#marble rally | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bloodybigwardrobe · 7 months

Text

before, in the shadows of a life that has long ceased to be your own, war was suits and uniforms, severe men and overworked mothers. war was looming large, approaching fast. war was terror lurking in the skies, a constant fear of the open air. war was everywhere; your brother and sister forever slighted by all things turned into luxury inside your home. and sure, you only remember the before once it turns into the after, but war—no matter the where of it all, you remember war.

war: standing tall, standing straight, standing with the weight of worlds borne on youthful shoulders; war: a shadow, a streak of vivid red and vicious gold; war: a man-turned-boy-turned-man.

war: steady arms that cling with welcome desperation, a rallying cry that makes your heart burn bright; war: a stumbling boy bearing skies that turn red before they ever find their blue. war: familiar like no other, from cradle to your shaking adult hands.

before-turned-after, you hear your mother—unsweetened tea, old perfumes, and factory oils scrubbed out with rationed soap—whisper to her friends about war. you sit on wooden steps—not stone, never stone in the after—and dig your nails into your shins. war, forever burning bright, sits at your back with the skies and the sword's edge. you lean to feel the shift in his breath, to remember that with everything lost, war remains.

she let the war in, your mother says in words tinted with war-weak drink. she lets war sleep on the same floor as her children, she confesses, like a wolf amongst sheep. you dig your nails deeper. war, his forehead against your back, sighs.

you know war best, cradle to the here and now. he wipes your tears with too-soft hands until you miss the swords and bows like the air inside your lungs. he brushes your sister's hair, listens to your brother with intent. war holds it together in the cracked marble that you've all become. war, warm and familiar, holds on tight.

when you start to wear your mother's old dresses, outgrowing your own, when you start to paint your lips a new shade of red, war's reflection almost cracks the fragile glass of your composure. he watches, looming, bearing the crimson skies like a gift rather than the curse it grew to be. his eyes—blue still, too blue for england clouds and england air—carry even more, a looking glass for worlds long closed to you and him. the curve of his smile makes you ache for string and wood, makes your fingers crave the weight of pulling it all taut. his shoulders are broad, his hands calloused again.

over your shoulder, your mirror shows a sword stained beyond repair. you ache with the wish for the battlefield. you fear it as you always did, even when you called it home. war, a rag in hand and shoulders straight, hums in tune with the memory of arrows loosened from your gentle hands.

you leave before the blood can reach your polished shoes.

——susan pevensie learns of ares, of atlas, of war on a horse. she weeps for the brother she finds in them.

#narnia #chronicles of narnia #susan pevensie #peter pevensie #the pevensies #tcon #like i said yesterday: on my peter-as-war rodeo again #and as always with my peter and susan dynamic brainrot <333 #sometimes your brother is war and you are the gentle queen who will fight but hates war #hhhhhh they #atlaswriting

284 notes · View notes

ikeromantic · 3 months

Note

You're cat is so cute 😍

Could I request something with Gilbert and your room and hot cocoa?

Thank you and Happy New Year.

Awww thank you! I won't tell her though - she already thinks she's a princess! Here's approx 1300 words of a warm and sweet Gilbert. IkePri New Years Event story!

Emma stumbled down the palace corridor, silently cursing herself for being an idiot. She should have paid attention to how much she drank, to how often the servants topped her glass off. Her head was pounding and the floor kept twisting and turning beneath her feet.

Was this the hall her room was on? The doors all looked distressingly familiar.

She paused and leaned against the wall. At least no one could see her, she thought. It would be so embarrassing to -

“Little rabbit.”

Emma spun around and nearly fell. Only Gilbert’s gloved hand on her arm kept her upright. “Where d-did you come from?” She would have pulled away from his grip but the prospect of falling over in front of him kept her still. Well, kept her merely swaying anyway, she admitted to herself.

“Most recently?” He smiled, his eye gleaming with a certain mischief. “The party, of course.”

“Right.” She tried to give him a polite smile but the expression felt off, as if her face hadn’t quite remembered how to do that.

Gilbert laughed and shook his head. “Ah, little rabbit. You’ve made yourself easy prey tonight. How much did you drink?”

Emma shrugged. She wasn’t sure. How much did one glass count for if it was topped off every time you took a sip? “O-one glass.” She pulled herself up straight, and for a heartbeat, managed to hold it. Then the world tilted and spun again, sending her stumbling against the Obsidian prince.

“Must have been a very big glass,” he murmured. He loosed her forearm, and then slid his arm gently around her back, holding her up at the midsection.

In this position, her face rested comfortably against his chest, her hip to his thigh. Emma felt as if she fit to his side quite nicely. And he was warm. She felt a sudden urge to snuggle into him. The impossibility of this moment, the Belle in the embrace of The Conquering Beast, made her pause. A breathy laugh escaped her as she tried to remind herself who she was, where she was, and how dangerous the situation could be.

Gilbert sighed. “Come along, little rabbit. Let’s get you in bed.” He wore a bemused smile as he guided her slowly forward, his cane tapping along the marble floor with each step forward.

“I don’t - you - you shouldn’t - Prince Gi-gil. Bert. Gil. Bert.” Emma giggled. “It’s like you have two names.” Emma tried to rally herself, but the wine was doing its work. Her head felt full of sand, heavy and hard to move through. Her thoughts were sluggish, and spun off into strange territories.

“Do I?” He arched an eyebrow. His cane stopped its tapping as they came to a familiar door.

She nodded. “I - I like them though. A-and you.” Emma smiled up at him, feeling an odd ache in her chest.

Gilbert’s expression softened, a half-smile turned up one corner of his mouth. He studied her for a moment, as if gauging her words. “I -” He stopped and took a breath. A heaviness seemed to settle in his shoulders as he opened the door rather than replying.

Emma felt she ought to say something to comfort him. She didn’t understand the sudden change in his demeanor. But her eyes swung to the sitting room of her chambers and she felt an embarrassed heat creep into her cheeks, replacing other concerns in a heartbeat. “You should . . . probably go. C-can’t. Have you. I-in my bedroom.”

“It’s a little too late for that, little rabbit.” He guided her in, though she tried to pull away from the support he offered. Tried and failed, as her legs didn’t seem to understand what she wanted from them.

Gilbert settled her on the edge of the bed and took a step back. He’d regained himself in the moments between the door and the bed, his usual grin back in place.

Emma reached down to take her shoes off and nearly fell forward onto the floor.

The prince caught her, his cane clattering to the floor. His knees hit the carpet beside her bed with a dull thud, his hands bracing her shoulders. “Sit back, Emma.” His tone was gentle, low and warm like a summer sunset.

She didn’t argue. Her head was spinning and she could feel his hair tickle her cheek and his hands were so warm and - Emma shifted back to a sitting position and put a firm lock on her straying thoughts. There was no reason to think about how soft his lips looked, or to wonder what his kisses might taste like. He was a scary beast! Not a - not a handsome prince, even if he looked like one.

Gilbert’s hand caressed her from shoulders down her arms and for a moment, his hands laid atop hers on her lap. His thumb stroked the back of her hand before he let go, and bent down to unstrap her shoes.

It felt so strange, she thought, to have someone take your shoes off. Nevermind that the one doing it was the first prince of an enemy nation. A dangerous man she ought to fear. But she didn’t. Gilbert could be terrifying when he wanted to be. His ability to move from placidity to sudden violence was scary, as was the depth and breadth of his knowledge.

Despite that, there was a kindness in him. A gentleness, belied by his usual demeanor. There was more to him, she thought, hidden behind a veil of mystery. She wanted to know him, she realized. To understand him. Emma reached forward, brushing his hair lightly with her fingertips.

Gilbert’s crimson gaze froze her with her hand still extended. “What are you doing?”

“N-nothing?” Her fingers curled and she began to pull her arm back.

“Do it again.” His eye pinned her in place, a butterfly to a board.

Emma’s hand opened, her fingers extended. Trembling, she lightly touched his hair. It was silky soft, thick, with a slight curl that sent it in all directions. She slid her fingers through it, smoothing it down and back, enjoying the feel of it against her palm.

Gilbert’s eye narrowed with pleasure, then closed. He leaned his head against her knee, his breath shallow, pulse racing.

She could feel his warm breath against her thigh, his cheek lying on the soft inner part of her knee. The position felt vulnerable, intimate, a trust they exchanged to share this moment. Emma wasn’t sure how long it lasted. Forever and not nearly long enough.

He sat up, blinking. He still had one of her shoes in hand, and he set it down as he straightened. His eye flicked toward the door and then back to her. “You’re dangerous for me, little rabbit.” His smile took any sting from the words.

“Me? D-dang-dangerous?” Emma couldn’t encompass how ridiculous that idea was to her. She wasn’t dangerous at all, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate with her mind to explain that. All she could manage was a snort of disbelief.

“Indeed.” He smiled down at her as he stood. “Are you comfortable?”

Emma considered the question for a moment, then nodded. She felt warm and relaxed, her body abuzz with the alcohol and Gilbert’s touches.

“Good.” Gilbert tugged her sheets down, and plumped her pillow. “Lay back for me.”

The request sent little alarm bells shivering through Emma’s body, but she was slow to heed them. By the time she realized how inappropriate this was, she was already on her back and the prince was lifting her legs to tuck her beneath the soft sheets. “W-what?”

“Close your eyes, little rabbit.” He brushed the hair back from her face. “Yes, just like that.”

She felt her eyes drift shut, heavy lids giving in to gravity. Something warm and satin-soft brushed the skin of her forehead. A heartbeat, and it was gone, ephemeral as a dream.

“Sleep well.” Gilbert’s voice sounded close.

“W-will I see you? Tomorrow?” She reached for him and felt his hand catch hers.

He laughed, a low, sweet sound. “Tomorrow will tell.” With one last, gentle squeeze, he let go of her hand.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri Gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff

45 notes · View notes

workingclasshistory · 2 years

Photo

On this day, 4 October 1936, Oswald Mosley's British Union of Fascists planned to march through a predominantly Jewish section of East London, instead the Battle of Cable Street occured. The fascists were met by over 100,000 local residents and workers who – insistent that 'They shall not pass!' – fought both the blackshirts and the police protecting them, forcing the march to be abandoned. Reg Weston who was there, described what happened when the fascists and their police escort met the crowds, including many women and dockworkers: "The fascists were assembling by the Royal Mint and police started to make baton charges, both foot and mounted, to try to clear a way for them to escort a march. They did not succeed. A barricade started to go up. A lorry was overturned, furniture was piled up, paving stones and a builders yard helped to complete the barrier. The police managed to clear the first, but found a second behind it and then a third. Marbles were thrown under the hooves of the police horses; volleys of bricks met every baton charge." Meanwhile, women stood at the windows of local tenements, hurling missiles at police, and heading downstairs to pursue officers who fled. Eventually, Weston explained: "the Metropolitan Police chief, who had been directing operations, told Sir Oswald it would be impossible for him to have his march through the East End to his proposed rally in Victoria Park. The uniformed Blackshirts formed up and marched. But they marched west not east. They went through the deserted City of London and ended up on the Embankment, where they just dispersed — defeated." Learn more about Cable Street, and the fight against Mosley in the 1940s in our podcast episodes 35-37: https://workingclasshistory.com/2020/02/17/e35-37-the-43-group/ https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.296224173896073/2099006093617863/?type=3

493 notes · View notes

thegrievinggrieftherapist-blog · 6 months

Text

I always imaged Alex and Henry getting very frisky on FaceTime considering they spent much time apart. So I wrote a spicy fanfic about it.

*****

The Prince of England has finally abandoned the stuffy attire that imprisons him day in and day out. He's ever so thankful to recede into his bedroom in Kensington Palace where he can belong to himself, and not to a country or a crown or a government. True, he finds fulfillment doing his charity rounds at the children's hospital, but it's just about the only princely duty he truly enjoys. With furrowed brows he tugs his tie off in liberation and hangs his suit in his closet. As he walks into the bathroom to wash off the day, he opens his phone.

"Good luck with your mum's rally tonight," he sends. He added a heart emoji to the end of the text. Alex has been nervous about this campaign event for weeks. Henry has developed an admiration for Alex's honesty and wonders if there's a special, reserved level of vulnerability he only shares with him. Does Henry get a piece of Alex that no one else has access to? In the deepest chambers of his heart, behind steel bars and the facade of who the entire world thinks he is, he hopes so.

"AHHH. Freaking out. But hopeful. Is the prince back in his quarters?"

Henry smiles at his phone with a delicate eye roll. "Safe and sound."

"Good. Have the sweetest dreams. Of me." Alex then sends a selfie of himself from the bathroom mirror at the convention center where the rally is taking place. One hand is in his pocket, the other holding his phone, and his smile stretches wide and sprinkles his eyes with a sparkle. Those eyelashes, Henry thinks.

Henry bites his lower lip and tries to find a name for the feeling growing inside like vines, latching onto every piece of him. It's like nothing he's ever felt before. All-consuming. He sends a gif of a cartoon's eyes bulging out of their sockets, hearts in the place of irises.

"I'm being summoned by my mom's team! I'll text you when this is over!"

Henry puts his phone on the wide, marble vanity and steps into the steaming hot shower as Henry Fox, leaving Henry George Edward Hanover-Stuart Fox behind. At least until tomorrow.

***

Hours later, Henry is draped messily atop his bed with his his left arm slung over his eyes. He's wearing soft sweatpants with no shirt, willing himself to sleep. But sleep does not come. He lies awake, eyes closed.

The room is dark and his right hand is rising and sinking on his stomach as he breathes. The only other sound aside from his breath is David licking a paw beside him. Soon, he settles and falls into a slumber, of which Henry envies greatly.

In these quiet moments, his mind races with the feelings he's reluctantly allowed to slip through the cracks of his thick armor. Feelings that stretch across the Atlantic. It's 4AM in London, and the hours at Kensington Palace feel infinitely long as Henry waits for the morning's first light. Suddenly, he hears the soft buzz of his phone on his nightstand, bathing the space in blue light. When he shifts his body onto its side to retrieve it, a smile spreads across his face.

"Is the world-class insomniac living up to his self-given nickname?"

Alex's text sends adrenaline coursing through Henry's body as he brings his supple fingertips to the bright screen. It's been a few weeks since they've seen each other for Henry's polo match in Windsor and too long until their next rendezvous in the states. One corner of his mouth curves into a wicked smile as his fingertips start tapping.

"You know me too well, sweetheart," he sends.

"Besides the fact that I truly do care about your sleep hygiene, I'm glad you're awake."

Oh?

"And why is that?"

"Because I just got back from the campaign rally and I need your help with something."

Henry has exactly two seconds to wonder what Alex needs help with before he is FaceTiming him. Henry's heart skips a beat and answers. Alex's voice on the other end is more of a growl.

"Baby..."

Jesus Christ, Henry thinks. He leans his body up so he can better focus on what he's seeing. Alex is splayed out shirtless on his bed, room dimly lit, and his hand is dipped below the waistband of his unzipped jeans, moving at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"Alex, my God, look at you," Henry groans.

"Good evening, your royal highness. I thought you'd like to see what happens to me when we go too long without seeing each other," he says, giving Henry a smirk. Alex's hand dips deeper into his pants and he strokes himself, closing his eyes and parting his lips. "I wish you could feel how hard I am for you right now."

Henry props his phone up on his night stand and quietly lays on his side with his knees bent to his chest, watching. His voice is sultry when he speaks. "Keep going."

"Oh, I have no intention of stopping." Alex's eyes stay closed as he exhales his words and Henry stares in admiration at this man he is falling for. This man who claims Henry as his with every text, call, kiss, touch, and shove. His own hand starts descending down his body.

His touches himself over his pants, rubbing and grabbing at the very center of his desire that is rippling through his body in waves. "Alex..." It's all he is able to get out before pressing his hips up to meet his palm.

"Oh so the prince does get kinky."

"Did you actually think presenting yourself in this way would cause me not to absolutely lose my mind?" Henry's words were choppy and breathy.

"Fuck, baby, let me see you." Alex spoke with a desperation deep in his throat. He's been so busy registering voters in Texas, showing up for interviews and appearances, and working on his mother's campaign that he's hardly had time for himself for weeks. Let alone, any time to see Henry. His body was completely wound up but with every stroke of his hand over the throbbing between his legs he felt himself slowly unravel.

Henry pressed his feet into the mattress to lift his hips so he could easily slide his sweatpants down. When Alex was able to see all of Henry he exhaled violently. His movements quickened. "God, how I just want you in my mouth right now. How I want to feel you whimper as I suck you. You know how beautiful you are when you cum?"

Henry audibly moans as he brings his hand to his mouth, licks it, and slides it right back over himself.

Both men were so overcome with desire that they laid in their own beds, thrusting into their hands with their faces turned to their phones, watching the other bring himself to the brink of pleasure.

"Henry..."

"Alex..."

"...Henry..."

"...Alex..."

Henry kept his eyes on Alex's face. Alex turned toward his ceiling, craning his neck and arching his back as Henry listened to his own name escape Alex's lips. Alex's body shook as his bare, sweaty chest caught the hot spurts of his climax. Henry watched Alex's body come undone slowly and felt his own imminent release build and build before covering his mouth to muffle his scream as he came onto his sheets.

Alex watched in awe. "Who would've thought the Prince of England was such a naughty, naughty boy. What would your country think?"

Henry smiled with his whole face, eyes still closed, breathing heavily. He peaked over to his phone's screen. Alex lay there naked, one arm bent behind his head, flashing his charismatic smile at Henry.

"I have a feeling that many Americans would have something to say about us, too, dear.”

"Have you forgotten that my mom's presidency has been defined by implementing gender-neutral bathrooms in TEXAS?"

"Fair point." Henry playfully rolled his eyes.

In the time that followed, while the world was still dark for both of them, Henry listened intently to Alex talk about the rally. He knows Alex is nervous about the upcoming election and is grateful that he allows Henry to support him through it. For Henry knows all too well just how much Alex has given him the space to be Henry Fox, and not Henry George Edward Hanover-Stuart Fox. There's a beauty in what he feels growing in his chest. Like clouds parting, giving way to the sun, allowing flowers to open and lean towards its light. He's opening. And it scares him to death. But with Alex, he has a hope, as foolish as it might be, that this will all be worth it.

They kissed their screens and said goodnight. After washing up, Henry finally got the sleep he needed and in the morning, he woke to a text from Alex. It was a screenshot of Henry's face as he brought himself to orgasm just hours earlier. The text read, "Next time you make that face, I'm going to be on top and inside of you. And I'll get to hold you and kiss you as it happens."

Henry felt more of his armor crack and fall away. He leaned into it. "Promise?"

"Promise."

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #alex x henry #gay men #fanfic #rwrb movie #rwrb book #prince henry rwrb #alex claremont diaz

35 notes · View notes

comeonamericawakeup · 2 months

Text

Donald Trump appears to be "losing his marbles," said Michael Tomasky, so why isn't his obvious mental decline a bigger story? For months, Trump has been repeatedly referring to running against Barack Obama in 2016 and in 2024 and showing other disturbing signs of memory loss and incoherence. But he hit a startling new low last week while attacking GOP primary opponent Nikki Haley. At a rally in New Hampshire, he claimed Haley was "in charge of security" for the Capitol on Jan. 6 and was therefore at fault for the invasion of the building by MAGA followers. Huh? Haley was a private citizen in 2021; clearly, Trump was confusing her with then-House Speaker Nancy Pelosi.

This was no simple gaffe: Trump used Haley's name four times in trying to blame her for Jan. 6 - strong evidence he mixed up the two female adversaries "as people" in his mind. Haley, his Republican primary opponent, became Pelosi, his Democratic foil in Congress. If Joe Biden had made a comment this addled, "Fox News would be looping it nonstop."

Trump's revealing error got little attention except for some low-key coverage of Haley "questioning Trump's mental fitness for office." Trump is unfit for that office in so many ways - and now it's clear there's another.

THE WEEK February 2, 2024

16 notes · View notes

lokisgoodgirl · 1 year

Note

Here to throw in my gif! 🥵🥵

More Hot Gif Drabbles A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Warnings: Kinda smutty 18+ bit angsty. (w/c 500)

To War

Your breath hitched as the signature slap of your lover's leathers piqued the air. You'd know it anywhere.

He turned the corner, his brother by his side, both armoured and ready for the coming battle.

You could feel the thump of your heart against your ribs, remembering the look he had given you as he left your chambers in the early hours. "If I don't come back" he'd said, "forget me, as if you'd never known me as you have."

In the light of the moon, his words had seemed ridiculous. Dramatic. But now, the memories of his hard body devouring you beneath the all-consuming ocean of his lust were too dulled. Too blunt.

Too much like nostalgia.

His tunics cast to the stone floors before he took you against the balcony in a fit of passion. The grunts of need from his throat as he rediscovered every inch of you; secrecy heightening every wave of need from his wandering hands. His exhibitionism concealing the love you suspected simmered beneath the surface of that mysterious soul.

The way his cock pulsed within you like part of your own body. His filthy moans of pleasure in your ear as you drew him closer to you, to his peak, to your heart. Tightening.

Everything tightening.

Your lover strode down the great hall, every thud of those heavy boots making your stomach clench. His eyes were fire. His strong jaw set towards victorious intent. The armies of Asgard waited outside. One blessing from Odin and they would be on their way.

Loki's eyes flickered upward as he drew closer, a glint of reproach colouring his stoic stare. The leather of his armour flexed with every swagger from his shoulders, power misting from him like spring pollen.

You could feel wetness gathering between your legs, your body's inappropriate response to this most solomn of occasions.

Loki stopped sharply in front of you, his brother continuing unphased down the marble aisle.

Your breaths quickened, raising your gaze to his while sinking to a curtsey. The eyes of thousands sat upon you questioningly, a steel in the air.

He leant forward, warm breath against your neck making you shiver.

"About what I said last night" he murmured, his armoured knuckles trailing down your bicep, "I changed my mind."

You rose, looking to the floor before his fingers tilted your chin upwards. Half-lidded eyes observed you knowingly, searching for the truth he knew was there.

"If I do not return, I trust that your tortured body will mourn the loss of my touch for the rest of your life, as it should." he purred derisively, leaning closer once more.

His familiar heady scent filled your nostrils, the tang of leather and sandlewood clinging to the long hair scraped backwards down his neck.

"But if I do" he continued, the gravelled whisper of his voice making your knees buckle, "I expect you to be mine. Completely. Always. "

Before you could respond, he turned. Long strides catching quickly up with his brother at the head of the hall.

The blessing was done, cheers and rallying chants echoing in your ringing ears as Loki left without a backwards glance, waving at the baying crowds.

To war, they cried.

To war.

@lokischambermaid @lady-rose-moon @mochie85 @gigglingtigger @holymultiplefandomsbatman @muddyorbs @xorpsbane @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @loopsisloops @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @mrsbarnes32557038 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @lokiprompts @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @ladylovesloki @marygoddessofmischief @ravenwings7 @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @peachyymallows @soldeloki @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden

#loki drabble #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki angst #loki marvel #loki of asgard #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagines #loki imagine #lokisgoodgirlhotgifdrabbles

339 notes · View notes

frost-queen · 1 year

Text

Outmatched //Part 6 (Reader!Holmes x Anthony Bridgerton)

Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @theletterhart, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @denkisclown, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @october-leaves, @kazbekkarluvbot, @freyathehuntress, @kneelforloki, @mamaj-right, @queensgirl718, @abaker74, @thescooby-gang, @readers-posts, @randomstory56, @aureolinb, @fictional-hooman, @nyenye, @annesunlight (couldn’t find your tag), @loliakeoghan23, @heyheyheyggg

Summary: Dismissed and frightened, returns Lord Bridgerton home. There he cannot help but wallow in pity, wrestling with his pain, loss and hidden feelings. Will he finally settle for them and acknowledge their presence?

Read part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4 & part 5 & part 7 & part 8 & part 9 & part 10

“What happened?” – Mycroft demanded. Anthony felt attacked for a second, lowering his head in a humble way. – “I…I… your sister she was outside with Lord Bradshaw… it started storming… so I… I went out into the storm to find her.” – He answered feeling a tightness in his chest. – “I found her in the woods… all alone…” – he added. Mycroft puffed up his chest pushing Anthony out of the way. – “Mycroft!” – Sherlock called out as his brother stormed off. – “Mycroft!” – he repeated going after him.

Anthony followed even though leaving your side felt wrong. Mycroft stomped down the stairs into the main hallway of the Baker estate. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, eyes widening as Lord Bradshaw entered drenched. Puddles of water forming underneath his feet as water dripped down on the marble floor. Sherlock came to a stop as well, eyes wide. – “Terrible weather outside.” – Lord Bradshaw commented casually shaking himself. Anthony clenched his jaw walking firmly across.

In a matter of seconds had he grabbed Lord Bradshaw’s wet suit pushing him up against the door. – “How dare you!” – he shouted, fists up till Lord Bradshaw’s chin. Anthony shoved him harder against the wall. – “You left her!” – he scolded infuriated by him. – “You left her in a storm to perish?” – he couldn’t believe anyone would do that. Lord Bradshaw tried to remove Anthony’s grip from on him. – “Anthony!” – Sherlock called out having run over. – “You have no honor sir!” – he insisted feeling Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder. – “Anthony… let him go.” – Sherlock asked.

Anthony glared as Lord Bradshaw swallowed nervously. – “I should hang you by your feet!” – Anthony threatened as Sherlock had to pull him away. – “That is enough!” – Sherlock spoke dragging Anthony away from him. Lord Bradshaw pulled his wet vest down pretending nothing had just occurred. Anthony struggled to free himself as he wasn’t done yet. – “Miss Y/n left me alone! She is the one who has been indiscreet.” – The lord proclaimed.

Anthony’s eyes widened ready to fight him as he knew the truth. Sherlock let go of Anthony walking firmly over to the lord. With one smooth strike punched he the lord. Lord Bradshaw stumbled to the ground, touching his cheek. – “Everyone out!” – Mycroft shouted making everyone turn their heads. He walked up to the parlor opening the door. – “Out!” – he ordered pointing firmly as he lingered in the door opening.

“Out!” – he screamed when the lords did not get in motion. They all rushed out into the hallway. – “Out! Out! Out! All of you!” – Mycroft rallied them up like a herd to kick out. The doorman opened the door. Mycroft picked Lord Bradshaw up from the ground, handling him rather roughly. He threw him out into the rain. The lord falling as he rolled over the pavement. Mycroft entered again standing face to face with Anthony Bridgerton. – “You as well!” – he said pointing firm behind him.

Anthony nodded walking around Mycroft. – “Please.” – he said stopping to look at Sherlock. – “Tell Miss Y/n I…” – he could not bare to speak more words, not even sure what to ask for. Sherlock nodded with a humble bow. Anthony then stepped out into the rain. The door shutting behind him. He took a deep breath letting his head fall back. Allowing the rain to fall on his face.

Showering him as he took another deep breath. Eyes closed he lowered his head, droplets hanging by the ends of his hair. Slowly dripping to the ground. Without lingering any longer he got in the carriage. He seated him by the window, hand pressed under his chin as his fingers rested against his lips. The carriage got in motion as his eyes adverted upwards. With a deep inhale he looked up to the window for as long as he could.

The scenery changed as he staid in the same position. Brooding over the events. His heart was still thumping loudly. If he listened closely, he could still hear the rain fall on the carriage. His own voice echoed through his mind. Miss Y/n. The emotion it gave him shooting through his body once more. How much he hoped you’d be alright. For he did not know if he could survive that.

Sherlock and Mycroft returned to your room in haste. – “Brothers!” – you called out opening your arms. Sherlock rushed over falling onto the bed with you to answer your hug. His arms tightly around you. – “Your sister’s ankle is sprained. She should be careful not to stand on it for long next couple days.” – Sherlock looked back at the physician with worried eyes. – “Not… not broken?” – you asked making Sherlock look to you once more.

The physician shook his head. – “I…I heard a snap… it was excruciating the pain.” – you told him to be sure he had examined you properly. – “I am certain of it. Your ankle may be swollen and blue-ish for a couple of days, but the swelling should lessen.” – he assured you. Mycroft thanked the physician apologizing that he wouldn’t see him out.

Sherlock pulled you close, arms around you. Mycroft paced around. – “Where… where is Lord Bridgerton?” – you asked. – “Home… I have send them all home!” – Mycroft said loud throwing his hand up. – “Thank you.” – you responded as it surprised Mycroft. He thought you would scold at him for being so un-mannered. Instead you were pleased with the decision. Perhaps you truly needed to be alone for a while. – “Y/n what happened, why were you out in the storm?” – Sherlock wanted to know, touching your chin.

You took a deep breath, looking down at your hands on your lap. Mycroft approached the bed, hand around one of the bed pillars. – “I must tell you I did not intend for it… it was papa.” – you told them. – “Papa?” – Sherlock repeated with furrowed brows. – “What did papa do?” – Mycroft asked on a bitter tone. You took another deep breath. Sherlock reached for your hand, taking it as he felt you were having a hard time expressing it. – “Lord Bradshaw asked for a private stroll since he felt like he had been given the least time with me.” – you explained.

“I wouldn’t… but papa… papa overheard and gave him permission to take me.” – you continued. Mycroft mumbling under his breath leading to Sherlock to hold his hand up. Silencing him so that you could continue your story. – “He… Lord Bradshaw… came at me… I didn’t want it… I ran away… caught in the storm while he chased me…that is how I fell… if Lord Bridgerton hadn’t found me…” – you started crying, sobbing loud. Sherlock threw his arms warmly around you.

Mycroft’s cheeks bloated. – “Papa!” – he called out letting his fist bump against the bed pillar. Mycroft shook his head. – “Mycroft!” – Sherlock called out as his brother stormed out. Sherlock got out of the bed, holding his hand up for you to stay put. Not that you were going anywhere. – “Mycroft!” – Sherlock shouted into the hallway. He groaned frustrated running after his brother.

The carriage came to a stop as the rain had ended. Anthony stepped out, entering the house. He left the parlor for what it was, heading for his study. His hand was already on the doorknob when his mother saw him. – “Anthony? Where you not at the Holmes estate? I did not expected you back till morrow.” – she said approaching him. Anthony let go of the doorknob, turning. – “There has been an unfortunate incident with Miss Y/n.” – he told her on a lifeless tone.

Violet gasped; hands moved to her chest. – “Is she alright? Is Miss Y/n alright?” – she wanted to know. – “I do not know…” – Anthony expressed with a loud sob. Violet wasted not a second to comfort her son. She moved her arms around him. Anthony holding her as he blinked his tears away. His cheek resting on her shoulder. She opened his study helping him inside. She sat him down telling him to stay put. Anthony nodded numbly. Violet left to fetch tea to calm him down.

Anthony placed his elbows on his desk, letting his face fall into his hands. Why was he so emotional over this? Was there something his own heart wasn’t telling him? Violet returned with tea. She waiting for him to drink his tea. After that she left, knowing he might need his privacy to mourn in peace. He remained in his study for the rest of the day, barely coming out.

At night he went up to his room. The moment his head hit the pillow, he succumbed to his exhaustion. There was a clear disturbance in his expression. Something tormenting him in his dreams. Anthony exhaled deep as he found himself in the woods once more. Rain clattering down onto him like bullets. – “Miss Y/n!” – he screamed out as the horse was restless of the storm. In the distance a loud rumble. – “Miss Y/n!” – his voice scraping at the intensity of announcing his words.

He signaled the horse to galop further. His breathing shallow as his heart echoed in his throat. – “Y/n!” – he shouted, body trembling with the intensity. Sweat formed on his forehead on his sleep as he pursued. The horse neighed loud as he ushered it to go faster. The fields seeming endlessly. Running in an endless loop of nothingness. Till he finally arrived in the woods. His face contracted in misery, head twitching in his sleep. Droplets of sweat making a way down his neck. The horse jumped over logs and puddles in search for you. – “Y/n! Hear me! Y/n!” – he called out over the storm. The rain so deafening it overpowered all the other sounds.

Anthony came to a clearing, urging his horse to stop. With short breaths he stared down at the ground. His eyes wide with fear. – “No.” – he said jumping off the horse. – “No, no, no it cannot be.” – he said to himself rushing to you. He rolled you over wiping some mud off your cheek. – “Y/n?” – he said frightened. No response came as he pulled up to his lap. Anthony started sobbing, palm against your cheek. His sobs made his breathe shallow and short. He looked up screaming in agony. Absolutely heart wrecking

His eyes widened grasping for air. He kicked and punched his blankets off him, needing to be free. Covered in sweat he caught his breath. His face fell down in his palms, deafening his sobs. Anthony left his bed sitting on the floor against the wall. Knees close to his chest. One hand in his hair. Tears rolling down his cheeks. You were not dead, it couldn’t be. It was just a dream. Then why did it felt so vivid? Why did it effect his body so much.

He did not catch much sleep afterwards. Simply staring lost in front of him while the hours ticked by. When the morning glow came, he finally got up. Got dressed and went downstairs to wait in the parlor. His siblings and mother came later. Everyone was loudly enthusiastic while Anthony was the only one silent. Almost depressing as Violet picked it up. His siblings did not. After breakfast went almost everyone to the parlor.

Anthony did not join leaving the house to venture into the garden. He seated himself down on a bench. Alone to mourn and wrestle with his feelings. He took a deep breath, rubbing his palms over his knees. The not knowing frightened him. Not knowing if you were all well or not. It ate at him that he was here, miles away from where you were. He teared up once more just thinking about it.

Footsteps came closer as Anthony wiped his nose dry with his sleeve. He seated himself better coughing once to get rid of the lump in his throat. Violet came in sight, sitting beside him. Anthony exhaled loud as Violet turned to him, placing a hand on his knee. – “Losing Edmund was… the most difficult time of my life.” – she spoke. Anthony nodded, remembering it well. He placed his hand over his mother’s holding it. – “And the pain that I felt….” – she fell silent.

Anthony looking saddened at her. – “Beyond description.” – She added after a long silence. – “But there is one thing that has at least given me some solace.” – she squeezed his hand tighter with a smile. – “Is knowing that I would still choose the life I had with him each and every time.” – she spoke with such warmth in her voice. She stared back at him, forcing him to look upon her. – “Real true love is worth it.” – she proclaimed.

Anthony slightly shook his head, breathing in with shudders. – “No matter what.” – she whispered, holding onto his hand for comfort. Anthony turned to look forwards. – “Do not lose her Anthony.” – she spoke with a strong tone. Anthony shook his head once more, pained with confusion. – “You cannot lose her.” – Violet whispered. Anthony looked at her, taking a deep breath. She stroke his hand comforting.

Violet let go of his hand overlooking the garden. – “I know what she means to you.” – she said turning to him. – “Anthony, I know you very well enough for it.” – she continued making him smile saddened at her. – “I can see it in your eyes.” – she went on. – “I have seen it in both your eyes.” – She went silent to let it sink in. – “Listen to your heart and follow it. My son… my dear son.” – she took his hand once more, laying it on her lap.

“Do not deny yourself from happiness. You are bound to her in every way… possible.” – she softened her voice to deliver the message. Anthony nodded for the first time. Violet kissed his hand. She then stood up, taking her leave. Anthony exhaled long shifting his position on the bench. Leaning forwards he rested his elbows on his knees, face caught in his palms. Inhaling sharply he looked up. The pain he felt spoke clearly. No matter how round he went, there was no denying it anymore. You mattered to him more in any way possible. He had grown affectionate towards you.

Perhaps for a while now. Perhaps they gave meaning to some of his outings of behavior. The need to keep everyone away from you. Perhaps he did so to keep you all to himself. Even when his mind did not know yet. Now he simply hoped you’d still want him. That your brothers would still allow him close after there outrage. He could not blame them. He would’ve done the same regarding his sisters. All he could do was wait for any news of your condition. For he would wait countless hours until your recovery.

------------------------------------------------

Read more of my fic’s on my Masterlists!

291 notes · View notes

dandylovesturtles · 9 months

Text

a headcanon no one asked for

Leo: went for the Turtle Sliders at first because, obviously, but once he learned more about it he realized his Mistake and jumped to the Thunderbolts. But after the 'bolts didn't qualify he jumped again to the Savage Speeders - they may not be blue but they are fast and he likes winning. Everyone constantly gives him grief about being a dirty fair weather fan.

Mikey: O'rangers ride or die. Best color and it means he gets to yell "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH" at the top of his lungs whenever anything happens.

Raph: the Rojo Rollers are gonna qualify this year guys he knows it he just knows it

Donnie: Has a giant stat chart with every team's data on it. Knows the name of every marble. Takes part in underground betting rings. Claims he doesn't have a favorite team because none of them are purple enough (the Purple Rockets are new enough that he isn't throwing his loyalty behind them yet).

April: Mellow Yellow fan till the end. They're rallying in 2023, guys. Odd years are Fruit Circuit years.

Splinter: it's no Scorpion Treadmill but Greg Woods' silky commentary is smooth enough for him to fall asleep to. Two thumbs up.

#rottmnt #jelle's marble runs #I'm combining two of my interests #don't worry about it #am I going to explain this for the non-marble fans?#maybe when it isn't 1 AM #I don't follow Marbula 1 as closely as Marble League so these hcs are for the latter #M1 teams are a little different

40 notes · View notes

assortedvillainvault · 2 years

Note

Hello! May I request romantic headcanons for Hades with eldritch horror (maybe from lovecraft) s/o?

You absolutely know you can Anon! I'm afraid that beyond knowing the rough jist of cthulu I'm not very familiart with Lovecrafts works, BUT I am intensely familiar with Eldritch Vibes, so I'll do my best!

Hades x Eldritch Horror!S/O:

Hades is in a unique position amongst the greek pantheon.

Technically, he's alone, for one.

The other gods reside amongs eachother and make such a din they can't hear anything beyond themselves. There ARE other Gods that reside in the underworld, older than him, and not of Cronus's bloodline, but he gives them a respectable distance and they him. As such, he's alone with his thoughts. A lot.

Second, the Underworld is simultaneously silent as the grave and blindingly loud. The wails of a hundred million souls give him migrains, but he's long since developed the skill of closing his eyes and tuning them out to a persistent grind of background noise.

Noise eerily similar to static. Which is the background noise of the universe itself. He leans back in his throne and lets it roll over him.

And under the static and the screaming and the sass of his minions and the sheer weight of the earth above him, he begins to hear something.

It's less hearing a 'noise', but more akin to the sound of a vast mass moving underwater. A shift in perpective as something moves through space. He's a dot, and this thing is unspeakably massive. Large enough to block out the stars he misses seeing.

Then the thing opens it's eyes and smiles.

Holy Him-

-he about launches himself off his throne and out of his general senses back into the waking world as he attempts to figure out what in the fresh fuck THAT was.

He knows earth isn't alone, he knows there's a vastness of chaos beyond the sky that forms the stars, but it's the first time he's ever encountered something within it while projecting to distract himself from his dayjob. His heart is pounding, his flame is all over the place and wow, so this needs investigating further huh?

Daydreaming on the job becomes a disturbing regularity.

Your size fluctuates when he 'sees' you. Sometimes you're closer to his height but impossibly long, streching back into the birthplace of stars. Other times the earth is a marble in your grip and he's on your fingertip, yammering away.

The first you spoke it rattled him down to his atoms and he couldn't help but grin stupidly. That was a sensation to be enjoyed.

To you he's a flickering blue star wreathed in smoke with yellow edges. He can't even keep the lovestruck dopey smile off his face during council meetings on Olympus, your description of his godly spark bouncing around under his ribs and threatening to turn his flame a bashful pink if he thinks too hard about it.

When you first attempt to visit him properly in the material plane, on earth, things...don't go exactly as planned.

Athens is burning, people are screaming and running in circles, the ones attempting to make sense of your form glitching through the clouds have their eyes roll back into their skulls and reduced to gibbering messes. The sun is blocked, the night sky overlapping with dying yellow from the false sunset, and he's so busy gawping at the portion of you curled into continent length tentacles that he can't even hear the soul meter catching fire behind him as it screams through the numbers of fresh dead making their way downstairs.

Zeus helplessly calls for a rallying cry from the gods but not even Cronus was this vast, and they're hilariously outmatched.

The way they zip around you is akin to mosquitoes and he guffaw's as you flick them away. He can feel your distatse rumble through space straight into his head and he can't help but laugh back and give a mental thumbs up.

The Next time, you manage to be a bit more discreet.

If ripping through spacetime like a knife through...well, clouds, and stepping out onto Olympus proper counts as discreet, that is.

There's a scream and a sudden hush as you coil through. Vaguely humanoid if you don't look too hard, flesh rippling backard into tentacles that reach through the sky and the ends of which can't be seen. Stars and nebulas flash across your skin like freckles, and your eyes burn with the dying force of supernovas as they are swallowed by black holes.

You are the hottest thing he has ever fucking seen.

You stretch out a hand to him and he's already there, fingers entwined, ecstatic that he can see you and feel out on his plane of existence. He forgets his extented family is even there.

Zeus inhales but doesn't even get the chance to speak as you smack him striaght out of the cloud layer.

The assembled gods mutter and keep their distance as you two basically meet cute in the middle of the meeting like nobodies business, eventually leaving you both alone.

The last one to leave is Aphrodite, who catches his eye as he goes. She elegantly gives you an appraising look, taking in the eldritch space monstrosity who could decimate them all at moments notice and currently wrapped all around him.

She smirks and gives him a thumbs up before sashaying away with the other gods in pace.

#thalassa responds #ANON I AM ASCENDING #thank you so so much for the ask this was a blast #disney villains #x reader #hades #hades x reader #eldritch s/o you have my whole heart #more reality bending shit with the gods please this is a genuine delight to write #aphrodite highkey a freak and approves the adventurous route

151 notes · View notes