You are failing! We are close to an offensive that will shake the planet, yet we are continually delayed because you cannot outwit a simpleton with a shield!
— Captain America: The First Avenger (2011) dir. Joe Johnston
Seriously, he was done with selfish werewolves who didn’t care about fragile human hearts and liked to play games like who can scare the human the most. It was was unnecessary and just plain rude! He’d told them all time and time again to quit it and they refused, so now he was going to plan B.
Deaton was surprisingly helpful for once, smiling his enigmatic smile–or was that a touch of mischievousness he saw?–and handing over a book of spells, pointing out a few that were used to hiding one’s scent or heartbeat. It was brilliant, foolproof. Stiles couldn’t wait.
Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were his first victims. The puppies were especially vocal on their enjoyment of teasing the pack human and scaring him was a fan favorite. So he grinned to himself, sneaking closer while wearing the charm around his neck that he’d fashioned to hide any sounds he made and his scent.
“Hey, guys!” He greeted once he was close enough, causing them all to jerk away from each other. Erica was on the offense, claws popped and eyes flashing, Boyd was on defense, bowed up like an angry cat prepared to strike, and Isaac had actually stumbled and fell in surprise. Stiles grinned unrepentantly. Excellent.
It was never-ending now. No one ever did figure out how he was doing it, but now he was serving a nice helping of karma to the wolves who’d terrorized him for months. To be honest, he did feel a little bad after startling Derek so bad that he dropped his plate of food and went full wolf (it had taken him over an hour to convince the wolf to climb out from under the table and shift back; he was still getting the angry brows for that one), so he’d laid off the Alpha after then, but the puppies were fair game. He’d asked them for months to stop scaring him and they’d actively tried to catch him doing something that he’d mess up after being scared, so he had no mercy.
Frustratingly though, the only one who he hasn’t manage to scare yet was Peter.
He crept closer to where Peter was reclining on the couch on the loft, reading a paperback.
Stiles stomped over to the man, huffing angrily. “How are you doing that?” He demanded.
Peter smirked up at him, eyes alight with humor, as he closed the book and stood. “A master never reveals his secrets,” he teased.
“It’s magician, you simpleton.”
Peter laughed. “You tell me what spell you’re using to hide from everyone and I’ll tell you how I know when you’re creeping.”
Stiles scowled. “One day,” he threatened menacingly before leaving the loft.
Stiles tried again on training day when they’d all been in the woods, doubling back after telling everyone goodbye and creeping around after donning his necklace charm. Peter was still practicing with Boyd. Perfect. He crept closer, trying to keep from snickering.
Stiles yelped, tripping over a tree root and stumbling into the clearing. Boyd blinked, surprised, but not the scare factor he was looking for.
“Fuck you,” Stiles grumbled, sitting up and brushing the leaves and dirt off of him.
Peter grinned victoriously. Stiles glared. Boyd looked like he’d finally figured something out and seconds away from laughing.
Stiles’ next attempt was on pack night. Peter was talking with Scott about something and he just knew this time was going to work. He snuck closer, oh so slowly.
“Stiles,” Peter stated.
“God-fucking-dammit! How are you doing that?!” Stiles demanded, coming into the kitchen.
Scott snorted, trying to hide his laughter, and Stiles whirled onto him. “Why are you laughing?”
“I can’t believe that worked,” Scott muffled out, looking over at Peter. “You are truly dedicated to being evil.”
“What? What did he do? Do you know how he does it? Tell me!” Stiles yelled.
“Dude, Peter just says your name randomly when you’re not here. You always react if you’re around so you reveal yourself.”
Peter pouted. “I thought the agreement was no one would tell him that.”
Scott shrugged. “Pinky promise in second grade says I can’t hide things from him.”
Peter rolled his eyes while Stiles stared at him in disbelief.
“Are you serious? You’ve never known I was there? You just sit around and say my name randomly to see if I pop up?”
“You’re kind of like Beetlejuice or Bloody Mary. I never have to say it more than three times,” Peter added.
Stiles laughed delightedly. “Oh my god, you dork. You absolute goofball. Everyone must think you’re crazy.”
“Derek had already explained his craziness,” Scott said, shrugging. “Not that we didn’t already know he was crazy.”
“Excuse you, I’m still present,” Peter drawled.
“Drama King,” Stiles teased. “Man, this is great. You’re so extra, dude. You just can’t accept that someone might’ve got the jump on you.”
“I think that’s enough sharing for now.” Peter turned to leave the room.
“No! Wait! I’m not done making fun of you yet!” Stiles hurried after him.
“Goodbye, Stiles,” Peter waved him off.
“No way, dramawolf! This is gold!”
“Oh my god, are you five? Come back here! I’m not done mocking you yet! Peter!”
How the final chapter of The Royal Romance will play out:
We catch up to the present day, which was shown in the very first chapter of the book. Liam dances with the MC and the suitors, Drake painfully watches at the sidelines, and the night is filled with random chats as the announcement draws near.
Soon, Liam is onstage, getting ready to announce who his queen will be. The suitors are nervous. The press is hungry for a scoop. The spectators hold their breaths. The drum roll starts and. . . it’s MC! Le gasp. Who could’ve ever saw that coming?
MC can’t believe it nah she totally can, she’s beaten all the odds and has risen above the rest. Olivia is furious, Penelope is chatting about her poodles, Kiara is saying something in French; Hana is torn, Drake is heartbroken, Maxwell is wooting; Bertrand stops short in his woe be me monologue, Tariq does something Tariq-y, Madeleine probably says something fake af. All is well.
But there’s still a traitor in our midst.
Pop goes the traitor. He or she has got something to show everyone. A set of photos that involve a very specific suitor spending the night with the prince’s best friend. My, my what a scandal. Liam refuses to believe this. After all, Photoshop exists, peasants.
However, the little snitch isn’t quite done yet. They call Tariq to the stand. Oh, what a lie they both spin. Olivia is smiling, Penelope cries about her poor poodle, Kiara curses in Slavic or Irish or something; Hana gasps in shock, Drake wants to beat this liar up, Maxwell becomes a sad puppy; Bertrand is appalled and starts monologuing, Tariq is still doing something Tariq-y, Madeleine doesn’t react because of her resting fake face.
Cue the ‘is this true’ scene. MC denies everything because it’s obviously not true, you simpletons. They pull that ‘a picture is worth a thousand words and look at how many you’ve got’ line, and MC is stuck because the whole room is suddenly against her. Oh my cronuts. She opens her mouth to speak—
86 Black Hat? I feel like this could be funny tbh.
You caught Black Hat in the scandalous act.
Thinking introspectively, you probably wouldn’t have seen this embarrassing display if you just knocked. Not knocking before you enter is a terrible habit, but you never bothered to fix that. Who knew it’d bite you back in the ass up until this moment?
“Why are you walking around naked?” You immediately ask, jaw hanging open. Okay, well, maybe saying ‘naked’ is a dramatic term.
This is, after all, the first time you’ve witnessed Black Hat without his - well, hat. And you’d be damned if it wasn’t the weirdest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. You can’t even describe it properly. It was just that bizarre. Seeing the boss without his hat, he may as well be naked!
You try to take a closer look at the hatless-Black Hat. He hisses like a cat, and swells into a screeching and slithering mass of leeches. Multiple angry red eyes glare at you. Gaping and drooling mouths are talking all at once. Jeez, does the boss have to be such a drama -
SHLOOP! A tentacle slaps you across the face, like a wet fish. You yelp, tumbling backwards. Shit, that’s gonna leave a bruise.
“GET THE FUCK OUT, YOU pEVerTEd SIMPLETON!” A thousand voices scream in unison, nearly making your eardrums bleed. Not wanting to be told twice, (because if you hear him scream again, you really might go deaf), you nope the hell out.
Note to self: Knock next time.
in other words, black hat is the equivalent of a tsundere. he might as well said in this fic: “d-don’t look up my hat, you BAKA!” fic was inspired by this post from one of my fav villainous blogs @blackhatcannons
We had two prompts to stick to, which were to mention:
- A photo-booth or strip of photos
- Parseltongue (not necessarily spoken by Harry)
I had quite a lot of fun with this and changed my idea twice but eventually chose a Muggle!au. I got the idea from a Tumblr post about how the OP’s grandparents met. I tweaked it a bit and it kinda ran away from me! Anyway, it’s silly, fluffy and fun so I hope you like it!
You can't be a man you simpleton. Even if you somehow get enough money to have the proper parts you will never truly be a man and you won't be able to use your parts. It will be a useless fake appendage that would only be for show and even then you can't even show it off because that is illegal. What you want is impossible and stupid. Just take what you got and be happy with the cards you were dealt dipshit!
Seriously though, what got up your ass? Rudest thing I’ve seen yet this week.