine. with a palm to your face, you erupt with giggles. nicholas inquires you on the joke, you tell him about your grandmother’s love for the soap opera and how she gushes about his character. he blushes when you say she’s basically his biggest fan! you don’t forget how she told you that he would be your type of man and that your friend at the premiere said the exact same thing. it’s funny how fate works that way. the dream of your sweet, soap opera loving grandmother getting the chance to meet her favorite star of her favorite soap and the love of your life, would now become a reality tonight at the one of the fanciest restaurants in town.

“thank you, sweetheart, but not half as amazing as you.” he responds with a lopsided smile and plants a soft kiss on your full, glossed lips.

“easy now, boo. save that charm for our special guest tonight, hm?”

you bashfully quip with a smirk as the heat rises on the cheeks of your melanated face. you then peer down at your wrist watch to check the time. you knew it was time to set the plan in motion. your palms smooth down the dress you chose for the evening and you retrieve your purse before you turn to nicholas to go over the plan one last time.

“okay, remember, i’ll go to pick her up and tell them our reservation. luckily, they still seat you if one person is a bit late. then, you’ll walk in with your fine self holding the bouquet of roses, are we clear?” you stated shifting your eyes from nicholas to the flowers that lay on the mini table of the hotel room.

“crystal.” nicholas affirms with a nod. his large hand softly catches your wrist before you try to scurry out to the elevator. being in a bit of a rush, you thought it could wait, but who were you to deny such a man like him? you gave in.

“what’s up, love?” you attentively urge. he pulls you closer to place his hands on your hips while yours find their way to his forearms.

“you know that you’re literally the best, right? this what you’re doing for her has shown me how big your heart is for those you love. i won’t lie—that makes me so proud to call you mine.” his spoke with soft sincerity as he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, the loose dangling curls tickle across your skin. that familiar heat returns and the tempo of your pounding heart increases. his words rendered you speechless. even though nicholas worked as an actor, he could make a killing at being a poet because he always knew what to say. he took your moment of silence as an opportunity to speak one last time. the warm, coffee gaze of his eyes never dared to pull away from yours.

“you’re just beautiful—from the inside.”

the words halt from his pink lips. he draws them closer to fill the gap between you two, pulling you in for a brief, yet passionate kiss which you eagerly reciprocate for a few seconds before he pulls away to resume speaking,

“and definitely from the outside. i love you so much, y/n.” he concludes with one of his hands cupping along your jawline, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek.

“and i love you so much, nicholas. thank you. i just want to give back to her what she’s given to me all of these years. i literally couldn’t have done this without you.” you respond with the same soft tone and return a chaste peck to his lips.

“now, i gotta go and get her before this whole thing falls through. i’ll see you in a little bit and don’t forget the flowers, okay?” with a light squeeze to his arms, you free yourself from his grip with your belongings in tow and give him one last smile before exiting your room and taking the elevator down to the lobby. after your uber arrives, you call your grandmother’s in-home caretaker that you would be arriving promptly to pick her up. once you pull in the driveway, you walk up to the door of the house that has brought you several fond childhood memories, you take the key that was made for you and unlock the door to see your grandmother all dolled up in her modest red velvet dress. her natural gray curls were styled beautifully on her head and her lips were painted to match her dress. with a child-like enthusiasm, you greet her in a warm embrace and a kiss to her forehead, not forgetting to tell the eighty one year old how radiant she looked. her scent was always the signature of elizabeth taylor’s white diamond perfume. the caretaker helps you get her into the car safely and you embark on the way to the restaurant. during the ride, you catch her up on life things and you inquire if she’s been eating, taking her meds, and watching her stories. you smile as the driver makes the turn into the parking lot and you find a good spot near the entrance.

“okay, grandma, we’re here! i have someone special i really want you to meet tonight and they’re really excited to meet you too.” you say, unbuckling both of your seatbelts.

“oh, really? who is it, baby?” she inquires with a piqued gaze in her eye while she watches you get out the car to help her out of her seat.

“as excited as i am to let you know, it’s a surprise!”

she playfully groans and you laugh as you hold on tightly to her hand to guide her to the entrance and confirm your reservation with the hostess who then immediately guides you to the secluded table in the vip section. your grandmother stares in awe at where you two were seated.

“baby, are we meeting the president or something? this looks a bit expensive.”

you giggle knowing that she was serious, she still looked impressed nonetheless.

“no, grandma, it’s the not the president. we’re just meeting my boyfriend and he wanted us to be treated well tonight.”

her eyes widen with wonder and she pulls you in for a hug.

“aw, my baby is in love! i’m so happy for you. does he make you happy?”

you pull back with a simper and eagerly nod at the mere thought of him.

“yes, he really does, grandma. i love him so much.”

“well, ain’t that a blessing? i knew there was a little glow on you, but i didn’t want to be wrong.”

you tell her that it was no worries and your gaze shifts to the entrance to see the familiar tall figure you’ve come to know and love. he’s finally here. you tell your grandmother to sit tight for a moment while you go to fetch nicholas. he was casually standing handsome and tall with the bouquet of roses in one hand and the other, in his pocket. once you made your way to the hostess station, you inform that nicholas is in the party of your reservation and he intertwines the hand that was in his pocket with yours before you both stride across the room to the vip table. your grandmother was reading over the menu and you call out her name causing her gaze up at you both. you and him were getting excited as you observed her facial expression when she laid her eyes upon your boyfriend. realization paints her face when she makes the connection,

“spencer. i-is that you?” she quizzes with a star struck tone. with a blushing grin, nicholas deliberately approaches and takes a seat next to her. her stare doesn’t break from the man. he takes the moment to introduce himself.

“you may know me as spencer from the show, but i’m also your lovely granddaughter’s boyfriend, nicholas. it’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. may i?” nicholas holds out his hand and when he grants your grandmother’s consent, he lifts her hand to his lips to place a delicate kiss on it. you take out your phone to capture photos of this moment. your grandmother couldn’t stop her giggling of excitement when she graciously took the flowers from nicholas.

“look at the camera, you two!” nicholas gently puts his arm around her shoulders and she naturally leans into his touch for the first photo. for the second, she places a kiss upon his cheek, making nicholas grin so hard that his face probably hurt. by the way he blushed from that kiss, you’d thought that your grandmother was going to take your man for sure. it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that your grandmother adored nicholas and nicholas, her. you assumed that their chemistry was so off the chain, that if you left them, they wouldn’t even notice your absence. you put away your phone and take the seat on the other side of your grandmother, placing her in the center.

“ooh, y/n! he’s just as sweet as he can be. he’s more handsome than he looks on my stories. you better keep him, girl.” she chimes as she gets an eyeful of nicholas’ dashing features to which his cheeks never stop their glow of red while continually thanking her. you couldn’t pay him a million dollars to be arrogant if you tried and that’s one of the many things you loved so much about him. nicholas adds in the conversation,

“if it’s any consolation, i don’t plan on letting of y/n anytime soon. that’s if she’ll have me.” those pretty brown eyes peer into yours. the glint of sincerity shoots you right through the heart. you smile returning the same expression,

“i couldn’t get rid of you if i wanted to, so of course.”

“awww! you’re more romantic than spencer and trina!” your grandmother chimes in and you calm her down to make sure her excitement doesn’t affect her health.

when everyone has ordered, your grandmother continues to ask nicholas about himself, especially on the show. she was a bit bummed out that he couldn’t reveal the details of the new episode coming in january, but he was going to give her a special gift for the holidays to make up for it. as you’re all eating dinner, you groan in playful embarrassment when she recalled your childhood memories to him. like the time you were at the park, and you wanted the merry-go-round to spin super fast, she warned you to shut that down. did you listen? nope. you spun that thing so fast, you threw up on another kid’s shoes. nicholas bent over in laughter while the elder shook her head at you with a grin.

“grandmaaaa! why’d you expose me like that?” you pout at her with a glare towards nicholas.

“because you’re hard-headed, but i still love you.”she retorts.

“i’m working on it, trust! and—i love you too!”

nicholas sat and observed your interactions between you two, it was so refreshing to see you both at ease and talk like the best of friends despite the fifty-six year age gap between you two. when you all are full, nicholas picks up the tab for dinner, in which you two thank him with a kiss on each side of his face and you order the uber for you all to share to bring you home. you let her take a bathroom break and you get the notification that your uber has arrived. with nicholas walking out in front in of you both, you take your grandma by the hand as you two follow his lead. once he confirms that the uber is legit, he opens the door for you both to climb in. with your grandma in the center again, you sit back as the third wheel as they continue their animated discussion about general hospital and your relationship during the entire ride back to her house. you text the caretaker that you have pulled up, but to open the door because you and nicholas were going to help her to the door.

“thank you so much for dinner, you two! i had such a great time. it was such a pleasure meeting you, spen—i mean, nicholas! lord, have mercy you’re both so charming, i can’t tell the difference.” she bade sending him a wave.

you all filled the air with laughter as you three strolled towards the porch.

“you’re very welcome! the pleasure is definitely all mine, ma’am. i can see where y/n gets—well, everything from! heh.” he says with the notable twinkle in his eye.

you both coo at his charm.

“jesus, if i were just fifty years younger—“

“grandma! chill!” you playfully chide the elder and nicholas chortles as you all go up the steps, meeting the caretaker at the front door. after all was said and done, you and nicholas bid her a final goodnight with a hug and kiss to the cheek before she disappears into the house to retire for the night. the uber then drops you and nicholas off at your hotel. once you get to the room, you both share a shower together, change into something comfortable, and cuddle within the king sized bed. you’re both still pretty wired from the evening, so you just talked about the plans of spending time with her tomorrow because your flight doesn’t leave until the day afterwards.

“babe, your grandmother is one of the cutest women i’ve ever met—besides you of course.”

“mm-hmmm. i better and thank you! she really likes you too, you know. like i said, she’s your biggest fan. i bet you she’s gonna call up her friend, miss edna, and tell her all about it in the morning.” you both chuckle and there’s a beat of silence and it was your turn to break it,

“nick, can i confess something?”

“yeah, what’s on your mind, doll?”

“you know how grandma said that we were more romantic than spencer and trina? can i say that i really appreciated her saying that? i won’t lie when i’ve seen some of those scenes, i thought you and tabyana were a thing.— i even get just a little jealous sometimes. i know it’s your job and—”

“hey, hey, hey. c’mere.” with arms already around you he shifts you from his side and positions you on top of him.

“like i told your grandma, i’m not going anywhere anytime with anyone. you’re the one for me. i may get some attention here and there from the rest of the world, but look at who’s with me right now. i’m your biggest fan and if i have to reassure that when you need, i got you like you got me, are we clear?”

you hold his gaze now with relief washing over you, a smile grows on your face and you nod to affirm his question.

“crystal.” you utter before bringing your lips to his for a kiss. nicholas doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate as you place your hands on each side of his sharp jawline and his hands rest themselves on your hips. you both indulge in each other for about a minute or two before you give each other one final “i love you” before letting a well-deserved slumber take over your exhausted bodies.

[pizzaqueen]

A snippet from a future fic I'll probably never write, where Steve is a widower with two teenage kids, and he and Eddie randomly meet up, rekindling their old flame. This is when they've been together a while:

“Thank you,” Steve says, coming up behind Eddie at the bathroom sink.

Eddie pauses, catching Steve's eye in the mirror. “What for?” he asks, mouth foamy with toothpaste.

Steve slips his hands along Eddie's hips, hooks his chin over Eddie's shoulder. “For loving my kids.”

“You don't—” Toothpaste dribbles down Eddie's chin and he stoops to spit what's left in his mouth into the sink, gathering his hair to one side. He rinses his mouth out, wipes his face with a towel, then turns to Steve. “You don't have to thank me for that. Of course I love them.”

“Not everyone I've dated has.”

“They're idiots.” Eddie grabs the hem of Steve's shirt, pulling him close. “I mean, first of all, they're part of you, and I don't think I could love you and not love them. But...” He trails off, a small smile tilting his lips. “They're amazing kids.”

Pride swells in Steve's chest; he slides his arms around Eddie's waist and says, “They are.”

“And I'm pretty damn honored I get to be part of their lives,” Eddie says, “so thank you,” and he butts his head gently against Steve's.

Steve huffs and slides his hands up Eddie's back, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I love you.” He presses a kiss to Eddie's neck.

“I love you too.”

“And they both love you as well.”

Eddie lets out a shuddering breath. Steve knows how nervous Eddie was, when they started dating, that he wouldn't be welcomed, but it's almost like he's always been part of their family now. “Good to know,"”Eddie says.

Steve holds Eddie a little tighter. All those years ago, back in Hawkins, when they ended things, Steve thought he'd never see Eddie again. But here they are, together—a family—and Steve's never letting him go this time.

[puppetwoman17]

The Batson family: *audible screaming, cursing, vomiting, slandering, and all around illegal activity*

The JL: wtf—

[padawansuggest]

Obi-Wan in his natural habitat in the temple sleeps in a loft bed (it was supposed to be storage he said cat instinct and turned it into a loft bed they’re shockingly common with Jedi tbh tho) and under 17 fluffy blankets with a pregnancy pillow (he’s not pregnant he just can’t sleep off his stomach if he don’t got one and sometimes autism requires squishing to keep it all down) and three more fluffy blankets on top of him. He has an optional Padawan or pet (not really a pet, just whomever followed him how from the gardens today) in bed with him also. And he’s got a projector on the wall and has a night stand with water and gaming devices so he can survive up there forever.

The clones, who have learned to sleep with full kute coverings and usually without blankets or pillows cause they just pass out on each other, most of whom identified with their Jedi for having similar sleeping types if they weren’t human, realize they are quite horrified by his Stewjoni nesting instinct. And he’s offended and refuses to sleep with any of them till they apologize to his favorite stuffed animal for insulting his HOUSE. Fuck you bitches he and Master Sparkle Bantha deserve better.

Cody is groveling while Alpha is still trying to negotiate a less intense number of blankets and Anakin is just shaking his head like ‘it’s not worth it Bro’ and Alpha is like ‘shut up ur an omega too you brat’ and that’s the last straw, you called them omegas now Cody is asking what an omega is and Alpha is trying to figure out how to keep his AO3 account hidden from his vod’e and nvm he’ll sleep in the barracks forever-

Obi-Wan holds this info over his head like a guillotine and convinced him to get in the damn nest right this second and cuddle him better.

If you don’t sleep with at least two comforters and a queen sized fuzzy blanket then I don’t trust you. Yes I refuse to trust my sister and wife okay. Everything in the world has a downside and that’s theirs. My bed is half dragon hoard of yarn and squishmallows. I’m not changing for anyone.

Anakin’s bed is 90% pillow and squishmallow and 10% blanket. Padme uses a thin cotton blanket and lets him burrito wrap himself and uses him like a body pillow while he’s captive in the blankies.

[thefabulousfab-3]

It’s crazy how all the hatred for Colin can be boiled down to, “he’s not toxic enough”.

[thedevillionaire]

Above and Beyond

A “day in the life of” sort of thing - with a few complications, of course. Always and all ways, thank you SO much for reading. 💝

---

And it’s raining.

Again. 

Or, perhaps more accurately, still, Cerberus thinks bitterly, wiping his nose with a tissue barely up to the task. First the Ice chambers and now this absolute nonsense. He hasn’t visited the mortal plane for some time, too long ago to recall precisely when, but he does remember one thing clearly – it was raining then too. Heavier, not this…endlessly drizzling drip-torture affair, but raining.

Again. Still. 

“This damnable weather,” he mutters, more to himself than either of the two awestruck, hapless Demon novices looking up at him. And he can’t for the life of him work out what led to this situation in the first place. Sheer incompetence, apparently. How is it even possible for a basic possession to go so far awry? Just vacate the damn vessel, it’s not complicated, it’s a mortal. Honestly. Ridiculous pastime, possession, anyway. He’s never understood the appeal.

It's all frankly well beneath his station, and ludicrous that he’s here. Why the hell did he agree to this? He's not been thinking clearly all day. And it’s freezing. He’s freezing. The biting windchill whips through the steady, relentless damp, embellishing it, driving it bone-deep. Of all times for both Therion and Suspiria to be away. Who schedules these things? Nobody checks anything properly, he doesn’t…even… Damn it, he is not going to sneeze again. He presses the back of his hand against his nose with significant force in an attempt to quash the rising urge. And…who the hell is this now? He sniffles.

The unexpected and unrecognised arrival doesn’t waste time introducing himself as he starts to deliver his message. “Lord DeVille. I apologise for the intrusion, but if you cou…” 

A swiftly raised index finger halts his sentence.

“Ah-HEHTSHhuu!”

“Gesundheit, my lord.”

Upon receiving an irritated, perfunctory thank you, excuse me and an impatient signal to continue, the emissary nods once in acknowledgement, and does so.

“If you could attend the Healing wards as soon as practicable. I’m afraid there’s been an incident involving Kia.”

A moment of stunned silence as the world and everything in it falls away, irrelevant, meaningless, replaced by a purity of focus vehement and singular. Cerberus, eyes newly incandescent with every bit of that infamous green fire, flicks some stray damp hair back from his face, and wastes no further time.

“Anyone attempting to contact me will burn,” he says, and in a flash of flame is gone. 

---

His arrival at Healing is of course expected, and Riviera's well prepared for it. Less prepared, perhaps, for the usually imposingly stylish Demon king looking…well, more than a little sodden, really. Verging on bedraggled, she thinks, though she’d never say it. But with the look in his eyes as fiercely intent as she's ever seen, that is clearly of no priority right now, and she needs to hurry up and get down to business.

"Okay, well, the first thing you should know is that nobody hurt her, she did this to herself," she begins, adding a hasty, "Not on purpose!" at the expression that received. "No, she attempted a Media skill but unfortunately she was a bit out of her depth, and..."

Cerberus partially hears Riviera's words, taking them in as a wash of information��

...sort of like a concussion, shaken up, disoriented...

partially loses himself to trying to make sense of how things could have come to this—

Kia’s independence, her always pushing through her fears, her trust in herself, and more than that, her trust in him, he's never doubted her but she's...it's gone wrong and gods it stings that she didn’t come to him for help but he knows of course she wants to prove herself, prove she can do this on her own, that any successes would be truly hers and not due to the privilege of his assistance, but...but...

—and partially tries to resist any further surrender to...this damn...

hh-HH...

He recognises when the cause is lost quickly enough, though, turning away to cover an unstoppable, urgent couplet of sneezes in tightly crooked elbow, desperate need recurring.

“Hh-TSCHH-uu! Ah-TSSCHHhuu!"

"..thought she'd be able to manage," continues Riviera. "So we're just keeping her overnight for..."

"Huh-AHSSCHuu! *SNF!*"

"..observation," she concludes, offering him a casual blessing as he curses sotto voce, excuses himself and gathers several tissues from the box on the countertop. “You sound worse than she does, you know. Need anything for the cold?”

"I am cold, I don’t have one," Cerberus says, exasperation bringing a touch of sharpness to his tone even as encroaching congestion rips away the clarity of his consonants. It's beside the point, anyway. He blows his nose and incinerates the tissues. "Pardon me." A quick, soft sniffle. "I'm fine."

He still, for the most part, believes it. Though it would certainly be nice to be less...damp.

"So, no?" Riviera shrugs amicably. "Hm, okay." She’s not about to press him on the matter, despite the ambient temperature in Healing being notably and comfortably warm. “Anyway, um, Kia’s in – just a moment, let me check – yeah, chamber 3," she confirms, pointing down the relevant corridor. “She’s on some meds, so she might be a bit loopy, if she’s even awake.”

Cerberus acknowledges this, sniffling again, and takes another tissue from the countertop box to once more wipe his recalcitrant nose.

“You know, you’re in the right place if you change your mind about…” Riviera gives a little nod towards the tissue box. "Just saying."

“As I said, I'm fine. Thank you.”

He claims a couple more tissues as he leaves, all the same.

---

His beautiful bonded looks disconcertingly fragile, impossibly delicate, in these clinical surrounds - like she's some sort of precisely crafted porcelain imitation of herself, her mass of rich chestnut waves arrayed over the pillow, framing her in a dark halo stark against the too-bright white bedlinens. She's an illusion, a transience.

She doesn't belong here. She's far too vibrant, too irrepressible for this.

Or just irrepressible enough.

Cerberus sighs and ignores the chair provided, sitting instead beside Kia on the bed, and softly caresses her face.

“I understand why you’d have wanted to try this without me, but…” His voice tender, heartfelt. Confident that whatever the problem had been, he’d have been able to fix it. “Oh, love. I wish you hadn’t.”

Kia stirs, slightly waking to his touch, or sensing his presence on some deeper than conscious level, perhaps, and with a small mm of hazy recognition, reaches out to take his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers as she does so.

He rubs his nose and sniffles again, as quietly as he’s able, and frowns slightly at the very unwelcome thought that maybe he is coming down with something after all. Can't be. It’s just too much time spent being practically refrigerated, and for no good reason. Nevertheless, surely this...overreactive ridiculousness should have settled down by now, despite everything. Does his throat hurt? He's not sure. Possibly.

His breath catches softsharply, urgently – once, twice and twice again – and with no time to extricate his hand from Kia’s, he turns as best he can to smother a rapid, desperate triplicate of sneezes, each more insistent than the last, against his shoulder. “HUHschuu! Hhh-TSSCH-uu! Hhh...hh-HH… hhAHTSSCHUU!”

Kia fully awakens to that.

“Bless you,” she purrdrawls, her voice still thick with sleep and the Healing concoctions she’d taken earlier. She gazes up at him through a mix of delight, relief, devotion, gratitude, and desire, her lucidity mutable, unpredictably shifting.

“Gods, sorry, love. Excuse me,” Cerberus says from behind the tissues he’d grabbed earlier. “Not quite the greeting I’d intended.” He sniffles, and pushes some still-damp, disarrayed hair from his eyes. “Spent almost an entire day in the Ice chambers and then an utterly senseless trip to the mortal plane in all its – *snf!* – frigid delights, and now I… *SNFF!* Well, this. If you’ll – *snf!* – pardon me a moment…” He turns aside to blow his nose.

Kia props herself up against the bedhead a little. "Not a great day for the DeVilles, huh," she says with a gently wry smile, one which Cerberus mirrors, adding a hm of accordance as he immolates the spent tissues.

"Soooo, um...you know what happened here, right?" she checks.

He confirms it with a brief nod.

"You probably think I’m crazy."

"I think you’re wonderful." The sincerity in his voice is absolute, souldeep.  “You’re so brave, darkling.”

Kia smirks. “Incredibly brave,” she quips with a flourish, recalling a very earliest time between them, and a question he’d posed that they playfully revisit every now and then.

The two complete the quote together: “Or incredibly foolish.” They both laugh about it, as they’ve done many times before.

“Yeah.” With a smile verging on wistful, Kia gently strokes Cerberus along his forearm, her expression becoming more serious. “Babe, I know you’ll always go above and beyond for me, but sometimes it’s… It’s just… I mean… You can’t always help me. You can’t just give me everything.”

“I want to.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I know.” Kia presses a loving kiss to the back of her bonded’s hand. “And I’m sorry I scared you. But I’m okay, really, I…I very am, really very really, and I’ve had lots of…” She waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the treatments on the bedside table. “..the things, and I’m not in any pain or anything so you don’t need to be here and I…I guess you should probably go home.”

A wickedsoft chuckle of refutation. “No, I’m afraid I’m going to make rather a nuisance of myself, darkling.”

Kia laughs. "Good." She grins, a little woozily. "I didn't mean it, anyway. Hmm…" She takes a section of his shirt sleeve between her fingers, briefly rubbing. "You're more wet than usual," she asserts, peering at him as if she's cracked some secret code. “Wait, did we talk about this alrea…”

She breaks off as her beloved's breath sharpcatches staccato anew; without intent she inhales deeply alongside him, her fascinated focus almost as captive as his.

“HXXTchu! Ugh…” He groans, lightly coughing convulsively from the effort of stifling. And it was doomed to fail – he knows it, and he inhales again, deep and immediate, and doesn’t bother trying it a second time. “Huh-TSSCHH-uu!” Or…or apparently a third, and after a knife-edge pause and an escalated hitching of breath, he surrenders entirely and sneezes again – powerful, ferocious. “Hhh… hh-TSSCHH-uu!” With a fierce sniffle, he presses the back of his hand against his nose with a determination verging on brutal, but the insistent itch still unsated has his breath catching again. Brow creased, he gives over, capitulating altogether to the demanding need. “AAHHTSSCHHUU! Gods, fuck.”  

Kia loses herself to assorted altered states for a moment. "Bless you, you’re so gorgeous, oh my god,” she effuses, rush-of-energy lustlaced, and sends Cerberus a Mindsent doubled-up :Bless you bless you I love you: as he excuses himself, apologises and takes a very necessary moment of recovery.

A realisation occurs to Kia, watching him now, and she voices it: a soft but matter-of-fact you’re getting a cold.

Cerberus almost manages to begin some sort of unconvincing rebuttal, but Kia holds up her hand in a gentle interruption. “It's alright, you're very sexy so you’re allowed to be a bit dumb about some stuff," she says.

She gives a light giggle at his raised eyebrow and wry shake of his head, smiling, in response. Gazing at him both sweetly and covetously for just a little longer, the spike of energy rapidly fading, the state she’s in, she mumbles you work too hard, you know as she passes him the bedside tissue box with a kiss, before closing her eyes and curling up against his chest with a soft sound of contentment.

Cerberus strokes her hair, kisses the top of her head as he embraces her.  “When you’re well, we can go through the Media process of your choosing together, if you’d like,” he murmurs.

“Nuh-uh.” She taps his arm twice in drowsy correction. “When you’re well, we can.”

A knowing, indulgent smile curves her lips, and she curls up closer still.

---

[serymn31]

headcanon: Aegon and Helaena totally bullied each other as newlyweds as they adjust to their new relationship as husband and wife. Endless teasing, arguing about the room arrangement (Helaena just has to have a space for her insect collections), but end up in the same bed horny for each other lol

Until Helaena gets pregnant and began showing! and Aegon just dotes on her, treats her like a delicate thing, stops the teasing to just wanting things to be comfortable for her. He gets deathly scared when there seems to be problems or if Helaena is in pain or has morning sickness. Almost fainted when he learned they were going to have twins, but happy about it but then more worried for Helaena's comfort/health. He was a nervous mess when the twins were born but seeing them was the happiest day of his life. 🥹

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 06

PREVIOUS

Andrew is dragging FF across campus towards where he parked his car and he is kinda of concerned that FF is just like fully letting himself be dragged across campus. I’m talking full on Andrew has a grip on the back of his hoodie, FF is just staring up at the sky, FF’s feet don’t even attempt to stop Andrew from pulling him where he wants to go, and when Andrew looks back FF’s face is just :I

Which even Andrew can admit is kind of weird.

Meanwhile FF is just like ‘The ground hasn’t really gotten cold yet so I’m sure Captain Neil and Andrew could really go to town on the hole they’re going to bury me in. I wonder what gave me away? It was probably the fucking Russian Literature book. I didn’t even like the plot twist in that one anyways. Can’t BELIEVE I’m gonna die due to my love of trashy literature. Thanks Grandma. Wait I’m sorry grandma, I didn’t mean to be rude-“

“Hey Granny Smith! I’ve been looking for you!” A most loathed nickname coming from a most loathed voice. Andrew doesn’t stop towing FF because why the hell would he? FF has never been so grateful to be dragged to his death! Now if only Andrew would break his long standing and well-known absolute refusal to do anything more than walk at a brisk pace.

He sees his step-brother jogging up to him and FF almost turns to Andrew to ask if he could just kill him HERE so he doesn’t have to deal with his step-brother and THEN get stabbed to death in the forest? He can accept that he should have told Andrew and Captain Neil that he knows Russian and the death sentence that rightfully comes with that but like C’MON having to deal with his Step-brother is just cruel and unusual punishment!

His step brother catches up and in a way maybe all the mental torture he’s gone through since coming to Palmetto is a good thing! He really was a novice at the poker face before and now he’s a grand master champion of staring at something that’s gonna SUCK and pretending like he has no idea that it is.

“Whoa there Granny.” His Step brother grabs his arm and tugs him out of Andrew’s grasp. Andrew really had not been paying attention to whatever jack off had been yelling something about apples. So FF getting yanked out of his hand was actually his first indication since FF didn’t say or react at all before. “You’ve been dodging all of Dad’s calls y’know. You still haven’t sent anything that we asked you for, got any excuse for that?!” His step brother demands.

FF looks heavenward because this is, like, so embarrassing. He can feel people stopping and staring at them.

(They were staring before his Step-brother showed up because he was getting visibly dragged through campus by ANDREW MINYARD. Some of his friends who had seen it were already planning a memorial service and candle vigil)

“Nope.” Because he has nothing to say about whatever the hell his step brother is talking about.

“Mom’s heartbroken you know! You haven’t reached out to her once!” he says. 

“I’ll get on that.”

“Are you going to get the stuff we asked you for?! We are family aren’t we? We’re not asking for a lot. Just for you to get tickets to your games for Dad’s colleagues, some autographs from your teammates, and a good word to that bleeding heart coach that we all should get the free ride you’re getting. That’s not too much right?!”

Andrew hasn’t intervened yet but now Andrew is under the impression that FF stopped hanging out because the kid’s family has been harassing him with calls and maybe this isn’t the first time they’ve come in person to campus. That’s why FF has been fading into the background. Andrew’s now under the impression that FF’s family has wanted him to use the Foxes (tickets, autographs, scholarships for his step brothers) and FF had just been pulling away so his asshole family wouldn’t bother the rest of them. That FF may not have been able to cut off contact completely because of a grandparent he was close to.

These are, in fact, the WRONG impressions of the situation at hand. The truth of the matter is that Wymack helped him get a new phone and phone number within 24 hours of getting to Palmetto, it was the one extra that he asked for in his contract and Palmetto is paying his phone bill now. The phone with the number his ‘family’ had just sits charging in a drawer on silent in Wymack’s desk because Wymack is INFINITELY petty when it comes to the things his Foxes are running from.

The other truth of the situation at hand is that Fluent Freshman’s grandma is the only member of his family he talks to regularly and he talks to her almost every single day of his life, she is the only person he can be completely honest with because she knows what a wimp he is and loves him regardless. 

His Grandma is just an EXCELLENT actress. So when his ‘family’ comes over for answers she’ll sigh, stare longingly at a framed photo of FF, and look out the window with a single pre-staged tear in her eye. She wouldn’t give them his new number no matter what.

He loves his grandma even if it was her teaching him Polish, her native tongue, that lead to him getting interested in the other slavic languages that lead him down the deadly path to Russian.

ANYWAYS.

Andrew is under some very wrong impressions but he is also under one very correct impression and it’s the impression that’s the most important anyways.

Fluent Freshman’s family is what made him a Fox and Fluent Freshman’s family are therefore the enemy.

Except FF doesn’t give Andrew the time to pull out his knife, “No, I don’t wanna do that. Bye Greg.” He says, pulls out his student ID, slaps it on a nearby scanner for a STUDENT ONLY building and power walks inside leaving Andrew and his Step Brother alone.

The door shuts behind FF with a distinctive lock and Greg looks at Andrew his face purpling from anger, “You’re going to let me in there and-“

Andrew now has plenty of time to pull out his knife. “You’re going to what?”

Greg swallows and in a show of excellent survival instincts runs the fuck away.

Andrew watches him run before he turns back to the STUDENT ONLY building and heads in himself. He finds FF just inside the doors and he looks tired sitting there against the wall. FF doesn’t say anything to Andrew, doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s there. Andrew takes a spot on the wall across from him. People give them weird looks but Andrew is fine with waiting.

He doesn’t mind just sitting in silence with FF again even if the circumstances aren’t what they usually are. So they sit.

FF has blue-screened. The stress of his impending death, of his step brother showing up and saying crazy shit, he blacked out a bit from the stress of being between Andrew and Greg and has no memory of what he said before he walked into this building and then there’s the fact that he just WALKED INTO SOME RANDOM CAMPUS BUILDING (oh god he’s probably not supposed to be in here but Greg is definitely still loitering outside maybe security will be gentle if he just sits right by the exit so they don’t have to go far to kick him out? Maybe he should move near a Different exit so Greg doesn’t see him get tossed like yesterday’s trash? Well he already sat down so now it’s embarrassing if he gets up to just go SIT AT SOME OTHER EXIT.)

So he’s taking a moment to reboot.

Unfortunately his ability to have internal conversations and recognize that someone is there with him is one of the last things that loads.

“It’s fine. I’ve always been the leftover kid. I don’t care that they don’t care. I don’t care either.” He says and it’s a mantra he’s repeated for almost a decade now.

It is definitely not something he thought he was saying out loud in the presence of Andrew Minyard and it is also definitely not something he was SAYING to Andrew Minyard but how the hell would ANDREW MINYARD KNOW THAT WHEN FF IS STARING STRAIGHT AT HIM WHEN HE SAYS IT.

So Andrew thinks it’s the explanation FF is offering about his step brother / family. If there’s one thing Andrew knows the feeling of it is being the ‘leftover’ kid.

The one-sided kinship grows while FF is working on rebooting his vision and getting his heart rate down to a BPM that wouldn’t have medical doctors concerned.

Finally, FF blinks his vision has returned back to him, sees Andrew Minyard across the hall from him, and, by the grace of GOD considering his fried nerves, FF does not flinch.

Andrew doesn’t make any move to grab him and FF decides to take this momentary reprieve that his executor is granting him to shoot off a text to his grandma. “I am so grateful for all the love you have given me throughout my life. I think I’m going to see Dad in the next few hours so please let me know if there’s anything you want me to say to him.” Is what he sends.

(This grandma has gotten almost this exact same text when he had an oral presentation last week. Her grandson is a wimp but she loves him.)

“Are we still going on that drive?” He asks his affairs settled. It’s nice that Andrew let him have a breakdown here and even let him text his grandma his final thoughts. He was willing to use his blood to write out the message but where would he get the paper?

“Yeah, we can go on that drive.” Andrew gets up and offers his hand to FF who looks at it for a long moment KNIVES. THOSE ARE KNIVES. HE USUALLY CONCEALS THEM BETTER? IS THIS HIS WAY OF SAYING HE’S GOING TO BE REALLY MESSY WITH MY DEATH? OH GOD HE’S NOT READY.

(Andrew didn’t really take the time to put his knives back in his arm bands properly because he figured he needed to catch FF before the kid disappeared again. He didn’t think he’d find him just inside the door.)

FF pushes himself up onto his feet.

They get to the Maserati and FF was AWARE that Andrew had a nice car but he hadn’t pieced it together that he’d be doing his last ride in such a nice car. He briefly pauses by the trunk wondering if he should just save Andrew the trouble and climb in himself?

Andrew sees FF pause at the car and figures he’s just being polite not touching Andrew’s stuff without Andrew’s permission. FF is just that kind of guy.

“The passenger seat is available.” Andrew says and alright cool Andrew wants to threaten him first that makes sense.

Except Andrew doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t drive them to a remote location. He’s just driving around Palmetto and FF does not think that Andrew is planning on crashing the car to kill him (He has unfortunately heard Aaron and Andrew have a fight in German when he was waiting for his own appointment with Betsy so he also Is aware what happened to their mom no matter HOW HARD he tries to forget that he knows.)

It’s just actually kind of a nice drive?

“He called you Granny Smith.” Andrew states. (Wondering if THAT is the elusive first name)

“I’m close with my Grandma. My last name is Smith. They’re not that creative.”

“Hm.” (Dammit)

Andrew watches as FF’s shoulders eventually relax until he’s almost falling asleep in the Mas and decides that the drive has done it’s job.

Eventually Andrew parks in front of the tower, tells him to respond to his texts from at least him and Neil, and he is released feeling very much like one of those animals that were released back into the wild after being tagged.

He texts his grandma later “NVM it wasn’t that bad.”

NEXT

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27

[da-janela-lateral]

Soap Opera AU - Chapter 001, minute 35:42

Debts increase. Shigeo takes his decision.

[stealingyourbones]

recently watched a handful of episodes of Supernatural and im kinda impressed with Dean's steadfast belief that all monsters are monsters and can't be redeemed.

With that in mind... there could be some VERY angsty Danny Phantom crossovers with that as the main premise

[darkcrowprincess]

My two modes of favorite batman/batfamily fics:

I either like found family with hurt comfort with fluff or just pure soap opera drama with a happy ending.

[absolutepokemontrash]

Who wants silly half demon series scrapped ideas/trivia?

Too bad you’re getting some

When I was mentally ill-er and seventeen, I had an idea for a Michael kid floating around.

They’d have been Venus’ half sibling.

Yes you read that correctly.

The parent of Lucifer’s child would have also been the parent to Michael’s child.

Seventeen year old me was thinking of long term DRAMA.

Iirc Michael Kid and Vee would have actually been besties, I think this idea actually predates Ash and Cecil by a few weeks.

[shon-ha-lock]

SATURATION

The absolutely incredible @sowizardmentality (top photo) and @cobra-shy (bottom photo) drew these beautiful pieces for the Cobra Kai Reverse Bang, and I'm currently trying my hand at a writing response to them! The first chapter of SATURATION is up on ao3 now! Check it out, and more importantly, go give some love to these incredible artists and all the folks who contributed to @ckreversebang

[teecupangel]

I have been thinking what about if Desmond turned into a Pegasus, a Hippogriff or even better a Griffin. I just really like the image of Desmond's ancestors riding into battle or just flat out jumps from Desmond's back mid flight leap of faith style.

To be honest I like Griffin Desmond more. The combination of bird of prey and big feline is just so fitting for the Assassin's Brotherhood. Aerial superiority plus the stealth agility and flexibility of a cat. Plus imagine Altaïr finding cub Desmond during AC1 and thinking he is just a cat sized chubby ball of fluff that can fly and claw at the enemies faces (and also curl up with him at night and purr, Desmond's feathers and fur are very soft). Then fast forward a few years where baby is all grown up, can claw through steel and armor, is bigger than most horses and capable of easily carrying two people comfortably on his back and still have space for a third (that doesn't stop Desmond from sleeping in Altaïr's bed much to Altaïr's delight displeasure).

Also could put some AltMal in there with cub Desmond helping mend their relationship (Kadar is alive because I said so, maybe he saved him at the cave). And bringing those two for a nice flight.

Desmond goes down in Assassin history as a legendary creature whose chosen rider/companion goes on to do great things.

I wrote a pegasus idea but I can’t seemed to find it :(

I think I also wrote Griffin version but I’m soooo unsure so… have this little scene instead? XD

.

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It was the sounds of quick feet hastily walking away that alerted him.

Altaïr raised his head and placed the quill back to the small ink bottle next to the journal he had been writing on, the two pages filled with the ongoing designs for Desmond’s armor with notes all over concerning the materials and possible alternatives.

He stood and waited for Malik to open the door to reach the mentor’s office from the second floor of the main keep. Altaïr kept his face blank, observing Malik’s face.

He was frowning with lips set on a grim line.

But his eyes did not bore any darkness nor blaze.

So… annoyed but not murderous or angry.

Altaïr could work with that.

… he just have to find out what he did wrong this time before Malik’s annoyance boiled into anger.

“Malik…” Altaïr greeted cautiously with a nod.

“Follow me.”

With that said, Malik walked out of the office and Altaïr grabbed the journal, not wishing it to be seen by anyone. He kept it open though because of the ink but followed Malik quietly, ignoring the way the other Assassins and scholars rushed (while walking) out of their way.

Malik led him to their private quarters and Altaïr was trying to remember if he had forgotten something.

Did he leave books haphazardly again?

No.

Altaïr was sure all the books had been organized this morning. He hadn’t even touched any of them, having been woken up by Kadar before dawn because of a new merchant who thought he could pull a fast one on Kadar with the absurd prices he had set for supplies.

Well…

Kadar was the reason why he had woken up but it was Kadar’s assistant, a young Assassin who had to leave the field due to a severe injury, that had woke him up and begged him to intervene before Kadar pushed the merchant off the fortress wall and make it look like an accident.

… not that it ever happened before.

Was it because Altaïr left in a hurry with no time to-

No.

Malik wouldn’t be annoyed by something so small.

They entered the room and Malik led him to…

Ah.

“Care you tell me about your bedwarmer when I’m not here?” Malik asked dryly.

To anyone else, they would probably assume Malik thought Altaïr had been spending the night with another behind his back.

But…

Desmond stared at them, wings twitching slightly as he remained curled on the bed, currently in disarray with feathers all over.

One of the pillows (the blue one that no one really uses anyway) had been eviscerated, its guts flowing out from the telltale talon marks.

“I can explain.” Altaïr started.

It was bound to happen.

Malik didn’t know that Desmond would come into their room and sleep with Altaïr whenever he was away.

Altaïr wasn’t even sure if Desmond did it to comfort Altaïr or if he wanted some comfort but it had been a habit they formed since he found Desmond as a cub, so small he could fit in one of Altaïr’s arms effortlessly.

Malik raised an eyebrow as he said, “Alright, I’m listening.”

Desmond slowly got up and tried to make himself look small (a fruitless effort considering his actual size) while crawling towards the now open door.

“Desmond.”

Desmond froze at the sound of Malik’s voice.

“Stay.”

Desmond stared at Altaïr, his big eyes seemingly becoming bigger, glistening with plea.

Altaïr turned his eyes away.

Desmond made an almost clicking sound before walking towards Altaïr, going on his haunches next to him.

“Well…” Malik glared at Altaïr, “Go ahead, Altaïr.”

Altaïr stared at Malik and wondered.

… what the hell was he supposed to explain?

[frankiebirds]

underrated line. what a question.

(unclear from the screenshots so here's who says what: ELLE: Yesterday I found myself looking forward to watching a soap opera. REID: Which one?)