Summary: As the news of the King’s death spreads throughout the land, lords and ladies from the nearby countries swarm the castle to offer condolences to the queen and her son. As the prince mourns his father, he is met with the reality that he must now choose a wife and begin his reign.
request: Can I request and imagine with Adam before the curse and him treating the reader badly and when the curse happens she tries to run but The beast holds her captive, but in the end she ends up breaking the curse.
@quickies-with-quicksilver: Holy crap I just need anything with the beast/Adam and your little one shots are so cute! I don’t even care what the plot is, I just need some!!
a/n:feel free to request more BATB stuff :)
You stood in front of the cocky prince as he shifted on his throne. He guffawed, “Your work has been lacking lately.”
You kept your head low, “Yes your majesty.”
“Your work isn’t detailed, your attitude is infuriating, and I don’t think you’ve been taught manners in your entire life.” The arrogant prince said as you gritted your teeth together, stay calm.
“If I may-” You heard Mrs.Potts step forward to defend you only to be cut off when he raised his hand.
The room was silent before he said, “Kneel.”
You did not move an inch as he grew angrier, “You will listen to your king.”
You looked up at him with narrowed eyes, “Kill me if you must, but I will never bow to a king who wears a crown studded with jewels of every life he has ruined.”
He stood up to begin to yell at you before you cut him off, "How can you be so cruel to those who have taken care of you your whole life? Is your heart that cold that you cannot care for even one person?”
The room was silent as you gave him a sympathetic look, “I pity you.”
Before he could even respond Plumette and Mrs.Potts had led you out of the room and back up to the servants quarters.
Based Upon:Being a CIA agent. Whenever you and Merkel cross paths on a mission, you always end up in bed together.
Her mission was simple. She was to kill Warren Elswood, CEO of Elswood Institute, the leading company in finance and investments in all of Europe. The company was based in France, allowing Warren and his high status staff to slip French Intelligence into the hands of the world’s most recent terror organization, BLACKTHORN. Elswood Institute came up on the CIA’s radar soon afterwards, and they responded by sending her to Paris as an undercover operative to end the life of Mr. Elswood.
She was leaning with her back against the marble bar counter, holding a glass of champagne in her right hand. Her intelligent eyes watched as Mr. Elswood conserved with a much older businessman, his dark eyes deceivingly warm as he spoke.
Yet, it was not long before the twenty-five year old billionaire became bored of the discussion, allowing his eyes to wander around the grand ballroom for something to pique his interest.
They landed on her.
She took a delicate sip of the champagne she held, closing her eyes momentarily as the bubbling liquid slipped down her throat, before giving him a flirtatious smile.
His eyes held hers and he began to watch her, casually to intently as she ran a hand through the slit in her floor length, black dress. Dreadfully slow, she moved her hand up her exposed leg, permitting him to see more and more of her smooth skin as she went.
Long had Mr. Elswood forgotten about the businessman in front of him. He only took interest in one person in the whole room; her.
When her hand met the end of the slit- which stopped on her mid thigh, her eyes narrowed seductively at the tall man. She took a hold of the black silk, right at the top of the slit, and gently pulled the fabric up her leg.
His eyes darkened at her actions.
She took a sip of her champagne and winked at him before moving the fabric further up her smooth leg, watching as he continued to ignore the man who was speaking to him. His gaze was set on the prize he wanted most; not a trade deal he could make any day, but an intoxicating woman he wanted to fuck until she wholeheartedly gave herself to him.
Finally, she polished off the champagne and stilled her hand movements. With a smirk, she splayed her fingers over her upper thigh, curling them right near her as he watched with baited breath.
At that moment Warren Elswood decided that business could wait until the night was over; he was going to celebrate his accomplishments in a much more enjoyable way.
Suddenly, she let go of the black fabric, letting it fall back into perfect place on her leg.
His jaw tightened and she could see his muscles flexing. Perfect. Little did he know, he was falling right into the trap she had laid out for him.
She set the empty glass down on the bar top and strode past him to the grand staircase in the very middle of the large ballroom. She scaled the polished stairs elegantly and only looked over her shoulder when she reached the top of the steps.
Warren Elswood was shaking the man’s hand whose conversation he had ignored entirely before excusing himself.
She smirked and began to walk down the seemingly endless hallway that had a colossal ceiling and beautifully intricate architecture, swaying her hips as she went.
Warren Elwood was one foolish man.
When he rounded the corner he saw the woman from the bar with her back flush against the wall, waiting for him. He took in her features and decided that she was truly stunning, something memorable.
She had always hated this part of the job, but she wasn’t worried- no, she’d finish him off before he could even slip one of the sleeves off her shoulder.
“Quite the party you’re having, Mr. Elswood.”
He gave her a confident smile and nodded, advancing on her like a predator closing in on it’s prey. She had been in control downstairs, but he planned on rendering her breathless, unable to even formulate a thought or word other than his name when he had her on her back.
“Are you enjoying yourself? It seems my champagne is to your liking.” He quipped.
She extended a hand out to him, which he took, and ushered him closer to her clothed body.
“The party has been fine… could be better.” She teased, the suggestive innuendo clear.
His hands slipped onto her hips and he pressed him fingers into her flesh, causing her to moan in response- or so he thought.
She looked up at him with hooded eyes and he could not bear to see her dressed a second longer. Images of her naked body and voice pleading, had him growing harder by the second.
“I’ll make it better.” He assured her, moving his hands up to knead her breasts.
It took everything in her not too laugh, he really was too easy.
His lips were on her neck, sucking, biting and kissing as if his life depended on it. He was eager to feel every part of her, so much so that he could barely think rationally. He did not care that someone could easily walk down this hallway, only that her warm skin felt so good against his lips.
“I’m sure you will. You’re so young.” She began easily, faking a moan as he swirled his fingers around her breasts.
His hot breath fanned over her skin as he laughed.
“So young? I doubt you’re older than I am, Darling.” He alleged, lips going right back to work on her neck.
She placed her hands on his broad chest and gave him a subtle push back. When he looked at her, his expression was one of confusion and anger, until she gave him a sly smirk and bent down.
Relief flooded through him, along with desire as he desperately waited for her to slip her undergarments to the floor. He began to unbuckle his leather belt, fingers fumbling frantically as he attempted to unhook his buckle.
She sent a swift glance up at him from her kneeling position, checking to make sure he was distracted, before yanking her gun out of the holster that was strapped to her leg.
“Darling.” She drawled, standing before him, “Do you know it is terrible etiquette to ask a woman how old she is?”
His eye went wide as she placed her finger on the trigger.
“Terrible.” She scolded.
A bullet lodged itself in the centre of his forehead, causing the young billionaire’s body to hit the ground hard. Deep crimson began to trickle from the wound, soon turning into a steady stream of blood as it spread across the gleaming floor.
She knelt down beside him and checked for a pulse.
No staff came running to the scene, she had made sure of that by attaching a silencer to her weapon. She was sure that nobody in the whole building has even heard a sound.
There was no beat in his neck or wrist, but there were footsteps at the opposite end of the hall.
Instinctively, she aimed her gun at the oncoming person and looked to to possibly identify them.
She slipped the gun back into the holster when she saw who it was.
Sighing, she stood and grabbed something from the holster on her thigh before striding towards him.
“You’re too late.” She said simply, slipping a card into the breast pocket of his suit jacket as she passed him.
He turned to watch her walk down the hall, noticing the sway of her hips and how the dark dress fit her in all of the right places. The highlight of any mission he went on was to see her, the most mysterious and beautiful woman he believed he would ever encounter.
He fished the unknown object out of his pocket and examined it. He realized it was her room key to a suite in the Continental.
She did not know how long she spent underneath the shower head, letting the water cascade over her bare body. At first the water was ice cold, relaxing her sore muscles; then it was almost scalding hot, letting her revel in the blissful sensation of warmth.
She was so lost in the feeling of the heat flowing over her body, that she did not hear the bathroom door open.
Her bruised hands, now washed clean of any makeup, smoothed her slick hair passed her ears and down the back of her neck. She let her head fall back, allowing the warm water to descend upon her collarbone, breasts and roll down past her stomach.
Merkel’s large hands slipped onto her waist, head right near hers and lips almost touching her ear.
“Did you dispose of him?” She wondered, almost sighing when she felt his fingers spread across her stomach.
“Yes.” He said and took her earlobe between his teeth, tugging softly before releasing it.
His hands continued to glide over her wet skin, one massaging her breast while the other moved across her stomach.
“Good boy.” She praised, leaning her head against the base of his neck as a prize.
If he wasn’t hard at the sight of her, he definitely was now. Hearing her commend him and move herself flush against him drove him absolutely wild; never could he get enough of her, he only wanted to please her.
His hands ran deeper, rubbing her inner thighs before moving his skilled fingers upwards, right through her slick folds. He could almost come at the feeling of her, no one could ever feel as sweet.
He slipped one finger inside of her, curling up and swirling inside of her. She gasped at his sudden movements and jolted forward, placing her wet hands on the slippery tile.
“Merkel!” She gasped, voice breathless and almost alarmed, “Be patient…” She sounded like a mother scolding her child for nagging at them; he was not to touch her yet.
His finger slipped out of her and his hands moved to grip her hips as he dipped his head forward.
“I can’t… It’s been too long. I need you.” He all but whined.
She sighed, “Fine.” Then moved his hands to her breasts, “But let me finish washing up.”
Though she could not see, he nodded, then got straight to work on kneading her breasts, fingers rolling over her hardening buds.
He ogled at her body while she ran a Shea scented conditioner through her hair, inhaling deeply once he smelt the nutty scent. She combed her fingers through her locks, rinsing the product out of her hair and moaning whenever he found a particularly sensitive spot.
She allowed him to soap her body, knowing it would make him happy, and watched as he knelt down in front of her, eyes only meeting hers on the occasion he was not staring at her body. When he stood, he was taller than her, yet she could make him feel smaller than he was, which was something he was welcome to admit.
Once she was fully lathered, she backed into the rainfall of the shower head and allowed the suds to flow down her body, onto the tiled floor. He watched all of her movements intently, utterly mesmerized by her grace and the way she held herself. When she finished, she stepped out of the large shower and slipped a towel around her wet body, drying off quickly, then dropping the towel onto the ground and strolling out of the bathroom.
Merkel was not far behind her, taking a fresh towel and running it over his body before joining her in the bedroom.
She sat in a grey cushioned chair with a cigarette dangling from her lips. She took a drag then pulled the roll-up from her mouth, lips blowing out a wispy cloud of smoke.
He stood in front of her, naked as the day he was born, and watched as she took slow drags from her cigarette.
The dim lighting only did wonders for her body, making it impossible for him not to stare in complete awe. Even after all of the nights they had spent together, he was always struck by her beauty; every night seemed like the first.
She was a force to be reckoned with out in the field, so it was only to be expected that she would be as equally in charge in the bedroom. But tonight, he wanted to have her crying out his name, loudly and wholeheartedly. He mustered up his courage:
“I want to be in control tonight.”
She looked up at him from her cloud of smoke.
“Do you now?” She wondered.
His pale eyes darkened, the green becoming much more intense as he came closer to her.
“Yes. I want to have you in whichever way I please.” He spoke.
She noticed how hard he was and smirked to herself.
“I see. Do you know how to do so?” She quipped, eyes gleaming in delight as she teased him, cigarette hanging from her fingertips.
“I do.” He affirmed.
She appeared to ponder his request- demand, rather and finally nodded.
“Alright. But first, I want you to do something for me.” She insisted.
He was overjoyed; in due time he was going to see her demeanour falter under his touch, that cold, brute, seductive facade. However, she wanted something from him first. So he nodded, expression saying all the words he did not: ‘Anything. Tell me.’
She smirked at his features, he was ready for her to tell him what she wanted.
“Kneel.” She ordered.
He complied immediately, tall form sinking down onto his knees in front of her. She spread her legs apart before him and he looked into her eyes, his own filled with desperation as he waited for her permission to taste her.
She gave him a simple nod and he dove into her, tongue instantly slipping into her.
She watched from above, cigarette drooping in her fingers, as he pleasured her. Her free hand clutched the cushion of the chair she sat in, fingers digging into the fabric as she felt her core tighten.
He licked her mercilessly, lapping her juices with his skilled tongue as he found all the places that made her moan, allowing him to listen to her erratic breaths.
She stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray and took hold of his brown locks.
“Fuck.” She moaned, panting under his touch.
Her praise only made him want to give her more pleasure, so he did what he did best.
When she came it was hard and earth-shattering, to which Merkel moaned and drank her wetness eagerly. The taste of her was like no one else he had ever had, and having her writhe in his touch made it all the more sweet.
She lit another cigarette.
Still on his knees, he looked up at her, eyes begging her to allow him to have his way with her as he had promised. She took a purposefully slow drag, enjoying the sight of him squirming, and exhaled.
“Stand.” She commanded.
He did; tall, finely muscled and handsome in front of her.
“Now, what do you plan to do to me?” She wondered, yet her tone sounded almost teasing, as if she did not believe he could ever pleasure and control her at the same time; she was always the dominant.
His eyes darkened and he took one swift step forward, leaning down and snatching the cigarette from her lips. He pressed the tip into the ashtray and stood back.
She considered him, maybe he did have the talents; he was working hard to show her.
“Stand.” He commanded, just like she had a moment before.
Her eyes shone with playfulness and she complied, standing before him bare, waiting and ready. She couldn’t help but be a bit curious, never before had he been so bold- asking to take over. Yet there she was, awaiting his next demand.
She didn’t get one.
He only took her hands into his larger ones and pushed her backwards, causing her to almost trip over her feet, and slam her against the dark oak wall. She was surprised by his force, but in her many years in the CIA, she had become accustomed to being pushed around.
He held both of her hands in one of his and forced them above her head, her arms becoming almost completely straight against the cool wall. He stood between her parted legs and looked into her eyes, they still glimmered with mischief.
“Well. This is a rather…compromising position.” She joked, anything to show her control.
He instantly wrapped his free hand around her throat, pressing his fingers into her flesh, and affectively cut off her breath.
Her eyes widened, first with shock and then, a deep carnal lust. That'a boy.
He squeezed her neck for a few more seconds, revelling in the satisfaction of her fighting hands, eyes filled with desire, before loosening his grip. She sputtered, taking deep breaths to restore circulation.
“Are you ready to behave?” He wondered.
She nodded, “Yes.”
His fingers dug into her throat again.
“Yes, sir.” She gasped, attempting to steady her shaky breaths.
He gave her a sly smirk, the one she had given him on countless occasions. She truly was an excellent teacher.
“Tell me how much you want me.” He commanded.
Her breaths became even.
“So badly… sir.” She caught herself just in time.
“I want you to keep your eyes open. Eyes on me the whole time, Baby.”
The second she opened her mouth, he slipped one of his deliciously long fingers inside of her and she fought to keep her eyes open.
He pumped it in and out, adding another as he continued his work on her.
It was terribly erotic; fighting to keep her eyes on his as he swirled, dipped and curled his fingers inside of her, all while having her hands held high above her head. Though she would never admit it to him, she didn’t mind letting him take over; it was nice to let someone dictate your every move.
She tried to stifle her moans, so they only came out a quiet whimpers as he finger-fucked her.
“I want to hear you.” He said huskily, tone deeper than she had ever heard before.
That was all it took for her to completely lose herself. Her moans became louder, her hands fought harder and her eyes looked so unlike her own. She was like another person.
He allowed her to close her eyes as she finished, shutting his own as he listened to her pants, sounding much younger than usual.
She had given him exactly what he wanted.
For the rest of the night she had him her way, riding him for the most part and then wrapping her legs around his hips as they fucked upright.
He followed all of her orders. She kept the position she loved.
It just worked.
She laid down on her back as they finished for the final time that night and pulled the sheets over her bare body. She was glad Merkel was there that evening at the gala, he was right; it had been too long.
He rested on his side, body facing her, and ran a hand across her stomach. She tensed under his touch, not the one for cuddling, but allowed him to idly stroke her because she knew he appreciated it. He was a bit more needy than her.
“Where are you off to?” He asked.
“Back to America for another assignment. Yourself?” She countered.
He traced patterns onto her hot skin.
She nodded and turned onto her side as well, looking him straight in the eyes.
“I’ll be seeing you later then, I suppose.” She smirked.
He pulled her into his chest, her bare breasts pressed into his side, which she again decided to allow.
“Be seeing you.” He mumbled into her hair.
They both fell asleep.
She was up at five in the morning.
After slipping on a white silk blouse, black tailored pants and heels, she rolled her suitcase to the door of the suite.
She could see that the sky was still dark, only a few orange streaks broke through the darkness; it would be another hour before the sun rose, waking Merkel.
She gave him one final glance, taking in his naked body and tousled hair. He was always been a good lay.
Then she was gone, leaving nothing but a simple note behind:
You found yourself at a familiar situation–Standing in the middle of a grand ballroom in a tight body fitting burgundy dress that stopped just a little bit above your knees and uncomfortable pointed heels to match.
It was the night of Bucky’s annual office party, and though the surroundings were all the usual, you were no longer present against your will. Being Bucky’s girlfriend, you attended as his date and one of his exclusive guests.
Request: If you do crossovers could you do one where Y/N is a the youngest maximoff. With Wanda’s powers and bff with Spiderman and they go to one of Bruce’s Galas with Tony and Pepper (identities are all known). Bruce introduces his sons to Peter and Y/N. When Bruce goes have a convo with Tony and pepper (there is a bit of tension between the men because they have a little competition). The boys keep flirting with the reader, and Peter gets protective because he knows how shy you can become? Ty!!
“Are you nervous, Y/N?” Peter asked you. The two of you were sitting in the visitor’s lounge of Tony’s penthouse at Stark Tower, where he was staying until everything the Avengers needed was transported to the new Avengers facility. You were fixing his tie, which he had somehow managed to tie incorrectly.
“I’m excited, actually,” you told your best friend, giving his tie a final tug. “I’m surprised Tony is letting me come with you.”
“Well, he couldn’t attend a Wayne gala without a date, could he Miss Maximoff?” Tony said as he entered the lounge with Pepper at his side. “And I thought it was important that our two youngest Avengers meet our neighbors in Gotham.”
“Are we really going to meet Batman?” Peter asked.
“Yes, and the rest of the Batfamily,” Pepper said. “We’d better get going. We’re late.”
The four of you left for Wayne Manor in one of Tony’s flashier sports cars. When you got to the gala and entered the manor, yours and Peter’s jaws dropped in awe. He was a kid from Queens and you were an immigrant from Sokovia, and neither of you had ever thought you would see such a grand ballroom. It was alive with the jewels and riches of the millionaires of the country, serenaded by orchestras and the clinking of champagne glasses. It was beautiful.
“Mr. Stark,” you heard a voice call to Tony, who grinned at the man waking towards him.
“Mr. Wayne,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Thanks for the invite.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a party without you. What have you been up to?”
“Well, you know. I saved the world a couple times with the Avengers, fought a civil war, helped Peter get on his feet as a hero. All big stuff. What about you?”
“I’ve been focusing on family as of late, but I have a bigger project that I’ve been working on. I’m in league with a few people who want to make a difference, and we’re coming together quicker than your Avengers did.”
“Well, you know, speed doesn’t necessarily mean quality—“ Pepper promptly elbowed Tony to shut him up, but Bruce didn’t look offended.
You still couldn’t believe it. Bruce Wayne stood there in his full glory. You stood at Peter’s side, the both of you rendered speechless, as he turned to you.
“This must be Peter Parker and Y/N Maximoff,” he said, extending his hand for you both to shake it. “It’s nice to finally meet the both of you. I’ve heard a lot of good things.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Wayne,” you said, totally awestruck.
“Well, I’m sure the two of you don’t want to be stuck with us adults,” Pepper said. “Maybe they could meet your sons, Bruce.”
“Great idea,” he said, gesturing to four boys a few tables away. “My sons, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian, would all be happy to meet you, too.”
“Thanks, Mr. Wayne,” Peter said, and you both headed over to the table where the four boys were seated.
“Guys, Y/N Maximoff and Peter Parker are headed over here,” Tim said excitedly as he watched you and Peter walk over.
“Try to keep your celebrity crush under control, Drake,” Damian said. “Remember, she’s a telepath.”
“She’s too old for Tim, anyway,” Dick said. Damian noticed that he and Jason had identical looks of admiration on their faces.
“You three are pathetic,” Damian said, but he secretly shared in their curiosity. Y/N Maximoff was one of the newest members of the Avengers, the superhero group that always seemed oddly separated from his world, and was someone he had wanted to meet since he first heard her name.
“You okay, Y/N?” Peter asked you. You were very shy and still readjusting to being around people after your time with H.Y.D.R.A., and he was worried that interacting with these boys would give you anxiety.
“I’m fine, Peter,” you told him with a reassuring smile. When you got to the table, Dick was the first to stand.
“Hi, I’m Dick Grayson,” he said with a friendly grin. “You look lovely tonight, Miss Maximoff.”
“You’ve only just met her and you’re already flirting, huh?” Jason asked with a smirk. “Save some of those pickup lines for us.”
Heat rose to your cheeks and Peter awkwardly cleared his throat.
“Peter Parker!” Tim jumped from his seat to greet Peter. “I’m a huge fan.”
“You’re the one who saves your city by swinging on spider silk?” Damian asked, turning his nose up to Peter.
“And you’re the telepath?” he asked, turning his attention to you. “The one from Sokovia?”
“My sister and I are both telepaths, yes,” you said. “And we have telekinetic abilities, as well.”
“There’s a lot to love about you, isn’t there?” Jason asked, winking at you.
“Okay.” Peter took your elbow. “That’s enough. It’s been nice meeting you, but we have somewhere else to be.”
“Oh, okay,” you said, letting Peter guide you away. “We’ll see you later.” The four boys said their goodbyes as you walked away.
“Great job, Todd. You scared her off,” Damian snapped.
“Sounds like you really wanted to talk to her, Damian,” Jason said smugly as he sipped some champagne.
Peter and you stood at the other end of the ballroom now, at your own table. He had managed to sneak a couple glasses of champagne for you to drink, and the two of you sipped the golden drink away from the rest of the party.
“You know, I could have handled them,” you told him.
“I know you could have,” he said. It was at that moment that Pepper walked over with a tipsy Tony.
“I’m guessing the kiddy table idea didn’t work out?” she asked.
“It could have,” you said. “Dick and Jason were quite flirtatious.”
“You’re not serious, Y/N,” Peter said in disbelief, but your curious gaze was focused on the table where the four boys still sat, and when you saw them shooting glances over to your table as well, you knew that the night was far from over.
Built over 13 years by Elaine Diehl in the 1980s, the Astolat Dollhousefeatures 29 rooms filled with 10,000 miniature pieces, including
elaborate furniture, oil paintings, mirrors, fireplaces, gold miniature
jewelry, rare-mini books more than 100 years old, fine rugs, fabrics,
and pieces made of silver and gold. It has seven levels, stairways,
hallways, a basement, a wine cellar, a kitchen and an armory. There are
formal rooms, a library, a music room, a grand ballroom and a bar, and
that’s before you get to the Wizard’s tower on the top level.
Sidon/Reader Summary: Reader is afflicted with emotions they yet to comprehend. An unlikely advocate helps the reader with their issues. Word count: 1866
There was no way to ignore this feeling, it felt like you were soaring, but being pulled under water at the same time. Harebrained, finger tips always tingling, throat dryer then the Gerudo Desert, and with knees so wobbly you were afraid one step would do you in, it sometimes it felt like you had too much air, but also never enough. There were days you found yourself in a haze, eyes glazed over. Other times, your heart pounded so deep it you couldn’t tell if you were ascending, or about to die of a heart attack.
Do you have hcs for the worst injury each Batkid had? (Beside the ones that killed some of them)
(Because it’s almost too easy to hop on the angst express for this one… I’m gonna go with the “worst,” most embarrassing injuries each of the batkids has had. JUST BECAUSE.)
One of Dick’s favourite things to do in Wayne Manor (other than sliding down the bannister) was to swing on the grand chandelier in the ballroom. As a nine-year-old kid, the only risk this posed was getting a scolding from Alfred that “the lighting fixtures are not a trapeze, young sir”, and even when he did fall from it, the distance to the floor wasn’t enough to hurt him.
When he was twenty-five, on a dare from one of his brothers, Dick decided to give it a whirl for old time’s sake…
He forgot that he weighed at least a hundred pounds heavier than the last time he did it, and realised this too late as the chandelier came crashing down in a cacophony of shattering glass and clanging metal-work and breaking bones. It was rather miraculous that he walked away from it with only minor cuts and bruises and a sprained wrist, but remains the worst injury in his mind to this day.
Barbara grows to be very careful in her later years as Batgirl and again as Oracle, and is not exactly a natural klutz. But one of her first solo nights, she drove her motorbike off the pier at Gotham harbour and into the ocean while chasing Cobblepot’s lackeys.
It’s kind of hard to beat dying in terms of injury… but Jason would rather talk about his death than that one time he literally shot himself in the foot.
Let me repeat: JASON LITERALLY SHOT HIMSELF IN THE FOOT.
That is all.
(Bruce laughed, actually laughed, for ten minutes straight when he found out about it. Then proceeded to use the idiom every chance he could get, grinning at Jason’s scowl.)
Tim has… far too many dumb injuries to just pick one, let’s be honest. He legitimately has a folder in the cave dedicated to them, entitled: “Stupid is as stupid does.” The highlights of said folder include: that one time Tim slipped on a grape and got a concussion, the time Tim pulled his arms and legs inside his shirt to ward off the cold then tripped and fell, breaking his collar bone; the time he spilled steaming hot coffee in his lap and was in agony for a week; and the time he poked himself in the eye with his bo staff.
Formidable in combat, useless in day-to-day life.
Although Stephanie is notorious for being a dangerous mixture of clumsy and brash, leaving her with a collection of injuries that would put Tim’s to shame… there is one injury that she will never be able to live down and will yell at you in red-faced anger if you dare bring it up…
She once tripped and headbutt a guy she was flirting with.
Let me clarify: she headbutted his pelvis and got a nasty lump on her head.
He wasn’t too happy about it either.
Cassandra’s stupid injuries are usually quite intentional… running into gunfire and the like. But her high pain tolerance is actually her downfall. She once bandaged a wound up poorly, didn’t notice it was still bleeding, and fainted from blood loss while eating Tim’s mini marshmallows in the kitchen.
Alfred patched her up. She was fine, but only just survived Alfred’s long lecture.
Damian once got distracted while feeding Batcow, and the cow accidentally bit his hand trying to eat.
It was broken.
Batcow 1. Damian 0.
And last but not least, we have Duke. Who absolutely did not set his clothes on fire during the fifth grade school science festival while trying to demonstrate his makeshift, DIY flux capacitor.
Even if no one else was impressed at the story, he received a silent handshake of respect from Tim, which made his humiliation it all worth it.
So I know a lot of people are doing these, but I really wanted to contribute because I have too many feelings about this Trash Prince™. (Also I’m altering history slightly to make this work).
Adam’s father is the Duke of Anjou, King Louis XV’s younger brother, while Adam’s mother is an infanta of Spain (who became the Duchess of Anjou). The marriage was political, and there was no love in it at all. The Duke of Anjou kept many, many, mistresses, while the duchess preferred to spend time in the library and reading to her son (this is where Adam gets his love of books).
Because of this lineage, Adam is a prince du sang, meaning a “Prince of the Blood” - a title given to direct descendants in a male line of the King. Adam flaunts this title a lot.
Adam’s full baptized name is Charles Alexandre Adam. His father was very controlling and a traditionalist, so he gave his son two traditional noble French names (the former after himself, and the latter after the King’s middle name). Adam’s mother, however, was very religious and had the name Adam put in (despite great protest from her husband).
His mother always called him “Adam” to differentiate him from his father. Also because the couple basically hated each other, and she didn’t want to be reminded of him when he looked at her son.
Whenever Adam attended parties at Versailles (which wasn’t often because the parties weren’t celebrating him), he was the biggest shit disturber. He would fabricate rumours and constantly get all the other courtiers riled up. He would also gamble. A lot.
Adam also hated all the protocol at Versailles, another reason why he rarely visited. He much preferred his own castle, where he was the centre of attention and all the courtiers revolved around him.
On one occasion when Adam was visiting his family at Versailles (he was forced to go), Lumière organized a ball for the servants to take place in the grand ballroom (which was strictly off-limits to the lower-ranking servants) so he and Plumette could share a proper dance. The rest of the servants were thrilled, but Cogsworth very much opposed the idea, and tried to order everyone back to their duties. It didn’t work. Lumière, obviously ignored him, saying the prince would never find out. Cogsworth remained in the ballroom for the entirety of the servants’ ball, and the smallest smile crept up on his face as he watched Lumière and Plumette dance.
Adam commissioned many paintings to be done with his likeness on Greek gods and Roman Emperors (à la Louis XIV).
He would spend so much money on clothes, wigs, makeup, and shoes that the king would write letters chastising him for his outrageous spending. Adam would almost never reply, and when he did he would say something along the lines of “well how much do you spend on your poisson?” (meaning Madame de Pompadour, the King’s mistress whose surname was “Poisson” and was seen as a disgrace at court because she was a commoner).
After balls and parties, Adam would bring a woman (or two) back to his bed, but he would never say a word to them and then would go off to the library before the woman woke up. This would happen so often that it had become a routine wherein Lumière would be there in the morning for the woman to wake up so he could escort her to an awaiting carriage.
Every trinket, every frame, every doorknob in the castle has to be spotless and shining. Adam also hates dust.
Jennifer Morrison (Emma Swan) talked about how awesome it was to be paired with an actor you really like and can be friends with (Colin O'Donoghue who plays Killian Jones).
“He knows me better than I know myself. Like one time on set my hand kept itching, and Colin totally figured out why. ‘Did you eat the carrots?’ I said yeah, and he said the carrots were next to the peppers and I probably brushed up against them. He remembered that I was allergic to peppers.”
Raphael Sbarge (Archie Hopper) talked about reconnecting with an old psychiatrist friend over Facebook just before his audition.
"I asked her if she had any glasses I could use for the audition, and she said, 'It’s funny, I just found these ones in a drawer, and I bought them 20 years ago when we first met.’ Those are the glasses I wear as Archie. Usually they don’t let actors bring their own props on set because it would be disastrous if they broke, but the props folks are very careful with the glasses and snatch them back between takes. At the end of this season, they very carefully put them in the case and reverently handed them back to me.”
Keegan Connor Tracey (Blue Fairy) talked about her first day on set.
"I was in the green screen room, and there was no people, just a water bottle for Prince Charming. I was hoisted into the air about 40 feet up for hours and hours. And since I was a new mom, eventually things started getting… uncomfortable, and I had be like, 'Um, excuse me, do you think someone could get me a breast pump?’ Otherwise I would have started leaking through my corset.”
Karen David talked about her audition for Princess Jasmin.
“The part originally stated it was for Shahrazad, who was described as a tough tomboy sort of person. So I thought I would wear the same outfit I wore for my Galavant audition, which was a baggy jean jumper and riding boots with some dried mud still stuck on them. And I get there, and all these other women are wearing beautiful elaborate dresses, and I’m like, 'Did I miss the memo?’ Because they had all figured out it was for Princess Jasmin, of course, but I got the part anyway.”
Gil McKinney (Prince Eric) was such an awesome singer! He talked about his first time on set, and how his first scene was to walk down the stairs in the green screen grand ballroom.
“All I could think about was, ‘Don’t fall. Don’t fall.’”
And of course, who could forget Papa Hook, aka Adam Croasdell?
Here’s a bunch more Jennifer and Colin pictures, because they’re my favorites.
I will never be able to get over the responses I’ve been getting to this story. If I could, I would hug all of you for your comments, your messages, all of it. I’ve decided I’m gonna try to make Sundays update days, so I have enough time to work on each next chunk the way I really want to, and then so @sannvers has enough time to proofread them. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you like chunk four! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!
Title: Second Chance
Pairing: Eventual Gaston x Fem!Reader
Summary: You try to stop Gaston from shooting the Beast and falling to his death, but you arrive too late to save him. As you sit there, sobbing, the Enchantress overs you a second chance to save him.
in ten years i’ll tell you i love you (but not now) [Yoongi]
Pairing:Yoongi x Reader Genre: Angst ; Fluff Word Count: 4237 Description: if there are any words that could travel through space and time to reach the person they have to reach, ‘i love you’ would be those words. Author’s Note: so basically…the fucking soulmate reincarnation au yoongi brithday fic NOBODY ASKED FOR!!!! praise i wrote this in one day in the span of like 4 hrs i ignored my work i am going to REGRET (i)
It is forbidden. It is forbidden, and dangerous, and high-risk, and the utmost cliché. That you, the lowly servant girl, from a long line of ancestors of the same position, would fall in love with the son of the household you are serving.
The House of Min is a house your family has served for centuries, and most likely will serve for centuries more, and somehow you are the first (or perhaps you were not the first, but you had most certainly never heard of anyone else similar to you) to fall completely and utterly in love with the person you were supposed to be serving.
And yet — it is the utmost cliché is it not? That he, the heir to a fortune, one amongst the richest in the country, would fall in love with the servant girl who lives in the basement with the rest of the help, far, far away from the glittering chandeliers and marble staircases that lead to his room. Far enough so that, should he be like his parents, he would have forgotten the help existed even in the moments they were not serving them. Far enough so that, if it were not for you, he could have forgotten anyone but his family lived in the same house as he.