#with Anthony being scared of being in love and having his loved one die

[simonsaysletsgo]

Insane thought of the day: Leah/Bran kind of have Kate/Anthony vibes

[leviathanspain]

not without him

anthony bridgerton x reader

synopsis: you knew birth would be no easy feat, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to do it without him

you clutched onto the white bedsheets, they were drenched with blood, and you were writhing on the bed as the doctor shouted orders at the nurses.

one had a cloth to your forehead, dabbing away your sweat and your tears. you couldn’t stop crying, it was an unbearable pain, that only got worse as the night went on.

violet had tried to prepare you, coming to her for advice on how to birth a bridgerton child. she had her most difficult birth with hyacinth, and just hearing her story sent chills down your spine.

anthony had been away in london when you went into labor. you knew he shouldn’t have left aubrey hall so close to the end of your pregnancy, but being the viscount meant there were things that required him present. you had hoped that your child would have some decency and arrive after the father, but the urge to push only became greater.

you feared that anthony wouldn’t make it, he was supposed to be here an hour ago, having rushed from london upon hearing the news.

the nurse looked down at you, “you have to push, my lady.” her voice quivered, as if she could feel your emotion. you teared up more, “no please- we have to wait for the viscount.” you felt weak, and you faintly heard the doctor shout that you were losing blood.

the nurse looked down again, and seemed firm, “you have to push, there is no time to spare if we wait for the viscount.” she dabbed your forehead again, “you and this baby will die if you don’t push now.”

you cried harder, “i need him here. i can’t do it without him.” you were scared, frightened by all these unfamiliar people. yes they were there to help you give birth to your first child, but you didn’t care, it wasn’t your husband dabbing your forehead or encouraging you.

your vision went fuzzy around the edges and your head fell back into the mounds of pillows that held you up. you could still hear the door push open, shouts being echoed into the room and finally, “let me through-“ his voice.

you heard a clatter of gear hit the wooden floor and you felt relief as he rushed to your side. anthony, still cold with the winter air, brushed the hair from your face, kissing your cheek. he saw how weak you looked, and could see the doctor’s expression.

“you can do it.” he whispered sweetly, “i’m here, you can do it.” he grabbed your hand, clutching it tightly and with his encouragement, you did the one thing you had been putting off.

the nurse over you seemed overjoyed that you were finally listening, there was fear among the doctor and staff that you would bleed out before anthony got there.

you grunted, weak from the blood loss. “push, my lady, push!” the nurse above you shouted, and you grunted loudly, doing as she said.

there was a brief moment of pause, relief that washed over you as you heard a newborn’s cry. you blinked away the sweat, feeling the damp cloth across your skin as you looked over at anthony, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. he was smiling brightly, but tears brimmed in his eyes, “you did it.” he whispered, “my lady….” he brushed the side of your face with a hand, and you closed your eyes, exhaustion washing over you.

you could see the light creeping through the curtains. it had been kept dark for you, candles burning just as you liked, even wearing your favorite nightgown. you could feel the pain, that ache that reminded you of what had happened.

you called out to your handmaid, watching as the door opened and instead, in stepped anthony holding the baby in his arms. your eyes softened, and you cooed, “my love.” you beckoned him to the bed, and anthony sat down carefully, the newborn in his arms was peacefully sleeping.

“good morning.” he kissed your forehead, “you have no idea how much i love you. i-“ he faltered, looking down at the baby to compose himself before he continued, “i almost lost you. please,” he looked at you, “please don’t ever scare me like that again. i beg you.” he whispered. he was happy at the birth of your son, but he wouldn’t have been if you had lost your life.

you looked at him, nodding. you didn’t want to say anything, instead looking down at the baby and resting your head on anthony’s shoulder, “have you thought of a name?” you noticed the baby’s fell head of hair and smirked, “looks like he got my hair.” you looked at the baby’s nose, “and your nose.” you laughed slightly, and anthony shrugged, “everyone says he looks like you more.”

his siblings must’ve arrived in from london. you smiled, but anthony knew what that smile was, “you must rest. the doctor said you lost a lot of blood, that you shouldn’t even think to lift a finger today.”

you sighed, “i won’t protest, i am feeling exhausted..” you didn’t know how to feel, your heart had never felt so much love all at once, “my boys.” you cooed, touching the baby’s hair as anthony kissed your forehead again.

[stories4you04-x]

Dearest Readers,

When overhearing being the wife of Anthony Bridgerton was like a dream I thought it wasnt true. A dream that one must dream of living. He is according to his wife the most caring and loving husband but when in public he is different. He had a different personality. A sense of regality one dreams of achieving. One that his newlywed wife Y/N could easily match for events and balls during the season. But this article is how he dropped this facade in public...

"Anthony do you feel up to a walk today the weather is ever so lovely" Y/N announced to her husband who was sat in a chair reading the book he was currently reading. "Yes the weather is lovely today I believe a walk would be quite nice" Anthony said whilst placing his bookmark in his book and settling it on the table beside him. It only took a few minutes for the newlywed pair to get ready.

They walked hand in hand in the local park which was surrounded with other people. As they walked people bowed or tipped their hats towards them as there was an aura of regalness that surrounded the pair. "Anthony look Hyacinths we must pick some for your mother she does love this flower" he smiled at the way she practically dragged him over towards the flowers. "Very well I guess we should mother has been feeling a little down recently maybe these can lift her spirits" she nodded and started to pick ones that looked big and full of life without a care in the world. However Anthony looked around and noticed a few bees buzzing around the flowers. "Y/N please be careful" she turned around to him "whatever for?" He looked panicked and said "there are bees" she smiled "they will be fine im not making them angry" she continued to pick them not realising the one she had picked had a bee nestled withing one of the flowers which travelled onto her collar bone.

Anthony had turned around to look at his wife as she had stopped to bask in the sun she smiled at him until she saw his face drop and she looked confused at him "Anthony whats wrong?" He shouted "Stay still please" His wife started walking towards him "why what's the matter my love?" He had tears in his eyes "please just stay still" she looked down as she felt something crawling on her and she realised a bee was on her collar. She wafted the bee for it to fly away. Anthony got scared as he heard her cry "ouch it stung me" he couldn't breathe "no no no no Y/N stay with me please" he pleaded holding onto her face "love what is the matter its just a sting I am fine" It wasnt until he was fully panicking on the floor within his wifes arms that he began to calm "but you got stung you could die" she seemed shocked at how he announced the statement "love you can't die from a sting unless the person is allergic" he calmed slightly "what can I do to get you to calm fully" he thought "can we get a doctor to check please my wife I can't loose you" she looked into his eyes as she held him "of course we will go straight away but let's enjoy the sun for a little longer"

She was getting a full body check by the doctor under Anthony's orders. He waited outside pacing back and forth whilst his two brothers benedict and Colin sat in the nearest chairs "Anthony sit down she is going to be fine" Colin pleaded. "No my wife is in there she got stung" he started panicking again until Benedict stood and grabbed Anthony's shoulder and forced him into the chair "she is going to be fine if something was to happen it would have happened by now so calm down and sit still for a few more minutes the doctor should be done soon" Benedict then sat in the other chair. Violet heard all the commotion upstairs and went to find out whatever was happening "sons what is happening?" Anthony stood and hugged his mother "Y/N got stung picking those Hyacinths for you downstairs and she is with the doctor right now she said she was ok but I'm scared I can loose her too mother" she placed a hand on his cheek as he released from the hug "Anthony your wife is a strong woman if she says she is ok then she is perfectly ok" he nodded and sat back down.

A few minutes later the door opened Anthony jumped out of his chair. The doctor said nothing but nodded towards the four standing at the door "go Anthony" his mother said pushing him towards the door. "Y/N love is everything ok the doctor said nothing" he walked towards the bed where she was laying "perfectly ok" she smiled and he released a breath he did not realise he was holding "However..." his breath hitched again "...there was something he found. He was quiet because I swore him to secrecy until I told you and the family" he was stressed "love what was it?" She smiled at him "I am with child" his jaw dropped and a few seconds later his face contorted into a smile "A... A baby?" She nodded "You are to be a father" she announced and he cheered ran out the room and told everyone outside. She could hear the claps and cheers outside and he ran back in and gave her a kiss full of passion "Anthony calm down I know its exciting but I don't want to have to call the doctor back because you have hurt yourself"

It took a few days for the news to be spread and be written into Lady Whistledowns article. The newlywed couldn't have been more happy for a singular bee sting to be the product of such big news.

A/N I am rubbish at writing I don't know where I just got this inspo but I just had to write I hope you enjoy 😊

[aziraphales-library]

Hello beautiful people! First of all, thank you so much for this blog. Your work is amazing!

I'm looking for some fic suggestions, if you'd be so kind in answering. I loved Slow Show and Old Vines, so I wanted something similar, a long AU fic that has a lot of pinning and some angst, but has a happy ending. Thank you ❤

Hi! The fics you've mentioned are very popular in the fandom, so I'd recommend checking our #fandom favourites tag, as well as our #pining, #human au, and #long fic tags for more to enjoy. Here are more to add...

Between Comfort And Chaos by anathxmadevice (T)

“And how long have you two been a couple?” “Oh, I—” Aziraphale panics. “Ha, well, that’s a funny… We’re not actually—” “We’re just friends.” Crowley says, their voice clear and calm and lightly amused, either because of or in spite of Aziraphale’s flailing attempts to divert the conversation. “Ah, yes, quite.” Aziraphale says, then takes a sip of his drink just for something to do, instead of focussing on the way Crowley said just friends, and how it causes a painful throb in his chest that he has never fully got used to. His memory can only scrabble at the edge of a time where being just friends with Crowley didn’t feel like a particular form of torture. * Or, Aziraphale has been desperately in love with his best friend and housemate Crowley since they were students, but is too scared to do anything about it.

Keep it casual by Kiez21 (E)

Aziraphale has just been dumped by his boyfriend of thirteen years, right before turning thirty. While out with his friends, he meets a red-haired stranger that gives him one of the best nights of his life. Crowley's just moved into Tadfield looking for a fresh start. On his first night out, he invites a handsome stranger for a one night stand. It is just a one night stand, right?

The Anon Before Christmas by foolishlovers (M)

When Crowley’s friend, blogging buddy and business partner Anathema announces her annual Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr, she is very adamant Crowley should join this year. The old-fashioned (but admittedly compassionate) man he gets assigned to send anonymous messages to every day until Christmas sounds awfully similar to the fussy bookseller that his friends adore, yet Crowley tries to avoid at all costs. But surely his friends would have mentioned if Aziraphale had taken an interest in the Bad Omens fandom as well… right? Or: An Enemies to Lovers Secret Santa Tumblr AU.

It never hurts to keep looking for sunshine by Dervila, elf_on_the_shelf (E)

After Adam's parents die in a car crash, Aziraphale is forced to start taking care of him as more than just an uncle. Don't get him wrong, he loves the little devil, it's just that he is completely clueless and could rather use some help. In comes Crowley, Adam's new nursery school teacher with his amazing skills in dealing with kids. Could he be the answer to all of Aziraphale's prayers - Adam-related and otherwise? Well, it looks like he might be just that, judging by the weird things Aziraphale's heart seems to be doing whenever he sets eyes on the man. Now, if only the tall ginger returned his feelings...

For His Eyes Only by AFrenchFanWriter (M)

Anthony J. Crowley has been an MI6 spy for 10 years, completing successful mission after successful mission under the guidance of his quartermaster, Aziraphale Fell. But this life is starting to take its toll on him as he is getting older; and when, one day, his past comes back to haunt him, Crowley realizes that it might be time for him to hang up his gun and face all the things he has left unaddressed… (Yep, it is basically a James Bond/Q AU!)

Driving in the Dark by Sarah_hadeschild (E)

Aziraphale, a small town librarian with a troubled past, has resigned himself to the impossibility of love. That is, until he meets a rough-around-the-edges motorcycle mechanic who reads Mary Oliver. TW for mentions of a past abusive relationship.

- Mod D

[eerna]

eerna what's going on in s3 bridgerton your posts and answers making me scared to watch on my life lmao

pls don't hate me, Colin lovers, but I was told by a friend who read the series that he's more fun and chill in the books and also i just....find Polin from even s1 is kinda uhhhhh?awkward?? cuz he's kind of unnecessarily serious and so not chill in the previous seasons?? maybe i don't see his appeal because I'm no Penny but i do not see his appeal in the show

so rn i haven't even watched it and seeing your posts is making me moreeeeeee 😶‍🌫️ it's okay give us the cringey details

Nsbysbbsb NO WORRIES!!! I have a weirdly big amount to say about this show bc I am no longer suffering as much as I did in s1 and 2. Prepare for an essay on my feelings on Polin and thank you for enabling me.

Ok so Colin. Not saying your friend is wrong bc I didn't read the book, but p much everyone I saw talking about it said Colin was very angry and aggressive in it, and for NO REASON since he's supposed to be the "calm brother". I'm glad that the show let him get upset, but never the way he was in the books/Anthony was in s2, where I legit worried about Kate's safety sometimes. Colin was my fav Bridgerton brother bc he was totally different from all the other men on the show, calm and silly and romantic.

Thar being said!!! I never ever thought of him as a GOOD love interest, and s3 only made it worse. First off, yeah, s1 and 2 do NOT show him and Pen as friends nearly enough to warrant the speed of their connection in s3. I blocked s2 from my memory bc I hated it So Damn Much so I can't 100% stand behind my words, but I don't really remember many friendly scenes with the two of them that didn't feel like he was just entertaining his sister's bestie? I remember he once danced with her, and he sent her letters from his travels, and that's it. Then in s3 we are supposed to believe Pen knows him soooo well, she sees through his tricks when no one else does, he can't stand losing her friendship when she stops talking to him. How, when the impression I got from their relationship was "oh she is clearly silly in love and he doesn't care about her enough to notice"!!!

And s3... Oh boy. Colin gets his "glowup" and becomes a rake bc Bridgerton writers would probably spontaneously combust if they wrote a virgin male lead. We see him flirt and smash other women and it is always so so so awkward. I've seen people trying to rationalize it as "Oh he is supposed to be pretending, oh we are supposed to find it cringe" but NO, he is objectified the exact same way Simon and Anthony were, and we as the audience are supposes to think it is sexy. To be fair, Pen finds it concerning but I think that has more to do with the amount of silly, vapid women constantly swarming around him. So now we are even FURTHER away from seeing any reasons why the two of them would be friends. And then we get hit with the "Colin teaches Pen how to find a husband" plot, and oh my god it is so bad, IT IS SO BAD, they have like 2 lessons across 1 episode before they are busted and stop and he literally taught her NOTHING she IGNORED HIS ADVICE AND FIGURED IT OUT BY HERSELF but everyone treats him like a war hero for taking one for the team and teaching the poor unlikeable social reject how to act. We also have the stupid scene where she is criyng begging him to kiss her because she is convinced otherwise she would die without being kissed, and he is trying to elegantly avoid it, and oh my god, I hated this, it is framed as cute and romantic but it is so uncomfortable and bad. AAAAAAAA. Anyway. Then there is this hilariously horrible incident where he saves her from a feral balloon, and if you are wondering wtf am I talking about, its because it is really bad and written like a Scary Movie slasher scene. There are exactly 3 moments that I liked, and ALL of them were bc Colin seemed very lost and desperate. First was when Pen told him they should stay away from each other after the scandal of them hanging out came out (which I liked bc if it were any other girl, some unhinged character would force them to marry, but since it was Pen they were like "Well obviously it's true there was nothing untowards happening it is just cringe haha loserrr"), and he looked like he stopped comprehending English. The second was when he was confessing his feelings, he got on his knees and looked like he was about to cry and I thought that was sweet! Well, he did mention torture which is a very ugly word to use in such a speech, but whatever. The third was after the Infamous Carriage Scene when he says something silly and the two giggle together and I was like PLEASE WHERE WAS THIS ENERGY IN S1 AND 2!!

And may I just say!! The actual Bridgerton Glowup one was PEN and NOT COLIN. In s1 and 2 you could tell she was pretty, but in s3 they made her so damn beautiful that my friends and I would go "Oh wow" several times per episode. And it's not only the clothes, they would put her in rooms where she pops out and sparkles and frame her in shots just perfectly. Idk why they only gave her 1 alternate love interest and then shot her Like That, there should have been at LEAST one more guy following in Debling's trail. Now she's the hot one in the relationship so I can't buy her desperation for Colin's approval or society's perception of Colin as a charity in any way.

With all that said. I think this is the best season of Bridgerton proper. It still isn't something I'd enjoy unironically, but at least it is neither a horrible age gap dynamic feat. SA nor a horrible disgusting juggling of sisters feat. murderer vibes. The only thing I'd say is worse than it used to be is the clothes, which are slowly creeping towards The Reign level of ahistorical and bad.

[st4rgiirll]

injuries

anthony lockwood x injured!gn!reader

warnings: blood, fluff!, lockwood being incredibly full of himself (as per usual)

synopsis: you cut your hand with your rapier while tracking down a ghost, having been caught off guard. lockwood comes to your rescue, patching you up once you arrive back home.

a/n: im so srry its short, i had no motivation but i did at the same time. i also changed the plot half way through writing and i couldn't be bothered to change the first half.

lucy, lockwood and you walk through the door, you were lucky lucy carries around a small emergency first aid kit, you would've thought you'd bleed out by the time you got back to 35 portland row.

lockwood grips your unhurt wrist, dragging you softly up the stairs to the bathroom. you hop up onto the counter and wait for lockwood to gather the supplies he needed.

he eventually finds them, after a few minutes of rummaging around the bathroom. he gently grips your injured hand, being extremely cautious.

lockwood wraps your hand lightly, careful not to hurt you. "i thought you were supposed to be an expert with your rapier..." he teases.

"i got scared, she just jumped infront of me and i got startled.." you roll your eyes. "technically wasnt my fault."

"i think that means it is your fault, darling," lockwood tells you, smiling at your response. still, he keeps tending to your wound, being sure to avoid hurting you any further.

"you know, i wouldn't have been scared of that ghost," he says, trying to comfort you by showing how brave (and also just awesome) he is.

"full of yourself much locky?" you smirk with a small blush on your face, knowing how annoyed he got by people calling him that.

he only ever let one person call him 'locky' and he told you many great stories of her, of flo bones. the legend herself.

he smirks in response to your retaliation.

"plus, the ghost had an ugly face" you shrug. "AND she just randomly popped up infront of me, she could've touched me and you would be sobbing so hard over me." you tease, a small smile on your face since you knew he would be upset.

you and lockwood had been in a relationship for a few months now, it was fairly new but you knew you loved eachother. you didnt want to wait for anything, any of lockwood and co. could die at any moment, you prefer to spend as much time as humanly possible with all of them, which is fairly easy since you all live together.

he chuckles a bit, even he knew it would be true.

"well, good thing you arent dying on me any time soon." he says, he seems to be reassuring himself with the statement.

you smile at him as he finishes up wrapping your hand.

"thanks locky." you laugh, hopping off the counter.

"i love you y/n." he smirks, you blushed.

he knew exactly how to get you to blush, he was quite proud of the fact honestly.

"i love you too." you smile, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

"why're you so lanky?" you mutter, pulling away from his cheek.

"i dont know love, genetics i guess." he winks.

"well, m' gonna thank genetics for making you so handsome" you say.

"im gonna have to thank em' for making you so perfect love" he smiles, leaving you standing in the bathroom a blushing mess.

[readordiebyemilyt]

My original idea was to watch a movie for every letter of the alphabet this Halloween season, but now I intend to copy my friend Monica and watch 31 films in October. Here are the movies I've watched so far:

Alien: It's been long enough since I first saw this movie that I somehow had it in my head that Harry Dean Stanton was the first to die. Nope: it's John Hurt! Also, I love that in the 3rd act, the crew of the Nostromo has a 50/50 chance of being jump-scared by either Jonesy the cat OR the xenomorph.

The Beast of Yucca Flats: Not a horror movie exactly, though it certainly explores fears at the heart of the nuclear age. MST3K gets it right: yes, "shoot first, ask questions later" is a scary way to conduct yourself, whether you're hunting a man or making a movie.

Creature from the Black Lagoon: This film turned 70 this year, and sure, it shows its age at times. But the music (IMO) is a wonderful precursor to the Jaws theme, and the creature costume remains a great practical effect.

Bram Stoker's Dracula: Very stylish and overall bonkers, but way more faithful to the novel than I was expecting. Keanu Reeves (a year after Point Break!), oh hey, it's Cary Elwes, and Anthony Hopkins as Van Helsing! And yes, Gary Oldman is by turns frightening (the scenes with his shadow moving without him in his castle are especially creepy) and seductive, but Winona Ryder steals the show: she should get a sword in more movies.

The Exorcist: This is maybe the third time I've seen this movie, and every time, I'm okay until the scene where Regan walks backwards on her hands down the stairs. Even the possession scene at the end isn't as unsettling. Having said that though, I was less unnerved this time, and all I can think is that I wish reality didn't disturb me more than scary movies.

Future War: Again, not exactly horror, but Mike and the bots are trapped by aspiring Mad Scientist Pearl Forrester (or did she have her license by this point in the original series?), and the forced perspective dinos are fun. (Frankenstein is great, but I want to alternate between Universal Horror and other scary movies; plus, the delightful serial killer body swap film Freaky was checked out from the library, so here we are.) Also, Daniel Bernhardt has been in a lot of actual good movies at this point.

A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night: An Iranian vampire film in beautiful black and white. This one is both haunting (vampirism parallels the way that drug addiction and extracting oil from the earth consumes lives and nations) and delightful. Two words: skateboarding vampire.

House on Haunted Hill: Thank you, Vincent Price, for your skills with that skeleton marionette. This is one of the silliest horror movies ever made, and I love it very much.

[archiveoftara]

Maniac

"I don't feel so good, Lockwood."

Lockwood looked at your bloody hand clenching to your waist. The poor agent couldn't help but to panic at the amount of blood pooling around you.

"Help is on it's way." He calmly reassured you. The last thing he want is to scare you.

You don't really remember how you ended up in this situation. Stuck in a room full of visitors with your rival company, not to mention bleeding to death.

"LOCKWOOD LOOK OUT."

*72 Hours Ago*

"This case is driving me nuts." George banged the book on the table. "It's nuts." Furiously running his hands over is hair.

"How bad is it?" bored lockwood chomps off an apple.

"A group of nuns mysteriously commits suicide, the reason is still unknown. About 20 years ago, an elite group of agents from Fittes was sent to clean the building but no one survived." Lucy exclaimed.

"We've been through worse. I'm sure we can handle it." Lockwood nonchalantly said.

The agents knew it was futile to argue with their employer. George sighed in defeat before leaving the room. Lucy took a moment and said "Just think it through for once Lockwood."

The door closed leaving him with his thoughts.

The next morning, Lockwood storms into the kitchen "I can't believe I'm saying this but I think we need help."

"Yes." Lucy high fives George. They thank the lord for knocking some sense in him.

"And I know just the person who we can help us." Lockwood smirkes.

The trio find themselves standing in front of an old building. "Y/L/N Agency" written on the door.

"I thought you hate her." George uttered.

"Yes I do."

"I thought we were going to Fittes or something?" Lucy questioned.

"No we're not." Lockwood explains. "Listen guys, I know we should have gone to Fittes but see it this way, it's easier to share the commission with one person than four people."

"Besides, I don't want to see Kipps breathing near me." He said the last part in annoyance.

"Still can't get over that one case where he saved our arses?" George teased.

"Shut up, George." He rings the doorbell. While Lucy and George shared a look.

"Oh my! What do I owe to the pleasure of 'The Anthony Lockwood' gracing my humble home?" You smirked.

Lockwood threw a light insult to hide his astonishment. He noticed you grew your hair longer since the last time he saw you. Nevertheless, he always finds you beautiful. You clear your throat and gesture him to come in.

"So you need my help Anthony?" You tease him.

"Focus please."

"Okay time for the real question, what's in there for me?" You squint your eyebrows.

"Handsome commission. 30-40." Lockwood gave you his brightest smile.

"Make it 50 or forget it."

After some heavy negotiation, Lockwood finally agreed to your terms.

*Present time*

"Lockwood...tell my cat I love her."

"Shut up, you're not dying. I won't let you die." He slashed the visitor he was fighting but the visitors were strong and you both needed desperate help.

Lockwood got an idea and looked at you "y/n, do you trust me?" He sincerely asked you.

"No." You sincerely replied back.

"Smart woman." He carefully lifts you up and moves you to the closet.

You heavily breath in pain "I'm scared."

"I know but I need you to stay calm. Okay? Breath with me." He rubs the back of your hand, slowly taking deep breaths. It calmed your nerves down a little but you know you don't have much time left.

It's now or never.

"Lockwood, I don't know how long I'm gonna be alive..I need you to know something or I'll regret it forever. I really.. really like you." You coughed.

"No.1 I won't let you die. No.2..I like you too. A Lot in fact" he rested his forehead against yours, silently soaking up the moment when he heard Lucy calling his name. You both look at each other and you shout as loudly as you can.

It's been two weeks since the incident. You didn't face Lockwood in the time being partly because you were recovering but mostly you felt embarrassed about your sudden confession and probably looked like a fool in front of him. It's a shame you didn't know he felt the same too, about himself.

You were laying on the couch, switching channels when you heard the bell ring. "Coming" you slowly made your way to the door only to find the agent you were trying so hard to avoid.

"Hi" his eyes sparkled.

The room turned stuffy and awkward in no time. You felt self conscious under his cautious gaze.

"How's your injury?" He uttered.

"Oh..it's..it's alright I'm okay." You nervously chuckle "tea?" You raised the teapot.

"This is the fifth time you offered me tea y/n, I think I'm fine." He smiled. Goddamn that smile.

"I think it's time to address the elephant in the room."

You gulped a heavy lump in your throat.

He takes a deep breath, "I don't know how or when I started liking you, but here I am. I tried to mask my feelings with arguments, insults and I'm extremely sorry for that. I should have been more mature. I really like you and I don't know what I will do without you." Lockwood continues "Sorry, this is just really different from our constant arguing."

"I know" you smiled at him "Do we like...hold hands?" You shyly hold his hand over the table causing the both of you blush like a bunch of maniacs.

Maybe love turns you into a maniac.

I'm back with another request I hope you like it. I'm sorry if it sucks cuz life sucks right now. I should probably write a book on my life as it loves to be so dramatic. Anyways, hope you are doing well. Love you lots!! See you in the next chapter xoxo

Word count: 1008

[farfromstrange]

Austin: Chapter 1 [Owen Sleater x F!Reader]

Chapter 1: Welcome to Atlantic City!

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read Me on AO3

Chapter Summary: You make your way to Atlantic City, and things do not go as planned from the moment you step off the train to meeting a very handsome but also very cheeky Irishman at Nucky Thompson's estate.

Chapter Warnings: foul language, mentions of murder, illegal activity, plot, Owen being a cheeky bastard, Season 2 spoilers, foreshadowing, slight angst (?), kind of a "I hate him" situation (enemies to lovers *cough*), mentions of misogyny

Word Count: 7.2K

A/n: This chapter is longer than the first, which was not planned, but the juices were flowing. The meeting was originally planned for Chapter 3, but then I realized that Nucky Thompson was no longer at the Ritz at this point in the show, so I had to improvise, so yeah. Anyway, first meeting, and it even made ME blush. But then again, I had to add a little bit of angst for the slow burn. (I'm always so scared of inaccuracies because the 1920s were very complex, so if you find any, just ignore them.)

Set from Season 2 episode 9 onward!

This series is rated E for explicit! 18+ only!

The train ride from Austin to Atlantic City takes you two days. You’re no stranger to long-distance traveling, but being stuck in a carriage with strangers for hours on end would never be your first choice for an adventure.

You’ve been to Canada and Mexico; you have made a deal with the Italians on the West Coast, and you have conspired with the Russians in Coney Island. You hold friends in high places all over the world, but not once have you been to Atlantic City. 

It’s not that you don’t love the beach—you have quite the affinity for the ocean, actually—but you told yourself that you were better off not messing with the powerful forces that have owned the Boardwalk ever since liquor first became an object of illegal trade. As feared as you are in Texas and all neighboring States that profit from your work, Nucky Thompson is—well, used to be—equally as feared in his part of the criminal underworld. 

The times you have shown your face in the past, the people present have not lived to tell the tale. If someone shouted from the rooftops that Mr. Austin is, in truth, a woman, it would cause quite an uproar. Your spite is not the only factor in this equation because you’re not the only person who has something to lose. You’re not like those you despise; you care about what happens to those who work for you, knowing that they are risking just as much in this business as you are every day.

If someone told your name and spread the news that you did not die in the fire you set that night eighteen months ago, the connection could bring on a myriad of consequences. You would have nowhere to run but to prison. You killed a man, and justice has a way of kicking criminals in the ass. You know that very well. When you disappeared though, you swore to do whatever it would take to keep the walls around you stable enough to survive, and you have been doing well so far.

Nucky Thompson’s letter was the Trojan Horse that has now forced you out of your shell. You are far too exposed—far too vulnerable here, even though no one knows who the woman with the red cowboy boots sitting on the back of the train is or where she’s from, and they don’t seem to care at all either. 

You care though. And you know the truth. You care too much about what other people think. If you want to be able to stand your own against them, you have to be more confident, but you always find yourself held at gunpoint by your insecurities.

You won’t know what more could happen until you confront the man who chose to throw very lively bait at your feet that you couldn’t help but dig your teeth into. Now, you’re being pulled toward Enoch Thompson and Atlantic City instead of away from the chaos that has erupted around him.

If you had sent your right-hand man—if you had sent Anthony, out of all people—you fear that he might have come back to you in a box, but he has a hard time acknowledging the fact that you are far more dangerous than you let on.

“I can’t believe you left!” his voice is so loud you have to take a look around the small phone booth to see if anyone on the outside can hear you.

“I had no choice,” you snap back into the receiver. “You read what he wrote. If there is even the slightest chance he knows who I am, we’re in a lot of trouble.”

Anthony sneers. “You really want to believe a guy who’s on trial for several crimes and is about to lose everything he worked so hard for just because he sent you a letter out of desperation?” 

You imagine his green eyes glaring holes into the atmosphere. His bottom lip must be swollen from how many times he gnawed on it, and his dark hair is probably disheveled because as he told you once before, you make him want to rip his hair out. One by one. He tends to be quite dramatic.

“You’re smarter than this,” he says. He utters your name, and his voice takes on a softer touch. 

A train horn blares in the distance, but your focus remains on the man on the other end of the phone line.

You sigh. “Because I’m smarter, I had to go,” you try explaining. “You can’t deny that a man who has everything to lose is almost as dangerous as one who has nothing to lose. And if Nucky has everything to lose, so do I,” you say. “He has the power to take everything away from me, and I have to make sure he doesn’t know the truth. And if he does, I have to find a solution. Me. Because he wants to see me, not you.”

“He wants to see Mr. Austin,” Anthony corrects you. 

“Exactly. And who’s he?”

“A name on paper. A myth.”

“No, Anthony. Who is Mr. Austin?” you ask.

The pause is filled with a heavy silence. Then, he opens his mouth, and he murmurs into the telephone, “You are.” He acts as though it hurts him to admit it. 

It hasn’t always been like this.

You nod, but his reaction doesn’t sit right with you. It may not be audible through the phone, but he knows you well enough by now to read your body language even from miles away. 

“That’s right,” you say. Your voice remains calm, though your words do not. “I’m your boss. I own this fucking business, and I know what I’m doing. I know you always attend these kinds of meetings for me, but this is an emergency, and I had to leave without dragging you or anyone else into it until I’ve found a solution.”

“You’re insane.” It is less of an accusation than it is a statement. 

“No, I have to make sure that a man my father once considered a friend doesn’t burn his legacy to the ground. He already had one shitty friend try it, and we both know how that turned out. I saved his legacy from certain downfall. I killed for it. And I intend to protect it with my life, no matter what it takes.”

In the background, music overlaps with the distinctive sound of voices and the clinking of glasses. 

Anthony sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. “No matter what it takes, huh?” he asks, and it leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. “Even if it means revealing your face, your identity, even your name to a stranger? No matter what it takes?”

“Don’t patronize me!”

The fury tugs at your heartstrings, tearing a hole into your soul. What started as a bout of frustration is starting to turn into an inferno of anger. It consumes you, threatening to set you on fire. The beast inside of you begs to be set free.

“You do realize that if you go there and he doesn’t know who you are, he may as well connect the dots and then screw you over anyway, right?” He doesn’t stop. “You’re serving him the gun on a silver platter, Jesus fucking Christ!”

When he yells at you, you see red. “He already has it!” your voice bounces off the glass around you. “He already has the gun, I’m sure of it,” you tell him. “I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling about this, and I have to burn this son of a bitch out before it’s too late. Before—before he can burn me. Us,” you emphasize. “He is in an impossible situation, and that makes him a million times more dangerous. But that also makes him valuable, and if I can talk with him—figure out what he meant and talk some sense into him—I can come home and we can forget this ever happened. But for that, I have to give him what he wants first.”

Again, Anthony seethes, “Nucky Thompson is not a man you can trust.”

“I don’t trust him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do business with him.”

“Is that what you think?”

“The better question is, do you think I’m less capable than you because you’re such a strong, invincible man?” By saying it out loud, you have found a way to spit him in the face.

His hand grips the receiver so tightly that the line crackles. He exhales a growl. “I think that you should have thought this through and discussed it with me,” he says. “You should have called a meeting with the rest of the team, and we could have talked about this.”

“I discussed it with you in great detail, but you wouldn’t listen,” you counter. “Now, I’m here, and I won’t stop until I get what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Control.”

He calls your name. “That’s it. I’m taking the next train to Atlantic City.”

“No!” you stop him. “I need you to keep things going in Austin. Make sure everything runs smoothly. I’ll call you when I find out something new.”

“Not happening. That man is too dangerous for you to deal with alone. Even with half his empire gone, he still holds too much power. I’m coming. End of discussion.”

You chuckle, but it lacks amusement. It’s a dry, empty, and entirely emotionless chuckle that matches the look in your eyes. “You underestimate me, Anthony,” you say. “May I remind you that I’m in control here? You are not in charge. I am. I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in Nucky Thompson’s head if he decides to stab me in the back. And I won’t hesitate to do the same with you or anyone else who dares to cross me. So don’t ever fucking underestimate me again. Your responsibilities are back home, so that is where you are going to stay or I swear to God I’m going to make you regret it. Are we clear?”

“I’m not undermining you, I’m just concerned—”

“No, fuck you!” This time, one of the women passing by the telephone booth, stares at you, and she seems utterly appalled at your language. You tilt your head. Her eyes widen, but before you can yell at her to turn around and walk the other way, her husband pulls her away. 

“I’m not listening to this—” You place your lips close to the speaker, “Stay where you are. Do as I tell you to, and wait for further instructions. Do not come to Atlantic City, and don’t ever fucking doubt me again,” you spit. “That’s an order!”

The line clicks, and the entire booth vibrates at the force with which you hang up the phone. 

You take a deep breath to calm the erratic drumming of your heart against your ribcage. You need to slow the adrenaline in your veins before it melts you from the inside out. Your knuckles crack when you stretch your fingers, smoothing out the fabric of your dress. You take another deep breath in, then exhale. 

The clock strikes noon. You reach for the suitcase you managed to cram into the small telephone booth. The sturdy leather feels slippery on your sweaty palms. You always travel light; you don’t plan to stay for much longer than a week, anyway. One suitcase of clothing should suffice plenty. At least that was your train of thought before you arrived at the bustling train station of Atlantic City. 

A soft, salty breeze brushes your cheeks when you step outside. You can hear the rushing of the ocean in the distance. Children run along the pavement, followed by their parents. Everyone is dressed so much differently from the fashion you see every day. 

The South isn’t New Jersey though, and you should have figured that styles may vary over thousands of miles apart. You receive a few curious glances; is it that obvious that you don’t belong here? A group of women passes by you, and you swear you can hear them giggle when they are a few steps further away. You wonder if it’s the red boots that are made for farming rather than a city close to the coast, or maybe it’s the way you carry yourself, wearing your uniqueness on your sleeve like an elegant piece of jewelry. 

You came here with one suitcase and a clear mission; you won’t let anyone ruin that for you. Not Anthony, and surely not a group of strangers who are probably more prone to gossip than you ever were in your lifetime—and probably ever will be. 

When you left early that morning, you tasked Beth with calling Nucky Thompson. She is responsible for all of your appointments, but when she heard his name, she was rightfully hesitant. You didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you left her with an excuse and a pile of guilt in the pit of your stomach.

At three o’clock, you will face him, and you will pray to a God you don’t believe in that it will all be over after that. One night of rest, and you will be on the same train back home. That is what you are hoping for.

You heard that Nucky lost his suite at the Ritz-Carlton after the charges were filed against him, and he retreated to the comfort of his home. You can’t say that you have a lot of empathy; you would prefer a room at the Ritz over one at the Marlborough any day anyway. 

Hopefully, the small glimpse of the Boardwalk you get as the cab pulls up to the hotel will be the last you see of Atlantic City for a very long time.

The car comes to a halt, and the driver curtly tells you, “We’re here, Miss.”

You nod, then reach into your coat. “What’s your name?” you ask him. 

He frowns at you through the rearview mirror. “Carter, Miss,” he stutters. “Ben Carter.”

“Ben. Carter.” You retrieve a stack of money. “I like you. I could use your help.”

His entire body stiffens. “M-my help?”

“Mhm.” You lean forward. “I need someone to drive me around the city today.”

“I’m a cab driver. I—”

“I’m aware, but tell me, is there anything you wouldn’t do for money?” The bills rustle next to his ear as you hold them up.

“How much is that?” Ben asks breathlessly. 

“500,” you answer. “Although I’m open to giving you more if that’s what it takes.”

“For a day?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a–a catch?”

You chuckle, placing the money in his shaky hand. “All I ask is for your driving skills and your discretion. Can you do that for me, Ben?”

The wheels turn in his head. He’s considering your offer. That much money isn’t so easy to come by, especially not for a cab driver. You’ve learned over the years that if you play your cards right, you can get just about anything.

Ben stares at the dollar bills for a few more seconds before he meets your eyes. Sweat drips down his temple. “Where do you need me to take you?” he asks. 

Your lips curl into a smirk. This poor man doesn’t know a thing and yet you are playing him like a fiddle. But he doesn’t need to know the truth. To you, he is only a means to an end. You will pay him, and he will give you what you need in return for a reward. After your stay in Atlantic City, he will never have to see you again.

The small piece of paper is tucked safely into your shirt. You retrieve it, still neatly folded, and hand it to him. “I need to be at this address,” you tell him. “Three o’clock.”

He glimpses down at the note. “Nucky Thompson,” he reads aloud. “Isn’t he–”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t ask questions. Discretion, remember?”

“Yes, Miss. I’m sorry. I was just wondering—”

You cut him off once again. “Why don’t you wonder in silence while you help me carry my bag inside? Answers are earned, and it is my choice whether to answer or not.” You smile. It appears as sweet as sugar, but even the deadliest poisons smell deliciously of almonds. “You can still opt out, but I’d be taking the money back,” you add. “I would tip you nicely for the ride, of course, and I would let you leave without a word, but you wouldn’t get more than that.”

The man considers your words for a moment. You’re giving him a choice, but he isn’t quite sure which one would be the right one.

“Tick tock, Ben,” you purr.

He clenches his fist around the money. “I can be discreet,” he says.

You chuckle. “That’s what I thought. Now, about my bag–” You hand him another bill, not paying much attention to the amount. “It’s rather heavy, so I would appreciate it if you could carry it to my suite for me.”

The look in your eyes is destined to turn him into stone if he were to make the wrong move. As Ben looks at you, he swears you resemble Medusa, an ancient goddess in the back of his cab who is as dangerous as she is powerful. He has no other choice but to cater to your every need. 

When you get to your suite, you notice instantly that the windows open toward the ocean. Beth was gracious enough to book you a room with a beach view, and while you appreciate her thoughtfulness when it comes to your comfort, you don’t plan on extending your stay, no matter how nice the view may be.

Yet again, you find yourself staring at the Boardwalk, watching the people pass by. They all have a story of their own to tell. They all have their own set of opinions and values, some of which no one will ever know about. You could be an expert at reading human behavior and still be wrong in your interpretation. In the end, most people are experts at shapeshifting to fit into whatever category they want you to think they fit into, and trustworthiness isn’t just black and white; you have to be prepared to get disappointed.

Elegant houses with high walls, porches, and front yards pass you by as Ben drives you to Nucky Thompson’s home. Children are playing by the side of the road. You would consider this neighborhood one of the wealthiest you have seen today. And probably one of the safest, too. 

“We’re here,” Ben says.

You look up from your fidgeting fingers. “Thank you, Ben,” you reply.

Time to walk into the lion’s den. The only thing you have on you is your wit and what little research Leo conducted for you. That has to be enough. You just have to be smarter than the smartest man in Atlantic City. How hard can that be?

You knock on the door. You expect his secretary to answer. Maybe a maid or a butler, but when you look up, your shoulders straightened and your face blank of emotions, you are met with the face of a beautiful woman. Her hair is tied up, her dress flows effortlessly down her frame, and she’s wearing a delicate pair of heels that add a few inches to her height. 

Your brain takes a moment to reload. Nucky could have at least created a professional atmosphere, but this woman does not seem like she works for him. Every person in Nucky Thompson’s life could become a threat to you. Every person you meet that you have not intended to meet brings you one step closer to irreparable damage. But perhaps that has been his plan all along. 

“Hello,” the woman greets you. Her eyes are wide with bewilderment. 

You stutter. The blood rushes to your head. “Um, good afternoon–”

“May I help you?” The Irish accent starts to come out, and you put one and two together. 

Leo told you about Mrs. Schroeder. Margaret. You were right to assume that she isn’t one of Nucky Thompson’s goons. Far from it.

Inhaling a deep breath, you gather your thoughts to form an appropriate answer that won’t give you away entirely. “I’m here because I have a meeting with Mr. Enoch Thompson. I’m sorry, am I at the right address?” you ask.

“Oh!” Her face lights up with realization. “No, yes, of course. You are at the right address. Mr. Thompson just isn’t home yet.”

“I am a few minutes early, I’m afraid.”

Five minutes. It isn’t all that much. You try to be nice, but inside, you’re fuming. Not at this poor woman, not at all, but rather at Nucky. You haven’t even met him yet, but you already feel a deep disdain for this human being. How your father managed to consider him a friend is beyond you. Perhaps he was different back then—it has been a few years—but you highly doubt that. 

You clear your throat. “I take it you’re the lady of the house?” 

Margaret blinks, then smiles. “Yes, I believe that would be me. I’m Margaret Schroeder,” she says.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Schroeder. Or is it Mrs.?”

“It’s Mrs., actually.”

“Apologies, Mrs. Schroeder.”

“No apologies needed.” She curtsies, which is endearing, in a way. Her eyes roam your body from head to toe. She’s trying to figure you out; you can’t blame her. “And who might you be?” Margaret asks. There is a hidden pressure to know the nature of your appearance hidden behind the niceties.

You can’t blame her for not wanting to let a stranger into her house, but the question leaves you grappling with the possible answers that could keep her off your back while still sounding truthful enough for her to believe you.

“Austin,” you blurt out. It wasn’t well-considered, but you couldn’t think of anything else.

“Austin?” she questions.

“Yes, ma’am. My parents didn’t know what to name me, so they considered all cities in the State of Texas before settling on Austin. I’m aware it isn’t very conventional, but they liked to pride themselves on being free spirits,” the lie flows past your lips effortlessly.

Using your alias while at the same time branding yourself as another character entirely is risky. You shouldn’t rely on your gut feeling. Margaret may seem innocent, but there is always a certain risk. You can only hope that she will buy it. If not, you have yet another bridge to burn.

Margaret gasps softly. “You came all this way from Texas?” 

Thank God it is the only thing she took away from your explanation. 

“I represent Mr. Austin in his business,” you state. “Mr. Thompson will know what that means.”

Her reaction tells you she doesn’t know what you mean, at least, and it takes an ounce of the weight off your shoulders.

“Well, Austin,” Margaret says, still suspicious of a stranger in her home but less tense, as it seems, “Would you like to come inside? I’m sure my—Mr. Thompson will be back any minute. He probably just got caught up in some business.”

You nod. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

She steps aside. You take in the spacious entrance hall. It is bathed in soft sunlight, filling the entire house with life. A set of stairs leads upstairs. The property is nothing short of extravagant, and you wonder how far the walls reach. 

Your eyes meet those of a brunette standing in the doorway to what you assume must be the living room. Her hands are crossed before her, fingers tangled in the white fabric of her apron. You suppose she must be a maid, or at the very least a housekeeper. 

Margaret nods toward her. “Katy, would you please take Miss Austin’s jacket?” she asks. 

The woman—Katy—steps toward you with a curt smile. She opens her arms. “May I?” she says. 

You take a moment to process the clear power dynamic, then quickly slip out of your coat. It’s not too cold outside—you wouldn’t even consider it hot, just comfortably warm—but you hardly ever wear jackets out of practicality. You wonder if any woman does. Your sleeves are short, barely covering your shoulders. The first time you wore what you wanted without care was simultaneously the last.

Showing your shoulders is considered preposterous, but only if you’re a woman. That isn’t different in Atlantic City. You could get fined for wearing a skirt that is a few inches too short in a public setting, but only if you’re a woman. You can’t wear your hair down if you have long hair or you will get scrutinized, but only if you’re a woman. What doesn’t get scrutinized is the fact that men can’t keep their disgusting fingers to themselves. They don’t respect the word ‘no’ as a full sentence. They wouldn’t even let women vote until they started fighting back. 

Men have the right to make rules about how you, as a woman, are supposed to present yourself as an individual. If you don’t follow the rules, you are immodest and impure. You’re not a woman if you don’t bow down to a man. Perhaps it was the way you were raised but it has always felt so wrong to you to allow the supposed superior sex to play with you as if you were a toy and set rules for all women just because they are secretly afraid of the power they hold. 

As infuriating as it is though, you wouldn’t want to be thrown in jail. You were threatened once with it, and you decided that you can’t fight back if you’re constrained. Instead, you conform, and you bottle up the rage that has consumed you and your ancestors since the beginning of time. You pour it into fragile glass bottles and place it on a shelf, but that very shelf is about to break under the weight, and God knows what may happen then. 

One day it will be different, you wish. But that day is not today, and perhaps it won’t be for centuries. 

You want to tell Katy that you can take care of your coat yourself, but this isn’t your home, nor is it your family. The last thing you want is to come off as rude. You don’t want to overstep or appear in a negative light. 

“Thank you,” you say, and her smile becomes more genuine. 

You turn back to Margaret. “I hope I’m not intruding, Mrs. Schroeder.”

She shakes her head. “Nonsense,” she says. “Punctuality can be quite the curse when you’re meetin’ with an unpunctual person.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true.”

Children’s laughter sounds from somewhere to your left, and you peek around the corner to see a little boy and a little girl sitting on the floor. 

“Are they yours?” you dare to ask. 

“Yes. That’s Emily, my youngest,” — she points to the girl — “And her brother, Teddy.”

“They’re adorable.”

“Thank you. I’m quite proud of them.”

You watch the two kids play under the watchful eye of another maid. They’re still so carefree; safe and sound under their mother’s wing. Things were easier when you were their age. When you still had hope. You enjoyed sitting on the floor of your childhood home and playing with your toys just as Emily and Teddy are doing now. Sometimes, you miss being a child who only knew what she wanted to know; a child living in her fantasy world, far from any kind of illicit affairs. 

Then again, rumor has it that Margaret lost the father of her children to Nucky Thompson, and even though he was a bad man, it was a huge cut in their lives that affected everyone in the family. It will get easier to deal with, maybe, but they won’t forget.

She utters the name you gave her, and you instantly tear your eyes away from the little humans in the living room. “You can settle down in the conservatory,” she tells you. “It’s a lot more quiet there.” 

“Of course,” you answer. Margaret guides you down the hall and through another doorway. You try not to stare too much as you pass the lavish decor. 

The sunlight hits your face as you come closer to the well-lit conservatory that stretches out longer than you expected. “Would you like some tea?” she asks. 

You wave her off. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly accept that.”

“I’m sure Katy wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m good, honestly, but thank you.”

“Very well then.” She smiles, but the more she does so, the more you start to believe she is forcing her reaction. The tension in her shoulders is palpable. You wonder if it’s because of you, but it couldn’t possibly be; you don’t pose a threat. Maybe it’s the connection to her partner that concerns her, and you can’t blame her for that. 

The conservatory is filled with green plants and colorful flowers. They seem to shimmer under the natural lighting. It’s cozy, you have to admit, and certainly a lot more comfortable than waiting outside the door on the front porch in a neighborhood you don’t belong to.

“Feel free to, uh, take a seat,” Margaret says, pointing toward the table. “I will be taking the children to the beach in a few minutes, but I’ll make sure someone fetches you once Mr. Thompson is back. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to let the maids know. They’re at your service.” 

You offer her a disarming smile. “I appreciate it.”

She bids her goodbyes, wishing you a good day, before she turns on her heel and leaves you to your own devices. 

The big windows are calling for you. You inhale the oxygen that has been purified by the greenery. For the first time since your train rolled into Atlantic City, you feel a little lighter. You don’t feel like the reality of the situation is pressing down on you and drowning you in misery. You can breathe again. 

You dare to step closer to the flowers. The red of the petals offers a stark contrast to the green. You play with the sunlight on your fingers, then gently move the tip over one of the delicate blossoms. Your heart jumps with the sudden realization that you could easily break or injure it. 

The floral scent fills your nose, but it isn’t too overwhelming. Unlike roses, while looking beautiful with an intense shade of maroon, this flower is rather shy. It may look like it would smell like a thousand gardens all at once, but it’s treacherous. 

“I didn’t realize Mr. Thompson hired a new gardener,” the Irish accent makes your head whip to the doorway. 

“Excuse me?” you blurt.

Gelled-back dark hair and hazel eyes that rival the plants in the conservatory. The man is clutching his hat to his chest. A gray jacket covers his stoic frame, but it’s the way he carries himself that catches your attention the most. He exceeds the kind of confidence that he hides behind a shy smile.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he says, “I was only joking.”

You scoff. “I’ll have you know, I was merely admiring the flowers, not tending to them.”

Who does he think he is, you ask yourself, that he believes he has the right to look the way he does—act the way he does—and talk to you like that? It’s outrageous.

His plump lips part and the only words he seems capable of uttering are sickeningly cheeky. Whoever he is, you want nothing more than to turn around and leave. Because this man is too young to be Nucky Thompson, but he has more than enough audacity to pass as someone in his position. Or someone working for him. 

When Margaret said she would have someone fetch you, this is not what you expected. Young, tall, and handsome as hell. Your stomach curls into a tight coil. No, you don’t like him. You can’t like him. You swore yourself you would never stoop this low, but one look into his eyes, and the blood pools in your cheeks like scarlet mountains.

The stranger chuckles as he approaches you. “Of course. A lady of refined taste, I take it?” The glint in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

With every ounce of blood your heart pumps through your body, heat fills you from the inside out, threatening to melt you into a puddle—an annoyed puddle. 

“And just what would you know about my taste?” you challenge him. 

He shrugs. “Only that a woman as lovely as yourself must appreciate the finer things in life.”

You want to burst like the ticking time bomb people have told you that you are. 

You clear your throat. There is a slight edge of flustered uneasiness to your voice. You try to swallow it, but the smirk on his lips tells you that he must have heard it loud and clear. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mister…” 

“Sleater, ma’am,” he interjects. “Owen Sleater. I work for Mr. Thompson.”

He’s smooth, and God, he knows he is smooth. It’s written all over his face, those defined cheekbones, and his sharp jawline. It’s like he has been painted by a Greek God. Or he is the Greek God. Either way, this Irish—your first instinct was to call him a fucker when you first laid eyes on him—is getting on your last nerve. 

He’s clean-shaven, but the shadow of a once-there beard is visible. He’s a beautiful man, stunning even, and that annoys you even more. With his fake innocence and his desperate attempts to come across as a pure gentleman while he is teasing a total stranger into oblivion for a probably very sadistic purpose. You should not allow your mind to even go in that direction. Not when he makes you so nauseous. 

“Well, Mister Sleater,” you find your voice again, “I have to disappoint you,” you say. “I’m not easily swayed by a smooth talker.”

Owen—his name suits him, you have to admit—raises his eyebrows. His forehead wrinkles a little as he does so. “What are you swayed by then?” he inquires. 

“Not you, that’s for sure.”

You can see your reflection in his eyes; his color blends with yours, drawing you in. Owen chuckles, probably to save some time to gather himself. 

He stutters. “You have quite the sharp tongue, Miss…” he trails off, waiting for you to fill in the gap.

Once again, you stare into the face of a very big problem. You shouldn’t be here. You consider the possibility that Anthony may have been right, just for a moment; maybe you should not have come on your own, and maybe you should have taken him with you because everything suddenly feels like it’s falling apart.

You push the thoughts away. “You may call me Austin,” you say. 

“Miss Austin, ma’am.” A flicker of recognition crosses his face. “Are you, by any chance, related to one Mister Austin?” Owen asks. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I do, ma’am.”

“That doesn’t mean you are entitled to an answer.”

“Trust me,” he chuckles, “I’m well aware of that.”

He exposes you with his gaze. You’re standing in the eye of the storm with nothing to protect you. Even in your best dress, you are naked and vulnerable. You cave when you meet his eyes. You try to be strong, but it’s useless. 

Self-awareness is a virtue not many possess; Owen is aware, but he chooses not to care. There is a difference that exceeds worlds in distance.

The only way for you out of this is to change the subject. “Would you happen to know your way around botany?” you ask. The subject isn’t entirely different; it was Owen who started the conversation with a similar context.

“I know a thing or two, yes,” he answers.

“Can you tell me what kind of flower this is?” You trace your fingertips over the red petals of the flower before you. “The color’s lovely.”

“I believe these are Alstroemerias, ma’am.”

His way of saying it melts like butter on your tongue. “Alstroemerias,” you repeat. “Quite a beautiful shade of red, isn’t it?”

You don’t care about his opinion, at least you don’t think you do, but the conversation is flowing and you can’t possibly stop it. 

“Very much so,” Owen says. His lips break into another smile. “And they suit the color of your eyes.”

The addition makes your head spin. You swallow, and you brush off his words with a scoff. “Are you always this cheeky, Mr. Sleater?”

“Only sometimes, but it’s been known to get me into trouble.”

“I’ll have you know that confusing me with the gardener does not help your case.”

There it is again, that glint. The mischief. “Not appreciative of my jokes, I see,” he muses.

Your jaw clenches. “I can appreciate a joke when it’s good. Have you seen me laugh since we met?” The words come out a little harsher than planned, but he takes them with the same lightness he seems to take everything with. 

Owen chuckles. The sound rumbles in his chest. “I, uh… No, I haven’t.”

Your body reacts to the sound of his voice in a way that makes you angry at yourself. “Checkmate,” you say. You beat him, and that’s all that is supposed to matter.

Owen though? He just won’t stop.

“Consider me beat,” he retorts. 

“And yet you’re still talking.”

The distance between you shrinks with each passing moment. Owen takes a step closer. You can feel his breath on your skin. He smells of Whiskey and gum. 

“Perhaps I just can’t resist a challenge,” he says.

“Is that so?” you ask. 

He brushes lightly against the back of your hand, reaching for the flower. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you pull away instantly at the shiver that rolls through you. It’s a tidal wave. 

He chuckles as if he knows that he is overstepping, but once again, he doesn’t care. Owen wraps his hand around the stem. The other slides into the pocket of his slacks to retrieve what seems to be a pocket knife. He drags it just a few inches below the flower’s petals, and it falls into his palm. He’s so gentle one wouldn’t think his fingers are calloused and his knuckles are cracked until they have felt them on their skin.

You tilt your chin up defiantly. “Now look at what you did—” You point at the broken stem, “You violated the poor flower. Don’t you have any regard for Mother Nature, Mr. Sleater?”

Owen leans in, his chuckle only another breath on his lips as he slides the flower behind your ear. The smell is a lot more dominant now that it is touching you.

“It’ll heal,” he states. He says it as though he knows exactly what he’s talking about, and he is probably not wrong. You wish he were, but he isn’t. 

Flowers and plants heal. They grow back. They bleed—sometimes they even make human beings bleed—but they often grow back. Nature is a lot more resilient than humans could ever be.

You should pull away and put an end to this dangerous game before it goes any further, but at that moment, with this stranger placing a flower he has claimed goes beautifully with the color of your eyes behind your ear, all rational thought flees from your mind because you can’t quite comprehend what is happening. What has this day turned into? He’s rendered you speechless, shaking in your cowboy boots, and the blood in your veins freezes even as it is boiling.

You’re too close to losing your composure.

The floorboards creak. You turn to the doorway for what seems like the millionth time. Katy looks between you and Owen, and something static crackles in the air. Her kindness from before has disappeared behind an iron wall. 

“I’m sorry,” she says curtly.

You look between her and Owen. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Miss, Mr. Thompson wanted me to tell you that he is ready to receive visitors now.”

Finally. This is what you came here for. You touch the flower behind your ear, and when you look at Owen who looks almost guilty, his affection that has melted like butter before is starting to grow over with toxic mold. 

“Thank you,” you tell Katy. Reaching for the flower, you remove it. 

“He said he is supposed to have an appointment with a Mr. Austin right now,” Katy adds. “I’m not sure if that is important.”

She is avoiding Owen’s eyes like the plague. You can’t blame her. Now that you have made the connection that this Irish fucker flirted with you even though he had a thing or two with his employer’s maid… You grab his hand and place the Alstroemeria in his hand rather roughly, closing his fingers around it.

“Mr. Austin,” he murmurs. 

You should panic, but there is nothing but emptiness in your dead expression.

“He couldn’t make it,” you state. 

“Could he now?” Owen is slowly but steadily connecting the dots. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Unfortunate, isn’t it?”

He scoffs. You turn away from him, the flower now squished in his hand. Katy looks like someone just kicked her, and you wish you could put that smile back on her face. Of course, Owen Sleater has to be a player. You should have figured as much. He can’t possibly keep his hands to himself.

On your way out, he calls out to you, “Mr. Thompson doesn’t like it when people waste his time.”

You stop on your way to the stairs, following behind Katy who is showing you the way even though she has no obligation to. A smirk grows on your lips. You have the upper hand now, and he has no idea. 

“I’m not wasting his time,” you say. 

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” You look over your shoulder. “Because I’m his appointment, and Mr. Austin doesn’t like to be kept waiting, especially not by inappropriate flattery,” you tell him. “Have a wonderful day, Mr. Sleater.”

His fallen face is the last thing you see before you turn around and make your way upstairs to the office, hoping that it will all have been worth it once this day is over, and you can finally forget it ever happened. 

tagging: @ebathory997 @kal-0n (if you want to be added, let me know)

[blubary]

Little Hope was originally supposed to be set in the early 2000s

(This totally is not an excuse for me to share a new AU with everyone…I swear.)

When the game first came out, me and @sargeantsarmy remember the cop talking about the crash and saying the people were newlyweds but I actually have no way of backing that up. I just VIVIDLY remember him saying it.

Eric and Rachel got married in 2001, 2 years before House of Ashes takes place. 2001 is also the same year they got in the crash in Little Hope. And if the cop did actually say “newlyweds” it would make sense that it was Eric and Rachel. But I couldn't find anything where he said that.

Also, Anthony does not at ALL look like he's in his late sixties. I mean, yes, it could just be because they didn't have someone who looked closer to that age, or Anthony just aged REALLY well. In 2020 Anthony would be 67 and he definitely does not look it. If it took place in 2001, Anthony would be 48, which I find to be much more believable than him being over 60.

Lastly, there is one piece of dialogue that kind of ties it all together in my opinion. It happens when Andrew and John are making their way to the police station and Andrew talks to John. I can't remember the exact conversation but I do remember that Andrew is being playful and tells John to “get with us millennials.” This made no sense to me…At first, I thought it could've just been Andrew making a joke, but that felt unlikely. However, if it took place in 2001, then both Andrew and Daniel, would’ve been millennials. (I’m ignoring the fact that Taylor would be Gen X and John and Angela would be Boomers…)

While Daniel and Taylor are walking to the bar, Taylor asks about Daniel saying that they could be dead.

This was the conversation they had:

Daniel: “I saw some cable show about how your brain keeps going after you- you know…”

Taylor: “You die?”

Daniel: “Forget about it, what they said didn't really stack up.”

Not a lot of Gen Z watch cable anyway because of social media. There is always the fact that he could have watched dit on something else or actually just watched the cable show, but it just seems a little specific.

But oh my god, I just love the idea of these guys having flip phones. I mean, come on, that would be awesome.

I feel like John would’ve been so afraid of Y2K which is so funny to me. Andrew was only scared because everyone else was scared. He didn't actually think the world was going to end. Angela and Taylor didn't believe in that shit. Daniel didn't think about it hard enough so he was a little scared, but eventually accepted his fate.

[daily-crowley]

TELL ME ABT YOUR OTHER HYPERFIXATIONS!! Mine are currently Loki, ofmd, good omens, and Hozier :D

THANK YOU FOR ASKING, THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG!

There’s a few hyperfixations of mine I’m always talking about but right now there’s 3 main ones.

1. The Boys

2. Invincible

3. Peacemaker

The Boys is the main one; I loved it since it came out back in 2019. I moved on sometime after S3 ended and I found another hyperfixation but now new content is coming out with S4 so I’m back on my The Boys bullshit. I’m a Butchlander shipper, BILLY BUTCHER AND HOMELANDER CONSUME MY THOUGHTS. I AM BEYOND OBSESSED WITH THOSE TWO! I need them to kiss…. And-and more. Anthony Starr and Karl Urban are my current celebrity crushes that I’m only able to think about. If you follow me in insta it’s just been The Boys 24/7 that I’ve talked about since new content started dropping thanks to S4. HOMELANDER IS MY BABYGIRL I WILL DEFEND HIM I DON’T CARE FOR HIS CRIMES I DON’T CARE IF I’M SUPPOSE TO HATE HIM, I LOVE HIM. BILLY BUTCHER MY GOTH BOYFRIEND I WILL DIE IF YOU DIE. HE CANT DIE, HE JUST CAN’T. S4 teaser was insane, so much was going on, Black Noir is back?! And Jeffrey Dean Morgan is joining the cast! AND TEAMING UP WITH BUTCHER?! They said that trailer was just a scratch on the surface of what happens, wasn’t even a trailer just a teaser but it had so much going on WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT’T JUST A SMALL TASTE OF S4?! I’m scared but excited. I’m nervous but excited (Billy if you fucking die on me- that’s what I’m most worried about)

Invincible is my other current hyperfixation, S1 was so good and I can’t wait for S2 to continue. They should’ve dropped all the episodes at once that way I don’t have to wait but whatever. Vigilante is my little meow meow from Peacemaker. I love Adrian so much, hate that I gotta wait till like 2025-2026 for S2 possibly.

My other interests that I talk about all the time (not currently much though thanks to The Boys) are:

• NATM/JedTavius

• Venom/SymBrock

• SamBucky/Marvel in general

• FNAF

• Who Framed Roger Rabbit

• Maleficent

• The Simpsons

Night at The Museum came out when I was 7, I’m 24 now, I haven’t moved on. It was my first hyperfixation and ship before I even knew what that all meant. I’ve written like 30 JedTavius fics. I’m a Venom fan first and a Spider-Man hater second. I will defend Venom at all times and Eddie and him are definitely in love. When the FNAF film came out it brought me back to my FNAF phase, Foxy’s my favourite with Bonnie being second. I watched the film about 20 times. Then in November I started a personal rewatch challenge on Insta where I watched it all month long. Meaning I’ve probably watched it at least 50 times and I still haven’t gotten sick of it (also I love the Josh Hutcherson whistle meme. I don’t care how much people hate it I think it’s funny.) I’m a huge Marvel fan, I literally grew up with the comics, I’m not kidding those were read to me as my bedtime stories. My favourite characters are Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes as a result I ship them. I never shipped Stucky, that never made sense to me whilst Sam and Bucky have so much chemistry. Sam Wilson is everything to me, I adore SamCap he’s MY Captain America (still love Steve though!) Roger Rabbit is my favourite fictional character of all time, my biggest comfort character. Growing up I really tried to base my personality off of him, the world might be obsessed with Jessica Rabbit but I’m obsessed with Roger. People need to draw, edit, and cosplay him as much as they do Jessica. I’ve been a huge Simpsons fan since I was like 10 and my mother dropped me off at my aunts house and she left leaving me alone with my cousin who was watching The Simpsons and it took off from there. Nelson Muntz is my funky little son and they need to make Nelisa canon. Maleficent is my favourite Disney character (actually like quite a bit of Disney, second favourite character being Donald Duck) I based a lot of my style around her, and I have a lot of Maleficent collectibles. I absolutely love the Angelina Jolie’s Maleficent films (totally ship her with Diaval).

There’s a few other things that I really, really love. I’m also a huge horror fan my favourite being Chucky/Child’s Play as well as Killer Klowns from Outer Space, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (not 3D), Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, etc. Sanrio, Kuromi is my favourite second is Pochacco, I really love animated films and cartoons. IT, Monster High, and more. I’m also a collector of all these things.

So there you have it. Those are all my hyperfixation and fandom’s that I’m in. Right now especially those first 3 that I talked about (seriously can you tell I really like The Boys? Lol)

[femmmie]

What about Anthony being very jealous when he finds out that Amanda had kissed Ian in her audition when they were improvising together?? Ian and Anthony don't have to be together in this already just Anthony being jealous! Or they could be together and be jealous of Amanda doing that before Ian and Anthony got together??

Falling

Ian and Anthony were smoking expensive cigars and drinking hard liquor as they celebrated their acquisition of Smosh. They sat on Ians balcony and were howling with laughter. Both from their jokes and from general happiness to be together and vibe so well, after all these years.

"So, I watched your funeral roast video," Anthony said, one eyebrow raised.

"That was pretty epic," Ian giggled.

"I couldn't help but notice something!"

"What?"

"You were very quick to judge SMASH on Amanda. There seems to be some sexual tension between you guys," Anthony had a laughing fit after saying that, so badly that Ian had to laugh too.

"Nah you idiot, she's married!"

"So what?"

"Wow, that's cold."

"Even so, I see what I see! There's something going on there!"

The truth was, Anthony had certainly seen it and played the moment on loop for a whole afternoon, overthinking and overanalyzing. Amanda had been dressed up as Ian's mom, which was weird (and hot). "You scare me so much. SMASH." Did he like scary women? Why?

"Well, if you MUST know… we kissed."

Anthony resumed his fit of giggles and almost choked on his cigar smoke. He got up from his lounge chair and leaned heavily on the banister. His head was spinning. They KISSED...

"Hey bud, I think you should go a bit easy on the substances now," Ian laughed but his brows were somewhat raised.

"So, give me the TLDR of what happened bro." Anthony wanted to know everything. Every minute detail, how her lips had felt... how his lips.. had felt... did he look at her like he looked at Anthony when he seemingly casually but actually fully intently changed shirts in front of him? Did he... did he touch her hair, her face... her body...

"Alright," Ian said as he shook his head ever so slightly. "So, she auditions, right. And she's hilarious. We were doing a scene. And we just kept messing with her but she wouldn't budge, absolute professional. But I think she read the room in how far she could go and she just went for it!"

"Whaaaa! How did it go down?"

"Well, she stood where you're standing right?" Ian said, as he stood up as well.

"And I stood like here." Ian took a few steps towards Anthony.

"And she said in this horrible Australian accent: "Are you from Australia? Because I see that you have some great koala-fications." You know how I can't resist Australian jokes. And then she just grabs me…"

Ian grabbed Anthony by the waist.

"And kissed me like that! Only she was leaning down as she is so much taller than me, which is very hot, I'll admit."

Anthony half laughed, half whimpered. Having Ian this close while this intoxicated was a dangerous combination. And Ian was drunk too. He always did crazy shit when he was drunk. Would he go for it and kiss Anthony? Why did Anthony want to be kissed? His mind was racing, his cheeks burned, and his heart behaved like a Brazilian drum band. He took a step back and tripped over his own feet, falling backward, over the banister.

"Anthony!" Ian was laughing as he held on for the dear life of his best friend, who dangled upside-down from his balconee.

"What the fuck, Anthony!"

"Get me up!"

"So, do you agree to a 20-80 ownership of smosh, me getting the 80 of course?" Ian joked.

"Fuck you!"

"Hey, my head is against your dick, I'm sacrificing a lot saving you!"

"Just pull me up!"

Ian got Anthony on the balconee again. They sat there, panting for a while. Then they resumed their laugher.

"Oh my god, did that just happen?"

"That was kind of insane. But also kind of hot."

"Yeah, you like that, huh, I bet you wanted me to kiss you!"

"Maybe."

"Idiot."

"I love you, bro. I just got you back. Now, don't die on me, okay?"

"I'll try my best not to."

"Alright! Better..."

Anthony felt moved by Ian's words, the adrenaline still rushing through his body. He grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him onto his lap, while still sat on the ground.

"What did you do that for?"

"I want to prove something to you."

Anthony was determined. He just almost died. He couldn't waste any more time. Ian felt very warm on his lap.

"However hot that kiss was, this one's going to be hotter."

Anthony cupped Ian's startled face in his own tattooed hands, blinked slowly, and gave him the best smolder he could muster at the moment. He leaned in, slower and slower, he heard Ian's gasping breath against his face.

"I love you too, Ian," he crooned. "And it's about time I show you what I truly mean by that."

[thisisjustmefangirling]

Merlin rewatch, 2x07 : "The Witchfinder"

Rewatched on the 21rst of March, 2024.

Poor Merlin just wanted to have fun and be himself in the woods and it started a witch hunt.

It's funny how so many "Game of thrones" actors were on "Merlin" first. Charles Dance is impressive. I like seeing him act with Anthony Head.

Incredible how the witchfinder talks to Uther "You've gotten too soft". Who talks to a king like that ?

Only a witchfinder can make Uther look not genocidal enough...

Poor Morgana is scared to death. She's so sure she'll be found out and burnt.

Everybody's reaction to Merlin being accused of sorcery is interesting. Morgana is very relieved, and shaken. Arthur and Gwen are confused and clearly don't believe it. Arthur particularly seems to think it's the stupidest thing he's ever heard.

My video player is buffering and I can see Arthur's full outfit and once again, I think this is not an outfit good enough for a prince. A Crown Prince. The fabrics should look better and more expensive.

Leon is so eager to be a good cop and find proof that Merlin is guilty...

Until that episode, Arthur has no idea that Gaius used to practice sorcery. "We must give him benefit of the doubt, surely". I like that Arthur is not that keen on witch hunting. He was eager to please his father at the beginning of the episode and search for the person who had played with the smoke, but who can say he would have been thorough in his search ?

What a shame Merlin only had Gaius and Kilgarrah to guide him... They were both not that good for him. He was so young.

"If you were to die, you would endanger the lives of all those who rely on you." Merlin would do well to remember this.

Argh Gaius you're accidentally putting Morgana in danger !

When Gaius "confesses", Arthur looks directly at Merlin to see how he's reacting. My Merthur heart !

I think it's so interesting to see how Uther reacts to Gaius being accused of sorcery, facing the possibility of torture, and hearing him confess. He wants to trust Gaius, and he doesn't wish him harm. "By the laws of Camelot, I must sentence you... to death". MUST ! That pause ! Uther doesn't want to do it ! He turns away to face his throne. I think Merlin is going to remember this later and he would probably know that Arthur wouldn't want to sentence him but he would feel like he has to do it because it's the law.

Arthur's eyes are not on Gaius as he's being taken away. They're still on Merlin. He's so attentive to Merlin. And then he physically drags him away from the room. "I'll deal with this". "Breaking the law" for Merlin. I love him <3

It's nice to see Gwen and Merlin being partners in crime and justice again !

Arthur asking to show Gaius some respect <3

Damn Gwen really knew what to say to Arthur... She didn't even play on his crush for her, she went right for the jugular, reminding him he let her father die on false accusations of sorcery, and "I thought you were a prince, so act like one" and "do the right thing".

The toad was a bit too much indeed.

That antefinal scene between Gaius and Uther was interesting. It's the first time I see Gaius standing up to Uther. I'm actually impressed that Uther apologised. He said "sorry". I didn't think it was in his temper.

[newtonsheffield]

I'm afraid I might have to disagree. The summary should be changed to "The WWII AU absolutely EVERYONE wanted". ❤️ Really loved the first chapter. Especially the fact that we got a full glimpse into Anthony's letter. He is trying so hard to sound nonchalant, but underneath that façade he is just both uncertain and hopeful that he didn't ruin his only chance with Kate. 🥺 There was a whole range of emotions throughout that chapter. An amazing job, as always. Thank you, Molly!

I think that... Anthony really wants to put up his front of the unbothered soldier, he's full of bravado, but underneath it all: Anthony's scared.

He's scared every time he gets in that plane and he thinks he'll die just like his father did, and his mother will have to feel that grief all over again that she felt when his father died. Only this time he'll be the cause. And for one awful moment, it had felt as though Kate Sharma might see right through him.

But even so, he was curious about her, before she slapped him. She was clearly the most beautiful woman in the room and yet, she ignored every man who made his way over to her, sitting by herself instead. But she was quick when he spoke to her, nothing he threw at her threw her off-kilter and he left the dance even more intrigued than when he arrived.

So he write her a letter, after being warned by Daphne that perhaps Kate wouldn't be the most open to speaking to him again. And no he doesn't exactly have much time for romancing girls given he's going to be deployed again soon but for some reason, he doesn't like the idea that Kate Sharma's walking around thinking ill of him.

[crescentcampbell]

Wouldn't You Like to Know ch. 5

Five

            Penelope’s heart raced. This was the moment of truth. Would he believe her? She cleared her throat. “Yes---erm----of course.” She took it from him. “But she is on vacation, so it might take a few days for it to get back to you.”

            He shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t mind waiting a few days.”

            “You want some coffee?”

            Colin shook his head. “I only came to drop that off and I don’t want to interrupt your morning. But listen, my contact information is in there. Call me, yeah? It’s been ages since we hung out and I’ve missed you, Pen. It’s been way too long. You should uh---come around for Sunday dinner. Mom would love that.”

            Penelope frowned. When her dad had stolen from the Bridgerton’s, they’d been banned from Violet Bridgerton’s famous Sunday Dinners. She had all of her children there, along with the Who’s Who of New York. “Oh….um…I don’t know about that. It might be awkward.”

            He reached forward and brushed back one of her loose, red curls. “Pen, we were never mad at you or your sisters. We were mad at your father for betraying your trust. I know that’s still terrible, but I know Mom would say that you were always welcome in our home. Besides, I know you miss her eclairs.”

            She sighed and hated how right he was. Violet Bridgerton’s eclairs were heaven on earth. America’s favorite online homemaker was magic in the kitchen and Penelope had missed her cooking something fierce. Her own mother had never been a baker. She’d always had private chefs to do her cooking. Private chefs that knew better than to serve Penelope sweets if they wanted to keep their paycheck.

            Portia Featherington would never admit that she didn’t like her daughter not being a size two, because that wasn’t the right thing. But Penelope knew it in the  way she treated her which was why they didn’t really talk much. “I do miss your mother’s eclairs. And I would like to see everyone again. Anthony’s getting married, right?”

            Colin nodded. “He finally found someone that isn’t completely scared of him. She’s actually his boss.”

            Penelope raised an eyebrow. “And Anthony likes that?”

            Colin snickered. “I think it’s a kink or something, actually. She’s the only woman besides mother that tells him that he can’t do things. Kate’s very smart and very good at her job. She runs the magazine that father used to own. The Ton.”

            “That’s right,” said Penelope, “it was sort of a high society thing, wasn’t it?”

            Colin nodded. “Actually, she secretly likes that book series your boss writes. The Gossip? She would love to do a feature on her, but she’s been having trouble trying to figure out who she is and she never answers any of her messages or e-mails. She only gets standard responses. Maybe you could convince her?”

            Penelope found herself unable to look Colin in the eyes. She was still half asleep, and was not prepared to have this conversation. The last thing she had expected when she woke up this morning was to see Colin Bridgerton at her home.

            “Um---you know what, I’ll see what I can do. I actually have a lot of work I have to do though. It was great to see you again.”

            Colin smiled. “I’m serious about Sunday, Pen. Don’t be a stranger. I know where you live now.”

            “Right. Right.” She laughed nervously. “Good to see you, Colin.”

            “Good to see you too.”

            Colin hugged her tightly again, and Penelope thought that she might die as he held onto her tightly. She was going to buy herself a thing of Old Spice and sniff it when she was alone. She wanted to always have the scent of him with her. God. How was she an obsessed, teenage weirdo again?

            She wanted to sniff him.

            She wasn’t going to sniff him.

            Fuck.

            “Penelope?” said Colin.

            “Um…yeah?”

            “Did you just sniff me?”

            Penelope coughed and pulled away from him. She wiped her nose as though she had a cold. “No, um. I have a cold.” She coughed again, harder. “You should probably go. Don’t want to get sick.”

            Colin made a face. “Oh. Right. Okay. Well, feel better. I’ll see you Sunday, yeah?”

            She only coughed in response and pushed Colin out the door. “Sunday. Sure. If I’m feeling better---I’ll get the paperwork to Lulu. Good to see you! Bye.” She slammed the door shut and when he was gone, Penelope breathed a sigh of relief.

            She looked down at the yellow envelope in her hand that had the contract for her movie deal. She read through it and stared at the number. $3.5. million. It wouldn’t be given to her all at once, of course, but that was still more money than she had ever made in her entire life and Penelope considered herself pretty well off.  “Oh. My. Fuck.”

            Penelope jumped up and down. She was a millionaire. A fucking millionaire. She was never going to have to ask her mother for help ever again (not that she did that often if she could help it, but still).

            And Colin Bridgerton was back in her life. He had also invited her back into the Bridgerton’s world. She was going to get her old life back. Maybe she could even get Eloise back as a friend. She had missed all of them. They had been part of her life for so long. It would be nice to have them all back.

            As a teenager, she had spent more time there than she had at her own home. If she wasn’t at school, she had been with the Bridgerton’s, getting into some kind of mischief. Losing their friendship had almost been worse than finding out that her father was a criminal. Because everything shined brighter with them. She would make things right this time around.

[inertflouride]

Trap of Lies Part-25

This is a dark AU collaboration started by @x3kristax3 Viewer discretion is advised! It starts from here

TW: Heavy Violence.

MC's POV

"Tell your father to keep regard of his age and speak as much as his position allows him to or I can't guarantee his coming years to be filled with mirth", Alan threatens me, cracking his gloved knuckles as he does.

Jesus, does this man not infuriate my existence. If I had my way, I shan't have kept myself from snapping his neck, but I must keep my temper at bay for no good has ever come from it. I need to keep at this daunting task, however much it makes me tear my skin and itch at it. This is MY revenge, MY order of justice. I'll serve it as I wish to.

I keep my gaze from darkening at his looming yet empty threat and instead, pull a whimpering mask over myself.

"Alan, love, please stay at ease", I fawn my helplessness, "You can do whatever you wish to do with me but please, keep my parents away from it."

"Or what?", he grabs my chin, digging his nails in my cheeks, "You plan on fleeing to that bitch, Jake, now that he already took over my business?"

I put my hands on his chest, trying to calm his grip on my face and distance myself from him. Of course though, my mere act of self preservation ticks him off wrong and he pushes me hard backwards, making me trip and fall on my arse.

"Oh, so now you can't bear my touch too?", he scoffs and manically starts bellowing in laughter. I shall be lying if I said I wasn't scared, because I really was. I was terrified at the sight following before me.

Suddenly, he jerks towards me, taking advantage of my fallen state and kicks my side, hard. I feel air being knocked out of my lungs as he again makes contact of his foot with my body, this time my spine.

He picks me up and suddenly, a knife appears in his hand, which he strikes inside the left of my torso. I gasp from the sudden excruciating pain, making me grip the broken skin from bleeding the life out of me.

I can't die.

"You have to die, MC", he says cooly, "but not in my house. Your blood cannot seep into my house."

With that, he takes the knife out of me, making me fall down with a thud, sideways, my hand still gripping the stabbed part. He throws a rag over me, covering my body before throwing me over his horse and taking off god knows where.

Every gallop the horse takes makes me want to jump off it so the pain stops. It's too much. Just too much that I can't help but cry out a scream when the colt jumps over a puddle.

"One more word and I'll tie your feet to this horse's stirrup and drag you to the location", he hisses at me. I bite my tongue to keep every moan in as my insides churn.

Somebody needs to find me, and fast.

Anthony's POV

"Ow", I wince as a needle pricks into my shoeless feet, making me stagger towards the heap of concrete sand. As I make my way there, the loud stampede of an animal catches my ear. I look towards the source of the sound and see a horse with two people mounted on it, making their way towards my direction in a very hasteful manner.

I jump towards the side before getting under the stallion's feet and quickly try looking at the person riding it, but I am too late to notice their faces, their backs and saddle pad the only view I manage to catch. A bobby.

Dejected, I look down, my attention back to my aching foot when I see dark red blobs making the trail behind the horse. My eyes widen on their own accord, making me remember my own childhood trauma.

"Get on, Tony. We gotta reach the town centre for goods exchange", I hear Luke howling. I try to speak but the sound does not escape my lips. I try to turn and look back at Luke but my feet just gets stuck.

"Tony?", Luke asks, putting his hand on my shoulder and shaking me back to reality. When he sees my paled face, he grips both my shoulders comfortingly and squats, asking, "What happened? What's wrong?"

I know there's no point trying to talk so I simply point my little finger at the sight. Luke follows my direction and shocks paints his face too, though he handles it better than me. "Ok boy. We need to tell this to Leader" and takes my hand to rush to the Bar.

Phil's POV

I brush my hair into a neat ponytail and check my appearance once again in the mirror. The last time I felt this nervous was probably when I fled my stepfather's house as a 16 year old.

I, again, takeout my pocket watch for the umpteenth time and then take a look at my desk, unfolding the note again.

Phil, I need your help. Meet me at the town square at noon. Jess

It's been 5 years since my sister made any contacts with me. The last time we exchanged a word, she had sworn to sever everything between us. So, now that she has sent a word to me, it worries me green over what went down that has pushed her towards me.

"What have you gotten yourself in, Jessy?"

Jessy's POV

"Hello to you too, brother", I greet him, as politely as I can allow myself to, trying not to scoff over how, even after 5 years, my brother doesn't show any affection or longing or anything but asks me, in the plainest way possible. 'What have i gotten myself into?'

"I need your help to expose Angus Barnett", I return back the curtness.

"How do you expect me to do that?", he asks me.

"Well, I know you're with a wrong crowd, I know you have quite an influence in this area and I know you are engaged with the trading of drugs."

"How do you-", I am about to ask her when my gaze falls onto two frantic kids. "Excuse me, Jessy."

He moves towards them and the two kid's faces brighten up on seeing him, though a worried frown is still etched on the younger lad's face.

"Leader. Tony here saw blood blobs on the town's outskirts trailing behind a horse", the older kid tells him, his voice raspy.

"It was a bobby. Coming from the Chief's den", Tony chimes in.

"A bobby?", I can't help but shriek behind me. "Phil. We need to get there, right now."

"Huh? How does this bother you?"

"Because that's probably MC!"

"Ok. You need to tell me what's going on here, but first, we need to reach MC. Tony, you come with us. Luke, I need you to keep a watch on the bobby station and tell any suspicious activity to Daniel."

Phil's POV

"You are absolutely nuts, Jessica Hawkins! Oh no, my bad. Jessica Hallister", I shout at her over the loud galloping of our horses. "I know you care for MC, but you should not support her in her crazy rendezvous. What if Alan were to attack you both? How would you protect yourself?"

"Oh, hush Phil. I am no damsel in distress and neither is MC. To think we are both weak is a grave error on your chivalrous self. We are more adept than you would believe."

I am about to prove her wrong when Tony intercepts me, saying "That's the horse I saw. The same saddle pad", pointing his finger ahead.

I nod to Jessy and we both dismount the horse, as quietly as possible. Tony begins to descend too before I stop him. "Child, you go back. Take my horse and retreat back. We shall take it from here", I instruct him, handing him a few gold coins just in case. He takes them from me and nods, making his way back.

I move to tie the horse to a faraway tree, taking the gun out from the saddle pocket, before joining Jessy and making our way, sneakily, towards the horse, talking shelter behind the tall trees as we do.

I hear Jessy gasp, and jerkingly move my gaze over her line of vision, and does it not make my blood churn.

Alan drags MC by her hair towards the centre, a huge spot of blood colouring the torso area of her croset. Jessy makes a rush towards the scene, when I grab her by her arm and stop her. "We go in there and he'll kill MC if he hasn't already", I whisper shout at her.

MC struggles to free herself from his chainsaw hold, though to no avail. I squat towards a nearer tree and take cover behind it before aiming my gun on this coxcomb.

3, 2, 1

The snap of the gunshot fills the abandoned area, making crows kaw away in fear. We rush towards MC as Alan grips his shoulder, howling in pain.

Jessy goes and wraps MC in her arms, crying on seeing her friend in an almost dead state.

"This wench, Jessy! I knew she would cause some hurdles in my plans. I will kill you, you bloody-", Alan curses until I break his jaw with my punch, making blood splatter.

"You. Do. Not. Insult. My sister. In front of me, do you get it?", I get on him and say this, ending each words with a punch on his face, till his face turns plump and distorted.

"Phil", I hear a weak yet firm force call me and I immediately look back. "I need to handle this in my own way. Please."

I look at her for a while and then get off Alan, handing MC my gun. "End him."

She nods and takes her aim on his heart. "I wish that your afterlife is filled with so much pain, that you'll beg them to kill you until you realise that you're already dead."

She shoots one shot. Then two. Then three. And then, keeps firing until she empties the barrel of gun. After empty clicking the gun, she throws the gun over him and squats down, breaking down in the most gruesome way possible.

I leave them two alone, inspecting what to do with the body. I move towards Alan's horse, surprised at how it stayed motionless the whole time until I see.

"The horse is dead", I hear MC saying it behind me. "He killed it demonstrate how he plans to kill me."

I look at Alan's body and crook my brow, before saying, "We can't leave it here. We can't take it back. If it is not dealt with properly, it is bound to haunt your future."

"I have an idea", Jessy suggests, still rubbing MC's arm. "What if we bury Alan's body here-"

"No, Jessy. Have you lost it?"

"At least let me finish, brother", she spits the last word with anger, silencing me down. The way she said hurts me deep, and according to her, I deserve it. Whatever.

"So, as I was saying, we bury his body in here. But, we bury the horse's body over his."

MC and I look at her, bewildered, trying to make sense of what she said. After she notices no reaction from us, she goes to reexplain it.

"We dig a hole. A deep hole and throw Alan in there. Then, we cover his body with sand, so it is not visible and then bury the horse's body over it too. That way, if anyone were to search for his body and start digging in here, they find the horse's fossils and stop excavating this sight further."

I stay silent, mulling over it for a few seconds until I look up at her, and say,

"Sister. You're evil!"