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talesofesther · 2 years

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I'm yours tonight

Kate Bishop x Reader

Summary: What had meant the world to Kate, didn't even exist for you.

A/N: Yes this story is a big mess, and yes maybe this idea is overused, but I don't care; I wrote it anyway :p. A bit of drinking, lots of kissing, and the reader wears a dress here; other than that, no warnings I believe. Yeah I'm weak for Kate in that black suit, how did you know?

Masterlist

The alcohol burned down your throat as you drank another shot of vodka. It numbed your senses, making the world pulsate through your vision. You lost count about two shots ago.

The few blinking lights that illuminated the penthouse were slowly starting to hurt your eyes, their colorful glow inciting the beginnings of a headache. The feeling was pushed to the back of your mind, your focus going to the movement of your hips from side to side in sync with the song that was loudly blasting from the speakers.

No, you were not a party animal. But when one has a stressful week, letting loose on a Friday night doesn't seem like a bad idea.

With your sight slightly blurred by the alcohol running through your system, you searched the ample living room for your friend. Sweaty bodies of people dancing around blocked your path, they were much drunker than you were.

You had lost sight of Kate again, in a distant part of your mind, you were starting to feel guilty about insisting for her to come. But then again, you couldn't pass the chance to go out with Kate and see her in that gorgeous black suit of hers that always had your heart leaping in your chest.

On the far east end of the penthouse, leaning on the railings of the balcony, Kate smiled. The way you turned around on the spot, gently tugging down on your dress when it went too high up on your thighs, amused her.

The soft, cold breeze of the night made her dark hair flow. This high up the wind usually picked up. Distant noises of pissed-off drivers could be heard on the streets far below, the lights of the other buildings looked not so different from stars when they reflected on the glass doors.

Kate's cheeks perked up in a bigger smile when your eyes finally found her. You half stumbled your way to her again, having lost sight of her three times tonight, even if she barely moved.

Kate, however, didn't lose sight of you not even once.

"It's a party, in a penthouse Kate." You highlighted your words with a cheeky grin, pushing yourself up and sitting on top of one of the counters in Kate's kitchen. "You can't miss an opportunity like that, come on."

"You've been on a penthouse before, mine, to be exact." Kate raised an amused eyebrow to you, putting away the last cup of the dishes she just finished washing and drying her hands on a towel. It was routine for you to make yourself at home in Kate's apartment. Tonight she had received an invitation to a party she wasn't eager to attend.

You groaned, extending your hand towards Kate. "This one is different." You tugged on her purple shirt and pulled her towards you. "Young people, music, drinks…"

Your voice trailed off as you pulled Kate closer to you, loosely hooking your legs around her waist.

Kate felt her face heating up, standing this close to you. Her hands hovered uncertainly before gently resting on top of your thighs.

You kept your hold on her shirt, now mindlessly fumbling with the fabric. "Doesn't that sound appealing?"

Before she could stop herself, Kate glanced down at your lips. She huffed out a nervous breath, cursing the effect you had on her. "I'd rather stay home, actually."

The pout you gave her just about did the job. "We can stay just a little while, then we can watch a movie or something when we come back. Pretty please?"

Her thumbs lightly traced your jeans, she chuckled, knowing she would've said yes anyway. "Okay, just for a while."

"There you are." The cold air of the night hit your bare legs, you took the last steps toward Kate.

"I was here last time too." Her smirk was amused, leaning back on the railings and keeping a steady gaze on you.

Your face scrunched up in thought, trying and failing to remember the last 15 minutes. You shook your head, reaching up to her with a sly smile. Closing your fingers around Kate's suit, you slid them down until you were tugging at the ends of her blazer, pulling her body to yours. "Hm, I've always loved you with this suit. You look so good." Your voice came out with a sultry tone, lidded eyes boring into Kate's and giving away your inebriated state. Alcohol made you bold, or stupid.

Kate took in a sharp breath when your hands pulled your bodies closer, the air getting stuck in her throat. Her body was stiff against you, thinking to herself over and over that this was the liquor talking, not you. The wind made a few strands of hair flow over your eyes, and the colorful lights shining behind you accented your features. It was getting harder for her to hide her growing feelings.

"You look beautiful too, always." Kate's words stumbled out of her mouth with a timid smile. Her eyes moved over your face, unable to focus.

You let out a breathy chuckle, not knowing what was more intoxicating, the vodka you just drank or Kate. You pursed your lips before leaning forward, capturing her in a deep kiss. The hands tugging at her blazer didn't allow her to move away.

The gesture caught Kate off guard, leaving her frozen in the spot. When one of your hands moved to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as you parted your lips from hers only to bump your noses, changing position and kissing her again; Kate finally grasped onto your waist. Her inner desire pulled your body flush to hers as she kissed you back just as hungrily, running her tongue over your bottom lip and basking in the small moan that escaped you.

Kate ran her hands over your waist and to your spine, clutching at your dress. Her lips moved with yours naturally. Once she registered the faint taste of vodka though, she pulled away from you abruptly; almost giving back in when you chased after her lips.

Heavy puffs of air came out as Kate's nose brushed yours. She was holding you back, now with one hand on your cheek to prevent you from kissing her again. "You're drunk, Y/N." There was a flush on her cheeks, her lips slightly parted, still feeling the pressure of your kiss.

A million thoughts clouded the archer's mind, she could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

"Hmm, am not." You mumbled, your lips gently grazing Kate's. Soft strands of her hair easily gliding through your fingers.

"Yes you are, please…" Kate swallowed, pushing you away with a tender touch. Not quite sure what she was pleading for; maybe for you to not play with her heart like that, not give her hope. She averted her eyes from you, biting the inside of her cheek. "We should head home."

There was a strong hold on your hand pulling you towards the front door before you could insist otherwise.

____

The cab ride to Kate's place was spent mostly in silence, with her shooting a worried glance towards you from time to time.

Kate's knee bounced up and down as she looked out the window, seeing people starting to run because of the light rain that started falling. It was already past midnight, she hadn't intended to stay at that party for so long. She cursed herself for letting it happen, even more so for letting the kiss happen.

Glancing at you from her seat, the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile, you were mindlessly tapping your thighs and shaking your head to the song playing in the background.

An uneasy feeling settled on Kate's stomach, her eyes moved down to her hands, which were fumbling with the tie she had taken off. For a brief moment, she had lost herself in you, she felt guilty about it now. The car came to a stop, she paid the driver and helped you up the stairs.

The apartment had a welcoming warmth when Kate opened the door, with a steady hand on your waist, and the other twisting the lock once you were both inside.

"Hi, doggy." You wiggled out of her grasp, falling to your knees and hugging Lucky, who wagged his tail happily.

Kate ran a hand through her hair, walking to her sink and filling up a cup of water. She kneeled beside you, a gentle hand pushing away loose strands of hair so she could see your eyes. "I think you should rest."

She was always overly gentle with you, even in your hazy state, you felt goosebumps on your body. A pleasant hum left you as you gulped down the water, feeling the bitter taste of vodka fading away from your tongue.

Getting up, you made a beeline to Kate's bedroom, not bothering to change out of your dress. Throwing yourself on her huge, overly comfortable bed, you looked at Kate and made grabby hands towards her.

Kate took off her blazer, opening a few buttons of her shirt. She chuckled at the absolute mess that was you right now; she had never been more in love.

"Come here I want cuddles." You whined when Kate made no movements to join you. She stood beside the bed, battling between reason and emotion before sitting beside you.

You took her hand in yours, playing with her fingers. "I want you." Your voice came out as a whisper, you knew Kate heard you from the way she licked her lips and her throat moved as she gulped. You tugged on her hand until she was finally laying down with you.

Kate kept a reasonable distance from you, telling herself she would only wait for you to sleep before moving to the couch. The pillow was soft beneath her head, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on anything other than the warm presence of you only a few inches beside her. Your hand let go of hers, and she missed the contact immediately. Kate's lips parted when, still refusing to open her eyes, she felt a soft breath on her mouth. You closed the distance between you two again right after, this kiss was gentler though, not desperate or passionate.

Your lips pressed softly on Kate's, you moved back only to settle more comfortably against her. Capturing her mouth on yours and moving slowly, savoring the taste that was so uniquely Kate. She didn't move much, only following your lead that you were happy to set.

Your hands sneaked slyly down to Kate's abdomen, popping open the other buttons of her shirt. You traced the skin on her waist, feeling goosebumps under your fingertips. Her hand traveled up to your jaw on instinct, taking that as your cue, you allowed your tongue to explore her mouth; relishing in the way she pressed her body against yours more firmly.

Kate only pushed you back when the cold air of the room hit her exposed stomach, pulling her away from the daze you got her in, now hyper-aware of what was about to happen. The hand she had on your jaw cupped your cheek, her thumb gently tracing the outline of your swollen bottom lip. Her chest heaved up and down with ragged breaths, her own lips still tingling. She wanted you; but more than anything, she wanted it to be real. And she would never take advantage of a situation like this.

Her lips trembled, her voice almost didn't come out with the way her heart felt like it was stuck in her throat. "No."

Your hands grabbed onto her stomach, brushing the sensitive skin there and making Kate shiver. "I want this, and I know you do too." You pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, just barely touching her lips.

Kate scrunched her eyes shut, resting her forehead against yours. She could feel her chest getting tight. It didn't feel right to hear the words she's been wanting to hear for so long, when she could still smell the alcohol in your breath. "Not now, okay? Let's just… Rest for a while." She tried to dodge the argument she knew she would lose. Luckily, she could see the mixture of drowsiness and tiredness in your red-rimmed eyes.

You didn't take long to fall asleep, your hand remained tucked under Kate's shirt, resting around her bare waist.

It took everything in Kate for her to make her way to the couch once you fell asleep.

____

Soft sunshine on your eyes woke you up the next morning. You let out a pained groan, feeling a pounding headache, covering your eyes in a futile attempt to dull the pain. Despite having just woken up, you felt exhausted. After a while, you opened your eyes. Looking down when you registered weight on one of your legs, you smiled at the sight of Lucky passed out on the bed with you.

Pushing yourself up to sit on the bed, you took notice of a glass of water and painkillers on the bedside table. You gulped them down promptly, mentally thanking Kate.

You grimaced when you noticed you were still in your clothes of last night. You had never walked so fast towards the shower. The warm water on your skin felt heavenly, washing away the messy makeup and smell of sweat you still had on you.

When you walked out of the bathroom, you almost dropped the white towel covering your body at the sight of Kate sitting on the bed. "Kate hi, you scared me." You chuckled with a hand on your chest.

Kate gave you a small, nervous smile. She fumbled with her hands on her lap, not being able to hold your gaze. She had been on edge the whole morning, overly anxious about what would be your sober reaction to what happened last night. "Sorry, I just wanted to see how you were doing."

You had never heard Kate sound so shy, there was a light blush on her cheeks that was endearing, you didn't comment on it though. The late morning sunlight was making her hair shine, she had always been alluring to you. "Yeah, I'm alright, just with a bit of a headache."

She nodded, trying not to think about how you were standing almost naked in front of her. She got up, taking in a big intake of air before talking. "Um- about last night.." Kate looked up at you, silently wishing for you to take the bait and talk about it yourself. Her fingers now picking at the ends of her shirt.

"Right, I can't thank you enough, honestly." You walked up to her with a smile, grabbing her hand and intertwining your fingers with hers. "I can't even remember how we got back and that's why I never drink, you know that. So thank you."

Kate felt a shiver running down her back, she gulped down a sudden lump in her throat. Her demeanor changed completely, any scenarios she made up in her mind about this conversation shattering immediately. "You don't- you don't remember last night?"

You chuckled halfheartedly, confused by the saddened frown on Kate's face. "Not really, I mean, I remember getting there and drinking a few shots. But the rest is pretty much just a big blur."

Kate shuffled on her feet, pulling her hand from your grasp. She could feel her tears rapidly accumulating on the bottom lid of her eyes. What had meant the world to her, didn't even exist for you.

"But I knew you were taking care of me, like you always do." You said softly, grasping tightly onto your towel when Kate let go of your hand. "Are you okay? Did I do something?" You grimaced at the thought of drunk you having done something wrong.

For a moment she debated on whether to tell you the truth or not. "No, no." Kate gave you a crooked smile, waving her hand around dismissively. "I'll um- I'll make us some breakfast yeah? You can borrow some clothes from my closet." She walked quickly out of the room before the first tear escaped her eye.

You frowned, your eyes not leaving the door Kate had just walked through. You tried hard to remember what else happened last night, but everything was still distorted inside your mind.

Rummaging through Kate's closet, you picked up a purple hoodie and jeans. The smell of lavander and musk brought the ghost of a smile to your face as you put the clothes on. When you finally found your phone, you cursed under your breath as you looked at the date and time.

"Kate, I'm so sorry but I'll have to skip breakfast." You called out as you rushed to the kitchen, your hands up trying to settle your messy hair.

Kate turned around to you, two coffee mugs in her hands. You opened your mouth to explain but halted once you saw her red cheeks, and even redder eyes. "I- are you okay?" You asked quietly, forgetting about your date and walking up to her, one of your hands naturally cupping her cheek. You could swear you felt a faint wetness under your touch, which only increased your worry.

Kate's mouth opened and closed before settling on a smile. She loved seeing you with her clothes. "Yeah, of course." She scoffed as if it was no big deal, holding herself back from leaning into your touch. "Where are you going?"

"I forgot I had this, date? Sorta. That I agreed to go with this guy from college." You grimaced at your own words. "He's not bad looking so I figured why not." You chuckled, feeling a sudden switch in the mood around you.

"That's great." Kate forced her voice out, walking around you to place both mugs on the table. "Yeah you should- you should definitely go. I bet he's nice, I know you wouldn't even have agreed if he wasn't so, yeah. I hope you have fun." She kept her back to you as she rambled on, her nails mindlessly tapping the porcelain of one of the mugs.

You exhaled, regarding her slumped shoulders with a worried look before loosely taking her hand. "Thank you again for last night. I'll come back here later okay?" You pressed a kiss to her cheek, your lips lingering more than needed. With one last look at her, you walked out the front door.

Kate took in a shaky breath once the door closed behind you. She closed her eyes and leaned down on the back of one of the chairs. The pain that gripped her heart was heavy, a part of her wished she could forget about what happened too.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Read Part 2 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Kate's taglist: @alotofpockets @simpforflorencepugh1

Let me know if you wanna be added to her taglist.

#kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x reader #marveledit #kate bishop #mcu #marvel #hailee steinfield x reader #kate bishop imagine #fluff #angst #imagine #fanfic #katebishopedit #hawkeyeedit #my story #kate bishop x you #kate bishop fanfiction

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somediyprojects · 7 months

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DIY Paper Coral Charm Peony

When West Elm Seattle asked me to design a paper flower workshop for February 13th — the day before Valentine’s Day — I immediately thought of Leslie Knope’s Galentine’s Day celebrations on Parks and Recreation. I loved the idea of creating a fun event to celebrate female friendship, and no flower seemed like a more fitting mascot for Galentine’s Day than the coral charm peony. It’s big, bold, bright, and stylish. It’s everything that sad grocery store roses are not.

I brought candy, gals brought pals, and we had a blast.

Project by Kate Alarcón:

In the interest of keeping the Galentine’s Day spirit alive year-round, I offer this tutorial. Order up some crepe paper from the wonderful Castle In the Air, invite some gals (and guys!) over, and whip up some peonies. (If you’d like to send one to a friend, but are more a paper flower admirer than a paper flower maker, I also have some finished flowers available in my shop.)

Finally, on the subject of wonderful gals: I’d like to give a shout-out to the very talented Natalie Lynne, who was the first flower maker I ever saw create a peony seed pod in this way. Check out her beautiful work on Instagram (@a_bloom_time)! —Kate Alarcón

A Note about the paper:

This peony is made up of layers of different weights and colors of crepe paper. The heavy crepe gives it most of its structure, while the fine and doublette crepe help it to look more delicate. If you’d like to try different weights and colors of crepe, don’t worry about layering them in exactly the same order. But some combination of heavier and lighter crepe will help to recreate the structure and texture of these. With the exception of the moss green from Papermart, I’ve used the color names from Castle in the Air to make ordering easier.

You will need:

-Fine crepe (30-60 gram) in corals and reds for the petals, and orange or yellow for the stamens. I’ve used “Raspberry,” “Red,” and “Orange” from Castle in the Air.

-Heavy crepe (160 or 180 gram) in corals, reds, and pinks. I’ve used: “Peachy Pink,” “Candy Apple,” “Pink Pansy,” and “Burgundy” from Castle in the Air, and “Moss Green” from Papermart.

-Doublette crepe in “Light/Dark Salmon”

-Aleene’s original tacky glue

-Stem wire (18 gauge, cloth covered)

-Template (download here)

A note about grain:

The grain of the crepe paper runs parallel to the roll or fold. Crepe paper stretches horizontally, but not vertically, so you will almost always cut petals with the grain, placing the template so that the tiny wrinkles in the paper run up and down the template, not across.

Creating the center:

Use template 1 to cut a small rectangle from the red fine crepe. Use your scissors to round the upper corners so they aren’t too sharp. Gently stretch the top edge of the rectangle. Dot a very small amount of glue on the lower two thirds of the rectangle, wrap it loosely around the stem wire so that the top third extends beyond the tip of the wire, and then scrunch the lower two thirds closely to the wire.

Cut a ¼” strip 10” long across the grain of your green crepe. I’ve used “Moss Green” from Paper Mart, but any medium green would be fine. Dab small dots of glue down the strip and attach it to the top of the wire, on top of the coral rectangle. You’ll wrap this piece around the wire to create an elongated ovoid shape. To achieve this, you’ll need to wrap the strip up and down the top inch of the wire, making sure that more of the layers end up in the middle.

Start wrapping from the top, holding the strip at a 45-degree angle to the wire. When you’ve covered about an inch and a half of the tip of the wire, start wrapping back toward the tip of the wire, again holding the strip at a 45-degree angle to the wire. When you reach the midpoint of the section of the wire you wrapped on the way down, hold the strip at a 90-degree angle and wrap the middle several times, creating a kind of doughnut around the mid point. Once you’ve got a nice, thick middle, continue wrapping toward the tip of the wire. Make one more pass up and down the pod to create a fairly smooth covering for your pod. This time, you don’t need to stop to thicken the middle. Snip any extra strip. Spread out the pod frill so that it’s not too compressed.

Repeat to create 2 more seedpods.

Cut a ¼” x 10” strip across the grain of the green crepe and dot with glue. Hold the three stems together using the strip to wrap them tightly from just below the pods to about three inches down the wire.

Stamens:

Using template 2, cut a rectangle from orange or yellow fine crepe. The short sides of the rectangle should run parallel to the grain of the paper, while the long side of the rectangle will go across the grain. Fold your orange rectangle in half horizontally, so that the two long ends line up. Unfold. This crease in your unfolded rectangle marks how far down to cut the fringe.

Now you’ll fold the rectangle in the opposite direction twice to create four layers, so that it takes fewer cuts to make the fringe. Fold it vertically so that the two shorter ends line up. Fold in half again, so that the two short ends line up with second fold. Your grain lines should be parallel to the folds.

Make a series of parallel cuts (about 1/8th inch apart) across the top edge of the rectangle to create a fringe. The cuts should stop at the crease you made when you first folded and unfolded your rectangle (this line is also marked on the template). Working in sections, gently twist the fringe in one direction, untwist and gently straighten with your fingers. Its fine if a few of the stamens fall off in the process.

Unfold the rectangle, and dot glue along the bottom edge beneath your fringe cuts. Wrap the fringe loosely around the stem twice so that the bottom of your cuts is just below the seedpods. Snip off any excess. Scrunch to adhere the paper tightly around the stem.

Cutting the petals:

The peony is made up of five rows or rounds of petals that radiate out from the center. The petals in each row are a different color and shape. The first and last rows are heavy crepe, which will stretch out much more than the lighter weights, so these templates are narrower.

For each row, I’ve listed which template to use, which paper to use, and how many you’ll need to cut to complete the row. Then, once you’ve made it all the way around, you’ll move to the instructions for the next row.

If you choose different paper for a variation of this peony, just be sure to match the heavy crepe templates with the heavy crepe.

Optional: I’ve found that substituting a bright bluish pink petal in heavy crepe (such as “Pink Pansy”) adds a nice highlight amongst all the coral. I use template 5 and make two of these pink petals. I like to insert one in rows 2 and 3, fairly close to each other. You’ll still want the same total number of petals for that row, so you’ll be substituting a petal, rather than adding an extra.

Row 1: template 3, 6 petals of light coral heavy crepe (“Peachy Pink”) Row 2: template 4, 6 petals of coral fine crepe (“Raspberry”) Row 3: template 4, 6 petals of doublette crepe (“Light/Dark Salmon”) Row 4: template 4, 7 petals of red fine crepe (“Red”) Row 5: template 6, 8 petals of dark pink heavy crepe (“Candy Apple”)

A petal from each layer before and after shaping.

Shaping the petals:

To create the cupped shape of the peony petals, hold the center of the upper third of the petal with two hands, between your thumbs and sides of your index fingers. The goal is to stretch the inner part of the petal, while leaving the rounded outer edge unstretched to create a little bowl. For the petals that are lobed, or heart-shaped, cup each lobe and then the area under the lobes. The fine crepe will only cup slightly, while the heavy crepe will give you the nice, dramatic cups that give the flower its structure.

Attaching the petals:

Dot glue along the bottom of the petal and apply just below the seedpod.

You’ll be able to feel the ridge where the pods end and the wire begins. Always push up into that ridge when you’re applying petals; this will counteract the tendency for the petals to gradually drift down the wire, creating a cone shape. Apply the petals evenly in rounds around the center. The precise degree of overlap is less important than having them evenly distributed around the flower.

The calyx:

Use template 7 to cut three shorter calyx pieces and template 8 to cut three longer calyx pieces from the “Burgundy” heavy crepe. Apply the shorter pieces evenly around the base of your peony, just as you did the petals. Apply the longer pieces so that they fall between the shorter pieces.

Wrapping the stem:

Cut a “Burgundy” ¼” x 12” strip across the grain and dot glue up and down the strip. Wrap the stems, covering the bottoms of the calyx, just underneath where the seedpods meet the wire, and then all the way to the bottom of the stems. This may require a few strips.

Finishing touches:

Curl back the long pieces of the calyx by scraping them between your thumb and the blade of your scissors, as though you were curling ribbon. Gently spread out any seed pod frills that have been compressed, and arrange the fringe so that it’s all standing up and evenly spaced. Straighten any petals that have been mussed, and use your thumbs to reshape any petals whose cups have been collapsed.

If you’d like a looser peony, stick your fingers between the first two layers down to where the petals meets the seedpods and gently spread, working your way all the way around the flower. Repeat for each layer.

#diy #crafts #paper #x

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sp1drrthwips · 1 year

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ROAD TRIP WITH CLINT AND KATE

kate bishop x reader, platonic! clint barton x gn reader ; fluff

summary — hcs for having a road trip with clint and kate

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎

❥︎ you and kate blasting music to the point that clint takes his hearing aid out

❥︎ "are we there yet?" x1 million "please shut up"

❥︎ constant thumb wars and rock-paper-scissors games between you and kate

❥︎ forcing clint to stop at gas stations for snacks and hot chocolate ❥︎ "you guys really trust that gas station hot chocolate?"

❥︎ asking clint random superhero questions

❥︎ clint forcing you two to the backseat and having lucky sit up front with him

❥︎ you and kate sneaking kisses since clint doesn't exactly know you two are together

❥︎ messing around with lucky whenever you guys stop to let him outside

❥︎ kate making clint stop at a store when you guys pass a town so she can buy a you a gift

❥︎ you and kate asking questions about clint's family ❥︎ "do you really think they'll like us?" "at this point saying no would be easier than saying yes" "wait what?"

❥︎ stopping at random restaurants for food and kate stealing taking the kids coloring placemats ❥︎ "kate go give it back" "no" "you stole it" "no, i didn't, it's free anyways ..probably" "you literally hid it in your jacket and walked out"

❥︎ clint purposely turning on imagine dragons to annoy kate

❥︎ kate telling you about the time she swung on the chandelier in her mom's penthouse and broke her arm

❥︎ you telling clint random facts about kate to mess with her ❥︎ "did you know kate isn't her full name?" "what- it isn't?" "oh god please don't say my full name"

❥︎ you and kate eventually falling asleep cuddling and clint being so happy that he gets some quiet time

❥︎ clint making random stupid dad jokes that somehow make kate laugh

❥︎ kate trying to teach you how to snap a quarter (from that scene in ep 4) while clint freaks out thinking you'll break a window

#kate bishop #kate bishop x gender neutral reader #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x you #clint barton #platonic clint barton x reader #lucky the pizza dog #hawkeye series #hawkeye

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petty-crush · 9 months

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“Barbie” (2023)

-a big budget, pop art, visually interesting film with a vibrant personality. I love it!

-also, easily the best use of Ryan Gosling since “Drive”

-I’m truly impressed with what Greta Gerwig got away with here.

+she crammed this with energy and made me hearty laugh the whole time

-the story is Barbie discovering sadness, the real world, clashing with the patriarchy, and just the wonderment of being a woman

-there’s a couple small details I want to highlight before the big stuff

-Kate McKinnon’s look is almost certainly inspired by the awesome cult film “Liquid Sky”, another tone poem of a film

-the small, tender scene of Barbie telling the old woman (at the bus stop) she’s beautiful, and said woman saying “I know” with a vicious smirk is magical

+it says just as much as the soon to be famous “being a woman is impossible” monologue in its own beautiful warmth

-the opening riff on “2001: A Space Odyssey” is the film personified; irreverent, playing with greatness, funny, colorful, and just a blast

-(after a man notes he is not part of the board) “I’m a guy with no power...does that make me a woman?

-I like how there are two matrix tributes; picking between two choices/shoes (original) and the at first mysterious Ruth being the Oracle (“Reloaded”)

-“after I found out the patriarchy didn’t include horses, I honestly lost interest”

-alright then, onto the big pillars

-here is a film saying, with all earnestness and actual thought, that we should approach our hearts with collectivism, bond over our shared yearns and desires and messiness

-(only a scold could say this film excludes love, a scold who didn’t actually watch the film and just wants any kind of attention)

-Margot Robbie nails every bit, from first thinking about dying, to discovering tears, to making Barbie’s naïveté to growth a journey of substance

-this film is unapologetic about being feminist (which shocked the fuck out of me) and does so with actual insight, not checking off a list (which is rad)

-note too, cause grumps will try to bury this, it asks men to not define themselves by conquering others, or stepping on necks, but by creating worth on their own goals and just being present in the moment. It asks them to free themselves from their own shackles

-there is a certain richness to male characters when female directors (and writers, etc) take over; new colors are displayed in the rainbow

-it is so immensely satisfying to see actual sets (practical, on camera) and vivid primary colors (after years of blurred muted-ness)

+its value in the aesthetic form and character of the film is immeasurable

-there isn’t a single false note in the “impossible to be a woman” speech, aptly delivered by America Ferrara. It simply presents itself with the courage of its convictions

-said being truly sucks and absolutely rules; the sheer inconsistency is its beauty and power. Neatness does not contain growth

-I like how the film emphasizes the under seen will truly change and save the world

-oh, I almost forgot to mention; I just about rolled out of my chair at the ribbing of zealots for the Synder cut of Justice League

-this is an artificiality to this film that is staggeringly authentic

-this is truly one of the best examples of just being the world and subverting the world in the 2020’s (and frankly all time); this will be studied and admired for years

-also also, the battle at the beach and the dance street fight among Ken’s is an all timer of a scene (it uses the past to power the present)

-I have a sneaking suspicion this may be the “Iron Man”(2008) to the upcoming Mattel cinematic universe; the vast number of following films will largely be less interesting, less full of the personality of its creators (with some exceptions)

-but this film is worth it; it is alive and joyful. It cannot be accountable for the world(s) that comes after it, only how it exists during its run time.

-and, truly, Gerwig has made something special here. It’s just going to make the lives of everyone who accepts it for what it is (love and color of form) many times better. It is a triumph

#barbie #greta gerwig #margot robbie #ryan gosling #america ferrera #kate mckinnon #will ferrell #michael cera #film #barbie 2023

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folklauerate · 1 year

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The styling discourse made me think about what kind of style queen kate would adopt. I am not English and I am always quite baffled by the amount of articles written about the Royal Family and dress codes and being boring or too audacious etc. So what’s her style? Especially compared with her style pre engagement/wedding. (And if you want what’s the style of the various family members?) Thank you!

Thank you SO MUCH for asking because I LOVE talking fashion and I’ve been a royal style watcher for most of my life lol! I actually have spent the better part of an hour and a half pulling things and making moodboards!

To address your question about royal protocol and style and stuff; I’m going to go with what I’ve learned in the Harry and Meg doc, which is that there’s no set rule book given to them, but there are expectations that come with being a member of the royal family and you must dress accordingly! Royals will often wear pieces from local designers if they’re on tour, giving a nod to the country/city they’re in, and otherwise usually develop relationships with certain fashion houses and designers that help inform the rest of their looks. Almost all of them have a team of stylists. Royal dressing is important and Kate is going to learn to be incredibly intentional about it because what she wears has the power to potentially change a designer’s life, given that it’ll usually sell out quickly, and because it can be a way to shed light on important causes sartorially.

Royals AU Kate’s on-duty style is going to be really informed by Queen Letizia of Spain and Meghan Markle when she was a working royal. Letizia is always impeccably tailored, as though her clothes are custom made for her, and has such an eye for detail. She’s always fashionable and on trend without being gauche, she’s a very classic but elevated style, and she isn’t afraid to have fun. I picked Meghan’s royal style too because, especially during their last few working royal engagements, she was hitting it out of the park constantly! Bold colors, capes, great tailoring! I enjoyed some of her earlier royal looks, too; plenty of pants, some menswear inspired pieces (that structured jacket/blazer over a feminine self portrait dress is everything to me), and hats. It’s funny that I picked Letizia and Meg for this, since they’re both so petite and short, and Kate is not, so we’re all going to have to imagine lol.

So really classic silhouettes with unexpected/royal nods (aka capes and caplets, plenty of hats), great blowouts or wavy hair, elevated fancy businesswoman workwear type of stuff!

When it comes to her off-duty style, I had a BLAST! I think Karlie Kloss’ street style is perfect for Queen Kate off duty looks. Karlie is really tall (a bit taller than Kate but similar heights) and wears a lot of flats, along with really great fitting denim, plain t’s or sweaters that are all impeccably tailored and very fashionable, and GREAT classic coats! I think Queen Kate would wear something more daring/low cut for date nights, because she’s a modern girl and former movie star—she’s Hollywood royalty! I think the thing to remember here is she’s going to be dressing conservative but still intensely fashionable. Even her off-duty looks are coming from a highly curated wardrobe and follow a set of principles; very very immaculately tailored, structured well fitting denim, and tops/coats that look like she just threw them on and walked out of the house looking fabulous. I threw in Karlie in that fendi jumpsuit pushing a stroller for fun, because imagine Queen Kate pushing Miles around in a pram wearing that lol!

I also made a moodboard for Daphne! I think Daphne would tend to lean more Kate Middleton style, but specifically Kate Middleton during the Meghan Markle years when she upped her style game lmfao. So nothing crazy, everything is very tailored, classic, nothing “out there,” lots of blowouts (there’s a line in the second chapter about Daphne having blowouts and it was indeed a nod to Kate lol), very classic and feminine, leaning a little militaristic-inspired as Kate does sometimes with her coats!

#bridgerton #kate sharma #Daphne Bridgerton #royals au #royals au style

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incorrectbatfam · 9 months

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I h3ad cannon athat all the batfam members have had/are still in their emo/goth phases.

Example:

Bruce dressed as a bat and punches criminals at night (I also head cannon that he listens to the rolling stones and MCR)

Anyways thoughts?

Also what were the other batfam members emo/goth phases like?

Dick: He was hella neurotic in his late Robin/early Nightwing days. That plus his mullet and guitar tells me he probably tried to live out of a used van he bought for $700 after a fight with Bruce only to come home a week later when someone knocked on his window.

Jason: He's the theater/classic lit goth. When he was younger he would read by the glow of a candelabra even though the lights work perfectly fine. Post-resurrection, he graduates to the biker anarchist who has no problem launching a molotov at a CEO's mansion.

Tim: He's from the 90s. He's sitting in that Y2K grunge-emo-punk gray area where his playlist is a mix of the Clash, Nirvana, and Green Day. He's coloring his hair with Kool-Aid, playing with makeup, ripping his own clothes, and talking about new songs on AOL.

Damian: He's aiming for dark academia, but that's hard to pull off if you know what American schools look like. He annotates the margins of his books with notes he thinks are insightful but are actually just basic observations. Also he listens to Imagine Dragons.

Duke: This kid isn't emo or goth, he is a punk through and through. Sassing the cops? Jumping off a bridge? Leading a ragtag vigilante team? If he wanted to, I bet he can pull off a leather jacket with some homemade spikes while blasting Bad Brains and Death.

Cullen: Canonically, he watches anime and Supernatural, and I've made a lot of Tumblr references with him. He's definitely your quintessential 2010s emo nerd—Black Parade, fandoms, the whole shabang. He also definitely followed Dan and Phil.

Stephanie: She strikes me as the early 2000s pop-punker—think MySpace and Avril Lavigne. She probably had a Not Like Other Girls phase that she quickly grew out of. I can see her cutting posters out of magazines and sneaking her MP3 under an oversized hoodie.

Cassandra: She canonically listens to Killswitch Engage, so I like to imagine what she was like as a baby metalhead. Maybe she thrifted a Pantera shirt and chopped her hair with safety scissors. And at concerts she's absolutely up front when the wall of death happens.

Barbara: I think she dabbled in a little bit of everything without ever outwardly expressing it. Her playlist is all over the board, from softer rock to screamo. She also experimented with makeup a little, like black lipstick, and is more involved in the activism side of things.

Harper: She's definitely industrial punk with a huge emphasis on the DIY aspect of the subculture. She strings soda tabs into chains, turns old screws into boot spikes, and even learned to give herself tattoos. She also absolutely has a drawer full of patch pants.

Carrie: She's a TikTok e-girl, leaning into the pinks and purples along with black and white. She turns fishnet leggings into gloves and has a bunch of animal ear headbands. She also listens to Melanie Martinez and Tame Impala regardless of if they count as alternative.

Kate: Queer people play a huge role in the punk scene and vice versa. I can absolutely see Kate jamming out to an early Pansy Division track or searching places like Bandcamp to support smaller indie artists. Also she has a jacket that says "Nazi punks fuck off."

Alfred: Before punk and its subgenres, Alfred was canonically a delinquent and in that day, delinquency meant gelled-up hair and moving like Elvis. The hair didn't work out for him, but he was able to catch one of the first shows Buddy Holly played in London.

Selina: Alt cultures are based on not having much and working with what you got. Selina would use the five-finger discount at big-box stores and save her money to support small businesses. She also went around listening to free local rock shows on Fridays.

Bruce: He listened to the Rolling Stones before, but his first real intro to the scene was a handmade zine he found on the floor at school. From there, he explored more underground artists and took up journaling as a way to vent his feelings. And then: Batman.

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checkoutmybookshelf · 1 year

Text

Of Fire and Featheringtons: Chapter 8

Well hello friends, and welcome to my second Polin fic! This one builds on The Polin Fic (I Could Have Told You 'Bout the Long Nights on Ao3) so be sure to read that before diving into this one!

Like the other one, this fic is safe for work, but a few warnings do apply! If house fires, house fire injuries and deaths, mild gore, and mild blood aren't your thing, then don't be afraid to give this fic a pass. I'll be updating it twice a week here and on Ao3, so check back for updates.

Please really mind the tags on this one, particularly fire deaths! Take care of you first, and feel free to skip this chapter if you need or want to. This one gets a wee bit intense in spots.

I hope you enjoy this Polin fic, I had a blast writing it!

The morning of Felix’s trial dawned gray and threatening rain. Dressed in a licorice green dress, matching high-necked Spencer jacket, and respectable but slightly severe bonnet over her tightly pinned curls, Penelope walked into the Old Bailey. She was on Colin’s arm; her other arm looped through Gregory’s. The youngest Bridgerton brother had insisted that he was of sufficient age to support the family in the matter, and Anthony had somewhat reluctantly allowed him to come after a closed-door discussion with Kate and a promise that Gregory would be on his best behavior. Benedict was close on Gregory’s opposite side, and the four of them walked behind Anthony and Simon. All five men wore well-cut suits in gray or blue so dark that, like Penelope’s dress, they could be mistaken for black at a glance. Anthony’s and Simon’s strides were purposeful, and their party was given a wide berth most of the way up the walk to the building.

As they approached the stairs, however, Mr. Mondrich approached the party, nodding politely at the gentlemen and bowing briefly to Penelope before falling in behind her and Colin. Something about the man’s presence was calming; Penelope felt less exposed. That feeling only increased as they entered the building. Lord Fife clapped Colin on the shoulder and smiled encouragingly at Penelope before nodding to the rest of the group and moving to walk beside Mondrich. Lord Smythe-Smith and the Earl of Chatteris also joined their group, with Smythe-Smith walking just off Simon’s shoulder, and Chatteris slotting in beside Fife. Other gentlemen who had lost homes to fires that summer also joined their group, so by the time they reached the door to the courtroom, Penelope was securely in the center of a group of gentlemen who had every reason to see Felix convicted.

Her heart twisted; she could not deny that she felt safe in the group, and that she was grateful for both the support and the extent to which that support highlighted that she was there to bury Caesar, not to praise him. That comfort turned to acid in her belly; nothing about this day should be comforting. She swallowed convulsively several times, willing the breakfast that had been pressed on her to stay in place.

Fife and Chatteris held the double doors to the courtroom open, and the party swept inside. They were in an upper gallery across from the royal box. Penelope found herself in the center of a long bench surrounded by Bridgertons and backed by several rows of allies. She was absurdly grateful that Madame Delacroix had chosen a color that would allow her to more or less disappear in the crowd, and that Kate had worked some magic with hair oil to ensure that her hair was firmly tucked away. It would not give her away to a casual onlooker. Felix would, she was sure, be able to pick her out of the crowd, but it was unlikely that anyone who was not specifically looking for her would notice her. Being front and center in the gallery was not comfortable for a former wallflower, but she could blend quietly into the group enough to keep her heart rate merely rapid, as opposed to galloping.

She was absurdly grateful that Colin was predisposed to flaunt propriety when it suited him. As soon as they had gotten seated, he had—unconsciously, she was sure—reached down and twined his fingers through hers, squeezing firmly. She had already spotted several of the queen’s agents, and one had made eye contact with her, then given her a miniscule nod. She had nodded back, and then needed to remind herself to breathe. Although her presence could never have been kept from the queen, it was disconcerting to be identified quite so quickly.

Anthony leaned across Colin, speaking low to Penelope. “Remember, if at any point you wish to leave, we will return home,” he said.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I shall be all right, Anthony.” His disbelief was evident, but he nonetheless sat back, pensive, as they all waited for the accused to be brought in and the judge to arrive. Colin squeezed her hand again, and she squeezed back. I’m all right.

They did not have to wait long.

A side door slammed open, and two bailiffs dragged a shackled, bedraggled-looking Felix to the prisoner’s box below the judge’s stand. In lieu of gasping, Penelope’s grip on Colin’s hand tightened. His head whipped to her, but she held onto an impassive, if not entirely calm, mask.

Felix looked significantly worse for wear. He still wore the clothes that he had been arrested in, burn marks and all. They hung off his frame more than they had the last time Penelope had seen him. His cravat was loosely tied, giving him a somewhat rakish appearance that was reinforced by the several days’ scruff on his face and hair that was just long enough to be shaggy. There were also bruises on his face, some yellowed and weeks old, others purple and painfully recent looking.

Despite his appearance, once he was left in the box, Felix shook his hair back from his face—chin up, expression imperious—and lounged nonchalantly on the bench. The shackles at his wrists prevented him from spreading his arms and laying them along the edges of the box, but his posture suggested that had he been able to, he would have. Penelope had to give him credit for his performance; he certainly projected the air of an arrogant ton gentleman who was severely unimpressed by his current circumstance. He had not even cast an eye about the room, did not seem to care whether the crowds in the galleries and the main floor were for or against him.

The gallery that the Bridgerton party was seated in was at a forty-five-degree angle to the box, and the bored tilt of Felix’s head certainly allowed him to see who was there. Penelope knew the instant he caught sight of her, his bored sneer slipped into surprise for an eyeblink. She was certain nobody else saw that, but the entire room—and the judge, who entered as Felix stood—noted his insolent two-finger salute to the gallery.

“All rise for her Majesty, Queen Charlotte,” called the bailiff. Rising mechanically with the rest of the room, Penelope’s chest tightened, and rising made her feel alarmingly lightheaded. When had she become afraid of the queen?

The doors of the royal box opened, and in strode Queen Charlotte, flanked by Lady Danbury and several ladies in waiting. The queen nodded to the judge and acknowledged the room with a brief wave before finding her seat. Once the queen and the room were seated again, Penelope risked a glance at the royal box, accidentally locking eyes with the queen.

Although it was not unheard of for debutantes to swoon artfully to make a point to a gentleman—or to simply be overcome with heat at a party and swoon in truth—Penelope had never fainted, intentionally or otherwise. The fury in the queen’s eyes across the courtroom nearly broke that streak. She was suddenly lightheaded, and being already seated, she couldn’t sit to relieve it. Instead, she clutched Colin’s arm, feeling as though the queen’s dark eyes were about to swallow her whole.

Gloved fingers gently caught her under the chin, turning her face to meet Colin’s eyes. “If you go any paler, we are leaving. I will not have you faint on me,” he murmured to her. “Take a deep breath, Pen. We’re all here for you.” She jumped when the gavel banged. Colin took her other hand as well, as they both faced forward and the trial began.

Felix, despite the aches and pains from nearly two months of imprisonment and harsh treatment from the guards in the Tower of London, managed to maintain his air of unaffected disdain through the queen’s entrance and the solicitors’ opening statements. He suspected that nobody but Cousin Penelope had seen his shock at seeing her in the upper gallery, and his jauntily insubordinate salute ought to have distracted anyone who might have caught the flicker of expression.

As the Featherington’s solicitor stepped onto the floor before the judge to argue his case, Felix looped his shackled hands behind his head and slumped down on his bench, closing his eyes. For weeks, the man had prattled at him to be respectful and humble at his trial, particularly since he had been caught red-handed and his workshop had been thoroughly documented by the crown to use against him. His careful forethought and planning had precluded a plea of madness. The only hope, the solicitor had repeatedly emphasized, was for Felix to show remorse and contrition. Even then, the best the solicitor had hoped for in sentencing was lifelong imprisonment.

For weeks, Felix had seriously considered trying to get out of this alive. Lord knew he could grovel when he needed to, but groveling for life in the Tower ultimately seemed pointless. Better to stand tall in the supremacy the fire afforded him and take whatever came with his head high. That would better honor the fire and the responsibility it had given him all those years ago. He grinned, remembering.

The day after the worst haying season storm in living memory had dawned hot and gloriously sunny, without a cloud in the sky. Felix and a few of his friends–not one of them older than eight years–had escaped their nannies and tutors to play in the hayloft of the Featherington’s massive barn. They had worn themselves out stacking small bales to create forts and shooting clumps of hay and other loft detritus at each others’ walls. Finally, both factions had dissolved, giggling into sleepy stupors and then into true sleep.

As he grew older, Felix would come to understand that a roof repair had gone neglected in that barn and that a leak had thoroughly soaked some of the bales of hay in the loft. As a seven-year-old child, however, all Felix knew was that he had gone to sleep in a sunny hayloft with his friends, and a strangely cold breeze across his face had woken him to a flaming hellscape. The smoke was so thick he couldn’t see the other hay bale fort, but he could clearly see the motionless, burning bodies of his own fort mates, and the flames that licked at his own clothes, even as his panicked hands slapped them out. Eyes watering, throat too dry to scream, Felix had thrust himself to his feet and nearly passed out, dropping back to hands and knees as quickly as he had risen.

No child wants to die, but at that moment Felix was certain he was going to. He lacked the strength to stand and find his way to the hayloft ladder–if it hadn’t already burned away. There was no corner to hide in, and if he did nothing, then he would die when the supports burned away and the loft collapsed the twenty feet to the fire below. A lightheaded and panicked Felix was about to curl up next to the charred body of his best friend and wait, but then the fire seemed to move.

The flames flexed and bowed with more intentionality than he expected from flames, and they seemed to arch, creating a tunnel clear of active flames. Crouched low but not on all fours to avoid burning his hands, Felix followed the tunnel. It wended through the hayloft, encouraged him to scrabble down a beam that was charred but sufficiently sturdy to support his slight weight, and pushed him through the main barn doors as the loft finally collapsed.

Felix had crouched against the dirt road to the barn, bawling softly, breathlessly, as he stared at the flames licking up the sides of the building. It was beautiful. Eventually, the field workers saw the smoke and came running, but the building was well and truly lost by the time they arrived.

The first few workers on the scene scattered almost immediately to raise the alarm, not seeing the child on the road. When all the men of the estate and half the nearby country townsmen had arrived to do what they could, a boy of ten or eleven was dispatched to see Felix back to the main house. Felix had dawdled the whole way, turning back and watching the flames play lower and lower as they ran out of fuel. The older boy snapped at Felix several times to come along before grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and dragging him up the walk to the house and promptly depositing Felix into the care of his nanny.

After the fire was out and the bodies of Felix’s playmates had been discovered, there had been days of questions, many of them directed at Felix. Had any of them started the fire? How had he survived when none of his friends had? How had he gotten out? The only answer the child had been able to offer–that the fire let him go–had unsettled every adult who asked the questions. After the boys had been buried, other parents had kept their children away from Felix. What might have been a lonely few years for another boy had, for Felix, been a time of exploration. He became fascinated with candles, hearth fires, torches, and lanterns. He wanted to see if the little fires would move for him like the big one had, whether he had really seen what he had seen. Whether the fire had really let him go.

Small household fires weren’t enough for him by the time he was ten. He began to slip away from lessons to start campfires in the woods. When those refused to burn hot or high enough, he began experimenting with different tinder, different structures, to see if he could find a fire he liked, and that liked him back. Try as he might, he could not find that moment of connection, of sentience, that he remembered from the barn fire.

A chance grease fire in the kitchen when he was eleven, and the cook’s subsequent bellowed lecture to the entire kitchen staff about the dangers of pouring water on such a flame inspired Felix to experiment with different cooking fats to see what burned best.

He buttered and burned a chicken coop for his thirteenth birthday. That time, the explosion of chickens through the entrance of the coop was enough to put out the flame, even with the off butter to coax it along. The next time, he blocked the entrance to the coop. One chicken escaped from that fire, and Felix–seized with an emotion he could not name–released that chicken to live a long and happy life in the wild rather than see its neck wrung for dinner. The fire had spared the chicken, as it had spared Felix all those years ago. Who were the kitchen girls, or even the cook, to kill it?

After the second chicken coop burned, Felix’s father ordered him to Eton, begging help from the extended Featherington family to afford it. The lessons at school had introduced Felix to historical and literary fires, fire spirits, and an academic take on the beauty of fire that he knew to his bones. The time also taught Felix how to be cagey about his particular love of fire–he had inadvertently frightened off any potential friends by waxing philosophical about it in an early seminar–and how to set them quickly and covertly. He had never been formally named as the instigator of the stable fire at school, but he had saved his money and purchased the single surviving horse.

When he finally returned home from school, Felix’s father attempted to teach him how to run the estate, but the two men grated on each other unpleasantly. The fire in the new barn had been Felix’s way of handling the growing unease and conflict. He had not even stacked the deck by setting packets of accelerant in the path of the exits. Had the fire judged his father worthy, Felix would have learned to live with the man, perhaps even brought him into the fold on their family’s role in allowing fire to judge peoples’ worthiness. Alas, his father had been unworthy.

What Felix had not anticipated was having to sit through his mother’s months of weeping. It had reached a breaking point the day that Felix had simply walked into a room, and she had thrown herself at him, sobbing something about how much he resembled his father. He had–somewhat unwisely–tried to comfort her by explaining that the fire had judged his father unworthy and that she ought not mourn something that a higher power had ordained. That had simply made her cry harder for a few moments before she asked him what on earth he thought he meant. He had not explicitly told his mother that he had set the fire that had killed his father, but her eyes told him that she knew. Less than a week later, he had been packed off to Cousin Penelope.

The Featherington’s solicitor’s account of Felix’s life to the court largely omitted Felix’s fascination and love affair with fire, but it communicated the bare bones of his story, up to and including the fact that his mother had likely known she was sending a troubled young man to a family ill-equipped to handle him. Just how his mother had managed to avoid a criminal charge for not turning her son in, Felix had to hope he would learn in hell, particularly since the family solicitor had told him outright that the crown was advocating to have Cousin Penelope charged alongside him. By her presence in the gallery, either his letter advocating her lack of knowledge had worked, or the fact that she had turned him in had removed her from the fate he was facing.

He wondered if she had ever received the books he had sent away for.

An open-handed slap to the face drew Felix out of his memories and thoughts. The bailiff stood before him.

“Answer the question,” he snapped.

“And what question would that be?” drawled Felix, ignoring pain in his face.

The judge snorted. “Have you anything to say in your own defense, Mr. Featherington? Have you any regrets or apologies to issue? Anything at all?”

“Fire regrets nothing and makes no apologies,” said Felix. “I do not see why I, as its hands, should either.” He caught and held the judge’s eyes, back straight and posture steady. He studiously ignored the wave of mutters behind him; whispers of “he’s mad” had no meaning. Fire couldn’t be mad, and neither was he. Out of the corner of his eye, Felix saw his solicitor throw his hands into the air and stalk toward the bench, stage-whispering some protestation or other at the judge, who shook his head firmly before banging his gavel again.

“Given the preponderance of evidence before me, and the accused’s shameless disregard for those he has killed, injured, and put out of their homes, I can come to no other verdict than guilty.” The pause was undoubtedly to allow the room to react, but no one, not even the hangers-on in the audience on the main floor, was surprised or objected. They understood, perhaps even better than the ton, the consequences of a second great fire, and arson was particularly despised.

Instead of the expected outcry of voices, the room filled with a sense of impending doom, as though the sword of Damocles itself was hanging over the Old Bailey. Felix cast a quick glance at the gallery, checking Penelope’s reaction. She was sitting on the very edge of her bench, hands clasped in her lap, face an impassive mask. She clearly wasn’t surprised, but she, like the rest of the room, was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Felix kept his eyes on her as the judge resumed speaking.

“Counsel for the accused has requested imprisonment for life as a sentence, recognizing the accused’s somewhat tenuous connection to an esteemed family of the ton.” He nodded to the wall of Bridgertons in the gallery. “As a judge, however, my responsibility is to more than simply the ton. My responsibility is to the memory and family of the people that the accused killed, and the greater public good. London cannot, shall not, have a second great fire, which means that London must not condone or coddle arsonists. The crown has requested a death sentence in light of the severity and extent of the accused’s crimes.” The judge sat back in his chair, pensive for a long moment. Felix watched what little color that had been in Penelope’s face drain away, accentuating the mask quality of her impassivity, although he still could not tell what she felt beneath it.

“Mr. Featherington. This court sentences you to death by burning at the stake. You shall be taken from this place to the Tower of London, where the sentence will be carried out on the Tower Green one week hence.” The bang of the gavel was overwhelmed by Felix’s bark of laughter.

“You are a fool,” he said, still laughing uproariously. “Fire cannot hurt me, man. What shall you do when the flames die, and I am still here? You will have carried out the sentence. Will you let a man who you fail to execute walk free? Just imagine what I shall do then!” He laughed all the way back to his cell in the Tower.

Penelope nearly fainted when the judge announced the sentence; only Colin and Gregory’s hands at her back kept her upright as Felix–still laughing–was bodily dragged from the room. The shock had so disconnected her from her own body that Colin had to physically lift her from her seat as the room stood as the queen exited the courtroom, and the judge dismissed everyone else. From behind her, Penelope could hear the jubilant discussions about the sentence, as well as the telltale sounds of enthusiastically clasped hands and clapped shoulders.

There was a light touch on her elbow; Penelope turned to see Mondrich behind her, eyes sympathetic, and with none of the triumph she saw in the faces surrounding her.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bridgerton,” he said softly. He touched the brim of his hat to Colin and moved toward the doors without giving her the chance to respond. Penelope’s head spun. Mr. Mondrich had almost lost his livelihood, and he was apologizing to her? She could not make sense of it just then. Everything else was too much, and she did not seem to be able to block out the noise and hard words of those around her. Every word, every sound, hit her like a physical blow on unprotected skin.

“Excuse me, beg pardon, excuse me, sir, pardon me!” The polite but insistent refrain came from an imposing man in royal livery who was making his way to the front of the gallery and slid along the line of Bridgertons until he stood before Penelope. The lack of space made his bow oddly abortive; in any other circumstance, it would have been an insult.

“Mrs. Bridgerton, her Majesty requests that you attend her.”

“Can it not wait?” asked Colin, just barely civil with both Simon and Anthony over his shoulder. “It has been a taxing day. Surely the queen will understand if Mrs. Bridgerton needs to refresh herself.”

“I’m afraid her Majesty insists,” said the liveried man.

“Very well,” Anthony broke in. “I, the Duke, and Mr. Bridgerton shall accompany Mrs. Bridgerton.”

“Your pardon, my lord, but this invitation is only for Mrs. Bridgerton.” The liveried man’s tone was so precisely polite as to be excruciating, and Penelope was suddenly tired of charades, machinations, and maintaining a facade for the ton.

“It is well,” she said. “I shall return shortly.” Gently shaking off all four Bridgertons and Simon, Penelope followed the man to a private room set aside for the royal family. She heard footsteps behind her but did not look back. The last thing she needed just then was a reminder of what was still very much at stake if the queen chose to believe that Penelope was untrustworthy and had somehow skirted consequences for aiding and abetting arson.

The room was austere in the extreme; the dark wood of the furniture matched that of the floors and wainscoting, and the walls above the wainscoting were covered in licorice green paper with dark gold accents. Thick, matching curtains covered the single window in the room, so the only light came from candles and the small fire in the fireplace. The mantle was practically gothic, with actual gargoyles carved into the columns supporting the lintel. This was a room so oppressive that it could have physically squeezed secrets out of people.

Lady Danbury and Queen Charlotte stood together by the mantle, whispering furiously as Penelope entered the room and curtsied. No one else was present, and Penelope’s escort was outside the closed door. Breaking protocol, Penelope rose without being acknowledged and waited for the older women to end their conversation. Refraining from eavesdropping would have been a courtesy for anyone else; Penelope simply had no energy for their politics just then.

As the moments stretched into minutes, Penelope’s temper began to boil. She was exhausted, mentally and physically wrung out, and yet she was forced to stand here and watch the political equivalent of matchmaking mamas decide whether she had performed well enough to suit them. Never mind her own feelings of guilt, betrayal, and sorrow; never mind that she was human, no. She had to be the perfect portrait for their tastes. No more. It was time to consult her own feelings. She had been named a member of this private court; she would damn well act like one.

“Have I shown the ton where my loyalties lie well enough, your Majesty, or did I drag my brothers-in-law out to no purpose? If you are to censure me, please get on with it so I may return home. I have rather a pounding headache.” Where that bright, debutante tone had come from, Penelope had no idea. She had been aiming for politeness and neutrality.

Lady Danbury’s jaw dropped, and both women’s heads whirled toward Penelope. The crackling fury in the queen’s eyes would have been terrifying that morning, but Penelope had passed the point of caring.

“Have a care for how you speak to me,” thundered the queen. “I made you a member of this court, and I can remove you just as easily.”

“That may be a blessing if this entire debacle is a preface of the trust you have in me and how I am to be treated,” snapped Penelope. “I am no child flat on my back with a stab wound today, ma’am. Since joining your private court, I have done nothing, nothing to deserve mistrust and hostility, and yet I have met it at every turn! If you would have me gone, banish me and be done. It could not possibly be any worse than living with the knowledge that I turned over a member of my own family to be burned to death.”

“You may wish to have a care for the rest of your family–” began the queen before Penelope cut her off.

“Empty threats frighten me not a whit. You have no grounds to threaten my mama, my sisters, or my in-laws, and you do not dare anger the ton with consequences for trumped-up charges. You have not the political goodwill to spare, ma’am.”

The silence that descended was thick and shocked. An elastic moment that seemed to stretch for eternity snapped as Lady Danbury thumped her walking stick against the hard floor.

“I told you she would call any bluff you might make, your Majesty,” said the older woman, tiredly. “She would be so valuable if you would simply let your mistrust go. Hasn’t the intervening time since the final Whistledown proved that Mrs. Bridgerton can be an asset?”

“Apparently not, since she was entirely willing to allow the crown solicitor to charge me alongside Mr. Featherington,” said Penelope. Lady Danbury’s eyes widened, and she stared openly at the queen. Silence reigned for long minutes.

“Things cannot go on like this,” Lady Danbury said, at last. “Ma’am, if you cannot trust Mrs. Bridgerton, we cannot function. Perhaps letting her go is the wisest course.”

“Absolutely not,” snapped Queen Charlotte. “Nothing in the intervening time since she was brought into the fold has changed the fact that she is too dangerous to remain outside this little…immediate family. The chit would have had the ton rising against me if their precious Lady Whistledown had asked it of them, and she was no great friend of the crown.”

“I should rather think the crown is no great friend to me,” said Penelope.

“Penelope!” hissed Lady Danbury.

Heedless, Penelope continued. “Tell me, your Majesty, what sleight of hand did you have to pull to convince the crown solicitor that I was the one who knew what he was, not Mrs. Featherington? What sentence were you hoping I would garner? One to neatly remove me from your hair?”

“Your dear Aunt Featherington was most eager to make a deal to avoid taking any responsibility,” said the queen, clearly irritated that Penelope had recognized her hand in the backroom dealings.

“I never fomented rebellion, your Majesty. I never committed sedition. The only thing I ever managed to do was damage your pride. If your pride is so delicate that a scandal sheet can damage it, then I cannot imagine the scandal sheet is at fault. I shall make this simple. I am leaving, ma’am. Watch me forever, if you wish, but I am done with this backstabbing cabal. I make no promises, you would not trust them in any case, but I tell you that I am leaving, and this will remain between the three of us.” Penelope curtsied deeply but briefly, rose, and used both hands and her body weight to tug open the heavy door, startling the man outside as she strode past him.

She strode past the Bridgertons and Simon, who formed up behind her as she left the building and emerged into the gathering twilight. The cool air and the still, clear evening did nothing to settle her fury. Impulsively, she had refused to return directly to Bridgerton House, insisting that she needed to visit her mama. She had suggested that she would simply hire a hack, but Colin had lifted her off her feet and into the family carriage, saying that they could be dropped off on the way with no issue. She had chosen not to fight his “they,” as she could already see alarm in his eyes and expression. She could say what needed saying as well with him at her shoulder as she could have alone.

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