#Usually I draw him with his fish daughter but this year I felt like drawing THE LADY

[gollygeedash]

Of course I'm gonna draw Valentines day art for m&m, but ALSO because it is Mason's birthday. He gets a kissie from his wifey.

[honeybeewhereartthee]

Crystal Hearts

Previous || Chapter Five || Next

»»————-　i love candies　————-««

The moment you arrive in the familiar household of Oukawa. You were greeted by a kohaku and the rest of his family.

The certain fiancee of your have a very empty gaze as he stare at you coming down from the car while being dragged by his second older sister.

"Oh! Your finally here!" The head of Oukawa beam at the sight of you and his daughter and greet you two with a soft chuckle.

" I can't believe you running around doing your usual fairy job like you aren't engaged. So like my wife! " He tap your shoulder becoming painful as he said each words.

"... I don't know I was engaged???? " You mumble as you remove his hands on your shoulder before he could dislocated it.

" My! You sound like my wife when she first discovered it too! Ahaha ~ how I miss her~" he cross his arms as he have his eyes close with a smile, hiding the glint of emotion from the view.

But you could see Crystalized heart of bloody red color in which mean deep obsession of love he have for his wife.

" I-is she dead...??" You shake like a left in a Windy day as you walk beside the ever silent kohaku inside the house.

You felt purple gaze stare at you in very mix emotions which shaken you more.

As if you ask very bad question, you wanted to apologize when you heard the head laugh again.

"Of course not! But she said she would go buy soy sauce a couple of years back and never return!" He open the sliding door which leads to a combat like room.

' soy sauce... The fuck. Is this the mother version of buying milk (・_・;)' you thought as you wonder how he so free spirited as he went to the weapon area, picking and choosing from those very realistic blades they have here.

'those aren't real deal right ???' you thought as you too get curious and poke the edge, feeling the sting as wounds bleed from the finger, your fear arise.

"Choice your weapon and draw your blade with intent of winning..." He says as he pick a set of Tanto swords.

"What if I don't?" You look at him and the weapons, then at kohaku who's giving you a dead fish eyes as if not wanting to talk to you either, making you feel even worse!

"I will practice my way to keep my sweet wife from escape then ywy." He trace the non sharp edge of the blade.

"If you lose. I will harvest your organs to sell." He innocently says with a smile as if it was a just a bloody joke.

"I don't want to dishonored the family line when they know I let the person who defeated my sole heir leave without binding them in..." He added.

"..." You gulp a mouthful of painful gulp. Fuck my life.' you thought as you sigh into your fate.

" I-i am a HEARTLESS PERSON! SO EVEN IF I WIN... ITS A BAD THING FOR HAKU-TAN!" you tried to proceed him. Telling him this is very absorb, very crazy!

"It's ok. You will learn to love my baby boy! His very lovable after all! Since you two are friends, it be easy to have a heart to love him too ~" he seems to not take your words at heart.

"My, how confident you have to win! Very likable treat!" He added with a nodding of approval of your attitude.

"...agh... Fine." You thought about it and look around for a weapon, after picking it and outting it to inventory to use in the fight, you look at him with a contempt on your eyes.

"Your family tradition sucks." You throw a middle finger as you two went to the mini arena. He chuckle at your attitude before the oldest start the fight with a wave of her hand.

BANG

BANG

BANG

You pulled a gun and shoot the incoming projectiles (knife) toward you and reload it as he is quick with his legs and run toward you to clash but you shoot his legs with a bullet earning a muffed chuckle of pain as you deflect the blade with your blade in another after summoning it.

"My, your too open!" He says before he knock his head toward yours, causing you to back away and black out for a moment.

At that moment you remember a moment when you once trained and having a friendly match with Kuro.

"Lil mc, you fight very well, it's too surprising too... I wonder what type of fae are you really are. But it's your secret to hide. I won't ask for it. But always remember never be unconscious or black out in a fight. It's not dangerous for you but for your opponent..."

.

.

.

" DAD !!??"

the moment you return to conscious later, you saw a bloody mess in front of you and something wet on your face. You heard a soft

Chuckle as the person who have a blade embed on his side stomach spit out a mouthful of blood yet your gaze seems glow ember with your glowing golden rings in your eyes as if still out of it.

You were about to slice his stomach open when someone pulled you away and feed you magi candy, the moment you taste sweetness. You finally snap out of it.

"...shit." you curse as you see what kind of mess you did. You quickly thank kohaku before you went to reach out for Mr Oukawa wounds.

[ Reverse passage Link ]

The wounds and blood slowly went back as if the time went back but it never said it won't occur again but it would make the wound not fetal till there's a help in hand to have surgery on it.

You can only reverse the moment for one hour and the fact your powers is partly locked it made you feel sick.

"S-sorry... Haku-tan... I dont mean too..." You felt bad, felt really bad about it as tears fall from your eyes as you realize how bad your action is.

"Sigh... Ya were threaten and win. Yet ya still felt bad about it. It's fine... The old man can live another day. He been through worse pain." Kohaku who finally spoke to you, pat your head and wipe the blood on your face.

He was amaze at the sight of you becoming a living monster but instead of fear, he felt thrilled at the thought of wanting to fight you again.

"Congrats! Your now our in law!" The second sister says with a glee as she hug you from behind.

"...I'm a heartless fae... And the idea of marriage of you humans have, are far different from the way of faes..." As you says that, you slowly felt very drained and everything become dizzy.

" I'm ... Seeing double..." You mumble confuse before you slowly fainted toward kohaku open arms. Knocking you out cold for days yet the moment kohaku check your pulls, his eyes widen as he chuckle softly.

" Kokoko... Indeed your heartless..." He mumble after he notice your still breathing either way. He look at his sister's who's beside his father who give him a signal he could leave the room.

Carrying you in his arms, he soon put you to your own room, right beside his.

"It's very nice to meet you, MC.." he mumble as he gaze at you and toward the falling leaves from outside the window. The sign of autumn is here.

»»————-　✼　————-««

(1) There's are different type of Fae, but they have category of Light and dark fae but under it there's many type of it

(if want to be tagged pls comment or Send mail) Tag List : @valeriele3 @yinenovica

[imprvdente]

𝐌𝐘𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐓 & 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇: @governmentofficial​ from: 🎁 spend Christmas together

"But why are there so many presents?"

The confusion in Mycroft's voice was clear. He'd quickly got past his awe at the sight of his friend's Christmas tree (it had the be the most impressive one that he'd ever seen!) and, in typical fashion for him, had begun to focus on all the little details. Well, not so little in this case, and the sheer number of presents on display was almost overwhelming! Considering that they were only for Fish and her father, Mycroft didn't understand how there could be so many!

He'd added his own presents to the pile - one for his friend, and one for her father too. They stood out among the horde, the mismatched wrapping paper in comparison to the rest drawing the eye. Now he'd seen how many there were, Mycroft almost felt as though he hadn't brought enough. If he was ever invited over for the holidays again, he would have to bring more.

"Do you get this many every year? Where do you put them all once they're all opened?"

Fish looked at her friend, then looked at the Christmas tree, and back to her friend. Why he was so puzzled by what she deemed to be a perfectly reasonable amount of presents, she had no idea. And frankly, she thought the question was a little bit rude, simply because she’d never ask something like that. But she knew he didn’t mean to be rude. Whenever Mycroft was thinking something, he tended to simply... Say it out loud. 

“I suppose this year, there are a little bit more presents than usual,” she explained, “because there are yours, too.” She pointed towards a little pile of beautifully wrapped presents. 

Of course, Christmas at the Lecter household was always decadent, Hannibal often getting his daughter whatever she wanted. She didn’t see what was so shocking about that! “But yes, I usually get this many every year. Why? Don’t you?” She tilted her head at him, eyebrows furrowed.

[rubysunnday]

Favourite Brother

A/N: not gonna lie, I am terrified to post this because there is no established community for a bridgerton sister like there is with peaky blinders but into the unknown we go

Y/N Bridgerton is based off my own character who is Daphne’s twin sister (there’s a whole thing in my head as to why her name begins with a C, but i digress) and is, technically, the eldest daughter but is never seen that way. 

If she was being completely honest, making her debut into society at the same time as her twin sister was probably one of the worst things Y/N Bridgerton could have done. Ultimately, it was down to her mother to make the decision and no matter how much Y/N - and Eloise - begged for her to postpone her coming out for a year, her mother was insistent (Eloise’s begging had been so that none of the attention next season would be on her). 

Y/N knew that her first season out in society wasn’t going to go well. She had Daphne as a sister for heaven’s sake - despite being older than her by a whole five minutes (a fact her oldest brother, Anthony, seemed to keep conveniently forgetting) - Y/N Bridgerton was merely a twinkle compared to the explosion that was her twin sister.

The Queen had offered Y/N a most gracious remark alongside her sister but it felt as if it was merely to balance out the scales - as if she didn’t truly mean it.

But, deep down, she hadn’t wanted to believe that she was merely a cast off. That she was just Daphne’s sister and was nothing more.

Her first ball, however, solidified the feeling she’d had for a while. That she was nothing more than Daphne’s sister in the eyes of the ton. Daphne was the season’s diamond. Y/N was merely a geode waiting to be split open. Unassuming on the outside but magnificent on the inside. 

Y/N stared after her brother and Daphne as they wandered around the room, eyeing out appropriate suitors (which, according to Anthony, didn’t exist in that ballroom). 

“Dearest,” Violet said, placing a hand on her daughter’s arm, noticing her fury, “shall we go get some lemonade?”

Y/N had a childish urge to grab a cup of lemonade and pour it over her brother’s head but swallowed it down, forcing a pleasant smile to her face. She turned to her mother and nodded.

“Anthony means well -”

“Mother,” Y/N grounded out. She really did not want to talk about her eldest brother. 

“He means well,” Violet repeated, handing her daughter a glass of lemonade, “he’s just fiercely protective of you all.”

“Everyone except me, you mean?” Y/N corrected, giving her mother a hard stare. Y/N sighed and slumped against the wall. “I know he does,” she said quietly, almost not wanting to admit it. “But it’s almost as if he doesn’t realise I’m here.”

Violet nodded. “I know. But he wants the best for you - we all do.”

“Yet the best simply are not here in this ballroom tonight, are they?” Y/N countered, giving her mother a raise of the eyebrows. “He and Daphne are walking around the room, eyeing up every suitor in that room and where am I? Hiding at the back by the drinks table like a wallflower.”

Violet put a hand on Y/N’s arm in sympathy for there weren’t many words she could offer her daughter that would be of any comfort. She knew the feeling of being a wallflower all too well. 

“Y/N! Why are you skulking back here?”

It was almost as if a light switched on behind Y/N’s eyes at the sound of her brother’s voice. She turned and smiled at Colin as he, and Benedict, approached her, weaving through the ambitious mama’s and their debutantes and studiously avoiding making eye contact with any of them. 

“Anthony has eyes for Daff and Daff only,” Y/N replied, standing on her tiptoes to hug Colin and then Benedict. They’d inherited the Bridgerton good looks and the Bridgerton height. Something Y/N and her five foot four height was all too jealous of. 

Colin smiled sympathetically at his sister, knowing full well what she meant. He held out his arm to her, ever the gentleman. “Well, shall we go promenade around the room?”

Y/N giggled as she excepted Colin’s arm. She then looked up expectantly at Benedict who gave her the iconic Bridgerton smile (one Y/N had mastered too) and he offered his arm to her too. 

The three of them began a deliberately slow walk around the edge of the room.

“You do realise everyone’s looking at you?” Colin whispered, a cheeky grin on his face.

Y/N, for the first time that night, felt all the attention on her. Every suitor watched her as she passed by and all offered a smile. 

But, deep down, she knew she was second best. And she refused to settle for that. 

“Not that we’d let you pick any of them,” Benedict added quickly. “None of them are suitable.”

Y/N swallowed her urge to groan, counted to five in her head and looked at Benedict. “You sound just like Anthony.”

“Well, someone has to,” Benedict replied giving her a smile that had made many a woman swoon in the past.

She didn’t understand why. Well, Benedict was her brother. Whenever he smiled at her she just remembered the time he’d left a fish in her bed and she’d retaliated by leaving numerous frogs in his room. 

The sibling prank war of 1805 had been a dangerous one. Y/N had fallen down the stairs and ended up with a concussion and Benedict had ended up with a long, and loud, lecture from Anthony about the dangers of trip wires near staircases. 

“Oh, there’s Anthony and Daphne,” Colin murmured, noticing them on the other side of the room. 

“Daff!” Benedict called, all but dragging Y/N over to the,

Y/n, who’s arm was in Benedict’s, didn’t have much choice to follow and neither did Colin as Y/N wasn’t about to let her buffer leave anytime soon. 

Anthony looked up at them as they approached but his eyes narrowed slightly when he saw Y/N in the middle of them. 

“Have you been looking for suitors?” Anthony asked, his stare narrowing even more when he noticed someone eyeing Y/N over her shoulder. 

“Did Mother tell you yet?” Colin asked Daphne, saving Y/N from having to talk to Anthony and conveniently turning the conversation away from her. “I’m to start my tour in Greece.”

“Oh, Greece, that sounds wonderful,” Y/N said, both her and Daphne making a similar remark. Daphne and Y/N glanced at one another and giggled. 

Anthony’s eyes widened as he looked up. “On guard!”

It was an instant change. All five of them suddenly had anywhere else to be and they all turned around, fully intent on heading to literally any other corner of the room.

“No escape,” Colin muttered as they heard the formidable Lady Danbury’s cane hit the floor loudly.

“Too late,” Lady Danbury called. “I already noted you.”

Her words were followed by a loud thump of her cane. Startled, Y/N stepped back in Benedict and accidentally stood on his foot. She lost her footing, wobbled, and fell even further back into her brother.

Benedict, to his credit, let out a soft grunt as his sister impacted him, but then managed to right her and stand her back up on her own feet without drawing Lady Danbury’s attention.

“Lady Danbury!” Benedict, Anthony and Colin all greeted at once, all bowing in sync as if they were performing.

Y/N and Daphne curtsied slightly at the older woman. 

Lady Danbury’s eyes rested on the two girls. “I’ve yet to see either one of you on the dance floor,” she said, her eyes narrowing even more.

“We’re biding our time,” Anthony cut in. 

“We?” Y/N whispered under her breath, sparing Anthony a glare that would’ve turned lesser men to stone. 

Apparently Lady Danbury had heard that but, to her credit, said nothing. If anything her usually steely glare softened ever so slightly when she looked at Y/N. 

“You poor girls,” Lady Danbury muttered, shaking her head. “I always knew I liked you two for a reason,” she added, eyeing Daphne and Y/N as they both gave Anthony a disdainful, joint glare (one the two girls had hoped she’d missed but, as usual, Lady Danbury never missed anything.) “As for the rest of you.... hmmph.”

And with that, Lady Danbury vanished off to torture some other poor soul.

Benedict stared after her with an offended expression. “Hmmph? Hmmph?” He echoed. “Is that all she could come up with? Hmmph?”

Y/N smiled to herself. “She likes us,” she said, looking at Daphne with a smile. 

Daphne smiled back at her sister. “Yes, it would appear she does.”

Benedict grunted. “You can have her.”

Y/N elbowed Benedict in the ribs and her brother let out a rather loud grunt - one that had numerous nearby partygoers look over to wonder what was happening.

“For that, you can dance with me,” Benedict muttered, grabbing Y/N’s hand and all but dragging her away from the safety of Colin and Daphne and onto the dance floor.

“You hate dancing,” Y/N said as she struggled to keep up with her brother. she was suddenly spun onto the dance floor and somehow managed to keep her footing. 

Benedict put his arm on her waist and gave her a level stare. “I also hate being paraded around by our Mother,” he said, nodding his head behind him.

Y/N leaned past him and saw Colin being unwillingly paraded around the room by their Mother. Colin, ever the gentleman, was putting a smile on and greeting every single debutante. But he did look up at Benedict and Y/N and give them a very ungentlemanly glare.

 Y/N let out a very unladylike snort and laughed. Benedict rolled his eyes. 

The music began and the two began dancing around the obnoxious looking floral arrangement in the centre of the floor. Neither one said anything for a moment - focusing on the music and ensuring they were getting the steps right.

“Thank you,” Y/N said quietly. 

She’d noticed her mother, Daphne and Anthony leave a few moments earlier and whilst Daphne had given her a sister an apologetic look and her mother had ensured Colin was going to get her home safely, Anthony had marched off without a second glance.

Benedict frowned. He twirled Y/N twice and then resumed the proper position. “Whatever for?”

Y/N smiled up at him and for the first time that night, felt as if she was enjoying herself. “For being my favourite brother and saving the day.”

“I’m your favourite?” Benedict asked, tilting his head to the side in a curious gesture.

Y/N hit his arm. Hard. “Don’t ruin the moment,” she replied as the song ended.

They bowed to one another as the dance ended and then moved off the dance floor. Y/N suddenly wrapped her arms around Benedict’s neck and hugged him tightly.

Benedict, surprised by the sudden show of sibling love, slowly returned the hug with a confused expression. 

“Thank you for making this night worth it,” Y/N whispered in his ear. 

Benedict hadn’t been oblivious to the way Anthony glossed over his sister. Whilst it was probably unintentional - everyone knew that Anthony Bridgerton would die for his family - he hadn’t missed the hurt look in Y/N’s eyes. 

Benedict smiled and ruffled Y/N’s hair as best he could without messing up the intricate updo. “Always, sister.”

Colin, impeccable timing as always, then happened to walk into Y/N, backwards, almost dropped the lemonade he was carrying and ruined the entire moment. Y/N fell forward into Benedict and Benedict fell back a step trying to catch his sister and his brother. Benedict had then slapped Colin on the back of the head. 

But according to those around the ballroom, Colin had been clumsy on purpose to try and cheer up his sister. Which had worked. 

[zealous-whispers-of-us-redux]

money for nothing

A/N: I don't know how the mob works, but I tried. Also, I might be ruining the tiny bit of 'canon' I wrote in the first one. Whoops. Also, also, I barely edited this, so concrit is encouraged. Yell at me for my formatting and grammar, please. Lastly, click on the links (hope I did 'em right) if you wanna hear the songs :)

TW: Implied child abuse again.

Bucky felt like he was floating on air. For the first time in a long time, he was content. This love of his was a new thing, though fragile it was not. There was no fear that it would all collapse around him, no fear that she didn't love him. He was finally home. And what a home it was. Unaccustomed to cooking anything at all, she had decided to teach herself. Bucky had eaten more charred frozen fish sticks than he ever had, but it was all worth it just to see her smile. Baking was easier for her, so much so that Bucky had to buy new pants. He had a bit of a belly now, not that it bothered her, and she made sure to tell him every chance she got. And she took to the business like a duck to water. There was nothing more attractive than watching her give some mook the business. When she said she knew how to buy cops, she wasn't kidding. The fuzz was in Bucky's back pocket- it was incredible. The money was rolling in faster than it had ever been before.

But she was hurting; Bucky could see it. Bruises faded, bones were set and appropriately healed, but she was still in so much pain. She was angry all the time. She split her knuckles on guys' teeth and laughed when she made them bleed. Whenever Bucky raised his voice at someone (never at her), she folded in on herself and wouldn't come out until he was quiet again. She reminded him of himself- twenty-one years old, mother newly dead, already married, and being groomed by his asshole of a father to run the family business. He got into more trouble back then than he ever had and ever would have. He didn't want to watch her go down the same path, didn't wanna watch her come up for air and cry when she saw the blood on her hands.

It was high time for a vacation, Bucky thought to himself as he went to find her. She could usually be found behind the curtain, running The Barnes Clan's (illegal) gambling ring. He found her sweeping the floor in preparation for tonight's big shindig. She swayed with the broom, singing with a voice Bucky didn't know she had. He stopped to listen, feeling his heartbeat pick up. God, he wanted to marry her.

"Give me your hand when I've lost my way. Give me your shoulder to cry on. Whether the day is bright or gray. Give me your heart to rely on," she sang, dipping the broom.

"Send me the warmth of a secret smile. To show me you haven't forgot," Bucky sang next, striding in to join her.

She dropped the broom with a gasp, her hand flying to her chest.

"Jesus, B, you scared the hell outta me."

"'M sorry, sweetheart," Bucky said, tugging her into his chest. "How come I never knew you had such a pretty voice, huh?"

He was teasing, but he watched as her face fell. She began chewing her tongue, and Bucky frowned.

"I wanted to be a singer," she finally said, not looking at Bucky. "But my father said being a performer was unbecoming of a lady as high a caliber as me. I guess socialites are supposed to be demure, motherin' types, and I was always drawin' too much attention. It humiliated him. The more attention I got, the worse he became. I couldn't stop the kidnappings from drawing attention, but I could stop the singin', so I just. Did. I've been tryin' to stop it, but you make me happy."

Bucky didn't know what to say; he was so surprised.

"I'll try harder to keep a lid on it, honest," she whispered.

"No!" Bucky shouted before regulating his voice. "Hell no. You- you sing as much as you want, okay?"

She nodded but still wasn't looking at Bucky.

"You angry with me, B?"

"No, sweetheart, never at you. I jus'- I hate yer dad sometimes. Who does he think he is to try an' tell his daughter what she can and cannot do?"

"A rich man."

"Fuck that. I'm a rich man. An' I'm tellin' you, you ever feel the urge to sing, don't ignore it. Whenever, wherever, you sing. It's- you got a gift, you know that?"

"Performers don't embarrass you?"

"We're standin' in a dance hall I own."

"Well, yeah, but don't you have different expectations for the woman on your arm?"

"No." Bucky lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. "I ain't anything like your daddy, sweetheart. I may be older, but I ain't out to mold you into my perfect little socialite wife. You wanna sing, go ahead an' sing. You wanna set up a red carpet in the middle of Times Square, you do that. You wanna go out an' swing, I'll go with you."

"Still can't swing," she said, but she was smiling.

"Been with you for six months, an' I still haven't taught you? What the hell have I been doin'?"

"Runnin' many lucrative illegal businesses."

"Ah, right, right. How could I have forgotten?"

Her smile grew as Bucky began to dance, urging her to follow his movements as he led them around the floor.

"How'm I supposed to share your rhythm- read your mind?" she said. "There's no music."

"Not yet," said Bucky.

"Subtle," she teased before starting to sing.

"Louder," Bucky urged.

"I'm confessin' that I love you. Tell me, do you love me too?" she began.

Bucky smiled, bending down so that he could touch his forehead to hers. He lost time that way as they moved around the floor, the broom lying forgotten. She stepped on his toes more often than not until Bucky asked her to sing something faster. They sped up their dance until she was gasping around the lyrics, and Bucky was laughing so hard that he couldn't catch his breath. Finally, they collapsed to the ground, both panting.

"Faster dancin' is much more fun," she said.

"I think so too," Bucky said, swinging himself on top of her.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, humming the last line of the song she had sung into his mouth. When they parted, Bucky opened his eyes and tapped her on the nose.

"'M worried about you," he said bluntly.

"Me? Whatever for?" she asked, acting so surprised that she dropped the accent she had picked up from Bucky and leaping headfirst into the upper crust East Coast accent that her ancestors grew up speaking. The one her father had, the one she used when she was truly upset about something and not faking sounding tough.

"You're- you're so angry, you know that? I just- you beat up men three times yer size an' laugh when they spit teeth on the ground. You don't care if your knuckles are bruised; you punch 'em again an' again 'til they give it up. I'm afraid that one day you'll go to a place where I can't reach you."

She stayed silent, but Bucky forged ahead.

"I don't wanna see you hurt. I wouldn't know what I'd do with myself. I shoulda never let you do the dirty work."

"I wore you down," she said still in that same accent.

"I shoulda stayed firm. I told you the first night I wasn't gonna let you. I know what it's like to be this angry. You kidnap a guy who owes you money, an' you think beatin' on him will make you feel better and get you paid all at once, but you come to realize after he's bleedin' and nearly unconscious that you like it."

"They're society men that act like my father, the ones I beat up," she admitted.

"I see it all, sweetheart, I know."

"Am I a liability?"

"No, every cop is in my back pocket. Don't gotta worry about that, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, hey, listen." Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead, wanting to change the subject. He was never good with these sorts of things. "I've been thinkin' we needa vacation."

She brightened minutely. "Where?"

"Anywhere you want."

"We could go to the Catskills again. It was so nice last time."

"Nah, think bigger. I got so much money now, an' I wanna treat you like you deserve. So, whaddya say? Corsica? Palma? Sardinia? Havana?"

"I've always wanted to drive down Route 66-"

"That it? What a cheap date you are," Bucky teased.

"-Stay at the Hotel Bel-Air, rub elbows with Ava Gardner, Grace Kelly, an' Marlon Brando," she said, dropping her accent finally. "Take an airplane."

"Ah, there she is. Was wonderin' where my expensive society girl went. We can catch a flight home. We'll take our time drivin' down, see all the sights. How's that sound?"

"Sounds nice," she said.

"'M glad," said Bucky, kissing her just as the sounds of his men clattering through the club began.

They broke away from each other, Bucky settling into his role as quickly as slipping on a new coat. As his men swarmed him, each yelling about this thing and that thing until Bucky told them to shut up, a thought briefly crossed his mind. What if he ended it all? It fled just as quickly as it came, and Bucky thought no more of it as he did his damn job.

"Naw, we need that money; beat 'em up a little, Barton. Rogers, go with 'im. Shoot the guy if you hafta. Wilson, when's yer meetin' with Rumlow? You need backup? Take Parker; he's been dyin' to cut his teeth on that. An' tell Odinson to pull back a little bit- we ain't about to flood the Eastern seaboard so much we draw every copper to us. I ain't got that kinda cash lyin' around. Romanoff, any updates on Laufeyson? No? Fuckin' hell, fine, I'll do it my damn self. Fucker's got it comin', anyway."

The informal meeting didn't last long before the club was open for business, and people began streaming in, going behind the curtain, and taking their places at the gambling tables. Bucky always liked watching his dolly do her job. She was great at making guys take out loans when they ran out of money and got them to slip her exorbitant tips just by being there and lookin' pretty. She talked 'em into drinking and cheated at blackjack so easily that Bucky wondered where in the hell she learned how to do it. She was his best choice to work the games. He settled back in his chair and sipped at his drink. It was gonna be a good night.

__

"Here," Bucky said, tucking some cash in her top. "Get yourself somethin' nice, huh?"

She was taking a break from runnin' around the tables with Parker taking her place, though he wasn't as nice to look at. Bucky tugged her in his lap as soon as she was close enough.

"How sweet," she said, biting Bucky's ear. "You're so good to me, B."

Bucky's grip on her tightened when she bit him again.

"You know how you look out there?" he growled. "Never seen anyone do as well as you- makin' me all that green like it's nothin'."

"Gonna buy me somethin'?"

"Anythin' you fuckin' want."

She moved to straddle Bucky, kissing his chin. She kissed his lips hard, and he did too, snarling at the contrast of her fingers gently running through his hair. He held her tight, rolling his hips up. Neither of them was a fan of public... anything, but this was okay. This was enough.

"Bucky."

"What d'you want? A car? A boat? Diamonds?"

"Yes, yes, that."

"Give you as many diamonds as you want, sweet girl. Gonna lemme have you when we get home?" Bucky asked.

"On the money."

"Mm, my baby's a fuckin' genius."

"Should get back to work now, though," she said, nudging their noses together. "Parker ain't shit."

"Kid couldn't con his way outta a paper bag," Bucky agreed, kissing her before she climbed off him. "What kinda diamonds do you want?"

"All of them."

"Of course."

They kissed one more time for good luck, then she made her way over to the tables, gently nudging Parker out of the way. Bucky settled back to watch her in action.

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: deleted scene 3

Summary: A flipped POV/extended scene from the night reader told Spencer that they’re going to be parents (part x of lhalc)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: pregnancy, implied sex (obviously lol)

Word count: 2k

a/n: pls this is unedited so just ignore any typos

Series Masterlist

———

They said their goodbyes and final congratulations to Luke and Penny, and then they were sitting in silence in Spencer’s Volvo. She could feel Spencer panicking next to her— in the car, up the sidewalk, across from her in their kitchen. After two weeks of her own internal panic, now she was standing in front of him, and she couldn’t meet his worried gaze. 

“Please say something,” he begged. 

“I—” She paused, took a deep breath, and forced herself to look at him. “I’m pregnant.”

She watched as his IQ plummeted. “What?”

“I don’t know how it happened. I mean— I know how it happened, I just. I don’t know how it happened.” She laughed nervously, studying his face for any readable emotion. “I’m sure you can tell me the statistics about the effectiveness of birth control—” He opened his mouth, and she held up her hand, begged with watery eyes, “Please don’t tell me about the effectiveness of birth control right now.” 

“Okay,” he breathed. 

She didn’t think she could handle hearing about it, and besides: “The statistics don’t really matter anyway, because obviously it wasn’t effective, and now I’m pregnant.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, a little like a fish, before murmuring, “You’re sure?”

“I took seven home tests,” she confirmed, voice wavering. “All positive. And then I went to the doctor on Wednesday. To be sure. And she, um— she’s sure.”

He nodded. “How do you feel?” 

His tone was even, his face neutral, and she couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She could feel the tears brimming, threatening to spill over. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t seem to stay neutral then, frowning and cocking his head. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because we— we didn’t talk about this.” She gestured wildly with her hands, the emotion finally spilling over and her fears toppling out of her mouth. “I never asked you what you want. And I— I don’t want you to think I’m trying to trap you, or—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He took a step toward her before he froze, cursed under his breath, and asked, “Can— can you just. Just wait here for one minute. I’ll be right back.”

He practically sprinted out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and out of sight. She sank into one of the kitchen chairs and dropped her head in her hands. Now it was all out in the open, and he was already finding it hard to be in the same room with her. He kept a neutral expression for as long as possible, because he was kind, and empathetic, and he loved her. But that didn’t mean he wanted to do this with her. 

She was so wrapped up in her abject mom-to-be terror that she didn’t hear him practically tumble back down the stairs. She didn’t hear him sprint around the corner and into the kitchen. But she did hear her name, soft and reassuring, and then he was kneeling next to her on the floor. “Hey, hey— look at me. Y/N, look at me.” 

She turned toward him in the chair, and his eyes were soft and reassuring, too. “It’s okay, baby. Are you— are you okay?”

She sucked in a shaky breath. It wasn’t okay, and she wasn’t okay— not until she knew how he was actually feeling. “I— what do you— I need to know what you want.”

“You,” he said plainly. 

Her heart flipped in her chest, but she huffed, swiping at her cheeks. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know. But it’s the truth.” He shrugged. “I want you. Always. And I want you to be happy and healthy. And I want to support you in… whatever you decide.”

He looked down at his hands, and then he looked back at her. “In regards to ‘trapping me,’ it’s— it’s not a trap if I want to be here.”

He brought his hands up into her lap and opened a small velvet box. She stared stupidly at the ring inside for at least seven seconds, her eyes going wide as they came to meet his own. “What is this?”

“I’ve had this ring for… a long time,” he admitted. “ I bought it the week we came back from North Carolina for Thanksgiving, and I talked to your dad about it when we were there for Christmas.” 

He scooted closer to her on the floor, his own eyes wet. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He’d had this ring for nearly a year? He’d bought it when they had barely been together nine months? He wanted to marry her?

“I kept waiting for the perfect moment, but I— I could never find it.” He drew his brows together and huffed out a laugh. “I understand now that the problem with waiting for the perfect moment was that—” He shook his head in realization, and then met her eyes. “Every moment with you is perfect. Even when it’s not.” He felt a tear spill over and shrugged. “Because I’m with you. And that makes it perfect.”

She brought her hand up to wipe away his tears with gentle fingers, even as her own tears continued. He smiled at her. “I love you. The most. And I wanna be with you: today, tomorrow, next week, next year… forever. In every perfect moment. And that’s not gonna change. Okay?”

Of all the reactions she imagined he’d have to the news of her pregnancy, she had never imagined this. “Okay.”

He hesitated for a split second, and she saw the first and only shimmer of uncertainty. “Do you wanna marry me?”

She laughed, genuine and joyful. “That’s not how you ask.” 

He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Will you marry me?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, all the worry she’d been carrying for the last two weeks just… falling away. “Yes. Yes.”

He slipped the ring onto her finger and then surged up off the floor to wrap her in a hug. “Sorry it took me so long.” She breathed him in, relishing the feel of his body against hers. For the first time in two weeks, she allowed herself to melt into him, no longer worried to be found out.

He held her for a second longer before pulling back to hold her hands, running his thumb along the newly placed ring. “Your answer to this question doesn’t change how I feel or what I want. I need you to know that.” When she nodded, he squeezed her hands. “Do you want to have a baby?” 

She hesitated, chewing the inside of her lip. “What do you—”

“No.” He shook his head. “I already told you what I want. I’m asking you. What do you want?”

She rubbed her thumbs absentmindedly over his for fifteen long seconds. The moment of truth, and it came out in a whisper. “I want to have a baby with you.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Fresh tears gathered behind his eyes, and she felt so silly for ever having doubted what he wanted. “We’re gonna have a baby,” he breathed, disbelief dripping heavy over his words. “You’re gonna be a mom.”

She choked out a wet laugh. “Yeah, that’s usually how it works.”

“You’re gonna be the best mom,” he corrected. 

“You’re gonna be a dad.” She squeezed his hands. “The absolute best dad.”

He scooped her into another hug, the two of them laughing and crying in the soft light of their kitchen at midnight. She was pregnant, they were engaged, it was all out of order, and she wouldn’t change a single thing about it. Like every other moment with him, it was perfect.

“Your mom’s gonna kill me,” he muttered.

She cackled— well, almost perfect. She grimaced playfully. “Mmm, yeah she probably is. If it’s any consolation, she’ll start with me.” She sighed, smiling tiredly at him. “I love you.”

He matched her smile. “I love you the most. Dead or alive.”

She snaked her arm around his waist, pulling him toward the stairs. “You know… I can think of one thing that might just placate Mama Rose…”

They started up the stairs together. “Do tell.” 

Her fingers rubbed along his hip bone. “Do you think Dave would let us use his backyard?”

Spencer pressed a kiss into her hair as they reached the landing and turned for their bedroom, Roald hot on their heels. “I’m sure a bottle of wine and a box of cigars would do the trick.”

“I’m thinking a backyard wedding with your family and mine— here, so that your mom doesn’t have to travel.” She pulled him over the threshold of their bedroom door. “And then we can have a party at the farm for all your new in-laws.”

“New in-laws?” Spencer asked.

“Oh yeah. There’s fifteen aunts and uncles and about fifty cousins that’re dying to meet you.” Spencer’s eyes went wide as saucers, and she laughed, pulling him into her arms. “I’d say there won’t be a quiz, but if any of the uncles find out about the eidetic memory thing, they’re absolutely gonna quiz you.” 

She laced her fingers behind his back, drawing him even closer. “But they already love you,” she assured him. “I get a text at least twice a week about you.”

His eyebrows shot up behind his curls. “You do?”

“Mmhm. Asking how you’re doing, are you teaching a new class, where’s your latest case, et cetera, et cetera. All the aunts are nosy as hell,” she laughed. She tilted her head in consideration, lacing their fingers together and leading him toward their bed. “It’s gonna be impossible to keep this a secret for very long.”

He sat on the side of the bed, pulling her down to straddle his lap. “The twenty week mark is usually the green light to start telling people. How— how far along are we?”

“Dr. Layton said probably... about eight weeks.”

She watched as he did the calculations, the realization settling over his face— the drop of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrow, the pink rising in his cheeks. “Oh. Oh.”

“Mm.” She pressed her lips together to hide her smile. “I think we really, um— manifested that.”

“Wow.” She could practically see the memories flashing in his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Do you think your dad would sell me that truck?” 

“Oh my god.” She brought her hands up to his cheeks, grinning ear to ear. “You’d better come up with a good lie about why you want it.” 

His hands traveled over her hips, squeezing gently on their way to her lower back. “You mean I can’t tell Hank that his daughter had se—”

She clapped a hand over his mouth, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed and hovering over him. “Shhhh— he still thinks his baby is an innocent angel. You don’t wanna ruin that for him, do you?”

He laughed underneath her palm and pulled her flush against him. She removed her hand, and he sighed. “I suppose your secret's safe with me. Mostly because I don’t want to incur his wrath.”

“Mm,” she nodded, bringing their mouths together. “Smart man.”

He kissed her, saccharine and slow. She was just starting to relax into it when he suddenly flipped them, knocking a huffed laugh out of her. He peppered light kisses over her face, down her neck, over her racing heart, her sternum. When he reached her tummy, he paused, staring at the barely there bump covered in flowy fabric. And then he pressed his lips gently to it, over and over and over again. 

She tangled her fingers in his hair, waiting for him to get his fill. After fifteen kisses, she laughed as she realized he probably never would. He raised his head at the sound, gently resting his chin on her belly, careful not to press too hard. His sweet smile had her tugging him up toward her.

“I can’t believe I was ever worried about how you’d feel,” she whispered.

“I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out,” he countered. “I should have known when you said no to sushi.” He grinned, but then it softened into something more empathetic. “Is that why I couldn’t hug you for the last two weeks?”

She nodded, feeling absolutely ridiculous. He sat up and pulled her with him, his chin hooked over her shoulder and all his long limbs folded awkwardly around her. “Well. I guess I just have to make up for lost time.”

[peachbear88]

Tale as Old as Time

A/N: Yes, it's basically Beauty and the Beast. I LOVE DISNEY MOVIES OKAY?

------------

You shiver on the cold stone of the jail cell, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. How did you end up in the jail cell? A series of long, unfortunate events.

------------

The door to your shabby home swings close as you prance down the cobble streets, book in hand.

"Little town,"

"It's a quiet village."

"Every day,"

"Like the one before."

"Little town,"

"Full of little people,"

"Waking up to say."

Windows are flung upon as the townspeople peer down at you.

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour."

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour!

"Bonjour."

A man with a long white apron proffers a tray of fresh, steaming buns towards you and you snatch one, nodding your thanks.

"There goes the baker with his tray like always,"

"The same old bread and rolls to sell."

He opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it.

"Every morning just the same,"

"Since the morning that we came,"

"To this poor provincial town."

A man approaches you, tipping his hat.

"Good morning Y/N." You smile at his kind, pudgy face.

"Good morning Monsieur Hogan. Have you lost something?"

"Well, I believe I have. Problem is I can't remember what." He scratches his chin. "Oh well. I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere." His eyes float down to the book clutched in your hand. "Where you off to?"

"To return this book to Monsieur T'Challa. It's about 2 lovers in fair Verona." He snorts.

"Sounds boring."

You shrug and continue down the stone path towards the small town library.

"Look there she goes, that girl is strange no question."

A small band of boys watch you as you walk down the street.

"Dazed and distracted can't you tell?"

"Never part of any crowd,"

"'Cause her head's stuck on some cloud."

"No denying she's a funny girl that Y/N.”

The marketplace is bustling as usual as you slip through the many stalls. The familiar buzz of conversation fills your ears.

"Bonjour, good day, how is your family?"

"Bonjour, good day, how is your wife?"

"I need, 6 eggs."

"That's too expensive."

You sigh, spinning around.

"There must be more than this provincial life!"

You fling the door of the library open to find your second favorite person in the world, T'Challa, dusting the shelves.

"Ah, if it isn't the only bookworm in town! Where did you run off to this week?" He waves the duster at you, making you cough.

"Two cities in Northern Italy. I didn't want to come back. D'you have any new books?" You inquire, leaning over the small collection piled in the corner.

"I'm afraid not," He sighs. "But you may read any of the old ones you'd like."

You pick out your personal favorite.

"Your library makes our small corner of the world feel big." T’Challa smiles.

"Bon voyage!" He shouts as you close the door behind yourself.

"Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar,"

"I wonder if she's feeling well." A scholar mused as you passed.

"With a dreamy far-off look,"

"And her nose stuck in a book."

"What a puzzle to the rest of us is Y/N."

You hop onto the stone wall of the well, still reading the book, nearly stepping on the hands of the laundresses cleaning on the edge of the well.

"Oh, isn't this amazing?" You twirl around on the stone wall, earning many disgruntled looks from the laundresses. "It's my favorite part because, you'll see." You hop off the stone wall, continuing down the path back to your home. "Here's where she meets Prince Charming, but she won't discover that it's him, till chapter 3."

"Now it's no wonder that her nickname is Beauty,"

"Her looks have got no parallel."

A disgruntled mother says, her fair daughters standing behind her, glaring daggers at you.

"But behind that fair facade,"

"I'm afraid she's rather odd."

"Very different from the rest of us,"

"She's nothing like the rest of us,"

"Yes, different from the rest of is Y/N!"

Peering through his golden telescope at you, Steve Rogers sighs from atop his handsome horse.

"Look at her Sam. My future wife." He hands Sam the telescope who accepts it rather reluctantly. "Belle is the most beautiful girl in the village. Makes her the best." He whispers confidentially, waggling his eyebrows. Sam cringes.

"But she's so... well-read. And you're so..." He looks Steve up and down. "Athletically-inclined." Steve waves him off, setting his horse at a healthy trot towards the town.

"Yes, ever since the war, I felt like I've been missing something. She's the only girl that has ever given me that sense of..."

"Je ne sais quoi?" Sam proffers. Steve scoffs, entering the village.

"I don't know what that means."

"Right from the moment when I met her, saw her,"

"I said she's gorgeous and I fell."

"Here is town there's only she,"

"Who is beautiful as me."

"So I'm making plans to woo and marry Y/N."

The fair girls from before swoon as Steve walks by, who only has eyes for you.

"Look there he goes,"

"Isn't he dreamy?"

"Monsieur Rogers!"

"Oh he's so cute!"

"Be still my heart,"

"I'm hardly breathing,"

"He's such a tall, dark, strong and handsome brute!"

They shriek in disgust as Steve hops off his horse, splattering them with mud. Sam hops off his horse as well.

"It's never going to happen ladies." He whispers as they whimper in distress.

"Bonjour!"

"Pardon!" Steve attempts to push through the crowds to get to you.

"Good day!"

"Mais oui!"

"You call this bacon?"

"What lovely flowers!"

"Some cheese, ten yards, one pound-"

"Please let me through!" He grabs a bouquet of flowers from a nearby stall.

"This bread."

"Those fish!"

"It's stale!"

"They smell."

"Madame's mistaken!"

"Well maybe so-"

You burst through the masses of people, twirling as you reach your home.

"There must be more than this provincial life!"

Steve slicks back his hair, approaching you at a smart pace.

"Just watch, I'm going to make Y/N my wife!"

The town resumes their unashamed staring at you.

"Look there she goes the girl is strange but special,"

"A most peculiar mademoiselle!"

"It's a pity and a sin,"

"She doesn't quite fit in."

"'Cause she really is a funny girl,"

"A beauty but a funny girl,"

"She really is a funny girl,"

"That Y/N."

The townsfolk resume their normal quarrel and haggling as you slip through the flimsy gate and through your cabbage patch. Steve follows.

"Y/N!" You turn to find Steve flashing you what he thinks is a dashing smile. You recoil in disgust, instantly speeding up your pace, hoping to get inside before he can get to you. A flood of hope grips you as your hand wraps around the door handle but a strong arm grips your other wrist and you deflate.

Sighing, you turn to face Steve.

"Yes Monsieur Rogers?" He flashes a greasy smile your way and shoves the flowers into your face.

"For your dinner table! May I join you tonight?"

At least he has the manners to ask, you think.

"Not tonight, no." He deflates slightly.

"Oh. Busy?" You wince, prying his fingers off your wrist.

"Not exactly."

"Oh. Then why not-" You cut him off.

"Listen, I really have to go. Books to read, places to explore, people to ignore." You open the door, sliding in and closing it before he can follow you. "Good bye."

---------------

You sigh with relief, taking a moment to catch your breath before continuing further into your home. A drawing pinned to the drawing board catches your eye. A charcoal sketch of you. Well, baby you to be exact. A smile graces your lips as you tear your eyes away from the sketch and to your father, Tony Stark. He hums a small tune as he tinkers with an elegant music box.

"How does a moment last forever?"

"How can a story never die?"

"It is love we must hold onto,"

"Never easy, but we try."

"Sometimes our happiness is captured,"

"Somehow our time and place stand still."

"Love lives on inside our hearts,"

"And always will."

You wrap your arms around him and he smiles.

"Hello papa."

"Hello Y/N. D'you think you could pass me the-" You roll your eyes, handing him the tool before he finishes his sentence. "-tweezers- Oh. Thank you." He pulls a broken cog from the music box. "And now, something long and thin-" You pull the hairpin from your hair and hand it to him. He glances at it and a smirk grows on his face. "No, no, not quite-" He glances at the machine again. "Actually, yes, exactly."

With a final prod, the music box comes to life once again. The two of you share a small smile before he shoves it into his leather satchel and hauls it outside. You follow him, watching as he loads it into a rickety wooden cart along with a few other items. Your horse, Elm scuffs the cobbled pathways with his hooves, eager to get a move on.

"Well, I'm off to the market dear. Anything you'd like me to get for you?" You smile, leaning against the horse as Tony swings his leg over the horse to straddle it.

"A rose." He scoffs, tipping his hat down to you.

"You ask for that every year!"

"And you bring it ever year." You retort and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the forehead.

"Very well. A rose you shall receive. I'll see you in a few days!" With a flick of his wrists, Elm starts off at a trot and Tony waves goodbye one more time.

"Be careful," You whisper as he disappears from your sight. With a sigh, you return to the house.

-------------

You throw your dirty clothes into a barrel, adding some soap rinds into the mix before carrying it to the town well and rigging it to a horse which marches around the well. You smile proudly at your handy work. Self sufficient laundry machine.

Leaning against the wooden support beam with a sigh, you pull out your book and start reading. A small voice next to you grabs your attention.

"What are you doing?" You smile at her.

"Laundry. Come, come!" You pat the spot next to you encouragingly. Tentatively, she sits next to you and you hand her the book.

-------------

The pastor storms towards you and the little girl.

"Teaching another girl to read? Isn't one enough?" He sneers. You glare back at him, snapping your book closed indignantly.

"Nothing wrong with wanting to know more."

"We've got to do something about this." His wife mutters.

Before you can comprehend the meaning of her words, a man pulls your barrel of clothes out of the well and throws them to the ground, spilling the contents everywhere. You fall to your knees, scrambling to pick up the clothes as others laugh at you.

------------

"Wow. You are so beautiful. No wonder everyone wants to marry you. So dashing." Steve whispers seductively, flexing in front of the mirror. Sam clears his throat causing Steve to jump. "What do you want Sam?"

"A certain damsel in distress awaits you." He quirks an eyebrow, gesturing with his head to where you crouch, gathering your sopping wet garments. He turns back to the mirror, slicking his hair back.

"It's hero time. I'm not done with you yet." He winks at the mirror before rushing to you. Sam leans into the frame of the mirror.

"Me neither."

------------

From the corner of your eye, you spot Steve approaching rapidly. Gathering the last of your clothes, you scurry away.

"Ah Y/N!" You groan at your luck. "I heard you got in trouble with the pastor. S'all right. He never liked me anyways."

You groan in frustration.

"I was just teaching a child to read!" He smirks, sliding closer. You step back.

"The only children you should be concerning yourself with are..." He gestures between the two of you. You arch an eyebrow. "Your own!" You scoff, slipping through the gate and into the cabbage patch. He jumps over the flimsy gate and stomps towards you, squashing at least 4 cabbages. You watch him with barely disguised disgust.

"Look, you know what happens to girls when their fathers die? They end up like poor Agatha, forced to beg for scraps!" He points at Agatha, a rather kind but unlucky woman.

"Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it." You reply coldly.

"Look, let me make it simpler for your tiny female brain." He growls. You arch an eyebrow at his choice of words. "Marry me and you will never have to deal with that." You scoff.

"Marry you? I'd rather marry a rock." You slam the door in his face. He sighs, rubbing his face with a calloused hand. Dejected, he walks back to where Sam stands. You glare at him from where you stand on the balcony.

"Can you imagine, me, the wife of that boorish, brainless..."

"Madame Rogers,"

"Can't you just see it?"

"Madame Rogers,"

"His little wife."

You groan in disgust.

"No sir, not me,"

"I guarantee it,"

"I want much more than this provincial life!"

You sprint towards the green hills a good distance from the walls of the village.

"I want adventure in the great wide somewhere,"

"I want it more than I can tell."

"And for once it might be grand,"

"To have someone understand,"

"I want so much more than they've got planned..."

You sigh, running a grime covered hand through your hair before returning to your home.

---------------

You're pulling the ripe cabbages from the ground when it all comes crashing down.

A panicked whine comes from beside you. Your head shoots up to find Elm, pawing at the gate nervously.

"Elm? Where is papa?" Elm rears back, clearly skittish. "Take me to him!

---------------

You arrive at a monstrous looking castle, stone gargoyles with vicious fangs guarding the doors. You gulp, brandishing a large stick. The door handle is cool to the touch, sending shivers down your spine. You enter to find a well lit entrance hall, adorned with brilliant paintings and sculptures, although in the dark, they appear much more menacing.

With a gulp, you continue on, bringing the massive stick a little closer.

"Look Doctor Strange! A girl!" A voice whispers from the shadows.

"Yes I know it's a girl! I can see." A second, older voice snaps.

You whirl around but all you see is a flash of misty blue. Squaring your shoulders, you prepare yourself to investigate the blue wisps when a rough cough sounds out from above.

"Papa!" You race up the winding stairs into a much more sinister looking tower. Laying there on the cold stone floor is your father, his face pale and body shaking with each cough. The cold sunlight illuminates his face and he jumps up, grabbing the metal bars of his cell.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" You shake out of stupor, smacking the iron bars in a futile attempt to free him.

"I'm here to rescue you." Fear floods his features.

"No! You must get out of here! I'm old and my days are numbered. But you, you're young and you have so much to live for. Go, get out of here before she comes back!" You scrunch your face.

"She?" Massive footsteps echo from further up the stairwell. You raise the stick in front of you. A tall shadow appears on the stone walls of the tower. You gulp, inching forward but the figure stays in the shadows.

"You should not have come," A heavily accented voice rings out and your throat dries up.

"I had to. He's my father. Please, let him go." You call back but the figure scoffs.

"Your father is a thief!"

"Liar!" You cry.

"He stole a rose."

"I asked for that rose!"

An idea forms in your head and you slowly lower the stick. "Wait. What if you let him go and I take his place?"

"No! She means forever!" Your eyes widen.

"You monster! A life sentence for a rose?"

The woman laughs humorlessly.

"I was given a life sentence when I was little. Do you think I deserved it? You may call me a monster but trust me, I've been called much worse." You sigh, the gears in your brain whirring.

"Can I at least have a moment to say goodbye to my father?" The voice grunts and the shadow recedes. "Are you so cruel you won't even allow a daughter to kiss her father goodbye?" The figure pauses but slowly comes back down and into the light. Your throat dries up at the sight.

A beautiful girl in a blood red cape with auburn hair that burned in the torchlight, you felt your ears flush bright red. With a flick of her fingers, a red mist surrounds them and the metal gate swings open.

Your eyes grow wide at the display.

Magic.

You don't have time to think about it however as a strong set of arms wrap around you.

"Y/N!"

"Papa!" The two of you embrace as you discreetly waddle around so that his back is to the cell door.

"Y/N, listen to me. You have so much to live for. I lost your mother already and I can not lose you too. Live your life! Forget about me." He whispers into your hair and you feel a tear slip down your cheek.

"I will never forget you Papa. And don't worry. I will find a way out of here." His eyes widen before you push him through the threshold of the cell and slam the door behind him. He stumbles, falling onto his back, betrayal clear in his eyes.

"Y/N!" The woman stares at you for a moment, disbelief glimmering in her eyes before it disappears.

"You fool." She spits. Your father watches you with wide, horrified eyes. The woman grabs him roughly and drags him down the stairwell, his screams echoing off the walls.

"Papa! Don't hurt him!" A sob escapes your throat as you curl into a ball, wrapping your cloak further around yourself to preserve the warmth.

------------

You sigh, shivering as a cool gust of wind hits your back.

'Forever damned to freeze in a cell. Some adventurous life this is' You think to yourself as sleep claims you.

-------------

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

[watchyourbluesturngolden]

matching tattoos

warnings: none

word count: 1.8k (the longest i’ve done in a while whoo 🎉)

"Stevie, I don't think your mom will be too happy with me if I let you do this," Harry said, eying his two year old daughter. She had been asking about it for weeks, but so far he'd been able to distract her before you caught wind of their conversation.

"Pleeeease, daddy?" She pouted, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

"Why don't we have some cookies instead, love?" 

"No." 

"Ummm... oh! I know what we can do! Why don't we go in my studio? You can play the piano, or the guitar, maybe sing a song for me..." He trailed off.

"I want to do this! Please?" 

Harry's heart melted in three seconds flat. How could he say no to her? He tried, he really did. He opened his mouth to say "no, mommy will really kill me, why don't we do something else?" but one glance at her sweet face left him speechless. He couldn't do it. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

"Alright, we'll do it... but!" He cut himself off, raising his voice slightly to be heard over her excited cheering. "But! We only have two hours til mommy gets home." She nodded eagerly, bouncing on her feet. 

"And if we do this it has to be our secret, mommy can't know. Can you keep this secret?" He said, making a very serious face. 

"Yes!" She squealed, giggling. 

"Pinky promise?" 

She beamed, holding her tiny hand up to his. He wrapped his finger around hers, squeezing for just a second before releasing her. 

"Go get the markers then, we have to work fast!" 

Stevie screamed in excitement, running as fast as her little legs could carry her. He heard her digging around the art room, probably making a huge mess, before he heard a scraping noise on the wood floor. She was pushing a box of markers that was nearly as big as she was, groaning dramatically. 

"It's... too... heavy," she panted.  "Please help!" 

Harry smiled, leaning down to pick up the box. He scooped her up too, settling them both down on the table. 

"Alright, Miss Styles," he said, adapting a posh accent. "This is a proper tattoo parlor, so we shall do this properly, hm?" 

She laughed, kicking her feet. 

"I want the mermaid!" She said, pointing to the ink on his forearm. 

"Patience, Miss Styles," He smiled, wetting a paper towel under the faucet. "First, we have to get your arm ready!" 

She held out her arm, tracing her little fingers over his other tattoos as he wiped her wrist with the cloth. 

"So, the mermaid, hm? You have excellent taste, Miss Stevie," he joked, throwing the towel back to the sink. "What color?" 

"Black, like yours," she said, smiling sweetly. 

He felt his heart squeezing as he reached for a black marker. She was so precious. He would do anything, literally anything, to make her happy. He knew it was probably dangerous, how much power this two year old had over him, but he didn't care. He had been in love with her since the day she was born; since the first time he had looked at her. 

"We can match, look at that!" He said, beginning to draw on her arm. "Did you know that I love you sooooo much?" 

"I love you too, daddy," she giggled. "And that tickles!" 

"Oh, it tickles, does it? Should I stop?" He hovered the marker over her skin, glancing at her teasingly. 

"No!" She yelled. "I want to match you!" 

"Alright then," He said, laughing as he went back to his task. "Why don't we listen to some music?" 

"Yeah!" 

"What should we listen to?" 

"Your song, the fire!" 

"The fire?" Harry looked up, confused. "None of my songs have fire in them, bug." 

"Yes," she said stubbornly. "And the fish!" 

Harry thought for a second before it clicked. "Do you mean Adore You?" 

"That one!" 

"You're right," He laughed. "That one does talk about fire. I'll get it, yeah?" 

He set down the marker, picking up his phone. After a minute, she was dancing in her seat to the drums of Adore You. When the chorus came on, she sang "walk through fire for you" while looking at Harry triumphantly. 

"Did you know this song is about mommy?" He said, focusing on his drawing. 

"Really?" She asked incredulously, eyes wide. 

"Really! It's about how much I love her." 

"Yucky," She said, scrunching her nose.

  "Yucky? That's not yucky!" he exclaimed. "It's nice!" 

Stevie hummed, kicking her feet along with the music.

   "It's yucky." 

"Stevie, you're hurting my feelings!" He said, gasping and clutching his chest dramatically. "I can't go on," he sighed, throwing his other arm over his forehead. "I'm sorry, daddy," She giggled, reaching up to pull his arm back to her. "Keep going!" 

He smiled, adding the finishing touches to her drawing.

"And... there we go! One mermaid, just for you." 

She beamed, holding her arm next to his to compare. 

"Daddy... your mermaid has no clothes. She needs some." 

"How about you draw her a shirt?" Harry laughed, handing her the marker. She furrowed her brow, focusing intently on her task. 

"Good job staying in the lines, love!" He said, ignoring the scribbles around the outline. "And you were right, it does tickle." 

"I know!" She laughed, giving the marker back. 

"What now?" 

"The... the heart!" She said, pointing the the small filled in shape on his upper arm. 

"Sure, that's an easy one." 

He proceeded to give her at least ten more matching "tattoos", including a cross, an anchor, a poorly drawn rose, and the green bay packers logo. 

"Daddy!" She gasped. "I have a idea!" 

"What's your idea, princess?" 

"The butterfly! On my belly!" 

"You want a butterfly on your belly?" He asked, lifting his shirt to show her his. "Like this?" 

"Yes!" She clapped. "Like that!" 

They were having the time of their lives, drawing and singing as loud as they could to all of Harry's songs. He loved watching her face every time he finished drawing. Her eyes would light up and she would pull his arm to hers, showing him how they matched. Every time a new song came on she would squeal and kick her legs because "it's my favorite song!" 

They had just finished making silly noises together at the end of "Sunflower" when Harry heard a noise. He froze with the marker on her arm, looking up quickly. 

He reached over to pause the music, holding a finger to his lips when she whined at him. He glanced at the clock, hoping he was just imagining things. You weren't supposed to be home for another hour. But no, that was definitely the sound of the front door opening, followed by your voice calling out a greeting. 

"Mommy!" Stevie shrieked, launching herself off the table. 

"No!" Harry hissed, grabbing her before she could run off. "Stevie, we have to wash this off!" 

He scooped her up, running up the stairs to the bathroom. 

"Harry?" You called out. That was weird. You could have sworn you heard them in the kitchen. "Stevie?" 

"We're- we're upstairs, love!" Harry yelled back. "Just cleaning up!" 

Cleaning what? You wondered, but didn't dwell on it for too long. It had rained recently, so they had probably gotten muddy outside. 

You made your way to the kitchen with the grocery bags, beginning to put everything away. Then you saw the box of markers. You narrowed your eyes, confused when you realized there was no paper around. What had they been drawing on? 

Up in the bathroom, Harry was starting to panic. He had set Stevie up on the counter while he was rubbing at the ink with a washcloth. 

"It's not coming off! Why isn't it coming off? The box said washable!" 

"No, don't take my mermaid!" She cried, pushing his hands away. 

"Stevie, love, I'm sorry, but we can't let mommy see these. Remember? They're secret tattoos." 

"Mommy will like them! They're nice," She pouted. 

"No, I don't think she will," Harry said, laughing nervously. "Maybe if we..." he grabbed the bottle of soap, dumping some onto the cloth. "There we are! Whew," he sighed in relief. "Good thing that worked, or daddy might have been sleeping on the couch tonight." 

Just as he was lifting her off the counter, he heard a knock at the door.

  "Harry? What are you doing in there?" 

He swung open the door, smiling charmingly. 

"Just a little cleanup! We... spilled some yogurt. Right Stevie?" 

She nodded, looking up at you innocently. 

"Ok... why were there markers all over the table, but no paper to use them on?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"Uh... we were going to color, but then... the... yogurt explosion..." 

"Oh, I see," you said, still suspicious. "Stevie," you said, kneeling down to be at her eye level. "Is daddy telling the truth?" 

Harry held his breath. Stevie was notoriously bad at lying. Usually, Harry was thankful for this, but right now he could do with a little fib.

"Yes mommy, yogurt went everywhere," she said, eyes going wide as she mimicked an explosion with her hands.

You smiled, straightening up. 

"Well, I'm glad you got it cleaned up. I'm going to go put the rest of the groceries away." 

Harry exhaled as you got to the bottom of the stairs. He quickly lifted Stevie up, spinning her around. 

"Thank you, Stevie. You're such a sweetie," He said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She giggled, wiping her face and wiggling in his arms.

"Let's go see what mom bought us!" He said, bouncing her as they ran downstairs. 

Harry thought he was in the clear. He really did. He had managed to scrub off all traces of the marker, including the scribbles drawn over his own mermaid. Luckily, Stevie was true to her pinky promise and didn't say a word. She told you about how they played outside and what books they read, but said nothing about the makeshift tattoos. She was good at being sneaky.

By the time Stevie was yawning, Harry really though everything was fine. When you went to change her into her pajamas, he settled into the couch to find a movie. 

Everything is fine, he thought. You had no id-

"Harry!" You yelled from down the hall. 

He hopped up from his seat, rushing to Stevie's room. 

"What is it?" 

"Harry," you said, turning towards him slowly. "Why does our daughter have a huge butterfly drawn on her tummy?" 

So close.

[preciouslittletoonette]

So since it’s already considered pretty accepted that Cuthbert Coot is the father of Kildare Coot, I had gone onto my ponderings about who Kildare’s mother is.

One of the wikias said her name was Luna Loon but besides that, I found nothing on her. So I did the next best thing:

I made a mother for Kildare:

Meet Petronella Paperella, everyone!

Born in 1963 to a family of fishermen, Petronella is a spirited young woman hailing from the small sea side town of Cefalu in Sicily, Italy. Out of 5 siblings, she is the second youngest of her brood.

In 1982, while making her way to town, by chance she meets Cuthbert Coot, who was staying with his uncle Clarence Coot up in Palermo for the year and decided to check out Cefalu for the day while his aunt Rosabella shopped and visited friends. The two, quite literally, bumped into each other (both their bikes crashed into each other, it was a nastly bump and fall). Petronella, quickly panicked and fretted over the person she crashed into, apologising frantically in Italian before the other could get a word in.

Cuthbert, however, was quickly besotted with the speckled beauty before him.

And that moment was what could be explained as the start of a wonderful relationship.

Cuthbert and Petronella spent a good amount of their free time together, Cuthbert mainly coming to Cefalu on weekends to spend time with her. Rarely did Petronella ever go to Palermo unless her family had business there and dropped her off at the Coot-de Paperone residence, where Cuthbert stayed. When not being able to visit each other, they sent each other letters. The letters initially started out quite friendly before showing subtle hints of flirting from mostly Cuthbert’s side (ending usually with a blushing mess on Petronella’s end. Safe to say, the flirting was well received). The flirting eventually bled through to their actual face-to-face talks (and hoo boy it’s amazing how red one’s face can become under the right circumstances) and soon their friendship turned to romance.

Cuthbert stayed in Sicily for another year due to the new development in their relationship and quickly went to work on not only his relationship with Petronella, but also to work on further impressing her family and showing/proving that he is capable of taking care of her.

Eventually the time for Cuthbert to leave was drawing closer and time seemed to be moving much faster for the both of them as time drew quicker. Petronella was deeply in love with Cuthbert and vice versa and wasn’t willing to leave him for so long. She had even fancied the idea of running to America with him, buying a ranch and raising cattle, having their own family and watching her children play in the fields without much worries.

So imagine her surprise and delight, when Cuthbert asks her to go with him to Duckburg ala marriage proposal (with her family’s approval and acceptance of course).

After 6 months of friendship and 1 and 1/2 years of romance, Petronella Paperella became Petronella Coot and with tearful goodbyes to her family, left Sicily, Italy for Calisota, USA and from there her life would get much better as Cuthbert had promised to both her and her family.

To say meeting the in-laws was overwhelming was an understatement. The Coot-Duck family had her surrounded the moment she stepped foot on Coot Kin land soil. Gretchen Coot (nee Grebe) had her daughter-in-law in her arms in seconds, happily and enthusiastically welcoming her to the family while Casey merely smiled and shook her hand, offering to take her bags inside for her. Elvira had even baked a special pie for the occasion (which Humperdink kept trying and failing to coax his wife into giving him a slice much to everyone’s amusement). Fanny, Cuthbert’s sister, welcomed her warmly as well and the two came quickly to accept each other sisters. The Coots were quite a lively bunch.

But Her beloved husband’s cousins were an even livelier group. Meeting Quackmore, Daphne and Eider would forever be one of Petronella’s favourite memories. The absolute chaos that followed the trio wherever they went was hilarious to witness and getting involved in their misadventures was even moreso. The misadventures she had ended up in led to her striking a lovely friendship with Daphne and Lulubelle, Eider’s wife and Hortense, Quackmore’s wife.

And when she was not out and about with the cousins and siblings, she was helping Cuthbert out with the ranch. It was thrilling compared to fishing to her. Getting to ride a horse and guiding cattle to and from the large open green fields was an absolute pleasure to her compared to fishing.

However, one little family disagreed with her.

6-year old, Donald Duck vehemently disagreed with her notion. His adoration with the sea and sailing was the most adorable sight she had ever witnessed. Really to her, all of the kids were adorable. She’d often babysit them all when things were too hectic at the farm for Elvira to take care of them. 

All-in-all, Petronella’s relationship with the Coots and Ducks were as great as she had hoped it would be.

Then there were the McDucks.

Hortense’s family was... strange to say the least. Learning they too had immigrated to America from Europe made her feel a little more at ease with them when she’d first  met them. But she noted the relationship between the siblings wasn’t as.... like the Ducks.

And while interacting with one of the members of the McDuck family, Douglas McDuck, the Ducks and the Coots (minus Cuthbert) see that, despite being a sweet and demure lady, there was a lot vitriolic rage hidden under that sweetness (which honestly just strengthened the friendship she had with Hortense).

Long story short, for his own safety, Douglas and Petronella were no longer allowed in the same room together unless

But life was good for Petronella.

Then it became great, because by 1988, she was greeted by what she considered her and Cuthbert’s greatest treasure.

Her eyes, beak and- from what she could tell just by his size- her small body. Cuthbert’s hair and feather colours.

Little Kildare Coot, or Sgrizzo as she lovingly called him.

Kildare was simply the light of Petronella’s life. Her first child, her baby boy who’d she sing sweet soft lullabies to like her own mother once did. While the family and his birth certificate say his name is Kildare, Petronella (and Cuthbert at times) call him Sgrizzo. She also spoke mostly Italian to him as a baby and would mix in English as he grew older.

By 1991, Petronella felt like she was truly at the height of her life, despite all the exhaustion and aches she felt from taking care of Kildare and helping Cuthbert and the rest of the family. She’d gone from Petronella Paperella, to Petronella Coot to now known as “dear Aunt Nellie Coot” as her nephews and nieces called her. Her marriage was great, she was to have another child soon, the family was at peace despite certain bumps in the road. Her life was great....

Until it wasn’t.

UGH, this took way too long to write out. I’ve been thinking about Petronella and her story for a while now, since she does have a bit of a role, albeit a minor one, in The Obscure Family members of Coot-Duck-McDuck so I decided to introduce her.

I have no other reason for giving her speckled feathers other than for the fact that it looked nice on her and I am very much attached to her right now.

Feel free to ask any questions about her or the story!!

[barbers-glimmerin-darlin]

At The Touch Of Your Hand

Charlie Barber x (Female) Reader (Historical AU)

As a young woman whose entire life has already been mapped out for her, you believed there was very little to look forward to as you entered the ballroom. It was just another ball, during another season, with the same foppish men shallowly vying for attention. However things are bound to take a turn for the unexpected when Charles Barber makes his re-entrance to society after six years in obscurity.

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 

Warnings: Period typical sexism, historical inaccuracies 

Word count: 2.9k

“I’ll not be listening to any more of your incessant griping tonight Judith.” Your father’s voice was firm and unwavering, his distaste for his wife’s unending list of complaints evidently getting the better of him. 

“You cannot possibly think him to be an agreeable man Edward! Not after he-”

“Enough Judith!”

Your mother’s mouth bubbled open and closed as if she were impersonating some incredibly affronted fish, it was very rare that father would plainly tell mama he had tired of listening to her whining. You swapped a furtive glance with Jemima, the tension spiking to a palpable degree, your mind instantly began scrambling to fill in the gaping hole left in your mothers remark.

After he what? What could he have done, this enigmatic man, whom you had never heard of before this night, to have warranted such obvious distaste from your mother? You could not help but feel that whatever it was should be much cause for concern, if it meant that your mother was unwilling to host him. Judith Bell would usually be seen falling over herself for the opportunity to have such a man welcomed to dinner, an impressive man, titled. 

Before your racing mind had the chance to create a whole plethora of beastly scenarios to cast this man in, along came one of the very few things in the world that made you want to disable all intelligent brain function in your mind.

Hartley. 

You regrettably saw him approach you over your father’s shoulder, straightening his gloves and smoothing his flaccid hair as he neared. Every last cell in your body heaved a long groan at the sight of him, so bland, so thoroughly unimpressive, truly he was an unremarkable sight to behold. In no time at all, he stood proudly before you.

“Miss Bell, I believe the first waltz is almost afoot.” He declared. You saw your mother’s previously enraged face fracture into an unbearably bright beam at his appearance, all distaste for Lord Barber’s presence seemingly forgotten. 

You flashed a tight smile as he held out his gloved hand for you to take. You accepted, placing your hand in his with the lightest tough you could manage, as if placing your hand solidly within his pudgy one would solidify your future with him. Unfortunately you feared that there was very little you could do to escape that. 

He led you briskly onto the dancefloor, amongst the sea of brightly coloured silk taffeta frocks, and then proceeded to draw you into a hold appropriate for a waltz. It was far too intimate for you, even though his hands were in no danger of straying, you would have much preferred a livelier jig that required much changing of partners. 

As the rhythmic arrangement of the waltz began to fill the room, you willed your feet to move in a reasonably graceful fashion, it’s not that you were a bad dancer, you were just much better when paired with a partner you actually wanted to dance with. Robert was a long way from fitting that criteria. 

You could not help but note the hotness of his hand upon your shoulder, and you guessed it would probably be sweaty if he were to take that glove off, you repressed a shudder at the thought of his slimy hand upon your skin. Sweaty hands were indicative of nerves, what on earth could he be nervous about? If he could not struggle his way through a meagre waltz without being overcome with nerves, what chance did he have of upholding one end of a fiery debate, or withstand a passionate feeling about anything?

You allowed your eyes and mind to wander as you twirled about the dancefloor, you spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, many of your mother’s acquaintances gathered to watch their own daughters on the dancefloor, your mother was no exception. She watched you with beady eyes, looking for mistakes in your footing or your posture, clutching her dainty glass of sherry in her clawed fingers. 

You were vaguely aware of Robert droning on about a business venture his father was allowing him to head, something pertaining a new weaving technique for linen, you really did not care to give much attention to it, you occasionally emitted a noise of agreement to create the illusion of engagement. 

As you rounded the dancefloor once again, your eyes swept over a broad form that was becoming undeniably familiar all too quickly. Charles stood a little way back from the dancefloor, conversing with a stout man who you recognised as the host of the ball, Lord Harrington. Although upon closer inspection, you were forced to reconsider your observation that he was participating in conversation. It appeared that he was being talked at rather than talked to, his attention otherwise much diverted, much like yours. His glittering eyes were very much fixed on the couples dancing before him.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were not travelling aimlessly amongst the group of merry dancers, his gaze was solely tracking you. He watched as the buttery yellow light shimmered upon the lavender fabric of your gown, sparkled through your hair, and highlighted the barely exposed curve of your shoulders. He drank this in all without your knowledge, your attention far too occupied with ensuring Hartley did not step on your silk slippered feet. What an enchanting little creature he saw twirling before him. 

“Did I see Lord Barber making conversation with your father earlier?” You were forced to tune back into Hartley’s voice as he spoke directly to you, stopping your eyes from repeatedly searching out the towering height of Barber,

“Yes, I believe he knows my father.” You replied flatly, not really eager to discuss the man with Robert. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, Charles had begun to feel rather sacred to you. 

“I’m interested in making his acquaintance myself while he’s in town, quite the recluse he’s been for the past five years or so from what I understand.” Robert remarked, this did admittedly capture your interest. Why would a man like him have hidden himself away from society, other than the obvious fact that it was a dreadful environment, it was practically created for powerful men like him. 

“I confess I was unaware of his existence until tonight.” You offered blandly, while you were tempted to probe Hartley for more information, you found his predisposition for gossiping more repellent that intriguing. 

“People don’t talk about him much anymore. Though what I have heard them say is undoubtedly interesting, I’m sure his reappearance tonight will be the talk of the town by tomorrow breakfast.” Robert’s sentence was punctuated by a ridiculously salacious chuckle at the end, which made you long to put more distance between your bodies. 

“Undoubtedly, people do little else but talk the day after a ball.” You deadpanned, avoiding eye contact with his misty eyes. 

“Although I dare say there ought to be rather a lot of talk of just how ravishing you look in this gown.” Your stomach dropped at his words, spoken in a voice that he had forced down into a lower octave. You flicked your eyes up to his, only to find him inconspicuously allowing himself a good look at your chest. You swallowed back the tart response that your brain formulated, much in favour of finishing the dance as quickly as possible. You settled on a lifeless little laugh.

As soon as the band began to cease their performance you delicately pushed yourself out of his hold, and lowered into a quick curtsy. 

“Thank you for the dance Mr Hartley, it was quite… satisfactory.” And without waiting for his response you turned on your heel and began to hasten away, in search of Jemima. You were eager to tell her in agonising detail how utterly lecherous he had been. But you didn’t even make it off of the dancefloor before a broad chest blocked your path. Your eyes were obscured by a wall of icy blue and white, and you didn’t even really need to glance upwards to confirm the identity of the individual. 

The scent of fresh mint and fragrant pine greeted your senses, cleansing them of the heavy musky smell, with an undercurrent of body odour that you had endured with Hartley moments before. You refrained from indulging in a deep inhale as you summoned the courage to raise your eyes towards his face. 

Charles Barber’s smirking face.

“In a rush, Miss Bell?” He asked, his honeyed voice vibrated through the air, breathing against your ears like a summer wind. You momentarily forgot every word you had learned since infancy, and struggled for a response. 

“No I- I mean yes I was just- I’m not in a rush per say I just-”

“Were making a fleeting exit from your partner over there?” He stopped your aimless flailing with his words, allowing his full lips to quirk even further into an amused smirk. You felt your cheeks warming rapidly.

“I was just in search of my sister.” You replied, unsure if it was proper to admit that you were, in fact, shamelessly fleeing Hartley. 

“Well, by the looks of things, he will presently approach and ask you for another dance. Allow me to be so bold as to assume that you would like to avoid such an occurrence.” Charles remarked, quickly glancing over your head to where you assumed he could see Robert.

“I would be reluctant to dance with him again so soon.” You said quietly, unsure of his next assumption. 

“Well in that case, would you do me the honour of the next dance, Miss Bell?” Your heart gave itself to flittering beats as you absorbed his words. You could hardly fathom the idea of sharing a dining table with him, and you were being offered a dance? The pristine white glove upon his expansive hand moved into your line of sight as he offered his hand to you. You could not help but raise your eyes to his, though you promptly wish you hadn’t when you were met with the scorching intensity of his gaze. It was fight or flight really. 

“Yes my lord, I would be honoured.” You replied, placing your hand firmly in his. 

The experience of being led into a dance by Charles Barber was worlds away from that of the artless movements of Hartley. You knew that much. 

You stood facing each other, as part of a long line of men and women standing parallel to one another along the centre of the marble floor, you could not help but notice that he was the tallest in the line by a considerable amount. Your heart was racing as you heard the shaking violin strike up the opening measures of the dance. The line of ladies ducked into graceful curtsy, directed at the men before them, and then the dance fell into an elegant sequence of turns and fleeting touches of hands. 

It was not two measures into the dance that Barber clearly felt that he was in rhythm enough to begin to talk to you as you moved around each other, and the other occupants of the dancefloor. 

“Are you enjoying the evening?” He asked as you passed close by one another, his eyes firmly fixed upon yours, paying no mind to his feet or the people around him, though his body continued to move with a grace and ease you would have thought impossible for a man of his stature. 

“Very much so, Lord and Lady Harrington do always host the most beautiful parties.” You replied politely, though it was untrue that your night had been pleasant up until this point, the unfamiliar feelings fluttering about your stomach presently were enough to erase all memory of the previous encounters from your mind.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly Miss, though I might add that I think Lord Harrington has very little to do with the festivities you see around you. I believe it is fair to say that Lady Harrington is the brains of the operation.” He concurred, his face breaking into a smile, one you might call mischievous if you were so inclined to such flirtatious words. You could not stifle the laugh that escaped at his remark towards the esteemed Lord Harrington.

“Are you well acquainted with the hosts, my lord?” You asked him, the smile laid upon your face beginning to ache slightly, though you could not for the life of you force it down. You gasped silently as your hands entwined, as he led you side by side down the line formed by the other couples, as part of your dance.

“Old friends of my late father’s.” He explained, looking sideways at you. His hand dwarfed yours, it warmed his glove in a way that was so different to the sticky heat of Hartley’s hand. You found yourself wishing that there were no gloves separating your hands from touching skin to skin. A tingling sensation began in the palm of your hand, still held in his, and worked its way to the tips of your fingers and up your arm. In that moment, you decided the touch of his hand was something quite inexplicably magical. 

“And you, Lord Barber? Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked, longing to hear the velvet of his voice again. He smiled down at you warmly, sending the tingles from your hand all over your body. 

“I am enjoying the evening far more than I anticipated, it has been pleasant to see old friends.” He started, his eyes moved swiftly once up and down the length of you, never hesitating anywhere for too long. As he met your eyes again, his smile curled into a smaller one, far more intimate, meant only for you. “It has been even lovelier making new acquaintances, which is not something I usually find myself able to say.” He tells you. 

Your mind raced to stumble through the meanings in his well measured words. Did he mean meeting you? Part of you screamed that he must mean that, why else would he have bothered to make such a point of saying it to you? A larger part reasoned that he had undoubtedly met many new people tonight, and why in this vast room full of people would he single you out as a lovely new acquaintance?

All too soon it was time for your hands to part once again, you already missed his large warm palm and it hadn’t even left yours yet. As he opened his fingers to loosen his grasp on your hand, and pulled his palm away from yours, your eyes widened as you felt the tip of his middle finger trace a burning line across your palm as he slipped his hand away from yours. A shiver shot down the length of your spine at the sensation, which you had felt so keenly despite the presence of your silk glove. 

Another glance towards his regal face showed you that his smile had faded, melted into a look of deep concentration. The chocolate of his eyes had darkened, the light sparkled in the depths of them. So many thoughts were rushing through them, but you couldn’t comprehend a single one of them, your own brain was still trying to make sense of the litany of feelings coursing through you from the mere brush of the tip of his finger along your palm. 

It was a wonder you had managed to complete the dance without bumping into a single other occupant of the dancefloor, as you had quite forgotten that you were sharing the space with anyone else at all besides him. You could scarcely remember a time before you found yourself cradled in his gaze, you could not remember what your hand had felt like before it had been encased by his. It was only the end of the melody that brought the end of the dance to your awareness, you found yourself short of breath, though you were absolutely certain it had nothing to do with the steps of the dance. 

You bowed to each other once again, as was customary, and then he went a step further by enclosing your hand in his. He lifted your slightly quaking hand up towards his face, and you held your breath as his warm lips pressed down gently upon your glove. Had you not have held your breath, you were quite certain he would have robbed you of it. The impression of his lips seemed to burn your knuckles in a delightful way, in a way that made you yearn to tear the white silk from your body and request that he press his lips to your bare skin. You couldn’t correct the way your own lips parted slightly, something which he seemed to note as his eyes roamed your face as he straightened back up to his full height, allowing your hand to fall back to your side. 

“Thank you for the dance Miss Bell, it was quite… enchanting.” He spoke softly, caressing your face with his eyes for a moment longer before inclining his head, turning, and leaving the space, your eyes were stuck to his wide shoulders as he left. You were pulled out of your little world, where you and he were the only inhabitants, by Jemima’s voice suddenly at your ear.

“Just to warn you, sister dear, mama is quite enraged.”

Tags: @millenialcatlady​ @safarigirlsp​ @mariesackler​ @direnightshade​ @sacklerscumrag​ @stumbleonmywords​ @fizzywoohoo​ @hopeamarsu​ @roanniom​ @kylobien​ (Please let me know if you would like adding or removing!)

[melancholic-pigeon]

Too Short For Ao3 Fic #3? 4?

SO this is the extended edition of the bonus wip I did with Sally's birthday. The overall fic it belongs to is Extremely Smutty, so I went in and revised out the brief references and I'm posting the family-centric g-rated stuff for anyone who wants that but not the smut! Cough.

Also, I felt bad about missing WIP Wednesday again. Lolsob.

Percy rouses at around eleven PM to a sketch of himself on Jason's pillow. There's a note on the other side. 

I wanted to wake you up to say goodbye, but you looked so comfy I didn't have the heart to. your mom's presents are in the bag by my desk. say hi to everyone for me. I'll call tomorrow anyway.

love you to the moon and back.

-J. ❤

Complete with a little red heart. He doesn't even care that the doodle of him next to it, burritoed in a pile of blankets, includes a little spot of drool— he can tell by the rest of his cartoony, ballpoint features that Jason put it in because he thinks it's cute.

(And by the fact that he's said so, several times.)

Percy gathers up his junk. The cornflower blue sweatshirt he steals goes halfway down his fingers. He's come to accept that at six foot three and counting, Jason is the taller of them and always will be— barring some sort of horrible wood-chipper accident or curse from a grumpy deity. 

Fortunately, there's something about looking up to meet someone's eyes that Percy finds incredibly attractive. He has since Annabeth outgrew him for the first time in eighth grade. 

He heads out in his own jeans and the boxers he packed and the sweatshirt that smells like cinnamon. Once he boards the train, he stands with his arm around a pole and the other holding the bag against his chest, and tries to stay casual and keep the grin off his face.

It's almost midnight when he gets home. His mom, of course, is still awake, so he heads into the living room to greet her.

"My other half says hello."

There's a pile of presents on the coffee table. He puts the bag with the rest of them and sits down, kissing her cheek.

"He didn't have to get me anything." She closes her book and eyes the bag with a fond sigh. "How is he?" 

Percy's the same way she is, always happy to do favors and give gifts, but feeling pretty awkward about receiving them. Jason's even worse, the three of them in an ongoing and circular competition to never let any of it go reciprocated. 

"Working too hard, as always. Pulling As and winning games and barely sleeping to do it. His stepmother's up his ass and his father's a bully, so, you know, news at eleven." He leans his head onto her shoulder. "That's why he gives you stuff. He's trying to show you how much he appreciates you." 

She sighs, and Percy knows it's because she's just as frustrated by the whole thing as he is. 

"He knows I appreciate him too, I hope." 

"Without a doubt." Percy smiles at her, watching as she goes a little pink and smiles back. "You have a talent for making him feel appreciated." 

"He treats my baby like a prince," she says softly. "That's why I appreciate him so much in the first place. How could I do anything else?"

Percy turns his face into her shirt collar, another futile attempt to hide his goofy expression, 

"He really does, doesn't he?"

Holding doors, pulling out chairs, offering an arm on unsteady streets. Jason's never laid his coat over a puddle, but Percy's pretty sure he would, if the option presented itself. 

His mom starts playing with his hair, her fingers light and familiar.

"I'm just happy you're happy, sweetheart."

He knows that feeling too. 

Half asleep from the petting, Percy lets himself be a little babyish. It's after midnight now, which means it's her birthday, and he knows that sometimes she misses when he was Estelle's age and little enough to curl up in her lap. He's way too big for that now, obviously, but he can still slide down the couch and rest his head there. 

"You too, Mama." 

She looks at him, her eyes misty with emotion and almost green in the light.

She's smiling, too. 

She smiles a lot, these days.

—

In the morning, Paul makes coffee while Estelle helps unwrap the avalanche of presents. She's at the age where ripping paper makes her squeal with hysterical laughter, which worms its way into Percy's heart and melts it into pudding. 

Several of them are from Percy's friends, including a handbound book of original recipes from Leo, a lovely silver bracelet inset with mother-of-pearl that Beckendorf made himself, and a huge sheathed knife with a matching decorative handle from Clarisse. The last one makes his mom snort as she gets up to put it on the bookshelf, out of reach of curious toddler hands. 

"Decorative. Sure." 

"I bet she'd teach you how to use it if you asked." 

"I know how to use a bowie knife, dear. Your father and I used to catch and cook our own fish when we went camping."

"Which reminds me, he still hasn't taken me out," Paul cuts in, frowning. "I've been saving up dad jokes and embarrassing stories for four years."

"I'll bug him about it the next time we talk," Percy promises. "It's probably the ADHD." 

"Do you want me to bug you about bugging him?" 

"If you haven't set something up by blueback season, yeah." 

Percy and Paul went in on a pound of jasmine tea, which his mom reaches for next. She immediately asks for a cup— it's one of two days out of the entire year where she lets other people wait on her, for a change, and even that took a lot of cajoling. 

Paul makes the tea, since Percy usually scalds the leaves and it turns out tasting like grass. She probably wouldn't complain anyway, but it's her birthday, and she deserves to have the best tea that can be made in their kitchen. 

"Is the last bag from Jason?" Paul sets the mug on a coaster in the middle of the coffee table, and Percy scoops the baby into his lap so she doesn't try to grab it. She mashes her tiny hand against his cheek.

"And Thalia. I'm not sure if they went in on stuff or he just packed them both in one bag to make it easy." 

Either is a possibility. He watches as his mom reaches in and pulls out a large wrapped frame, Thalia's spiky handwriting answering the question. 

Whatever's inside, it makes her shut her eyes and exhale deeply through her nose. 

"Please pass on that I am absolutely furious."

She turns the frame around. An autographed vinyl EP of Sign O' the Times by Prince— one of the albums Percy grew up on, though she skipped a number of the songs when he was little. Thalia must have spent a fortune on it. 

"That woman is incredible," Paul breathes, lightly touching the glass. "How does she get this stuff?" 

"See!"

"She has friends in high places." Percy grins as Estelle reaches for the album, and holds her over the glass so she can touch it too. "She's also really good at barter chains."

His mother shakes her head, but he can tell how delighted she is— the two of them have spent hours animatedly talking about music, Thalia hanging on every word and groaning with jealousy over the concerts his mom went to in the eighties. 

"I know exactly where I'm going to put it." 

Thalia got her a turntable for her fortieth birthday last year, as well as a full set of replacements for every worn-out record in their collection— and had the originals framed too, since they had sentimental value. They're currently occupying the better part of two walls of his mom's study. 

There's a blank spot by her bookshelf, right underneath the first copy, that the autographed album will fit into perfectly. Percy grins. 

"I'll hang it up for you later."

She doesn't argue. There's only Jason's left, his careful print written out across the same paper Thalia used. The crinkling draws Estelle's attention, and she gleefully reaches over to help tear it off.

Their mom gasps at what's inside and puts a hand to her mouth, her eyes going bright.

It's a watercolor portrait of Percy and Estelle, laughing by the shoreline. She's dressed in a little bucket hat, a ruffled swimsuit patterned to look like a clownfish and the coolest shades in the world— sparkly blue frames shaped like seashells that he kind of wishes he could get in his size. He's in a wetsuit, having spent the morning surfing, and he's holding onto her hands so she can jump at the waves. In the distant background is the Montauk lighthouse.

It's beautifully done, like everything else Jason's ever put to paper, but Percy's never choked up like this over one of them.

"You remember that, Beluga? That was on my birthday, when you came and visited me and Jason at the beach."

"Beach?" she asks, expectant. Paul bursts into laughter, sounding as rough-voiced as Percy feels.

"You're your mother's daughter, sweet pea."

"Beach!" Estelle insists. Percy noses her pudgy cheek.

"It's too cold to swim, baby." His mom's eyes are sparkling, still a little teary. He can see Estelle in the smile on her face. "But we could go for a walk and visit." 

"Brunch first." Paul kisses her— Percy averts his eyes, wrinkling his nose at his sister to make her giggle again— and gets up, heading back into the kitchen. 

It's a lovely way to spend a late morning. Pale blue araucana eggs courtesy of Grover's new hens, a blueberry coffee cake from Nico by a fantastic hole in the wall in Hell's Kitchen, Paul's signature home fries made with blue potatoes and seasoned to perfection; all of it delicious.

Jason calls while Percy's doing the dishes. After his deep, resonant performance of the happy birthday song, the five of them chat on speakerphone for a little while, though he has to excuse himself pretty quickly to keep banging through his reading. 

"Maybe next year," Percy sighs. His mom puts her hand on his hip, then crouches down to help Estelle with her light-up sneakers. 

"He's always welcome for a rain check."

"He's always welcome, period," Paul adds. For the second time, Percy gets dangerously close to sniffling. 

Montauk is a little far for a day trip, so they head to Brighton Beach instead. Estelle's shrimpy legs get tuckered out more quickly than the grownups' do, so Percy ends up carrying her on his hip, snuggled into his jacket to block the chilly breeze. She points at seagulls, shouting triumphantly every time. 

"More bird!"

"That's right. A whole flock of 'em."

They watch for a while as the gulls fight over a discarded pizza crust. Then Percy feels an arm around his back and a head against his shoulder.

"I don't know how I got so lucky," his mother murmurs, barely audible over the rushing of the waves.

Percy's eyes sting. 

For most of his life, her birthdays had been spent without fanfare. He was rarely actually there for them anyway, and Gabe complained so much it was easier to just ignore the day and focus on survival instead. 

She'd been triaging like that since before she even met his dad, keeping herself afloat when nobody seemed to care if she drowned. It would have been easy to lie down and give up. Percy's pretty sure he would have, in her place. 

He turns to hug her with the obligatory proclamation of a Stella Sandwich. He catches Paul's eye over her shoulder, and gets a wide, sentimental grin in response. 

"Luck's got nothing to do with it," Percy tells her, leaning his cheek against the top of her head while his sister wriggles with delight between them. 

"Listen to our son," Paul adds. "He's very wise, as you raised him to be. This is all on you, honey." 

Within moments, she's surrounded by her whole family on all sides, and Percy has another arm around his back, and he's getting a little choked up over it all. 

When she first started dating Paul, back when Percy was still in middle school, she'd spent weeks all aflutter. It was the happiest he'd ever seen her at the time. They'd sit outside and work on her car together, and she'd slip into song like a grease-stained fairytale princess without even thinking about it. 

Seeing them interact is like cool water on a burn, Paul's devoted kindness soothing a lifetime of sitting back and watching people treat her like dirt. He worships her, just like she deserves and long overdue.

"I love you," she says, tearful and muffled in someone's shoulder. "All of you, more than anything." 

"Love Mama," Estelle replies, and that's it— Percy's blubbering.

It'll never undo the damage, but it's about time she got a chance to heal and thrive. 

-here in our bed, chapter 7, ~6200 words

[spiras-stargazer]

Hannibal/Will fic ideas dump: Part 2

These fic ideas are very flushed out so beware the are longer. Basically I don't have time to write them. I used to write all the time and now with no where to go, the stories haunt me.

1. Dracula Hannibal - Humans and all other manner of 'kin, coexist together peacefully and are overseen by a council, with representatives from every group keeping the peace. Hannibal once sat on the council being the original Vampire, but has since left to let others handle the task. He doesn't even like to admit it himself but for the last century he has noticed a dramatic decline in his strength no matter how much blood he drinks. He accepts his time is drawing to a close and he prepares to quietly fade away as all creatures evidently do, when a man(?) comes knocking at his door. "Sorry to bother you Count Lecter. I'm Special Agent Graham. I am here at the request of one of your...daughters." "And what was her request?" "To save your li- to give you my blood." "And what do you get out of fulfilling her request?" "An answer to why I keep hearing your voice in my head Count Lecter."

2. Reaper Gene- Years ago a deadly plague covered the Earth. Using combination of faith, science and magic, humanity stopped the plague but they went too far. All death stopped, but injuries and pain didn't. Bodies still had to heal, still aged but death doesn't come. Eventually the Reaper Gene is discovered. To die, someone with the gene has to make skin to skin contact with the person to end a life. Even so, the gene is incredibly rare. Every known current murder is tested, since regular people, even if they have the gene, can't stomach death easily. Hannibal, who is in jail but not yet sentenced has the gene. In light of his now rare talent, he is pardoned but to receive that pardon he is forced into the now humanitarian service of ending lives. But death is a lonely business. No one wants to be around the only thing that can kill them. Hannibal spirals into a depression working long hours and only just barely taking care of himself. After 3 years, killing alone and miserable, Will darkens his doorway. "I need you, Hannibal." "Get on the list like everyone else. I owe you no favors." "I said I need you, not your...skill." "You cannot pay the fee for my service, whatever your need is Special Agent Graham. Now I have work to do-" "What's your price?" "Unbreak my heart."

3. Abigail AU- After catching Freddie at the Hobbs house, the officers on site do a thorough extra sweep of the house and arrest Nicholas Boyle for trespassing. Abigail is seen by everyone as a victim, forced to help her father to stay alive. After she completes her therapy, Hannibal extends an offer to adopt her, if she is agreeable to the idea. She knows Hannibal is using her mostly to spend time with Will ("You just need to ask him out Hannibal.") but free college, a mansion to live in and lots of time with dogs she doesn't have to care for all the time is hard to pass up. And if Hannibal's cooking tastes familiar who is she to judge?

4. Teach Me - After they've fallen off the radar in a small cuban port city but still in the process of reconnecting and recovering, Hannibal starts helping out at a small Cafe, and Will starts offering boating and fishing courses across the street at the Marina. Hannibal is thrilled because he loved hearing Will teach his FBI classes, and so he takes the opportunity to bring Will an early lunch everyday, just to listen. Will doesn't catch on and instead changes his schedule thinking they could spend some time together. Hannibal takes the change in schedule as Will doesn't want him hanging around so he just brings Will his food and leaves. Will takes this as the other man's rejection and he starts pulling away from Hannibal at home. Will starts offering personal one on one classes to stay busy and preparing for Hannibal to leave him and be on his own. Hannibal starts spying on Will and he catches him with another man, close to Hannibal's age, flirting and sharing soft touches. Hannibal snaps and kills the man before he realizes what he's doing and he falls to his knees before Will. "You are the cruel siren I deserve, but you do not have rocks below you to end my suffering against." "'Cruel siren'?! Hannibal! You lured me in and then got tired of me!" "Never!" "So you didn't start ignoring me when I specifically made time so we could share lunch together?" "What? You made it clear you didn't want me at your classes!" "I made it so you didn't have to be bored listening to me!" "I came early specificly to listen to you teach!"

5. Bride Hannibal- Hannibal of course wanted a big fancy wedding, but now being a well known serial killer and having Will 'that would require me to be social' Graham as a partner, Hannibal quietly decides to just try and be happy with what he has, since Will actually loving him back was more than he could have hoped for. Will can tell something is off with Hannibal. He's been toying with the idea of asking Hannibal to marry him and for once he wants to be seen. Hundreds of people, staff and friends, a live video stream...he wants the world to see him, happy for once, with his dangerous and handsome husband. He knows Hannibal loves a party and must have ideas but every time Will gets the wedding conversation started Hannibal contributes but is despondent or at least isn't contributing like he usually would. Will eventually stumbles across a scrap book in Hannibal's study filled to bursting with scraps of fabric, magazine clippings, recipes, vows...so Will secretly sets to work on the Wedding they both obviously want.

6. Arranged Royal Marriage- Prince Hannibal (late 20's) has never felt the sting of cupids arrow. His father, worried for their country's growth and prosperity and his line, summons every proper suitor far and wide to Lithuania to finally get Hannibal married. Thousands of suitors arrive, thinking if they don't find a match in Hannibal they can find a match among the other guests. Hannibal finds all the parties and events enjoyable but non-productive and sneaks away at night to the royal gardens. One night he finds another man in his usual spot but decides to stay as long as the other man isn't there for conversation. They spend a surprising easy silence together and Hannibal is shocked to find himself feeling drawn to the man even with no words yet spoken between them. Unfortunately for Hannibal, by the looks of the man's simple attire he is likely a royal servant or a chaperone, not a suitor. But the man, King William Graham of the Lakeland realms, Father of Wolves, is a suitor...he's just not very good at communication, or at being Royalty. As interesting as Hannibal is, why would a prince like him choose a fisherman and houndsman King like Will?

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Midnight Ball

Pairing: Todoroki x reader

Warnings: None

Author’s Note:

Day two of Sugar’s Spooky Days/Fall Special

Hehehe I have managed to finish something! Can’t say as much for the Kirishima one, so that might have to be late :(. I should have that one done sometime over the weekend though, so fingers crossed!

I also may or may not have been thinking about Heartless by Marissa Meyer while I wrote that first bit 👀👀 (read it, it’s good, especially if you want to sob your eyeballs out like I did)

I hope you like this one! It was fun for me to write!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.

You had insisted on not coming to this party.

You, of course, had said this as if you had a choice. Really, as someone with your status, you should have the power to make decisions for yourself. But nooo, as the only daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness, it was your duty to attend the king’s bi-annual masquerade ball. Bother.

So, here you were, all dressed up with little intention to dance or even have fun. You clung to the sides of the spacious dancefloor, hoping to keep to yourself enough that no one would try to talk to you. It was truly dreadful what some of your fellow nobility could come up with for small talk. Exchanging formalities and remarking on politics, only then to run off into a tangent on whatever subject may have recently captured their trivial attention.

You longed to be elsewhere—in a library perhaps, or in your garden, working on sketches in your notebook. Gracious, come to think of it, maybe sleeping would even be the better option. It was dreadfully late.

The king always insisted on throwing such parties as these so late at night, stretching all the way to early hours of the morning. You’d gotten plenty of rest prior in preparation for this autumn Midnight Ball, but between the lack of meaningful interaction and your desire to be elsewhere, you found yourself capturing yawns in your gloved hand.

Your childhood best friend didn’t seem to have this problem. You could see her now, indigo skirts swishing around her ankles as she danced with some green haired man. You couldn’t quite tell if you had ever seen him before, but he was probably from some foreign kingdom. You’d certainly hear all about him tomorrow.

You began to grow antsy at your position on the west wall. Your heels were beginning to make your ankles ache, and your mask was growing progressively warmer with each breath. A glance towards the banquet table told you that the coast was clear for you to browse the selection of food laid out, but your corset made you think twice. Your handmaiden had done it so dreadfully tight.

Curses. Not to her, she had done nothing wrong. Maybe at your mother, who insisted on lacing it up in this way.

You chewed at your tongue. Maybe a walk in the courtyard would clear your head. It would definitely be cooler and not so bright. If you were lucky, you may even be alone.

Gathering your (F/C) skirts in your fists, you strode to the door to the outside, ducking through small gatherings of people and curtseying to the guards positioned at the exit. You knew you had made the right decision as soon as the night air hit your face, a cool October breeze seeping behind your mask and ruffling the feathers that adorned it. A full moon lit your path as you walked further into the manicured gardens. You’d been around here before, yet you still allowed yourself time to admire the hedges and trees closing off spaces of land. Flowerbeds were artfully placed wherever they could fit, although you could tell that most of their plentiful blooming yield had already gone back within themselves for the frosty winter. What you were truly interested in was a small pond located in the back, hidden behind a few bushes at its side.

The clear pool laid stagnant before you as you knelt down to look into it. The light of the moon bounced off your bejeweled costume mask, causing the water to sparkle even brighter beneath you. A large koi fish took notice of your signal, lazily sliding its stout, tri-colored body towards the surface in hopes that you may have brought it some food.

“I’m sorry, little friend,” you whispered to its expectant gaping mouth, “I don’t have anything for you.”

You watched him for another moment, little splashes made by the fish’s fins breaking the stillness of both the silent night air and the pool’s surface.

“You’ve upset him.”

The sound of an unfamiliar voice made you start. You straightened, brushing off the front of your skirt. Turning, you saw the figure of a man standing a few paces away from you. His build was lean and strong, and a mask of his own glittered in the all-encompassing moonlight. It was difficult to make out any identifying features, but a part of you just knew that he was intangibly handsome.

“Sorry?” you said, trying to compose yourself.

Perfect. This was just what you had been trying to avoid: interaction. Maybe he’d go easy on you and let you leave soon, or maybe he could have something genuinely worthwhile to say.

“That fish,” he clarified. “He’s hungry.”

You pursed your lips together in thought as you stole a glance back at the pond. Your koi friend had retreated back to the depths of his home as soon as you had turned your back. The air hummed with silence once more.

“Is he, though?” you asked. “He probably gets fed just as well as any other creature living on the grounds.”

The mysterious man shrugged. “True, but perhaps that’s the most joy he gets out of life.”

“Oh.” You stood there awkwardly for a second in silence, trying to think of a response. “That’s a little . . . grim.”

“Sorry.” He shifted. “I’ve always felt bad for fish.”

“How so?”

He took a step closer to the pond, bending a bit at the waist in order for him to see into it better. “They have less freedom. Little to do, nowhere to go . . . sometimes they remind me of myself a bit.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not terribly fond of my father.”

You blinked, wondering if he was going anywhere with this.

His eyes finally snapped up to yours. The moon caught their shades perfectly, drawing out hints of color that would normally be lost to their own depths. It struck you suddenly that you had seen these eyes before; one a steely silver while the other was a lovely cerulean that nearly seemed to glow. Where had you previously seen these eyes?

“Sorry,” he apologized again. “I didn’t mean to overstep.” He straightened up to properly face you, his posture rigid and practiced, just as you had seen all the other noblemen do your whole life. “My name is Shouto Todoroki, son of Duke Enji Todoroki,” he said, piercing eyes growing a little glassy at the voicing of his own name. He bowed to you, and around the top of his mask, you took notice of his perfectly split bi-colored hair. “My lady,” he said.

“Shouto?” Yes, that was right. You’d met him a few times as children, playing together while your families held council meetings. It had to have been nearly ten years since you’d seen him last, and to be honest, he’d grown into quite the man.

“Yes?” he answered, uncertain.

“It’s me,” you said, lifting your mask a bit to better show off your eyes and features in the dim light. “(F/N) (L/N).”

You watched as he did a double take; eyes scanning you from top to bottom as he put a name to your person. “(Y/N) . . . wow, it’s been a long time.”

You chuckled, fiddling with the material of your skirt between your fingers. “You’re not saying I’m old, now, are you?”

He snorted, his posture relaxing. “Of course not, my lady.”

You began to chat, settling in beside him as you wandered around the gardens together. It was only now that you realized how much you had missed your old friend, finding it shockingly easy to talk with him. He spoke of his father and how he intended for Shouto to take his place in power when his time came. You noted the bitterness he carried in his voice, vaguely remembering the emergence of the issue from the last time you’d conversed. He listened to your own life updates, interested in your hobbies and what you had to say about life and time. In fact, it nearly felt as if no time had passed at all, and you’d remained close throughout the years.

The light of the castle began to creep upon the path ahead of you, and you noticed that you’d circled the entire perimeter of the gardens. Music from the ballroom floated to your ears, and you recognized the tune. Influenced by your improved mood, you began to hum along to a few of the notes, nodding your head to the light, peppy rhythm.

Shouto took notice of this, eyeing you with a small smile gracing his usually stoic face. He sped up just enough to come up in front of you, causing you to halt in your tracks. He bowed before you again, one hand behind his back with the other outstretched for your own. “If I may, could I have this dance? This is your king’s ball, and I believe that my lady deserves at least one before the night’s end.”

An unexpected heat climbed to your cheeks. Why were you suddenly feeling this way? Your childhood friend had certainly grown into quite the handsome young man, but you couldn’t ever remember thinking of him in this manner. He’d only ever shown kindness and respect towards you, and it was only now beginning to weigh on you how much you liked him. But this weight wasn’t in any way unpleasant, in fact, it made you feel giddier, almost light and intrepid. What could one dance together hurt?

You rested your hand in his, the fabrics of your gloves sliding together as your fingers met. His head turned up so he could once again make eye contact, drawing your offered appendage to his lips. They brushed over your knuckles, feather light, and you found yourself wishing that the silken material could have been removed. How soft were his lips truly?

Shouto walked you a few paces away onto an open area in the grass, the fragrance of greenery and crisp evening air wafting through the space. Every surface was bathed in a fine layer of moonlight, giving the world a dark, silvery glow. Shouto’s skin gleamed pale and resembled porcelain, eyes shining behind the contrasting shadows of his mask.

With your palm in his, he guided you closer to him, his other hand alighting on the small of your back.

“The moon highlights your beauty remarkably so. I’ve never felt this . . . enamored by someone.”

You shivered at his words, the gentle intensity of his gaze boring into you. You began to fall into step with the music wavering in the background. The cheerful rhythm made your heart soar as you glided over the grass with your partner. He led you through some practiced steps, others entirely new. Your skirts swirled around your ankles, adding an extra flare to each of your movements. The sound of the hidden orchestra was distant and thin, and yet there was such a feeling that instilled through you, almost as if the music had seeped all the way to your marrow.

You watched as Shouto’s face began to relax into a little smile, twirling you this way, dipping you over his strong arm, pulling you back into his chest. The whole ordeal took your breath away, and even in the cool night air, your cheeks began to ignite in a palpable warmth of their own. Time slowed, and it was as though you’d been his dance partner for centuries, finding a rhythm and flowing together as one.

That is, until a shooting pain fired through your ankle, causing you to gasp and stumble. Shouto caught and steadied you in his arms before you could fall very far, worry clouding over his face.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You grimaced, shifting your weight on your feet. “It’s my heels,” you explained. “Sorry. They’re not the most . . . practical.”

“Here,” Shouto said, offering you his arm. “Take them off. You don’t need them out here.”

Your face heated once again as you leaned on his outstretched appendage, fishing around in your skirts until you found your foot. Within moments, you were free, feet bare in their thin tights, discarded shoes unbuckled and placed neatly aside on the grass. The both of you found a stone bench nearby, and you sat side by side to help ease the strain on your feet. While you took this bit of a breather, you remarked to yourself how much taller Shouto was compared to you. The sight of how much he’d grown over the years, mixed with this newfound urge to rest your head against his broad chest . . . .

“Are you feeling better now, my lady?”

(Y/N). Your name was (Y/N). He could have just as easily called you as such, and yet, the formality set your heart aflutter.

“Yes, I believe I am. Actually, I’m feeling much better. This party was so dull until you happened upon me.”

Shouto’s smile returned, the slightest shine appearing on his upturned lips. “I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time either. Thank you for accepting my offer to dance.”

You hummed and flashed him a genuine grin of your own.

He averted his eyes suddenly, a new tension gripping his shoulders. “I know we haven’t talked in years,” he began, “but if you didn’t mind, I would like to get to know you again, (Y/N). Our kingdoms aren’t too distant, and I would like to write to you sometime when I return home.”

Your smile widened. “That sounds lovely. I’d love to keep in touch with you.” You let your hand wander over to his, taking it up in your fingers.

Shouto smiled again at your touch, raising your joined palms to press another kiss to your knuckles. “I look forward to your response,” he said, lips brushing against your gloved fingers as he spoke, eyes locked on yours.

You could still hear the band playing in the ballroom. To the king, the night was still young, and the party would continue for some time longer. Within moments, you were on your feet again with him, twirling your body to the tempo of the strings and winds. With stars serving as your only audience, you danced with your newfound partner until the early hours of the morning under the light of a full hanging moon.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.

Taglist: @aahilovetheatre​ @heartpaw12​ @todoroki-waifu​ @basicaegyo​ @iiminibattlehero​ @katsugay​ @nabo39​ @pyrofanatic​ @sendhelpimstupid​ @sokkasangel​ @xoxopam4​

[its-nebula]

(🖌️ When was the first time you saw your kids cry?)

Byakuya: Miura had been taught from a young age to never hide how she felt, if she was happy or angry or sad she should show it. We wanted her to feel safe enough to be herself.. I don't know what happened but when she was about 8 years old I came by her room and she was crying into her pillow. I came in and she was so embarrassed and apologetic, I laid on her bed and hugged her until she finished crying and asked what happened. Apparently at school some bullies took her drawings and told her they were awful, and when she expressed that her parents liked them they used it as ammunition to make her doubt our love for her. I was furious at the school for letting bullying happen and I was devastated that she had doubts about our love for her. My poor Miura..

Nagito: The first time I saw Yuichi cry I took him to a fair ground when he was 5, I was excited to show him the rides and the games and the food but.. he was terrified of the noises; he clamped his ears shut and cried on the floor. At first I thought it might be a tantrum but I took him back to the quiet car and hugged him, I realised he was scared of the noises and so instead I took him to the woods and we listened to the quiet forest noises while we watched the stars. With Tao I saw him cry after his pet fish died, that was around 5 as well, he didn't understand why it wasn't waking up. He brought the bowl to me in tears, that's the day I had to explain death to him; he wasn't sure how to take that information but he seemed to understand.

Kokichi: Tomoko and me were having a Daddy daughter day when she was 9! We went to the mall and got her some new things and we went to the movies and we had an awesome day.. but things seemed weird, she was a lot quieter than her usual bubbly self. Then when we got home she just wanted to be alone and I was worried.. I found her on the roof, which scared me of course so I went up with her and I found her crying. I asked her what was wrong and for some reason she thought I was going to leave, apparently her friend's parents got divorced, her dad took her for this big expensive day out and then made her choice between her mom and dad and Tomoko seemed to think that's what was happening today.. that I was just going to leave. I assured her I wasn't going anywhere and I was just expressing my love for her by spoiling my Princess~

Oh my lord these are so emotional now I feel like I want to cry 🥲💙

[storybookwolf]

Everybody Loves Jonathan

[This is my contribution to Day 1 of @jancyweek2020. The theme is Family, so I’ve shown Jonathan getting to know the Wheelers as Nancy’s boyfriend. It’s set just after season 2. It’s shameless cutesy fluff, and I hope you enjoy it!]

Mike (November 1984)

Nancy had asked Jonathan to pick her up for school at 8.15. ‘Just wait in the car and I’ll come outside. If you come in we’ll get sucked into a vortex of a million question from my mom, and I’d prefer to make a clean getaway.’

He was doing what she’d asked, but he still felt like he was being kind of rude and weird, loitering outside of a girl’s house. Especially since he’d arrived twenty minutes early. He sat there, trying to read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest but instead just scanning the same paragraph over and over without absorbing it and repeatedly glancing at the Wheeler house for signs of life.

Finally, at 8.04, the front door opened, and he felt all the tension drain out of his body. It was instantly replaced by confusion, however, when he saw Mike emerge from the house and come running towards his car.

‘Jonathan! Hey, Jonathan!’ the middle schooler yelled, wrenching open the door and throwing himself into the backseat. ‘How’s Will? Is he okay? When’s he coming back to school?’

Jonathan smiled. He was so glad that his little brother had someone who cared about him this much. ‘He’s doing a lot better, but I think Mom’s gonna keep him at home for a few more days.’

Mike grinned. ‘Awesome. That he’s better, I mean. It sucks that he has to stay home.’ Then he leaned back in his seat and looked at the older boy, suddenly serious. ‘So are you, like, Nancy’s boyfriend now?’

Jonathan felt himself start to blush (he hated when that happened). ‘Um…yeah, I guess? I think so. Has she said anything about it?’

‘She refuses to answer any questions,’ said Mike. ‘It’s cool if you are, though. She always seems happier when you’re around.’ He shrugged. ‘So are you dating or what?’

Before Jonathan could answer, the passenger door opened.

‘Hey, you’re early!’ said Nancy. She leaned over and kissed him. It was just a peck on the lips, but Mike started to make gagging noises as though they were full-on making out in front of him.

‘Ugh, why are you guys so gross?’

*

Karen (November 1984)

Nancy checked her reflection in the bedroom mirror for the twentieth time. Should she change her earrings? The hoops had seemed like a good idea, but her curls just kept getting tangled in them. She decided to switch them for tiny gold studs. The rest of the outfit was okay – navy tights, denim skirt, the peach argyle sweater that Jonathan had said he liked. She knew it was silly to be nervous about their first ‘real date’, given that they’d been together for three weeks now (and given everything they’d been through before that), but she couldn’t help but be a little anxious.

And the fact that he was late was only making her more nervous. It wasn’t like him, he was usually either early or exactly on time. Frowning, Nancy grabbed her jacket and purse and decided to wait downstairs … where she found her boyfriend in the Wheeler family kitchen, helping her mother unpack groceries.

‘The tuna fish goes on the third shelf down, and the spaghetti has its own special Tupperware, on the top shelf,’ Karen directed. ‘Oh, hi Nancy!’ she said when she noticed her daughter. ‘Jonathan pulled up just as I was unloading the car, and very kindly offered to give me a hand with all this.’

Of course he did, thought Nancy with a smile.

‘What are you two up to tonight?’ her mother asked.

‘We’re seeing a movie at the Hawk. Actually, it starts pretty soon, so we should probably get going,’ Nancy said, taking Jonathan’s hand and starting to pull him out of the kitchen.

‘Okay, have fun! Make sure you’re home by midnight,’ said her mom.

‘Isn’t your curfew usually 11?’ Jonathan murmured once they were out of earshot.

‘I guess you doing grocery duty gets us an extra hour,’ said Nancy, grinning.

*

Holly (December 1984)

It didn’t take long for Jonathan to become a fixture at the Wheeler house. He’d bring Nancy home from school and stay to study with her. He’d come over for Sunday lunch and weeknight dinners. He’d arrive an hour early to pick up Will from D & D, and spend the time sampling whatever Karen’s latest baked creation was. And wherever he went, he had a shadow: Holly.

The youngest Wheeler seemed to think that Jonathan was actually there to visit her, and therefore it was her job to entertain him. So she’d show him her latest drawings, and make him play dolls with her, and insist that he watch her favourite cartoons. And Jonathan always played along, engaging with the pre-schooler on her level in a way that Nancy found ridiculously adorable. But after a while, it started to grate. She just wanted to spend time with her boyfriend, and it was deeply weird to have to compete with her baby sister for his attention.

Which was why Alan Stavinsky’s retirement dinner seemed like such a great opportunity. He had been her dad’s boss at the insurance company for nearly twenty years, so her parents wouldn’t dream of missing it, even though it was being held all the way in the city and was bound to be a late night. So they’d need Nancy to babysit – she could invite Jonathan over, and once Holly went to bed they would have some privacy.

But Holly just refused to go to sleep. There was yelling, and tears (from both Wheeler sisters). Eventually, the younger girl was persuaded to put on her pyjamas and get into bed. Three bedtime stories later, she reluctantly agreed it was time for lights out.

‘At last!’ said Nancy, snuggling into Jonathan’s side on the couch. ‘I thought she’d never leave us alone. Now, how should we spend the rest of the night?’

‘Do you have any more Berenstain Bears books? I’m pretty hooked,’ Jonathan deadpanned.

‘I have a better idea,’ said Nancy. ‘How about we—’

‘I can’t sleep!’ a small voice announced from the doorway of the living room. ‘Jonathan, play Hungry Hippos with me!’

Nancy managed to stifle a groan of frustration as her boyfriend turned away from her and towards the little girl.

‘I think Hungry, Hungry Hippos might be a little too exciting for after bedtime,’ he said. ‘Let’s make a deal. Do you promise to go back to bed and stay there if we watch ten minutes of one of your Strawberry Shortcake videos?’

‘The Christmas one?’ she asked.

‘Sure.’

‘Okay!’ Holly bounced over to the couch and squeezed in between Nancy and Jonathan.

Nancy dutifully put on the video and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, hoping to miss as much of the nauseatingly sweet cartoon as she could. When she returned a few minutes later, her little sister had finally fallen asleep – and so had Jonathan.

Sighing, Nancy switched off the TV and settled into the La-Z-Boy with one of her mom’s Cosmopolitan magazines. So much for a perfect night with her boyfriend.

*

Ted (January 1985)

It was the last day of winter break. Jonathan and Nancy had spent the afternoon hanging out at her house, doing nothing much at all.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?’ Nancy asked as they said goodbye at the front door.

‘I’m sure,’ he said, leaning in for a quick kiss. ‘I told Will I’d help him with some art project tonight. Besides, your family is probably sick of having me around.’

‘Not at all! They love you,’ Nancy protested.

Just then, Ted Wheeler walked by, the newspaper under his arm and his evening scotch in hand. ‘Good night, Steven,’ he said, nodding at Jonathan.

‘Um…Good night, sir,’ said Jonathan. Nancy buried her face in his shoulder, trying to contain her laughter until her dad left the room.

‘Okay, so most of them love you,’ she said. ‘Me especially.’

Jonathan paused at that, and raised one eyebrow in an unspoken question. Really? He didn’t have to ask; it was clear from her fixed gaze on him that she meant it.

‘I love you too,’ he said.

[harrylee94]

The Tournament - Chapter 5

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: "You are not fit to wear your armour. You are not fit to bear your clan name. You are not fit to be called Mandalorian."

Notes: I was not expecting this to happen! I have no idea what's going on!

Chapter 4

——————————————————————

“I’ll be watching you, Djarin” - Din

It was the day before the Trials were set to begin. Contenders from across the kingdom had been arriving since the day after the announcement had been made, and now Din was sure that half of the Lords and Chiefs under his soon-to-be reign were either camping at his doorstep or even housed within his walls, maybe more. Tonight though, it was time for the welcome feast, a chance for him to show his appreciation for the support they were offering, and to pretend that he didn’t notice how they were all trying to make a grab for power.

As Prince of Mandalore, he had been the first to arrive, taking his place at the high table just to the right of the Witch King’s seat and watching as the nobles filtered in, their names and titles announced by the master of ceremonies, each pausing at the door as they did so before walking before him, offering a bow or curtsy -- depending on whether they were wearing skirts or not -- and heading over to their assigned seat.

It was a long and tedious process, but Din made sure to pay attention; these were to be his subjects, it wouldn’t do to make them think he didn’t care about them.

“It is an honour to meet you, my Prince,” another Chief, Veranaar of Clan Ruusuk Din remembered, said as they bowed to him. “My daughter, Veryn, shall be competing for the honour of being your Protector in the coming days.” He waved to the young woman at his side, who bowed as well, the pieces of armour she wore emblazoned with the symbol of their clan.

“I wish you the best of luck, Veryn of Clan Ruusuk,” Din said diplomatically, nodding at them as they continued on towards their seats.

There were a number of contestants in the room, most of them third or fourth born and wearing at least the pauldrons of their armour, but there were also some first or second born ade who were sending looks his way. Looks he was sure were meant to be provocative and alluring, but they felt slimy on his skin and made him want to shiver.

Being married to someone who only wanted to use you for the power he held wasn’t as bad as the idea of someone he didn’t trust following him around every second of the day, but it still made him sick to the stomach.

“Lord Shir’aat Suum’anar of House Suum’anar, and Ser Jaonar Suum’anar,” the master of ceremonies called, and two of the most pompous Mando’ade stepped into view.

The older of the men held himself like he was one of the highest ranking in the room, though Din noted that he was very careful to keep himself from overstepping. He wore no armour from what Din could see, but his tunic was beautifully embroidered in such a way to make it look like mail. His son, on the other hand, proudly wore his pauldrons, leather replacing what would usually have been a breast plate, a sun hammered into the surface, and vambraces tied to his forearms. He looked around the room like he belonged here, and gave off an air of vanity that did not bode well.

Together, they made Din feel both underdressed -- though the embroidery on his tunics still felt like too much, and his armour had been made by the best smith and leatherworker in the kingdom --and angry. Clothes like that would have cost a fortune, and the money could have been put to better use paying for the upkeep of the roads and for the welfare of their people, but instead they used it to show off just how grand they were.

He bit the inside of his cheek as they approached and bowed.

“My Prince,” Lord Suum’anar said with a flourish as he rose. “It’s such an honour to be welcomed to this celebration.”

“How could I not welcome one of my closest allies?” Geographically speaking. “Plus your son has been here for many months now.”

“Indeed he has,” Lord Suum’anar agreed. “Jaonar intends to compete for the position of Protector in the Trials.”

Position, not honour, Din noted.

“I wish you luck, Ser Jaonar,” he said with a false smile, and building suspicion when the knight went to say something but his father stopped him with a nudge of his elbow. He pretended he didn’t notice as they walked away with another quick bow to allow the next person -- who he'd missed the name of -- to approach.

It continued on like this for a while, listening to names, greeting people with false smiles and wishing he was somewhere else, perhaps having a drink with Cara, or finding an excuse to talk to Vanth, perhaps to ask about the shovel handle he’d set on his buir’s pyre, but then a name was called that he couldn’t ignore.

“Lady Bo-Katan Kryze of House Kryze!” the master of ceremonies called, and a woman in a blue tunic and trousers entered, chain mail resting over the top of the fabric, and dyed leather pauldrons were strapped to her shoulders. Her chest plate was painted with the owl of her clan in white, and her helm, peeking out from beneath her arm, had been crafted to a similar visage. It was the definition of overkill, but she moved like she'd been born in it.

Conversation around the room came to a halt as he rose from his seat, the guests Din had been speaking to quickly scuttling out of the way before she came to a stop before him.

The silence dragged on for several tense seconds, neither one of them moving. You could hear the wind whistling through the windows from how quiet it was.

House Kryze and House Djarin had been rivals for many years, the throne having once belonged to the Kryze family not even a hundred years ago, before the Djarins won it from them. Though the tension between their Houses had dissipated somewhat, it still remained.

The Lady Kryze bowed her head in a nod. “Prince Djarin.”

“Lady Kryze,” he replied.

The silence returned, and Din could feel his magic buzzing in anticipation.

She stepped closer to the table until they were less than a meter apart, and Din had to signal to keep Saruk and his guards from acting. A smirk appeared in the corner of her lips as she leaned over the table; perhaps she was impressed, but Din would likely never find out.

“I’ll be watching you, Djarin,” she said.

“Likewise,” he replied, keeping a careful eye on her as she stepped away and moved around the table to sit not three seats away from him. She took the goblet before her and held herself tall as she drank, and slowly the conversations started up again. Din set himself back down in his seat, and waved for the master of ceremonies to continue announcing the guests.

Despite the tension, he couldn't help but be a little relieved of Kryze's presence. In a room full of falsehoods, she was one of the few who didn't hide her intentions.

The rest of the introductions were difficult to concentrate on, especially with Kryze so close at hand, but soon enough all his guests had been seated and the food was being produced from the kitchens.

Roasted boar and fish were placed on a table in the centre of the hall, as were whole legs of lamb, pheasants, and even a swan. Dishes of vegetables and specially prepared fruits were offered by the servers as the carvers sliced the meats into servings, baskets of bread and cheese were offered, jugs of mead, ale and wine passed around, and, of course, a large cauldron of Tiingilar was carried in.

The smells that filled the room were enough to make even a full stomach rumble, but first Din had to make a speech.

Once again he rose from his seat, the action alone drawing everyone’s attention, and he put on his smile.

“My Lords, Ladies, and Verde,” he began, looking around the room. “I welcome you to my halls to share this celebration. Tomorrow the Trials for the honour of becoming the next Protector begin, but tonight we feast and make merry!” He raised his goblet high. “Oya!”

“Oya!” his guests cheered, their own drinking vessels rising.

As Din brought his own goblet to his lips, his magic suddenly fell silent, and it drew him up short. Ever since he could remember it had been there, humming at him in the background, curled around him at night, and in the past few weeks it had been the loudest it had ever been. The sudden silence unbalanced him, and he swayed a little in place. He was vaguely aware that Saruk had gripped their sword from where they stood at his side, but he was otherwise occupied by the sudden gap inside him. What was happening? Where had it gone? Why did he suddenly feel so cold? Had it abandoned him? Was he unworthy?

Before his thoughts could spiral any further, his magic surged back like a tidal wave, filling his limbs with warmth and washing his fear away, replacing it only with danger, danger, there .

His goblet fell as he released it without a thought, fingers curling instead around the sword at his belt. His magic continued to scream at him, and he spun in place, drawing the sword with it in one smooth moment. There was the sound of metal hitting metal, and Din was aware of something clattering to the table, and then the paved floor behind him, but he had eyes only on the young woman who still had her arm outstretched, eyes wide.

“Guards!” Saruk cried, and they swarmed the would-be assassin, grabbing her by the arms and shoulders and removing any other visible weapons before dragging her around the tables to stand before him as she struggled. It was as she was stood there that he was able to put a name to her face; Veryn of Clan Ruusuk. His eyes searched the tables until they came to rest upon her father, Veranaar, who looked pale and shocked. Perhaps she had worked alone then.

“Veryn of Clan Ruusuk,” he said, voice echoing in the now silent hall. “Would you care to explain why you have made an attempt on my life?”

She remained stubbornly silent as she glared up at him, struggling in the guards’ arms as they continued to pat her down to remove any additional weaponry she might have hidden away.

He waited for a few seconds more before nodding. “Very well. You are not fit to wear your armour." Straps were cut and leather and metal hit the floor. "You are not fit to bear your clan name." Her father gasped. "You are not fit to be called Mandalorian. You are dar'manda, and for your crime of treason, you are to be executed at dawn."

Veranaar choked on a sob. "Veryn, why?"

She turned to him with a sneer. "You've become weak, father," she said. "We were once a proud family, but now we are forced to bend low for the welfare of those lesser than us." She spat on the floor. "I will not bow to a King who allows this to continue."

"Take her away," Saruk ordered, "and escort Chief Ruusuk and the rest of his clan out of the keep." That they would be watched was left unspoken, but heard by all.

As Veryn was taken away, one of the guards who had come to stand behind him stooped to retrieve the weapon she'd thrown, and offered it to him. It was a wicked looking blade, though well balanced as all throwing knives were, the edges serrated and the blade itself holding the oily gleam of some sort of poison. He set it down carefully and waited for Clan Ruusuk to leave before waving at the minstrels who had been waiting in a corner and sheathing his sword.

Music began and he sat back in his seat with a sigh. He hadn't even been crowned yet and already there was a threat on his life. He looked over at Saruk, who gave him a nod of approval, their hand now resting threateningly on their sword, and then at Lady Kryze, who, much to his surprise, gave him a similar nod.

He sighed as talk resumed, and he was sure that the news of the attempt on his life would spread to the edges of the camp outside the walls before the day was out. Had it not been for his magic, he was sure it would have been a successful one.

Shoving that thought away, Din tried to focus on eating, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stomach much.

He'd just sentenced someone to death, and he was the one who would have to swing the sword. But even worse than that, now he knew what people thought of him, how could he trust any of the contenders for Protector?

——————————————————————

Mando'a Translations:

Ade -- children

Mando’ade -- children of Mandalore

Buir -- parent

Tiingilar -- a hearty and traditional Mandalorian stew made with a multicoloured blend of meat, various vegetables, and a potent mix of spices

Verde -- warriors or soldiers

Oya -- cheers - lit. ‘let’s hunt’, but can also mean ‘stay alive’ or ‘go you’

Dar'manda -- not Mandalorian, soulless, has lost a right to their heritage

Chapter 6