#they’re awful but such a good villain

[lavenderjewels]

ignoring the devastation of the scene, the geto kenjaku reveal in shibuya is fun after getting to know kenjakus character along the way because, looking back, you can tell they were ecstatic not only for tricking gojo (and a six eyes user) but for how they dramatically set the scene. Like?? “Who are you?” “Geto Suguru. [clutches hand to chest] Did you forget? How sad 🤭” Then the brain grinning along with getos body, and kenjaku holding out geto’s scalp straight to gojo’s face… evil but i respect the drama of the situation

[ID: Four cropped panels of Kenjaku from Jujutsu Kaisen. The first is him smiling with a hand to their chest saying “Suguru Geto, of course. Did you forget? How sad.” The second is them smiling and holding out their scalp while saying “I coveted his cursed manipulation and these exact circumstances. You didn’t have Shoko Ieiri get rid of Suguru Geto’s body, did you?” The third is Kenjaku grinning and revealing their brain while saying “How’d you know?” The last is him swinging around Geto’s scalp on a finger. End ID.]

[turtleblogatlast]

No but like every time I think about Splinter and what he had to go through just to keep the boys alive, my heart hurts for him so badly. Is he perfect? No not at all, but none of them are and by god does he love his sons.

The fact that all of them are alive, and grew to thrive despite the circumstances surrounding them is a testament of how much Splinter loves his boys. He raised four babies following the most traumatic time of his life, all alone with nothing but the sewers to house them (to hide them.) I feel like he’s not given the credit he deserves for all he’s done.

And I get that it’s easy to hold up his flaws and faults when it comes to parenting, I myself like looking into them because flawed characters are super interesting and said flaws make them more realistic and engaging, but he tries, and again, so many others would have given up on the boys or failed along the way but Splinter didn’t.

He’s their father, for all his faults he did his damndest to make sure they survived.

[eldest-daughters]

shameless self promo for new fic (DONT YELL AT ME IM STILL TRYING TO FINISH UP BURNT)

It’s a race car au NYOOM

Trolls Discord was popping off one night and I then in turn birthed this. I have little knowledge of stock car racing but I have a lot of knowledge on how to make things dramatic 💥 please hve a look see thank u

[tovaicas]

my real favourite character is Nidhogg, I’m only obsessed with Estinien bc he’s a hangers-on /jokes

[911bts]

Eddie’s Season 8 mustache, which showrunner Tim Minear confirms to TVLine is a “manifestation of something that’s going on within him,” has taken social media by storm — but we’re sad to report that, like all good things, it won’t last forever. Minear says the emotional reason behind the ‘stache will be explored “in an episode where he shaves it off.” Speaking of mustaches, Buck has an especially difficult time bowing to Gerrard as the 118’s new captain. (“He’s awful, and he’s an awfully fun character to have in the mix.”) On the bright side, Buck’s relationship with Tommy is going strong (“They’re still getting to know each other a little better”), so at least he’ll have someone to complain to after a long day of putting up with his racist, sexist, homophobic boss. Meanwhile, Bobby becomes a technical advisor on a “ridiculous firefighter show that’s nothing like reality”; Councilwoman Ortiz will remain a thorn in Hen and Karen’s sides as they fight to get their foster care license reinstated; newlyweds Maddie and Chimney weigh the pros and cons of growing their own family; and the return of a familiar face from Athena’s past will force her to “deal with a seminal event in her canonical life.”

BONUS SPOILER!: The two recurring villains of Season 8, Captain Gerrard and Councilwoman Ortiz, are “connected in many ways,” Minear hints.

[deadsetobsessions]

“I think I’m going to move to Gotham,” Jazz’s tapped away at her laptop, clicking through her college acceptance letters. Danny sat up from where he was scrolling through his phone and stared at her. “Thoughts?”

“And prayers,” he sassed. “Because you’re going to need them. Why the would you pick Gotham when Harvard accepted you?”

“Gotham has Arkham. And Doctor Quinzel.”

“Isn’t she Harley Quinn? The Crime Princess of Gotham?”

“Yeah, and an acclaimed psychologist with hundreds of published work that revolutionized the mental health field! Sure, she’s more criminally inclined now, but I’d kill to pick her brains.”

Danny grinned. “Interesting word choice. You’d fit right in. It’s just weird that all of their psychologists turned into villains.”

“Okay, but I won’t. You’d stop me.”

“Or I’d join you,” Danny rolled back onto the floor.

“Don’t you dare, Daniel Fenton. You’d better stop me if I went villain.”

“But I feel like you’d have a pretty good reason for it though?”

“I appreciate the trust, dumbass, but I’m always this close to loosing it.” Jazz rolled her eyes as she jabbed a finger at Danny.

“Hah! You’ll fit right into Gotham!”

Jazz hummed. “So, Gotham?”

“Yeah, why not?”

——

“Danny!”

“Little busy!” Danny dodged a blast from a GIW agent.

“Why’d you pick up, then?”

“You don’t call often- hey, can you guys knock it off? I’m on a call!” Danny shouted. Surprisingly the agents stopped.

“Woah. You guys actually stopped?”

“We’re anti-ghost, not rude cavemen. Finish your call, Phantom, so we can get back to capturing you.” The agent with red hair said. Her partner nodded their head.

“Riiiight.” Phantom floated away a bit. “What did you want to talk about?” He asked Jazz.

“So, Dr. Quinzel-”

Danny heard a further off “Call me Harley, darling!”

“Harley,” Jazz continued seamlessly. “Is dating Ivy, a meta! Which, totally cute and their relationship is so healthy. Goals, honestly-”

Danny heard another far off comment, “Awe, thanks, Jazzy-wazzy!”

“But long story short, they got in touch with the Justice League about the GIW and they’re getting pulled back! And disbanded! Are you fighting the agents? Can you see if they’ve got the order to pull back?”

“Wait, seriously?” Danny perked up, the exhaustion from the fight all but gone. “I’ll ask.”

Danny turned to the two agents, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Hey! Did you guys get orders to stop hunting me? I heard the Justice League got involved.”

“What? We didn’t-”

“Shit, wait, we got orders.” Her partner jabbed their phone at her.

“Fuck. This isn’t over, Phantom!”

“Yeah, yeah! Shoo!” Danny watched them peel away. “Thanks, Jazz! Maybe I’ll finally get a peaceful school year.”

“R.I.P.” Jazz solemnly intoned.

“Dead-ass.” Danny replied, just as seriously before the both of them broke. Cackling, Danny said goodbye to Jazz.

“Maybe I should get some gifts? Hm… Undergrowth has some rare plants.” Danny muttered as he flew back home.

[f1goat]

kinda hot tho ; lando norris + part one

In which your brother has the most awful new teammate, but you keep finding yourself closer and closer to him. It's only sex - right?

lando norris x fem!verstappen reader trigger warnings: offensive language | player!lando | smut (eventually) | not proofread

a/n: this story is based on another story of mine (his teammate), in the beginning it'll have a lot of similarities, later on this will become less.

3.5k words

masterlist | playlist

It’s hard to forget about the day your older brother, Formula One driver and three time champion, Max Verstappen found out about his new teammate at RedBull. When he first heard the name of his new teammate, he laughed and thought it was a joke. However when he noticed that the team was serious about it, his mood shifted. You remember that afternoon easily. It was filled with angry phones calls, many curse words - even so many that it surprised you, and many, many complaints from your brother. 

At first, you didn’t really get it. What could possibly be the problem? Max always wanted a teammate who could challenge him on the race track. Earlier he always complained about previous teammates who weren’t any competition. So, what could the problem be? Eventually, after Max told you to Google his new teammate, his reaction started to make sense. Your first impression of his newest teammate? Trouble. Maybe even with a capital T. Or wait, probably with every letter in caps lock. 

Lando Norris seems to be the kind of driver that cares about no one. He isn’t like Lewis Hamilton who’s putting effort in all kind of good deeds for society. He’s nothing like Yuki Tsunoda who helped cleaning the streets after the flood in Imola. He’s not like Pierre Gasly and Charles Leclerc who always seems to be hanging out with each other in their spare time. He’s nothing like your brother who tries to have a good relationship with everyone on the grid. Lando Norris doesn’t seem to care about things like that.

After even more searching around you were quick to find out that Lando Norris seems to care about a couple things next to himself. Racing, of course. But, not a big surprise, he also seems to care a lot about girls. Or maybe you should rephrase that, he cares about sex. There are many stories online about him with different girls. He’s photographed with many women while making out or taking them home. Next to those girls, it seems that he mostly cares about himself. You heard from different people on the grid that Lando Norris is one of the most egocentrically drivers on the grid. He cares about himself, but nothing about others. 

There was one surprise during your stalk session online. Some guy named Max Fewtrell. It took you a lot of digging but you found someone Lando Norris really seems to care about. It looks like they’re friends. Slowly you start to find out more about the friendship. You find a couple videos of them streaming together. It’s the first video you see in which Lando Norris actually seems to have fun. Then you notice the older age of those videos. A lot must have changed in the last years. 

After stalking him online like that you feel like a proper FBI agent. Eventually you decide that your brother has spend a long time as the villain of Formula One, but it’s safe to say that Lando Norris took that title from him. He’s an arrogant ass. Media don’t know a lot about him, only about the player facade that he seems to have settled with. His socials are done by social media workers from his previous teams and now RedBull. He doesn’t post anything himself, not even a story. It seems like he has walls as high as the Mount Everest all around him.

You haven’t formally met him yet, but now with the first race happening right in front of you, that won’t be long anymore you guess. Even without meeting him, you do understand your brothers reaction. It seems like Lando Norris won’t be a nice teammate for him. Max has been complaining since he first formally met him.

“He doesn’t care about team results at all.” “He doesn’t even greet me.” “It seems like he is mean to everyone on the team.” “He doesn’t give a fuck about anything else then himself.” 

You can dream about Max his complains. It’s a shame, really. On paper it seemed like they could have been great teammates. Even a match for a friendship maybe. Your brother has put his reputation aside and is well liked by his friends, co-drivers and many fans. At first you thought that Max could get Lando to be a bit more open, but it didn’t work like that. 

Some pretty frustrated sounds awake you from your thoughts. You almost forget that you were setting in the RedBull garage and there’s a race going on right now. It’s your first race in a long time. It’s also the first race of the season. You wonder what those sounds caused. Multiple team members are making annoyed sounds in the mean time. You watch at the screen. When you look at it, you’re quick to notice what’s going wrong. There are two cars of the track. Two cars who previously drove on top. Two drivers who are going down in the ranks with three small, but feared, letters next to their name. DNF. When they play the replay, you see what everyone else already saw. 

Lando and your brother pushed each other off the track. 

Fucking idiots. You can’t think anything else than that right now. You’re tempted to say that it’s Lando his fault, that the team should blame him. But, you can’t. You don’t know enough about the rules to make such statements. And, how longer you look at the replay how more you doubt. It almost seems like a racing incident in which the both of them take too much space from each other. Were they testing each other? Wondering which of them would back out first? Apparently neither. They would both rather crash. What a great team. 

It’s your brothers teammate who’s first to arrive back at the motorhome. This race week you’ve barely seen him. You have only seen him from distrance. That seems to change now. Of course, you’ve seen photographs, video’s and even TikTok edits from him before, but it’s only now that you realize how he actually looks. You can’t help yourself and stare at him. The angry look on his face is hard to miss. You want to say that it’s a shame that he looks so angry. You’ve seen enough ‘normal’ pictures in which you found yourself liking the looks of him. Yes, you don’t like him - but even you can’t deny that he’s beautiful. You like the way his curls seem to have a mind of their own. You like it how he always seems to be dressed in a casual hoodie, no matter the temperature. Something about him breathes calmness. At least, normally. 

You want to say that it’s a shame that he looks angry. But you can’t. In some weird and twisted way you can only think about how hot he looks when he’s angry. Fuck. 

“What the fuck was that Norris?”

It’s Christian Horner who is the first one to say something. You shiver from the harsh tone he uses. Max told you before that Christian is pretty good at getting angry, but it almost never happens with his own team. You start to fear for his reaction to Max. 

“I told you to keep it clean!” Christian continues to shout when he doesn’t get a reply from Lando fast enough. This time Lando is ready to react. You notice the way his eyes darken and how he clenches his jaw. Why does he look only hotter like this?

“Tell that to your other driver,” Lando sneers, “The fucker crashed into me.”

You can actually hear the frustration dripping from Lando his words. You don’t like it. Neither do you like the way he tries to paint your brother as the bad guy here. They both did it. 

“I don’t care if you have any plans for the rest of the day, you can cancel them all. Max, you and me are going to talk until we’re sure this won’t happen again,” Christian states.

“Oh fuck off,” Lando sighs with an angry tone in his voice, “We’ll fight it out on track like actual race drivers.” You notice how his volume is getting higher with every word he speaks. He’s almost screaming by now.

“Like you did today?” Christian asks annoyed. Lando nods. “Oh great! That’s such a great fucking plan. Let’s just crash every race and ruin the whole season. Don’t you think?” Christian continues sarcastically. It seems like Christian has more to say, but Lando is already walking away from his teamboss. He storms off to his drivers room. 

And apparently just in time, it’s your brother who’s just walking in as well. Christian is quick to see Max as well. He’s even quicker to start shouting at him as well. It’s the same things he told Lando before. You’re not in the mood for another screaming match. You know your brother well enough to know that this one will take a while. Max isn’t the type to walk away from them like Lando just did. Plus, you guess he’s pretty frustrated and ready to tell Christian all about that. That’s why you decide to walk away from all the screaming that’s going on. You rather spend some time in Max his drivers room until it’s a bit more calmed down. 

There’s only one small problem. Max did show you his driver room. He did tell you that you could be there whenever you wanted. However, it was during a whole tour that he showed you where his drivers room was. So, you aren’t really sure where it is anymore. A bit clueless you do however start your search. 

You wander around for a bit. You wonder why they haven’t gotten name tags around the different rooms. Eventually you’re pretty sure that you’re in the right hall way. Only one problem left, which one of the two doors is the one you should have? You’re well aware that if you chose the wrong door, you’re going to meet Lando Norris. And it doesn’t really seem to be the right timing for something like that. 

Eventually you do chose one of the doors. 

“Fuck off.”

Of course, you chose the wrong one. That must be your luck. You barely dare to look up right now, you’re sure that Lando is already sending you angry looks right now. His tone said more then enough. When you do look up, you’re quick to meet Lando his angry eyes. You should be worried about that. However, you seem to find yourself distracted when you notice that Lando isn’t wearing more then his underwear right now. 

“Shit, sorry,” you stammer nervously, “I thought..”

You can’t even finish your sentence. Lando is quick to interrupt you. 

“You thought what?” He asks you. “Did you thought that you could come here to talk to me about how I fucked up your dear brothers race?” He continues to sneer. 

You actually don’t know what to say right now. A small part of you is surprised that Lando even seems to know who you are, or at least that your Max’s sister. But every other part of you is getting more mad with the second. What did he just say? How does he even come up with things like that? What a dick.

“Are you fucking deaf?” Lando asks you annoyed. “I don’t care about you, your brother or what happened on the track so don’t try to make me.”

You start to get angry as well now. Who does this boy think he is to talk to you like this? Doesn’t he know the word respect? He’s even worse then you already thought. Lando keeps looking at you. For the first time you focus your gaze on him as well. You feel a small trial of shivers over your back when you have eye contact with him, but you don’t break the contact.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You ask him with an annoyed tone in your voice.

“You’re in my fucking room,” Lando reacts.

“I’m not,” you argue, “I’m standing in the doorway, trying to apologize for even opening the door because I thought this was Max his room.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because someone here started to talk to me like I’m some sort of idiot,” you sneer.

“Save it princess,” Lando sneers at you again. 

“Don’t call me that,” you grunt.

“Oh sorry,” Lando sarcastically states, “princess.”

“Stop acting like such a dick,” you sigh annoyed. 

“Not an act babygirl,” Lando tells you, “It’s just how I am.”

“Compromising what you’re missing?” 

That seems to annoy him. “What the fuck do you mean?” Lando asks you annoyed. 

“Do you have to say fuck in almost every sentence?” You sigh. 

Lando steps closer to you. He seems to be waiting for some sort of explanation. You wonder if he doesn’t get the joke or that he thinks you’re serious about it. The only thing you did is implying he has a small dick - and with the way he acts, it’s not like he can’t blame you for saying something like that. You’re getting more and more mad. Lando is even getting closer to you then he was. You can barely stop yourself from taking a step backwards. You don’t want him to know that he’s intimidating you. 

In the mean time Lando wonders about you. Why aren’t you backing down? He takes another step closer to you. He’s feeling the air you’re blowing out on his skin by now. You still don’t take a step backwards. You keep staring at him. It amazes him. 

You look at the frustrated glance in his eyes. It’s a shame you’ve only seen him angry, frustrated and annoyed today. Not a good day to meet with him apparently. 

“What am I missing?” Lando continues to ask you with the same mad tone in his voice.

“I guess that if you feel like you have to act like such a dick, that’s because you’re having a rather small one,” you eventually tell him. 

Lando lets out a low chuckle. “You think I have a small dick?” He asks you.

“Yeah, but I also think that you’re arrogant, don’t have a lot of friends and that you’re a massive player who doesn’t know how love feels,” you slap back. You don’t know where those words came from. The frustration is getting to you. 

Lando is silent for a couple seconds. This is new for him. It’s been a long time since someone said things like this to him. Things he might deserve, but he won’t say that. Eventually he sends you another angry glare. This time he actually takes his time to look at you. Of course he knows you’re the little sister of his new teammate. He has seen some pictures of you before. Yesterday he saw you in your brothers side of the garage. At that point he was trying to get some courage to flirt with you, but eventually he didn’t. Now he’s just surprised about the things you’re saying. Why does he like your attitude?

“I don’t have a small dick princess,” Lando eventually states confidently.

“Great to fucking know,” you reply annoyed, “maybe you can start acting like it.” You don’t wait for another reply from Lando. You’re not in the mood for endless discussions. “I just wanted to say sorry for entering the wrong room, but forget it. I’ll gladly leave you alone Norris,” you tell him. 

With those words you turn away from him. You quickly walk towards the other room, this time finally entering Max his drivers room. You feel Lando his eyes burning on your body. 

Before you can close the door behind you, you hear Lando his voice once more. “Just wait till you find out how big it is,” he tells you. Why does he sound so serious? As if he’d want that. His words sends shivers through your body. Fuck, why have those words such an impact on you?

“I bet you’d beg for it,” Lando adds.

You still feel his eyes on your back. His stare burns on your body. But that isn’t your main concern right now. His words are doing all kind of things to you. You can’t stop thinking about him making you beg for his cock. Fuck. You remind yourself about his awful personality. How you only tried to apologize to him and this is the result of it. He’s a dick. You should be thinking about that, not about his dick. 

But, you still can’t deny that he’s hot.

You slam the door shut before Lando can say anything else. What you don’t see is how he’s still staring at the closed door with a small grin plastered on his face. He wonders when he’ll see you again. Suddenly his new teammate doesn’t seem so bad anymore, at least if he continues to take you to races.

+++

Later that night you’re standing in a short white dress in front of your mirror. Max is sitting on your hotel bed. He lets out a soft sigh when he continues to complain about his new teammate. You try to focus on his words, but also do your make up in the mean time. While applying some mascara, Max complains further.

“He’s just the absolute worst,” Max sighs, “I’ve spend hours in that small office from Christian so we could talk it out. But he didn’t apologize for anything. Even I apologized for going a bit wide, but he didn’t say anything. He just acted like I wasn’t there.”

It pains you to see how much trouble your brother has with his new teammate. You’re not used to this anymore. “How further?” You ask your brother, “I can’t imagine that RedBull will drop him, so you have to find some way to make this bearable. Right?”

“Yeah,” Max sighs annoyed, “but I have no idea how.”

You’re doubting to tell Max about your own small encounter with Lando. Max is already mad at the guy, so it might be stupid to make it worse. On the other hand, it would be nice to talk about it with your brother. You’re in the mood to vent about what happened. And, who’s better to vent to then someone who also hates Lando Norris? 

“You know,” you eventually start, “I also met him.”

Max is quick to give you his attention. You spray on some perfume before continuing with your story. The only thing you’re still doubting about is telling Max about the later subject from your encounter with Lando. It seems weird to tell your brother that it was about his teammates dick. Right? 

“He’s the absolute worst,” Max tells you after you told him the story globally. You did let out the part about you calling his dick small and how Lando told you that you’d probably beg for it. You nod at your brother as a form of agreement. However, now you think back about the last part of the conversation with Lando you feel shivers over your body all over again. 

“I don’t like asking things like this from you, but please keep your distance from him,” Max eventually speaks up. You show Max a small nod. “I don’t trust him,” Max continues to sigh, “and I just know he’s going to use me to annoy me even more.”

“I get it Max,” you quickly speak up, “I’ll keep my distance.”

You search for a pair of shoes in your suitcase in the mean time. You’re sure that you packed that one pair that match with your white dress. When you find them, you’re quick to put them on. After that you look in the mirror again. You feel cute. Maybe it’s because of the white color on your sun tanned skin, but you feel yourself getting confident. 

“Thanks,” Max tells you in the mean time, “I’ll try to become better teammates with him, hopefully this won’t too long.”

“You realize that when you’re friendly with him, I can’t really keep my distance right?” You ask Max.

Max nods. “Just watch out around him,” he tells you, “I’ve heard enough stories about girls who did trust him and that didn’t end nicely for them. He’s a massive player.” Before you can reply again, Max is continuing to speak. “Let’s get going,” he says, “I’m ready for some drinks after today.”

You chuckle. After the weird day you just had, you more then ready to let loose in the club tonight. You can’t wait to forget all about Lando Norris after drinking a couple cocktails and having fun. However, that doesn’t seem to happen.

Not even an small hour later you’ve enjoyed one cocktail and trying to order the second one at the busy bar. It’s your brother who’s interrupting your peace. “He’s here!” Your brother yells at you. You wonder about who he’s talking. It doesn’t take you long to find out.

It’s Lando Norris.

Of course it is.

part two

a/n: let me know what you think! and if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[wonderjanga]

What if Marvel got Amnesia

So basically, Billy as Marvel gets hit with a memory wipe spell. Only, the spell is so strong he gets amnesia so far back he now thinks he’s a former champion that came even before Adam.

In case you can’t tell, this is really bad, because in their eyes, they just suddenly woke up in what was practically another world. (They’d be from like 5000 BC) So, naturally, they brush off the rubble and look around what looked to be the aftermath of a fight. They fly out of the building, and holy moly, where in the God’s were they? They’re looking around the architecture of Fawcett in both awe and confusion. They’re also confused as to why all the citizens are looking at them strangely and whispering. (He isn’t smiling. Captain Marvel isn’t smiling. He’s always smiling, why isn’t he now?) Cue them whooping absolute ass, like wasting no time and turning themself into an human electricity bomb and blowing up whatever warehouse they and Sivana were in. This continues until the Marvel misses a JL meeting cause, you know, they doesn’t remember. Which, is rare for Marvel, but not uncommon. So Former Champion Marvel keeps handling business. Meanwhile, the JL is getting increasingly worried, Marvel hasn’t show up for his monitor shifts and They actually act a lot like Billy, they do the helping old ladies cross the road, helping cats out of trees, and helping lost kids find their parents. So, the Fawcett citizens know something is wrong, but something isn’t completely wrong. Their hero’s probably just having a bad day… or couple weeks… or couple months. During all this time, the champion went back to the Rock of Eternity and talked to wizard after figuring out the whole thing with the brazier, and the wizard is like, “okay, this isn’t that bad” and if anything, it isn’t, he supposes. He gets to spend time with one of his dead kinda-kids. But he also has to figure out a spell to reverse this. Now, the whole thing comes to a head when the JL has had enough and sends Flash and GL, buddies of Marvel to ask him what’s wrong, because if the champion was mad, he certainly wouldn’t drag it out this long. This ends with Former Champion Marvel trying to fight the both of them (successfully winning, and dropping a lore bomb on Flash that he’s (Former Champ) met a speedster and dropping some cold ass line like “all over you are the same” or something like that) because he thinks their villains. Soon after the fight, the wizard figures out the spell, gets Former to cast it and boom, Billy’s back and has to explain why he beat the crap out of Flash and GL, and by extension, had to explain why he didn’t go to the Watchtower for a bit and stuff. (Also he had to explain to Freddy and Mary as to why he was transformed for like a good two months)

The end.

[always-just-red]

I loved the Drunked Call with Sylus scenario you made! I like the way you write it and I see you accepting request hehe. Can I request about... Sylus, Zayne and Caleb reaction meeting fem!reader, dates or accidentally met (you name it) and they noticed her long hair has been attached with chewed bubblegum? some kid pulled a prank on her before and she didn't even aware of it

Aw thank you so much!! 💕 I did different pranks for each of the boys just to keep things interesting- I hope you don't mind! They're all equally silly haha, and I had SO much fun writing them. Added Xavier and Raf for good measure, too!

It's Just Not Your Day...

L&DS Boys (& Caleb!) x Reader

Summary: It's you against the kids of Linkon City, and guess what? The kids are winning.

Genre: Humour + fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, reader gets a little stressed (and with some of these boys you can understand why 🙃)

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

One of the perks of being a Deepspace Hunter is the way people look at you. You’re used to respect: appreciative nods and gestures, wide-eyed admiration. You’re out in Linkon almost every day, putting your life on the line for everyone in the city. You’re a hero, right?

So why is everyone looking at you so… funny?

“Xavier,” you speak in a hushed whisper, tugging at the sleeve of your partner’s uniform. “I don’t like this. Something weird is going on.”

He yawns. “What do you mean?”

Can he really not see it? Sure enough, a businessman strolls past you, his eyes locked on you as he frowns, mid-telephone call. You think he even stumbles on his words. “Just look around,” you whisper again. Someone is watching you from across the street, their head cocked.   

Xavier is already looking around. You’re on patrol; that’s sort of the point. But he trusts you, so he follows your instruction: casting his sky-blue eyes around a little more carefully. They narrow. “Sorry,” he says, because you’re usually on the same page, “what are you talking about exactly?”

You fold your arms impatiently. “People are looking at us, Xavier.”

“Oh, I…” he seems to hesitate, “I think they’re just looking at you.”

The words could be romantic, but you don’t get the impression they’re intended to be. He’s implying something. He’s uncertain. “What makes you say that?” you ask, hands moving to your hips.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I think it’s your, you know—” his finger waggles in front of his mouth.

You don’t know. “My what?”

“Your moustache.”

“What?”

Your hand shoots to your upper lip, but you don’t feel anything out of the ordinary. Xavier is staring, though, so you reach for your phone and turn the camera on yourself.

A black, cartoon-villain moustache has been sketched onto your face.

You gape at your reflection. “H��� how…?” you stutter, tracing your new feature. Then a memory of this morning flashes through your mind: how you’d fallen asleep on the train to work. How there were those two schoolkids, sniggering, when you’d woken up just in time for your stop. Ugh. Really?

Wait— this morning?!

“Xavier!” you exclaim, turning to him like you’d just found his sword in your back. “Why didn’t you say something?”

It’s just gone three in the afternoon, and he’s been with you for hours. “I thought you knew,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck gingerly.

“You thought I…” You’re too bewildered, too betrayed to repeat it fully. Worst of all you feel guilty; how the hell can he look so freaking innocent? You turn back to your phone, desperately trying to rub the ink from your skin. It doesn’t budge. It doesn’t fade.

“Are you ok?” Xavier asks.

Of course you’re not ok, you feel like an idiot. Your cheeks are hot and the redness is spreading to the rest of your face as you fail to reclaim any of your dignity. “No,” you spit back, “honestly, Xavier, how could you just let me walk around like I’m some kind of—”

You glance up to discover he’s no longer listening. He’s not even here; he’s over there, talking to an old man who’s sat completing a sudoku. Great. Wonderful. Why not? At least one of you is making a good impression on the citizens of Linkon City.

With your eyes close to watering, you have one last, futile attempt at wiping the moustache from your upper lip. It’s not working. Gods, you’re gonna be stuck like this, aren’t you?

Someone taps you on the shoulder, and you look up to see Xavier, back at your side. He smiles reassuringly, sporting a drawn-on moustache of his own. The ends of it are curled even more theatrically than yours.

“Xavier…” you half-laugh in surprise, your eyes watering even more. “Why would you—? Now we both look stupid.”

“I look stupid,” he corrects, running a thumb over your wet cheek. “You look really pretty, moustache or not.”

Zayne ❄

“What… happened?”

You sit across from Zayne on a picturesque park bench, like something from a postcard: blue sky stretched above, wildflowers sprouting from the grass below. Birds are singing, butterflies are flittering about, and even the doctor looks perfect— unmarred by the first half of his work day, no matter how stressful it’s been.

It’s a fairy tale you covet: a little reunion with the man you love, on the odd occasion where your lunchbreaks match up and he isn’t drowning in paperwork. And it would be a fairy tale, if it wasn’t for you. You— your uniform soaked and your hair dripping wet. The wooden bench has gone damp beneath you; you’ve literally only just sat down.

“Gee, I don’t know, Zayne,” you hiss, face almost buried in your phone, “what do you think?”

Not too far away from you, some kids are locked in a water-gun battle, their shrieks of laughter loud and infuriating. Zayne glances between you and them, making his deductions. “Why—” he starts.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sniff, wiping your forehead with the back of your sleeve. “They messed with the wrong person, and we’re gonna make sure they know it.”

“We’re going to?”  

“Yeah. Me and you. That a problem?”

You shoot him a glare that sends a shiver down even his spine. “No,” he answers quickly— a survival instinct, uncharacteristically submissive— but his composure returns as you turn back to your phone. “Haven’t you got—”

Another dark look.

“Haven’t we got better things to do than start a war with some children in the park?”

“Not really. Justice is justice.” You shrug before pointing a finger at yourself. “Deepspace hunter.” Then at him. “Cardiac surgeon. Precision is kind of our thing, right? They really don’t stand a chance.” You’re laughing, now: “Gods, I almost feel sorry for them.”

Zayne has been watching your descent into madness with a calmness that does him credit. When he interrupts, it’s gentle. “I don’t think—”

Too gentle; you don’t hear him. “Pick your poison, Dr. Zayne!” Your phone is angled at him to reveal the all-too accessible armoury of an online store. “You’ve got your standard water pistols. Your water blasters.” You’re scrolling and indicating his choices as though you’re the salesman. “This one has two options, single shot or power shot, and— ooh! Look at this one! The AquaJet3000!”

With a soft laugh, Zayne pushes your phone out of his face. He would buy anything you’re selling, although— having seen the prices on your screen— he knows he’d be bankrupt within a week. “Linkon City is fortunate to have you defending it, and whilst I would be honoured, as always, to fight at your side, I was hoping we could… relax. You’re on a break, remember?”

You pout as he peels a wet strand of hair from your cheek. “Justice doesn’t take breaks.”

“Well, justice is going to have to on this occasion, because I said so.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “Besides, you shouldn’t fight fire with fire, or water with water. A lot of people look up to you, you know. Me included. So, set a better example. Save violence for the Wanderers.”  

It ought to be patronising: him, lecturing you on right and wrong when you’ve already added three types of water-gun to your virtual cart. He’s always so righteous. So collected. So moral. You want to be mad at him, but how can you be when he’s looking at you like that? Like he thinks the world of you, even when you’re plotting revenge against ten-year-olds.

You have a point to make, so you fold your arms and turn your back on him, even though he’s making your heart feel so frustratingly warm and fuzzy.

“I have something for you,” he says quietly.

To hell with the point. “What is it?” you ask, spinning eagerly around.

He smiles as he retrieves something he’d concealed behind him. It’s a small-ish box, pale pink, with patterns printed to emulate white lace. There’s a logo in the centre and you recognise it at once. “No way,” you enthuse, “that new bakery finally opened?”

You’ve both been waiting for months. “I couldn’t resist when I saw it,” he confirms, lifting the lid. Inside sit two unbelievably pretty cupcakes, buttercream icing spiralled high and adorned with sprinkles of gold leaf. Zayne plucks one from the box. “Perhaps—” he offers it to you— “perhaps this can make you feel better? Without us needing to, well… attack children.”

You giggle; it does sound pretty stupid when he puts it like that. “Thanks, Zayne,” you grin, reaching out for your reward. You’re glad one of you is vaguely sensible— those water-guns were expensive.

The cake is an inch from your fingers when a jet of water sends it flying from Zayne’s hand. It lands at your feet with an unceremonious splat, and from somewhere behind you, laughter roars.

The doctor blinks down at it in disbelief, his hand still hovering beside yours. He grieves for a long moment, then looks to you solemnly like you’re a colleague and he’s about to ask for a scalpel:

“The AquaJet3000,” he says.  

Rafayel 🎨

“Rafayel, call me stupid one more time, and I’ll—”

You’ll… you’ll… what? He’s looking back at you with wide eyes, his hands frozen when they had just a moment ago been drying the plate you’d handed him. He has some nerve, pretending he’s the victim when he’s spent the entire evening insulting you. This is supposed to be a wholesome moment of domesticity— doing the dishes together before he has to disappear to a late-night gala— so why is he ruining it? Ever since you got home, it’s been: so how was your day, stupid? Hey, stupid, want a hand washing up?

He said he was fine with you sitting out the gala tonight, but maybe he’s not.

“I’ll do this,” you finish, lifting a palmful of suds from the sink and raising them to your lips, ready to blow.

“Puh-lease, you bought me this suit. You really think I can’t tell when you’re bluff— hey, wait! Stop!”

You do blow the bubbles at him, and he recoils, holding the plate and dishcloth up to defend himself. He blocks some of them, but not all of them. “Honestly, Raf, if you’re not ok with me skipping out on tonight then you can just say so.”  

He puts the plate gently aside. “I mean, of course I’m sad you’re not coming,” he thinks aloud as he sets about sweeping bubbles from his suit, “but I’m ok with it, really. You’ve had, like, a crazy week at work. You deserve a quiet night in.”

Compassion? Really? After you just—? Ugh. “So why were you being so mean, then?” you sigh, taking the cloth from him and dabbing away the bubbles he’s missed.

“Mean?”

“You’ve called me ‘stupid’ like fifty times in the span of, what— three hours?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs innocently. “Because you told me to.”

Huh? You stop what you’re doing. “Since when did I—”

He reaches over your shoulder and you feel fingers on your back. “See?” he answers, bringing a piece of paper in front of you. It looks like it’s been torn hastily from a notebook, and it says, in bold, capital letters: ‘CALL ME STUPID!!’

You take the note from Rafayel sheepishly, your lips parted in surprise. How did it—? Wait. “Those kids!” you exclaim, thinking back on your walk home from work. “Oh I knew they were spouting bullshit when they said they saw a Wanderer!”

Your dish-washing companion doesn’t seem impressed by your lightbulb moment. He’s watching you, confusion etched across his face, but you can see right through it. “Rafayel!” you slap a soapy hand to his chest, “you had to call me stupid that many times before telling me?”

“I thought you wrote it. Pet names can be weird sometimes— I don’t know what you’re into.”

He’s still acting. Still lying. Fine, two can play at that game.  

You fall deathly silent, turning back to the sink to retrieve the bowl you’d dropped in there the last time he’d called you your new ‘pet name���. “I guess it suits me,” you mumble, half to yourself.

“What d’you mean, cutie?”

He can call you cutie as many times as he wants; you’re out for blood. You give the bowl another once-over with a sponge. “Some hunter I am. Can’t even tell when some kids are messing with me.”

Rafayel frowns. “Hey, it’s been a long week, yeah? You’re just tired.”

“Tired,” you echo, and you drop the bowl back into the water with a dramatic plop. “Tired? No. I’m exhausted. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work, there’s always… something. To make me feel like an idiot. To make me feel… stupid.”

“Hey,” Rafayel tries again, and his voice is fraught with worry. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’re not stupid. I’m stupid. I’m supposed to make you feel better and instead I was just screwing around. I’m sorry, ok? Don’t be sad. Please?”

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, resting his chin on the top of your head. You don’t give in, not at first, but then you hug him back. “Thanks, Raf. I’m ok— really.” You hear his phone buzz from where he’s left it on the counter. “You should go. Thomas will kill you if you’re late.”

“Nah, he needs me,” the artist chuckles. “You get first dibs, though. You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Yeah,” you laugh quietly back; your heart not quite in it. “Quiet night in, remember? Go on. Go.”

He steps away from you, though not before planting a light kiss on your cheek. “I’ll make it up to you when I get home,” he says, collecting his phone and the rest of his things. He gives you another kiss when he’s done, dodging your efforts to shoo him away. “Miss you already, cutie.”

“Go!”

And he does as he’s told this time, no matter how listlessly. It’s sweet he wants to stay and make things better, but he already has— he just doesn’t know it yet. It wasn’t the hug. It wasn’t the apology. You lean back against the counter with a smirk, savouring the view as he leaves.

It might have something to do with the note you’ve stuck on his back.

…

Rafayel retrieves the note the moment he closes the door behind him, stuffing it smugly into his pocket. He’ll have a story ready for you, by the time he gets home, about just how much you humiliated him. About how he walked around for a good hour before Thomas spotted the note and gave him a lecture about his ‘image’.

He smiles to himself; he’s a really good boyfriend.

Sylus 🩸

“You should know better than to keep me waiting, sweetie.”

Oh, great. This is just what you need.

You peek over the saddle of your motorcycle from where you’re crouched behind it. “Hey, Sylus,” you greet. The man is watching you, his arms folded. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Sorry?” he repeats, an eyebrow raised sceptically. “What— no ‘patience is a virtue, Sylus,’ no ‘oh please, Sylus, we both know you’ve nothing better to do?’”

You had disappeared behind your bike again, but you steal another glance at him. “Wow,” you marvel, “is this what you did before we met? Have arguments with yourself?”

“More or less,” he smiles dryly, then shrugs: “I’m not bad, as far as sparring partners go. You of all people can vouch for that. Besides, what were my other options? Mephisto?” He laughs. “Luke and Kieran?” He laughs harder.

“I’d rate Mephisto above you,” you add distractedly, no longer looking at him.

“Is that right?” he purrs, and it’s very obvious he doesn’t believe you.

He sounds close— too close— so you stand, re-entering his eyeline so he doesn’t come closer. Gods, this is embarrassing. Those stupid kids; he’s gonna have a field day if he finds out. “Yeah.” You wipe your hands slowly with a cloth, disguising the fact that your mind is scrambling. “The things that bird comes up with, just… scathing, honestly. Emotionally devastating.”

“Oh really?” Sylus tuts. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine where he gets it from.”

You smile back at him, resting your hands on your hips. You do feel bad, actually; you’d completely forgotten you were supposed to meet him this morning for breakfast before work. He’d received no texts to cancel. No calls. How long was he waiting at that sweet little café you’d picked out?

Then again, this morning isn’t really going to your plan, either.

“Something wrong with your bike?” he asks, because he’s already figured out that much. “Besides the usual, I mean.”

Your smile drops. Your whole act drops. “It’s nothing, Sylus.”

“You’ve already stood me up this morning, sweetie. Are you really going to lie to me, too?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. Fine. “Some kids graffitied it, ok?”

“This piece of junk? Really?” He toes the front wheel of it, then catches onto the withering look you’re sending him. “Oh no,” he tries again, with absolutely no enthusiasm, “what a dreadful crime against such an advanced, state-of-the-art vehicle.”

Prick. You keep the label behind tight lips as he wanders around the motorcycle to join you, assessing the damage. You’re stood by a bucket of water and the litany of rags you’ve used to try to scrub it clean— each one a testament to your failure. The sight alone makes you want to burst into tears. The skin of your hands is pink. Raw.

You feel cheated; you wish you were at that café right now.

Sylus taps a finger against his cheek, eyes narrowed pensively. They’re spoiled for choice of what to look at: misspelt obscenities, a generous number of crude symbols. All in permanent marker, naturally. “An improvement, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wouldn’t say. No.”

“Art is subjective.”

“Yeah? So is your face.” Not your best effort. Sylus glances up at you, amused. “Shut up,” you dismiss proactively. “Besides, this is my work vehicle. I can’t ride around Linkon on this. It would be—”

“Too staggering a blow to your professional reputation,” he finishes like he’s bored.

“This isn’t funny, Sylus.”

He points at a particularly chaotic drawing of a penis. “It is.”

You smack his hand away. “It’s not.” Your voice wobbles, ever so slightly betraying you. This is serious; you could get in trouble. You stare down at the graffiti, despair setting in.

Keys dangle in front of your eyes. “Here. Borrow my bike.”

“You’re joking, right?” You swat at them. “You really think that’s gonna help? Me— rolling up to work on a bike that costs twice my annual salary?”

“Twice? That’s cute, kitten.”

You glare at him, any guilt you felt about standing him up long gone. “Can you just stop? Being you? For like, two seconds? Please? This is the last thing I need today, Sylus. I’m gonna be late. I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of everyone. And worst of all? I was actually looking forward to seeing you this morning. Before all of this—” you gesture dejectedly at your bike— “all of this shit happened.”

Sylus is looking back at you, his arms crossed again. He does nothing for a few, slow seconds, and it’s just long enough to make you feel like you’re overreacting. Then he leans over, running a hand across your bike, and you watch as the graffiti flakes and lifts, turning to ash under the influence of his Evol.

He brushes his hands together when he’s done, straightening with a hmph and a self-satisfied smirk. Content (more than content— thoroughly impressed with himself) he turns back to you. Your bottom lip has dropped in surprise and he chuckles, reaching a finger to lift your chin. “You can thank me later, sweetie, and I intend to spend the entire day thinking about how you might. Don’t disappoint me, hmm?”  

You’re still silent, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re bristling with something other than awe and adoration. He frowns. “Sweetie?”

The second ‘sweetie’ breaks you, and not in the way he wants. You slap his chest, hard; he doesn’t really feel it.

“Sylus! You could have done that the whole time?!”

Caleb 🍎

“Sit still, dear.”

Sit still? How are you supposed to sit still when you’re brimming with rage? Every inch of your body is tense, waiting, yearning for you to spring into action. It wants you to retaliate. It wants revenge.

“I can’t, Grandma,” you whine, crossing your arms as if to hold yourself back. You’re still fidgeting on the chair as she navigates your hair with her scissors. “This sucks. Everything sucks. The only thing that could make this worse is if—”

You hear the front door swing open, then closed. Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?

Sure enough, Caleb strolls into the kitchen mere moments later. “What’s happenin’ here?” he asks, dropping a bag of groceries onto the countertop.

“Nothing,” you mumble. “Grandma’s giving me a haircut, that’s all.”

“Ok. So what’s actually happening here?” he tries again. He’s known you forever, after all; he can tell when you’re lying.

You swing a foot out at his shin as he tries to step closer. Nuh-uh. No investigating. No sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. “Nothing,” you hiss again. “Gods, Caleb. What’s your problem?”

“You’re my problem, pipsqueak.” He uses his foot to push yours away. “At least Gran’s on my side—” his amethyst eyes seek her— “can you tell me what’s going on? Please? Pretty please?”

A hand breaks their eye contact. “You don’t have to answer that, Grandma.” You glare Caleb down. “The DAA has no authority here.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

Grandma sighs; she’s had far too many years of this. “You know Mr and Mrs. Lee’s children? Down the road? Well, they—”

“Grandma!” You round on her. How long did she last— all of three seconds? You bitterly regard Caleb, your voice dark with resentment: “They put gum in my hair, ok?”

“Really?”

“Yeah." He wanted the truth, didn’t he? “They lured me in with some nonsense about a Wanderer. I didn’t realise until, well, until…” You wave at your hair. “Too late.”

He considers the story, then shrugs. It’s clearly not as thrilling as he was anticipating, because he disappears from the kitchen, leaving you and Grandma in peace once more. The silence is as uncomfortable as it is sudden. You’d expected laughter— a lot of laughter. Teasing. Maybe even a shot at how gullible you are.

You release an uneasy breath, resting your head back on the chair.

“Sit still,” Grandma repeats, nudging you, prompting you to sit up straight. “I’ve almost got it. Just one more… here!” There’s a decisive snip.

“Thanks, Grandma.” You slump again, staring up at the ceiling.

You’re not sure what you’re waiting for. Maybe for the blush of your cheeks to cool, or for a Wanderer to spring out of the floor, killing you, so you can be dead and not so embarrassed. You hear heavy footsteps— Caleb returning— and you really wish the Wanderer would hurry up.

“Caleb…” Grandma’s tone is wary. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”  

You readjust your head so you can look at him. He’s clutching what must be a dozen rolls of toilet paper; they’re piled up to just below his chin, almost spilling out over his arms. “How about it, pipsqueak?” he asks as he struggles to balance them. “A little team-up between the DAA and The Association— wanna do your part in reclaiming your neighbourhood?”

Now that’s more like it. “Fuck yes! Sorry, Grandma.”

You’re really as bad as each-other. She tuts reproachfully as you leap out of your chair, and she's disappointed, but not surprised.

[mordredsheart]

disney villains ranked by how good they would be as a toxic romantasy love interest

10. gaston. make no mistake, he ranks highly in toxicity, and would no doubt excel in one of those romance novels about douchebros reenacting the most dangerous game with nondescript brunettes. but there’s simply no way he can hold his own against the faeries and monsters and sorcerers you’ll meet in chapter three.

09. hades. lord of the underworld is a fantastic gig, but i personally feel that his reliance upon comedy and snark somewhat undercuts the promising menace of him shouting that he owns you. he’d make a real charmer of a sidequest flirtation, though, if you survive it.

08. captain hook. manipulation is the bread and butter of your common or garden toxic romantasy love interest, and we all saw the way he played poor tinker bell. it ruled. do me next. extra credit for an underplayed tragic immortal angle (hey, he’s stuck in neverland, too!) and being figuratively and literally haunted by his own doom.

07. shan yu. for a villain with limited screentime he really has a way of setting the imagination aglow. what if your village was razed by a warlord and you ended up encountering him repeatedly in battle and for all the casually contemptuous evil he’s previously displayed he faced you with respect as an equal (and he *remembered* you) and oh no he’s hot. what then. he also gets bonus points because i think they made his hawk a beautiful lady shapeshifter in the live-action movie. two for the price of one.

06. the evil queen. she sets a high bar for unhealthy obsession, and “mad scientist” is an underrepresented flavor in this genre, plus the magic mirror has a lot of creepyhot stalking potential. she’s pretty high-maintenance, though, and her vanity simply wouldn’t allow your heroic quest and/or the other corner of the love triangle to share the spotlight with her. she might be better off as a supporting character in the deadly decadent court who calls you menacing endearments and strokes your face and gives you the feeling that you’re suddenly in way over your head.

05. frollo. oh, i hear you gnashing your teeth and wringing your hands. “not frollo!” yes frollo. if i was reading a romantasy novel and the villain told the protagonist that they were just imagining a rope around her beautiful neck, i would feel ripped off if they weren’t at *least* furiously making out in secret by the climax. your conscience may demur, but who hasn’t secretly yearned to have a city burned to the ground over them?

04. mor’du. who? you know mor’du. the big fuckoff bear from brave. the big fuckoff bear who once was a brooding, hulking celtic prince who massacred his whole family and underwent a devastating transformation-by-curse into a literal monster. it’s only his sheer bad luck that he ended up as a minor character in a heartwarming mother-daughter narrative and not the villain protagonist of a romantasy that’s half beauty and the beast and half texas chain saw massacre. but, with your help, we can change that.

03. jafar. he doesn’t rank more highly because it’s less fun when they’re only creepy to you and obsessed with you for, like, five minutes at the end, but still. he pulls it off *so* well, he’s got just the right kind of megalomaniac agenda, and he gets extra credit for style and the hypnosis thing. cue the agonizing yet erotic internal monologues from our protagonist about how he *compels* them.

02. TIE! between two gentlemen who operate on very similar levels of charming toxicity and would therefore thrive in this setting:

hans. it’s honestly a shame he’s in a disney children’s movie and not a five hundred page novel called a realm of ice and snow or whatever. he would not only be endgame but he would also have a small army of booktokers calling our protagonist names for doubting his love for them after one eensy little lying to them and leaving them to die incident. he’d be exactly as awful as he is canonically and he’d come out smelling like a rose.

dr. facilier. the *perfect* balance of tragic backstory versus inexcusable jackassery, and no one is immune to the charms of a roguish magician dabbling in that which he should not. he’ll sell you the prettiest vision of a future together that you ever did see, and then he’ll sell you out to evil forces to further his personal agenda, and he will not be sorry about it. he’ll call you doll while draining every drop of your blood for The Ritual and he won’t lose a wink of sleep. no romantic groveling apology from this one, either, i’m afraid. but he’d be so worth it.

01. maleficent. evil sexy faery who lives on something called the forbidden mountain, who devoted sixteen years of her life to tormenting a beautiful peasant with a secret royal lineage, up to and including kidnapping the “correct” love interest to prevent them from saving our protagonist from her own wicked plans? if there *isn’t* already a romantasy novel out in the world that is blatant aurora/maleficent fic, i will eat my hat.

honorable mentions:

rasputin. sure, he’s only a disney villain by technicality. but what romantasy protagonist worth their salt would kick the rotting lich-priest who murdered their whole family, and is trying to murder them, out of bed on a technicality?

bruno madrigal, who wasn’t a villain at all, but by gods he should have been. secret uncle who lives in the walls and is tragically haunted by your seemingly immutable shared fate *and* you’re his *favorite*? the gothic romantasy fans would devour him.

[angel-sweets666]

Purple n orange

shinbaku x fem!reader

Two boys and a girl are in a poly relationship. One day bakugo and shinso come home with ruined moods from the god awful day they had.

Warnings: swearing and bakugos temper tantrums

a/n do I know this ship is the most unlikely ship known to man? Yes. Do I love these two boys and think they’d make a great pair for a poly relationship? Yep. I MEAN THEY JUST SEEM LIKE IT COULD WORK, MAYBE. MAYBEEES🤔🤔

Bakugo slammed open the door to your shared home, the force of it rattling the walls. You jumped, startled by the sudden noise. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, huh, Katsu?" you grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

He snapped his head toward you so quickly that you thought he might have given himself whiplash. "I wish Deku would wake up on the wrong side of the road!" he exclaimed, stomping his feet angrily. His face was flushed with rage, his eyes practically blazing.

Shinso followed behind him, looking more annoyed than angry. His shoulders were slumped, and he let out a heavy sigh as he closed the door more gently behind him.

"What's wrong, love?" you asked Shinso, your voice soft and soothing. He crawled into your arms, seeking comfort, and laid his head on your chest.

"I risk my life out there, and those people don't appreciate me," he pouted, his bottom lip jutting out slightly in a rare show of vulnerability.

Bakugo's rage flared even more at Shinso's words. "Hah? They’re just pieces of shit! I'LL BLOW THEM U—"

"I'm begging you to learn what an inside voice is," you interrupted, giving Bakugo a stern look.

He huffed, crossing his arms and pacing the room like a caged animal. "It pisses me off, alright? We put everything on the line, and they don't give a damn!"

You nodded, understanding his frustration. "I know, Katsu. It's not fair, but blowing up the house won't help."

Shinso snuggled closer, his breathing starting to even out as he relaxed in your embrace. "You're right. It just feels like no matter what we do, it's never enough for them," he said, his voice muffled against your chest.

You stroked his hair gently, trying to provide some comfort. "You both do so much. Sometimes people don't see that, but it doesn't make your efforts any less valuable."

Bakugo stopped pacing and looked at you, his anger slowly dissipating. He walked over and sat down beside you and Shinso, his presence comforting in its own way. "Tch, you're too good to us," he muttered, a hint of gratitude in his voice.

“I’m amazing I know” you said with a cocky grin, wrapping your legs around shinso as you seemed pleased with yourself.

You made a disgusted face as you took a sniff at Shinso's hair. "Katsuki, come here," you called, waving Bakugo over. He looked at you curiously but yelped in surprise as you grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling him close to take a sniff as well.

"Okay, so you two stink like pure fucking ass," you declared, your nose wrinkling in disgust. "I'm begging you on my knees to have a shower. A bath. Even some deodorant. SOMETHING. Did a villain shit on you or something!?"

Bakugo's eyebrows furrowed, his expression shifting from confusion to irritation. "HAH?! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO STINKS LIKE ASS," he retorted, stomping his foot like a petulant child.

Shinso groaned as he sat up, rubbing his temples. "I have a headache," he muttered, clearly not in the mood for Bakugo's antics. He stood up, still looking like he wanted a cuddle but preferably from someone who wouldn’t say he stinks like ass.

With a weary sigh, Shinso walked into Bakugo's arms, surprising the blonde who blushed deeply at the unexpected closeness. Bakugo hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around Shinso, a soft, almost tender gesture. He took a tentative sniff and grimaced.

"Okay, we do stink like shit," Bakugo admitted, his voice quieter now.

You couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of them. "See? Now, go take a shower, both of you. You'll feel a lot better.

[jq37]

Your sister who you love so much (even though you’ve never shown it) asks you to be her sister again, her true sister, in deed not just in name. And yes, of course that’s what you want. That’s what you’ve always wanted and now that she’s shattered your defenses and destroyed the ones who would pit you against each other and died right before your eyes, how could you refuse? How could your answer be anything but yes?

So you go home with her, not the ruins of your perfectly posh prison, but a new home which provides love and care and bunk beds and it’s so so nice. Ridiculously nice. Sickeningly nice. And a small, sick part of you almost misses your old home (if you can even call it a home) because yes, it was cruel and awful and you hated every second of it but you knew where you fit. You knew what your role was. You don’t fit in here. Everyone accepts you because they’re all so nice, but they don’t know how to volley back your sharp words or find a hidden, “I love you” within an offhanded insult. 

And then your sister leaves to save the world again because that’s who she is. She’s the kind of person who goes out to save the world with her friends when she’s needed and you’re not. You’re not, not, not. Not on any count. You don’t save things, you destroy them. And friends? You have to allow yourself to be vulnerable for friends so of course that’s out. Your sister is 16 and she’s out saving the world for the third time and you, fully grown at 18, are a wanted criminal who hasn’t even properly graduated from high school. You can’t stop thinking about it and, without your sister and her friends occupying the house as a buffer, the ones who are left try to get you to talk about it so you make a rash decision, as you are wont to do. You leave, like a thief in the night. You can make your own way. You can. You’ll prove it.

You find a shitty apartment and pay for it with the ill-gotten spoils from one of your many exploits. You could probably pawn some treasure for more luxurious  accommodations–there is that chest of rubies just lying around–but you don’t. That’s not what you deserve. And what if your sister needs help later? You don’t have access to your parental funds anymore which means she doesn’t either. You know she won’t ask anyone for help–you wouldn’t. But someone has to look after her. You’re an abjuration wizard. You protect people. You protect her. No, that’s a lie. But you want to make it not a lie. You want to start now.

If you’re saving the rubies then you need a source of income. You narrow down your least villainous talents to try and find a suitable job and hit on teacher. You’re good at magic, right? So how hard can teaching it be? Hopefully not as hard as securing the job, which proves trickier than expected because, oh right, you’re a wanted criminal who hasn’t graduated high school. But you dip into your villainous talents once more and tell yourself it’s for a good cause. You secure the job. You’re doing it. You’re making your own way. 

You want to text your sister to see if she’s doing alright but you don’t want to intrude and you don’t want to answer any questions about what you’ve been doing because then either you’ll have to lie or explain that you’ve left again, right after you promised you’d be there. Both options make your heart ache, especially since it’s her birthday. So you wait until the house is empty (mostly empty–you’re never really alone in a haunted house) and enter the room you and your sister shared for too brief a time. You paint her walls with carefully rendered runes, filled with all your abjuration magic and stamped with your arcane mark. It’s a possessive bit of spellcraft. A selfish claiming of a climactic kill. You mean to make a different kind of claim. You are claiming your sister, as she asked you to months ago. You are telling the world that she will not be fucked with while you live. Your rooms were so close before. You could hear her. You knew every night she went to bed in the grips of a panic attack with no one to console her. She won’t have to feel unsafe in her own room again. You can make sure of that at least. 

The sun rises one morning and you know that means your sister is alive and well and coming home. You teleport to Falinel to make sure she returns to her favorite dessert. It’s worth the spell slot and the chance of being recognized. The tower where they kept you is long destroyed and you know that this time, if you were ever captured or even killed, rescue wouldn’t be measured in a matter of months. It would be days. Hours even if your clever sister and her powerful divination magic put things together faster. The thought fills you with more emotion than you know what to do with. You leave a note. “I love you,” you think. “Enjoy the nemesis ward,” you write. 

Practicing magic, as it turns out, is a very different skill than teaching magic. The children are loud and obnoxious and you don’t quite realize that maybe your expectations are too high between the hothouse you grew up in and your sister being the world’s greatest diviner, fullstop. You know you can always go back to the manor, but that somehow makes it easier to stick it out. You’ve always been taught that pressure provides the best results but there’s something about the security of a safety net that makes everything a bit more bearable. And so what if you have to take a second job involving a light criminal element. You’re only smuggling–that’s barely even a real crime.

Your sister who has saved the world thrice now, texts you and she wants help. She is looking to you for help. And you do your best to oblige. You offer your knowledge, you offer your rubies, you invite her over again and again. She sends you a text and deletes it. You’re not the diviner in the family but you drain your spell slots scrying for information you already know. Information that you'll hear from her own lips in just a few hours. “I love you.”

She finally visits and you’re not unaware of the state of your apartment. You know you’ve been too exhausted for an Unseen Servant or even a round of Prestidigitations but you know that your sister has seen your mind and there’s nothing messier about you than that. She teases you and you tease her back. She’s the only one who understands how to deliver a complement with a backhand so you can receive it without your skin crawling. The only one who knows how much tartness you need with your sweetness. 

Later, she visits again. She sits in your filthy apartment and you watch trash TV and it’s the highlight of your week. Your month even. That should feel pathetic but, somehow it doesn’t. You want to tell her. She deserves to hear it from time to time without having to filter out the layers of prickliness that you add as second nature, a layer of armor as ever present as your abjurer’s ward. You may not be able to handle naked sentiment but she can. You’ve seen her with her friends. How affectionate they are. You’ve always been taught that loose lips sink ships but you have experience with ship sinking and this prospect fills you with much less dread. You tell her and it’s awkward and fumbling but you manage. Maybe loving people isn’t so different from loving cats.

You have a new job which is perfect because the school year is almost over and, blackmail or no, you aren’t sure how many times you’ll be able to get away with casting Sleep on your class to give yourself a break. Honestly, you should have applied for jobs in Leviathan from the start. Why would pirates care about your sketchy history and lack of credentials? You could teleport yourself to Leviathan every day but that would be a waste of a spell slot when the door to the Compass Points is right there in the manor (and if your sister happens to be there too then hey, happy coincidence). While you’re there, you might as well do your laundry. And stay for dinner from time to time. And spend time with your sister in your her room where your runes stand sentinel and your old bunk lays untouched. You don’t think you’re staring but later, as you go to grab a snack from the kitchen your sister throws you a casual, over the shoulder glance. 

“You can just move back in, if you want.”

And would it really be that easy? Just like that? After a year of trying to make a point or a plan or a better version of yourself or whatever? Just like that? 

You remember a year ago. You and your sister and words that will be burned into your mind forever. 

“Despite the fact that you have not earned it, I do love you.”

Just like that. 

You say yes. You stay. 

[algae-tm]

KILL BILL P.6

Charles Leclerc x famous singer! reader

Warnings : morally grey reader, toxic exes

Author’s note : There are so many x readers where the reader doesn’t do anything wrong, which I love don’t get me wrong but I wanted to write one where she’s a bit flawed. And obvs I cannot hate her cause she’s just in love and this is lossely (very loosely) based around real life events y’all so I get it! And also I love Alex 😭 I was gunna make her the villain but I literally can’t! So this is going a bit of a diff direction, in terms of ending. - Algae 🌱

•••••

INSTAGRAM

y/bff/n

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 678,798 others

y/bff/n : talking about boys over brunch? (tagged : yourusername)

yourusername : feels like I’m 18 again

— user3 : holdup when did y/n and Charles get together?

— user4 : she was 18 and he was 19/20…

— user5 : lmao that’s why he’s got her wrapped round his finger… poor baby hasn’t known any better

— user7 : not you guys acting like Charles groomed her be so serious! they have a 1 and a half year age gap touch grass.

— user9 : you can’t argue with people like this, they’re so chronically online!

— user4 : so how did they meet?

— user19 : google is free!

— user6 : her and Lewis did a fashion campaign when she was 16, and he sort of took her under his wing, cause I think her parents were a bit... I believe she then met Charles when she came to watch a race and watched the f2 race as well.

user1 : y/n telling you about how she’s a slut?

— y/bff/n : only ever having been with 1 man equals slut?

— user1 : going after a man with a girlfriend surely does.

lewishamilton : we love to see it

— y/bff/n : we sure do 😍

— yourusername : not you guys acting like I was dead in a ditch…

— y/bff/n : you were in man purgatory, it’s basically the same thing.

user11 : does Oscar know y/bff/n?

— user12 : No why?

— user11 : cause bros lurking in the comments

— user1 : lmao you think the skank’s gunna go for him next? (user1 has been blocked)

— user13 : @oscarpiatri trust you do not know how to handle @yourusename

— user11: poor baby she’d eat him alive

user13 : oh to be a fly on the wall for the Charles convo

user14 : trust it was hours long

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, danielricciardo, carlossainz55 and 10,987,843 others

yourusername : boys are awful and grotesque. i had to decompress on an island to get the crazy out of my brain. it’s a good thing mics are portable. Thank you Ephraim! My concierge for finding me a keyboard so I could get you guys this song that entered my brain almost two weeks ago and refused to leave. It’s a good teaser for my album, which is out in TWO days. so without further ado hope y’all like The Weekend!! if you don’t like it I’ll cry.

lewishamilton : oh this gives context to the unhinged messages you sent me at 1 am

— yourusername : I’m an artist, it’s my creative process

— lewishamilton : well this is way more constructive than turning up in Monaco

— user5 : oop- not you clocked by Lewis Hamilton of all people

— user7 : well I’m happy that Lewis doesn’t condone the behaviour of a slag

— user8 : lmao even her friends are getting tired of her

— user9 I think y’all are forgetting that they were together for six years, it was y/n’s first relationship, he dumps her out of the blue gets a new girlfriend within months. I for one would also go a bit crazy and need to be secluded on an island! Too bad I don’t have island money lmao

lewishamilton : I’ve been listening non stop! You truly out did yourself kid 🖤

y/bff/n : thank god you are not in Canada rn

y/bff/n : i was having a heart attack!

y/bff/n : you need to tell me before you travel across the world! We cannot have a repeat of last time.

— yourusername : have I really traumatised you that badly?

——y/bff/name : yes

—— lewishamilton : yes

—— yoursiblinguser : yes

—— friend1 : yes

—— danielricciardo: yes

—— oscarpiastri : yes

——yourusername : now hang on @oscarpiatri I don’t even know you!

— — oscarpiastri : wanna change that?

——- user11 : not you going after your dad’s ex

——-user14 : about to be a messy family reunion

——-danielricciardo : check that Aussie charm 🇦🇺

user7 : okay someone please talk about the lyrics????? Right off the bat it’s unhinged?? “WHY YOU WANT ME WHEN YOUVE GOT A GIRL??!” No cause that is so true like @charles_leclerc why are you still contacting her when Alex is right there?? (Liked by yourusername)

— user8 : ‘knowing it’s selfish, knowing I’m desperate’ oh she’s DOWN BAD!!

— user7 : you get it… cause DESPERATE, you’re describing yourself as desperate?? Bad bitch down in aisle 4 I fear!

user9 : lmao no cause you’ve outdone yourself! What do you mean ‘my man is my man, is your man. Heard that’s her man too’

— user21 : no cause she really is not a serious individual 😂

— user10 : the song is a bop don’t get me wrong but am I the only one who’s thinking about Alex in all this??

— user11 : poor girl hasn’t done anything apart from like a serial monogamist…

— user12 : I mean after this release Alex just needs to count her losses and leave him (liked by alexandrasaintmleux)

— user13 : oop- not her liking… clock it! But at this point I think this is just a messy situation where everyone’s gunna lose. Especially Alex poor girl never stood a chance

user22 : I just keep him satisfied through the weekend!

— user23 : you’re like 9 to 5 I’m the weekend!!!!

— user24 : make him lose his mind every weekend!!!!

sza : please god never let me be this down bad over a man 🙏🏾

— yourusername : now I know you’re not the one talking 🤨

badgalriri : 🖤

donatella_versace : DONATELLA VERSACE 💜

user17 : release the album NOW!

user18 : I’m sorry but weren’t we just mad at her? Releasing a song doesn’t make you automatically in the right? In fact even the song paints her as a bit of a villain :( I can’t imagine poor Alex listening to it.

— user19 : right? She’s practically begging him to cheat with her

— user15 : i really don’t know how to feel about the whole situation but it’s definitely not a good feeling…

••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee @callsignwidow

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi ♥️ can I please request a small snippet which starts with the hero offering themselves to the villain instead of another victim (which was the intention of villain all along). I really love the powerful villain - struggling hero dynamic. Doesn’t need to be in a romantic way…

Sorry if this is oddly specific. Thank you so much for all your stories and snippets so far. They’re sooo good!!! ✨

The hero dodged into the villain's path.

The villain stopped. They looked down, at the hero's palms planted firmly on their chest, then to the hero's eyes.

The hero gulped. They dropped their hands, but didn't step aside.

"Take me instead."

"You." Power crackled off the villain; enough to make the hair on the hero's arms stand on end.

"I'm more valuable," the hero said, holding the villain's gaze. Their heart drummed wildly. "People would pay an awful lot of money for a go at me - you don't need them. I'm a much better ransom."

"And if I don't take you?" the villain asked.

"I'm also more fun."

The villain's lip curled. "And if I don't take you?"

Well, then they would have to fight. The hero was not remotely looking forward to that prospect. It wasn't that they couldn't hold their own - they knew perfectly well that they were generally considered one of the few people who could, when it came to the dazzling monstrosity before them. But, well.

The hero gulped again, squaring their shoulders. Their hands shot, gently, gently, to the villain's chest when the villain began to sidestep them.

The villain's head tilted.

The hero didn't drop their hands that time.

The villain's heartbeat was perfectly steady.

"I'm offering," the hero said.

The curl of the villain's lip sharped a fraction more; a scrap of paper burning up on a fire, containing all the world's most dangerous secrets. "Is that what you're doing right now?"

"Please," the hero said, quieter, just for the two of them.

"Maybe I don't want to ransom you," the villain said, in the same intimate murmur. Their eyes glittered in the city lights. "Maybe I'd rather keep you all to myself."

The hero's stomach swooped. "Just leave them alone."

"You're a predictable little thing, you know that?"

Realisation hit the hero, like the loud click of a lock turning. It didn't make any difference though. Wasn't that the point? To see the trap closing. To stand there anyway. It was already too late.

The hero had known that the villain could be persuaded to take them instead. The villain had known they would offer.

"So are you," the hero said, mouth dry. "In your way."

"My predictability doesn't make me lose." The villain's hand rose up, to cradle the hero's jaw. Their thumb grazed over the hero's skittering pulse. "It doesn't make me so reckless."

The hero shivered.

"There are power-blocking cuffs in my pocket," the villain said. "Take them out."

"You promise you'll leave everyone else alone?"

"You trust me to keep my promises?"

Yes. Not because of any particular honour, but because one did not get the devil's reputation for threats and bargains without proper follow through. "Promise me. Please."

"I promise that I'll leave them alone in this matter if I can have you instead."

It didn't save everyone and everything, the hero knew that. But it would spare the poor fool cowering behind them, braced for the end of all things. They reached into the villain's pocket like one might reach into a nest of vipers.

"Put them on," the villain said.

The hero did. Everything went muffled and sluggish as the auto-lock engaged. The villain's grip on their jaw kept them from crumbling, pitching forward, at the wave of overwhelming weakness that flooded them.

They could vaguely hear gasps, cries of alarm, hissed whispers behind them. Someone might have screamed 'no.' Someone might have been held back. The hero wasn't sure; they could feel their vision tunnelling a little at the edges.

They still held the villain's gaze.

"Good," the villain murmured. They pressed a kiss to the hero's forehead. Then they let go, abruptly.

The hero staggered. They hit their knees with a groan.

Powerless. It struck them that they'd made a terrible mistake. They hadn't expected it to feel like that.

The villain surveyed the crowd, for a beat. They said something - the hero's ears were ringing, they weren't sure what it was. The villain's fingers tangled idly into the hero's hair, then they started walking.

Being dragged hurt. The humiliation of it would have surely hurt, too, if the hero could concentrate on it.

The villain's car beeped it as it unlocked. They let go of the hero's hair. The hero slumped to the ground, reeling.

"Get in the car," the villain said. "Or I'll put you in the boot."

It seemed to take Herculean effort to climb into the passenger seat. It was almost a relief to slump there, sweat beading their forehead, body aching.

The villain got in too, on the driver's side. They took a moment to look the hero over. The power of them had always seemed enormous, but it felt like something else entirely then without the hero's own to match it. A devastating, crushing weight. An unstoppable force.

The villain reached over and clipped the hero's seatbelt in place. They cupped the hero's cheek again, drawing their attention, their scattershot focus.

"Leaving them alone was the least of the promises you should have insisted on," the villain said. "You panicked. You should know better."

The hero groaned again. Their head lilted into the soothing cup of the villain's fingers.

The villain let go, once more, left them bereft, and started the car.

They drove.

[heliads]

Hey babe, if you're still taking requests, can I request something for Harry Hook from descendants? It takes place in an AU where basically all the kids are "chosen" to be parts of fairytales. (Think Ever After High mixed with School for Good and Evil). This world is complete with everything you see in disney movies with epic fights and songs. Heroes get love ballads and villains get traditional villain songs. Reader and Harry are friends (with feelings) on the isle and get chosen for a story, and are both super excited because they think they'll both be villains together. So imagine their surprise when they get their first song together and it sounds an awful lot like a love song.

This AU has been living in my head for a long time tbh but I have no writing skills T-T. Feel free to ignore it this is not your style or I accidentally sent this after requests closed.

'one story leads to another' - harry hook

masterlist

On the Isle of the Lost, a story is everything. Receiving a good story catapults a promising villain into a fantastic life of infamy, but a lackluster story seals your fate forever to menial satisfaction alone. Henchmen, not gods. Lackeys and thugs, never the criminal boss in charge.

Then again, a worse fate still could befall you. Many would-be villains go their whole lives without receiving a story. They’re not meant for everyone, at all, even if they mean the difference between a true life or a false existence. You can’t fathom training your whole life just to go without, but it’s the reality for many on your island. Even the deck swabbers get to go on exciting adventures with the great pirates of the sea, and even the lowliest prison guard will still live in a cursed palace.

The story controls your life, both literally and figuratively. Once you’re given a story, you’ll have no choice but to follow it out, even if it ends with your death. Then again, a story isn’t over in a matter of days. It’ll shape your life for decades. Even if the main plot is over, you’ll still be someone, and maybe you’ll feature in other people’s stories, too. There’s no way to make it without a story.

That’s why you’ve been throwing yourself into the pursuit of becoming the main character of your own story. You’ve perfected the arts of all things villain– sword fights that always end with you pulling a secret dagger out of a sleeve to tip the scales in your favor, maniacal laughter, elaborate plotting. You could scheme in your sleep or double-cross a traitor with your hands tied behind your back. Although it’s been a long time in the making, everyone on the Isle can admit that you’re the best of the best, and that a story surely has to be coming your way.

The problem, then, is attracting one. Although no rules are set in stone, there are expectations for how one’s story will come about. There will be an inciting event, of course, and then the songs will begin to appear in your head, the footwork and movements placed in your memories without a second thought. You’ll know you’re in the story, and then your life will change forever.

You’ve already seen one play out with some of your closest friends. Mal, one of your best friends since you were kids, got to live out her nefarious dreams, although even she didn’t see the twist coming in her story. Then again, becoming queen of Auradon is certainly a fine trophy for the child of a villain, even if a true marriage of love isn’t quite the way anyone expected her to steal the crown.

Mal has assured you many times over that your story will be coming too, it has to. There’s no way the magic would skip over you, not when you’ve dedicated so much of your life to being the perfect villain for any role. You can lie and cheat and maim with the best of them, surely you’re shaping up to be the arch nemesis in some hero’s grand journey? Your story will be coming your way. Surely. Surely.

And then, all of a sudden, it does. You feel it like a puppet knows its strings. All of a sudden, you have a purpose that you didn’t before. Your feet carry you out of the training yard and out into the sprawling mess of streets that makes up the Isle of the Lost. Your heart soars, and you take to the roofline, staring out at the world before you. It’s yours, all yours, and you know it’s true, so you sing it. The words come to you in a flash, perfect rhymes curling around your tongue as if they’d been there all your life. 

This is what it feels like to be in a story, then. It feels right, more right than anything you’ve known before. Easier than breathing. Simpler than hoping that something like this would come your way, and at last, it has. Nothing could make your flinty heart more proud.

The song ends, and you can hear a ghost of a distant chorus fading out as you make your way back to the ground once more. Your stroll is casual, but the steps are definitely in a specific direction. The last notes fade from the air, your feet stop firmly in place, and you realize that you’re not facing down a potential heist or daring escape but the end of the dock leading into the sea. Directly in front of you lies a pirate ship. 

At first, you’re thrilled– an adventure on the high seas would be fantastic. You’re friends with many of the pirates, even if you haven’t yet gotten a chance to test your fortitude against seasickness before. You cast your mind back to the words you’d just sung, trying to remember if you’d chorused anything about an exciting voyage ahead, or maybe the possibility of sunken treasure.

Instead, your heart sinks as you realize you were talking about exploring what was right in front of you. More specifically, someone right in front of you. And, as you stare with no small amount of trepidation at the pirate ship in front of you, you discover that someone else seems to be in a similar situation as you. Someone who’s just stopped singing a very similar song, who’s standing directly opposite you as if placed there by some immortal hand. Someone you know already.

Someone like Harry Hook.

A belated understanding is beginning to nestle itself between your ribs like a knife in the heart. No, this can’t be. You refuse to believe it. Still, when Harry is the first one to make a move, and walks briskly down the gangplank to stand in front of you, and says in an increasingly cavalier tone, “So, you’ve got your story started too, haven’t you?”

“Harry,” you say weakly. “I didn’t realize that you’d also gotten a song.”

“More than a song,” he says grimly. “I’ve got the whole story.”

You stare at him. “You know how it’s going to end?”

Harry had been doing his best to keep his gaze firmly pinioned on a nearby wall, but his eyes flicker briefly, traitorously, over to you when you pose the question. They snap back immediately, though. For a pirate, he’s never been the best liar, although he tends to make up for it with excellent swordsmanship. “No one knows how their story is going to end until they follow it through.”

You narrow your eyes crossly at him. “But you have a guess, don’t you? Spit it out, Hook. I don’t have all day.”

“Actually,” Harry contradicts, seeming to take great joy in the opportunity to be bothersome, “you do have all day. You’re a part of a story now, love. Your whole life is going to be wherever the wind takes you.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Harry. Very helpful. Don’t try to dodge the question, though. You know how this is going to end, right?”

He sighs. “I have an inkling. Very vague. Probably untrustworthy.”

“All pirates are untrustworthy,” you remind him.

He grins broadly, sharklike. “And all children of villains are saints like you, of course.” He groans at your exasperated expression. “Fine, fine. Although I’d suggest you get better at pretending you like playing my little games if you’d like to keep this up.”

Your eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve guessed it already, haven’t you?” Harry says testily. “Think about the songs, Y/N. The melody. That wasn’t a villainous monologue, not even your basic pledge for debauchery and ruin. That was a love song.”

You shake your head frantically. “No, Harry. That was so not right. What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Harry says slowly, “I ‘spose it means we’re meant to fall in love.”

You draw back so quickly that you think you’ve insulted him. “No. Absolutely not. No offense, Harry, but I don’t want to fall in love with you.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” he says dryly.

You wave a hand dismissively. “It’s not about you, I swear. It’s just– this was supposed to be my story, you know? My whole life. I was supposed to have a glorious adventure, or engage in fantastic battles, but I get one chance at a story and it’s about falling in love? No way. I won’t accept this.”

“You’re acting like I enjoy this too,” Harry retorts. “Quite the contrary, sweetheart. You’re not the only one who’s been dreaming about their story for ages. How do you reckon I’m meant to tell my father that I got a love story? He’d laugh at me so hard he’d probably stop getting scared of that crocodile once and for all. I’m just as unhappy with this as you are, but I’m willing to do something about it.”

You eye him cautiously. “Like what?”

“Let’s play along,” he suggests, and when you look like you’re going to snap at him, he raises his hands defensively and adds hastily, “I know, I know, but hear me out, will you? The faster we get things going, the sooner this ends. You know as well as I do that characters from other stories can take part in other ones, too. ‘Sides, maybe this one isn’t just a love story. Maybe we do travel somewhere exciting, we just don’t know it yet. You don’t have to fall in love with me, alright? We can pretend. We’ll sing our songs, then do whatever we want with our hearts. Me, I’m planning to show my strength by carving mine out of my chest and wearing it as a necklace. It would make a pretty pendant, I wager. Plus, all the crew would be awestruck over it.”

You can’t help but laugh at his words. “Harry, if you cut your heart out, you’d die. If you want a necklace like that, use one of your enemies’ organs.”

He nods appreciatively. “That might work better, I think.” Then, eyeing you apprehensively, “So, does that mean you’re willing to do it? To play along with our story?”

You sigh. “I think it does. It’s not like we have any choice, do we?”

Harry pulls a face. “A girl is cosmically destined to fall in love with me, and in the heat of the moment of her confession, she says it’s because she doesn’t have any choice. Be still, my heart.”

This makes you smile. “You know it’s not personal, Harry. We’ve been friends for ages, I should hope you know when I’m teasing.”

“And I should hope the same,” he says with mock solemnity, although his faux stony demeanor cracks with a wide grin within moments.

You hold out your hand for him to shake. “To falling in love?”

“To falling in love,” he says, and shakes it. So the story begins.

You’re not going to say that it’s difficult, pretending to be in love with Harry Hook. You’ve never had an issue with his company; he’s one of your oldest friends, all of the villain kids on or around the Isle of the Lost have come in contact with each other before, and you and Harry just so happened to cross paths more than a few times. In fact, you’d go so far as to say that if you were forced to sing love songs with any of the villainous children on this island, Harry would be your preferred choice.

And– the problem with that, see, is that it makes this whole thing sound like something it isn’t. You’re not in love with Harry, even if your story seems designed to make you think otherwise. You know how you felt about him before the story began, and a couple of ditties about finding something special in a person you previously overlooked isn’t going to change anything. Harry is your friend. Nothing more than a potential ally.

But then the story takes you two away from the island for a spell, the two of you co-captaining a small sailing vessel by yourselves in search of a magical talisman that would have the power to make every one of your days enchanting. You had assumed it would be a talisman of some sort, that is; yet when the two of you arrived at the hiding place of this supposed treasure and split up to each pursue one length of a split crossroads, your paths looped around so you came face to face with each other again. 

No artifacts, no charms. Just Harry almost stumbling into you, having to wrap one arm around your waist so you don’t fall, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he’d been running in an attempt to beat your time. You’d chastise him for it were it not for the fact that you were sprinting, too. You wait for Harry to let you go, but he doesn’t, and instead leans closer, so close you can feel his breath hot on your cheek, and then–

You pull away quickly. Harry looks at you like a wounded dog, which makes you feel sick to your stomach. “No,” you say through gritted teeth. “This isn’t– this isn’t us. It’s the story.”

“Is it really just the story?” Harry asks you.

“Yes,” you say, refusing to consider any other option for a second. “You didn’t love me before it started. The magic is messing with our minds. This isn’t real, Harry.”

He starts slowly walking towards you, and afraid you’ll make a mistake you’ll regret once the story ends, you back up in turn, up until the point when your back hits a wall and you can go no further. Harry, however, has nothing in his way but you, and there is nothing to stop him from closing the gap between you once again.

“Tell me it’s not real,” he says lowly.

“It’s not real,” you repeat.

His hand rises to your chin, tilting it up so you have to look in his eyes. He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been marooned alone for days, like salt water has been his only benediction for as long as he can remember. “Tell me,” he says again.

“It’s not,” you insist, but your conviction is gone, drifted away from you on uncertain tides. “It’s the magic. Not us.”

“Not us?” He asks, and kisses you. Slowly, terribly slowly, he kisses you, and in between silently begging him to move faster, do more, you think about all the times you’ve been under a spell in the past, and how this feels nothing like that. Not at all. Whenever you’re under an enchantment, some small part of you knows it’s wrong, giving you just enough hope that you might be able to fight free.

When you kiss Harry, though, you don’t want him to stop. Not at all. Every single particle in your body is beating along to the same erratic pulse through your veins, the one that leans into his touch, reaching for the front of his salt-stained shirt to pull him ever closer to you. If this is your story, you don’t ever want it to end. If there is a writer out there somewhere, feverishly scribbling out your chapters, you hope they never cease, that every one of their movements until the day they die and then past that will bring you more moments with Harry, moments just like this one in which you never have to let him go.

“It’s not just the story,” you tell him amidst ragged breaths when he finally breaks away.

“No?” Harry asks, one brow quirked. Usually, he’d never pass up the chance to gloat, but he looks sorely disheveled, and he can’t take his eyes off of your kissed lips long enough to give him the chance to revel in his victory like he normally would.

Just in case, though, you distract him from the triumph by kissing him again. Somewhere in the surrounding uncharted territory, the waves crash against the shore, the seabirds wheel and sing on the marine breezes, and you find the magic in the one boy who has always been there for you, and always will be, even after your story ends. That is the magic of love, you suppose. Adventures come to a close. Battles are won, heists are accomplished, but what you and Harry share will go on forever. A fitting legacy for the best two villains who ever lived.

[stickandthorn]

The way Terry Pratchett handled police in the Discworld continues to be one of the many, many things I love about his works. I certainly don’t have time to describe all the details of why he wrote such good policing, but I think the best summation of it is the arc that Sam Vimes had in many of the books.

I haven’t read all the watch books, but in the ones I have, there’s often a similar plot structure. We meet a truly detestable criminal Vimes is chasing down (think the Deep Downers in Thud, or Carcer in Night Watch). They show themselves to be truly awful people who do awful things, and they’re also just plain jackasses. They’re characters you hate to read about, the grind the audience’s gears. They also grind Sam Vimes’s gears. 

Throughout the story, they commit more and more crimes. Horrible crimes, like torturing and killing innocent people, or practicing violent religious extremism. They do things that personally target our protagonist, like go after his wife and son, or relentlessly taunt him and try to kill him and his past self. They consistently do bad things, and even as Vimes is chasing them, they do more bad things. You want them to be punished.  Finally, at the climax, we get some sort of final confrontation between the villain(s) and Vimes. In a different book, Vimes might kill the people who sent people to hurt his infant son, or tortured and killed innocent people, and the audience would probably cheer. In fact, Vimes wants to kill them. 

But he doesn’t. Every time, he suppresses the urge to enact his own justice, and he doesn’t kill them. He arrests them. Because, as he says many times, if you’ll do something for a good reason, you’ll do it for a bad. Even when there’s every excuse as to why this particular villain doesn’t deserve to live, he just arrests them. It’s not his job to decide how they should be punished for their crimes.

I think this is a masterful takedown of police brutality and Punisher style characters. Vimes isn’t a perfect person, it’s not that he could never dream of killing the bad guy. He can, and he does, often. But he never follows through, he understands why he can’t do that, so no matter how tempting it is, he doesn’t.

Because in this story, the hard boiled cynical cop truly believes in following the law. The message is always that law enforcement killing a criminal is never ok, even if they’re undeniably guilty of something truly dreadful. Hell, police brutality is personified as a millennia old demonic quasi-deity possessing Vimes, one that’s never been beaten before, but he beats it and doesn’t give in. I think that’s a really unique message in cop stories, and another reason as to why Pratchett was such a good author.