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Ben Barnes - Blog Posts
Plausible deniability | Poly! Marauders; A. Dolohov:
Warnings: jealousy; the boys are kind of dicks in this one; reader is a certified smartass; my dialogue is pretencious as hell; Dolohov is a desperate flirt.
Your lads leave you alone at a party you took them to, so they won't care if you happen to dance with someone else. Right?
You had always been a good girlfriend.
Scratch that, you always were a great girlfriend.
And you knew that for a fact.
There wasn't one thing in this world you wouldn't do for your boyfriends. Your love for them was beyond any type of rational comprehension, to the point you had made yourself look stupid in front of others just because you adored them so much.
All those days you stayed back to reason with a teacher, or a prefect or with Filch and talk them out of murdering your beloved boys while those same lads were out running to save their own skin; All those times you went out of your way to fix expulsion-worthy mistakes they commited during a prank; All those nights you lost sleep so you could help them study for the incoming exams you knew they had been ignoring in favor of perfecting yet another grandious plan to humiliate the Slytherins.
That was how you told them you loved them.
And you did.
Not only did you simply love them, you showed them you loved them.
So why was it that everytime you looked at one of them from the small green and silver couch you were sitting on, they seemed to have one or ten other girls in their arms?
You took them to this party. You were the sole reason they had gotten in here in the first place.
Would it kill them to spend five minutes with you before going off to do Godric knows what with other girls?
No.
It wouldn't.
You weren't jealous. That wasn't the point. If that was the case you would have walked up to them, muttered some half-polite excuse to whichever person was flirting with them and pulled the boy to dance with you.
But that wasn't the problem.
The problem was that you always bended over backwards for them, to meet their desires, to make sure they were healthy, make sure they were comfortable, make sure they were always feeling their best. If something of theirs broke, you were there to fix it. If they couldn't understand something, you figured it out and explained it to them. If they needed help with anything, you were always there, at their corner, ready to help with whatever you could.
You had always been a show instead of tell kind of person.
Your problem was, they were tell but never show kind of people.
Not one of your boys ever hesitated to tell you that they loved you and that they couldn't live without you and that they'd do anything for you, but they never seemed to come through in any of those things.
And for most that you tried to brush it off as them simply being from a world different than yours, it bothered you to hell and back.
There was nothing you could do, and you knew it.
It would be no good to cause a scene and forever be branded as the crazy girlfriend, specially since you knew they made a habit of downplaying your discomfort when it came to the subject of them being overly affectionate with people who clearly had less than innocent intentions.
So you stood up as calmly as you could manage and slowly made your way to the little bar Zabini had set up.
Whiskey, beer, liquour and rum. One next to the other, all painfully dry. Perhaps if you could squeeze out a drip or two from each bottle you'd end up with a 1/16 of a full cup. But that wasn't enough for you. So you pulled back your hand, and just as you were trying your best to recall that fancy little spell that turned water into rum, the soft glow of light over glass caught your eye.
A bottle of vodka. The people in this party were visibly much more prudent than you could wish to be, for the bottle wasn't only untouched, but fully sealed and nearly glimmering under the dim reddish lighting that bathed the room, like a singing siren, lulling in the occasional unsuspecting sailor, the kind who was desperate enough to fall for her games.
Well, yo-ho, motherfucker.
Taking you newfound treasure into your hands, you poured the liquid into a whiskey glass, an inch and a half full over the bottom. And with no hesitation whatsoever, you took a long and patient sip, without even making a face.
- You know, dear, I have been standing next to this bar for half an hour. I've seen all those bottles be drained to the last drop, but not a single person was mad enough to consider touching my vodka. - The smell of the cologne that surrounded you as whoever that was leaned in to speak into your ear might as well have carried the stench of blood with it, because never in your life had you heard someone so painfully obvious in their villany speak in such a shamelessly ill-willed way. - I must commend you for your taste, красивая.
Antonin Dolohov.
Of course.
When did he ever miss a single chance to shark you?
Rhetoric question, the answer was never.
- I do enjoy the taste of nothingness and incoming hangovers quite a bit, thanks for the commendment. - Still staring into your glass, you pretended not to feel the way he very glaringly leaned into the spot you had pressed your perfume into just an hour ago. - Cheers, Dolohov. Good health to you.
He smiled wolfishly as he watched you empty that glass in one breath, walking around the table to stand as close to humanly possible to you. - As much as seeing you drink like this gives me hope that you will toss those three western boys and get with the one that could actually be your drinking partner, we should really get a dance in so I can tell you what is happening.
- Remind me again of why would I ever consider dancing with you...
- Because I know things that evolve not only you, bu you future in this lovely establishment you call home.
You scoffed: - Okay, Mr. Bond.
- I prefer Stierlitz, but Bond will do for now. - He gently took the empty glass from your hand, setting it on the table and slowly placing his massive hands on your waist, making sure to rub down the silk dress with his thumbs as he grinned at you. - Shall we, my dear?
- You better not be playing tricks on me, Antonin.
He immediately perked up at the slight softened tone you had emplyed, taking advantage of the opportunity to pull you closer as the both of you swayed to the upbeat madness of Siouxie and the Banshees. - Wow, first name basis again. Have you finally forgiven me, zaychik? Should I put your silk sheets back onto our bed?
- We were never in an empty room alone for more than two minutes, Dolohov. Let alone sleep together.
- You and I are meant to be, zaychik. You'll realize that sooner or later.
- You know I adore listening to your ravenous delusions, but cut to the chase, will you?
- Your wish is my command, my sweet. - You could feel James' eyes starting to search the area around you, and you couln't deny it hurt that he hadn't even noticed you weren't away being a wallflower anyomore. - A friend of mine has been fulfilling duty at Filch's office. He says that McGonagal and Slughorn have been going in and out of his office all day long, whispering secret messages, handing him suspecious papers with the ministry of magic seal, all sorts of things like that. So I told him to look into it.
- How wise of you.
- I knew you'd think so too, zaychik. - He had this strange habit of running the tip of his index finger up your spine and down your arms, and the fact that he was getting closer and closer didn't make you any less uncomfortable. - So anyhow, after Filch left, he found a paper near the burner and in this paper were your name and mine together, along with the names of all your ungrateful little lovers and the names of my friends.
- What the fuck?
- That's what I said. - He seemed genuinely amused by the fact you two held the same line of thinking, and it would've been actually a bit sweet to see him like that if your eyes didn't meet Sirius' for a split second. He did not seem happy. - What kind of paper would have the name of a two model students like you and I above a list of the most trouble-making and irresponsible people in the school?
- A paper that lists people who are either involved or facilitate riotous behaviour. The ministry wants to cut the tree by it's roots. You an I are fixers, casualties. They fuck up, we go there an make sure they're not expelled...
- Only so they can go and do it again as soon as the coast is clear. - He mumbled in an irritated tone just as the music shifted, and you had never felt so seen. - Cunts.
- You too?
- If you think trying to convince teachers that their favorite troublemakers shouldn't be thrown out of school, try arguing that same case for the students they despise the most.
- I can't fucking believe them.
- You and I are more similar than you would like to admit, my darling. That's why I'm warning you. That's why we should be together.
- You lost me at 'more similar than you'd like to admit'.
- Not even you can deny that we should join forces if we want those we care about not to be publicly humiliated. If we work together, and we find a way to invalidate whatever claims the ministry is trying to make, then we can save their arses and go along our lives knowing that we did the right thing while they were out being debils. - His eyes glimmered in hope as he watched you consider the offer, his hands pulling you flush into his body, so close that he could barely stand the warmth of your skin seeping through the layers of clothes that separated you. - What do you say, zaychik?
- You're right. I hate to admit it, but credit where credit is due. - Antonin could feel hilself swell up with pride, and he immediately took a step back, cordially raising a hand towards you like a proper gentleman.
- Pleasure doing business with you, little bunny. - Your hand met his as the both of you smiled, pretending you didn't hear Dolohov's heart beating out of his chest. - You have a plan?
- I have the begining of one.
- We could draw this plan out back in my dorm, perhaps I'll allow you some of my tsarskaya vodka.
- I'm not a whore.
- I wouldn't pay. - He grinned, seizing to sway for the first time and squeezing your hips in his hands.
- That's charming. Which Gangster did you steal that line from?
- It disappoints me that you don't know. It'll be my life's mission to educate you in soviet culture before we eventually get married. - You couldn't help but laugh. He was quite charming, and it felt nice to be noticed for once. But you were so invested in Antonin's back and forth jokes that you didn't notice Sirius calling for Rem and James. You didn't notice how mad they looked. And you definetly didn't notice that for the first time since they had gotten here, they were excusing himself off from the girls they had surrounded himself with. And they probably didn't notice that it was the first time in the night they had worried the slightest bit about you. - Oh, I love this song. You'll dance with me won't you? To celebrate our alliance.
- I should really get to to mapping out that plan. - You excused, drawing yourself back from him only for Dolohov to pull you right back.
- Oh, rumba. Sorry, you cannot escape a Frank Sinatra song.
- Is that so?
- You'll have to dance with me until another singer comes along. And I fear they just put on one of his longest records. - You laughed as he pulled you into him, guiding you through a performance of 'mind if I make love to you'. Your dress swirled around you, the iridescent fabric glowing under the light as he spun you around, and you felt glad you were here for the first time in the night. The same could not be said about the lads that watched as the two of you entretained yourselves.
You were in for it tonight.
We spent the night trying not to die. One of the best nights of my life, if I’m honest.
There was this Good Samaritan, used to volunteer at the Ray of Hope Group Home. That’s where I was placed at the time. We used to play stickball, hoops, whatever. He’d been going there for years, I mean, we all thought he was so cool. I guess I must’ve been ten, eleven at the time. Let’s just say I wasn’t interested in the kind of games he had in mind.
I tried to play the same thing (as when Billy gives Madani a bath) in the episode where I have Frank tied up and I’m washing his face. It’s kind of similar, you know? He’s washing his face, he’s cleaning him up, he should be sympathizing, but he’s thinking, “I could choke him right now. I have that power.” I think he really gets off on that power, that genuine lust for power.
Ben Barnes talking about Billy Russo.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEN BARNES AND ANDREW GARFIELD❤️🫶🏽
When I heard those two had the same birthday I completely freaked out, cause of Wolfstar☺️
Ben Barnes is the off brand British version of Sebastian Stan.
When We Were Young
This is for you, my dearest friend @tanikas-world-of-art. I hope you get better soon. Let me know if you want some more of this.
My nerves were wracking as I waited on the carriage. The road seemed longer than I remembered. “Is it the road? Or is it my heart that has been longing for him for such a long time?”
Dorian and I were neighbours and inseparable when we were little. Whenever one of us would go missing, it was assumed that they would be found in the other’s place. Dorian would never eat unless with me. He would trust me with every little secret of his. In a whole, he was too clingy and very dear to me.
Everything was neat until his grandfather sent him away to the boarding school and I was taken to Sussex to my grandmother’s house where I was trained to become a lady. My heart shattered into pieces. I missed Dorian every single day growing up and I was pretty sure he did too.
It had been ten long years. Finally, I was going back to London to meet him and I could not wait any longer.
“Lady y/n, we’ve arrived.” I jumped out of the carriage as soon as the driver announced our arrival.
Dorian was waiting outside his house to welcome me. I could not believe what I saw in front of me. The evening air blew his hair. He had grew up to become the handsomest man I had ever seen. I looked in amazement.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my dearest friend.” Dorian’s beautiful face broke into a wide smile.
My stomach twisted. Butterflies were flying like crazy to make an escape. My heavy heart started to beat up to my throat. Without a minute’s delay, I ran and put my arms around him. We both couldn’t help laughing.
Some of my favourites <3
The Words (2012)
I am not sure that I can put the perfect words together to express how much I am touched by this movie. But I want to write. I have to express something about what I think about it.
Basically, it’s a movie about a writer reading his book about a writer who’ve stole a story of another writer. Sounds crazy, right? The movie itself is insanely great.
It’s definitely a 5/5. This movie is everything I search for in a movie. It has a great storyline, the drama is intense and heartbreaking, but most importantly, it has got a feeling of it’s own. The mixture of two stories in two different era created an art.
The cast is amazing. I can’t imagine someone else playing the younger version of Jeremy Irons other than Ben Barnes. There is something very similar between them. Bradley Cooper and Zoe Saldana were the perfect choice as a couple.
I will never stop recommending this movie. It is very underrated.
For the people who haven’t still watched it: Do yourself a favour, take a break and watch the damn movie.
he's a celebrity who doesn't know i exist <33
😍🥰🤩
ALEKSANDER & ALINA ▸ Shadow & Bone, 1.2
SHADOW AND BONE — 2x05: Despise Your Heart (2023)
Ben Barnes starring as Billy Russo THE PUNISHER S01E07 | ‘Crosshairs’
In Cold Blood (pt 1)
Synopsis: A slew of murders have you and the other detectives scratching their heads, but the killer himself seems beyond fascinated with you.
Warnings: This is probably my most warning heavy story- mentions and graphic descriptions of blood/gore, death, murder (serial killer!billy is a giveaway), weapons including gun/knives, home invasion mentions, eventual smut lets just say EVERYTHING IS 18+- read at your own discretion
Tag list: @vermillionwinter , @nerdyreaderpapi
You turned a corner, feet hitting the pavement as fast as they could. Water splashed up from a puddle but it didn’t slow you down. The buzz of traffic didn’t calm your racing heart as you skidded to a stop down a corner alley.
How had this happened? You were so sure of yourself. So careful. At least that’s how it felt.
It had started innocently enough, well maybe innocent wasn’t the correct choice of words.
It had started with the death of a local businessman. He’d been found in an alleyway, shoved between trash bins. Multiple knife wounds scattered across his torso and neck. You’d been called to investigate the scene with the other officers.
It had left your mouth dry, the other officers you worked with were rarely left speechless but this….this did it. The brutality of it was unmatched from anything you’d investigated before.
Then a few weeks later there was a woman found murdered in a similar fashion, body left in Central Park for anyone to find. Then there was another and another. It made your stomach turn.
Then you found yourself volunteering to be on the case. To figure out who the bastard was. Why they were doing this. And to put them away for as long as possible.
The longer you researched and devoted your time and energy to figuring out how to catch the murderer the less it made sense. There was no rhyme or reason or outright motives that stood out to you. Just a building body count.
That’s when you got the first call.
You’d been working from the office late one night, pouring over the latest crumb of evidence you’d been able to scrounge up. A blurry cctv blip of footage capturing a large figure in a black hoodie up over their head leaving the building where the last victim was found.
The noise jolted you from your seat, the blinds drawn in your office and the steady hum of the fluorescent lights overhead wearing away at your eyes. It was late. Very late. No one you knew would be up at this hour. Not unless it was an emergency.
You didn’t recognize the number. So not a friend or relative popping up on caller ID. You let it ring another few times before sighing, with a roll of your eyes and sliding to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Detective Archer.” You felt your body freeze at your name being used. The voice crackled on the other end. Deep. Male. But it was edited somewhat, like he was speaking through some sort of device to conceal his voice.
“Who is this?”
“Ah ah ah that’s on a need to know basis.”
“And I don’t need to know?” You pushed away from your desk standing to walk over to your closed office door. Peeking through the blinds to see the still empty office.
“I’m not in your office if that’s what you think.” Your blood ran cold as you froze in place, fingers just pulling away from the door.
“Are you…watching me?” Your eyes flitted to the windows on the right side of your office, rushing over and drawing the blinds closed.
“Always.”
The word hung on the phone line, heavy silence.
“You’re him.”
“There’s a lot of “hims” out there, I’m going to need you to be more specific.” He was taunting you.
“The killer.” Laughter rang out in the other end.
“It took you a little while there, detective. Here I was thinking you were the top of your class.”
“Why are you calling me?” You moved back to your desk wondering if there was some way you could trace the call from your cell phone.
“To ask what your favorite scary movie is.”
“Fuck off.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re gonna get.”
“Come on Detective, play a little game with me.”
“Is that what you think this is?” You hissed into the phone. “A fuckin game?” Your heart pounded in your chest. Rage bubbling up and leeching into your voice.
“It is to me.”
Then with that the line went dead. You swore, tossing your phone onto your desk falling back into your seat.
Hands scratching your head, fingers twining furiously through your hair. Eyes squeezed shut as you’re cursed once more before calling your boss and the rest of your team to alert them to this new development.
Another victim was found a few weeks later, a single stab wound to the chest right over the heart. A Large Bowie knife was left in the body, with a swath of paper folded and held in place by the weapon.
You talked with witnesses and scribbled into your notes after consulting with another officer before turning on your heel to head back to the office.
Knowing tonight you’d drink a pot of coffee and review how out of character this kill was from the previous victims. Was this even done by the same person? Did you have another murderer out there to watch out for? It made your head spin.
“Detective, I think you need to see this.” A cop named Thomas motioned you over to him holding out the piece of paper just removed from the victim.
You took the now unfolded paper from him eyes roving the page. A large red heart was drawn on it with blood. Whether it was the victims or someone else’s you couldn’t be sure, but that wasn’t the thing that worried you most.
Inside the heart was writing, scratchy red ballpoint pen spelling out in large letters, “Archer.” A gift, a love letter, a taunt, you weren’t sure which one it was but it made your blood run cold.
Hot water poured over your skin in the shower, hoping the scalding heat would strip away the knot in your stomach. Whenever you closed your eyes all you could see was the heart, teasing you.
The paper had been placed in an evidence bag and was now being tested but you couldn’t shake the visual from your head. Turning the water off and reveling in the steam before you wrapped a towel around yourself stepping into the bedroom.
All your scattered notes and random photographs littered your home desk and you were starting to feel pathetic at your lack of purchase on this slippery case. How many people needed to end up dead because you couldn’t do your fucking job?
Then the phone rang. A million thoughts ran through your head before you said fuck it and answered.
“Hello?”
“Did you get my gift?”
“You’re sick you know that?” You flipped on the tracer you’d installed on your phone after your last call.
“Detective, I’m wounded. I gave you a lovely gesture of our relationship.”
“The only relationship we have is going to be when I arrest your ass and put you away for the rest of your life.”
“I love when you flirt back with me.”
You rubbed your brow absentmindedly, hating how limited you felt. How you felt like back in training being ridiculed by higher ups.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I enjoy talking to you, Detective.”
“No. Killing people. Innocent people.”
“Who said they were innocent?”
“Who says you get to be judge, jury and executioner?”
If you stalled long enough it’d give your tracer a better chance of locking onto where the call was coming from. Giving you a shred of further evidence.
“You look very nice tonight.”
Your fist subconsciously gripped your towel tighter to your chest. The curtains in your apartment were drawn, and you had checked the lock over four times out of habit.
“How do you know how I look?” You wedged your phone into the crook of you neck, holding it in place as you reached into the end table pulling out your gun and checking the chamber was full.
“Are you close to catching me, Detective? Have I been occupying as much space in your mind as you do mine?”
You padded slowly down the hall, weapon held firm, pointing into each room as you passed. The heat from the bathroom emanated into the kitchen and you swiveled around the corner poised for an attack.
It never came.
He was toying with you. He wasn’t here.
“Why would I be in your head?”
You heard a thump back in your bedroom and the hair on the back of your neck stood up at the sound. The line was silent as you waited for a response, slowly inching back towards your room, gun held aloft.
The only sound you could hear was your own heart thundering in your chest as you eased into the doorway, ears straining to hear any other movement. In a rush if adrenaline you tossed the phone onto the bed throwing open the closet door.
It was empty.
Keeping with your agitated pace, falling to the floor and checking under the bed only to see it bare as well. Angrily snatching the phone back and biting into the mouthpiece.
“Where the fuck are you?!”
At that you heard footsteps back from the bathroom, thumping through your apartment and your front door being thrown open, the alarm blaring.
Scrambling to catch up you stumbled into your living room and were greeted by the open door leading into the hallway of your apartment complex broken open, the chain lock busted and scraping back and forth as it hung limply.
The line went dead and you immediately dialed 911, waiting for a familiar operator to answer as you relayed your predicament. When you heard confirmation they were on the way you rushed back into the bathroom to grab your robe.
There on the mirror was drawn a heart, like that from the note found on the victim. The condensation beaded up as it bled in various water droplets from the remaining steam from the shower.
The months continued on, all leads turning up nil. The tracer you had used only led you to a discarded burner phone in a trash bin by soho. The murders had briefly slowed down.
The phone calls however had not.
Their length and timing varied but it was always the same voice. Slightly skewed but a man’s voice all the same. It had helped you rule out a female suspect.
The continued goading wasn’t the main thing grating on your nerves. No it would be much simpler if that was it. The true horror was how you began to wait for the calls.
You refused to use the term, enjoy. But they no longer caused your blood to run cold in the same way. One day to your absolute dismay after a long stressful meeting you actually felt your shoulders unclench when your phone rang.
“Long day Archer?”
“How can you ask me that when you’re the source of my stress?”
“Am I?”
Besides the phone calls there was the disturbing hints of affection. A bouquet had appeared at your desk at work one day. No note, but you didn’t need one to know who it was from.
Then a bottle of expensive wine was left on the steps of the precinct with another card bearing only a simplistically drawn heart inside.
The bottle was immediately taken in as evidence and dusted for prints. There obviously were none. No matter what you did he was always ten steps ahead. 5D chess in the most infuriating way.
“How was the wine?”
“If you’re so aware of my every move you’d know I didn’t drink it.”
“Shame, 1913 was supposedly a good year for that merlot.”
“I’m growing tired of our Hannibal Lecter and Clarice dynamic.”
“Who says that’s what we are?”
“WE are nothing.”
A tsk’ing crackled over the line.
“You and I both know that’s not true.”
“Then what are we?”
You put the phone on speaker as you pulled out a container of chinese food leftovers from your fridge. Popping the lid off and shoveling it into a bowl before sliding it into the microwave.
A chuckle came from the other end. You hated how it didn’t feel gross and malicious like it should.
You continued on, mind listing a slew of options as you watched your food rotate in the microwave.
“Phantom and Christine. Michael Myers and Laurie strode. Billy Loomis and Sidney Prescott.”
“You never did tell me your favorite scary movie.”
you sighed dramatically as the oven dinged and you removed your food, returning it to the counter, pulling your hair into a messy bun.
“You do look stunning Detective. I’m shocked someone of your caliber went into law enforcement.”
“I think it’s unfair you know what I look like and yet Ive never seen you before.”
“Nice try Archer.” You couldn’t suppress the small laugh that shook your shoulders a tad.
“It was worth a try.”
Walking into work the next morning you were immediately greeted by another detective, John Lawson. His cheeks were ruddy and he seemed to be out of breath.
“What’s going on?”
“We have a photo of our killer.”
You felt your stomach flip, either from excitement or nerves.
“What?”
He took out a printed sheet of paper, it showed a dim alleyway and a victim from the other night slumped in the background.
Sure enough there in the foreground was a man, in a black hoodie, black pants and military boots. The hood pulled up over his head and underneath the hood a stark white mask, covered in a multitude of scratches and cracks that seemed to be painted on.
He was staring straight at the camera, knife glinting in one hand, the other raised in a mock wave.
“Smug bastard.”
!Shadow and Bone (Netflix Show) Spoiler!
Inej throwing her knife at the Darkling has the same energy as Emma throwing hers at Sebastian in City of Heavenly Fire