hold onto me

Plans are made. Klaus is nefarious in the background.

As the remnants of what was left of his cruel nightmare began to filter through his conscious mind, Reginald whipped his head lightening fast to the other side of his bed where his exhausted wife lay lost to her own dreams, a faint unhealthy flush across her cheeks. The cool moon light shone through their window and sheer curtains, across their bed and over Penelope’s slumbering form. Penelope was sick. He could not, would not, have a repeat of their wedding day, the day he almost lost her for good. The day that angels must have been in her room, with hands outstretched, waiting for her will to live to falter for just a moment so they might take her so much further than Reginald could reach.

No, I'm not a writer. This is a blog for my favorite fics.

Lord Fife has never been one to ignore an opportunity. Little does he know that he may have met his match in Miss Penelope Featherington. Colin Bridgerton may have to go to extreme measures to right his wrongs and keep Penelope safe.

If anyone can fix broken tech? It's Tony Stark. But it's not all sunshine and rainbows when the signal comes back. In fact- it reveals the reality of what comes next. SHIELD offices were the first- but they won't be the last. Our heroes have to move fast to save lives.

Mickey's got enough on her plate to feed herself for months- but as she waits for news on Jinx the world as she knew it falls apart.

The Beginning of the End Previously... "Please inform my family and our guest that I expect formal wear for dinner this evening. The finer, the better,” he instructs, hoping to bookend his day with moments of joy between he and his fiancée. “Yes, My Lord. And if they ask as to the occasion?” “Tell them we are celebrating.” Mrs Wilson watches as the viscount turns and strides away, his steps lighter and shoulders looser than she has ever seen before, and she fears his change in spirits will not last. The pieces are already in motion, however, and she is merely a pawn on the board, no say in who will check the other first. She turns, following the path that Penelope had taken from the foyer, and carries on until she finds her tucked into an armchair in the library, alone. “Miss Featherington,” she calls, “Lady Bridgerton is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

A girl knows of her sorrow.

A slightly different take on the 'realistic' self-insert: drop a modern woman into Middle-earth - and what do they see? Straight teeth, soft clear skin unused to labour, long well-kept hair, and clothes stitched so evenly they look impossible to have been done by hand. Both Eldar and Edain agree, these are unmistakable signs of aristocratic heritage. Add in a handful of Sindarin and Quenya, and her unnervingly accurate foresight - a gift of Elros’ line - and it’s no surprise people start making… assumptions. So when the universe decides you’re Princess Tindómiel, who are you to argue? (Except you do argue. They just don’t listen.)