#Best Butter Keepers

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The 7 Best Butter Keepers

A butter keeper, also known as a butter dish or butter crock, is a kitchen container used to store and keep butter at room temperature. It is designed to maintain the spreadable consistency of butter while preventing it from spoiling or becoming rancid. The traditional butter keeper consists of two parts: a base and a lid. The base is a shallow dish that holds the softened butter, and the lid acts as a cover to seal the butter inside. Some butter keepers may have a water seal or an airtight design to create a barrier between the butter and the outside air, preserving its freshness.

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 (coming soon) pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[the-s1lly-corner]

Prompts 13, 14, 20, 22

My hands are so sore but my brain is buzzing with ideas that I need to get out before it melts

BATHING TOGETHER

Hes going to hop into the tub the second you even vaguely bring up bathing together. He might ask to join you without you prompting him. He probably freaks out if he gets soap in his eye. You're going to have to convince him to take the mask off in the tub so it doesnt get soaked.. the idea that the inside of it gets humid from the rooms humidity makes your skin crawl, too.. demands that you wash him, even if you were already going to do it. Let's out a soft please when you give him a stern look. Has really fancy soaps, with all kinds of scents. If you have a skin or hair care routine hes going to want in on it even if it's not the best for his skin or hair type

BREAK UP

You're going to have to be slick about it if you want to actually make it out. We've all seen the movie, we all know how Brahms gets when Greta tries to leave.. its.. not pretty. If you leave a note it might actually make him angrier. Now do I think hes going to leave his home to seek you out? No. But he does totally destroy any belongings you had left behind. He switches between being in a blind rage and cradling the remnants of what was yours, then flinging them to the floor.. people in town think the house is haunted thanks to all the commotion

NIGHTMARES

Usually when its come to go to sleep, and you're already well aware of Brahms existence, he crawls out and joins you in bed. He wakes you up if he has a nightmare, softly begging for reassurance. I'm unsure if he would be a crier... maybe he would if the dream was about his parents. Seeks out your comfort if he has one in the walls, nearly busting a hole through the wall as he tries to outrun the darkness behind him. Speaking of he would BOLT after turning the light off in the room, at least on nights like these. Please hold him and let him stay with you

MOVING IN TOGETHER

Well technically when you took the job to be a house keeper plus nanny plus cook plus roommate plus- okokok point is you already kind of live here. All things considered it's a nice place, albeit a little old fashioned. Nothing wrong with that, persay, but I'm sure if you butter brahms up he might let you make some changes to the place to make it more feel more like a home to you... hes more inclined to do it if you feel homesick, though I'll save that for the homesick prompt! Brahms likes sticking to the walls most of the time, living vicariously(?( through his doll, you sometimes forget hes there until he comes out seeking your direct attention... keeping up with the chores and rules is really your only obligation, and maybe.. you can convince brahms to give you a hand if you make a trade

[hazyange1s]

MC: Ronan Sharp

Basics

Full name: Ronan Finley Sharp

Nickname(s): Ron (pronounced with a hard o), Sharpie, Prince Charming (by Sebastian)

Gender: male

Species: wizard/Selkie

Date of birth: September 21, 1874

Nationality: English and Irish

Blood status: pureblood

Wand: laurel, unicorn hair, 13 in, reasonably pliant

Appearance

Hair color: dark auburn

Hair style: loose, short waves with some curtain fringe

Eye color: hazel

Skin tone: fair; often with a light tan

Height: 6’1”

Body type: lean and toned

Clothing style: wears all colors (but especially loves light neutrals, warm tones, and black), prefers comfortable and unique fabrics (flannel, cashmere, fur)

Accessories:

Wears the Sharp family signet ring

Enjoys the occasional hat

Keeps his mother’s picture in his pocket watch

Other distinguishing features:

Freckles (of course)

Scar over his right eye (tried to Apparate at thirteen and splinched himself — still has poor vision in that eye)

Personality

Traits: friendly, enthusiastic, fun-loving, clever, sarcastic, perfectionistic, bossy

Likes: shakespeare, comfort food, medicine/biology, fall, making people laugh, generosity, genuineness

Dislikes: superiority complexes, dishonesty (from himself and others), large birds, flakes

Hobbies: chess, healing, charm creation, archery

Fears: the BIRDS man, abandonment, not being good enough

MBTI: ENFJ-A

Enneagram: 2w3 (268) so/sp

Zodiac: virgo sun, cancer moon, sagittarius rising

Temperament: sanguine

Archetype: the Caregiver

Similar characters: Apollo, Cedric Diggory, Richard Gansey, Lily Potter, Padme Amidala, Derek Shepherd

Family/Friends

Father: Aesop Sharp

Potions master and Slytherin alumnus

Stern with high expectations but well-meaning

Married his step mother when Ronan was five

Mother: Kassady DesRosiers (Fallon)

Pureblood

Dragonologist, Gryffindor alumnus

Killed when Ronan was 15 — he never got to meet her

Sibling: Raegan DesRosiers

Half-blood (same mother, different father)

Technically twins — Ronan was conceived and born first, but they shared a womb for 7 months

Gryffindor

Don’t meet properly until their sixth year

Pet: Apollo (tawny owl)

Received after his Hogwarts letter

Sort of the “communal owl” that all of his friends “borrow”

Gets into fights with the other owls oops

Friends: Poppy Sweeting, Diana Blackwine, Arthur Plumley, Adelaide Oaks, Ominis Gaunt, Garreth Weasley, Leander Prewett, Natsai Onai

Magic

Boggart: ostrich (lame)

Patronus: seal

Polyjuice: turns light green and tastes like fennel

Amortentia: lemon, butter, sage, frankincense

Special abilities:

Selkie blood — passed down from his father’s side and dilute enough to present rarely in a bloodline. Allows him to hold his breath underwater for extended periods of time; great swimmer, affinity for sea-dwelling creatures

Does not possess ancient magic

Exceptional and instinctual Healer

Backstory

Ronan was born in Cambridge, England in secret. His mother Kassady had hidden him from her abusive husband — as well as the fact that he was the product of a love affair with her former suitor; Aesop. Ronan grew up not knowing his birth mother (or the fact that he had a half/twin sister); raised by his father until Sharp married when his son was five.

He had a relatively happy childhood, though Ronan always felt slightly out of place. He was not the overly studious, serious type, which caused misunderstandings between him and his strict father… especially when Ronan is sorted into Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin (the Sharp family’s ancestral House).

But as he grows and learns more about his past and his family, he begins to come into his own as he becomes a Charms prodigy and a guiding light for the next generation of Keepers 😉.

Academics 

Best Subject: Charms, Magical Theory

Worst subject: Ancient Runes

Favorite teacher: Ronen and Kogawa

Least favorite teacher: Sharp (he’s harder on him than the rest oop)

As a student:

Very popular and personable; gets along with pretty much everyone (but isn’t a pushover)

His dyslexia causes him some trouble. Overall his intelligence and hard work helps him find ways around it

Mischievous — sort of a “thief in the night” that nobody suspects

Future

Career: Mediwizard

Ronan desires to make something of himself; to make a difference and be somebody useful in society. After seeing the impact that the goblin rebellion had on people and watching his sister/friends struggle with all manner of ailments (both mental and physical), he changes his career path from an Auror to Mediwizard.

He’d always had an interest in biology and medicine. The job allows him to dive deeper into those fascinations while giving him the adventure and variety Ronan secretly craves — he winds up traveling around Europe after Hogwarts under the employment of St. Mungo’s. Specializes in curses and mental illness.

Future spouse: undecided for now (side note: I’m always open to MCxMC ships! Ronan is pansexual so we’re not picky 😂)

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 17, 2021 1:30 a.m. paradise hotel

[grant] it drove päivi insane and i just try to be considerate. like i've been dealing with this for years, but i'm very well aware it's not pleasant that i wake up sometimes because i'm pain and that when i do, i get up out of bed for a bit so i don't end up so stiff that i can't stand up at all in the morning.

[henry] shit, i didn't think about that. i'm sorry.

[grant] why are you apologizing? you didn't do anything wrong.

[henry] i don't know. because i feel great 24/7 and i'm privileged enough to forget that others don't?

[grant] well, that's not really your fault. it's not like i'm good at acknowledging being chronically ill in any overly serious way. honestly, it's just easier when people forget anyway!

[grant] talking about it is never not a little bit awkward.

[henry] yeah, i wasn't aware it was bad enough to interrupt your sleep.

[henry] i knew it was bad, you know? bad enough some doctor finally cared to figure out the mystery suffering and that it need surgical intervention, and i remember the exact day something first changed in you when we were kids, but that's about the end of my awareness.

[henry] man, you are also a chronic hider of information.

[grant] that's me! your hopefully favorite secret-keeper.

[grant] i don't mean to, like, keep you in the dark about this. it's not personal. especially not these days. i'm trying my best to be open. it's just...it's just awkward.

[grant] i've had enough bad responses to being sick in my lifetime that i just feel inclined to never mention it, you know?

[grant] have you tried yoga? have you tried CBD and essential oils? but you're young and look fine, you can't be sick, you're making this up! have you tried religion and cutting out all the ingredients like gluten and sugar that make food actually fun to consume? no, no, those things are poisoning you - haven't you read that gut health is the #1 cause of autoimmune disease? it's definitely not chronic stress plus your long family history of busted immune systems! check out this carnivore diet website, you totally won't get fatal heart disease from all that red meat and butter instead, bud!

[grant] or i get pity. or assumptions of what i can or cannot do.

[grant] you want to bash your head against the wall after a while. no one really gets it but they think they do.

[grant] not that you've ever done those things! or that i think you would! or that i think you don't get it! sorry, that was a lot. it just came out all at once. i think i have some insane pent up rage about this whole thing. but no, really, you're the same as my family; they don't respond badly either. i just, well, you know. again, forgetting unless it's relevant is probably preferable. i like it that way.

[grant] i don't want the awkwardness. or anyone to worry about me.

[henry] i wish you weren't afraid of telling me about all this.

[henry] you know everything about me. even the not very good parts. you're one of the only people i talk about having depression with and that's excruciating to bring up. people don't respond well to that either. maybe not with pity or assumptions but definitely obnoxious suggestions. sunshine and exercise do not fix me. lexapro and therapy sessions kind of.

[grant] and i'm glad you do! i do personally understand mental health issues, but even if i didn't, still, i'm glad you feel safe opening up to me about it. and i always want you to. and i'm always thinking about you and hoping you're doing well enough and if i can do anything–

[henry] oh, grant. you scramble my brains sometimes. that self-hating demon is still trapped inside you.

[fadedsweater]

9 People You Want To Know Better Tag

Thank you @broodwolf221 and @pickelda for the tag! 💛

I'll tag (with no pressure of course, and apologies if you've been tagged a bunch already 💛) @queenaeducan | @mel-0n-earth | @willeminaaa | @inquisimer | @dragon--sage

@teamdilf | @willeminaaa | @crackinglamb | @dreadfutures

Three ships: Solavellan (obviously lmao), Solas x Cassandra, and Astarion x the Dark Urge

First ship: like...ever? Probably Anakin x Padme 😂 Anakin was my blorbo when I was a small child and I loved an angsty ship even then, what can I say 😂

Last song:

Last movie: Drive Away Dolls! It was fun and weird and the central romance was surprisingly very sweet! It was also a nice 1 hr 20 minutes, which I love to see because I simply don't have the patience for most 2 hour + movies

Currently reading: I am always reading like a bunch of books at once and sometimes the books I'm reading go on temporary hibernation while I get distracted. Currently, I'm *actively* reading:

The Subtle Knife by Philip Pullman - My first time reading this trilogy and it totally lives up to the hype and adoration, I'm having so much fun (in part because I've somehow managed to avoid big spoilers over all these years? Somehow?)

Monstrous Heart by Claire McKenna - I'm listening to the audio-book, which I stumbled upon while looking for historical whaling books on the libby app. This one is a little hidden gem, a fantasy romance featuring a lighthouse keeper and blood magic and fantasy Loch Ness Monster-style sea creatures. I'd actually recommend this to some of my fellow dragon age fans (do check out the content warnings though!) It's a slow burn for sure but the worldbuilding and atmosphere are very cool (and a liiiitle silly in places but I can forgive it)

Currently watching: honestly I'm not much of a TV watcher 🙈 I will sometimes watch shows but usually just for short stints at a time. I'm much more likely to just watch YouTube or play video games. Since I'm in a knitting kick right now, I've been blasting through Mel Makes Stuff's videos -- they're very relaxing and informative and as a very new knitter I like seeing how experienced knitters approach different projects.

Currently eating: my go-to comfort meal for when I'm not feeling the best or just feeling a bit lazy, which is...plain egg noodles with a bunch of butter and some seasoning. It's kind of bland and I promise I usually eat much better (and more flavorful) food, but sometimes I just crave some plain noodles, what can I say

Currently craving: some good spicy fried chicken, or just some tasty kinda greasy bar food. maybe some wings, idk

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 2. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: SMUT (a tiny bit)

Summary: You and Cho watch the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts to check out the competition and - not that you'd tell Cho - to ogle McLaggen.

A/N: Reader and McLaggen are both 18. Thank you to the Freddie Stroma girlies (gn) for giving this a chance <3

Masterlist

Chapter 2: Confundo

Ravenclaw’s Quidditch tryouts went remarkably well - a sixth-year called Terry Boot was the only prospect to score more than once with you in goals. You’re glad you found yourself a decent chaser to replace Rodger Davies because the pressure is on this year.

This is your first and last chance to win the Inter-House Quidditch Cup as Captain of the Ravenclaw team. After finishing third place last year, Ravenclaw House was desperate for the win. And if you wanted to follow your dreams of becoming a professional Quidditch player, leading your house to victory would give you an edge.

A few weeks after Ravenclaw tryouts, you sit at the table in the Great Hall, buttering a mountain of toast and reading the Holyhead Harpies Captain’s autobiography: ‘Hovering with the Harpies’.

“Enough bread?” asks Marietta, as she and Cho join you at the table. You’ve learned your lesson and have stopped waiting for her to get ready in the mornings so you can actually eat breakfast.

“I’m carb-loading-” you say, between bites. “I’m gonna do some drills after this.”

“You can’t. Harry’s booked the pitch all morning for Gryffindor tryouts,” says Cho.

“Gryffindor tryouts?” You almost choke on your toast. “Bit short notice isn’t it? I checked on Friday and the pitch was still free.”

You look over to the Gryffindor table. Nobody you recognise from the Quidditch team is there. No McLaggen either. They must have started already. You push away your plate and stand up. “Fancy going down to watch, Cho?”

“What am I? Chopped dragon liver?” asks Marietta, who rarely watches games, never mind other team’s tryouts. 

“I thought you were going to work on your Transfiguration Award?” asks Cho. Marietta was the best in the year at the subject and she’d been spending all of her free time these past two weeks on her project after Professor McGonagall had nominated her for Transfiguration Today’s Best Newcomer Award. 

“Yes, but it’d still be nice to be asked. Anyway -” she gives you a shrewd look. “- why are you so interested in Gryffindor tryouts?”

You try to think of a reason that isn’t the chance to ogle McLaggen’s broad shoulders in Quidditch robes. An intrusive thought of him knocking someone off their broom makes heat rise in your cheeks, so you duck under the table quickly to grab your bag.

“I want to see if Potter picks Weasley as keeper again.” You say casually, hiding your face under the bench. “If he does then they might as well give us the Cup now.”

“Yeah, alright I’ll join you then,” says Cho, getting to her feet. “It’ll be good to find out what we’re up against this year.”

“What about your toast?” calls Marietta after you as you both walk away.

You and Cho make your way to the stands at the Quidditch pitch. You’re surprised to see that several dozen people are sitting watching already. At least you’d had the sense to make Ravenclaw tryouts a closed session - no spectators allowed. This lack of foresight from Potter as Gryffindor captain makes you feel extremely optimistic about the coming season.

Cho spots some fellow Ravenclaws and moves towards them but you grab her arm. “Can we sit back here?”

She does so without question. It’s one of the things you admire most about Cho, she’s so emotionally astute. She follows you to the back of the stand where you watch Potter shouting and bawling at the group of Gryffindor hopefuls- most of whom you expect have never flown a broom in their lives.

“God, are those first years?!” You wonder why he’s not sending them off pitch straight away- they’re not even allowed their own brooms.

“Okay, Captain, we all know your tryouts were much better organised than Potter’s. So what’s really on your mind?”

You hesitate. You’ve spent your spare hours between classes, homework and Quidditch practice researching the side effects of brewing Amortentia. 

“You know how you and Marietta were sat next to each other while you were making Amortentia last week?” She looks confused but you continue. “After class, did you think she smelled any differently than usual? Like is it possible the vapours clung to her and made her smell…I dunno…”

“Attractive?” Cho finishes for you. She studies you contemplatively as your eyes find McLaggen standing at the side of the pitch. “No. And I know that you know the potion doesn’t work like that.”

You groan- this is exactly what you were afraid of.

“Is that why you wanted to talk to me alone?” asks Cho. You nod, watching McLaggen mount his broom, getting ready to do a few warm-up laps. “Are you worried it’ll ruin your friendship if you say something?”

You scoff. “Oh, please- we’re hardly friends.”

Cho looks aghast. “That’s a horrible thing to say! Marietta thinks you’re friends.”

“Come off it!” You’re confused by this. “Why would Marietta think I’m friends with that git? I mean-  look!” McLaggen zooms past with his hand raised in a wave at the stands like he’s just saved a top-flight penalty, rather than simply warming up.

“Wait, who are you talking about?”

“Who are you talking about?”

Cho says “Marietta.” and at the same time you say “McLaggen.”

You both gape at each other for a minute and burst out laughing simultaneously, collapsing into a fit of hysterics. A few rows down, Hermione Granger looks over her shoulder and gives you a dirty look.

You and Cho calm yourselves as Cormac McLaggen gets ready to save his first penalty.

“Bit odd to choose a keeper just from a penalty shoot out- it’s totally different than when you’re playing-“

“Don’t change the subject,” whispers Cho urgently. “You fancy Cormac? I thought you liked girls?”

“I like boys too. I’ve just never fancied any of the ones at Hogwarts. And McLaggen, well…” 

You watch as he expertly punches his first penalty away with brute force. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“McLaggen’s a man.” 

Cho’s excited squeal gets lost in the cheers and applause from the rest of the crowd - you’ve never seen her look more delighted by a piece of information. “I mean he’s tall and he’s good-looking, sure.” She watches McLaggen. “But like you said, he is a bit of a prat.”

As if to prove her point, McLaggen saves the next penalty with ease and sends a cocky wave in your direction. Granger shifts in her seat a few rows in front of you. Wait, was he-?

“Was he waving at you or Hermione Granger?” whispers Cho.

“Ugh, he has terrible taste if he was waving at her,” you say, shooting daggers at the back of her bushy head. 

Cho purses her lips and crosses her arms. Neither of you have forgotten when Harry ditched Cho in Hogsmeade to meet Granger last year. 

“She loves a Quidditch player doesn’t she?” she says darkly.

McLaggen saves another two penalties with incredible power and precision. He grins at the stands and punches his fist in the air but there’s no mistaking it this time- it’s definitely you that he’s looking at. You loosen your scarf. There’s something about that annoyingly arrogant face that makes you feel feverishly warm. Cho nudges you in the ribs and your lips pull into a reluctant smile.

“I told him I’d come down to watch him embarrass himself. He must be feeling pretty smug right about now.“

The two of you watch McLaggen lining up for his final penalty. “Why didn’t you want to tell Marietta?”

“I dunno, you know how she is…” Marietta was alright, you suppose, but aside from friendship with Cho, you’re not sure what you have in common. You’ve always felt like you and Cho had more to talk about - both Scottish, both Quidditch players - she was the only bridge between the chasm that was yours and Marietta’s friendship. 

“Yeah well, I know how you are too. If you tried trusting her, you’d find out there’s a lot you could learn from her.”

Trust. You think of the curse spelling the word ‘sneak’ faintly across her face.

“I know what you’re thinking,” says Cho. “That was different. Umbridge threatened her mum. Can you honestly say you wouldn’t do the same?”

You think about your parents - muggles blissfully unaware of the dark times engulfing the wizarding world. Of course, you’d do anything to protect them if it came to it.

“You’re right,” you admit. “I should make more of an effort. I’ll tell her-”

You cut yourself off, noticing McLaggen’s expression change slightly as Katie Bell starts speeding towards the goals. His eyes go out of focus and he zooms off in completely the wrong direction. He shakes his head as if snapping out of something and looks around in time to see the quaffle falling towards the pitch below. He stares blankly at the goalposts for a few moments before flying down back to the pitch with an irate look on his face, boos echoing in the stands.

“What happened there?” asks Cho.

You eye up Potter suspiciously. Would he really go so low as to jinx McLaggen just so his best mate could make the team? McLaggen lands unevenly on the field. “Let’s find out,” you tell her. 

You walk down the wooden steps to find McLaggen gripping his broom with a queasy sort of expression, watching Ron Weasley who’s now in the air.

“You alright McLaggen?”

“Oh god, not you,” he groans, clenching his sharp jaw.

“Charming.”

Weasley saves a penalty clumsily and you scoff in disbelief.

“No I mean -” He towers over you, eyes still slightly out of focus. “I didn’t actually think I’d embarrass myself in front of you today.”

Now you’re really concerned. “Did you get a head knock earlier?”

“Very funny.”

“McLaggen, I’m serious. Did you or did you not sustain a head injury this morning? Because if not, I think someone confunded you.”

He stares off into space for a second and then his eyes refocus on you. He blinks in surprise as if only just noticing your presence. “When did you get here?”

Thunderous applause surrounds you when Weasley saves his fifth and final penalty by his fingertips.

McLaggen falters slightly when you reach up and grab the sides of his face with both hands to focus him, bringing him back to his senses. His prickly stubble tickles your palms, and you wonder fleetingly what it would be like to kiss him and feel his rough face on yours.

You look beseechingly into his now-focused eyes, squeezing his face. “Tell Potter you want a rematch.” You release him.

“Yeah…” his green eyes meet yours for a few second before shaking himself and putting his shoulders back. “Yeah, I will actually.” You watch from a distance as he stomps over to Harry Potter. They argue - you actually think McLaggen might clock him. But he doesn’t, which is a shame because you’d quite like to see him throw a punch. Instead, he kicks the quaffle in a rage before striding off in a zig-zag towards the castle. 

Hermione Granger runs down the stairs past you to celebrate with Weasley and Potter, the latter of whom is trying his best not to look too pleased.

There’s something weird going on, you think, looking between them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

McLaggen bursts into the dungeon to find you sitting on the Potions workbench that you share each week. Without a word, he marches over furiously and you let out a gasp of surprise when he drops to his knees in front of you and pushes your skirt up so he can bury his face between your legs. He kisses and nibbles on your inner thighs savagely, scratchy stubble grazing the tender flesh there.

You rest back on your elbows, hooking your legs over his square shoulders, willing him to explore every part of you. You feel a jolt in your stomach when he pulls your underwear aside and looks up at you with a blank, hazy expression. 

Wait. This isn’t right. He’s been confunded.

You go to grab a fistful of his dark blonde hair, forcing him to focus on you but your fingers only find soft fabric.

Bedsheets.

You awake with a start in your four-poster bed, staring at the blue chiffon ceiling. 

Thank god, you think, sitting bolt upright and taking shallow, steadying breaths.

Punching your pillow into a more comfortable shape, you find yourself unable to fall asleep again as you wrestle with what happened at McLaggen’s tryout. On the one hand, you suspected foul play and it was incredibly unfair that McLaggen had been cheated during his penalty shoot-out.

But on the other hand…

This is your year. The year that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup was within your grasp. 

You could tell your suspicions to Madam Hooch, or even McGonnagal, you suppose. But Weasley was a much patchier player than McLaggen, and it would be better for your chances if Weasley was Gryffindor’s keeper. And what was more important to you? McLaggen? Or the Cup?

You roll over in bed, trying to get comfortable. It’s a stupid question, really. It was the Cup, of course it was the Cup.

Right?

Chapter 3: Poster Girl

[illicien]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @hiddenxplaces-blog

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

52

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

1,098,853

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Marvel. Specifically TFATWS at the moment.

4. Top five fics by kudos:

Time-Lost (IronStrange) Fathomless (IronStrange) Scribbles On Our Souls (DrPepperony) Heart of Gold (IronStrangeFrost) Persistence (IronStrange)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Almost every time. Sometimes I get a bit caught up or delayed, but typically I respond to comments pretty regularly. I love chatting with readers!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't think I've actively posted the fic with the truly angsty ending, yet, so I think the closest is probably a bittersweet ending with Still Here. (IronStrange / Stephen & Peter)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well this one took a sec. Keeper (IronStrange), probably?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Oh not typically to my face, no.

9. Do you write smut?

Yep.

10. Craziest crossover:

I don't really do crossovers, so really the only crossover I can think of plainly is the DRoP/IronStrange fic we did, Heart of Gold.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I've seen so far.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! A fair few of them. 💓

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yep. A few!

14. All time favorite ship?

"All-time"? Time hasn't ended, I could hardly say. 😏

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

At this point? Embraced. And I'm so sorry to everyone who was waiting for more.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Wait you want me to say nice things about myself? Goddamnit. I used to think dialogue was a weakness of mine, but I think I've improved a lot over the last couple of years since writing scripts necessitated writing solid dialogue, so I'm pretty confident in that, now. I'm also fairly strong where creating lore and histories are concerned; you want me to explain the magic in a universe? I've got you. You want to know the history of a region? I've got that down, too. World-building in general is my bread and butter.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Does "actually finishing a story" count? The reality is, I lose motivation really easily. I function best when I have someone to consistently bat ideas and things back and forth with, otherwise I get severely in my head about things to the detriment of whatever I'm writing. I also rely more heavily on degree modifiers than I should, and while I'm aware of it I still suck at minimizing it.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I find it highly dependent on whose PoV the story is in. If the PoV character doesn't speak the language, I love being just as confused as them by not knowing the language. If the PoV character does speak the language I can be a little more picky about it, unless it's simply a singular word of endearment or something, because those can be difficult to translate even if you know both of the languages. But I have a love of and fascination with languages.

19. First fandom you wrote in?

Uh.... Yu-Gi-Oh!, I think?

20. Favorite fic you've written?

What an excellent question. I'm actually really proud of (Loss Of) Control (WinterBaron). I set out with some really specific goals for what I wanted to accomplish with it, and I mostly succeeded. There's definitely a section that's weaker than the others, but I pushed myself outside of my comfort zone and made an effort to tackle a trope I'd never written in fic, and to tackle an element of that trope that I felt like I wanted to see handled more in depth. And I'm proud of the result.

Tagging -> @descaladumidera @atypical-snowman @amethyst-noir @jeromesankaraao3

@the-elle-kat @kiki-shortsnout @turtleoftheabyss

[killmongerskeeper]

The Keepers Masterlist

 I FINALLY got around to putting together a masterlist. With all my new readers this is here for you to navigate my fics! I'll try to update it as I move forward with more fics and one shots. My masterlist is also linked in my bio! Enjoy!

(★) - Smut // (♥) - Fluff // (♦) - Angst

Shuri 

   [Headcanons]

Being Shuri’s Best Friend // ♥

Shuri Headcanons SFW & NSFW // ♥ // ★

   [Prompts]

All Shuri Prompts //★ // ♥ // ♦

   [One Shots] 

Your Highness // ★ // ♥

Royal Surprise // ♥

Pretty Distracted // ♥

When It Was Me // Part 2 // ♦ // ♥

Bathroom Break // ★

You Were Never A Burden // ♥

Close Quarters // ♥

Night Terrors // ♥

Our Future // Part 2 // ♥

At The Body Shop // ♥

[Series] 

Her Heart // ♥ // ♦ // Ongoing

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 //

Riri Williams

[Headcanons]

Dating Riri Williams // ♥

[Prompts]

All Riri Prompts //★ // ♥ // ♦

[One Shots]

I Got You // ♥

[Series]

Erik Stevens (Killmonger)

   [Headcanons]

   [One Shots]

Starting Over // ♥

Scars & Cocoa Butter // ♥

At What Cost // ♥ // ♦

   [Series]

His Keeper // ♥ // ♦ // Complete

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Finale

Namor

   [Headcanons]

   [Prompts]

All Namor Prompts ♦ // ♥

   [One Shots] 

   [Series]

Crashing Waves // ♥ // ♦ // Ongoing

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 //

[justimagineitblog]

KEEPER OF MY HEART - THOMAS SHELBY

CHAPTER 3

Here’s what I’ve learned in the 3 weeks that I’ve been working for the Shelby Family.

John is my closest friend in Small Heath. He warmed up to me the fastest, and I swear sometimes I have to remind myself that he’s not my actual brother. He laughs with me and tries his best to not make me feel like a complete outsider in Shelby Limited.

Arthur is a massive softie. He is by far the roughest looking of the Shelby boys, but he has the softest heart. He drinks a lot, sometimes too much, and I always know to look for the signs that its time to start watering down his Vodka’s with water. He’s usually too drunk to notice. Sometimes he stays so late that I walk him most of the way home just to be sure he doesn’t get himself into any trouble. 

Polly, the most fierce and strong woman I have ever met, took a little longer to warm up to me. But one day when she caught me making sure Arthur got home safely, and invited me in fora cup of tea. Since then, she has been insisting that I start joining them occasionally for dinner. I’ve been declining because of one person.

That is Thomas Shelby.

Where do I start. If Thomas Shelby wants something, everyone around him will jump to make it happen. He instills fear wherever he goes. I’ve never known him to smile or laugh like the others do. He drinks a lot, I’m always bringing him a fresh glass to their private room in the Garrison, but he doesn’t lose his head like Arthur does. Tommy has a tight grip on everyone and everything, including himself. 

On my rounds, making sure that everyone has been taken care of during their family meetings, he refuses to join in on any jokes and playful moments that I have with the others. In fact, when he sees me getting closer with the Shelby’s, his face grows even more sour. If that’s even possible. 

And those eyes. He stares. A lot. Not longingly. Not anything. Just a thousand mile stare, straight through to my core. As much as I try to ignore that he’s there, I can always feel his eyes on me. Like I’m being watched. My every move being picked apart and analysed in his mind. 

Today was different. Initially it was the same old. Bring them drinks, laugh with the boys, try to help them pick which horses are going to win in their races. And pretend that Tommy doesn’t despise every second of it. 

After rushing around for an hour tending to the lunch time rush, I realise their drinks must be getting low. 

“Alright boys, this rounds on the house” I joke as I walk into their private room. For the Shelby’s everything is on the house. Suits. Guns. Drugs. Drinks. Women. 

“These drinks will be on you if I lose this bet Z” John teases back, listening to the radio intently to find out whether the Horse I told him to bet on has one its races. 

“And I’ve never lost one yet have I!” I retort, topping up his Whisky and setting down a plate of bread and butter for them to snack on. Something to soak up all the alcohol. 

I dare to glance over at Tommy, who unsurprisingly is already watching me with an extra disapproving look. 

“Can I get you another drink Tommy?” I ask, pretending to not notice the daggers he’s shooting my way.

He nods in response, and I pour him a whiskey “I could make you that drink from a few weeks back…” I offer, trying my luck. Maybe today he will entertain me. 

“Can I see you outside?” He snaps suddenly, and I swallow hard.

Fuck. 

The last few weeks have felt like I was walking on a fine line with Tommy. I have proved myself time and time again. But he still despises the air that I breathe. Maybe I was getting too comfortable with the boys. Maybe he thinks I’m trying to manipulate and trick them all. God knows what he thinks I’m doing. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. 

I follow him out of the room and into a quiet area of the Pub. 

Without any warning, or lead up, he turns to me and looks me dead in the eye. “I know the boys like you. Trust you even. But I do not” 

The words hit me like a freight train. 

I knew he seemed different today. Like he was extra disgusted with everyone and everything. These words, he had been sitting on for a while. Keeping them inside as he watched me and scrutinised my every move for weeks. I could tell by the venom that he said them with. 

I want to fight back.

I want to remind him of everything I’ve been doing for this place. The business I’ve been bringing in. The countless times I’ve looked out for Arthur and his alcoholic tendencies. Making sure he got home safe. And that no one took advantage of a drunken Shelby brother. The business I’ve heard them discussing that I’ve turned a blind eye to. That I’ve never uttered a word of to anyone. The things I’ve heard and seen, that have slowly been revealed to me about Shelby Limited that I’ve never questioned. 

But instead I draw in a deep breath.

“Okay Tommy” I sigh. My brain goes back and forth frantically as I decide to let go of what I’ve been holding onto for weeks. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Or what I have to do. And to be honest I don’t care anymore. If you never trust me, then so be it. But you don’t have to be so cruel. I’m just here to pour the beer, remember?”

“Then how about you just stick to doing that, hey?” He spits back.

“I feel for you Tommy” I narrow my eyes, staring him down the same way he has been doing to me for weeks. 

“You don’t know me” 

“I’ve tried. But you won’t let me. And I’m starting to think I don’t want to anymore” I shake my head “But I see you. I’ve been watching you too, Tommy. You want to know what I see? I see a man who has everything, and a man who has nothing. You have everything and nothing”

He freezes. And there it is. The first time I’ve seen something in his eyes besides hatred. It’s still shrouded. Still unclear. But it’s something. Like he’s been exposed. Cut open. Like someone just dared to say the first real thing he has heard in a very long time. Someone made him feel. 

“But hey, I’ll get back to pouring the beer, shall I?” I finish, brushing past him to continue serving customers. 

I start taking orders and pouring drinks with a racing heart and trembling hands. I couldn’t believe what had just come out of my mouth. I don’t know everything about the Shelby’s, but I’ve seen and heard enough to know that people who speak to them like that do not last very long in Small Heath. 

I dare to take a quick glance at him, to find him still frozen in place. Staring at the spot I had just been standing. As if he’s still reliving the moment. Reliving what I had said. 

Fuck. 

I expect him to turn around and fire me on the spot. Maybe even part of me hoped he would, so I wouldn’t have to face the wrath that I know is coming after I dared to peak back to Thomas Shelby. If I thought he hated me already, I could only imagine the hell he would rain down on me after that. I was prepared for him to make my life a living hell. 

But instead, he adjusts the hat on his head, straightens his shoulders, and leaves the Garrison. 

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

All of these are SO good. I'm going with

25. Hi hungry, I'm dad. For you.

I know you don't mind a kid fic and this feels kid-like.

Well. Uhm. *clears throat* Nearly 2k later... (This probably isn’t very surprising but if you ask for a kid fic from me right now without otherwise qualifying, you’re gonna get Bex Verse 😅 hope that’s cool!)

Reggie opens the door to the bathroom, stepping into the hall just as Alex walks past.

Alex stops and does a double take. He takes two steps backward and stands in front of Reggie, confused. 

“What?” Reggie asks, his own brow furrowing in confusion but there are inklings of a grin undercutting it.

Alex brings his hand up to Reggie’s face which is sporting much more hair on it than normal. He rubs his thumb across Reggie’s cheek. 

“You like it?”

Alex hums, “It’s… new. Unexpected.” He leans down and plants a kiss on Reggie’s mouth. 

Reggie grins into his returning kiss. 

Alex pulls away. “What?”

“Well, I used to hate facial hair, but then it grew on me.”

Alex gapes at him, trying to catch up to Reggie’s words. He rolls his eyes when he does. “Is this exclusively for the bit?” He runs his fingers over the stubble again before dropping his hand.

Reggie shrugs, “I don’t know yet. Thought it couldn’t hurt to try something new.”

Alex hums thoughtfully before stopping down to drop another soft kiss to Reggie’s lips. “Okay, well breakfast is almost ready.”

“Mmm,” Reggie enthuses, “Sunday brunch. The best! I’ll be right there.”

Reggie ducks past Alex toward his room.

Alex shakes his head after him. He makes his way back to the dining room. He hands Bex the dishes to set around the table, straightening up the silverware behind her. 

“I can do it, Daddy!” she exclaims defiantly. 

He holds his hands up defensively. “Right! Right, sorry Bex. You’re doing a great job. Daddy will keep his hands to himself.”

Willie scoffs with amusement from the kitchen, “Yeah, okay.”

Alex turns to glare at them causing Luke to snicker.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he mumbles, dropping into his chair.

Willie brings out the pancake keeper and sets it on the table. “Not complaining, Hotdog. I like it when you share your hands,” they say softly as they drop a kiss to Alex’s cheek. 

Alex feels a blush rise up his cheeks. He reaches out to grab Willie’s wrist as they walk away, pulling them back in. “A real one, please?” he asks, puckering his lips at Willie. 

Willie obliges with a laugh, leaning down to kiss Alex again. 

“Nomy!” Bex cries impatiently from where she’d taken her seat, “I’m hungry!”

“Hi hungry, I’m Papa,” Reggie says as he enters the room. 

Everyone turns to look at him. Bex groans and rolls her eyes in the best approximation of Alex she’s capable of. 

“What’s on your face?” Luke asks Reggie as he sets a plate of bacon on the table. 

Reggie rubs his hand over his face, “You like it?”

Luke shrugs, “I think you’d know by now that I have no opinions on things like this.” He sits in his spot next to Bex, reaching for the pancakes and plopping one onto her plate.

Willie hums thoughtfully. “I do.”

Reggie beams at them before walking around the table. He wraps his arms around Bex, nuzzling her with his now-scratchy cheeks. “Good morning, Munchkin.”

Bex squeals and pushes him away, “It’s too scratchy, Papa.”

Reggie wrinkles his nose at her but lets her go. He drops into the chair on Bex’s other side. “Where’s Julie?”

“She’s coming,” Luke answers as he adds bacon to his and Bex’s plates. He passes the food over her to Reggie when he’s done.

Reggie dishes himself up. He turns to Bex, “Do you want help cutting your pancake?” he asks her.

Bex shakes her head, “No, I can do it!” She grips her fork and butter knife and works to tear her pancake apart. 

Alex chuckles from across the table. “Today’s an independent day,” he tells Reggie. 

“Well good,” Reggie confirms, “Bex is a big girl and can do big girl things!”

They hear the door open and close.

“Hi Auntie Julie!” Bex calls as she continues to fight with her food.

“Mornin’ Bex,” Julie replies from the kitchen. “Where’s the coffee?”

“Already on the table, boss!” Luke tells her.

Julie sighs as she walks to the table. She kisses Luke and sits at the head of the table, across from Reggie and between Luke and Willie. “You’re amazing, thank you.”

Luke smiles at her, “Anything for you, Julie.”

Bex and Reggie share an amused look but don’t say anything. 

The pancakes had made their way around the table and Willie offers them to Julie. She puts her hand up in refusal. “I know you guys put a lot of work into Sunday brunch but I’m honestly just gonna make a piece of toast for now.” She cups her coffee mug in both hands, “After some coffee.”

Reggie giggles and the table looks at him curiously. “How does Darth Vader like his toast?” he asks. 

Bex sighs, “Papa, that’s not even a new one! I already know the answer.”

He props his elbows on the table and leans down so he’s at face level with her. “Well, what is it then?” he challenges.

She rolls her eyes as she stabs a chunk of pancake, “On the Dark Side.”

“That’s my girl,” Reggie beams at her. He ruffles her hair and she brushes him off with a glare. He sits back up to dig into his own food, the pleased expression never leaving his face. 

Willie eyes him and turns to Alex. “Is this going to be a thing today?” they ask in an exaggerated whisper.

Alex sighs, “Apparently.”

Julie watches the scene with amusement as she sips at her coffee. 

Reggie looks around the table, “Y’all just don’t know how to have fun.”

“I do so!” Bex exclaims emphatically. 

“Yeah?” he counters.

“Yeah!”

“Prove it.”

Bex drops her eyes to her plate, stabbing another piece of food, “I don’t feel like it right now.”

Reggie laughs. 

“I’ve got one,” Julie says.

“Hit me,” Reggie answers, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward in rapt attention.

She reaches out to grab a piece of bacon. “Why did the physicist and the biologist break up?”

Luke turns to her, a bit starry-eyed - as he often is when it comes to Julie, “Why?”

Julie grins, “Because they had no chemistry.” She bites a chunk off of the strip in her hand.

“Nice! Nerd joke with potential poly-humour. You can stay,” Reggie states.

“Thanks, I plan to,” Julie winks at Luke who blushes. He reaches out to place his free hand on her thigh.

“I don’t get it,” Bex whispers to Reggie. 

“You will when you’re older,” he tells her sympathetically.

Bex’s face falls into a pout, “Everything fun’s always for when I’m older.”

Reggie’s eyes twinkle with amusement when he crouches down to her again. “I’m sure we can find something fun for today’s Bex!” he assures her.

“Doubt it,” she says pitifully.

“You’ll see, Bexi-boo. You’ll see.”

She wrinkles her nose at the nickname. 

He puts a hand on hers, “Hey, no sads on Sundays.”

“Why not?”

“Because yesterday was the sadder-day,” he replies, matter-of-fact.

Alex coughs out a laugh. “How long have you been sitting on that one, Reginald?”

Reggie beams at him and mimes zipping his lips closed. “That’s for me to know and you to not.” He leans back toward Bex conspiratorially. “I like telling Dad jokes… Sometimes he laughs.”

Julie snorts as she laughs. 

“I think you missed,” Bex whispers to Reggie. “That’s Auntie, not Daddy.”

The table erupts into laughter and Bex beams proudly.

They finish their meal, exchanging barbs and ridiculous jokes as they eat. 

As Alex and Julie clear the table, Reggie grabs Bex by the hand and pulls her into the living room. “You ready for today’s fun?” he asks. 

She eyes him doubtfully but nods. 

Reggie grins and connects his phone to the speakers, navigating to his newest “Happy Day” playlist.

The sound of Baha Men starts playing on their sound system.

“Is this your old man music?” Bex asks, hands on her hips and unimpressed.

Reggie turns an offended look on her, “I am NOT old!”

She levels him with an unimpressed stare.

“Yes, it is,” he concedes. “Dance with me, Bexi-boo!”

She glares at him but lets her body move to the music.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Reggie cheers as he joins her, singing along, “oh-oh-oh-oh makes me want to dance.”

He scoops her up and spins them around the room. “Oh-oh-oh-oh best days of our lives.”

Bex erupts into giggles while they move.

Luke and Willie watch from the other side of the room with amusement. 

“What’s up with him today?” Luke asks. It’s not unusual for Reggie to be happy and peppy but today seems like he’s taken it to the next level.

Willie shrugs, “I honestly have no clue. But I’m gonna enjoy it while it lasts.” They shimmy over to where Reggie and Bex are dancing and wrap their arms around them. 

The trio move together in an awkward dance. Bex pushes them apart and demands to be set down. Reggie obliges and she continues dancing solo. Willie grabs Reggie and starts spinning him around the room. 

Luke’s not sure how long he watches them for when he feels an arm snake around his waist. He lifts his arm up and draps it around Julie’s shoulders.

“You made a pretty great little family,” Julie says as she settles into his side. 

“I don’t think I deserve the credit for that,” he tells her with a smile but he can’t help but agree. 

Julie hums, “Well, you didn’t do nothing.” She tilts her face up to him and he leans down to give her a kiss. 

Bex’s voice startles them out of their moment. “Julie! Luke! Daddy! Come dance!” she calls.

Julie and Luke laugh and make their way over to where the dance party is happening. They push the furniture out of the way to make more room and join in. 

“What’s gotten into you today, Reg?” Alex laughs as he’s pulled in by Willie and Reggie.

Reggie shrugs, “Just feel good. I never could have dreamed that this would be our life. I guess I just woke up grateful for what we’ve got.”

Alex pulls Reggie in for a tight hug, his eyes suspiciously wet. “Love you, Reg.”

“Love you too,” Reggie says into Alex’s chest.

Alex reaches out for Willie and Luke, pulling them in close too. 

Bex stops dancing, taking in her family. She exchanges a look with Julie who smiles knowingly at her.

She clears her through harshly and the guys jump apart. “No family hugs without me!” she declares, hands on her hips. 

Reggie laughs and crouches down to her level. “Well, come on then!”

She lets herself be picked up and hugs Reggie’s neck tightly. Luke, Alex, and Willie wrap the pair back up.

Julie watches them fondly, a massive smile on her face.

They break apart slightly a moment later and Luke holds his arm out to Julie. “Get in here,” he says.

She lets out a soft chuckle and obliges, letting the mass of arms and love of this family surround her.

[musesofawolf]

Day 24 - Bar

Of all the places to find Bryn, your best option would be to check a bar.

It wasn't because he was perpetually drinking, no, although he was rarely without a mug or tankard in hand, but that was simply for appearances. The truth was, it would take a lot more than the few ales or beers he had to get the warrior even remotely drunk. A perk, or disadvantage, of his rapid healing body.

But there were other reasons to be in a bar. For instance, offering your friendly, kind services as a hired arm.

Only problem, no one considered Bryn rather friendly or approachable.

It wasn't his fault that most people looked at the scarred man with sharp silver eyes and saw danger. It didn't help that his voice was gruff, laden with that unspoken threat of a bouncer, and that he carried a weapon at all times. Most of the common folk steered well clear of the ex-soldier, and those who did approach were typically too drunk to make sense of what they were saying. So, most days, Bryn sat, drank a little, and offered to help when closing time came to earn a little gil.

What annoyed him was his partner. A partner who, somehow, found more jobs for them than he could. Kaleh'a made bars his bread and butter, learning how to work a crowd, listen for information, and interject himself at the perfect times to pull a job offer. He was silver tongued and bright eyed, face unblemished and young, the picture of kindness and civility despite the general distrust for Miqo'te Keepers in the area.

But while Bryn looked deadly and was deadly, Kaleh'a looked innocence and was deadly. Sure, Kaleh'a didn't choose violence as his first form of reaction, preferring to talk things through first, but when he was pushed to that point, the blonde Miqo'te could turn men twice his size into unconscious men twice his size. Bryn had to hand it to the slighter man, he knew his way around a bar fight.

Speaking of the blue-eyed cat, he slid into a seat beside Bryn at the bar, raising a hand for a quick drink, and chuckled as he saw the half drink tankard in front of Bryn. "Slow night?"

"Always is," Bryn rumbled back, and sighed, glancing at his partner. "I'm guessing not for you?"

"A few tidbits of information that might be worth checking, another hunter group poaching down south." He sighed, and his ears drooped. "Not really helping me convince everyone not all Miqo'te are bad."

Bryn grunted, and after a moment, patted the younger man's back. "You'll get there. You're fighting years of damage with a bow and smile. It takes time." Kaleh'a let his head thunk against the bar and groaned.

"I don't have infinite time!" And that made Bryn chuckle. They fell into a companionable silence for a moment, and then Bryn turned to him with hushed voice.

"Did you hear anything about..."

Kaleh'a waved a hand, dismissing the question before it finished as he lifted his head. "Nothing. Sorry. Maybe we will just run across her out here."

The ex-soldier snorted, shaking his head. "No, I doubt that." He rose from his seat, stretched carefully, and sent a few Lalafel skittering away in mild fear that he would step back and squash them, letting out a deep breath and turning to the Miqo'te. "Alright, I'm itching to do something besides sit here. You said you had some leads?"

"Of course!" The archer leapt up, tail swaying excitedly, and grabbing his bow and quiver from nearby. "How are we doing it?"

Bryn hummed, turning to walk towards the door as Kaleh'a followed. "I feel like a melee. Support me?"

"Always!"

[vilandel]

Silver Cats & Black Roses

Chapter 16 – Lady Orchidea and the Nobles

A/N Little warning, we learn more about the past of Charlottes mother, lady Roselei... and it is not a happy one 💙 Also, a bit of Vanessa and Finesse friendship 💜

Ao3 link

♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣

Grenadine always had the habit to wake up early. Back in the inn where her mother worked and lived, it didn’t changed when she became a Magic Knight.

A new habit actually was to get a copious breakfast. Back at the village in the Forsaken Realm, she only got a glass of milk in the morning and when her mother or the inn keeper were in a good mood, a slice or two of buttered bread.

But here at the Silver Eagles, she had been amazed by the good food and Grenadine couldn’t help but fill her breakfast tray always with most food she could find, especially that roasted bread nobles called toast and all those different kinds of jam. Sometimes it filled her stomach for the whole day. And when it was early morning, she had the most choice of food.

Grenadine didn’t eat breakfast back in the squads refectory, though. It was such a big room and it intimated her when it was as good as empty. Which was always the case early in the morning. So, she just took a tray, filled it with her breakfast, would talk a bit with the chefs and then go back to her room.

But because the night wing of the Silver Eagles was almost on the opposite site of the refectory, it always took a while to go back to her room. The only direct disadvantage she considered in the Silver Eagle’s base. Otherwise, Grenadine was always excited to have her own room.

She sighed. That hadn’t been the case back in the inn, where she shared a tiny room with her mother. Even more so, Grenadine was the one who slept on the floor on a too soft mattress while her mother had the wobbly bed. Well, Grenadine admitted that her life became better and not only in terms of food and living place.

Her mother was always bitter, but that Grenadine could understand. She wanted a better, easier life and maybe she had thought being the mistress of a noble would be the best way. But the noble she choose, Cygnus Évantail, just had her fun with her for a while before he left her pregnant and alone. Yeah, no wonder she became bitter. But what was less understandable was how her mother considered her own daughter guilty for her condition, while the only thing Grenadine did was being born a bastard.

Another problem was that the village they lived in was a conservative one. Bastards weren’t loved, considered less and Grenadine had those looks on her every day she lived there. The inn keeper who engaged her mother out of “charity”, even had to point out her condition. The only person who loved Grenadine and who took care of her was the inn keepers wife. She was the one to believe her, to never mock her for her wish to become a Magic Knight and who encouraged her to train her fan magic.

That woman sadly died not long after Grenadine got her grimoire. So, nothing else held her back in that village. Grenadine tried to talk things out with her mother, but she wouldn’t hear anything. So, Grenadine left the village for the royal capital, determined to join a Magic Knight squad.

She was lucky, then she got there just in time for a special entrance exam. This year, there would be two, because of the whole raid in the Spade kingdom, so Grenadine didn’t need to wait for months for the next one. She seemed to have done well , because she managed to impress six captains out of nine.

Six captains wanted to give her a chance and let her join their squads. The villagers were certain that none would take her, and yet…

One of those captains was Nozel Silva, a royal and the captain of the Silver Eagles.

This had taken Grenadine aback. Everyone told her that the Silver Eagles only accepted nobles and royals in their ranks, no one less. And yet, the captain of this squad raised his hand, offering her a place as a Silver Eagle.

Honestly, it was too good to be true, so she accepted. Actually, Grenadine had been surprised, because most of the knights she met were welcoming of the bastard she was. Sometimes, she wondered if it has always been like this behind the appearances or if the Silver Eagles just started to be more open minded recently.

Of course, she met a bunch of arrogant nobles within the Silver Eagles, like her half-brother Samuel. Grenadine first had naively hoped that some of her father’s family would accept her, but interacting with her half-brother made her unwilling to try to reach out. She learned that the Évantails were mostly arrogant jerks and the family tree was incredibly messy. If all members of this noble house were like that, then Grenadine didn’t want to interact with them at all.

The Silver Eagles were her home, almost becoming like family to her, as strange as it might sound. The older knights were like mentors, the younger ones became somehow siblings, vice-captain Agatha was always nice and supportive. And captain Nozel, despite being busy, always tried to find some time to supervise her training and even helping her, in his own ways. He was a good captain and today, Grenadine was deeply grateful that he gave her chance, even though she was a bastard daughter.

If only she could give him back some of his kindness somehow.

While she was thinking and remembering, Grenadine reached the night quarters. Although, not exactly. She reached the hall were captain Nozel has his chamber. He didn’t often slept at the base, but when he did, it was always in this particular chamber that was pretty much apart from the rest.

Grenadine thought that he must have his reasons why his bedroom was not along the others. Honestly, captain Nozel was always very secretive with his private life, if he had any, and was still a mystery to her today. She was curious, but also knew better than to push or digging. The few things she gathered from the history of house Silva, especially concerning the late lady Acier, sounded tragic and she wouldn’t be surprised if captain Nozel suffered terribly back then.

The door to his chamber was slightly open. Did he slept at the base last night? No, if he did, the captain would have closed and locked his door. That was always a habit of his, he always locked his office three times when he left and when he was in there, no one could just waltz in, everyone had to knock and wait for his answer before entering, even vice-captain Agatha.

But his room at the base was also always locked, even when he wasn’t sleeping there. Maybe he forgot? But it was so unlike captain Nozel to forget anything. He had such a good memory, he even always remembered a small detail a knight said like a year ago.

Suddenly, Grenadine grinned, putting her tray on the floor against the wall. It was actually a unique occasion to see what his room was like. Many Silver Eagles always speculated what kind of style he had. Well, she was about to find out.

Just a peek, though. That would be enough, entering his bedroom would be highly disrespecting.

But when she took a glance to the gap of the door, the first thing Grenadine saw was the bed. Not empty. To her surprise, captain Nozel actually was here.

And he wasn’t alone in his bed…

The wheels in her brain were only working slowly as Grenadine tried to understand what this could mean and to recognize the woman who was in her captains arms.

Rosewood hair, a really beautiful face who seemed very familiar. Grenadine frowned. She had seen that woman before, sometimes. Always when there was a report coming from another squad, the Black Bulls actually. So, wasn’t that Vanessa Enoteca, the witch who was also a Magic Knight, member of the Black Bulls.

The Black Bull witch was here, in captain Nozel’s chamber, in his bed.

Actually, they were in each other’s arms, bodies intertwined, silver and pink hair mixed, a blanket covering them from the waist.

Wait a minute!

Grenadine jumped away from the door and leaned against the opposite wall, trying to breathe normally.

The captain of the Silver Eagles was in the arms of the Black Bull witch.

Nozel Silva and Vanessa Enoteca were lovers.

One of the most eligible royal bachelors of the kingdom had a witch, someone way far away from his own circles, as his lover.

A royal and a witch were lovers!

Holy Grimoire!

Grenadine stood frozen against the wall as she slowly realized was this would imply for nobility, for royalty and more importantly… for those two lovers especially.

She did hear some rumours within her squadmates about the dreamy state captain Nozel had lightly. But even though she wondered about it as well, Grenadine would have never imagined that he could be in love.

At least, not with someone out of his circles. But should this really be surprising? Was she more shocked that it was a witch or about the reaction corrupt nobles would have?

Grenadine wasn’t blind, she did saw how some nobles, even some Silver Eagles, were treating captain Nozel, subtle for sure, but still disrespectful. She didn’t know why and since when, but she also knew that he didn’t deserve to get some little respect. Especially since he always put others before himself. He deserved some kind of happiness and right there, with Vanessa Enoteca in his arms, captain Nozel actually looked happy while he slept.

But nobles would never accept that, right?

“Oh, little newbie hatchling, what did shocked you that much to glue you against the wall?”

Grenadine jumped as she heard the voice. Thankfully, it was only granny Julia coming from the refectory as well, with a tray of breakfast.

“Goodness, are we attacked again by devils that you react like that?”

“No, it’s just… captain Nozel…”

Julia’s smile faded away, while concern appeared in her golden eyes. “Did something happened to him?”

Granny Julia didn’t even waited for an answer, as she rushed to the still slight open door, taking a glance into the room.

“Oh. Oh my. Oh by my old bones.”

Julia immediately took a step away, closing the door silently. Grenadine bit her lip. Actually, she should have done that from the start instead of looking and getting shocked. Damn curiosity.

The golden eyes of the oldest Silver Eagle were now filled with relief, although the concern didn’t disappeared.

“Well, I was certain that young Nozel was in love, but I haven’t expected that his lady love would be the Black Bull witch. Although, it explains why… Never mind. Captain Nozel and his witch lover will need a lot of support. His jerk of a father will give him hell if he ever finds out.”

“Father?” Grenadine asked. Lady Acier, the mother of the four Silva siblings, was always a subject, but she never heard about the father.

“Yes, young Aciers husband. Lac Silva, anciently from that good for nothing house Wavecliff. A true jerk, trust me. He was always thinking about himself. Besides, he has no inch of love for his children, especially Nozel. Don’t ask me why, though. Fact is, if he learns that his son is in love with a witch, he would give them hell.”

“That sounds awful…”

“Exactly, little hatchling. Captain Nozel deserves to finally have something good happening to him personally and while I don’t know Vanessa well, she seems like a very kind hearted person. She doesn’t deserve hell either.”

“But… what can we do?”

“You and I will have a discussion over breakfast about that. I don’t know everything about that family’s history, but I know quite a lot, I was knight already under Roland Silva, young Nozel’s great-uncle. And if you want to help, you need to understand a bit more. Now, take your tray, we’ll eat and talk in my room.”

When Julia Ambrosia decided something, there was no chance to argue. So, Grenadine took her tray and followed the old knight.

♣♣♣

Charlotte was just looking at her mother.

And her mother looked back.

Alright, this silence was starting to get on her nerves. As if she wasn’t fed up since she came here. Charlotte got an invitation for tea for her mother, just the two of them. It was the first time her mother reached out to her since that soirée from two months ago, when Charlotte stood up to Orchidea.

Charlotte had no idea how to feel about this. Her bond with her mother was strained since that evening and given all the arranged marriage discussions lately, she hadn’t been too eager to rekindle that bond, sadly.

Although she never would have thought that her mother would reach out first. But she was still met with silence since she entered lady Orchideas boudoir. By her honour as a Magic Knight, Charlotte didn’t came here to just get silence in return! She preferred to return to her squad.

Or to see Yami. She once thought that the moment they got together, the longing for him would calm down. But it just got stronger. Was it because they came from different circles, had right now a secret relationship which was still very young and were both very aware of their situation?

It wasn’t too long ago, but the more she thought about it felt to be in his arms and making love, the more she longed to be back in his arms. Not only to sleep with him, but also to just talk, to tease each other, to cuddle, to spend time together…

To do any of those things a couple would do. The possibilities were actually endless.

She really had enough of this silence.

“Mother, if you don’t-“

“I’m sorry that I reached out to you only now,” lady Orchidea immediately said and from the tone of her voice, she was really sorry. “It’s just… what you told me two months ago, it reminded me of memories I tried to forget for years now. But those are also things I shouldn’t have put under the rug. It’s just… I was a coward, many times in my life. And to be fair, you… you were right to stand up to me.”

Alright, Charlotte didn’t expected that. She didn’t have any idea what to answer.

Looking over at her mother, who always looked younger than her age, she realized for the first time that lady Orchidea had wrinkles around her bright green eyes and there was already strands of grey in her black hair. And she looked so tired.

A mask was fallen. Her mother had decided to show her a very vulnerable side of herself, something most nobles would never dare to do. Charlotte started to feel bad for her mother.

“I warn you, it’s a bit a long story. And won’t tell you that to excuse my actions or to give good reasons to marry you of. I… don’t even beg you to understand me. But you deserve to know. All I ask of you is to listen to me.”

“I promise, mother.”

Orchidea took a deep breath. “I was sixteen when I was married of to your father. No surprise here, it’s still very normal for nobility. But what isn’t normal and what no one knew until now… I wasn’t a virgin anymore when I got married.”

Charlotte was very grateful that she didn’t have a cup of tea in her hands right now, because it would have fallen from her hands and break into thousand pieces.

“I understand your shock. And you can call out on my hypocrisy, as I always taught you noble ladies should stay virgins until their wedding day. It doesn’t matter that most nobles think that, I followed the rule. This was my mistake, one of many.”

“With… whom…”

“A peasant, Pierrot. Yes, I lost my virginity to someone way outside of my circle. But Pierrot and I… we were hopelessly in love, passionately and innocently at the same time. First love for the both of us. We always met in secret. We actually even planned to run away together, in another kingdom, even another continent. It was never a real plan, more the fantasies of two teenagers hopelessly in love. No one ever knew about us. Except his mother, she find out. You can imagine her panic. Her son, a peasant in love with a noble lady. It was dangerous, the consequences would have been terrible if someone with ill intentions would have found out. She reasoned with us and since I was about to get married, Pierrot and I listened to her. His mother was kind enough to give us one last night together. And that’s how I lost my virginity. At least, it was to someone I loved.”

“That man, Pierrot… Is he-“

“No, he’s not your real father. Although I would have preferred, Pierrot is so much kinder than Fidel. But it just wasn’t possible. You never knew, no one ever knew except my mother and an aunt, but… it is almost impossible for me to have children. It’s not quite an illness and not complete sterility, but still a difficult condition. I hated it, especially since I never could have gotten a child from Pierrot. I actually even believed I would never have some… Until I got you when I was eighteen. My little miracle. But I feared that you would inherit the same condition as me. Thankfully, the healer I brought you to gave me the relieving news that you didn’t got that condition. You would not have difficulties to have children. That was my relief. I just regretted that I was never able to give you any siblings.”

Charlotte looked away. Well, she actually got a sibling, but not from her mother.

“I tried to accept my life, to make the best out of it. I don’t love my husband and never got more children after you. But I had you and my position was secure, I wasn’t an outcast in the family. It should have been enough. I just couldn’t forget my love for Pierrot and I tried to fall in love with Fidel, so that I would have something similar again. It never worked, but during the first years of marriage, I kinda forced myself to live in an illusion that it worked. But then, your father… he cheated on me and-“

“I know that already. He had an affair with a poor innocent girl from the Common Realm and conceived a bastard.”

“You know already?”

“I was there, mother. Remember that I was supposed to come with you and other family members on a shopping trip? But I wasn’t feeling well, so I stood behind. I witnessed how father treated that poor girl, I saw how he chased her away with his own child. Why do you think I never gave father presents since I was ten years old?”

“Oh, my poor Charlotte…”

“How did you find out?”

“I forgot something, so I went back home to get it. That’s how I found out, about your fathers affair and the fact he got a bastard son. And of course he chased her and his own child away, he is a typical noble on that matter.”

Charlotte never saw her mother this upset before. It was an uncommon sight, especially because Orchidea still looked so upset about it. Her mother sighed deeply before continuing, “That whole affair hurt me, more than it should have. But I found it so unfair. I was never able to get more children and your father just throw his second child away, because it was a bastard, humiliating that poor girl by doing so. I tried so much to love him and wanted to believe it was true, but he cheated on me like it was no big deal. From that day on, I stopped trying to love Fidel.”

“Mother…”

“It was a dark time for me. You might remember that I was kinda absent back then. I’m so sorry for that, my sweet girl. I just… your father’s adultery hurt me more than it should have. Since I had to know better… Pierrot’s memory became so strong, I longed for the feeling he gave me. I haven’t thought about anything, I went back to the Forsaken Realm to see him.”

“Did you… became lovers again?”

“No. Actually, Pierrot never saw me, but I saw him from afar. With his family.”

“Oh…”

“Pierrot did something I wasn’t able to do. He moved on. He find himself a kind wife to cherish for the rest of his life and who loved him back. They got eight children together. I saw them play on the grass in front of their cabin. Three boys and five girls. I heard the name of one of his daughters. Orchidea. He named her after me. Pierrot never forgot me, but he still had the strength to move on. All of them seemed so happy. Who was I to destroy their idyl, just because I was unhappy in my own life? So I left, Pierrot never knew I came back.”

Tears filled her mothers eyes. Still grieving her lost love. Charlotte felt so bad for her. She never knew what her mother had to go through. It maybe wasn’t a curse, not a loss because of devils, nothing like that. Just emotions. But those could also hurt as much as a curses or devils.

While handing her mother a handkerchief, Charlotte asked softly, “Where you able to move on after that?”

“From Pierrot, yes. But not from my longing for affection and love. It was terrible. And… it was around back then when I commit one of the biggest mistake of my life. Shortly after I came back from the Forsaken Realm, there was a royal ball at the Vermillions. The Roseleis were invited too, of course. I didn’t had any fun, I was still moping, even though I forced myself to never show anything. I drank a lot during that ball, trying to cope. My mind wasn’t clear anymore. And then… Oh, Charlotte, I’m so ashamed of what I’ve done. A man came to me… I don’t if we talked first or if I just followed him. I was drunk and starving for at least a bit of affection. We went to an empty bedroom, somewhere in the Vermillion palace. And I… I slept with that man!”

Orchidea started sobbing and all Charlotte could do was to stand up, walk over to her and hugged her mother as much as she could.

“Mother, please. It’s not your fault.”

“It is! I was mad at your father for his adultery and then, I did the same. I’m a hypocrite.”

“Father had no regrets and was totally concious of his actions, he had no excuses. But you have. You were in a dark phase of your life and you were drunk. If anything, that man practically took advantage of you.”

This made Charlotte furious. She was always hated when something like that happened to any woman. But here, it happened to her own mother!

“Who is this man? Don’t tell me he left you in a drunk sleep after you… slept together.”

“No, he waited until I was awake the next morning. But… given the circumstances, I would have preferred that he left. The fact that he staid was worse. Because he used our night together somehow as a leverage.”

“How dare he! He was more at fault as you!”

“You heard of Lac Silva’s reputation, right?”

This made Charlotte froze. Lac Silva. Nozels father. One noble really well loved, so popular even that king Augustus and Achilles Vermillion spoke so highly of him, even though lord Lac only married into royalty, so wasn’t a full royal and actually came originally from low nobility. And still, he became so influential within nobles, mostly those who weren’t knights.

She never that man personally, she just mostly knew of his reputation within nobility. She also knew that Nozel didn’t seem to love his father at all and his siblings also never talked about in particular. Charlotte was even certain that Lac Silva wasn’t a kind man, just a very intelligent noble who knew what to do to gain his goal.

And this man was the man her mother had a one-night-stand with?

“What… what did he said to you?”

“First off, he laughed at my shock. Then he told me casually that thanks to my condition, he actually didn’t need to use protection this time.”

“The audacity! And what did he meant with this time?”

“It probably wasn’t the first time he had an one-night-stand with someone. Poor lady Acier… I remember how she always seems so deeply in love with lord Lac. Back then, she was still recovering from her last pregnancy. Solid Silvas birth had been quite a difficult one and there was rumours that the healers and midwives told her she better had to wait for at least five years if she wanted another child. But as you know, she got pregnant again before that with Noelle Silva. It wasn’t an easy time for the Silvas. I think lady Acier somehow found out about her husband’s adultery and wanted to win him back with a child. I don’t know. But I felt so guilty. I took her husband away from her, even if it was just for one night.”

“No, the only culprit is Lac Silva. You were a victim just as much as lady Acier. Oh mother… If I had known, I wouldn’t have been so harsh on you!”

“No, you were right to stand up. You had the courage I never had, Charlotte. I wish I was as brave as you.”

“It took already a lot of inner strength to go through that and still walk with your head high. And it was brave of you to tell me all of this. Trust me, mother. I know from experience how difficult it is to talk about heavy secrets.”

Both mother and daughter hold each other for a while in silent, enjoying a closeness they never knew before.

But after a while, Charlotte couldn’t help but ask with a quiet voice, “What… what did Lac Silva told you after that?”

“He gave up on casual talk immediately. Actually, he told me about you… Or rather, your future marriage.”

Charlotte tensed.

“You have to know that lord Lac is an important authority on the marital market. Just like lady Bianca, the head of house Évantail. Or lady Athénaïs Vitrail, even though she isn’t twenty-six yet. Six or seven other people as well, maybe more. It’s not an official business, it’s not even considered as it. Officially it doesn’t exist, but it has power. Those people don’t make the final decisions, but they are very popular within nobility and their influence is strong. To a point that in some cases, their suggestion for arranged marriages can be definite.”

“And… Lac Silva?”

“He definitely is one with the strongest influence and reputation. And he wasn’t very subtle when he talked to me about you. Lord Lac directly said that he didn’t trust me to find you a potential match and that our house would probably more listening to me if I don’t get better on this topic. I protested, but he pointed out that since I drank last night and slept with him, it doesn’t speak highly for me. Then he left, leaving me alone. Our house members think so highly of him and I practically gave him a reason that I shouldn’t be trusted. But… I just couldn’t let him decide over your future. I couldn’t!”

“Is that… is that why you try to marry into royalty?”

“Oh, Charlotte, my baby girl! I feel so bad for this! But I stopped believing in love since that fateful night and all I wanted was to find a good man for you, so that my history wouldn’t repeat itself. And marrying you into royalty seemed like a good idea to get you out of his clutches. The Silvas probably don’t held their father in high regards and people like lord Fuegoleon or lady Océane have a good authority in house Vermillion and aren’t hypnotized by lord Lac. I have considered lord Damnatio as well, as he’s not someone lord Lac could manipulate. But I don’t think he would make you happy, unlike lord Nozel or lord Fuegoleon. That’s why I…”

Orchidea stopped, sobbing again. But Charlotte understood what she wanted to say.

“So that’s why you tried to pair me up with two of my captain colleagues.”

“I was wrong, I realized that now. The day you stand up to me and claiming you wanted to marry out of love, I realized that I was wrong. It wasn’t my intention, but now I know that I was hurting you with those potential candidates.”

“At least, you wanted me to be happy, to be safe. You never wanted to use me for some goal like aunt Rosamund or father. It wasn’t the best idea and it did hurt me. But you were hurt too, mother, and at least, you still put my happiness before anything else. I can’t deny you that and I don’t want either. Speaking of aunt Rosamund, is her suggestion to marry me to lord Reginald Évantail in fact Lac Silva’s idea.”

“No, I can guarantee you that. She has lord Lac in high esteem, that’s true. But you know Rosamund, she’s too stubborn to let anyone suggest her anything.”

“That’s true… Mother, there’s something I need to tell you. About me marrying out of love. Well, do you remember my curse?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well, I don’t think you know, but… the catch to break the curse was for me to lose my heart to a man. And… this is exactly what happened to me. I fell in love with the man who saved me from the thorns running wild. I loved him for ten years. I still love him today. I don’t think I can ever stop loving him.”

It was true. Charlotte was certain that she won’t be able to ever stop loving Yami. Especially now, after they finally started their relationship.

How much she wanted to be back in his arms right now. Especially after she learned all those things from her mother. But at the same time, she couldn’t leave Orchidea alone.

For the first time since Charlotte came, a small smile was on her mother’s lips. “Whoever this man is, I have to thank him for saving you. But don’t tell me who he is. At least not yet. I’m not trusting myself to be really someone to trust with this kind of things.”

“I think you are trustworthy, mother. But I respect your position. Let me tell you this still. He’s not a noble or a royal.”

“I expected that. I promise you to support you from now on as much as I can, even if it’s against the status quo.”

“Thank you, mother.”

A comfortable silence settled between mother and daughter. Charlotte sighed deeply. All those arranged marriage problems weren’t over, but it still felt like a burden fell from her shoulders. She knew now why her mother truly wanted to marry her off and now she had her support with Yami. That was more than she could ask from Orchidea.

Feeling herself in a sharing mood, Charlotte said after a while, “You know, I actually met my half-sibling recently. My little brother…”

“Really? Can you please tell me about him?”

“His name is Luck and…”

Charlotte spend the rest of her visit to tell her mother everything about Luck. To a point that at the end, lady Orchidea Roselei looked like she wanted to adopt him.

♣♣♣

“What a nice place to be,” Finesse smiled, taking a sip from the blue juice Charmy gave her and enjoying the afternoon sun.

“Indeed, it’s one of the calmest place at the hideout. Granted, we don’t have a lot of calm spots, we’re the Black Bulls after all. But this one is the best,” Vanessa replied in a giggle, searching for a light blue thread within her sewing box.

Both women were currently sitting on the bench next to Charmys vegetable garden. Indeed one of the calmer place at the Black Bulls hideout and the best spot if someone wanted to be alone for a moment or just hang out in peace with someone.

And honestly, given Finesse’s health and even though the Black Bulls learned to pull themselves together around her, it was the best place for her to rest properly from Bull’s behaviour.

Finesse came again for a visit and while waiting for Finral until he finishes his shift, she asked Vanessa to keep her some company. Which Vanessa accepted. She liked Finesse a lot, not only because she made Finral happy, but also because she was just such a kind lady.

So, Vanessa brought Finesse to the Vegetable Bench, as the Black Bulls called this spot, and took her sewing box with her, for a nice girly chat.

“Does Luck cope well, by being the little brother of captain Charlotte Roselei?”

“Of course Finral told you. In fact, Luck is overjoyed. He’s really bragging about having such a strong big sister. It’s getting on Magna’s nerves especially, but I think it’s cute.”

“I’m glad he and Charlotte have such a strong bond already. It is pretty rare in those bastard situations, sadly. I hope it will become better one day. Maybe Luck and lady Charlotte can start to make a difference.”

“You’re really kind-hearted, Fin. But that won’t be for now. Both still want to keep it for themselves for now, before the storms, as captain Charlotte put it.”

“It’s very understandable. Nobles can be so quick to jump to conclusions most of the time. I guess that I’m the only one outside of the Black Bulls and the Blue Roses to know about those new found siblings.”

Vanessa giggled, but didn’t answered. After all, she was the only one who knew that Finesse wasn’t the only one outside of both squads to know about Charlotte and Luck. Nozel knew it too, after all.

But both Finesse and Nozel were perfectly able to keep the secret until it was time to make it official to the world.

Vanessa smiled, probably dreamy. It had been a perfect morning when she woke up in Nozels arms and even more so when she kissed him awake. They just started their relationship a few days ago and it already felt like they were together for longer than that.

It was still a secret, yes, for many reasons. Right now, no one else knew about them. But surprisingly, it didn’t bothered Vanessa as much as she imagined. It still felt like a pretty normal relationship, when they continue to meet pretty much like dates, under the willow in the parc, the café or anywhere else, really.

Also, Vanessa understood why it was still a secret. She might still not know or understand everything about royalty and nobility, but still enough to understand why it was better to not blurt it out.

Actually, she was enjoying this calm secrecy. For now, it was enough, being just with Nozel was enough. Even more than that. Sometimes, she had the feeling that it was him would sometimes felt fed up with the secrecy.

Maybe because he had secrets for so long, he probably had enough of them and didn’t like to keep secret something that made him happy.

Indeed, since they spend time together and even more since they were a secret couple, Nozel seemed happier than he was before. His eyes seemed to brighten up every time he saw her and his smile was more often to seen when they were alone together. As if she made his cold mask disappear by her simple presence.

Did she really had that effect on him?

Well, Nozel definitely had an effect on her. She felt more curious about the world of royals and nobles, she drank less than before and… well, she couldn’t sleep alone anymore. It just felt somehow terribly wrong to be alone in her bed, without someone next to her. Without Nozel, being in his arms or he in hers.

Even more, he definitely cared about her. All those little gestures proved it, even though he always seemed to fear that he wasn’t doing enough. But he was, more than that. Nozel maybe even already cared about her before they became a couple. Why else would he have gifted her that amazing sewing box?

“You really love that sewing box,” Finesse commented, gesturing at said box. Right, she had been there when Vanessa got that gift.

“Oh, that I do. It just has everything! I already loved any kind of needlework before, but thanks to this, I have more motivation than before. Speaking of motivation, when do you and Finral plan to have little babies? I volunteer to sew you all the baby clothing and tiny Black Bull robes for the little ones.”

Finesse chuckled, clearly amused. “When the time is here, we will surely talk to you about it, Vanessa. But I think that won’t be for soon.”

“Oh, why? You don’t want some yet?”

“Oh no, that’s not it. But Finral and I would love to have children one day. It’s just difficult, due to my health.”

“You can’t have any?” Vanessa asked quietly, suddenly scared to asked something hurtful.

To her relief, Finesse just laughed gently, not looking pained by the question at all.

“I understand that this would be the first thought you have, but no, I am actually fertile. I can have children. But a pregnancy in my condition is very risky, so we need to be very cautious. Finral and I talked about adoption sometimes. It’s not usual for nobility to adopt and not loved either, but I don’t really care if it’s the norm or not.”

“Why is adoption not loved in nobility,” Vanessa asked, surprised. “You don’t need to be only bond by blood to be like family.”

“I know. You Black Bulls are one of the best proofs of it or Astas little church family in Hage. But family feeling and affection isn’t the norm within nobility. What’s more important is to continue the line, the bloodline, and for that, you need heirs. Not adopted but from your own blood. The reasons and excuses for this are various and complex, so I won’t bother you with them. But adoption is considered a commoner or peasant luxury, because nobles care more about the bloodline and if the heirs will get a magic that matches the family standard. Even I have sometimes to understand this logic myself. But this is sadly how the majority of nobles view things that should actually be beautiful and honourable.”

 “This sucks.”

“Crude, but true. But I know the status quo and this is not a useless knowledge. Knowing how it works is always helpful if you want to make a change, even the tiniest one. There’s not much I can do because I’m not so healthy, but I still can do something. Adoption is one of those things I can do. Even better if it’s with Finral. We have already Langris’ support for this decision and my mother is on our side as well, that’s important.”

Vanessa paused in her embroidery to look at Finesse with surprise, but also admiration. Despite her poor health, Finrals wife was much more determined than she looked like. She might seem just kind, accepting and discreet, which she was, but underneath she was more than that. She used her knowledge to help and to change things into a better shape. Finesse might knew that she couldn’t do much and not everything she probably wanted, but that didn’t seemed to stop her. It seemed that for her, even the smallest changes were powerful successes.

Vanessa smiled. Finral got himself a wonderful wife.

But Finesse’s words, it still made her wonder…

Was it so difficult for uncorrupted nobles and royals to make a change in their circle? Vanessa knew now that not every noble and royal in the kingdom were arrogant jerks who just thought about themselves. Finesse and her mother weren’t, Finral too and Langris as well, now that he was free from the influence of his parents and starting to be more decent. Noelle wasn’t like that either or Gauche. Mereoleona was a league on her own, captain Fuegoleon was loyal and true to a point it deserved an award, and Leopold, and Mimosa. Even difficult people like Kirsch Vermillion and even more so Nebra Silva at least started to use what they could to make a change, as tiny as it seemed.

There were actually more uncorrupted nobles and royals than one would thought.

And Nozel was one of them…

Did he want things to change? It wouldn’t surprise Vanessa, honestly. Nozel seemed so often unhappy about so many topics, be it responsibility or not. He didn’t show it, but it was there, Vanessa didn’t learned to look behind his cold mask for nothing. Whatever his course of action was, it certainly wasn’t open and direct, more hidden and on the long run for the results. At least, that’s how she came to understand him.

Why was he acting like this, though? Why the most difficult and complicated way? Has it to do with the fact he lost his mother and had to take over a royal house while still being a child? A grieving and broken child at that? How did this influenced the view others had of him, especially those nobles who didn’t seemed to respect him like at first glance.

Vanessa liked at Finesse again, who was just enjoying the afternoon sun. Well, she was a royal, even though she was came from a secondary branch and by that wasn’t directly a Kira. But that didn’t matter to Vanessa now, those topic about main and secondary branches were too complicated anyway. But as a royal, Finesse surely has her opinion on Nozel.

“Finesse…”

“Hm?”

“What do you know about Nozel Silva?”

“The captain of the Silver Eagles? Why do you ask? Do you want to join his fan-club? Well, he is good-looking and many girls have a crush on him.”

“No, that’s not it,” Vanessa replied as casual as she could, trying her best to not blush. She really hoped that she didn’t already said too much

She also hoped that the fact of Nozels fan-club won’t bother her that much. She already knew he was popular within the kingdom, she already knew he had admirers. Why wouldn’t he, he was handsome, more than that? Besides, Vanessa had his heart and she knew him, unlike those girls who probably only saw an image of him. So, why should this bother her.

Finesse just smiled, but didn’t ask or tease. In fact, she just put her hands on her lap and started to tell, “Well, you know, Nozel and I almost got engaged years ago.”

“Wait, what?”

Vanessa almost let her embroidery fall due to the shock. Finesse just chuckled with compassion at her reaction.

“I know, it is kinda surprising. It’s no wonder you’re a bit shocked. It was never public knowledge, so there’s that.”

“How… how was that decided?”

“It’s not really a happy story, it is more sad. You know, there aren’t many Silvas anymore, not even secondary branches. Just four. Nozel, Nebra, Solid and Noelle. Compared to the Kiras and Vermillions who counts many members, it is less than the accepted minimum, in a way. Some believe that house Silva is cursed, because most of the members either die young or in celibacy, for most. Personally, I don’t believe it’s true, it just happens to be a sad coincidence. Add to this that the current house heads of the Kiras and the Vermillions doesn’t like the Silvas, especially Nozel. I don’t exactly know where this Silva-phobia comes from, exactly. It was already there before when lady Acier was house head, maybe even at the times of her father, Roc Silva. But it seems to have increased after her death, when Nozel came in charge. He was only fifteen, after all.”

Vanessa had no idea what to say.

“It is rare that royals marries into another royal house, but it can happen. But I’m not fully a Kira, just a Calmreich and with my health, me bearing children was a high risk. Some people thought back then that maybe I won’t have any. And I think this was a reason why I was suggested as potential fiancée for lord Nozel. Giving the head of house Silva a spouse that probably won’t give him any children, won’t continue the Silva bloodline, while there was so few Silvas left. I think it was lord Achilles Vermillions idea, he’s always so harsh on the Silvas. But that didn’t continue, because even he knew that fragilize another royal house like that could fragilize the whole royalty in Clover. Besides, Lac Silva, the father of the current Silva siblings, wasn’t so keen on the perspective and since my uncle and lord Achilles have him in high regards, they gave up on the project. Which was a relief for both Nozel and me. Now, I’m married to Finral and I hope Nozel would find someone as well to cherish.”

There was almost a teasing undertone within the last sentence, but Vanessa didn’t jumped on it. What Finesse told her lined up perfectly with what she already gathered concerning Nozels world and story. She had no idea what to say, what to even think concretely. It was so fucked up and unfair, to both Nozel and Finesse.

But one thing was clear to Vanessa. “Neither you nor Nozel deserved to be treated that way. Adopted or not, you’re going to be an amazing mother, Finesse.”

She was certain of that. Finesse had been treated unfairly with that almost engagement to Nozel, just because of her health. It was admirable how she dealt with it and how it proves that she was stronger than most people would give her credit for. She and Finral deserved to be parents in the future.

Nozel too deserved this kind of happiness, not for continuing the Silva bloodline, but because it was time that good things would happen to him, after what he’d been through since his mother died.

Vanessa wondered for a moment what kind of parent he would be. Maybe overprotective, but certainly caring, that she was sure of it. She could see him taking time for his children, being a good father for them…

Well, it was of course too early to think about this kind of future, but Vanessa couldn’t help but dream a bit. Nozel smiling, with a silver haired baby in his arms. Or was the hair more pink?

Wait, what was she thinking about? That was way more focused than the daydreams she had lately. Why was she thinking so clearly about such a future when their relationship was still so young and still a secret?

And somehow, it made her happy…

“Thank you Vanessa. Well, I think you’re going to be an amazing aunt. And a mother as well, but it’s really too early for that for now, am I right?”

What?

Vanessa almost dropped her embroidery again, stunned, while looking at Finesse, who had a kind and know smile on her lips. Wait… Did Finesse know about… Did she had suspicions of a sort? How?

Vanessa couldn’t ask, because Charmy called for dinner. Finesse stood up immediately, putting a hand on Vanessas shoulder before going back into the hideout. Somehow, that gesture had felt so encouraging, telling her to not give up.

Shocked, hopeful, frightened, happy… A mix of emotions run through Vanessa, as she almost automatically put her work back and took her sewing box, before walking back to the hideout.

Was she ready or not? For what exactly?

But one thing was certain. Nozel would now always be part of her life.

[themculibrary]

Crimes & Criminals Masterlist

Ain't Nobody's Business If I Do (ao3) - copperbadge steve/tony, pepper/natasha M, 38k

Summary: The year is 1930, Prohibition and the Depression are both in full swing, and Chicago Police Detective Steve Rogers has his hands full. There's a dead body on the banks of Lake Michigan, the entire city's legal system is corrupt, and the king gangster of the North Side, Tony Stark, has taken more than a passing interest in him.

Being In His Possession (ao3) - valiantlybold steve/bucky E, 52k

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is nineteen years old, and he is about to make what might be the worst decision of his short little life.

But little by little, he comes to like his new place of employment, as well as his employer. Well... Maybe a little more than just like.

Coulson's Eleven (ao3) - copperbadge pepper/tony T, 32k

Summary: After Vanko destroyed the Stark Expo, SHIELD instituted a Superhuman Detention program, designed to capture and hold dangerous people -- dangerous people like Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and others who made themselves noticeable. The superhumans SHIELD has imprisoned -- and some SHIELD agents themselves -- have other ideas about what constitutes 'dangerous'...

Countdown (ao3) - ShesLikeTexas steve/tony, pepper/happy, bucky/natasha E, 96k

Summary: Mob Boss Steve Rogers kidnaps Tony Stark and gives him 365 days to fall in love with him.

During Business Hours: A Filthy Coffee Shop AU (ao3) - samanthahirr steve/bucky E, 25k

Summary: Unemployed artist Steve takes a job managing the worst coffee shop in Brooklyn, where the floors are greasy, the coffee beans have expired, the espresso machine’s been sabotaged, and the owners might be Russian Mafia. But the job comes with a few perks, like a generous paycheck, reasonable hours, and one super-hot customer whom Steve can’t resist having dirty, filthy, bad-idea sex with in the bathroom.

Steve is pretty sure this job is going to kill him. But what a way to go....

Fractals of a Criminal Mind (ao3) - STARSdidathing loki/tony, steve/bucky M, 132k

Summary: AU. Tony Stark is the Top Forensic Scientist at S.H.I.E.L.D. and possibly in the world - if he does say so himself - there’s only one person he’s come up against and can’t beat: international criminal mastermind Loki Laufeyson. He’s gotten close but Loki always has a lackey to throw in front of the blame. He’s completely untouchable and if Loki wasn’t his enemy than Tony would be marvelling at and adoring his genius. But Tony can’t, because he’s a good guy, he has morals and a duty to the public that he’s trying to protect. Loki Laufeyson, however, is equally fascinated and he doesn’t do anything other than what he wants. COMPLETE.

Guns Not Butter (ao3) - reserve steve/bucky, bucky/omc E, 10k

Summary: It's 1941. Bucky Barnes lives with his best friend Steve Rogers, and all Bucky wants is to do right by him.

That means he'll do anything.

Heat of the Night (ao3) - Kellyscams steve/bucky, natasha/sam, clint/natasha/sam, bucky/alexander M, 186k

Summary: Based on this prompt: Steve is a cop. Bucky is the kept boyfriend of the super rich bad guy. Bucky doesn’t really have any information because his sole job is to look good when they go out. But he gets Steve’s card and he calls him and Steve meets him for lunch and coffee and dinner and Steve knows this could be a bad thing. He knows Bucky could be a trap. But the way he talks, how he smiles at Steve, laughs like it’s a sound he’s not used to making...Steve thinks he could be worth it. Steve thinks he could be worth everything. (via tumblr user disappointme)

I'm Not In Love (ao3) - 74days steve/bucky T, 6k

Summary: James 'Bucky' Barnes is the Winter Soldier, head of the Romanov Family - a well connected mob boss and cold hearted killer. He's trying to have a good time at his birthday party when it's crashed by the NYPD. Or is it?

Keeper (ao3) - HepG2 steve/tony E, 81k

Summary: “Uh, I’m… very new to the whole thing,” Tony swallows visibly. He uncrosses his legs and grabs his cup again. “I looked at pictures. Research. They look graphic.” 

Tony Stark is a journalist hanging onto the last of his life lines. He needs new writing materials. Something that sells. Then the whole town is talking about a BDSM play gone wrong, and there it is. His story.   Steve chuckles again. Tony notices he hasn’t touched his drink. “No worries. It’s very unlikely for us to take it up to that level.

It takes two to tango.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes (ao3) - SmolderingFlame steve/bucky E, 90k

Summary: Steve Rogers is the most dangerous man in Brooklyn. Bucky Barnes is the son of an abusive drunk who needs to pay off a serious gambling debt. Just so happens Steve has a thing for pretty brunettes with feisty attitudes.

The Captain (ao3) - arianapeterson19 steve/tony T, 1k

Summary: Tony was convinced that the men who had nabbed him off the street had the wrong guy; Tony didn't know any guy named the Captain. However, if the Captain wanted to show up and tell them that, Tony would really appreciate it.

OR

The one where Steve really should have told his boyfriend he was a mob boss BEFORE he was kidnapped.

The Secrets We Keep (ao3) - Us_Alive pepper/tony, ben/may N/R, 79k

Summary: “Who are all these people?” Pepper looked at the crowd forming around them.

Tony flashed his million-dollar smile that always made Pepper melt. “Don’t worry about them Pep, it’s just business.”

So, Pepper let it go. She shouldn’t have.

Pepper's life was perfect. Tony was the perfect husband, gentleman and he made her feel like the luckiest woman alive. It was everything she dreamed of.

But she soon finds out Tony's biggest secret. So she hides her biggest secret by running away. Problem is, Tony is not about to let her go.

The Ties That Bind Us (ao3) - Winterturtle pepper/tony T, 74k

Summary: Peter Parker is ordinary high school student, living alone in apartment in Queens. He doesn’t see his parents very often due to their work. However, his life turns upside-down when Tony Stark, the most feared and powerful man in New York, gives an order to kidnap him to use him as leverage against his parents to get one of his people back. Parker luck strikes in the worst possible moments, events from the past surface and secrets are revealed, changing everybody’s lives.

 Now Tony needs to learn how to be a dad. What will Peter do once he learns the truth of his true parentage?

Who Prays for The Devil? (ao3) - Bourneblack steve/bucky E, 79k

Summary: A mafia AU slams into a coffee shop AU, and out pops a cracky, fluffy, smutty, and angsty identity porn fic between son-of-a-mafia boss Bucky Barnes and clueless coffee shop owner Steve Rogers that takes a brief look into the bowels of the American healthcare system.

[justagalwhowrites]

If Andrew is your second favorite character that you've written, who is the first fave?

Ohhhh Bestie!

You've accidentally unlocked my special area of interest so I apologize in advance/I will try to keep this brief lol

My favorite character I've ever written is from my book series. Greg Archer, homicide detective for the Dallas Police Department and primary contact for intrepid crime reporter Tenny Royle.

Archer is the. best. I love him.

1) He's hot (originally wrote him with Oscar Isaac to visualize him but then I saw Pedro as Tim Rockford and lost my shit because IT WAS SUCH HUGE ARCHER VIBES I NEARLY DIED so now it's like a 50/50 split in my brain between Oscar and Pedro depending on the scene)

2) Bro is driven. He starts getting pushback on shit he thinks needs more investigating he's like "fine imma go do it on my own off the clock without your help fuck you."

3) he's a low key simp for the FMC, Tenny, and will do literally anything for her but tries real hard to keep that under wraps. Also stupid protective of her. 10000/10.

4) He's so close with all the women in his life??? He has all sisters and he adores them, they can get him to do anything because he just melts like butter for his sisters. He's close with his mom because - after his dad died when he was a teenager - he took it upon himself to make sure his mom took care of herself and not just her children. While he has all sisters, none of them are stereotypically feminine BUT he's the food lover of the family and is the keeper of the recipes from his immigrant grandmother - they were very close and she taught him all the family secrets.

5) Speaking of family recipes, he loves to cook and that man will make you the best food you've ever had as his love language and then shrug it off like he didn't just make you the best fucking enchilada you've ever had in your life.

6) He's big on mental health because he and trauma go way back.

Just... Yes. I love him. So much lol

One of the things I'm going to do after I wrap Beskar Doll is finish the rewrite I've been doing of the first book in the series that has Archer as one of the central characters. I am so crazy about that man.

ANYWAY I hope that answers your question and wasn't a nightmare to get through! Thank you for asking!! Love you!!

[butters-flower-mom]

what is pepper's relationship with the m4?

Because Pepper's so shy and has a hard time making friends she tends to not interact much with anyone besides Butters. For the most part, she's like a background character to the main four boys: just kinda there filling in a seat in the classroom.

The one she interacts with most is Cartman simply because he's the one Butters unfortunately hangs out with most. Pepper has some complex feelings about Cartman. She hates him for how he treats people, especially Butters (and she doesn't even know half of what he's done to Butters in the past), but she also feels sorry for him. She believes he's so mean because deep down he's lonely and can't admit it. She also knows there's something good in him because once she lost Baxter and Cartman found and returned him to her, though he intended to pull a "finders, keepers" before seeing how upset she was. Having had some very close stuffed animal friends himself, he actually felt guilty for keeping Baxter and gave him back. Pepper is also very jealous of Cartman because of all the time Butters spends with him. He often pulls Butters away, saying Pepper can't join in what they're doing because it's "bros only". Cartman knows Pepper is jealous and uses it to his advantage, telling Butters to ignore her when she tries to tell him what Cartman wants him to do might get him hurt or in trouble because she's supposedly only saying that because she's jealous of all the fun they're gonna have without her. Because Pepper is a lot more forgiving then Cartman, Butters tends to side with him.

Pepper, unfortunately, started out not having a good opinion of Kyle. Butters parroted a lot of nasty things about Kyle to her that Cartman told him which lead to Pepper being afraid of Kyle. The two of them got paired up for a school project that involved them needing to work together after school and Pepper was terrified to be alone in the same room as him. Kyle assumed it was just because she's so shy and tried his best to be as gentle and patient with her as he could, knowing she'd much rather be working with Butters and that he'd admittedly much rather be working with Stan. As Pepper was forced to work with him so neither would fail the assignment, she started seeing Kyle was nothing like what Butters said about him and now she's not really sure how she's supposed to feel about him.

I haven't really thought up interactions between Pepper and Stan or Kenny. If Pepper ever were to interact with Kenny, I think she'd get along with him. Kenny's pretty quiet and laid back which would help Pepper feel at ease around him. She wouldn't like any sexual jokes or remarks he'd make, but he'd stop making them around her if he knew they were making her uncomfortable. I think she'd probably get along best with Kenny out of the main four if I could ever think of a reason for them to interact.

As for Stan, all Pepper really knows about him is he's Kyle's best friend and Wendy's boyfriend. She's heard Wendy both gush about him like he's the best thing ever and rant about him like he's absolutely horrible so Pepper isn't sure what to make of him.