#And as a testament to my love for her... I present to you this VERY real leaked Season Four screencap 💞

[marxo-fm]

Secrecy

✯ Viscount Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!reader

Summary: You’re the princess of the United Kingdom, trapped in the Kew Palace with nothing to do but obey. That seemed to change after your brother makes an appearance at the ball held in honor of his arrival from the British Military, with a surprise guest.

Warnings: MDNI+18, Mentions of adult theme and language, slight smut with plot, inexperienced!reader, virgin!reader, praising, innocent!reader, Ghost gives reader an anatomy lesson and teaches reader certain things, fingering, slight angst, no use of y/n, head canon, no descriptions of race, skin color, hair type/length, or body type. Reader is in her 20’s and Ghost is in his late 20’s. This takes place during the Regency Era.

Words: 9.7K (I can explain)

A/N: Rewatched Queen Charlotte in one day and got inspired to somehow write this. Idk what came up in my head but I’m not mad about it. I love historical romance pieces and Bridgerton is one of my favorite shows, so this was inspired by that as well. Must I add, this will be a series (let’s act shocked!) but it’ll start off slow and then progress into something very steamy. I plan on making this 2-3 parts? Not entirely sure yet. I’m so excited to make a playlist and have this become a part of my page. I promised to write a Ghost fic in celebration of 300 followers!!! Thank you!!! That’s all peeps, enjoy this and thanks for reading once again. :)

To be in love, is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well. —Gwendolyn Brooks, “To be in Love.”

The rain drummed loudly against the windows of Kew Palace, a historic refuge steeped in tales of bygone eras. Yet another dismal night had slipped away in silence, the relentless downpour obscuring any sounds of the world outside. The scent of rain, laced with the earthy aroma of centuries-old stone, permeated your room through the slightly ajar windows. Candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows that played upon the antique furnishings, each one holding its own secrets from a different age. As you gazed out into the night, the blurred outlines of majestic trees in the palace gardens whispered stories of forgotten romances and royal intrigues, echoing through time.

Yet not one memory of romance had ever occurred to you, sadly.

You sat in silence, enveloped by the heavy presence of the palace's servants, who stood as immobile as statues waiting for a command.

The stillness in the room was deafening, capable of giving even the strongest a throbbing headache, yet this oppressive silence was something you had grown accustomed to. It was an everyday affliction, a reminder of your powerlessness and the stifling constraints of your position.

The relentless cycle of attending balls, tea parties, leisurely walks, and grand masquerades had become a mundane routine. None of these activities could dispel the relentless boredom that had settled over your life. Despite the lavish extravagance and social grandeur, they only served to further emphasize your dull amusement.

Unfortunate yet fortunate at the same time, you learned to be grateful for the position you are in now, but the life you have been given to live wasn’t what you enjoyed. That itself is a secret one must never know of.

Your contemplations were abruptly halted as your mother entered the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. You rose gracefully from your seat, bowing with an elegance through years of refinement. With a quick, composed adjustment of your dress, you presented yourself as the embodiment of poise and decorum. And of course, elegance. It was essential to maintain appearances in the relentless world of aristocratic expectations.

All the servants bowed down before their queen. A display of loyalty and respect—a testament to the power she held.

“Mother.”

“Dearest.” Her voice, filled with warmth and affection, broke through the icy layer of your mood. You responded with a genuine smile, one that masked the melancholy you often kept hidden. It was carefully maintained; your mother could never be burdened with your silent suffering. If she were to glimpse even a fraction of the emotions you endured, she would tirelessly pester and lecture, determined to alleviate your pain.

But this was a battle you chose to wage in solitude, for the sake of preserving the family’s reputation and your own fragile sense of independence.

“We have a ball to attend in the celebration of the upcoming arrival of your brother. It is to be held quite soon, though, we are not sure on the date.” Your ears perked and every melancholic emotions you were enduring suddenly became cheerful. Your brother is finally coming, after being gone for a year. Though it felt like centuries he had been gone.

“That is thrilling news, I pray he arrives safe and well. Have you shared this with our other siblings?” Other siblings meant your six siblings, you’re the youngest of eight children, and it’s rather lonely. It feels like.

“Yes, dearest. I have reminded them that a ball will be held soon. The members of the Ton will be attending and it will be grand.” She replied enthusiastically, “though I have something else to share, beloved.”

Your eyebrows rose, and your curiosity piqued. What more could your mother share with you about the ball? You sought more information.

After a brief pause, she continued, “He is arriving with a guest, a Viscount to be precise. This gentleman is to be accorded the utmost respect, just as I have instilled in all of you. He holds a special place in your brother’s heart, and it is imperative that he is welcomed with the same warmth and hospitality that we extend to family.”

You nod, “of course mother. May I know his name?”

“His name is Simon Riley, he is a fine and distinguished gentleman. He holds the rank of Lieutenant General. Quite remarkable if I do say so myself.” She looked at the servants before setting her eyes on you, “He is also very close to your father.” You gasped, for one to be close to the king—your father of all people, was quite rare. Since he is a busy man with important duties he must fulfill.

“I will treat him with the utmost respect, my dearest mother, rest assured.” Having made your commitment clear, you resumed your thoughts, still buzzing with anticipation for your brother’s return and the upcoming ball.

You returned to the chair you sat in before your mother shared important news, resuming in what you were doing before.

“Read a book, darling. You are amazing at that. Do not bore yourself here.” You nod graciously, you found her encouragement as something you deeply appreciated.

“Thank you mother, I shall read.” You made your way to the nearest shelf, curious as to why you haven’t done this earlier. Maybe your mother was right, do not bore yourself with such thoughts and emotions, instead find joy in reading. It helped you get lost in the pages and words, that you forget whatever was going on in that head of yours.

“Ladies, go help my daughter with the books.” Your mother ordered.

“Certainly, Your Majesty.” They all responded.

“It is quite fine mother, I can do this myself.” You assured, nodding to the servants and their faces expressed a puzzled look. Unsure of whom to listen to. “Yes, love, do as you may.”

The servants walk back to the area they had previously stood in, watching you carefully. “I must leave now, love, It is rather late.”

“Goodnight mother.” You make your way to the shelves once again, the area was dimly lit and the bookshelf stood tall. Its polished mahogany wood gleaming softly in the warm glow of a crackling fireplace.

It was calm.

The scent of aged leather and paper makes its way through the air as your peruse the titles, each elegantly bound with gold lettering.

You spot volumes of Jane Austen’s novels, her delicate pages filled with tales of love and societal intrigue. One most famously known as, “Pride and Prejudice.”

Nearby, a collection of poetry by Lord Byron beckons with its romantic verses. The room is adorned with lush velvet draperies and antique furniture, setting the scene for a world where manners, class, and etiquette reign supreme.

Your delicate fingers skim through every romance book there is.

As you select a book and settle into the armchair, the world outside slowly began to fade away. You immerse yourself in the intricate and vivid description, momentarily escaping the constraints of your era into the enchanting world of literature.

(…)

It is the next morning, as the sun timidly filtered through the drawn blinds in your room, its radiant presence compelling you to squint and shield your eyes.

The birds chirped and the sky is painted with bright whites and bright yellows streamed through the window, a sense of lightness enveloped you. Starting the day with a serene countenance, you blinked away the remnants of sleep from your eyes and smiled drowsily. Your fingertips traced the cotton sheets, as you embraced the morning's gentle charm.

You summon the bell in your bedchamber, signaling to the housemaids that you are indeed awake and require a comforting, warm bath drawn. You stand on your own two feet, welcoming the housemaids inside your bedroom assisting in disrobing your white cotton nightgown.

They draw a bath, filling it with steaming water infused with fragrant oils and rose petals. You step into the tub, sinking into the comforting embrace of the warm, scented embrace, a welcome respite from the chill of the morning.

As you soaked in the fragrant bath, your thoughts drifted to the impending ball. You longed for any additional information your mother might have left off about this highly anticipated event, eager for every intricate detail to fuel your anticipation.

Truth be told, your curiosity about meeting Viscount Simon Riley was quite overwhelming. You harbored an occurring hope that he would prove to be the epitome of a true gentleman. Your mother's praises of him fueled your optimism, suggesting he was a man of impeccable character and esteemed authority, which only heightened your eagerness to make his acquaintance.

Excitement was a vast understatement for the emotions coursing through you.

The revelation that Simon was not only close to your father, the King, but also held a special bond with your brother left you astounded. While many men enjoyed proximity to your father and eldest brother, the depth of connection your mother had described set Simon apart from them all. It led you to believe that he was indeed the definition of a true gentleman.

"Ladies, may I inquire if you have all gathered the latest tidbits of information regarding the upcoming ball?" You found yourself pondering, the fragrant bubbles in the warm bath soothing your senses, as you leaned back against the porcelain tub's elegant curves.

"Not quite, Your Highness," she informed, her voice filled with anticipation. "We've heard rumors that hundreds shall grace the occasion." Excitement surged through your entire being. Finally, the time had arrived to mingle with society, to dance, and to revel. It had been several long months since the last grand ball, and the prospect filled you with eager anticipation.

"Are any of you acquainted with Viscount Simon Riley?" Curiosity overtook you, though you couldn't quite fathom why. After all, you hadn't yet crossed paths with the man, and here you were, posing a question of seemingly little consequence to your maids.

They all gasped and stood quiet, maybe you have said something wrong.

"He is not a man of whom one speaks ill of," she responded cautiously, her voice betraying a hint of unease. "Viscount Simon Riley wields significant power and authority. However, Your Highness, that is all I am permitted to share." Her nervousness was evident, as if she were tiptoeing around a topic that carried great weight.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. This was information your mother had yet to share with you. The maids' description of Viscount Simon Riley sent a shiver down your spine, an ironic sensation given the warmth of the bathwater enveloping you.

"Do not worry, my mother shall remain unaware of this conversation," you assured with a gentle smile and a nod, watching as the tension melted from their bodies.

The curiosity within you compelled you to seek more information. "Can any of you describe his appearance?" You observed the maids exchanging uncertain glances before turning their attention back to you. As warm water continued to flow over your body, their soothing massages on your arms accompanied the anticipation of their response.

“It is okay to tell me,” you reassured with a playful giggle, “once again, mother will not know of this. It is not like you have committed treason!”

"Indeed, Your Highness," she began to speak in hushed tones, her voice carrying an air of trepidation. "Discussing Viscount Simon is a delicate matter. His influence is undeniably formidable, and we speak with a measure of fear." Her concern seemed to stem from the notion that their conversation might somehow reach the ears of this powerful figure.

A shiver of apprehension coursed through you. The maids' fear had a way of rubbing off on you, leaving you with an uneasy feeling about this Viscount Simon.

All excitement about meeting him quickly faded away into the endless void, everything your mother had described about him paled in comparison to the unsettling image the maids were painting of this man.

"Whispers of his enigmatic persona have swept through the highest echelons of society, Your Highness. They speak of him donning a finely crafted mask, shrouding his countenance in secrecy. Only a privileged handful among the Ton have been granted the privilege of glimpsing his true visage, and even the slightest revelation of his features carries the weightiest charge of all – high treason."

You gasped. Oh dear.

"Why does he shroud himself in such mystery?" The quest for information left you yearning for more knowledge. How is it that his existence remained hidden from your awareness until this moment?

Their fearful glances held your attention as they continued, "Your Highness, we remain ignorant of his motives for wearing that ominous mask. Its design, reminiscent of a skull, has earned him the haunting name of 'Ghost' among the hushed whispers of society."

Goosebumps prickled across your skin, and a shiver of fear coursed through you. The once-anticipated ball had transformed into a nightmarish affair, shrouded in dread and uncertainty.

He scared you, and you haven’t even met the man.

"That's enough, ladies. Please, remove this bath swiftly," you commanded. Your mood had done a complete somersault, and now you were acutely aware of your surroundings. It felt as though an ominous presence was creeping into your room, even though he hasn’t arrived yet.

Or maybe he has, but you’ve yet to know.

No no, don’t worry yourself of such horrid thoughts.

You repeat and repeat over and over. The fear of darkness and the ominous weighed heavily on your heart. It was a secret fear, one you dared not share, for you knew that if anyone discovered it, they would only dismiss your worries with laughter and reassurances.

The maids, their hands deft and efficient, hurried over to where you stood by the bath, wrapping you in plush towels to dry your delicate skin. With precision, they helped you into a graceful blue chemise dress, its fabric cool and comforting against your form, the intricate lacework and delicate embroidery adorning it a testament to their impeccable craftsmanship.

Each lace on the dress was adorned with a multitude of tiny individual diamonds, their facets catching even the faintest glimmers of light. The shade of blue, a soft and ethereal hue, served as the perfect canvas for these sparkling gems, making them gleam like stars in the darkness.

"'Tis a truly exquisite chemise," you whispered in admiration, extending your arms gracefully for the maids to slip on your pristine white gloves.

"Made for Her Highness, indeed, just like a rare diamond," your maids complimented, their words like a soothing balm to your nerves. Their unwavering support for uplifting your spirits never failed to bolster your confidence.

"Thank you, ladies. I must take my leave now, as there are matters to discuss with my mother and duties to attend to," you graciously replied, ready to face the responsibilities that awaited you.

(…)

"Yes, Your Majesty. The ball is scheduled for the end of this week, and all is proceeding as planned. Every detail has been meticulously arranged, and all members of the Ton have received their invitations," spoke your mother’s friend at morning call.

She took a delicate sip of her chamomile tea before speaking once more, her voice calm, "That is indeed wonderful news. I pray that everything proceeds without a hitch, and I have the utmost confidence that mishaps shall remain a distant concern." Her friend nods, before turning to you to ask a question.

You straightened your posture and offered a warm smile, "You are truly lovely, my dear. If I may inquire, are you excited for this upcoming ball?" As the question lingered in the air, a torrent of unsettling thoughts flooded your mind. The words of the maids, the mention of the enigmatic "Ghost," and the eerie mask all coalesced into a haunting collage of images. Your body quivered involuntarily, and a palpable sense of unease washed over you, like an ominous shadow creeping into the room.

You masked your true feelings expertly, putting on a facade of excitement. It was clear that your enthusiasm was reserved solely for your brother, not for the Viscount. You knew all too well that you couldn't reveal your fear, so you concealed it behind a carefully crafted persona, concealing the trepidation that lurked beneath the surface.

“Indeed I am quite cheerful. I already know well enough that this ball will be the best of this year.”

She takes a bite of her honey cake, proceeding to invade you with more questions. Questions you were not comfortable answering.

“Well yes…your mother—Her Majesty—is hosting the ball.”

"Ah, yes, of course," you quickly replied, feeling a bit flustered by the reminder. Her raised eyebrow and condescending gaze made you feel like a naive child, an unsettling sensation you couldn't quite shake off.

“Your Majesty, has she not yet met Viscount Riley?” Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Viscount Riley's name, sending a chill down your spine. The palace suddenly felt much colder, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. It was an uncomfortable and awkward moment for her to bring up such a question in the presence of your mother, Her Majesty.

"I am not privy to such information, my dear. However, I have every confidence that she will excel in his company and extend to him the respect I have diligently imparted. Would you not agree, my dearest?"

You nod graciously, before her friend decided to open her mouth once more with questions that made you shift in your seat. Uncomfortably.

"Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but I have had the privilege of seeing him in person. And, if I may say..." Her voice trailed off, and her response piqued your curiosity, causing your brow to arch. It was evident that she was quite eager to acquire more information about a man you had not yet had the chance to meet.

“He is quite tall,” she began, and your mother adjusted her posture, “he holds such authority and he is not the man to disrespect, he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and most certainly does not show his face to just anyone.”

The maids' prior revelations had served as a disconcerting confirmation. Fear welled up within you, growing like a thunderhead on the horizon, and it cast a foreboding pall over what had once been an eagerly anticipated ball. The event, once a beacon of excitement, had transformed into a looming specter that filled you with apprehension and uncertainty.

“It is quite a mystery, but it is none of our business. Maybe if he is truly as good of a man he is, I will have him marry my daughter.” Your tea to become a chaotic spray, dispersing droplets and saliva particles across the table’s contents. Your cheeks flush crimson as you glance at your mother, her expression clearly reflecting her shock and disapproval.

“Deepest apologies mother, but marriage?” Her lips tightened as you contemplated her words. “If he proves to be a good man, then perhaps. If not, then no. You are two and twenty, it is time you settle down my dearest.”

“I do not know him.”

"Indeed, there is an abundance of time for you to become better acquainted with him," your mother replied with an encouraging smile. Her eyes sparkled with the anticipation of a promising match for her beloved daughter. "I've heard such positive things about Viscount Simon," she continued, her tone brimming with optimism. "He is reputed to be a true gentleman, and I can't help but hold high hopes for your future together, my dearest."

The description of Viscount Simon had already sent shivers of fear down your spine, and the thought of falling in love was an entirely different realm of uncertainty. You wondered if you'd ever experience the kind of love immortalized in poetry and literature, given the enigmatic and potentially imposing nature of this match.

You decided to let the future unfold at its own pace, allowing it to chart its course without rushing or forcing any outcomes.

You held a clear standard for your future husband: he must be a respectful and considerate man, not exhibiting any sexist, disrespectful, misogynistic, or rude behavior. However, if he proved to be the all those things, then marriage would not happen. Your mother, Her Majesty, fully comprehended your stance on the matter.

You valued a man who showed genuine interest in your passions and didn't pass judgment on them. Mutual respect and shared interests were important to you in a potential partner.

While you recognized the significance of politics and manly duties in society, you weren't inclined to marry a man solely focused on these matters. A well-rounded individual who embraced a broader range of interests and pursuits was more appealing to you.

Your mother knew that.

And you prayed the Viscount lived up to to your high standards.

(…)

On the night of the ball, you stood in front of the grand mirror, the flickering candlelight casting a soft, golden glow across your reflection. Your gown, an exquisite creation of silk and lace, clung to your figure in all the right places, its color a subtle shade of pink. The delicate embroidery and beadwork shimmered in the dim light.

Your heart raced, and your gloved hands trembled as you practiced your breathing, trying to calm the storm of nerves within you. The anticipation of meeting Viscount Simon, coupled with the pressure of societal expectations, weighed heavily on your mind. The maids had spared no effort in choosing every accessory, from the intricate hairpin adorning your carefully styled hair to the elegant necklace that graced your neck.

You hoped, with each practiced breath, that tonight would be a turning point, that Viscount Simon would prove to be the gentleman your mother believed him to be, and that the evening would be the start of something meaningful in your life.

——

"Good afternoon, dearest," your father inquired, his arm linked with your mother's. "Where are your siblings?"

You look around, carefully examining the palace in attempt to look for your other siblings, and you’ve caught them. Relief washed over you.

"They are in the library room, Father," you replied. Your gaze wandered over the opulent floral arrangements that adorned the palace. Vibrant blooms graced the staircase and the grand room's tables, filling the air with a fragrant aroma. The Ton had indeed turned out in force for this event, with couples arriving, their arms elegantly linked, creating a sea of fashionable attendees, and not a single person seemed to be without a date.

Although you’re the princess of the United Kingdom, you oddly felt…out of place.

"Mother, you've done a splendid job. This place looks absolutely marvelous," you praised, appreciating the grandeur and elegance that surrounded you. Her smile radiated with warmth, and her pink dress, a few shades darker than yours, effortlessly outshone all the other gowns the ladies wore in the palace, commanding attention with its regal allure.

Diamond encrusted corset with a matching diamond necklace, and many layers underneath the dress made it seem larger.

Of course, it was your mother, the Queen, who had graced the event with her radiant presence. Her regal attire and demeanor left no room for doubt about her esteemed status in the grand ballroom.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” A man who appeared to be taller than your dad, bowed before him and shook his hand.

“Good evening, John. How is it here compared to the states?” The states? He must be American, you are sure.

“It is rather marvelous here, we don’t host balls as often as you do, but this ball is alluring.” And he is American so it seems, the accent was crisp.

“Thank you, John. I hosted this ball.” He bowed to the queen, your mother, before bowing down to you.

“Well of course, Her Majesty created the most perfect ball.” He complimented. Twirling the ends of his mustache, this was the first time you’ve ever met an American.

Your mother smiled, appreciating his sweet compliment towards her. “I must get back to Kyle, Ghost should be here any minute now Your Majesty.”

The mention of "Ghost" made your nerves prickle with unease, considering the unsettling details your maids had shared during your bath. As John reminded your father that Ghost would be arriving shortly, your stomach tightened with knots of apprehension. The looming presence of this mysterious figure cast a shadow over the otherwise glamorous evening.

“Thank you, John. I am quite cheerful in meeting him. It has been far too long.”

John bowed and left the area.

Your mother's concern deepened as she observed the horrified expression etched across your face. She gently placed a hand on your arm and whispered, "Dear, you look as if you're on the brink of fainting. Please, go to the refreshments and fetch yourself a glass of water. Take a moment to compose yourself." Your motherly care enveloped you, and you nodded, grateful for the suggestion to step away briefly from the anxiety that had gripped you.

The grand ballroom began to feel suffocating, and you yearned for a breath of fresh air, a momentary escape from the overwhelming atmosphere. The need to step outside and simply breathe because it became nearly overwhelming, and you decided it was time for a brief respite.

He will be here soon, and there is no avoiding it. This thought completely gnawed at your insides and there is no place for you to hide.

"Sister, are you feeling well?" your eldest sibling inquired, her cream-colored chemise beautifully complementing her shimmering jewelry. Her concerned gaze met yours, and you could sense that she found something amiss in your expression. The irony was not lost on you, given that you were about to meet a man who also bore the name "Ghost."

"I am feeling rather ill," you responded, fabricating a falsehood to avoid the impending meeting with "Ghost." While part of you wanted to avoid this mysterious figure, there was an even stronger desire to reunite with your dear brother. Your deception was a way to navigate the complex emotions and uncertainty of the evening.

How unfortunate. This man will haunt your dreams.

——

You made your way outside, the chilly breeze sweeping over your face as you finally found a moment to breathe. The cool air provided a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere inside, and you closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of liberation that came with each deep breath.

As you’re breathing the cool air, a voice is heard from a distance.

"My dearest sister, always wandering," your brother chuckled warmly as he approached. You turned your head swiftly at the sound of his voice and finally laid eyes on your sibling after many long months. He appeared strikingly different, somehow taller and more muscular, and the transformation left you momentarily speechless with surprise and joy.

"Brother!" You couldn't contain your excitement and ran up to him, welcoming him with open arms. The embrace felt like it lasted an eternity, as you cherished every moment, not knowing how long he would stay. It was a precious reunion, and you wanted to make the most of it.

"How have you been? I suppose everything has been well while I was away?" he inquired, his arms crossed as he surveyed the palace grounds. It was just the two of you outside, and he seemed genuinely interested in catching up on all that had transpired during his absence.

Amid the tranquility of the palace gardens, your brother's question hung in the air, and he observed his surroundings with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity. The evening's hushed elegance enveloped both of you as you began to catch up. He looked different from when you last saw him, and you couldn't help but wonder about the experiences that had shaped him during his time away. It was a moment filled with anticipation, longing, and the joy of reconnecting with your brother.

"It has been quite well! Rather normal," you replied with a smile, acknowledging the routine and calmness that had become the norm in his absence. His head tilted as he teased, "The word you're searching for is 'boring,' isn't it? After all, the fun brother hasn't been around." His hearty chuckle filled the air, bringing a touch of lightheartedness to the conversation.

“That is true. I have missed you a ton.”

“And I have missed you more, my dear sister.”

You couldn't help but glance around, hoping against hope that Viscount Riley had not yet arrived. The idea of facing him at this moment was almost unbearable, and you found yourself anxiously searching the surroundings for any sign of his presence.

How awkward.

"Oh, I thought you arrived with a guest," you blurted out, your hope that he had an emergency and didn't come alone shining through your words. The prospect of meeting "Ghost" or Viscount Riley had filled you with apprehension, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread at the thought of encountering him in person. Your brother's response would determine whether your unease would intensify or be somewhat alleviated.

But it was not.

“He is here, in fact, he is inside speaking to our father. I highly suggest you meet him, he is a fine gentleman, though he might frighten some. I can assure you, he means well.”

Meeting him now seemed almost inevitable, and you had to prepare yourself for this encounter with the enigmatic figure.

It is time you met him, to get it over with once and for all.

(…)

Viscount Riley stood before you, his face obscured by a mask that added an aura of mystique to his presence. As you gazed into his eyes, you sensed a depth of emotions and stories waiting to be unveiled. It was a stark contrast to the fear you had felt just moments ago, and now, you found yourself admiring this enigmatic figure, eager to learn more about the man behind the mask.

"Your Highness," his voice, deep and gravely, greeted you. An unfamiliar warmth spread through your stomach, causing your cheeks to flush crimson. It was a sensation you couldn't quite understand. Why did you suddenly feel so flustered in his presence?

"Good evening, My Lord. I extend my gratitude for making the journey to attend this ball," you replied politely, determined to make a favorable first impression, despite your royal status as a princess.

Your mother's friend had not exaggerated; Viscount Riley was indeed exceptionally tall, almost appearing otherworldly. Inhumane. His muscular physique was apparent even beneath the luxurious waistcoat he wore. The choice of an all-black ensemble, combined with the white skull-like mask, added to the air of mystery and intrigue that surrounded him, making his presence all the more imposing.

As Viscount Riley closed the distance between you, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, and your heart quickened with each step he took. His hand, encased in a fine glove, reached out, and you watched in fascination, your gaze locked on his as your brows raised. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, leaving you both on the precipice of an intriguing encounter.

"Care for a dance?" Viscount Riley extended the invitation, his eyes lingering on you as he assessed your presence. His gaze felt almost intimate, as if he were undressing you with his eyes, although you quickly chastised yourself for such inappropriate thoughts. The offer to dance hung in the air, and you considered your response carefully.

You nod, “yes, My Lord.”

"Call me Simon, Your Highness," he suggested, his eyes captivating you with their natural hues in the dim light. They seemed to glisten like moonlight. You hesitated, feeling a mix of intrigue and reluctance. "I'm not sure I am comfortable calling you that," you admitted honestly, the formality of addressing him by his title still lingering between you.

"I have granted you permission, my love. Call me Simon, in private," he whispered softly into your ear, his words tinged with an intimacy that sent a shiver down your spine. His scent, a heady blend of sandalwood, enveloped your senses, and the warmth of his breath against your skin caused a flush of heat to spread through your body, leaving you feeling quite overwhelmed in his presence.

My love.

"Do you know how to dance?" Viscount Simon inquired, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, eliciting a soft gasp from you. As you turned to examine the ballroom, you noticed your family watching with smiles on their faces. "I do, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the intimate moment you shared.

"How about the waltz? Are you familiar with that?" Viscount Simon's hand slipped behind your back, drawing you closer to him in an intimate embrace. Your mouth hung open in astonishment at his boldness, aware of the watchful eyes of the Ton in the ballroom. The closeness between you two, especially in such a public setting, was bound to attract attention and speculation.

"That…I do not know how to," you admitted truthfully. The waltz was indeed a dance you had never mastered, primarily because it required a partner to perform it. The admission was honest, though it left you feeling somewhat vulnerable in this moment with Viscount Simon.

As he continued to examine you, Viscount Simon couldn't deny the striking beauty that stood before him. The tension between you grew thicker, almost suffocating, and he felt a subtle but undeniable change within himself. His chest rose with each breath, and with every passing moment, he seemed to grow larger, as if the weight of the atmosphere and unspoken emotions were affecting him physically.

“I will teach you, Your Highness.” He took your right hand into his left, wrapping his other large hand behind your waist. Pulling you inches closer, if that were possible. You were practically glued to his body.

Your left hand found its place on Viscount Simon's shoulder, and as your touch made contact, you couldn't help but notice the spark in his eyes intensify, transforming into a fiery gaze. The sensation coursing between you was entirely new and left you feeling uncertain about how to navigate it. Yet, there was one undeniable truth: it felt like the pages of a romance novel coming to life, and the allure of the moment was impossible to ignore.

The world around you seemed to fade away, as he began to guide you through the graceful motions of the dance.

He leaned down to your ear, “tell me, love, have you ever done this with anyone before?” You shook your head nervously.

Viscount Simon was nothing like the enigmatic and intimidating figure you had imagined before. He had swiftly disproven your earlier apprehensions, showing himself to be a skilled and confident dance partner. However, the lingering mystery of his masked appearance still intrigued you. Why did he choose to conceal his identity in such a way? Was it a habit, a comfort, or perhaps a symbol of something deeper? As he expertly swayed you through the dance, all your earlier fears seemed to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of fascination and curiosity about this complex man.

“What is going on in that head of yours?”

"I am just trying to be focused, My Lord," you replied, a touch of nerves still present in your voice. He cleared his throat before offering words of encouragement, "You are doing great. Don't think too hard about it, or you'll make a mistake." His reassurance helped ease some of the tension, and you tried to follow his lead with more confidence, allowing the rhythm of the dance to guide your steps.

“Everyone in the room are watching us.”

"Imagine it's just us, Your Highness. Nothing to fret," Viscount Simon whispered, his words a soothing balm to your nerves. With that simple suggestion, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, allowing yourself to immerse in the moment, focusing solely on the dance and the connection you shared, the world around you fading into the background.

"Very well done," Viscount Simon praised, a touch of warmth in his voice. His encouragement and guidance continued to make the dance feel like a shared experience, and you found yourself becoming more at ease with each step, as though the world outside this dance floor had ceased to exist.

The instrumental music slowly started to fade away, as you became enchanted under his mysterious gaze.

In the mesmerizing dance with Viscount Simon, you counted each step and movement carefully. One, a step forward, followed by several backward steps. Then, you counted to two as he gracefully led you to the side, and you followed his lead with precision, completely entranced by the rhythm and grace of the waltz.

"May I ask you a few questions?" you inquired, looking up at Viscount Simon. Or should you call him simply Simon? Your curiosity about the man behind the mask had grown steadily throughout the dance, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to satisfy it.

"Yes, Your Highness," Viscount Simon replied, his tone respectful as you continued to dance in harmony.

"How long have you been in the military? I can only imagine it's been quite some time," you mused, curious about the path that had led him to his current station. Viscount Simon's physical fitness and the air of intrigue that surrounded him certainly hinted at a rich and varied history. Those eyes of his seemed to hold countless untold stories, and you couldn't help but be drawn to the mystery that shrouded his past.

"I am quite intrigued that someone has inquired about this, especially the princess. It's an honor," Viscount Simon began, a hint of appreciation in his voice. He continued, "I've served in the military for a considerable duration." His sigh hinted at a deeper story. "But I must wonder, why do you ask, Your Highness?" There was a curious and genuine note in his inquiry, as if he too was interested in the motives behind your questions.

His question took you off guard, and you momentarily pause for a moment. Heat swept across your face, and your stomach felt like a hundred butterflies were attacking it at once.

You clear your throat, preparing yourself to speak the truth.

"Well, your physique does suggest you've had a long tenure in the British military," you stated, your words coming out more bluntly than you had intended. You looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed by your straightforward observation. It was as if the words had slipped out of their own accord, revealing your unfiltered thoughts about him.

His head tilts as you both continue the dance, the tension became thicker in the moment.

“I’m glad you’ve noticed that, you have quite the eye darling.”

"I suppose it is rather evident," Viscount Simon replied with a good-natured chuckle, acknowledging the obvious. His height and impressive physical presence were indeed difficult to overlook, and it was refreshing to engage in such candid conversation with him.

“I would like to continue this conversation another time, Your Highness.” The music stopped, and suddenly your heart ached.

The fear and apprehension you had felt before meeting Viscount Simon now seemed misplaced and misjudged. Shame washed over you as you realized that your initial impressions had been far from accurate. Emotions you had never experienced before welled up within you, and you found yourself struggling to process this newfound connection and the complex feelings it stirred within you.

"You look quite sick, Your Highness. Should I summon a doctor?" Viscount Simon's concern was evident in his voice, and he signaled his readiness to assist. However, you shook your head, declining the offer. His expression shifted, and the color of his eyes darkened noticeably. The once-bright stars in his gaze seemed to fade, leaving a shadow of concern and curiosity in their wake.

"I must retire to my bedchamber at once. It seems I may have eaten something disagreeable," you explained, offering a plausible reason for your sudden discomfort. As you made your exit, you couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected attachment you had felt during the dance. Was it the chemistry that had taken you by surprise, or the disappointment of the dance ending so soon when you had secretly wanted it to continue? The confusion within you left you with much to ponder as you retreated from the ballroom.

You heard heavy footsteps in the distance, and you face the sound. Heart beating so fast and hard that you’re afraid it’ll break your ribcage.

Your eyes widened as you glanced back, catching the intense gaze of the tall man in the distance—Viscount Simon. The burning sensation in your stomach flared once more, and your heart raced at the unexpected encounter. It seemed that your paths had crossed again, and the intrigue surrounding him deepened further.

“My Lord, you are not permitted in this area,” you stuttered, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and unease. Viscount Simon’s inhumanly towering presence had a profound effect on you, causing your knees to grow weak and your heart to race.

The unexpected encounter left you feeling both vulnerable and intrigued, uncertain of what would come next.

Viscount Simon continued to approach you, seemingly unperturbed by your protest. His voice, when he spoke, carried a darker, gravely, and husky timbre, each word rolling off his tongue with a depth that sent shivers down your spine. It was a voice that held a mysterious allure, and as he drew nearer, you found yourself captivated by the man before you.

“You are still not allowed here, My Lord. Unless are married to me or if you have permission to do—“ he interrupted you for a brief moment, your breath hitched. “Do I have your permission?”

His simple question held a weight that left you questioning your own dignity and morals. "I-I suppose you may. I don't believe you'd cause any harm," you replied tentatively, your nerves causing you to fidget with your hands.

Viscount Simon took note of your hesitation and reached out to gently take your hands in his own. His touch was surprisingly rough and calloused, yet it had a calming effect on your frayed nerves. The unexpected gesture further deepened the sense of connection between you two, leaving you both intrigued and comforted by the enigmatic man before you.

The entire experience felt like something out of a romance novel, a dream brought to life. It was something you had never been entirely sure would happen to you, yet now, it had. The enchanting dance, the mysterious encounter with Viscount Simon, and the complex emotions that had unfolded were all like a dream come true, turning the pages of a story you had never expected to live.

“Open the door, the guards are all downstairs, no need to fret.” He demanded, in a gentle manner.

You obediently opened the door, allowing Viscount Simon to enter. As he stepped into your bedroom, a breeze swept in from the open window, which you had forgotten to close before attending the ball. The cool air helped alleviate the heat on your flushed face, and you welcomed the refreshing sensation, finding comfort in the natural element that had invited itself into your bedroom.

"This is my bedroom," you announced, leading Viscount Simon on a brief tour. You observed him as he moved toward your bed and the bookshelf. His large hands gently skimmed over the rows of books, and his eyes, visible through the skull-like mask, carefully scanned the titles.

“I didn’t take you for such a romance reader, Jane Austen, Your Highness?”

You noticed his finger resting on “Pride and Prejudice” and felt compelled to explain. “Yes, most of them are by Jane Austen, but her works are more than just romance,” you informed him, eager to share your love for literature.

“Excuse me, but there’s not a single book here that is not romance.” His interest in your personal space and choice of reading material piqued your curiosity even further. “Are you an expert perhaps?”

"No, I am not," you admitted, your tone laced with a hint of shame. The vulnerability in sharing this aspect of yourself with Viscount Simon revealed a layer of your character that you hadn't expected to expose during this encounter.

"I can teach you some things from these books, unless you already possess the knowledge," Viscount Simon offered. He selected a random chapter from one of the books and began to read aloud, his gaze eventually shifting back to you.

With his arms now crossed, the buttons on his vest seemed on the verge of bursting due to the muscles that strained against it. The prospect of learning from him, coupled with the undeniable physical presence he exuded, left you intrigued and eager to explore this connection further.

"Knowledge of what?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued by his statement. As Viscount Simon approached you, his every step seemed to carry a weight of its own, and you couldn't help but notice the way his breaths grew heavier, causing his chest to rise with each intake of air.

His masked face concealed most of his expressions, but his eyes continued to hold your attention, revealing a shift in his demeanor that intrigued you even more.

"May I, Your Highness?" Viscount Simon asked softly as he gently lifted your chin with his index finger, tilting it upward until your gazes locked completely. The sudden and intimate gesture left you gasping for air, and a rush of emotions from earlier returned with a renewed intensity. In that moment, it felt as if the world outside your shared space had ceased to exist.

You nodded, still unsure of what he was asking for, and confusion clouded your thoughts. Suddenly, Viscount Simon closed the distance between the two of you, narrowing the gap until you were in close proximity, and your breaths seemed to synchronize in that intimate space.

His lips were soft, and everything you read in the books are now suddenly real.

Viscount Simon’s right hand gently cradled the back of your neck, securing you in his embrace as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was passionate, intense, and consuming, leaving you both breathless and addicted to the taste and sensation of each other. In this private room that had once held your deepest secrets, it now bore witness to your first kiss, a moment that defied propriety but felt undeniably right in that intoxicating connection between you two.

In the midst of the heated kiss, every thought and worry seemed to vanish from your mind. Viscount Simon's warm tongue ventured into your mouth, igniting a rush of desire that left you breathless. You held onto his vest with a desperate grip, the fabric of his waistcoat beneath your fingertips offering an anchor in the whirlwind of sensations that coursed through you. The world outside ceased to exist as you both lost yourselves in this intimate exchange, a forbidden connection that felt undeniably intense and irresistible.

He must’ve kept all this encased during the dance…

Viscount Simon's strong hand cupped your face, holding you tenderly as the intensity of the kiss grew. His groans of pleasure became more pronounced, and the raw desire in his sounds threatened to melt you into a puddle beneath him. The fire in your belly surged, an insatiable heat that refused to be extinguished. Every vein in your body seemed to pulse with desire as you couldn't help but wonder where he had been all this time, and why it had taken so long for your paths to cross in such an electrifying way.

"You... taste delicious," Viscount Simon murmured as he pulled away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva briefly connecting your reddened and swollen lips before breaking. Both of you were left breathless, taking moments to regain your composure as you watched Simon also catch his breath. His remark left you feeling dizzy and uncertain about what had just transpired, and the lingering question of why it had happened hung in the air between you.

“My Lord, why did you kiss me just now?” You broke the silence, and he looks up at you, still panting.

“I sincerely apologize for my actions, Your Highness, but I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Your voice wavered with a mix of desire and frustration as you implored, "Stop asking me such questions before I do something completely and utterly outrageous." The tension between you and Viscount Simon had reached an almost unbearable peak, and your words conveyed both the temptation and the peril of this magnetic connection that had ignited between you.

Your brows furrow, “I don’t understand what I did, My Lord.”

"Simon, Your Highness," he corrected, his tone both firm and possessive as he closed the distance between you once again. The formality mingled with intimacy in his address, emphasizing the complexity of your connection and the roles you both occupied in this uncharted territory of desire and longing.

Suddenly, Viscount Simon began to undress your chemise, leaving you with only your undergarments. Your voice quivered as you confessed, "Simon, I was told this was not allowed unless I am married..." The touch of his hands against your skin felt like lava, igniting a blazing heat that coursed through your body. The boundaries and proprieties that had once defined your world seemed to blur and fade in the face of this overwhelming desire and vulnerability.

“Do you want this?” He asked, a simple question that made you answer it in less than a second. You wanted to shout “yes” but that was deemed highly inappropriate. So you kept quiet and all you did was nod, though, Simon kept asking.

“A nod won’t do, Your Highness. I need to know if you want me to touch you, to kiss every inch of your body, to explore depths no other man has ever explored, and to tell you that you are mine. Do you want that?”

In that suspended moment, you gazed at him in awe, realizing that every description he had given you, every hint of desire and passion he had conveyed, was everything you had been longing for. It was everything you so desperately wanted. The anticipation that had built within you had finally reached its culmination, and now, in this moment, it had all become a breathtaking reality.

"I want you to do all of the above," you confessed in a breathy, fervent tone. In that intimate moment, you could discern the expression in Viscount Simon's eyes behind his mask, and the desire and hunger mirrored in his gaze confirmed the depth of the connection you both shared.

Lust.

Viscount Simon began to unbutton his vest and everything else beneath his waistcoat, gradually revealing his sculpted torso. Each chiseled muscle seemed to tell a story of years of hard work and sacrifice, with every scar etching its own narrative.

Unable to contain your fascination, you traced your fingers delicately across each scar, causing Simon to flinch at your touch. The intimacy of this moment, where you explored the physical evidence of his past, deepened the connection between you even further.

You asked in a voice tinged with sadness, “When and how have you gotten these?” Your fingers continued to trace the scars on his torso, and a part of you wished that he had never had to endure the pain and suffering that each mark represented.

“I would like to talk about these another time, I don’t want to ruin this moment, love.” You understood.

He gets up from off his knees and places both his hands besides you, you sat on the edge of the bed as he leans towards your face. “Would you like me to undress you, Your Highness?”

"You may," you breathed in response, your need for his touch growing more intense with each passing moment. Viscount Simon didn't completely undress you; instead, he lifted your petticoat all the way up to your waist, exposing your white cotton undergarments to him. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, you hid your face, unable to meet his gaze as your desire and vulnerability laid bare before him.

"In all my years of living, I've never seen someone so perfect," Viscount Simon whispered, his words of admiration sending shivers down your spine. He lowered his face to your thighs, and you gasped at the sensation of his soft lips and warm breath trailing across your bare skin. He left a trail of peppered kisses as he slowly made his way to your most sacred and intimate spot, igniting a fiery passion between you that seemed to transcend time and place.

Simon hooks his fingers on the band of your undergarment, and slid them off, leaving you completely bare in front of him. His jaw locks, looking at you like you’re the prey and he’s the predator, ready to devour his meal and fulfill his hunger.

"What are you going to do?" you questioned, your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Despite your previous experiences with literature and romance, this moment was uncharted territory, and you found yourself both intrigued and apprehensive about what might come next.

He completely ignored your question, taking his finger and touching it on your most sensitive spot. You gripped the cotton sheets, it became victim to your tight hold.

“Your Highness, this spot right here, may cause some discomfort.” He warned, his rough finger circling the bud slowly.

You struggled to breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you found it difficult to form the right words. Your senses were overwhelmed, and your mind raced as you desperately tried to find your voice and articulate your thoughts in this intense and intimate moment.

Small whines and moans left your mouth, putting Simon in a haze. “Now right here,” his finger slid down your throbbing folds, “may hurt, darling.”

You balance yourself on both your elbows, seeing the intense sight in front of you. Simon’s head was in between your legs, and his fingers were on your cunt.

His middle finger enters a part of you that made you let out a scream in response, he may have warned you before, but it still hurt. “Did I hurt you, love? If you’d like me to stop, I can.”

"No, please," you assured him, your voice trembling with both desire and reassurance. "I assure you, I am fine." His hands remained firmly pressed against your thighs, and you welcomed him further into this intimate connection, surrendering to the intoxicating sensations that washed over you.

“Tell me when you’d like me to stop, my princess.”

My Princess. That alone let a moan escape your lips.

His finger began to slide in and out, and the sensations that surged through you left you breathless. It was a mix of pleasure and pain, a new and overwhelming experience that had your body tingling with desire and your mind racing with sensations you had never felt before.

"Oh, Simon..." you whimpered, your head thrashing from side to side as he continued to pay no heed to your whimpers and moans. His mouth descended to your most intimate place, and he began to explore you fully, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you surrendered to the exquisite sensations that washed over you.

“Stay still.” He ordered, ignoring your protests as his hands make their way to your waist and back to your thighs. Gripping them as if he’s scared you’re going to somehow leave his hold. His tongue laps against your entrance as his finger continued to slide inside and out, then quickly adding a second finger.

“Simon!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the room, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation that surged through you. The knots in your stomach tugged tighter, intensifying the anticipation as you neared the peak of ecstasy, the culmination of desire and longing.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, their delicate silk fabric clinging tightly as his warm breath tickles your inner thighs. With each gentle brush of his nose against your bud, a delicious shiver of anticipation courses through your body, intensifying the electric connection between you.

And there, you couldn’t take it anymore. You unraveled underneath him as he continued to devour you, his grip intensified as you thrashed your head around. Every delicate moans escaped your mouth, and you thought you’d never make these noises in your life, yet here you are.

“You are bloody delicious, my love, so sweet.” He kissed your thighs as he hovers over you. His breathe heaving and his chest covered in sweat. You couldn’t deny the attractiveness in front of you, it was almost impossible how someone could look this good in a mask.

"Thank you, Simon," you expressed your gratitude, and in his mysterious eyes, a glint of admiration shimmered like a hidden treasure in the depths of a secret world you had just begun to explore together.

“It is my honor, Your Highness. I am sure the next time we visit, it won’t be the same as this.”

"What do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity piqued, and an unspoken desire that he would stay by your side forever welled up within you. He sighed, his breath carrying the weight of unspoken truths, and his eyes held a depth of emotions that begged to be explored further.

"I mean, Your Highness," he began, his voice holding a note of determination, "that I will never let you go. I intend to reveal the deeper parts of myself to you, and I will slowly begin to show and teach you everything you desire to know." His words carried a promise of a journey into the unknown, an exploration of desires and emotions that lay hidden beneath the surface.

“I realized now more than ever, that I need you.”

——

NOTE: HOLY!!! This took a week (omg) and now it’s finally done. I’m actually so proud of this. Let me know if you’d like to be in the taglist. Once again, thank you all for reading my peeps! :) this was a promise made by me! Also, I may have watched Bridgerton hundreds of times and Queen Charlotte and all of those shows etc etc, but if there’s something historically incorrect, please inform me! I would love to correct it for future readers. Thanks once again!

#fanfic #fanfiction #call of duty #cod mw fanfiction #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #cod mwii #cod smut #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #modern warfare 2 #ao3feed #ghost smut

[zapreportsblog]

Hi, so, I'd like to request a one shot with Billy and Stu x Reader who looks cute and innocent, she can even trick them into thinking she's a sweet lamb, they are kinda friends? Like, the boys like to hang around her house, since she's almost always alone, and they watch horror movies together and all, Billy being creepy as always and Stu weirdly cute. Anyways, she looks so sweet and innocent, but, in reality, she has some dark thoughts and when a guy from school treats her bad or something like that (I'm think of her bing like a hidden Pearl) she kills him, but no one knows, after that she starts to go into a killing spree and the boys get worried she'll be a victim of this new killer, until they catch her killing, being stained with blood. I'd love if you could write it, so thanks ❤️ (English is not my first language, so sorry for any grammar error)

Oh no this was perfect so even if English isn’t your first language I got what you had in mind

↳ devil in disguise ↲

✭ pairing : billy loomis x reader x stu macher

✭ fandom : scream

✭ summary : billy loomis and stu macher befriend the new girl, there something about the innocence in her that has them wanting to keep her close, but what they don’t know is that underneath all that innocence is a psycho killer watching and building up.

✭ authors note : this will be pretty fucking long let’s be honest but I hope you enjoy :)

Appearances can be deceiving, a truth that resonates throughout the intricate tapestry of human nature. In the complex dance of life, the most innocent of individuals often harbor the potential for both light and darkness, a duality that echoes the very essence of existence.

Beneath the gentle facade of a kind smile, the spark of laughter, or the softness of a touch, lies a spectrum of emotions and desires that can lead down paths both virtuous and treacherous. Each person is a canvas painted with shades of morality, their choices a brushstroke that can create beauty or chaos, depending on the journey they choose to undertake.

The predator lurking within, the shadow of primal instincts, is a reminder that human beings are products of evolution, shaped by eons of survival instincts and genetic predispositions. In the heart of every individual, there exists a part that craves power, control, or fulfillment, a yearning that can manifest as ambition, passion, or even obsession.

Yet, it is important to recognize that the coexistence of light and darkness within us is not inherently sinister. It is a reflection of the human experience, a reminder that every choice is a crossroads, offering the potential for change, growth, and transformation. The predator within can propel us forward, driving us to achieve our goals, protect our loved ones, and forge our destinies.

In a world where appearances often mask the intricacies of the human soul, it becomes crucial to acknowledge the duality that resides within each of us. By embracing both our capacity for kindness and our susceptibility to darker urges, we gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and those around us. The predator lurking within can serve as a cautionary tale, a reminder of the importance of self-awareness, empathy, and the conscious choice to channel our instincts toward the betterment of ourselves and society.

Ultimately, the dichotomy of light and darkness within us mirrors the complexity of the world we inhabit. It is a testament to the richness of the human experience, the endless potential for growth, and the ever-present opportunity to shape our narratives, whether we tread the path of the predator or harness the power of our inner light.

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting its golden rays over the idyllic small town of Woodsboro. In the heart of the town, the high school's courtyard was a hub of activity, a place where friendships were forged and teenage dramas played out against the backdrop of lockers and laughter.

Stu Macher and Billy Loomis, the quintessential charismatic duo, leaned casually against the fountain. Their respective girlfriends, Tatum Riley and Sidney Prescott, stood nearby, laughter and conversations weaving a tapestry of youthful energy.

"Hey, ladies," Stu greeted with a grin, his bleached-blond hair catching the sunlight.

Billy's dark eyes sparkled as he echoed the sentiment, "Looking good as always."

As the quartet exchanged banter and shared glances, a figure caught their attention. Randy Meeks, known for his encyclopedic knowledge of horror movies and his perpetual enthusiasm, approached with a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear. At his side was a girl who looked almost ethereal—a new face in a town where everyone knew everyone else.

"(Y/N), meet the gang," Randy said with exuberance, presenting the girl to the group.

(Y/N) stood shyly, her presence an aura of innocence and warmth. Her eyes were like open books, wide and filled with curiosity as she took in her surroundings. A white dress, loose yet gracefully hugging her figure, accentuated her delicate beauty. The boys, Billy and Stu, exchanged glances that spoke volumes—here was someone who radiated innocence and gentleness.

"Hey, (Y/N)," Tatum greeted with a friendly smile, extending a welcoming hand.

Sidney's eyes held a soft kindness as she added, "Nice to meet you."

"(Y/N)," Stu's voice was friendly, his grin never faltering.

But it was Billy who couldn't tear his gaze away. In his eyes, (Y/N) appeared as if she could do no wrong—a portrait of purity in a world where darkness often lurked. Her eyes reminded him of Bambi's, wide and open, untouched by the harsh realities of life.

"Hi," (Y/N) responded, her voice soft and sweet, as if her words were a whisper carried by the wind.

As the introductions and pleasantries continued, a sense of intrigue filled the air. The new girl was like a breath of fresh air, and the boys found themselves captivated by her presence. Billy's heart stirred, his curiosity piqued by the enigma that was (Y/N).

As the days stretched into a week, the dynamic between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) began to evolve. To the casual observer, it seemed like the boys were constantly bothering her, popping up unexpectedly and causing her to jump with exaggerated "scares." (Y/N)'s jumpy nature only seemed to fuel their amusement, and they reveled in the opportunity to tease her.

"(Y/N), you really need to work on your reflexes," Stu teased, a wide grin playing on his lips.

Billy joined in, smirking, "Yeah, seriously, what are you so jumpy about?"

Inside, however, their thoughts took on a darker undertone. Each little expression that flickered across (Y/N)'s face was dissected in their minds, and they toyed with the idea of involving her in their sinister games. But deep down, they couldn't shake the notion that she was different, that her innocence was genuine, and that she deserved more than the fate they had planned for their victims.

One night, as they lounged around in Stu's living room, the topic of their potential victims came up, their voices hushed as they spoke of Ghostface's next target.

"You know, man, I've been thinking," Stu mused, his tone contemplative.

Billy's eyes met Stu's, curiosity gleaming within them. "About what?"

"(Y/N)," Stu replied, his voice surprisingly serious. "I mean, yeah, we've joked about her being our next victim, but... I don't know, there's something different about her."

Billy's brows furrowed in thought, his expression mirroring Stu's. "Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing. Her innocence... it's real, isn't it? I mean, it can't be faked."

Stu nodded, a somberness settling over them. "She's the only one in this school who doesn't put on a facade. I mean, just look at her. She's not trying to impress anyone or play games. She's just... herself."

As the two friends contemplated (Y/N)'s genuine nature, a decision began to crystallize within them. The idea of involving her in their deadly plans felt wrong, as if they were tainting something pure. The darkness within them seemed to clash with the light that (Y/N) exuded.

"Maybe she's the exception," Billy mused. "Maybe she deserves something better than what we had planned."

Stu's gaze was resolute. "I agree. We can't touch her. She's... untouchable."

And so, in the midst of their twisted games and hidden motives, (Y/N) emerged as a beacon of authenticity, a figure they couldn't bring themselves to tarnish. Their dark thoughts and desires were held at bay, overruled by the recognition that some innocence was too pure to be tainted.

As the days continued to unfold, the bond between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) deepened, shaped by unspoken understanding and the realization that appearances could indeed be deceiving. In the shadows of their minds, they grappled with their own darkness while protecting the fragile light that (Y/N) represented—an innocence they couldn't bring themselves to shatter, even in the midst of their sinister games.

The bond between Billy, Stu, and (Y/N) deepened with every passing day, an unspoken connection that drew them together. As the days grew longer, they found themselves gravitating toward her house, seeking her company whenever they could. They had adopted a role of self-proclaimed bodyguards, protecting her from a danger she didn't even know was real.

"(Y/N), you seriously need to upgrade your horror movie tolerance," Stu laughed one evening, sprawled on the couch as a horror movie played on the TV screen.

"Yeah, seriously," Billy chimed in from the armchair, his eyes fixed on (Y/N) with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Despite her jumping at some of the movie's more intense scenes, (Y/N) laughed, trying to play it off. "Hey, don't judge me. I'm just not used to all this scary stuff."

Stu grinned, an idea forming in his mind. "You know what would be fun? A horror movie marathon. We'll toughen you up."

Billy's eyes gleamed with a sinister amusement, his gaze lingering on (Y/N) as he added, "Yeah, that's a good idea. Get you ready for the real thing."

Unbeknownst to (Y/N), their intentions were far from innocent. In their twisted minds, they envisioned her as the ultimate victim—the damsel in distress they could play out their darkest fantasies with. Billy's creepy stares and Stu's vivid imagination blended seamlessly with their supposed role as protectors.

As the marathon continued, (Y/N) did her best to keep her composure, laughing off her jumps and enjoying the company of her friends. She glanced at Billy and Stu, both absorbed in the movie, their expressions revealing something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Hey, you guys aren't actually planning to scare me for real, are you?" (Y/N) quipped, a playful glint in her eye.

Billy's lips curled into a charming smile, masking his true thoughts. "Of course not, (Y/N). We're your protectors, remember?"

Stu's grin was genuine, his gaze softening as he added, "Yeah, we're not gonna let anything happen to you."

Despite the odd tension in the room, (Y/N) felt a genuine warmth emanating from them. The camaraderie they shared was precious to her, and their presence was a comfort amidst the backdrop of uncertainty.

As the days turned into weeks, (Y/N)'s interactions with Billy and Stu continued to deepen, their friendship a blend of innocence and darkness that seemed to mirror her own conflicted thoughts. Beneath her sweet exterior, a hidden pearl of darkness lay dormant, waiting for the right catalyst to awaken it.

One day, after school, (Y/N) found herself crossing paths with a guy from school who had treated her with disdain. His words had been sharp, his actions cruel, leaving a lingering bitterness within her. As she walked away, her fists clenched and her thoughts turned dark. Anger simmered beneath her surface, and a newfound resolve began to take hold.

That night, the moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the town. (Y/N) moved with a determination that belied her innocent appearance. Her actions were swift, her thoughts cold and calculated as she carried out a plan that would forever change the course of events.

The next day, news of the guy's death spread like wildfire. Whispers of foul play and shock resonated through the school corridors. Nobody suspected the innocent new girl, the one with wide eyes and a demeanor that seemed incapable of harm.

As the days turned into weeks, the incident faded into the background, but (Y/N)'s newfound darkness lingered within her. She grappled with the conflicting emotions that surged within, a duality that remained hidden from the world.

Billy and Stu watched from the shadows, unaware of (Y/N)'s secret but sensing a shift in her. They continued their roles as her protectors, the twisted bond between them growing stronger. Little did they know, they were not the only ones harboring darkness.

The trio continued to spend time together, their connection both genuine and unsettling. (Y/N)'s thoughts were a storm of conflicting desires, her actions a reflection of the hidden Pearl within her—a darkness that had tasted blood and now hungered for more.

In a town where appearances were often deceiving, (Y/N) navigated the delicate balance between innocence and darkness. The lines between right and wrong blurred as her hidden thoughts and actions remained shrouded in secrecy, while the world continued to see only the sweet, innocent new girl who could do no harm.

As (Y/N)'s dark inclinations grew, so did the trail of bodies left in her wake. The once-hidden pearl of darkness had been fully awoken, and her actions took on a chilling rhythm. Each victim was carefully chosen, their lives extinguished with a methodical precision that sent shivers down her own spine.

Billy and Stu, the twisted duo who had unknowingly played a role in (Y/N)'s descent into darkness, began to notice the change in her demeanor. Their concern grew as they realized that the one they had deemed untouchable was now capable of unspeakable acts. The irony was not lost on them—the protectors were now the ones who feared for her safety.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Billy's voice held a note of unease as he approached her one afternoon.

She smiled sweetly, her eyes glinting with a hidden intensity. "Of course, Billy. I'm fine."

Stu's eyes were sharp as he added, "You seem... different lately."

(Y/N)'s laughter was almost melodic, a stark contrast to the darkness that seemed to dance within her eyes. "Oh, just exploring new aspects of myself."

As the bodies continued to pile up, news of the new killer on the loose spread throughout the town. Fear and paranoia took hold, and Billy and Stu's concern for (Y/N) grew exponentially. They watched her closely, trying to discern the truth behind her smiles and the shifting shades within her gaze.

One evening, as they gathered at Stu's house, the topic of the killer came up once again. "(Y/N), have you heard about this new killer?" Stu asked, his tone casual.

She feigned innocence, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Oh, I've heard. It's terrible what's happening."

Billy's voice was strained as he pressed, "You haven't seen anything suspicious, have you?"

She met their gaze, her eyes a storm of hidden secrets. "Oh, nothing suspicious. Just a town gripped by fear."

The tension in the room was palpable, a silent recognition passing between them that (Y/N)'s dark thoughts were far more than they could have imagined. In their quest for power and control, they had inadvertently unleashed a force they couldn't fully comprehend.

As the days turned into nights, the town continued to reel from the new killer's actions. While the trail of bodies grew, (Y/N) remained a step ahead, her innocence a perfect mask for her true nature.

Billy and Stu's worry for her safety intensified, their twisted roles as protectors becoming a desperate attempt to shield her from a danger they were unaware she posed herself. In a chilling dance of fate, the lines between predator and prey blurred as (Y/N) navigated her dark path, leaving those around her to grapple with the realization that appearances could indeed be deceiving.

The tension in the air was thick as the night sky hung like a heavy curtain over the town. Billy and Stu's concern for (Y/N) had reached a fever pitch, each body that dropped heightening their anxiety. Their roles as protectors had been twisted beyond recognition, their concern evolving into a fear they dared not admit.

In the midst of their own murderous pursuits, the two boys stumbled upon a sight that shattered their perceptions. Moonlight cast an eerie glow on the scene before them—their sweet, innocent friend standing amidst the remnants of a fresh kill, her hands stained with blood.

Frozen in their tracks, Billy and Stu stared at (Y/N), their breath catching in their throats. A palpable tension hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the darkness that now bound them all together.

Stu was the first to break the silence, his voice a mixture of confusion and desperation. "What... What the hell, (Y/N)?"

(Y/N)'s gaze remained steady, her eyes holding a mix of defiance and something deeper, something that Billy and Stu struggled to grasp.

"Billy, Stu," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight that belied her innocent exterior. "I know you've been worried about me. But you don't need to be. I've always known what I am."

Billy's voice trembled as he managed to speak, but it wasn’t from fear. No, it was something else he was feeling his heart pounding in his chest. "What are you talking about, (Y/N)?"

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of (Y/N)'s lips, her eyes glinting with a chilling clarity. "Predators and prey, Billy. It's the natural order of things. Carnivores feed on herbivores. But there are also omnivores—predators that feed on both."

Stu's confusion was etched across his face as he demanded, "What does that have to do with anything?"

(Y/N)'s gaze turned piercing as she took a step forward, her presence exuding an aura of both danger and inevitability. "I'm an omnivore, Stu. A predator that feeds on everyone and everything. It's just the way I am."

The stand-off continued, a twisted tableau of secrets, revelations, and darkness. The boundaries between their roles as predators and protectors had blurred, leaving them all to confront a reality they had never anticipated.

Stu's hand trembled as he reached up and pulled off his Ghostface mask, his expression a mix of vulnerability and confusion. "Why, (Y/N)? Why are you doing this?"

(Y/N)'s smile was haunting, her words carrying the weight of centuries of history. "Because, Stu, it's survival of the fittest. The world is full of predators and prey, and I've chosen to be a predator."

Billy's fingers gently grazed (Y/N)'s cheek, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. His eyes were filled with mischief as he moved her hair to the side, tucking it behind her ear. With a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You enjoy that, don't you?" he said, his words dripping with anticipation. "The thrill of killing."

(Y/N) stared up at him, her Bambi-like eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. She nodded slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a dark secret she had kept hidden from the world, a part of herself she had never fully embraced until now.

Stu, having observed the exchange, stepped forward after a moment of contemplation. He moved silently, his presence sending shivers down (Y/N)'s spine. As he stood behind her, his body pressed against hers, an unexpected warmth spread through her veins.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. The embrace was both comforting and electrifying, a mix of tenderness and danger. (Y/N) found herself leaning into him, her breath catching as she surrendered to the darkness within.

Together, the trio began to explore the depths of their twisted desires. A newfound bond formed, fueled by their shared secrets and the thrill of the unknown. They reveled in the chaos they created, leaving a trail of darkness in their wake.

As the nights grew longer and their actions more audacious, (Y/N) realized she had found her true family. In Billy and Stu, she had discovered kindred spirits who understood her in ways no one else ever could.

Their connection went beyond the realm of friendship. It was a dark and wicked love, forged in blood and mayhem. They would stand together, united in their pursuit of chaos, forever entangled in each other's embrace.

And so, (Y/N) embraced her dark side fully, relishing in the exhilaration of the hunt, and finding solace in the arms of those who shared her twisted desires.

#x reader #x reader oneshot #x reader one shot #x reader requests #scream x reader #scream x yn #scream imagine #scream #scream imagines #scream x you #ghostface x you #ghostface imagine #ghostface imagines #ghostface x reader #poly ghostface #poly ghostface x reader #stu macher x you #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #billy loomis x you #billy loomis imagine #billy loomis imagines #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x stu macher x reader #stu macher x y/n #slashers x reader #slashers masterlist

[eldritch-spouse]

How would Belo be with a cult leader s/o?

She already has followers consisting of both monsters and humans who rave about how perfect she is, and they think Belo is a testament to that.

I mean, not just anyone can receive the affection of an angel; she must be akin to a god!

There is a hierarchy in the cult, and Belo is at the top of it. He can rest his head on her lap and watch as the others worship the very ground his lady walks on (he doesn't have a choice; the leader demands it this physical contact, otherwise she will be unhappy the whole day).

They validate Belo in every thought he has of his lady and also obey him as he is basically the leader's right hand (or so he believes, but in reality, they respect him so much because he is their leader's precious).

And what if more angels started coming out of the woodwork to serve his lady? If he was able to handle the cultists, surely this would be a stretch.

I can just imagine the cultists praising Belo as they dress him up in lingerie fitting to their leader's taste, then tie him up, mindful of his wings, and leave him in his lady's quarters. His lady comes in and gets on top of him, caressing his wings and whispering something about being her 'pretty little canary' and 'give yourself to me, show me your devotion.'.

This is the ideal situation for Belo.

Unlike most angels, who tend to have a mindset favorable to sharing with other celestials, Belo gets intoxicated when he realizes he's the only holy entity in a location, that he no longer has to share, that his tier hardly matters because he's the only celestial present and automatically the authority in a plethora of matters. He feels special in a way he never has before and his ego swells almost incomprehensibly.

Which is exactly why he's living his best life in this situation. Not only are you a sacred being, your generosity blinds you to the misdeeds of your own following. My Lady they are clumsy, obliviously disrespectful, they hold no discipline! Someone who is built to serve and protect needs to teach them how to behave, how to conduct themselves before you and how to make sure that your love is not for naught.

It's only right that Belo be the only one allowed to touch you. His holy nature makes him incapable of corrupting you, and others live through him their own lecherous, selfish fantasies of being your favored.

With him at the helm of many secondary areas and tasks, your cult blossoms like the loveliest lotus and gains a level of steadfast efficiency previously unforeseen.

The arrival of other angels... Complicates things. They're immediately perceived as threats to Belo's position.

You may not know this, but he's only a power. If there's a dominion, throne or, Eden forbid, a seraphim... By their own laws, Belo could have to step down and allow the worshiper-tiers to overrule him in the hierarchy.

And he goes half-mad at the idea.

That's not happening.

No tier can understand and service you better than him, and Belo will personally confront the more powerful celestials about this. There is a very special balance here, in your wonderful garden of light, where the rank of an angel is not what makes them worthy of your love and guidance. Belo may be just a power outside of these blessed grounds, but in them, he is your second in command, your favored, your fighter, your whorshiper, your guardian. He's your everything.

And though he may celebrate the arrival of more angels beside you, he makes sure they always remember their place.

He's determined to keep this perfect balance.

In your name, he thinks as he placidly remains in position, bottom eye counting the patterns on his service gown and the jewelry on his spread wings, everything in your name.

This won't be like before. He's doing so much better now, the cultists are behaving perfectly, the workflow is stable and satisfactory, the other angels are impeccable. You wouldn't leave them. Not when everything is immaculate, when mistakes are non-existent. This time will he different.

You enter the room, and his thoughts vanish.

#Belo oc

[aemiron-main]

“Gay Henry Truthers Are Erasing An Interracial Relationship During The 50s”: No We Aren’t, The Struggles Of An Interracial Relationship Are Still Very Much Present Even With Gay Henry & You’re Actually The Ones That Are Erasing Key Aspects Of Both Henry and Patty

So, it’s weird to see people talking about how gay Henry analysis is “erasing an interracial love story in the 50s” as if people arent also trying to erase the story of a gay kid in the 50s & the HNL conversion therapy allegory & also erase the way that Patty’s feelings specifically being puppy love is a key part of her reclaiming her sexuality/rebelling against Mr Newby, and also the fact that even with gay Henry, the struggles of an interracial relationship are still very much present.

I just think it’s a bit odd and reductive to try and reduce it down to “gay Henry headcanons are erasing an interracial love story,” when a.) it’s not just a headcanon, it’s analysis of canon, and b.) part of Henry’s story is very much being gay and the heavy heavy conversion therapy vibes/comparisons with Hawkins Lab and Brenner and how that ties into Brenner and Henry’s dynamic AND the fact that the struggles of an interracial relationship in the 50s are STILL PRESENT with gay Henry, I’m not erasing a single thing in that regard- Henry still stands up for Patty/joins in with her at the audition after Walter makes racist remarks & Henry still goes on his dates with her & they still experience all of the same things that they would experience if Henry was straight- except with some added queecoding on top.

So, yeah. Enjoy Creelby all you want, but I do think it’s strange to try and twist the fantastic story we have here re: gay Henry and Patty & intertwining queerness with interracial relationship & the concept of “being normal,” into an “us vs them, you’re Morally Wrong for believing that Henry is gay,” debacle.

Like, could they be more obvious than the “I like the gay ones?” line from Patty? It’s not subtle. Not to mention the stuff that IS subtle re: Henry’s queercoding (him basically having his “boys only,” moment when he’s in the boys bathroom & Patty comes in & he says she’s not supposed to be in there), etc etc.

And also, ignoring the queer side of things also erases the intricacies of Henry and Patty’s dynamic with their parents. Here’s why:

So, I talked about this in my other post-TFS gay Henry post, but part of Henry’s reason for having a relationship with Patty/going on dates with her etc is due to Virginia’s emotional incest and the fact that Virginia doesn’t want him to be with Patty & that Virginia is jealous of Patty.

Now, you might be saying “but Em, isn’t rebelling against Virginia and being with Patty just a testament to Henry’s romantic love for Patty?” To which I say: no! And I say “no,” because Henry’s key “romantic” interactions with Patty happen after Virginia tells him not to be with her- it’s not that he was already asking her out on 5 million dates and super interested prior- he was happy to be around her & trying to be “normal,” etc prior to Virginia’s complaints about him being with Patty, but the main date etc happened AFTER that conversation between Henry and Virginia. Henry’s date etc with Patty is a response to Virginia’s controlling behaviour and emotional incest and Virginia’s jealousy towards Patty- Henry straight up asks Virginia if she’s jealous of Patty after Virginia says that she doesn’t want Henry around patty anymore.

So, this demonstrates how Henry may have not pursued a romantic relationship with Patty if he wasn’t a.) trying to be normal (which, Virginia literally makes him repeat “My name is Henry Creel and I am normal,” all the time), and b.) if he wasn’t trying to rebel against Virginia’s emotional incest and controlling behaviour.

And there’s also the Brenner aspect of all of this. I talked about this in another post, but in TFS, many of Brenner’s conversations with Henry tie heavily into themes of sexual assault and conversion therapy in a way that’s SPECIFICALLY tied to Henry being gay and Brenner talking about how Henry can never be “normal,” specifically in the context of going to prom/being around girls, and Brenner also talks about how “I know you like it,” re: trying to claim that Henry likes killing, but it’s written and set up in such a way that the subtext is definitely tied to “I know you like being assaulted by a man/by me because you’re gay and nothing can fix that/I’m not trying to fix you, because you can’t be fixed, and I know you like it,” which then later ties into Henry and stockholm syndrome vibes and Henry wondering if he belongs in the lab, and again, that stockholm syndrome and self-hatred vibe with Henry is specifically tied to his queercoding.

And when it comes to Patty, trying to act like her and Henry are this end-all-be-all true, reciprocated romantic love & ignoring the references to it being “puppy love,” and the direct Mileven parallels erases a key part of Patty’s dynamic (and trauma) regarding Mr. Newby, as Patty is afraid to perform in The Dark of the Moon not only because of the sexual aspect of the play, but SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE Father Newby would have an issue with her performing in a play with explicit material.

So, Patty’s puppy love with Henry/her feelings for him/going on dates with him are also rooted in rebellion against Mr Newby, just like how Henry going on dates etc with Patty is rooted in rebellion against Virginia and her emotional incest. Ignoring Henry’s queerness & how Virginia’s emotional incest pushes a queer boy towards being in a relationship with a girl AND also ignoring the way that Patty rebels against Father Newby by pursuing a rebellious puppy love relationship rather than “waiting for marriage/waiting for a relationship that’s Approved By The Church And Me Newby/a True Love Moment TM” really reduces the depth of both characters.

Like, one thing I actually really enjoy about the puppy love side of Creelby on Patty’s behalf is that Patty doesn’t have to justify her relationship with “oh but it’s True Love-“ instead, she’s simply doing it because she wants to, because it makes her happy, she’s finally getting to make her own choices and break away from Mr, Newby’s controlling behaviour. She doesn’t plead with Mr Newby about how “oh, it’s True Love, please let me be with Henry, I want to marry him and spend my life with him-“ instead, she takes matters into her own hands, and enjoys her little puppy love/fling without that “justification,” of “oh but it’s True Love,” and without continuing to try and appeal to both religious standards and Mr Newby’s standards.

And again regarding how Patty’s feelings for Henry/going on a date with him etc are tied to Patty’s dynamic with Mr Newby, Patty even has a line that she says to Henry, where she says “what are you, my dad?”

So, not only do we have the familial coding there coming from Patty, but we also have a connection between Henry and Mr Newby created via that line, which reinforces what I said about how Patty initiating a relationship with Henry isn’t just because she’s “deeply romantically in love with him,” but instead, is also very very connected to Patty’s dynamic with Mr Newby & the way he punishes and controls her & the effect that Mr Newby has had on Patty’s expression and understanding of relationships and sexuality.

There’s also the emotional incest aspect between Patty and Mr. Newby, as Mr Newby’s wife left him for Ted Wheeler’s dad- and so, Patty ends up filling that void in a weird way, and Mr Newby treats her more like a controlled wife than he does a daughter/child.

So, yeah. It’s just a little frustrating to see people try and claim some sort of moral highground re: interracial relationships and Creelby vs gay Henry while also ignoring the conversion therapy aspect of Henry’s story and how that plays into his dynamic with Brenner & Brenner’s abuse towards him, and while also ignoring the way that gay Henry/puppy love Creelby plays into both Henry and Patty’s dynamics with their parents. Frankly, that sort of attempt at moral highgrounding comes across as a “grasping at straws/trying to cope and find a moral highground because the evidence supports gay Henry,” approach, which again, is frustrating.

Like, gay Henry doesn’t erase the interracial aspect/struggles of Creelby at all- but people are trying to use Creelby’s status as an interracial relationship to sweep Henry’s heavy handed gay coding under the rug and sweep the fact that Patty’s feeling being puppy love is a key pert of her character under the rug, and prove that Creelby is a reciprocated, endgame-esque romance, which not only then erases key aspects of Henry and Patty’s characters and dynamics with their parents and with Brenner, but also frankly comes across as people trying to use the struggles of an interracial relationship as a way of “proving,” that a ship they like is endgame, while also erasing key aspects of those characters & it just feels disingenuous to try and use the fact that Patty and Henry are an interracial relationship as justification for why they’re endgame/as an attempt debunk gay Henry when that doesn’t work & when they’re reducing the depth of Patty and Henry’s characters in the process.

Like, is it just me, or is it weirder to flatten out the characters of an abused black girl and an abused gay boy simply because you want Patty and Henry to be endgame?

Hell, I ship romantic Creelby in a fanon way!! I have a bi Henry au!! But when we’re talking about analysis & trying to claim some sort of moral highground in that regard, I think it’s really important to consider what elements of character dynamics and story get erased when we remove key aspects such as the puppy love dynamic and Henry’s gayness.

#stranger things #henry creel #the first shadow #hentty #creelby #tfs spoilers #party newby

[connorsnothereeither]

connor, thoughts about the party other than Dan?

I mean depends on what you mean by thoughts on the party?

Actual irl thoughts: OMG I LOVE ALL OF THEM SM- everyone made such cool characters, and I’m so excited that I get to play in a party with them. They’re genuinely a testament to the storytelling talent of the other players and I’m so excited to learn more about the characters as they grow and develop. Rowan’s backstory has only been hinted at and I am snatching up those crumbs, and the same with Neph and Kieran, I’m so excited to try and puzzle out backstories as a player, and react to them in character as Dan. I kick my little feet.

Headcanon style thoughts:

I think that Rowan will use very mild Vicious Mockery to fuck with people when they annoy her. Not anything that would hurt people, but the equivalent of like, flicking a pebble at someone. Like Neph will eat the last bacon ration and she’ll quietly be like “dumbass” under her breath and it’s just a scrunched up piece of paper hitting the back of his head.

I like to imagine that the “Kieran has big eyes and is kinda spooky” is that he is literally instinctually upsetting to look at. Something about his facial structure and appearance is genuinely uncanny valley territory, and that’s what throws people off.

I think that Neph counts his fingers to ground himself. Especially in moments where he kicks from his more grumpy demeanor into panic, like during the coronation, it helps him to stay present. I have other thoughts but teehee they’re spoilers for an upcoming episode >:)

#my friends are so fucking cool guys you don’t understand #I hold them and their lil blorbos and I shake them #cantripped #cantripped podcast

[ohmygodtheywereparabatai]

i wanted to invite a conversation about this because it’s genuinely been bothering me for a long time. and i in fact wasn’t immune to it either and am just now realizing this is the power of cinematic brainwashing.

but like, tgm is so many bad things. sexist, racist, ageist, to scratch the tip of the iceberg. token characters that meet the bare minimum for diversity, and sidelined women - i’d even say exploited women. a narrative that is so egocentric that it’s miraculous that some characters manage to hold their own instead of being swept under the charismatic magnetism of the reckless bad boy character who can get away with murder because deep down, he’s regretful, and he has a good heart.

what a shallow representation of the military, and what a disservice to those who were inspired to join because they thought the real life experience would mirror even a fraction of what is presented on screen. the reality is that there was never a competition to win a top gun trophy, and in fact today you have to pay 5$ at the top gun school if you even mention the film. that speaks for itself.

tom cruise being a huge part of the production process has made it impossible for me not to hold him responsible for the choices that have been made. to even subtitle the sequel movie with “Maverick”, the same protagonist as in the first one, comes across as insanely egotistical - and honestly a testament to how mav’s story manages to drown out the autonomy and validity of other characters. i’ll explain this terms of ice, penny, carole, and charlie. you’ll notice how i’m gonna be bringing up three women.

ice-

i don’t care that val kilmer gave the okay on using his cancer as a plot point. i care that cancer was not only used as a plot point, but treated like this ^

“i’m dying. you have bigger problems.”

the original script seems to peel back the layers of tgm’s intended messaging, so i’m using several examples. this is what is being communicated. i honestly don’t know what else to add. in or out of context, this is incredibly disturbing - and that it’s played as a self-aware quip from ice, even more so. the bond of wingmen goes both ways, and i just didn’t see that… if anything, that aspect leaned so heavily on the first film (the photo of them smiling at each other) that it just proves my point. it took ice’s death for mav to get up off his ass and do something to keep his career afloat besides get a cop-out from the compacflt. ice in the first movie was a compelling antagonist and voice of reason - now he’s mostly relegated to the role of babysitter, denying mav’s character the growth of accountability by simply erasing his poor choices with a phone call.

it’s why the darkstar scene pisses me off. to stop at mach 10 would have been fine, but to push it just for the sake of it is ridiculous. the fact that earlier mav states “i know what happens to everyone else if i don’t” in regards to his decision only makes this screw-up more laughable, because to me it’s the very contradiction of maverick: his intentions do not balance with his actions. costing the military millions of dollars in a few seconds somehow balances with his heartfelt desire to protect the interests of its workforce.

penny-

shortly before, during, and after this screenshot, i counted a total of 6 times that penny made it clear she would not appreciate mav’s advances. regardless, mav goes on to say “you look good”. this flirtation happens before mav is even aware of her marital status, as he asks amelia “where’s your dad?” in a later scene… which… dear god.

penny also says “it always ends the same with us, so let’s not start this time”, indicating this is a repeated pattern in which her boundaries weren’t respected and moreover, the relationship ended up failing. yet this is framed as the main romance of tgm, a wonderful and nostalgic callback to the original that ends as stereotypically as possible.

i love penny. she’s witty, caring, independent, and of course stunning. so i find her treatment in tgm a disservice to what started out as a rich and compelling character. she later ends up mav’s shoulder to cry on, more or less, comforting him after losing his wingman and his position as instructor. the song “hold my hand” is thematically suited for penny, playing in the background at the bar and in the notes of the score during her scenes - even musically, she is turned into a source of consolation first, and her own woman second. she’s his prize at the end of the film, falling for the promise “i’m never gonna leave you again”, which i don’t buy for a second. they fly into the sunset, presumably signifying a new horizon for their relationship - but i feel so dissatisfied with this arc for her and think she deserved much better.

that mav gets away with this behavior is something i’d like to see more people reflect on. it seems to be a pattern with male protagonists, in which case the function of male and protagonist in hollywood cinema needs an examination.

carole-

top gun (1986):

this is an especially crude exploitation to me. not only is carole the one consoling a young maverick (if a full-fledged 24 year old can be called young, in light of the tendency people have to dismiss his choices in ‘86) after his mistake costs her own husband his life… but her stance, even following a tragedy of that magnitude, didn’t change. goose would have flown anyway, and she knows that well enough - on top of that, it’s easy to see she would have supported him.

it came as a surprise to me that she wouldn’t in turn support her own son, who is clearly committed to a career as a pilot. in the end, i see a cheap narrative device that contradicts carole’s character, undermines her strength as a wife and mother, both in order to serve the interests of the plot. maverick in tgm needs a viable reason to hide a secret, to be tortured by his own consequences, to put further strain on his tension with bradley. there were plenty of other ways to do it, but the fact that it was this leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

charlie-

it’s my understanding that tom cruise’s personal reason (his excuse) for not bringing back charlie was that he didn’t like how their relationship ended. if there’s any source confirming or denying this, i’d appreciate a link.

anyways. yeah. this is… a huge problem with hollywood at large, which kelly mcgillis understands, but i’ll break it down. there’s a simpler reason this pisses me off more than anything. tgm’s entire subject matter is about repairing relationships. penny benjamin was dredged out of obscurity to do it. maverick and rooster’s grudge of 30+ years was used to do it. iceman’s character, as warped as he feels, is another way the film made this its theme. but charlie is out of the question?

that val kilmer could be asked to return, and make an insane amount of money for each second he’s on screen, but such an opportunity is never given to kelly mcgillis, who herself centers on the 1986 poster, speaks volumes to me. tom cruise even planted his foot when it came to reprising iceman, saying he wouldn’t do this movie without val in it.

it’s worth mentioning that viper and slider were also present at ice’s funeral, but this scene was cut out. for a film that’s quite heavy-handed with its nostalgic callbacks, this was an odd decision. until realizing, as my friend put it, that even ice’s death couldn’t be about him, whether it had brought in his own teacher or his rio - his goose. it had to revolve around mav, to catalyze a turning point for him in the plot.

also… a shoutout to the erasure of sarah kazansky, pretty much everywhere. that also tells me a lot.

…

this was just a dissection of the various character portrayals (or absences) in tgm that have bothered me since forever. this isn’t even going into how tgm accomplishes everything that propaganda sets out to do. combinations of stunning visuals, soaring music composed by masters like hans zimmer, the charismatic power of a cast packed with stars… all play a role in the blinding awesomeness of tgm, which has taken me this long to break away from.

consider the white/poc duos in the film: maverick and hondo, hangman and coyote, cyclone and warlock. who has more lines? who plays a greater role? why is that?

i don’t see this as real diversity. it masquerades as inclusion, which i find worse. and to cast an actor of asian descent, and give him the callsign yale? … wow.

framing is powerful. its influence in cinematography is unmatched. a story is being constructed and told not only through dialogue, but sound, visuals, editing… really, nothing can be dismissed as insignificant. i’m not asking for a scholarly interrogation of all media you consume, though, that would be so excellent, and so healthy… but i am trying to raise these questions in the community, of what gets lost when a main character is so overwhelmingly main. when someone like tc has so much control over the decision-making process, since it’s sort of a running joke that maverick is a tc self-insert. my focus isn’t the inclusions, but the exclusions.

and finally, since i’ve unfortunately spent a lot of life writing this post… it’s interesting to me that many viewers in hindsight seem to see top gun 1986 so differently. as kids, they sided with mav over the antagonist. an older audience returning to the first film now seem to side with iceman, seeing him as the rational one attempting to raise important points. i wonder if this will be the case with top gun: maverick in the future. in which case, i’m excited to see more cyclone fans. he’s my favorite character… unsurprisingly.

oh. one last thing.

“the man, the myth, the legend” … the word myth has two meanings:

…

happy reading.

#reblog appreciated #tgm #tg #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun 1986 #tg86 #pete maverick mitchell #maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #tom cruise #film critique #penny benjamin #kelly mcgillis #charlie blackwood #carole bradshaw #val kilmer #tom iceman kazansky #iceman kazansky #sarah kazansky #filmmaking #issues with hollywood #and its stars #long post

[doumadono]

Could I please have an emergency request? I’ve been having a hard week and I really need something if you don’t mind.

So my uncle passed away all of the sudden and the day of his funeral my puppy sadly also passed away and my mom is also in the hospital and thankfully she had a successful surgery!

So could I please request a Gyokko x Fem Reader. Gyokko gives reader a puppy and if you don’t write for Gyokko because most people don’t feel comfortable writing for him could you do Aizetsu instead

Please and thank you so much!! And this was my puppy, I loved him so much. His name was Krypto and he was a little gremlin.

An unexpected gift - Gyokko x Reader

Synopsis: after successful collaboration, Gyokko presents you with a gift A/N: I'm truly sorry to hear about the challenging week you've been through. It's completely understandable that you're in need of some comfort & support. The loss of your uncle and your puppy, along with your mom's hospitalization, must have been incredibly difficult to bear all at once. I'm relieved to hear that your mom's surgery went well though. Please remember that I'm here for you, and if there's anything I can do to help or simply provide a listening ear, please don't hesitate to reach out. Allow me to mention that your doggy was absolutely adorable! ♥ Also, I apologize if the portrayal of Gyokko in this story is a bit inaccurate - it's my first attempt at depicting him

MASTERLIST

Summoned by Gyokko's enigmatic call, you found yourself abruptly transported through space and time, your surroundings shifting as if under some unearthly influence. The cold corridors of the Infinity Castle gave way to the haunting atmosphere of Gyokko's chamber, the transition leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

Nakime had wielded her mysterious power to transport you. The sensation was both disorienting and awe-inspiring, a reminder of the supernatural forces that governed this world of demons.

As you stepped into the dimly lit room, the very air seemed to carry a sense of foreboding, an aura that was palpable even before Gyokko came into view. His grotesque and surreal form loomed within the chamber, an amalgamation of horror and twisted beauty that defied the boundaries of normalcy.

"Ah, you've finally arrived, Y/N!" The demon chirped loudly. "You respond to my summons without hesitation. It seems my reputation precedes me."

Gyokko's presence, a nightmarish tapestry of pale white and abstract features, held a hypnotic allure that was difficult to tear your gaze from. His muscular upper torso, emerging from an adorned with floral theme vase, appeared both majestic and unnerving, reminiscent of a djinn's emergence from its vessel. But it was the multitude of infant-like hands that adorned his head and back that sent shivers down your spine, even after months of working together. These ghastly appendages seemed to exist beyond the realms of reason, a testament to the grotesque nature of Gyokko's existence. His face, a distorted canvas of deformity, held a chilling fascination. Green mouths, where eyes should have been, gaped in a grotesque arrangement, while his actual eyes defied convention – one within the lower mouth, the other at the center of his forehead. Symbols etched onto his features spoke of his status and power, solidifying his identity as an Upper Moon demon.

A subtle tilt of his head, a gesture as menacing as it was intriguing, beckoned you closer. His voice, a sinister melody, slithered through the air, "Impressive work, my dear Y/N. You have indeed proven your worth during our last mission."

You nodded, lips curling into an enigmatic smile, acknowledging his rare words of praise. "Likewise, Gyokko-sama. Our partnership has proven rather… fruitful."

A twisted smile curled his lips as he gestured towards a small box that stood nearby. "I have a little something for you." He urged you to approach the box and uncover the mystery it held within. "Do not hesitate, my dear collaborator. Open it. Discover the secret that awaits."

As you tentatively reached for the box, Gyokko's eyes followed your every move, his smile deepening as anticipation crackled like static in the air. The box yielded beneath your touch, revealing its contents.

Inside the box lay a small puppy, its form curled up in a peaceful slumber. Its fur was a pristine white, a stark contrast to the dark and eerie ambiance of Gyokko's chamber. The puppy yawned and pened its eyes, barking hesitantly. You extended your hand hesitantly, allowing the puppy to sniff your palm before curling its tiny body into the warmth of your touch.

"Thank you, Gyokko-sama!" You looked at the Upper Moon Five, bowing your head, your voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude. "You didn't have to!"

Gyokko's lips curled into an enigmatic smile, a gesture that seemed almost unnatural on his usually twisted visage. "Consider it a token of our alliance."

#gyokko #gyokko x reader #gyokko x you #gyokko kny #gyokko fluff #kny x reader #kny x you #kny x female reader #divider by cafekitsune #emergency request #gyokko fic #upper moon five #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer fluff #kimetsu no yaiba #x reader

[kbrick]

Peak Drarry: Celebrating Incredible Writers - aibidil

Peak Drarry is a series of posts celebrating the absolute treasure trove of talented writers in this fandom, and a reminder of how lucky we are to have them here with us. I’m kicking it off with one of my all-time faves, @aibidil​. 

✨AIBIDIL✨

I’m guessing there are very few people involved in the Drarry fandom who haven’t heard of aibidil. Aibidil has been showering us with quality fic since 2017 and has over sixty offerings on AO3. Her works were some of the first I consumed when I fell headfirst into Drarry during covid, and had a lot to do with my desire to write my own. I still distinctly remember being blown away by A Hag, a Hex, a Tale of Redemption, by how aibidil had managed to create such a compelling, funny, and heartfelt fuck-or-die fic, one that stood out from the rest. So, why should you read aibidil’s fic? Here are a few reasons:

They are creative and get you thinking

Sometimes there’s a trope or two thrown into the mix, but even then, the trope is merely a jump-off point into something much bigger. Trope: Ginny and Harry break up and Harry finds solace in and then love with Draco. Aibidil comes along and says, okay, fine, but make the problem Ginny’s unwanted pregnancy, have Harry experience emotional turmoil over that fact (not that Harry-Abandonment-Issues-Should-Be-My-Middle-Name-Potter identifies with an unwanted fetus, no, of course not), have him spend the rest of the story sorting through his complicated feelings, and make the whole thing a testament to reproductive choice (this fic is called (Un)wanted, by the way. It’s incredible). Trope: Malfoy wears a skirt and Harry goes feral. Aibidil’s take? Malfoy wears the skirt because he and Hermione are leading a protest against the gendered, outdated Ministry dress codes (Beards, Booty Shorts, and Binaries).

Abidil’s stories don’t always skew political (although I love when they do), but they always have something to say. In A Hag, a Hex, a Tale of Redemption, Draco must come to terms with what it means to love someone, and how consent plays into that (does a lie negate consent?). Truth and love also play a role in When Times Are Dire, when Harry and Draco must pretend to marry to save the world. But is it pretend when they really are joining their lives and families together?

Beyond the deeper moral and ethical questions present in these stories, aibidil’s fic always manages to be creative and interesting. Abidil comes up with some of the most inventive sorts of magic (you really have to read her latest, Always Already, for one of the most thoughtful depictions of magical time travel I’ve ever read). Her premises can be angsty, like what if Astoria tells Scorpius—on her death bed no less—that he is actually Draco’s child with Harry (when by now and tree by leaf)? They can also be downright silly, like what if Draco can’t stop hiccoughing for days (Upside Down, Holding One’s Breath)? But one thing of which you can be certain: they’re never, ever boring.

They’re a master class in characterization

So, aibidil can dream up interesting, different, thought-provoking storylines, yes. But she also gets it right when it comes to characterization. Her Harry and Draco are always recognizable to me, no matter how evolved and changed they’ve become. There is something essential there, something true to the characters we know and love, that is ever present. And I think that’s because aibidil truly empathizes with and cares about her characters. This knack for getting in a character’s headspace means that aibidil is able to create some of the most fully formed, well rounded and realistically portrayed versions of Harry and Draco I’ve read. Whether it’s Harry in When Times are Dire enjoying the way his children sort of take his love for granted (because Harry wants that for them so badly, wants to be a constant, unquestioned source of support in their lives) or Draco in Always Already shoving down his snark in order to be as inoffensive as possible as a sort of penance for the war, you both recognize and feel for these characters. They’re flawed and imperfect, but they’re trying, and you love them for it.

There are moments in aibidil’s fic that leave me breathless because of how well they nail down the essence of a character in just a few words, or a single exchange or situation. For instance, in When Times Are Dire, Draco and Harry take a trip to the zoo and Draco buys Harry an absurdly enormous ice cream sundae after Harry recalls a time his aunt and uncle bought one for Dudley but not him. “Harry found himself at a loss for words,” aibidil writes. “He thought he’d worked through his childhood zoo issues. He’d been here so many times as an adult, without the abuse of the Dursleys. He had so many wonderful memories here, so many trips with his kids. But no one had ever bought Harry an ice cream before [emphasis mine].” The way Draco understands Harry, and the way he helps Harry to understand something about himself in such an everyday sort of scene is beautiful.

In Pure Imagination, Harry and Draco, experiencing depression after the war, are given a potion that allows them to tap into their imaginations completely, the way a child would. They have an excellent time on the potion together, imagining all sorts of things, including taking a trip to a Muggle skate park (together), which they agree to do at a later date. But afterward, Harry retreats and doesn’t go to the skate park (a decision that gives us incredible insight into the Harry of this story, come to think of it). In their joint trip to the counselor’s office later, Draco tells the counselor that imagination is dangerous because it opens people up to disappointment. “It’s smart that I don’t allow myself delusions like thinking I can somehow have a fulfilling career, even given my past,” he says. “It’s smart that I don’t allow myself the delusion of thinking Potter might want to spend time with me when he’s not high on a fucking imagination potion.”

And doesn’t this cut right to the heart of Draco? Whether he’s being cruel the way he was in canon, or being cool and indifferent, the way he is at the beginning of Pure Imagination, he is someone who struggles to believe in his own self-worth, and has found an entire arsenal’s worth of methods to hide this fact, even, sometimes, from himself. 

They’re just so damn funny

And finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one of the absolute best things about aibidil’s stories. Because on top of incredible storylines and beautiful character work, aibidil is fucking hilarious. I don’t think I’ve ever read through anything of hers without laughing out loud. Oftentimes, the humor is situational, like in When Times Are Dire when Harry and Draco tell their children that they’re in a relationship (when they’re actually not) and proceed to have one of the most awkward exchanges of all time with them, which leads to Harry clarifying that they are together ‘sexually’ (He says that. To his children.). Or in Auld Acquaintance, when Harry comes through the floo looking like a teenager and Draco finds himself torn between the ghost of attraction his own teenaged self had for this version of Harry and the fact that to his mature, grandfatherly eye, Harry looks “doughy…like an underbaked infant.” Or in Starve Your Distractions, Feed Your Focus, when a coupled-up Harry and Draco have to work out with a very sexy Neville, who is wearing joggers that leave little to the imagination.

Sometimes, though, the hilarity is in the form of amazing dialogue (her Harry and Draco banter is always top-tier) or of others’ observations of the Drarry dynamic, like when Neville says (in Always Already) this about Harry and Draco’s teasing of one another: “Don't mind them. It's like their little traumatised child-warrior foreplay or something.” Aibidil is always aware of the story she’s telling, and of the Drarry-ness of it all. These are not simple men, and theirs is never a typical, simple relationship, and you know what? That can be funny. As Harry says in When Times are Dire: "Ah yes. I'm a cheap date. All it takes to get me in bed is to almost kill each other, survive a war together, work together over decades, have children who fall in love and get married, get married for political reasons, pretend to be in love for two years to all friends and relatives, become grandparents together, and take a controlled substance to open up enough to tell each other the truth. That's all."

See? Easy.

Finally, I shouldn’t leave out the fact that aibidil’s acronyms are the best of all time (her most recent fic’s C.O.C.K. is my new favorite, but there are oodles of excellent ones).

Recommended For…

Everyone. Listen, if you enjoy laughing, or exciting and original storylines, or fic that makes you think, or fic that reveals the beating hearts of our favorite characters, aibidil’s catalog of work is for you. There is angst in places, there is smut in places, but that’s not really the point of her fic. The point is the journey, the character development, and the ridiculous amount of joy and energy contained in all of these stories. Here are a few you might want to check out, but honestly, you can’t go wrong with anything she’s written.

Top 3 Fics Over 25,000 Words (by kudos)

Dating for Dads in Denial (25k) - In which one wizard designs and another reluctantly patronises a magical matchmaking service, amidst the chaos of children and parenting.

when by now and tree by leaf (46k) - When Scorpius Malfoy is saying goodbye to his dying mother, he doesn't expect to hear her confess, "Your father slept with another man and became pregnant with you." 

Moldova’s Magical Tea (32k) - Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and—to everyone’s surprise—Draco Malfoy are opening a magical tea shop to revive wizarding tea culture. Harry, who is unemployed and trying to find his way in post-war society, wants to help his friends with their new business—but that means spending a lot of time around Malfoy. 

Top 3 Fics Under 25,000 Words (by kudos)

Back to You (8k) - The eighth years make Harry and Malfoy go head to head and back to back in a question-and-answer drinking game. The worst that can happen is they end up drunk, right?

The Usual (9k) - Harry finally tries the new magical coffee shop on Diagon Alley. A story in which Draco is Up To Something™ and Harry is going to get to the bottom of it, and to the bottom of that sixteen ounce to-go cup.

Beards, Booty Shorts, and Binaries (9k) - Harry was hoping for a quiet day at the office, but Hermione and Draco are waging a war on discrimination with beards and skirts.

Kbrick’s Picks (in order of obsession)

When Times Are Dire (130k) - Magical Britain is screwed, and it's once again up to Harry to save it. This time, by marrying Draco Malfoy.

Always Already (170k) -  It's 2004: Harry teaches primary school and loves his job and friends; It's 1980: Harry has to fight Voldemort, again; It's 2004: Draco is a trainee Healer and reformed member of society; It's 1980: Draco has to face his father's cruelty; It's 2004: Harry and Draco definitely aren't lonely or depressed or traumatised; It's 1980: Harry and Draco listen to Kate Bush and watch Dallas and drive a 1979 Ford Cortina; It's 2004, it's 1980, it's...

Pure Imagination (15k) - An eighth-year tale of depressed happiness, reluctant imagination, and conflicted hope. And skateboarding.

.

#drarry #peak drarry #fic recs #writer rec #amazing writers #drarry fic rec

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Geralt had texted earlier asking if Lambert would mind helping Ciri out with a science project. The redhead had pretended to be put out by the request, but they all knew he loved hanging out with his ‘little science buddy’ as much as Ciri loved playing mad scientist with her chemist uncle (it really shouldn’t have been surprising that the man was perfectly at home around substances which could be as volatile as he was). The fact that the child sized lab coat and safety goggles he’d gotten her for her last birthday were her favourite presents was testament to that.

“So, what’s the problem?” Aiden asked. It was a standard baking soda volcano project and they’d followed the teachers’ printed instructions and achieved the expected results with no issue. Man and child both looked at him as if he were insane.

“You’re kidding? That was fu-fudging pathetic.” Lambert said, crossing his arms and scowling at the papier mâché blob on the kitchen table, “We want an explosion, not a dribble. Right Ciri?”

“Right.” The eight-year-old agreed with a decisive nod, mimicking her uncle’s stance whilst Aiden bit back a comment about Lambert saying something very similar last night.

“Welp, far be it for me to stand in your way. I’ll be in the living room if you need me. Work stuff.”

“Uncle Aiden, what is it you do anyway?”

Aiden tapped the side of his nose in response before slipping out the door.

Aiden smiled to himself as he slipped his phone back into his pocket, having accomplished his mission of covertly recording the cute goings on in the kitchen. His husband and niece had been totally oblivious to him as Lambert explained why the earlier result had been kind of lacklustre, surrounded by different bottles collected from their kitchen cupboards, Ciri hanging on to his every word. He’d definitely be posting it to the group chat later.

He was just finishing up the last of his work emails, chasing up a late payment when there was a very wet sounding bang from the other side of the closed kitchen door.

"The Hell? Lambert, Ciri, you guys ok?!”

“We’re good. All good.” Lambert answered a little too quickly, accompanied by hushed giggling from Ciri.

Aiden slowly pushed the door open and felt his jaw drop, “What. Did you do?”

Every surface, including Lambert and Ciri, was covered in a slightly powdery slime, some of it bubbling in a way Aiden would have found alarming if he didn’t already know it was just baking soda and…something.

“We effed around and found out.” Ciri chirped happily, trying to wipe her goggles clean with her fingers.

“I did not teach her that.” Lambert clarified, ignoring the slime which was dripping from the ceiling and into his hair, “I turned my back for a second and she added something extra.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow, “Uh huh. Well, seeing as cooking’s not going to be happening for a while, I’m going to order take out and you two can find out how long this takes to clean up.”

“Ciri, I think we have time for just one more quick experiment before we start.” Aiden did not like the devilish grin spreading across his husband’s face, “How much of this can we get on Uncle Aiden?”

Aiden had never moved so fast in his entire life.  

#the witcher #witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert #witcher ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri

[allamericansbitch]

while i was an olivia ballad girlie first i love love love her rock songs and her going more into the genre and i hope she keeps expanding on that over time bc i feel like her writing there is so witty and sharp but also very earnest. like it just feels like she is so present in those songs in a physical way... feels like she is an artist who can do it all if she wants to and absolutely flourishes where she loves to be and those songs are a testament of that and i am always excited to see what she does next. been a while since someone has been so exciting to watch as an artist and it's just a joy to listen to her music and see what she does. (also i loved your vids from the concert! so glad you had a fantastic time! 💜)

Yes I completely agree! It’s been a while since I’ve seen an artists excel at both slow and upbeat songs? Like with every artist I normally have a preference so idk how she’s good at both it’s such a talent. Her writing is so refreshing and fun.

And thank you for liking my videos! I have a few left, maybe some of my favorites, so I’m glad you like them!

#anonymous #answered

[purpleajisai]

Madara Week Day 2 - Christ/Antichrist

The Saviour of this World and the Christ: A comparative analysis of Madara Uchiha and Jesus Christ

It’s Christmas time. Christians all over the world are preparing themselves for what they consider one of the most joyful holidays in the year: the birth of the Messiah, He who came to redeem the world. Meanwhile, the Madara enthusiasts are making a countdown for the birthday of the man who tried to save the ninja world by sacrificing his very self. In this meta, I intend to explain the connections, similarities and differences between Madara Uchiha and Jesus Christ that I’ve found over the years. I would also recommend to read “Is Madara our Lord and Saviour?” by @al-hekima-madara-blog for another very interesting meta on the topic. This is my contribution to day 2 of Madara Week, hosted by @uchiha-event.

A quick note before I start my rambling: I will be using the Douay-Rheims translation of the Bible (Roman Catholic translation), but there shouldn’t be any problem for readers of Protestant background as the difference between the Bibles used by both denominations are in the Old Testament and our focus will be the New Testament.

“I am here to save the world”

Naruto Shippuden, chapter 677

For God sent not his Son into the world, to judge the world, but that the world may be saved by him.

John 3:17

What is the purpose of Madara in this story? One would be tempted to say “because every shonen needs a villain”, but I think his purpose as a character was to expose the flaws within the shinobi system that ultimately corrupted a man who desired peace into someone whose sense of reality became so warped by the situations in his life that he started a war to achieve said peace. Madara didn’t make the Eye of the Moon plan to be evil and act dramatic, he made it with the final objective of launching an eternal dream that would guarantee no more conflict and the ideal life for anyone within it. He’s already been past judging the world, he wants to save it at the expense of himself. This is similar to how God is presented in the Old Testament compared to the New Testament: we first see a God who insists that his law is followed and that chastises those who trespass and disobey in several ocassions. But once we reach the New Testament, he becomes a loving figure that intends to save people from eternal doom in hell (”reality is hell”, anyone?). The point is that we have a man whose purpose in the world is to cleanse all forms of evil thorugh his being and who wants to bring salvation to anyone, regardless if the world agrees or not.

“I come here to bring you light and joy in a life that’s beyond this reality”

Naruto Shippuden, chapter 626

Jesus said to her: I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, although he be dead, shall live.

John 11:25

What does Madara mean when he says that “you can’t see it”? After following the storyline we conclude that he’s talking about the Eye of the Moon plan. Let’s add some tangents here, the people who were directly involved in the plan and helped Madara one way or another. They had no clue about what would happen exactly but they were convinced by the prospect of a peaceful life free of their struggles. In a certain way, they believed in Madara. The exact same thing can be seen with Jesus, who promises eternal life beyond the death of the physical body. Nobody knows how Heaven looks like but the believers trust him on that promise.

“I bring peace”

Naruto Shippuden, chapter 661

These things I have spoken to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you shall have distress: but have confidence, I have overcome the world

John 16:33

Notice how Madara refers to the current state of the shinobi world as “Hashirama’s world”? In Christianity and the Bible, it is a common practice to separate “the world” and “the believers” as entities with entirely different mindsets and values. Madara sees the world as direct consequence of his nemesis, Hashirama, just as Christians see the evil in the world as the direct consequence of the sins of Lucifer. To “overcome the world”, when applied to Madara, refers to how he intends to use a power whose source is unknown (the power of the Sage of Six Paths) in order to end the paradox of Hashirama’s world. He is going to achieve peace to overwrite the current world and install his own world where the paradox is solved.

“I intend for you to acquire new identity within me”

Naruto Shippuden, chapter 665

If then any be in Christ a new creature, the old things are passed away, behold all things are made new.

2 Corinthians 5:17

And I live, now not I; but Christ liveth in me. And that I live now in the flesh: I live in the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and delivered himself for me.

Galatians 2:20

I picked two of the letters in the New Testament in purpose, you may have noticed that the previous quotes come from the Gospel of John. Because the Gospel of John is a retelling of what Jesus did and said, whereas the letters (mostly from the apostle Paul) are reflections of the lives of the apostles after Jesus was gone. Similarly, Obito becomes Madara once Madara dies in the cave and walks in his shoes. Yesterday, I wrote a bit more about how Madara decomposed his humanity for the sake of his dream of peace. Here, we have Madara giving up his identity to anyone who embraces his goal, similarly to how Jesus signifies a brotherhood of believers. Madara also never writes down his autobiography or gets a space to present his POV, just as how all of what we know from Jesus is from the people close to him, not by his own word. In a sense, both become an entity for like-minded people to work towards a certain goal.

Thank you for reading this far, if you have any questions please use the ask box. It’s always a pleasure to have discussions and to talk about my favourite anime emo man.

#madara #madara uchiha #uchiha madara #naruto meta #purple's meta #madara week 2023 #madaraweek2023

[hxneyhxrts]

Rain Soaked || Jake “Hangman” Seresin (part 7-final)

Part 6

note: sorry for holding this part hostage, life has finally settled down and i have stopped rewriting this over and over again. i didn’t want to break this up into multiple pets like i had originally planned, i wanted to just leave it as is. thank you if you still care about this almost a year (oh my GOD) later. love yew xx

warning: brief mention of sex, explicit language, angst

The Exit

Feels like we had matching wounds

But mine’s still black and bruised

And yours is perfectly fine

Gwyn couldn’t bring herself to tell Alec much about what happened at the bar. At least not that night. She knew telling him about James’ behavior and the total disaster that was dinner would only piss him off, and telling him about Jake’s sudden appearance and wandering hands would infuriate him.

She wanted to keep the peace between her coworkers after all.

So when she rolled back home that night, very much alone and confused, she waved off her best friend’s parade of questions, only giving him a “yeah it was fine” and shutting herself into a restless slumber.

Gwyn dreamt of Jake that night, of the way his fingers felt against her waist and stomach and how badly it ached to have him so close and the thought that maybe he only got that close because he had had a few drinks. Had Gwyn become nothing more than the thing he sought out when he was tipsy? Was he even tipsy when he approached her? It wasn’t like Jake Seresin to skip out on drinks when he found himself at a bar, but Gwyn’s traitorous heart sang that she would’ve known if he had been intoxicated.

She awoke with a start when images of his lips pressing against her flushed skin pushed at the edges of her brain and practically electrocuted her. Gwyn dutifully ignored the flash of a notification on her phone telling her that James was messaging her, opting to shower herself into a somewhat presentable state.

When she finally slumped down into one of the stools lining the kitchen bar, Alec had finished plating up some breakfast and pushed it towards her with a knowing smirk. “You gonna tell me about it, or am I gonna have to just assume the worst?”

The food tasted like ash on her tongue, a testament to Alec’s cooking skills (or lack thereof), but the words she choked out tasted even worse. “It was awful.”

Her friend nodded, as if he already knew as much, had guessed just by looking at her. And maybe he had. “Tell me about it,” he prodded gently, while pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Gwyn sighed. “It was like he was competing for the worst first date ever,” she groaned, grimacing at Alec’s laugh. “I’m serious! He was such an ass.”

It felt good to know that if she hated the date, it wasn’t because of her lingering feelings. At the very least, she wasn’t the root of it, she just genuinely did not enjoy herself and wouldn’t have even if the circumstance was different.

Even if she hadn’t still been atrociously in love with Jake Seresin, she would’ve hated it all the same.

Alec, just as she predicted, rolled his eyes through her entire story, offering the occasional scoff when necessary. By the time she had finished (pointedly leaving out the Jake portion of her little tale), her friend’s ears had gone red.

“You’re too pretty for him anyway,” he insisted, and went on his way to wash up their breakfast dishes.

Gwyn wanted to be upset, at least more upset than she was, but all she could conjure was mild disappointment at best. She’d had worse dates, and this one at least brought Jake’s wandering hands along with it.

Pathetic.

Her sad and silly attempt at getting back into dating with someone she figured could maybe do away with her funk had only driven her further into the seemingly never-ending Hangman pit. She wondered how many girls before her had found themselves in the same place, head over heels for the blonde pilot, only to find themselves clawing at clay and mud to pull themselves out of the gaping hole his presence left when he ditched them.

She wondered how many girls would join her in the pit, how many he intended to add to the roster once they went their separate ways. She wondered how large this sad excuse of a sisterhood would grow before Jake decided he was done.

And through it all, the hatred for him and the desperation to have him close, Gwyn could still feel the exact place his fingers had bruised her hips.

—------------------

The weekend passed blissfully slow, as if Gwyn had commanded it to and it was submissive to her will. Days crawled by at a snail’s pace until they dragged her straight into Monday morning, but she was ready. She knew what had happened, and knew Jake was somewhat on the sober side (at least enough to remember the way he had touched her, she hoped), and she had control of the situation.

Saturday was spent going over every single second of the night. When he must have crawled in for her to not notice, how he sounded when he spoke, what he smelled like, how close he had gotten, the feeling of his breath against her ear, everything that made her feel nauseous if she sat on it for too long.

Sunday was for planning.

Sunday morning spurred something in her, a new sense of change and command. After all, she wasn’t the one who had thrown herself all over her ex at a bar while he was on a date with someone else. She hadn’t been the one to make a fool of herself. Jake had acted out of turn, and she would confront him about it. Ask him what his deal was, and cut him loose before she dug that awful pit any deeper.

Well, maybe not the last part, but she’d certainly try.

Gwyn wasn’t sure exactly what she was going to say or do, but she knew something needed to be said. Jake wouldn’t outright apologize for anything or even acknowledge it, but he knew what he did and she needed to hear him say that he knew what happened and that she hadn’t imagined the heat between their bodies.

Or something.

God.

One step at a time.

First, she needed to track him down and ask to speak in private. That much, she could handle, and she wouldn’t think about the conversation to follow until she absolutely had to.

So Gwyn wound her way through the never ending gray corridors of their unit base, occasionally peeking through open doors off to the side to scan the rooms for a tuft of blonde.

“Canadee!”

The booming timbre rang through the hall, and Gwyn felt ice settle in her veins.

Admiral Holt.

She turned reluctantly to find him approaching her with purposeful strides that screamed his rank to anyone who looked at him. “Sir,” she greeted, cursing how small her voice sounded.

“Walk with me.” And he breezed right past her.

Gwyn’s feet struggled to match his bounding strides, taking two steps for each of his, and by the time they swung into an office she assumed was his, she was near panting.

“Sit,” Holt ordered.

The chair felt stiff and worn beneath her, but she would have sat on a bed of nails at that moment if it meant avoiding whatever discussion was about to unfold.

Holt leveled her with a hard stare before breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I was wrong about you.”

Christ.

Okay, then.

Holt barrelled on past her confused look, talking without leaving room for pause. “I’ll admit, I was a little hesitant having you on this mission, considering your experience or lack thereof, but you’ve been nothing but impressive lately. And I’m man enough to know when I was wrong. Just thought I’d share that with you and maybe apologize if I haven’t been as welcoming as you may have deserved.”

Gwyn’s breath felt solid in her throat.

Was Holt complimenting her?

Oh my God, he was complimenting her.

“Oh,” she started dumbly. “Thank you. Sir.”

Holt smiled thinly, as if he didn’t do it often enough to be comfortable. He dropped his head in a curt nod that told her she was dismissed, and Gwyn scrambled for the door.

“You know,” Holt cut her off just as her fingers brushed against the cool brass doorknob. “I thought Seresin was crazy when he brought your name up and pushed for your spot. But I’ll admit, he made a good call.”

His dry chuckle raked against her ears even as they filled with cotton. He had clearly meant it as a passing comment, something to quell the awkward air pushing in at her from all sides, but the words sank her.

Jake.

Jake.

Jake had picked her for this.

Jake picked her.

“Jake suggested me for this?”

A stupid question to ask considering Holt wasn’t a man who enjoyed repeating himself, but Gwyn had to know. Had to know she hadn’t misheard him.

Holt’s brow furrowed slightly. “Well yes, Seresin was given three spots to fill on his own recommendation, and you were one of those spots,” he trailed off, eyeing her fingers that shook by her sides. “I figured you knew.”

“Right,” Gwyn cleared her throat and plastered on a smile. “Right, sorry, must’ve just slipped my mind. One of those days, you know?”

It was a lousy cover, but Holt accepted it with a nod all the same. She tried to pace her steps to look even and calm, but her nerves were on fire and her skin felt clammy.

Her feet moved without authority or reason, and it was several turns through winding halls before she realized she was stomping.

Jake.

Jake had picked her for this.

Jake had yanked her right out of Top Gun to bring her out here without even telling her it was him who made that call. Hell, had even outright lied about his knowing she would be here.

Heavy footfalls rang out like gunfire through the corridor as her legs worked their way to Jake’s office. And before she could talk herself down on the mountain of hysteria she had dragged herself up the edge of, she was pushing through the heavy metal door.

“You son of a bitch,” she snarled.

Gwyn hadn’t been sure what she was going to say once she saw Jake, but her anger had made the decision for her, nasty words spewing from her lips without her consent.

Good. Maybe she wanted to say these things. Maybe Jake deserved to hear these things.

Jake’s eyes snapped to hers, as did Rooster’s from his place perched on a desk chair across from the sole target of her malice. Bradshaw sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, and practically scrambled to stand.

“I’m gonna go,” he stuttered out to the captain, but Jake’s gaze was trained on her, hard and unflinching. The blonde was nearly yelling before Bradley had even fully closed the door behind him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” he hissed, rising to his full height, but keeping a safe distance away and leaving his desk to separate them. “You are under no authority to stomp into my office like some petulant brat and start with this again.”

Memories of cornering him in a crowded locker room flooded her, as well as the hushed confession that followed her screaming, and Gwyn hated the way her cheeks warmed for something other than anger then. She wouldn’t allow him that, wouldn’t give him any of her softness.

Not now.

“You gave Holt my name. You enlisted me for this detachment.” The words sounded angry and wild in the way she tossed them at him like an accusation, and she saw the way his eyes wavered, unsteady and unsure. Good. She wanted him as unnerved as her.

Jake’s shoulders were tense, and a rogue muscle in his jaw ticked in time with her pounding heartbeat. His next word was casual and careful in a way that told her he was trying to stay calm. “And?”

“And?!” Gwyn felt hot tears pooling at her waterline, a dam pushing until it found a crack to burst through. “You break up with me for your career, and then have the nerve to drag me away from mine?”

And there it was. That malice that had been festering in her broke and she took long heaving breaths to keep from screaming or crying or both maybe. Jake looked crestfallen, a stupid sort of expression that did nothing for her fury. She felt that horrible nausea that burned creep up along with her rage. He didn’t deserve her kindness, and she would not waste it on him.

“Gwyn,” he started, “I wasn’t trying to-”

“I liked my job,” she insisted, but it didn’t sound convincing even to her own ears. It didn’t do much to convince Jake, either.

With a scoff and an eye roll, he cut back at her in the way that only he ever could. “Like you were ever going to be content just teaching.”

“It wasn’t for you to decide whether I was content or not!” she roared, blood pounding in her ears now. But onwards she pushed. “I was fine! Fine and a lot less angry than I am right now.”

Her hands were shaking, and she watched Jake’s eyes dart to her trembling fingers. She didn’t want him to see them, see how vulnerable she was, so she raised her voice. “Did you think I would drag you away from your precious fucking promotion? That I wouldn’t be happy for you and celebrate it? That I would keep you from it or bring you down? Well you got it! And now you plan on dragging me along behind you at every turn just to prove you can? Just to prove you have authority over me now?” And just because she could, she added, “Or was that your idea of a honeymoon?”

The blonde stilled, eyes widening a fraction and Gwyn dug in ten times harder. Her anger was a cruel and foul thing that had buried itself in her heart and ripped at its walls, pushing her to hurt him the way she hurt.

“I saw the ring. On your phone.” A part of her whispered to stop, let him be and walk away, but the larger, angrier part kept lunging at him while he was wounded. “It’s amazing that you can go from searching for wedding rings to bowing out as soon as a pay raise comes along, huh captain?”

The title was harsh and bitter as it sat in the air between them.

And then Jake snapped.

“See, that’s the fucking problem with you Gwyn. You always think you know everything,” he roared.

Gwyn cowered against the volume and opened her mouth to shout back, but Jake was still going.

“You think I broke up with the only person I’ve ever loved like that for a fucking job? Are you fucking serious? Or are you just that fucking stupid?”

He was stalking towards her now, footsteps calculated and slow, a predator approaching its prey. Gwyn hated how uneasy the motion made her, and nearly bared her teeth.

She had never seen him quite this angry, even at their worst when he was just some jackass coworker who nipped at her heels whenever she got too close. Something had shifted between them, something that wouldn’t be done away now.

“Then what was it, captain? Tell me,” she bit out.

There was a fire in Jake’s eyes, rage like she had never seen in him. “I know you’re new to this field, but when you get a big boy job like the detachment I got called away on, things are a little bigger than the stupid fucking defense missions you’ve been on, let alone playing teacher at Top Gun.”

She bristled at the insult, ready to tear him down, but he barged on as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience at best.

“I lost two men in that mission, both under my direction when they were shot down. Do you have any idea what that’s like?” She didn’t, and he knew that. He was pushing back at her now, blow for blow. “And the sickest part was, all I could think about throughout it all was you. You. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I thought about what I would have done if it had been you out there with me. Or what you would have done if it had been me. And how fucking miserable it would be to be shot down and never have had the privilege of marrying you. Or worse yet, Marrying you, only to leave you lonely when I didn’t make it home. It’s fucking sick, to sit in a hospital waiting room with the family of two men I was supposed to look out for, and only think of you.”

He scrubbed an anxious hand across his face, while Gwyn’s head reeled.

His next blow was so much worse than anything she could have imagined.

“I bought the ring.”

And for reasons she couldn’t fully understand, a small sad part of her quieted as tears pushed at her eyelids harder.

Jake barrelled on, oblivious to the weight he was crushing her under, panting almost as he tore her apart piece by piece. “I bought it almost as soon as I saw it. I knew there was no conceivable future in which I didn’t propose, so I bought it. And I came so close to asking you so many times, but every time I reached for it, I saw them. I saw all the people we’ve almost lost and I couldn’t do it. So I’m sorry if you felt cheated, but don’t walk in here and pretend you know a goddamn thing about what I did or why I left.”

His breathing was ragged and uneven. A flush spread across his cheeks and neck, and Gwyn longed to reach for him.

She didn’t.

Instead, she swallowed and tried to square her shoulders. “Why call me out here?”

A coward’s question, meant to deflect the conversation away from territory so foreign and sad.

Jake laughed, a mocking and disbelieving sound. “Goddamn it, baby, because I wanted to see you. I just-” he threw his hands up, a pained expression crossing his face. “I needed to see you. And selfishly, I thought that maybe you would want to see me too.”

She did. At least a little. But could she admit that, after pulling back the curtain on the ghost that had hung between them for months now?

Another thought burned at the edges of her brain, pulsing hot enough to scorn her. A question she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to.

A question she didn’t need the answer to, less she punished herself any further.

But she decided she could withstand a bit more torture.

“Where’s the ring?”

Jake's fingers flexed, a subtle twitch that betrayed his nervousness, and answered her. A stone settled in her stomach Jake opened his mouth to speak.

“Gwyn, please-”

“Jake,” she cut him off, voice nearly a whisper. “Where’s the ring?”

He swallowed. Once. Twice.

“In my desk drawer.”

And suddenly, Gwyn could almost feel the tangible and crushing weight of the object, no more than twenty feet away from her. Tucked away against mounds of folders and reports was the very thing she once thought she would have died for. She felt sick, horribly and overwhelmingly sick. Standing so close to so many unanswered questions and hurts, Gwyn felt the room tilt on its side for a second.

“You brought it here.” It sounded like more of a statement than a question, and her tongue dried as she pushed through the questions she was beginning to hate herself for asking. “Why?”

If sullen had taken human form, it would be Jake Seresin, all bright colors and light gone with the heavy press of emotions pulling him down. “I don’t know.”

“Were you-” she swallowed past a lump that had formed, head light and swimming. “Uh… Were you planning to…”

Gwyn couldn’t bring herself to finish the question. Jake looked like he couldn’t have listened to her ask it if she had.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know?”

“That I love you.”

It was too much. The walls had begun pressing in on her and the oxygen in the room had fled with her common sense.

She wanted to tell him she needed a second to breathe, a moment to think, but the words wouldn’t come.

Gwyn left without looking over her shoulder to see his face.

—-------------

Scalding water poured over her shoulders and back, leaving them raw and pink. The shower had been a way to calm her beating heart and scattered brain, but nothing was working. Not the music she had turned up to deafening volumes on the drive home, not the two drinks she had made herself once she chucked her boots off at her front door, and not the steaming water raining over her bowed head.

The ache was so much worse than she could have ever imagined. If she thought Jake leaving was awful, this new pain was an untamed beast of which she had never encountered. It tore her insides to shreds on its claws and made a mess of her. A headache pounded at her temples from the tears she had let fall down the shower drain, and her entire being felt heavy and weary all over.

He had the ring. He brought the ring.

He had wanted her as his wife, had almost asked her. He had wanted her forever. And some part of him still wanted her enough to bring her ring to this detachment.

No. Not her ring. It was just a ring Jake had.

For her.

He hadn’t left for some job. He had kept things from her, yes, but nothing she could ever fault him for.

And if she couldn’t fault him, she had nothing against him.

Nothing to guard herself against him and the ever-present ache that followed her every thought about him.

So it consumed her in small bites, pulling at her nerves until she thought she’d crumble.

Alec walked in long after the water had turned ice cold, raising goosebumps and scattering them across her flesh. He took one knowing look at her and grabbed a towel off the rack to wrap her up in. He ushered her out from the blanket of quiet the shower had smothered her in, and steered her into her bed where he curled both arms around her.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Gwyn didn’t. She didn’t even know if she could.

“I saw Seresin,” Alec went on. “Passed him on my way out. He looks even worse than you do if it’s any consolation.”

It wasn’t. Because she had done that. She had made him that way.

God everything was so awful.

She was awful.

“I think I messed everything up again,” she muttered into the cotton of his shirt.

Alec huffed a laugh into her wet curls. “You have a habit of doing that, my love.”

She pinched him, a small smirk cracking at her dry lips despite the heaviness that still laid against her.

“I’m not a member of the Jake Seresin fan club,” Alec continued, more serious now. “God knows, he could do with a few less people kissing that perfect ass of his. But I don’t think he’s a bad guy. He might even be half decent if you squint hard enough.”

Alec’s hands brushed up and down her spine in soothing strokes, as her breath started to hiccup. His words kept coming, soft and warm, just for her. “He’s not a bad pilot by any measure, not that he’d ever let you forget it. And he’s got a smile that could start and end wars. Did I mention his ass yet?”

Gwyn snorted a laugh, even as her eyes stung. “Where are you going with this?”

Alec’s voice softened, barely more than a whisper. “I’m just saying he’s not half bad.” Fingers drew patterns across her arms, sure and calm. “And that he’d make a good husband if you let him.”

Gwyn jerked back, tears freely flowing down her cheeks now. Alec was staring down at her with a small, private smile, always knowing more than he should. He bumped his nose against hers before speaking again. “Nowhere near what you deserve, of course, but he’d do his best.”

Her hands were shaking against the strong lines of muscle beneath her fingers. Alec had always seen right through her, even now after all the distance and time that had passed. She often thought that maybe in some other universe, they held each other just like this, as lovers instead of friends, and wondered if it would be simpler there. Or if she even wanted that simplicity, when roughness brought her Jake. Alec’s eyes were gazing at her with such tenderness that she almost sobbed.

He squeezed her once more before nudging her towards the edge of the bed.

“Go.”

—-------------------

Jake’s military-issued apartment was an alarmingly short drive from hers, giving her no time or space to collect her thoughts and devise what she wanted to say.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Gwyn found herself face to face with his door, fist raised and poised to knock. She nearly hesitated as she once again found herself short on what to say, but she rapped her knuckles against the wood.

Jake swung the door back almost immediately, a desperate sort of relief washing over his features as he took in the sight of her and her still wet hair. “Gwyn,” he breathed.

She started at the sound of her name on his lips, of how gentle he sounded saying it.

And how badly she missed hearing it.

Silence hung between them, too long and obvious to be anything besides awkward, but Jake was still looking at her with that same fondness that broke her.

“I don’t know what your plans are,” she started, fingers trembling enough to draw his gaze, but this time she let him watch them shake, allowed him to see her vulnerability. Something she would only ever give to him. “I don’t know where you plan on going from here, or what you picture after all of this… Or if I’m in those plans. If you’ll even still have me-”

“Of course I’d have you,” Jake cut in, voice sincere and raw. “I’ll always have you.”

She hiccuped down tears. He’d still have her, even with her everything. Even with his everything.

So that was it. It had been settled.

“You better be a good husband.”

A grin wide enough to split his cheeks broke out across Jake’s mouth, and she watched as his fingers twitched against the door.

“I’ll be the best goddamn husband you’ll ever have.”

She nearly sobbed as she fell into him, smashing her lips against his desperately, like she might die without him. And maybe she would have.

Jake’s hands landed across her back, gripping her shirt and flesh in a bruising grip. His mouth worked fervently against hers, a small mercy considering how horrible she had been to him.

His skin was warm and familiar under her roaming hands, and Gwyn sighed into the kiss and she reacquainted herself with every corner of him.

“Jake,” she moaned as he nipped at the swell of her lips.

The blonde in question groaned against her, pulling at her clothes with a neediness she had missed.

They kissed for what felt like hours, only pulling away for breath when their lungs squeezed. Jake was staring down at her, cheeks flushed and perfect.

“There she is,” he whispered, just for her. “There’s my girl.”

Gwyn seized up and caught his mouth once again.

When she awoke the next morning in a tangle of sheets and naked flesh, she grinned. The weight on her ring finger caught the sunlight pouring in through the window, twinkling as she turned her hand to admire it for the hundredth time since Jake had slid it on her.

They had spent the better part of the night twisted in each other, only settling when exhaustion threatened to undo them at the seams. As Gwyn had curled herself around a pillow she knew was Jake’s favorite, the blonde had slid from beneath the cocoon of blankets and retrieved something from the pocket of his pants that had been messily discarded somewhere near the foot of the bed. When he returned, he had grabbed her hand that had bunched in the soft cotton of his pillow.

He had been smiling when he slid the ring on her finger, the cool metal fitting just perfectly in the way only Jake Seresin could pull off without her knowledge. There hadn’t been a speech, no grand declaration of love and eternity, and she didn’t need one. Not when she could see it in the way he brushed his tired mouth over her knuckles and watched her settle in for bed with a smile that never left him, even in sleep.

Soft snores still filled the room as she pulled herself out of the cage of his arms, only pausing when he grumbled for her to come back. But Gwyn only laughed, pecking his cheek and moving for the bathroom to clean herself up a bit. Her eyes caught sight of the fingerprints scattered and pressed across her hips.

She was only afforded a few minutes of privately admiring her newfound marks before Jake stumbled in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes through barely-concealed yawns. He smiled at her blearily in the reflection of the mirror, and wrapped his arms across her chest posessively.

“Good morning,” she breathed, smiling at him widely and unguarded. Jake smiled back before his eyes softened, the change in his expression almost laughably obvious.

Silence hung for a moment. Then Jake straightened up, a devious glint in those green eyes now.

“Get dressed,” he demanded, stalking away from her to grab a button-up shirt that had been tossed over a chair.

Gwyn’s brow furrowed. “For what? Are we going somewhere?”

“We are,” he smiled, glancing at her as he worked on his buttons. “We’re gonna go get married.”

And like always when it came to Jake Seresin, Gwyn’s breath caught.

“What are you talking about?” she breathed through a laugh.

Jake spun to face her fully, and yanked her close with his hands planted firmly on her hips. “We’re getting married. Today.”

And it sounded so obvious when he said it, that she almost found herself agreeing without reason or argument.

Almost. She couldn’t just let him have it though.

“Jake,” she giggled as he nipped and kissed her neck. “We just got engaged last night.”

“Yes, and I said I’d be a good husband, but I didn’t promise shit about being a good fiance, so we need to get this sorted out pretty quickly.”

Gwyn threw her head back in a full cackle, earning her a toothy grin from the man still clinging to her like she might float away.

Once her laughter died down enough to speak, she pushed one more time for reason. “I don’t have any clothes here. Unless you want to marry me in my pajamas.”

Jake smirked again, a knowing expression, like she was missing out on some inside joke. He pulled away and turned to his dresser, tearing open a drawer and rifling around for a second before turning back around clutching a wad of fabric in his fist.

Her stomach turned, in that sweet way that makes you feel sick with giddy. “My dress,” she breathed.

Because it was her dress, her “date dress” that Alec had mercilessly teased her for. The very same dress she had almost wasted on James, and very well would have had she been able to find it the other night.

Jake at least had the sense to look bashful as he handed it over, and explained in a sheepish tone, “Yeah, I held on to it.”

Gwyn’s brow was still furrowed, racking her brain for the last time she had seen it and if she had ever even taken it with her on her visits to see Jake when he was away. “Held on to it?” she pressed, edging into suspicion.

The blonde scratched at the back of his neck with a nervous laugh before planting his hands on his hips. “Stole it, is probably a better way of putting it,” he admitted. Gwyn leveled him with an unimpressed glare, one without any heat behind it, but that still sent him scrambling to explain nonetheless.

“I just-,” he huffed out, glancing anywhere but at her. “It’s the dress you wore for your twenty-first, and I remember how pretty you looked and I just-”

He paused, blowing out a long breath. “I didn’t want you wearing that for anyone else who might’ve thought the same. I just couldn’t really stomach that. So I snatched it the last time I was in town.”

She wanted to kiss again. And again. And maybe never stop.

Forever.

Without another word, Gwyn excused herself to the bathroom to pull the old garment over her head and comb her hair back into something half-presentable. When she emerged just a few minutes later, Jake was fumbling with his belt, head snapping up at the sight of her. A small grin broke out over his face.

“Hello, Mrs. Seresin.”

Gwyn scoffed, even as her cheeks lit up. “Not yet, Bagman.”

Jake only smiled wider at the nickname, teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Just trying to get a head start, baby.”

Warmth flushed through her chest and face at the endearment in his tone. Jake’s hand found hers and his tone was quiet and edging on serious when he spoke again.

“You sure you want to do this? I really don’t mind waiting if you’d like.”

Gwyn smiled.

“I didn’t have any other plans today anyway.”

BONUS- Gwyn Tells Alec

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman top gun #jake hangman x reader #top gun maverick #rain soaked

[jonquilandlace]

Well I can't stop thinking about if Apple's Spirited was actually done on Broadway with Broadway actors so have a fancast

Disclaimer: This is literally just actors I like and know are currently active. There is very little thought put into this beside "ooo I love this voice and think it would fit the role p well." Feel free to dispute and brainstorm further in the reblogs/tags, but like there is genuinely 4% thought put into this, lmao.

Present (Will Farrell) - Jonathan Groff

The heart and soul of the show. Requires strong acting, strong vocals, and a stunning sense of humor. Honestly maybe this is just me being a simp but like I fully think he would have a gotdamn blast dressed up in Scrooge makeup for the 1800s scene and no one can convince me otherwise.

Clint Briggs (Ryan Reynolds) - Jeremy Jordan

This is it, the entire reason I made this fan cast. Just. Imagine Jeremy Jordan singing Bringin' Back Christmas. The same energy as Ready As I'll Ever Be, and also as The World Will Know from Newsies??? Like, that's barely anything, and he's perfect.

Kimberly (Octavia Spencer) - Khaila Anyé Wilcoxon

Yeah okay I did sadly feel like I needed to slightly de-age Kimberly to match the younger form of Present; my original casting was NaTasha Yvette Williams and she would still slay this so hard, but like. Consistency, ya know? And besides, Khaila is STUNNING, fr; her performance as Catherine of Aragon is a testament to her skills alone, but if you want proof of her ability to sing gently as well as to Belt Like All Hell as she does in Six, then I will just direct you kindly to her role as one of the Fates in Hadestown; girl SLAYS! (Alternate pick: Renée Elise Goldsberry, because I can just HEAR her sing these songs.)

Jacob Marley (Patrick Page) - Patrick Page

I mean. Come on. Even if he hadn't played this role already, he originated Hades in Hadestown. No one can top this guy.

Past (Sunita Mani) - Solea Pfeiffer

Hadestown haunts the cast again, but like, come on. She's so good, no one can tell me no.

Yet-to-Come (Tracy Morgan) - Michael James Scott

IDK something about his energy as Genie just translates really well to this role to me. (Alternatively, the Beetlejuice energy of Alex Brightman would give a REALLY fun twist to it, especially if the director decided to lean into YTC as a comic relief character, but the energy is just off enough I wanna stick to the source material for now.)

Wren (Marlow Barkley) - Isabella Esler

Okay to be completely honest am I pretty much just pulling a random Lydia Deets out of a hat since they're like the only consistent kid actresses I can find? Maybe, lmao. That said, having heard her sing, she's GOOD fam! I think she could pull Wren really well!

Owen (Joe Tippett) - Justin Collette

Okay, so once again, he happens to be a Beetlejuice star, but the vibe check here really comes from his role in School of Rock! It's the same sort of offbeat-person-with-a-heart-of-gold vibe as Owen has in the movie, and like with him also playing the Beetlejuice to Isabella's Lydia, I think they'd do great as dad and daughter on stage. Alternatively, Will Burton (who played Adam in the same cast) would also be a great pick, but gives off some more panicky vibes that I don't feel are as great of a match to Owen.

Carrie (Andrea Anders) - Michaela Diamond

If you've seen her video on her favorite song from NYT, you Know the vibes.

Anyway that's my brainrot for the year thank you and enjoy—

#spirited 2022 #apple spirited #apple tv spirited #broadway #broadway fan cast #fan cast #spirited #christmas #christmas movie #idek fam lmao this was brainrot #jonniejonniejonquil #jeremy jordan #jonathan groff #khaila wilcoxon #justin collette #michaela diamond #isabella esler #michael james scott #solea pfeiffer #patrick page #christmas movies

[ourladyofmaplemurder]

Cheryl & The Blues

A lovely friend of mine pointed something out to me this morning. Namely, the "why" of the blue dress in Season 1, which had led me to the meaning of blue for Cheryl.

I had asked for his insights previously, as he is a costume designer who is far more visually inclined than I, but it wasn't until now that I got a response. (He has always been a RiverHater, but it seems he is coming around. Our flock grows. Praise Mother Gaia.) In any case, he pointed out that this dress is an attempt from Cheryl to embody Cinderella.

Here is a quick paraphrase of what he said:

She is is desperately trying to NOT be Cheryl during this dinner. At one point she even says "It's supposed to be Cinderella who ran away from the ball." Thus, the blue dress is here to help her emulate the "trad wife heterosexual Cinderella." By the end of the scene, she goes full Cheryl and snaps on Archie because her charade doesn't work and everyone still thinks she's a chaotic lesbian.

Lots to unpack here, no?

As we know, Cheryl IS red. So, seeing her in blue (and this is blue, despite the fact that it looks sort of green. A nod to envy, perhaps?) is very strange. Blue is Betty's color, and though Betty is NOT the ultimate trad wife heterosexual, she is coded that way. In fact, much of her internal character conflict is about her having to grapple with being "The Girl Next Door".

So, this dress is Cheryl's attempt to be "The Girl Next Door". It seems so simple now that I think about it, but still.

I think it's interesting that Cheryl invokes Cinderella specifically, rather than Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. Snow White would certainly make sense. She's tortured by an evil mother figure and pale as snow, both things that Cheryl could relate to. There's even poison in that story and we all know how much Penelope loves poison. Sleeping Beauty wouldn't really make sense until after Cheryl's Sweet Water River incident, but still. I think it's kind of interesting how many fairytale princesses we could link to Cheryl.

She chooses Cinderella though. Why? Well, Cinderella is also tormented by an evil mother figure, but her most significant moment is being transformed. Cinderella is lifted from the ashes of her wretched life to go to the ball with the help of her fairy godmother in the hopes of winning the heart of the prince. The prince is clearly Archie and there is no Fairy Godmother. Maybe that's why it doesn't work.

In any case, Cheryl is a lot, even for herself, so it makes sense that she would try to suppress her true colors, so to speak, from time to time to satisfy a particular goal. She is aware that she is too much, at least to some degree at any given moment of the series, so yeah. She whips out the blue when she's trying to tone herself down.

(I'm probably making too much of this, but there's something about Cheryl Blossom and fairytales that just clicks in my mind. It reminds me of Blanche DuBois from Streetcar saying, "I don't want realism, I want magic!" I feel like Cheryl would agree with that. )

Also! Another time that Cheryl wears blue? Toni's bachelorette party in Season 6. This is another time that you could argue she is trying to suppress herself in the interest of being a supportive ex. (Also fascinating that Heather is wearing red! A testament to her love for Cheryl, I think. This IS right before they have their big kiss.)

She also wears blue when she comes up with the idea to kill Percival for Toni's wedding present. It's a sort of "show of support", but we all know she does not support this union and desperately wants Toni back so....

This is also likely why the Sister of Quiet Mercy uniforms are blue. They are symbols of repression for Cheryl specifically. (And Betty too, tbh. I think this 'suppression' narrative probably works for Betty too, but I would need to actually go through and check that. So, for now, let's just focus on Cher Cher.)

Now, Cheryl wears blue pretty often in season 7, but that makes sense considering the fact that she has to suppress herself quite a bit due to the nature of the times. But like, look at this:

These are all moments where Cheryl is actively suppressing her true feelings, in this case, the gay ones. However, what's different about these instances, and these costumes, is that the truth is always poking through. The suppression in the 50's is different. She's not trying to suppress herself FROM herself. Not in the long run. The red accents remind us who she truly is and that she is still Cheryl Blossom underneath that trad wife, heterosexual nonsense she's putting on.

All this to say: When Cheryl is wearing blue she is actively suppressing herself! It's consistent!

ADDENDUM:

Where does this analysis place her River Vixen uniform?

As you can see, it is predominantly blue. However, I do not think that it fits into the "suppression narrative" in the same way as her other blue outfits. The River Vixen uniform is blue, but it's also a symbol of the Town and of Cheryl's sense of belonging within her community. Though I do think the red versions of her Vixen attire that she wears in season 5 are symbolic of her truly owning her place in the town as the Coach of the Vixens and also the Blossom Heir, I don't think she's actively suppressing herself as a River Vixen.

Tune in next time for White and, one day, Green. (Also wondering about Pink.......)

Ciao!

#Cheryl Blossom #Riverdale #The Mad Priest of Riverdale Speaks #RiverSermons #Might also talk about Cheryl and Fairytales at some point

[alcestas-sloboda]

When I first listened to the interval act in the second semifinal, I didn't give it enough thought, even as a Ukrainian. Well, even at first glance, you can see a representation of Ukrainian musical talents - Mariya Yaremchuk singing her dad's song about family, a modern rendition of Taras Shevchenko's poem, Shedryk. But today, I've seen it over and over again on TikTok, and I realized the sheer symbolism of this act.

Nazariy Yaremchuk is one of the brightest musical talents Ukraine has ever produced. His songs are almost folklore here, but he is not the only singer you can see during the act. On the screen, there are different portraits of Ukrainian cultural figures - everyone from Lesya Ukrainka to Volodymyr Ivasyuk. The fate of the latter is for you to find on the internet, but like most of the Ukrainian cultural elite, he was killed for being too Ukrainian for the Soviet liking.

After the first song, the melody follows - Skoryk's Melody in A minor. It is frequently described as a spiritual hymn of Ukraine and has been used in commemorations of the Holodomor. That is why you can see so many wheat spikes, symbolizing the tragedy, and the Revolution of Dignity.

Then you have OTOY's rendition of Shevchenko's "Cherry Garden Near the House," and my god, it is amazing not only from an artistic perspective but also from the perspective of historical justice. For me, as well as for most Ukrainians, this is a poem we know by heart since we are in first grade in school. It's not as powerful as Shevchenko's "Testament" or "Caucasus," but it is a simple retelling of a family doing their work and living a peaceful life in their home with the song of a nightingale always present.

But now, in 2023, it is being sung to millions and millions of people worldwide, after Ukrainian language was forbidden countless times, after the Ukrainian elite was killed for even daring to dream about a free Ukraine, after so much being thrown at Ukrainians just to destroy them but no, we are here. I really hope Shevchenko sees us right now and is smiling because we are his kids, we truly are. We are breaking those heavy chains, and we remember you, father, albeit not in a very soft-spoken way, but with beats and drums. I know you would have liked that. You loved partying back in the day.

And of course, Shedryk, another statement of just how much Ukraine has given to the world. Yulia explained it perfectly herself, so I won't repeat it here again. But it was, is, and always will be better in the original Ukrainian language.

After all these years of fighting on every front, Ukraine lives. Its language and its culture live and make people happy. And as for Eurovision being a great representation of this? Just as Ivasyuk sang, "The song will be among us."

Слава Україні! Слава всім її захисникам і всім її героям! Шана моєму незламному народу!

#shoud've written that earlier but i guess now will do #esc 2023 #esc23 #eurovision 2023 #ukraine #x

[sailtomarina]

Puppy Punch Love

“Hermione, over here!”

The unexpected call came just as she was about to settle in next to Harry, and she peered over the sea of heads to clock one very excited Fred Weasley. Nothing good could come of the twinkle in his eyes, nor from how his grin spread from ear to ear the longer she stared at him.

”What’s he want?” Harry asked, also having noticed the call.  Surprising, really, given how he’d been totally absorbed in his conversation just moments prior.

”I’m sure it’s nothing,” Ginny piped, leaning around the wizard to nudge Hermione. “Go on, then.”

In hindsight, it should have been obvious to Hermione that Ginny was in on the plan. Not only was she a Weasley, but she also happened to be particularly close with Fred. There was no reason why she’d normally steer Hermione towards certain doom.

”Let me scoot over for you,” Fred said as she approached, practically shoving Lee into Parvati’s lap to make room.

Hermione nodded and gingerly sat, leaving a sliver of space between the two of them which he immediately closed as he slung an arm conspiratorially around her shoulders.

”What’s this about, then?” She knew better than to listen to the butterflies erupting from his warm embrace.

”I couldn’t help but hear about a certain witch’s birthday that I missed.”

Her breath caught at the comment, but she corralled it into place. “Yes. What of it?”

A box materialised in front of her wrapped in pretty gold paper and crème ribbons. Her name adorned the label in a flowing script.

”I’d be remiss to ignore my favourite witch’s special day.” He winked as he pushed the box closer. Hermione’s chest absolutely did not seize at the adorable way his cheeks bunched up when he smiled at her.

”It’s already past, though,” she said, her voice weak. 

“Consider this a gift as well as an apology and accept it?” Now he pouted at her, his lip jutting out dramatically.

”Fine.” She didn’t even try to hide her smile from him. 

Because as much as she tried to put on a competent face for everyone else, Fred could always pick out her true feelings. It’d been like that nearly from the start of their unlikely friendship, started as early as third year when Harry and Ron had ignored her over another surprise gift. Then, like now, Fred had hailed her down and made it his personal mission to get Hermione Granger to laugh and forget about her troubles, even if only for a short while.

When she pulled the ribbon loose and carefully peeled back the paper, a nondescript box with a red ‘W’ gave her little indication of what lay inside. Fred continued to stare at her, his closed lips turned upwards in a gentle curve.

It wasn’t until she’d started to pull open the lid that his eyes flickered over and widened in realisation. “Wait, Hermione—“

The warning came too late to save her from the gloved fist that popped her right in the nose, followed by a brief flash of light. She’d later have to stop herself from socking Colin in a similar fashion when he shared the photo he captured of the moment, complete with her eyes crossing at the moment of impact.  But that would be in the future, and this was the present. Leaning forward in excitement as she was, the punch struck her with particular force, resulting in a popping sound and a wet sensation.

”Oh, shite! Hermione, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? This wasn’t supposed to happen; the boxes must have somehow gotten mixed up.”

She lifted her eyes to take in Fred’s panicked expression. His hands fluttered in the air, first gently gripping her chin to lift her face, then moving to push her hair back behind an ear. Any irritation she might have felt faded away in the warmth of his concern.

”It’s okay, Fred.”

”No, let me make it right,” he said firmly, pulling out his wand.

It was a testament to her level of trust in him that Hermione didn’t flinch away. This was one of the infamous Weasley twins, after all, where a flash and a bang were natural assumptions when magic was in the mix. Except, Fred had never done so to her prior to this mishap, and she had a feeling he never had the intention to in the future.

She closed her eyes as his wand twirled, only biting her lip as the broken bone snapped back into place. Another tingle of magic later, and she felt the blood coating her lower face vanish.

“There we are!”

Fred’s eyes swam into view as she opened her own, the clear blue sky of his irises searching–for what, she didn’t know. As she gazed back at him, she couldn’t help but trace the freckles across his nose and cheeks.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, head tilting to the side.

She hadn’t even realised she was smirking until his question. “If you connect the dots just so,” she traced a finger against his cheek, feeling the change of soft to rough as she crossed stubble, “I can just make out Centaurus.” She punctuated the constellation name with a tap against the tip of his nose, nearly giggling as his eyes crossed to track the movement.

Before she could fully pull her hand back, she found it wrapped up in both of his own. Warm, callused, and secure, he pressed them against his chest.

“Fred, what are you–”

“Not only did I miss your birthday, but I somehow swapped your gift for a boxing telescope and got told I have Firenze on my face.” Gone was the smile, in its place something far more frightening: a serious Fred Weasley. His brow furrowed as he looked down on her, and his hands tightened as he cradled hers against his chest.

“That’s not what I sai–”

“What do you say to going on a date with me to Hogsmeade this weekend, Hermione?”

She gaped at him. Those weren’t exactly the words she’d expected to fall from his lips. Far from it, actually. She’d thought he’d tease her back in kind over her own freckles. 

Then she nearly choked as Lee leaned around Fred and lobbed a spoonful of something into her open mouth. The twin swivelled around to pummel his friend as Hermione coughed and scrambled to get a drink.

“Aw, c’mon! You can’t tell me that wasn’t funny–hey!” Any further protests from their fellow Gryffindor were lost to Fred’s whispered threats and the sound of gurgling as he held the other boy in a chokehold.

“Fred, that’s enough. I’m okay now.”

She found her face held once again in the palm of his hands as he forgot about his friend to check on her, eyes scanning until they focused on her lips.

“Are you sure? I’ve got some prototypes I can make him swallow in apology.”

“No,” she laughed, already picturing Lee in a variety of embarrassing transformations, as she continued, “how about you take me to my real birthday present instead? We can talk about Hogsmeade along the way.”

His hands spasmed against her face before he leapt up from the table. He held an elbow out to her in a convincing display of the extraordinary gentleman that he was. “My lady?”

She stood to take his arm, making sure to swing her bag around with enough force to shove Lee face first into his plate of mashed taters. “Thank you, good sir.”

With a skip to their steps and twin grins on their faces, Hermione and Fred set off through the Great Hall. They didn’t know it yet wrapped up in excellent company as they were, but the cheers that followed were for them. Some clapped thinking the witch would distract the prankster from future mayhem. Others clapped in hopes the wizard would soften up the no-nonsense Prefect. The few who didn’t approve knew what they were witnessing was the birth of an unstoppable force far too clever and powerful for one castle, or even one country, to contain.

None of that mattered, however. For now, they were just him and her and a bubbling cauldron of possibilities.

1372 WC

Posted on FB, Tumblr, and AO3

Written for the Facebook group Lauren's Kitchen for Fred and George's birthday month wheel prompts.

Product: Boxing telescope; Trope: Prank gone right; Setting: The great hall; Extra Character: Firenze

Okay, so I might have cheated with the extra character of Firenze...or did I? You can tell me what you think.

I also left the timeframe of this scene ambiguous. It could honestly take place before or after the Battle of Hogwarts. Just know that in my mind Fred lives either way.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter flashfic #hermione granger x fred weasley #hermione granger #fred weasley #fremione #hermione x fred