#father figures

[mobius-m-mobius]

Happy Birthday Owen Wilson! ♡ (November 18th, 1968)

[aroacespencerreid]

[meep-meep-richie]

At your desk, that magazine. Yeah that one on jet skis. Yes, why do you have that? Because they are awesome.

[sheriffgrimes-archerdixon]

hii!!

could you do one where daryl and rick are like father figures to the reader? she goes to try to kill negan instead of carl and when she gets back rick and daryl are really mad and she gets into an argument with them?

that’s it!!🩷

Hi! Thank you so much for the request!!! 🖤🧟‍♀️💕

A/N: it’s been like MONTHS since I’ve written so sorry for literally disappearing, but thank you all for the love! Love you all. Sorry for how long this took to get out… but I’m finally finishing it at like 1am after so many weeks… so please excuse any spelling errors! Tysm. I adore all of you xx

Rick + daryl x fem! Reader (reader is 19)

Trigger warnings: argument, zombie stuff, gore, usual twd stuff. If any of it discomforts you please read at your own discretion!

Pinky promise

You knew it was a dangerous mistake. You shouldn’t of been so ambitious. But Negan deserved death and you believed you could kill him… but it all became clear that it was a mistake. You had made a dangerous and incredibly stupid decision and you knew as soon as you got home Rick and Daryl would certainly have a go at you if not kill you then and there for being so reckless. You knew you were absolutely insane for doing something so unthinkable but Negan had to die. Rick was taking his sweet time and Negan was just going to get stronger, and that scared you, so you wanted to take it into your own hands and kill the man yourself…

And so here you were gun in hand, pointing it at the clear sheet covering the back of the truck your finger trembling slightly as you waited for the voices to get closer. “There isn’t enough in the truck, we’ll have to go out again. Get more supplies and shit. Alexandria is so big yet they can’t even supply us enough shit.” “Yeah… don’t know why Negan won’t just kill them all. That way we can actually have a good home…” the voices spoke back and forth and you tightened your hold on the gun jaw clenched tightly watching as the blurry figures got closer and as a hand poked in through the clear sheet you pulled the trigger bullets spitting out as the men began shouting, followed by multiple ‘thuds’ proving you had killed a few of the bastards, you continued shooting, even as you jumped out of the truck the bullets flying around mercilessly- some saviours dropping to the floor, dead, and others just falling for the sake of their lives. Your eyes were narrowed as you breathed heavily your teeth slightly gritted together before suddenly a body shoved against yours, Dwight knocking you down onto your back, your gun falling from your hand as you groaned out glaring at the man. “Y/n….” A voice sung out, mockingly and your eyes snapped to meet with Negans. His hazel eyes gleamed with amusement, Lucille lightly hung over his shoulder as he grinned at you “didn’t I get my point across to you before that I really do not appreciate my people being killed…” he spoke your eyes narrowing as you scowled at him. He was a rotten bastard and deserved to be knocked down a peg or two, and so that’s why you abruptly tried to grab your gun again only for Dwight to kick it out of the way “not so fast” he muttered glaring down at you, Negan staring at you the amusement seemingly growing further and further before he exhaled

“I like you, you don’t mess around do you? You just do… I like that…” he smirked before stopping just in front of you holding his hand out for you to take “you’ve actually got balls… unlike someone else we know.” He spoke that stupid fucking grin remaining on his face and you just glared hoping to punch his teeth in, but instead you reached out, grabbing his outstretched hand before he leaned back pulling you up with his movement as you got onto your feet your eyes boring into his with anger “we were planning on heading to Alexandria today so you’re in luck. I’ll get you home safely.” “Rick isn’t home. He’s out.” You spoke, that wasn’t the truth, rick was at home but you didn’t want to see him… not when you know he will indefinitely be beyond mad at you. “Oh isn’t he? How disappointing. Guess I’ll have to wait around with you then huh?” And that’s when you realised just how much you had screwed up… Negan wasn’t going to kill you because he knew that Rick was going to get angry at you… “god dammit…” you whispered under your breath, Negan smiling still before he turned around “c’mon. Follow me. I’ll give you a tour of the sanctuary…” and so that’s exactly what happened, you were shown around, introduced to a few scary people and then given some food much to your surprise… it was odd. Being looked after for by your friends’ killer. It made you feel sick but what made you feel even sicker was what was happening right now… you were sat in the truck beside Negan, driving down the familiar road leading to Alexandria. Your heart was drumming in your chest your face pale and lips slightly parted… you were in deep shit and you knew it.

Breathing soon became nonexistent, your lips slightly parted eyes wide as you watched multiple people on outpost begin to shout… oh dear god. Heavy breaths slowly left your lips your eyes filled with complete fear… sure Daryl being angry at you was enough but Rick too- you couldn’t handle both of their wrath’s. You didn’t even want to experience it but you knew you were going to experience it. “Are you coming into to talk to them?” You soon asked glancing at the man, his hands which were warmed by the leather gloves he wore squeezed at the steering wheel and he grinned at you soon shoving his foot onto the brakes the truck coming to a screeching halt just in front of the gates leading into Alexandria “nah, kid. That isn’t my shit to do. You pulled a stupid fuckin’ decision and now you’re gonna face the consequences. I told you I don’t ap-“ “appreciate you killing my men I know.” You cut him off glaring into his eyes the man looking somewhat impressed before he raised his brows “at least you can learn.” He chuckled out looking forwards as the gate was slowly pulled open “go on then, your friends are waiting.” He spoke and you looked to the gate as well seeing Rick, hands on his hips, jaw tightly clenched and eyes a sea of worry. You glanced back to Negan knowing he wasn’t going to help before you pushed the door open only for the asshole to grab your wrist forcing you to stop “you not gonna thank me for bringing you home safe and sound?” He asked with a cocky grin and you glared at him “thank. you.” You spat out through gritted teeth and he smirked “you’re welcome.”

You then jumped out of the truck before storming towards the gate of Alexandria your eyes landing on Rick and a very infuriated yet terrified looking Daryl but you ignored them- you didn’t want to deal with their anger right now. “Y/n where the hell have you been?” Rick asked, hands remaining on his hips his eyes practically piercing into your soul yet you refused to speak or even look at him because well… let’s face it… he was terrifying. “Y/n where the hell do ya think you’re goin’ huh?” Daryl soon asked gruffly and you glanced at him “home. You wanna give me a lecture. Fine. But not in front of everyone.” You snapped, both men sharing a look, as if questioning whether you had really just used that tone with them but nonetheless they followed after you, you attempted to slam the front door but Rick was quick to catch it before it could latch “cut that attitude out right now, y/n.” Rick spoke calmly his body language however far from calm “I don’t understand why you’re both so unhappy! Jesus Christ can’t I try and help out!” Rick and Daryl stood side by side shoulders brushing against each other and Rick tilted his head slightly “do you realise how incredibly foolish it was to go out there and do… whatever you did… do you?” He raised his brows his blue eyes piercing into your soul and you rolled your eyes “ah ah, no, y/n, eyes on me.” He demanded and you looked at him “you aren’t hearing me- you could’ve been killed. What you did was very stupid. Irresponsible.” He spoke and you glared into his eyes “well I wasn’t! I’m here- am I not? I’m fine!” Daryl then took a step forwards “enough. It doesn’t matter whether you’re fine or not. What matters is the fact that you pulled some stupid death wish shit…” his eyes searched yours before he shook his head “it was stupid. You might’ve been helping or thinking you were helping… but what would we do if Negan brought back your dead body huh?” Daryl asked and you looked away, uncomfortable at that question, because you knew there was no right answer to such a question

“What did you do?” He soon asked and you looked back at him “machine gunned down a bunch of his men.” You murmured shamefully as you looked down, Daryl almost unresponsive whereas Rick was immediately pinching the bridge of his nose his eyes squeezed shut before he exhaled loudly showing his pure discomfort of the entire situation “oh my god…” he squeezed his eyes shut even more before looking at you “how irresponsible are you? Are you unaware of the fact that Negan has killed many people from this community?” Ricks tone was dangerous, frustrated, bordering on the line of anger and protectiveness “what do I have to do to get it through to you that we’re working together to make this safe! We’re doing everything we can y/n,” “no we aren’t! What about the lives we promised we’d get justice for! Have they just all gone down the drain?! We can’t just keep up this bullshit! Either he dies or we die! He’s overpowering us Rick! We need to do som-“ Rick soon held his hand up at you “no! Don’t you-“ “y/n. You’re getting ahead of yourself.” The man reminded you and you breathed heavily your eyes rage full Daryl moving behind you as he slowly rubbed up and down your back trying to sooth you yet your whole body felt as if it was on fire “we get that you want to protect us and this community but-“ “no! It isn’t just that Rick! It isn’t! I want to get- I- I want…” your voice cracked as your heart began to slowly split into pieces ricks expression softening, sure he had seen you open up before but not like this… he hadn’t seen you like this often… nor had Daryl- it surprised both men. “Tell me.” Rick spoke taking a step forwards this time, as he slowly reached a hand out resting his hand atop of your shoulder “I-…. I…” Rick remained silent searching your eyes allowing you to take your time watching as your face contorted in all ways imaginable the anguish, pain and fear slowly creeping up on you “he killed Glenn! He killed Abraham! He killed our friends! Shouldn’t we be trying to kill him! He killed Glenn! He killed-… he killed the guy who saved your dumbass!” You yelled shoving his hand off of your shoulder, ricks expression showing the pain, he hadn’t fully healed- in fact he hadn’t healed at all. He hadn’t allowed himself to grieve anyone’s deaths but especially Glenn’s. Or Abraham’s. He was too busy being a leader. Too busy taking care of his people.

“Y/n we can’t change that… I’m sorry… but we can’t… but what we can’t change either is the fact that if you died we would’ve lost a key part of Alexandria…-“ “we’ve already lost a key part!” Your voice cracked and Daryl stared at you “you’re both bullshit! I can take care of myself! Why don’t you think I can’t take care of myself?!” Your voice grew angrier before you ran off upstairs Rick running a hand over his face and Daryl just watching you run off “don’t go after her…” he shook his head “let her cool off. And you cool off too” Rick spoke and Daryl nodded knowing he was right. He needed to calm down… if he didn’t he would’ve said something he regretted.

A couple of minutes passed- maybe five, or even ten, before Daryl was sent up to console you. You didn’t even hear him come in but you felt the bed dip down before you heard his soft breathing “I did what I thought was best.” You spoke more softly and Daryl nodded “I know… but it was also…” “stupid I know… don’t need to tell me again…” you murmured softly and Daryl exhaled softly “you know we just care about you. That’s why we’re so worried about you… you matter to us.” His hand rubbed up and down your back slowly and gently as you remained curled up in a ball arms wrapped around yourself weakly his touch soft and caring, his rough calloused hands rough against your skin but you didn’t care. He was comforting you… that’s all that really mattered.

“I just-… why do you keep treating me like a damn child?” You asked clearly upset about that and Daryl frowned slightly his stern features growing more soft as he saw the true confusion and frustration in your eyes “because we’ve lost people, Y/n…. Glenn, Abraham, Sophia, Dale, Hershel, Merle, Olivia… too many people to count..” he fell silent before speaking again not allowing you to say anything “and we can’t lose someone else. The stakes are set high. I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you, Y/n. Rick wouldn’t either… today was stupid… sure you did what you thought was best but it was a little bit silly… but there’s always room for improvement” your head slowly turned to look at him a small smile tugging at your lips before you laughed softly “who knew you could be so sentimental, Dixon” you murmured and he stared at you unamused “I’m being serious,”

You smiled softly “I know… but I promise I won’t do this again alright? It was stupid… I know but it won’t happen again…” Daryl stared at you with a ‘yeah, sure’ look before you rolled your eyes soon holding your hand out towards him sticking your pinky out at him “fine. Pinky promise…” you raised your brows the older man staring a softness soon consuming his eyes before a little smile tugged at his lips, shaking his head but nonetheless he locked his pinky with yours

“Pinky promise.”

[stevesbipanic]

Wayne and Hopper both need this mug.

[fatherfigurefistfight]

Welcome to the Father Figure Fistfight 2023

Good evening, tumblr users.

Today, I am introducing a new bracket tournament for the ages. A competition between the great father figures of fiction. The catch: the tournament will be decided not by popularity, but by who would win in a fistfight. No magic, weapons, or sci-fi bullshit, just mano y mano. Submissions open right now, and close April 6th.

Now, WHO'S READY TO RUMBLE?

Here are the official rules for submissions:

The character does not to be a father, but must be a father figure of sorts (good or bad)

Actual fathers are still welcome to fight!

No real people

Characters from media such as South Park, Harry Potter, and other woefully bigoted media will not compete, even if they are submitted :)

Voting will be based on who would win in a fistfight specifically, no magic, weapons, or sci-fi bullshit allowed, just fists

That being said, you don't have to submit characters that would do well in a fistfight. In fact, it would be very funny if some wimp-ass bitches were competing

Feel free to submit multiple different responses, please don't just submit the same character over and over, it's annoying and will lead to disqualification

Submissions close April 6, and the bracket will be decided from there

Have fun and be yourself :)

[mxltifxnd0m]

i love love love seeing platonic/ father figure fics!

it’s probably bc i want a healthy father/daughter relationship to fill the void bc i don’t have one 🧍🏻‍♀️

anyways… might write some fics/blurbs about that 😁

[ineffablecringe]

my emotional support actors

[pax-former]

I’ve called myself, and others out 😈

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Tolkien Family Week, Day 3: Extended Family (aka Éomer's substitute dads)

It’s Day 3 of @tolkienfamilyweek and we’re still in Rohan! As usual, I’m thinking about my guy, Éomer. In my head canon, his father-in-law is Elfhelm, the marshal of the Mark most famous for looking the other way when Éowyn and Merry join his éored and ride to war in Gondor. I have a lot of affection for Elfhelm even though his role in the canon is pretty small, and he appears in my work semi-regularly. 

In this case, I found myself thinking a lot about what it means to Éomer to have other father figures in his life, given that his own father died when he was so young, and Elfhelm would obviously be a major one (reminder, in my HC Éomer grew up best friends with Elfhelm’s daughter, who he later married. So Elfhelm had been in Éomer’s life for a long time both as unofficial and official extended family). The context/setting is a time shortly after the war of the ring, as the armies of Rohan are preparing to ride out once again in support of Gondor, this time to help Elessar rid Middle Earth of the evils remaining after the fall of Sauron.

**********

Éomer heard Elfhelm before he saw him. The stomping feet, the angry shouting as those feet approached his office. By the time the door flew open to reveal his father-in-law in all of his displeasure, Éomer was already up and out from behind his desk, ready to address the outburst that was clearly coming. 

“Éomer! Have you heard this nonsense from Hildred?” Hildred was Éomer’s closest military advisor, and he had recently issued new duty assignments for each of the marshals. “Commander of the home forces? I am supposed to stay here and babysit Edoras while someone else takes my men out on your campaign with King Elessar?”

Éomer would not have allowed any other man in Rohan to storm in like this, unannounced and raging, but Elfhelm was no average Rohirrim. He had a claim on Éomer’s affections that no other living man could best, and Éomer was prepared to accept much from Elfhelm that he would not tolerate in others. He tried now to steer the older man to a chair. 

“I have spoken with Hildred,” Éomer said. “And I understand why you are angry. Please, sit. Let us talk this through.” 

Elfhelm threw himself into the nearest chair, but no sooner had his back hit the cushion than he sprang back up to pace angrily across the room. “I’ve been a marshal of the Mark since most of you were still schoolboys. Since that time, I’ve killed more orcs than just about anyone else in Rohan, not to mention Dunlendings or Haradrim or whoever else needed to be dealt with. And I’m every bit as strong now at sixty as I was at twenty.” He stopped in front of Éomer and poked a finger in his chest. “You could ask those fools at Helm’s Deep or outside Minas Tirith whether I’ve gone soft with age. But they couldn’t tell you, because they’re already buried in a mound somewhere with bodies full of holes from my sword!” He stomped a foot for emphasis before resuming his angry steps. 

Éomer sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. To see Elfhelm in such a mood was a vanishingly rare occurrence. Ordinarily, he was almost unnaturally cheerful. He could maintain a happy countenance and a lighthearted spirit through the most appalling conditions, and he lost his desire to trade stories, gossip or groan-inducing jokes only while in the heat of preparations for battle. His gregarious, easygoing nature made him enormously popular with soldiers and civilians alike, but there was little sign of that nature now. 

“Everyone in Rohan has nothing but the deepest respect for you as a soldier.” Éomer tried to find a calming tone that would not be heard as patronizing. “We would all trust you with our lives on a battlefield, without hesitation. Believe me, no one doubts your capabilities.”

Elfhelm wheeled around on his heel. “Hildred must have such doubts, or that order would never have been given. Unless it is not that he thinks me incapable of leading my men but simply that he does not want me to anymore. And, frankly, that is not any better. After all, who is Hildred to make such a decision?”

Éomer grimaced and shook his head. “This has nothing to do with Hildred.” He put a hand on Elfhelm’s arm. “Please sit down, and let us talk calmly. Are you not always the one telling me to keep my head and control my temper?”

Elfhelm huffed in grudging acknowledgement of his own advice. He sat, as requested, but remained perched on the edge of the seat as though to be comfortable would be too much of a concession. He folded his arms and glared out ahead of himself. “Alright. I am sitting.”

Éomer cleared his throat and looked down at his feet. “As I said, this has nothing to do with 

Hildred.” He toed at a crack in the stone floor. “Hildred issued the duty assignments, but he is not the one who devised them. I did.” He looked up. ”I’m the one who wants you to stay in Edoras.”

Elfhelm’s mouth dropped open slightly. “You? You are the one who wants to put me out to pasture like an old stallion who is past his prime? To be stared at and pitied by all the younger studs?”

“Hold on, that is not—“

“‘Oh look, there’s old Elfhelm,’ they’ll all say. ‘Remember when he was once a formidable soldier? How times have changed’.”

“If you will just please allow me—“

Éomer’s attempts to break in went entirely unheeded as Elfhelm instead picked up speed and volume while he continued.

“I have been nothing but good to you since the day you first showed up at my house, a skinny, sad, scared little boy who found comfort and happiness in the friendship of my daughter. A lot of fathers around these parts would have shown you the door right away, you know. They would have thought such a close relationship between a boy and a girl could lead to nothing but trouble. But I welcomed you in. You’ve eaten more meals at my family table than I can count. We’ve celebrated with you, and we’ve grieved with you. We’ve watched you grow and taken pride in what you’ve done and what you’ve become. I didn’t need you to marry Mereliss in order to feel like you were my own son. I had already long since started to think of you that way. But despite all of that, now you would humiliate me like this?”

Exasperated, Éomer jumped to his feet, desperate to get in a word of response. “Enough!” he thundered. When Elfhelm went quiet, Éomer dropped the volume of his own voice and sat down again. He had an almost pleading look in his eye. “Don’t you see? All of that—everything you just said—is precisely why I don’t want you to go off to battle again. You are like a father to me, and I have lost enough fathers already!”

A stunned silence enveloped the room as Elfhelm stared at him, trying to process another unexpected revelation. “You…you are worried for my safety?”

Éomer dashed a hand across his eyes as though to fend off tears. “Of course I am. I was only eleven when my father was killed. He was my hero, and I didn’t think I would ever manage his loss. But then Théoden took us in, and he gave us not just shelter and food but stability and affection and pride. And Théodred took me under his wing, teaching me how to be the kind of man that he was… how to ride and fight, how to make and keep a commitment, how to treat others with respect and kindness. And you gave me a home away from home, a place that I could always go for support and advice and comfort. I always felt welcome in your house, even when Mereliss was not there. And so, against all of my expectations, I found other fathers, not to replace the one I lost but to fill in for him and give me what he no longer could. And now…” He broke off as his voice cracked, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “Now you’re the only one left. And so, yes, I wanted you to take on a safer role, and perhaps that was selfish of me. But I only hoped to make sure that I could keep you for as long as possible. I am sorry.” He dropped his head.

Every hint of anger left Elfhelm’s body in an instant. He looked on Éomer’s slumped form and saw once again the young, vulnerable child who had first come into his life so many years ago. And he knew that protecting that child, who still existed inside the strong, tall body of the man in this chair, was far more important to him than the glory or excitement of yet another battle. He wanted nothing more than to make that child feel loved and secure. 

“Oh, Éomer, my boy. I’m the one who is sorry. I leapt to all the wrong conclusions.” He rose and pulled Éomer to his feet, wrapping him in a tight embrace. When he released him at last, he left a hand on Éomer’s shoulder. “Can you forgive me for my harsh words?”

“If you will forgive me for putting you in this position,” said Éomer. “It is not fair to make you choose between your family and your pride.”

“Oh, to hell with pride. I’ve won enough battles in this lifetime to be a proud soldier already. Now I can be proud just to be the sort of man that the king of Rohan wants to keep around.” He dropped back into his chair, the jovial glint returned to his eye once again, and propped his feet up on a nearby side table, ready to settle in for a long stay. 

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: CT-9904 | Crosshair & Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), CT-9904 | Crosshair & Clone Trooper Hunter, Hunter & Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) Characters: CT-9904 | Crosshair, Clone Trooper Hunter (Star Wars), Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, Clone Trooper Wrecker (Star Wars), Batcher the Lurca Hound (Star Wars) Additional Tags: TBB S3 Missing Scenes and Fixits Speculation, Could Be Canon, Spoilers for TBB S3, Family Dynamics, Sibling Bonding, Jealousy, Father Figures, Ficlet, Series, Fluff and Humor Series: Part 35 of TBB S3 Fixits, Missing Scenes and Speculation series Summary:

Omega is quite taken by Crosshair, her younger brother as she so fondly likes to call the tall clone. Mimicking the surly sniper’s actions having become her favourite pastime.

Part of TBB S3 Missing Scenes and Fixits /Speculation series

[meep-meep-richie]

Owen in pink

[trashyswitch]

Co-Parenting Human Kids

Bonnie and Freddy co-parent two kids together. Freddy parents Gregory, and Bonnie parents Rose. Together they play hiding games, tickling games, and even soccer games! And Rose knows a thing or two about soccer...

Part 2 to The Two Glamrock Kids. Link

This fanfic is for @UndertaleSansLuv3 on AO3. I hope you enjoy the sequel!

3...

Freddy and Bonnie were currently playing a game of hide and seek with the kids. The kids, Gregory and Rose, were supposed to be hiding somewhere while the seekers (Freddy and Bonnie) were looking for them. 

“Are they in your bowling alley, Bun?” Freddy asked, speaking to each other through their cell phone system. 

“Nope. The place is completely empty, Ted.” Bonnie replied as he left the bowling alley. 

Freddy headed to the Fazer blast maze next, but found that the maze was completely empty. None of the two kids were in there. He headed to the Fazbear Theater next, hoping to see if the kids were hiding in the darkness of the theater. But he couldn’t hear any shuffling or giggling coming from any children in the theater. So, he left that spot and looked around the area. “Fazer Blast and Fazbear theater are empty.” Freddy said. 

“Hey Ted, what about Gator Golf?” Bonnie asked. 

Freddy shook his head. “I didn’t check yet, Bun.” Freddy admitted. 

“Okay. Can you go check it for me?” Bonnie asked. “I’ll check the fazcade and ask DJ. Okay Ted?” Bonnie replied. 

“Okay, Bun.” Freddy replied as he ended the call. 

Freddy headed to the right, towards the Monty’s Gator Golf area. He walked up to the entrance and headed in. Walking around the green area, Freddy looked around at the putting levels as well as the concession stands and the tree-house. And to Freddy’s surprise, the kids were not in the tree-house! Looking around for a little longer, Freddy scanned the room with his x-ray vision before confirming that the kids were not in the Monty Golf area. 

“The kids are not in Gator Golf, Bun.” Freddy said into the speaker. 

“Hear you loud and clear, ted.” Bonnie joked. 

Freddy walked out of the Gator Golf, and over to the escalator. “I’ll check Floor 2, you check Floor 3, Bun.” Freddy told him. 

“Got it, Ted.” he replied. 

Freddy reached the top of the escalator and hopped off. He walked around a bit, and headed to the Roxy Raceway first. Knowing the place was under construction, Freddy knew he couldn’t go into Roxy’s Raceway. So, he checked the room with his x-ray vision. And…the kids were not in there. So, Freddy turned around. “Roxy Raceway is empty, Bun.” Freddy said. 

“Well, I’d hope so, Ted! It’s under construction!” Bonnie added. 

“Still…you  know the kids, Bon…they usually find a way to get in places they don’t belong.” Freddy told him. 

Bonnie chuckled into the speaker. “Yup…I do, Ted.” He replied. “What about the bakery? I hear stories of kids not being able to resist a cupcake or two.” Bonnie asked. 

“Hmmm…I’ll check.” Freddy said as he turned to look at the large Chica-themed bakery. He walked to the bakery with a smirk. His little audio speakers were already starting to hear the sound of little giggles coming from the bakery. Perhaps that’s them? 

Freddy walked into the bakery door, where he found the still and unresponsive cupcake machine. He found no cupcakes on the conveyor belt, or anything else around the machine for that matter. But still, he could hear the soft little giggles of a girl. He walked closer to the pole, and looked on the other side of it. 

No one…But he could still hear some of those giggles! He looked down, and- 

“There you are-” Freddy declared before gasping and freezing. “And Gregory too!?” Freddy reacted as he picked the two kids up under their arms. “Why are you both hiding together?!” Freddy asked. 

Rose laughed and kicked her feet. “Ihihi tohohold yohou ihit would be a bad idea!” She reacted. 

“Ihihi dohohohon’t wahanna hehehear it, Rohohose.” Gregory giggled back. 

“Wowzers! I haven’t even touched you two, and you’re already laughing!” Freddy let out a laugh. “You’re like a pair of tickle-me-Elmo’s!” Freddy teased. 

“AHAHAM NOHOT!” Gregory yelled. 

“Now now, inside voice.” He reminded them. “Hey Bun! I found the kids! Come to the cupcake shoppe!” Freddy said. 

“Aww man, I was certain they would be at El Chips.” Rose heard from her father, which came from Freddy’s speaker. “Well, you thought wrong, Bun.” Freddy teased. 

“On my way, Ted.” Bonnie replied. 

“Tehed?” Gregory asked. 

“Buhuhun?! Whahat are those?!” Rose asked. 

“Why, they’re code names! Freddy and Bonnie sounded too long for this type of game!” Freddy said. “So we had to make code names for each other.” He added. “Ted is short for teddy, and Bun is short for bunny.” Freddy explained. 

“Ted suhuhuits yohou!” Rose admitted. “Oh Rose…” Freddy started tickling Rose’s belly first. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” Freddy told her before tickling Gregory’s belly as well. “You two have been caught by the evil tickle monster! Feel my fury! RAAWRR!” Freddy teased, wiggling 4 fingers each on both Gregory and Rose’s bellies. 

Gregory squealed and started laughing right away, kicking his feet like an aggressive swimmer out of water. “BAHAHAhahaha! Wahahahait nohohohoho!” Gregory laughed. 

Freddy chuckled. “You’re ticklish little superstars, aren’t you?” Freddy asked with a smirk. Seeing Gregory all giddy and playful will always make him feel happy. Gosh, even just seeing Gregory’s dimples puff out his cheeks, gave Freddy an artificial warm feeling in his chest. 

“FREHEHEHEDDY PLEHEHEHEASE!” Rose begged. “IHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES SOHOHO MUHUHUCH!” She begged. 

“Do you need me to stop?” Freddy asked. 

“NOHOHO, BUHUHUT-” Rose replied.

“Then I will continue tickling, as per your request!” Freddy replied before he moved an index finger up to her little belly button. “And what about here? Are you ticklish here?” He asked before poking inside her belly button. Rose gasped as her smile grew almost abnormally wide. Gregory couldn’t help but glance over at Rose in time to see her smile. And it was HUGE! He almost began to worry that she could split her face open if her smile grew even a millimeter more! 

And just as fast as her lips grew into that toothy smile, her laughter leaped out of her mouth with pure glee and giddiness. Her wiggles started up right around the same time too, making her move around in a more blurry fashion. Eventually, she threw her head back and started cackling in a whimsical way. It almost felt like flashes of electricity were being moved through her as she tried to wiggle every squirmy feeling out of her body. It was exhilarating! 

Gregory seemed to be laughing quite a bit softer than Rose right now. It seemed like Freddy wasn’t tickling Gregory all that much due to focusing more on Rose than Gregory at this moment. And honestly, Gregory didn’t mind the break. Plus, Gregory rather enjoyed watching Rose throw herself around and laugh heartily in his father figure’s arms. It was amusing and honestly…kinda cute. Not that he would ever admit that, of course. He quickly began to ignore his thoughts and began hoping and praying that Freddy couldn’t read his mind. 

“Alright, break time for Rose.” Someone said to Freddy. Freddy looked up and smiled brightly when he saw who it was: It was Bonnie. “My turn to tickle the wiggle worm.” Bonnie told Freddy. 

Freddy put Rose down with a smile. “Of course!” He replied. Then, Freddy turned to his surrogate son. “And as for YOU, Gregory~” Freddy wiggled his now-free left hand at the wiggly victim within his right arm. Freddy made sure to smirk at Gregory from just above him, to both tease him and intimidate him all at once. And already, it looked like it was working on the boy. “Your doom is starting in 3…” 

Gregory gasped and quickly started to blush. No! NO! NOT THE COUNTING! PLEASE! 

Freddy brought his wiggling fingers closer to Gregory. “2…” 

Gregory squeaked and wiggled somewhat roughly as he watched the giant, orange fingers get closer and closer to his much-too-sensitive skin. Oh no…Here it comes!

Freddy moved his index nail closer to Gregory’s belly button. “1…” 

Gregory started letting out nervous, helpless giggles as he visibly noticed just how close Freddy had gotten to his poor, vulnerable belly button. And with how he was being held, Gregory couldn’t bring his whole arm down to cover it up! So he would have to take it like a man when the finger touches down! 

Freddy very lightly touched the skin surrounding the belly button, and swirled his little nail around it very teasily. “Aaaaand…” 

Gregory started letting out short spurts of giggles as he felt every little touch…every little scratch…every single poke of the animatronic’s nails around his belly button. 

Freddy touched down with all 4 of his fingers. “GO!” He declared, skittering rapidly. 

Gregory let out a sharp squeaky giggle before erupting into high-pitched, hysterical laughter. “HEEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAHA! FREHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Gregory couldn’t even speak, he was laughing so hard! And the boy could only occasionally breathe in full breathes when Freddy would let him. Though for some reason, the breathing thing was made bearable thanks to Freddy ability to know exactly when Gregory needed more oxygen. How in the world does Freddy know what he needs that well?! Does he read his body with his x-ray vision, or what?! It made no sense!

“Goodness! What a laugh!” Bonnie teased. 

“Is that an insult?” Freddy asked Bonnie with a smirk. 

“What?! No! That was a compliment. I love it.” Bonnie replied. “That was a compliment, right?” Bonnie asked Rose, who was currently being tickled on her open armpit by Bonnie. “YEHEHES! IHIHIT’S AHA COHOMPLIMEHEHEHENT!” Rose replied as best she could. 

“Okay, good. I was going to say…” Freddy added, looking at Rose and Bonnie. 

When Freddy stopped his fingers temporarily, Gregory managed to take in a large breath through his heavy laughter. “THIHIHIS… *huff, huff* Thihihis ihihihihis sohohOHOHO MEHEHEHEHEAN!” Gregory managed to get out right as Freddy’s fingers started up again. 

Freddy couldn’t help but laugh. “Ohoho, I know. But are you having fun?” Freddy asked as he read Gregory’s feelings with his eyes. 

[Anxiety level: 30%] 

[Happiness level: 70%] 

“YEHEHEHEHEAH, IHIHIHI AHAHAHAHAHAM.” Gregory replied as best he could considering the situation. 

“Wonderful! I knew you liked it!” Freddy declared, unintentionally teasing them. 

“IHIHIHI DOHOHON’T. IHIHI TOHOLERAHAHATE IHIHIT!” Gregory told him. 

“Oh my gosh…” Rose muttered. “Are you seriously trying to lie to cover it up?!” Rose asked him. 

“NOHOHO! IHIHIHI SWEHEHEHEHEAR!” Gregory begged. 

Rose gasped. “NO! No swearing!” She ordered. “Bad Gregory.” She added, poking his nose for extra effect. 

“Swearing?!” Freddy gasped. “You just earned yourself more tickles from the tickle monster~!” Freddy teased as he moved his fingers to the boy’s sides. 

Gregory squeaked as Freddy’s fingers moved down to his hips. Gregory threw his head back and guffawed, cackling almost right after. “BAAHAHAHAHA!” Gregory laughed. 

“Oooooh! Sweet spot?” Freddy asked. “Isn’t there an old retro song about hips?” Freddy asked Bonnie. 

“I think so…” Bonnie thought for a moment, having stopped tickling Rose a couple minutes earlier.

“Cahaha…Cahan’t you look it up?” Rose asked, looking at Bonnie. “I could, but that wouldn’t be as fun.” Bonnie replied. 

Freddy stopped tickling Gregory’s hips for a moment. “Yeah. It was by that singer and dancer from the 2010’s.” Freddy added. 

Rose hummed. “Starts with a S-h, I think. I think my Mom made me listen to them, because she made theme songs for the Fifa World Cup.” Rose explained. 

“Oh! I know, I know!” Gregory yelled. “Shania Twain!” Gregory guessed. 

Bonnie looked up the name, and played the first song that showed up on his audioplayer.  🎵Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy, forget I'm a lady

Men's shirts, short skirts, Oh, oh, oh-🎵

“No…Not that one.” Rose replied. 

“Awww…” Gregory muttered. 

Bonnie stopped playing it and thought for a moment. 

Freddy widened his eyes and started to play the song on the audioplayer. 

🎵-'cause this is Africa

Tsamina mina, eh, eh

Waka waka, eh, eh

Tsamina mina zangalewa-🎵

Rose clapped her hands together. “That one!” Rose replied. “Who’s it by?” She asked. 

“Shakira.” Freddy replied. 

“SHAKIRA! Right!” Rose reacted. “That song was for the fifa world cup in 2010! It took place in Africa!” She added. “She also made that other song in 2014, which was good too.” Rose added. 

Freddy read the webpage. “It looks like the 2014 song was called “La La La”.” Freddy read. “But the official song was ‘We Are One (Ole Ola)’ by Pitbull.” Freddy said. 

“Right! Okay.” Rose replied. 

Gregory looked at Rose. “How did you know all that?” Gregory asked. 

Rose giggled. “My mom is a HUGE soccer fan.” She told him. “She always made sure I watched the old live streams of the world cup concerts with her, because ‘this was an important moment in history’.” She explained. “And it turns out…she wasn’t wrong.” Rose added with a smile. 

Gregory nodded his head as he listened. “What was your favorite team?” Gregory asked. Rose laughed. “What do you mean?” Rose asked, tilting her head. Gregory blinked. “Uhh…Soccer teams. For example, my favorite team is the Columbus Crew.” Gregory admitted. 

Rose laughed even harder. “Yohohou have no clue, do you?” Rose teased. 

Gregory tilted his head. “...What?” 

Rose looked at Gregory. “It’s the Fifa World Cup. That means the teams are put together to represent the countries.” Rose explained. “For example, there’s Team America, Team Canada, Team France, Team Brazil…” She further explained. 

“Oooooh…” Gregory muttered, shaking his head and slapping his own forehead with his palm. He felt really stupid. “Sorry…” He said. 

“It’s okay.” Rose replied. “You didn’t know.” 

Gregory bit his lip. “And who won?” Gregory asked. 

“Spain ended up winning in 2010.” Rose told him. 

“And Germany won in 2014.” Bonnie added. 

“Okay.” Gregory replied. 

Rose looked around the room. “I miss playing soccer sometimes…” Rose admitted. 

Gregory looked at Rose. “Really?”

Rose nodded her head. “Yeah.” She replied. 

Gregory thought for a moment, and looked around the pizzeria. He started to walk around the baking machinery. “Follow me.” Gregory told Rose, offering her his hand. 

Rose did as he told, and followed him out of the bakery. They walked around the pizzeria a bit before moving to an open area with tons of space. “Why don’t we play soccer?” Gregory asked. 

Rose tilted her head. “One on one? Or two on two?” She asked with a smirk. 

Gregory shrugged his shoulders as he pulled off his socks. “Depends if they can kick a sock ball around.” Gregory said as he rolled his socks into a ball. 

Rose smiled and took off her own shoes. “The shoes can be the net creases.” She said, lining her shoes up. 

Gregory nodded as he placed his own shoes on the other side of the playing ‘field’. Then, he walked up to Rose. “Put your socks on mine.” Gregory told her. 

Rose laughed and shook her head. “Eww! Gross!” She reacted. 

“If you put your socks on top of mine, then it’ll look bigger.” Gregory told her. 

Rose looked at the socks nervously. Does she ignore him and keep the soccer ball tiny? Or…does she risk her socks getting a little bit smelly so they can have a slightly bigger makeshift soccer ball? 

Rose finally smiled and removed her socks, before offering the boy her hand. “Sock-er ball, please.” Rose told him. 

Gregory laughed and handed the sock ball to her. With the sock ball in her hand, Rose wrapped her left sock around the ball and tucked it in. With that done, Rose wrapped her right sock around the ball next, making sure to cover the end hole of the left sock up with the toe-end of the right sock. With the sock hole open, she folded it in and wrapped a pony elastic around the ball. “And presto! A sock-er ball~” She declared. 

The sock-er ball was roughly the size of a white and red baseball now. And it was just big enough to be kicked around. “Ready to play?” Gregory asked. 

Rose nodded her head as she dropped it to the ground. “Play ball!” She declared, starting to kick it around. Gregory started trying to get it from her so he could kick it around too. But almost immediately,  Rose’s soccer skills became obvious. She was really good. But, Gregory was fast and strategic. So, he began to wonder if his soccer skills would be a good challenge for her. 

Only one way to find out! START!

[badhockeymom]

[jjr1971]

Thanks to some Twitter discussion tonight it made me think more deeply about Winter Schnee, the eldest of the Schnee children, daughter of Willow & Jacques. We know from her backstory that she abandoned the Schnee family hierarchy, abandoning her claim as Schnee Company Heiress, which then fell to her younger sister Weiss, one of the 4 chief protagonists of the web series RWBY. From a character design standpoint, I've always thought Winter's Eyebrows are something she paints black with thick mascara as part of her military grooming practices, e.g. are not naturally black. But I never stopped to think WHY until tonight.....then it HIT me....she wears her black mascara because consciously or even unconsciously she's trying to emulate her surrogate father figure, her commanding officer, General James Ironwood, and his naturally black eyebrows and facial hair. His head of hair betrays some grey, salt and pepper on the sides, but it was once solid black. He probably dyes his beard and eyebrows so they remain solid black leaving only the sides of his head with a bit of grey showing. In Winter's complete rejection of Jacques, she altered her appearance to be more like the new father figure she replaced him with, James Ironwood. This is probably an uncomfortable truth that would come up if Winter ever had time to go to therapy, but alas, with a war to stop the End of the World on, that's sadly unlikely. But if Winter did take a moment to reflect on it, I think in that case it would mean if we see Winter again in RWBY Volume 10, we might see her revert back to her natural white eyebrow color, like her sister Weiss and the rest of her family. Or maybe, even if she does recognize what she's doing and why, she'll ultimately decide to keep them black as the new head of what remains of the Atlas Military chain of command in exile. She was Ironwood's right hand, after all. Atlesians are going to have a hell of a time with their Vergangenheitsbewältigung nach der Untergang (Wrestling with the past after the Fall of Atlas), especially those who made it to refuge & exile in Vacuo....but also the remaining outpost of Atlesian culture and technology, aka Argus Base. Hopefully Caroline Cordovan will read the writing on the wall and throw her support behind Winter and not try to become a rival in a power struggle for who leads the legitimate Atlas government after Ironwood. Though given her proclivities, she just might.

[quill-pen]

Like George

Finally got this done! Now can focus on other things that need to be done. Thanks again to @rom-e-o for the inspiration.

I way overwrote on this. I need help.

Pairings: Assorted

Rating: Rated T--minors welcome

Warnings: Feelings of all kinds and sorts, the Asshat is here--he's disgusting and terrifying, depression, lack of self-confidence and self-esteem issues, sappiness and tooth-decaying sweetness at the end, some innuendo

Summary: A comparison of the significant men in Bess' life to the first man who ever held her heart, as well as her life around them all.

Theme: Assorted

Rural Ohio--Cincinnati 10 miles--August 1829;

"Figured I'd find you here."

Bess Sullivan looked down from her spot in her favorite tree to see her stepfather standing below her. The tall, bearded, curly brown-haired man smiled warmly up at her, his hands perched on his hips. Sniffling, the nine-year-old wiped her arm across her sodden cheeks and under her drippy nose. Her midnight-blue eyes still swam with tears. "H-Hi, George," she stammered, trying to steady her voice.

George's smile fell, concern flooding into his soft brown eyes. "Hey, I don't like that shaky voice--you sound like you've been cryin'," he remarked gently. The carpenter stepped closer to the trunk and craned his neck to try and get a better look at the girl. "What's wrong, Mudpuppy?" he asked, voice so full of softness and warmth.

His tone and the usage of her pet name set the child to sobbing all over again. Plunging her face into her skirt, Bess pulled her knees closer to her chest and wailed. She cried so loud and hard that she began hyperventilating.

That alarmed the man. "Whoa! Hey! Not good!" Without hesitation, the man grabbed a large knot in the tree's trunk, placed his foot on another, and began to haul himself up the tree. In seconds he was pulling himself up to sit on the branch that jutted out directly in front of his step-daughter. Throwing a leg over to straddle the limb, he scooted as close as he could to the girl and reached out for her. "Bess. Bessie, Sweetheart, look at me." He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them to get her attention. "Look at me, Little Darlin'." When the girl dared to peek up at him, he smiled encouragingly and nodded. "That's right, Mudpuppy." He cupped her cheek with a large, warm, weathered hand, stroking her tears away. "Look at me. And breathe--in-" he breathed deeply with her, "- and out." He exhaled with her. "In. Out. Slow, big breaths. That's my girl." George reached into his pocket, pulled out his handkerchief, and brought it to Bess' face. He gently began to dry her off.

It was a few minutes before Bess had regained control of herself. Her puffy eyes were still watery, her lashes wet and heavy, her cheeks were hot with tear stains, and her nose hadn't stopped running yet, but she wasn't sobbing anymore, and she was mostly dried off. For the moment anyway.

"There now," George crooned. He shifted around on the branch to get more comfortable as he settled in for a conversation. "That's better, yeah? Think you can talk now? 'Cuz I'd like to know why you're up here cryin' like the sky's gonna come fallin' down."

The thing was, that was exactly how Bess was feeling at the moment: The sky was going to fall down--or at least her sky was. Hanging her head, the nine-year-old started to study the calico pattern of her skirt. "Did you talk to Mama?" she muttered hoarsely.

"Yep. That's why I came lookin' for ya. She said you two had an argument and you went runnin' off."

"Did she tell you exactly why I ran off?"

"Not in so many words." George's voice became very soft as he went on: "She said she told you about the baby."

Bess said nothing, just peeked up from beneath her brows at her stepfather.

The man looked genuinely sorry. "I wish she'd waited," he stated quietly, shaking his head. "I told her I wanted to be there when we told you, Mudpuppy." He smiled sympathetically at her. "To make it easier."

Bess sniffed and turned her gaze down again. "Yeah, well, she didn't," she grumbled. "That's Mama for you." Hugging her thighs, Bess drew her legs close again.

Silence fell over the tree. Wild birds' songs filled the emptiness.

"I know..." George broke the silence after a long while,"... it's gonna be a change, Bess--goin' from bein' an only child to bein' a big sister-"

"Does this mean you won't love me anymore?"

The question hit George like a battering ram, knocking all words and ability to speak right out of his head. He couldn't help but stare at the girl, who in turn stared almost desperately up at him as she waited for an answer. Finally George found his voice. "What?" he croaked in disbelief. "I... Bess, why would you ask that?"

Tears were welling in the girl's eyes, threatening to spill over again. "Mama said..." she quivered, "... th-that... now that you're having your own kids... y-you might not spend... s-so much time w-with me. Sh-She says... you might j-just want... yo-your own kid a-and n-not me." A tear trickled past Bess' lashes, and then another, glistening like diamonds as they descended down her freckled cheeks. "A-Are... are you not gonna be my daddy anymore, George?"

"What? No!" George was incredulous, his heart breaking at the little girl's tears and palpable fear. Instinctively, the big man sat up and grabbed up the child, pulling her into his strong arms as he scooted in to take Bess' seat in the junction of the tree. He held his stepdaughter tight to his barrel of a chest, curling around her to envelop her with a physical representation of his love. "Of course, I'm gonna be your daddy, Bess," he murmured, cradling the back of her head in his large palm as she buried her face in his chest. "I'm always gonna be your daddy--nothin's ever gonna change that, not even a baby. Not even a hundred babies."

"Not even your own baby?" Bess squeaked, her voice muffled against his shirt. She hugged her stepfather with all her nine-year-old might, never wanting to let him go and never wanting him to let her go. She felt so protected in his arms--so safe; like no one and nothing would ever be able to touch her while she was being held by George. She didn't want that to go away, ever.

"You are my baby, Bessie."

"I'm not your blood though."

"Don't matter--you're as much my baby as any child your mama and I have together, and I'll always love you just as much." George kissed her forehead, nuzzling into her hair after. "You're my little Mudpuppy," he murmured. "I picked you when I picked your mama--fell in love with you as much as I fell in love with her. I adopted you, gave you my name: You're mine, Bess. Blood or not, you're my little girl and I couldn't be happier or prouder of that. You're my Mudpuppy, and I will always love you."

Bess' chin trembled, the man's words hugging her aching heart just as warmly and tightly as his arms hugged the rest of her. But her mother's words still haunted her. "B-But Mama said-"

"Shh, I know what your mama said," George stopped her, stroking her back soothingly. "She and I are gonna have a long talk about what she said when we get home. I want you to forget about what she said, Bess--all of it. Don't pay it any mind; your mama's wrong. I love her with all my heart, but your mama is wrong, Mudpuppy; and she never shoulda said somethin' like that to you."

Bess sniffled and let go of her stepfather, gently pushing away from him enough to meet his eyes. She loved his eyes--always had. Always so warm and gentle, even now in her heartache and fear, those deep brown irises made her feel so calm, so loved, so wanted. She felt like she was something special, in George's eyes; like she mattered. And when George looked at her like he was now, with nothing but softness, love, and compassion in his gaze, she felt like the very center of the world. It warmed her to the very core of her soul.

"So you're still gonna love me?" she whispered, drying her eyes on her sleeve again. "Even with you and Mama having a baby?"

Chuckling with a gentle smile, George cupped the girl's face in his palm again. "Yes, Mudpuppy," he cooed. "I'm still gonna love ya. Always and forever."

"And you're still gonna be my daddy?"

"Yep."

"And you're still gonna have time for me?"

"Yep. Maybe not quite as much as I do now 'cause the baby's gonna need me to be their daddy too, ya know, but I'll always make time for you, Bess."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Cross your heart?"

George did just that as he held his right hand to God. "And hope to die."

At that, a small hint of a smile finally quivered its way onto Bess' lips. She wrapped her arms around the man's neck again and cuddled close; a relieved sigh left her as her stepfather wrapped his arms tight around her again and she closed her eyes, listening to the beat of his heart in her ear. It was steady, strong, unwavering, and full of love. Love never withheld from her, no matter how sick or tired or hurt or angry he was, not even when she was in trouble; love that she never had to work to earn but was freely given without strings attached. Pure love. Pure love for her--that made her feel warm and cozy from head to toe.

"Hey," George quietly murmured after a moment, "remember what I told you, Mudpuppy? When I adopted you?"

Not opening her eyes, Bess nodded against his chest. "Uh-huh. You told me with you I'd always be safe, I'd always be wanted, and I'd always be loved."

"Yep. And I want you to remember that always, okay? No matter what happens or what anyone--even your mama--says, so long as I'm alive, I will always protect you and keep you safe; I will always want you as my little girl; and I will always love you with my whole heart. Ya hear me?"

"I hear you."

"And if you ever feel like you don't feel that way, or maybe I'm not givin' you enough, you tell me, okay?

"Okay, George."

"Never settle for anythin' less, Elizabeth. I don't ever want you to settle for less than you deserve, with anyone or anythin', includin' me."

"I won't, George. I love you."

"I love you too, my sweet girl."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Cincinnati, Ohio--May 1840;

"Where would you like to go?" The question sounded more like it was being asked out of polite obligation as opposed to a genuine interest in what she wanted.

Bess looked up at Oliver Sprague as they walked side-by-side down the bustling Cincinnati street. They'd been going steady for two years, and the young man still wouldn't hold her hand or offer her his arm in public. Bess was rather low maintenance when it came to romance and relationships (much too low maintenance in some of her loved one's eyes), but even she couldn't help but feel a little put out as they walked by other couples, all of whom were hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm at the very least. Briefly, at the start of their walk, the young woman had considered just snatching up his hand on her own and holding it until he pulled away. She could have easily done it; his hand had hung unguarded at his side, so close to hers. Oliver was decent and would have indulged her if she had, she was sure. But almost as if he had felt her eyeing his hand and read her thoughts, her beau had pulled his hand up to his chest to scratch it before casually slipping it into his pocket, all the while keeping his elbow tucked into his side. So much for that idea.

Bess' mouth twitched and twisted in quiet annoyance as she counted yet another obviously happy couple pass by. They were so close as they were arm-in-arm, they could have been conjoined at the side. Bess quietly huffed, once again letting her gaze fall to her own young man's arm. She knew Oliver was reserved with his emotions--she'd always known that since they were children--everyone who knew him did--and, truly, she didn't need public displays of affection (though they would undoubtedly be nice); but it was their anniversary. Could he not, just for one night, maybe, possibly be sweet enough in public with her to offer her his arm? She knew he was capable--he hugged and kissed his mother and granny in public, for crying out loud! They were sweethearts--he'd chosen her: Was she still not special enough?

Stop griping! that caustic voice at the back of her mind that sounded too much like her mother chastised her. You're lucky a boy like him even looks your way without being disgusted, with your history. You're incredibly lucky to have him. Take what you can get and soldier on!

And so, Bess, once again, pushed her disappointments and misgivings deep down inside her. But as she did so, she felt a smaller, more quiet, and gentle voice in her heart, one that sounded like George: Never settle for less than you deserve. However, as always whenever Bess thought to consider that advice, her mother's voice came back to remind her that she was damaged goods; and this third-rate, tepid romance (could you call it "romance" when the first kiss didn't even bring a single small butterfly to your stomach?) was what damaged goods deserved.

"Oh, I don't know," Bess finally answered his question. She fiddled her lonely hands together in her skirt, wondering if maybe she could trick herself into thinking Oliver really was holding her hand. His hands weren't that much bigger than hers, honestly. "I wish you'd told me we were going out tonight sooner. I could have made reservations somewhere." She tried not to sound annoyed or passive-aggressive, even though she was. Just a bit. Oliver wasn't one for celebrations, so she hadn't even considered booking something somewhere; she'd simply expected to spend this anniversary as they had their first; Oliver coming over for a quiet supper and then attempting to play dominoes only to give up halfway through as Oliver started preaching about the new strides being made in the field of photographing and how he was sure there was a way that, not just objects, but colors could somehow be captured in photographs. (Colored photographs--that was a thought to make one laugh.) So, needless to say, when she'd received the letter from Oliver in the noon post stating that they were going out for the evening, Bess had been surprised. And admittedly pleased. Until she'd learned when Oliver had shown up at her door that, no, he hadn't made plans to go anywhere, they were just going out. Talk about all dressed up with no place to go.

Oliver shrugged, completely unconcerned. "I didn't think about going out until this morning when Albert asked me what we were doing tonight." The red-headed boy chuckled. "You know, he had to remind me that this was our anniversary. Can you believe that?"

"That you forgot or that he remembered?" Bess grumbled under her breath, eyes trained on the cobbles at her feet. "Because I can certainly believe both." Honestly, at this point, Albert was more of an attentive beau to her than Oliver was, what with remembering all the important dates. Bess was sure Albert had bought her birthday gifts the past two years, too. And Christmas gifts. And picked her Valentine's cards. He'd probably written them, too--the handwriting hadn't looked exactly like Oliver's, neither had the words sounded like him. Honestly, Bess should have been out with Albert right now, and perhaps she would have been had it not been for the fact that she was not his... type of person. Shame, as he was heartbreakingly handsome.

An idea came to Bess. "Why don't we take a hansom cab to the park and go for a walk?" she suggested, looking hopefully bright up at her beau. "There won't be many people there, so it'll be quiet. Not to mention--dare I say--romantic." She bit her bottom lip and wiggled her brows playfully at Oliver, nudging him with her shoulder.

Oliver did not look at her, but instead seemed to be mulling the idea over. Much more carefully than he should have needed to. "Hmm, yeah, I don't know, Specks," he said uncertainly. "I'm kinda hungry--there's nowhere to eat near there."

"Oh, well, we can stop in a pub and eat first then, yeah? Then we can go to the park and walk it off after. What'd'ya say?"

Again, the boy took much longer to think about it than he should have. She wasn't asking him to take her to New York City, for God's sake! Bess held her tongue: She didn't want to argue with him tonight--not on their anniversary.

"Eh... yeah, that sounds fine, I guess," Oliver agreed after long deliberation. Then he perked up as he looked at her for the first time since they'd left her apartment. "Mack's?"

Bess couldn't help how her face scrunched up at the suggestion. "Oh, no, please, Ollie--we go there all the time. Can we try something different? Please? I'll pay if you like." She didn't need to pay; she knew Oliver had money and he wasn't short on it either--his job as a daguerreotypist paid well. But she also knew she needed to sweeten the deal to get him to even consider breaking habit.

It didn't work. "Aw, come on, Specks, you love Mack's and you know it. Besides, it's only fitting, right? We had our first date there." He wasn't completely wrong, though Bess did not love Mack's, she was just used to it; and his bringing up something as sentimental as their first date on their anniversary was actually surprisingly touching. And not at all like him to think of on his own. "Did Albert tell you to mention that?" she couldn't help but ask, giving the boy a deadpan look.

Not picking up on her unamusement, Oliver simply nodded with a slight grin. "Isn't he great? Best roommate ever."

Bess rolled her midnight-blue eyes. "Yep, he certainly is," she muttered. Then she sighed. "Fine. Mack's is fine. Let's just go. I'm feeling hungry too." Not that there was much of anything edible that came out of the pub's kitchen; Bess just had no energy to try harder to change Oliver's mind.

So they arrived at Mack's and took their usual table in the back corner. Oliver greeted the usual pub-goers, Bess tried her best to ignore the usual skeevy heels that eyed her and not let them make her skin crawl. The usual barmaid, Abigail McLintock, a girl Bess' age that they'd both gone to school with, came over to take their orders and, as usual, she flirted with Oliver. As usual, Oliver flirted back and ordered his regular meal. The tradition broke slightly as Oliver ordered for Bess rather than letting her order for herself, but the variation stopped there as he ordered her regular meal as well (shepherd's pie--it was the only appetizing thing in this place).

Abigail took their orders to the kitchen and again, as usual, Bess told her young man off for flirting with Abigail. Like always, Oliver brushed it off with the assurance that it didn't mean anything, that she was just a friend, and he only did it to ensure that they got the best service. Again, Bess didn't quite believe him, but she let it go. She always let it go. Why did she do that? Oliver was her beau and, while she'd never claim to be passionately in love with him, it did twinge whenever he flirted with and looked at other girls. Particularly Abigail, who had always been one of the worst bullies to Bess in school. Bess didn't usually have a problem voicing her opinions and feelings, except when it came to things like this; then she clammed up like... well, a clam. But why? Why did she do that? It wasn't like she would be being demanding or controlling; she wouldn't be insisting he couldn't interact with other women besides her. She would just be telling him she didn't like it when he flirted with other women and asking him not to do it out of respect for their relationship and her. But she couldn't bring herself to do that--why?!

Again, Bess heard the warring voices of George and her mother in her mind and heart.

It was while they sipped their drinks and waited for their food that, again, the routine changed. Bess was staring at the fly in her beer, wondering if it had just dived in there or if it had been there under the head the whole time, when Oliver cleared his throat. "Bess?" he asked.

The girl looked up to see him looking at her in a... different way. He didn't really appear nervous, but he certainly didn't seem as calm and relaxed as he usually was. It was almost like he was... uncomfortable Like he wasn't sure he should do something. Or like he wasn't sure he wanted to do something. "Yes?" Bess prompted him when he didn't continue.

"I've--um... I've got something for you."

Bess raised an eyebrow, not quite sure what to make of that. She was still bemused by his expression. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Uh..." He dug into first one pant pocket, then the other before pulling his hand out. He stretched his arm across the table to her side and opened up his fist. Something fell to the tabletop with a metallic sound. "Here."

Bess looked from Oliver's face down to whatever he'd rather unceremoniously dropped on the table. She did a double-take, her eyes widening. "Oliver, is that a-"

"Ring? Yeah."

Bess picked the ring up. It looked like it had come from Atlantis, with the shoulders and the setting having been crafted to look like seashells. Small red garnets were set as the side stones and two larger, tear-drop, purplish-red garnets had been used as the center stones and positioned point to point so they made an eight. It looked older, so it wasn't polished up to look shiny and flashy, but it did look opulent, and it was big--big enough to draw attention--and it most definitely wasn't in Bess' taste. Oliver should have known that: Her fondness for simplicity and understatedness was one of the things he liked about her. (So he claimed.)

The longer she studied the ring, the more Bess tried to decipher why it was so familiar looking. When it hit her, her stomach plummeted. Oh, God, please no! "O-Ollie..." she gulped, feeling all the blood drain from her face, "... is... is this...?"

"Gran's engagement ring? Yeah." He said it so simply; as if he'd dropped his grandmother's laundry on the table and not a family heirloom that had been passed down through the generations from woman to woman.

Bess felt like she could be sick for a completely different reason than the fly in her beer. Her hands began shaking. Slowly, respectfully, she set the ring back down and pulled her hands in her lap, folding them together tightly to try and stop the tremors. She continued to stare at the ring, unable to look up and meet Oliver's gaze. The girl cleared her throat. "Why... are you giving me your grandmother's ring, Oliver?" she asked, somehow managing to keep her voice even.

"I think you know why."

"Probably. But I want you to say it anyway."

"Okay, fair enough. I think we should get married."

That finally caused Bess to look up at the boy again. He just sat there, looking at her, not completely emotionlessly as he still looked a little uncomfortable and uncertain about this, but he certainly didn't look nervous. Nor did he look at all happy. He didn't look like anything one might expect a young man asking his sweetheart of two years to marry him might look like. And Bess was certain she didn't feel anything like what a girl in that situation would be expected to feel like either.

"Why?" The word fell from her mouth like a lead ball. It almost surprised her, as she knew that wasn't typically something a person being proposed to said. Was this a proposal? Yes, it had to be; there was a ring, Oliver had said they should get married--what the hell else could it have possibly been? Yes, for all intents and purposes, this was a proposal. So why did it feel more like an... obligation?

Apparently, the question had taken Oliver by surprise too, as he started to fumble around for something to say. "Uh... well... we've been going together for two years, right?" he reasoned. "Don't people just normally get married after they've been doing that?"

Bess felt a pain stab through her chest. "Um... y-yeah, I suppose."

"And, besides, you know Ma really likes you."

"Your mother has called me a "lobsterback brat" for as long as I can remember, Oliver Howard," Bess countered flatly. "And that's the nicest thing she's ever called me."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Aw, come on, Bess. You know she says everything out of affection."

"Oh? I was supposed to take "trollop" as a loving pet name?"

"Come on--I told her off for that."

"Yes. And I'm grateful to you for that, truly. But it doesn't change the fact that your mother is going to throw an absolute fit and scream about how I'll marry you over her cold, dead body and that I'm not good enough for you."

"Since when have you cared what people say about you?" No declarations that he didn't care what his mother might say. No reassurances that, whatever his mother or anyone said, she was good enough. No promises to defend and support her against whatever wrath might be directed her way as a result of their union. Merely a somewhat accusatory question that made her feel guilty for what she'd said.

"We're not just talking about just any people here, Ollie, we're talking about my future mother-in-law."

Oliver's mouth curled into that little, sly smirk that drove her up the wall in the worst possible way at that. "'Future mother-in-law', huh?" he repeated.

Bess knew what he was implying and frowned. "Don't take that as an answer--I haven't decided anything yet."

The boy shrugged nonchalantly. "What's there to decide, Specks? We've been steady for two years. We spend the weekends with your family or my family. We have supper at each other's places and go out for breakfast together. You make and pack my lunches for me. We're practically married already: We just need the legal stuff."

"Please don't be so flippant about this, Oliver: We're talking about marriage--you know how serious this is for me."

"Yeah, yeah, I know: Don't wanna end up like your mother."

"Don't say it like that--it's important to me, Oliver! Mama's first marriage practically ruined her until she met George, and it permanently soured her on me, even now that she's happy. I refuse to end up like her and I won't risk the chance that I do."

Oliver gave her an unconcerned look. "It's not like you have to worry about being a bad ma though, right?"

Bess felt like a prize purse-winning boxer had just socked her square in the gut. Her blood boiled; her eyes stung with the threat of tears. Did Oliver ever think about things before he said them? Did he ever consider the tone in which he said them, how cold and heartless he could sound? Did the thought that maybe this was something he should steer clear of ever cross his mind? "Wow," she croaked, trying her hardest to keep her temper under control. "Thanks for that. It's such a comfort to be reminded of the fact that I can't have children."

"Oh, don't be like that," Oliver grumbled, sounding the slightest bit annoyed. "You know I didn't mean anything nasty by it."

"Then do me the favor, Oliver, and just never mention it at all, yeah?"

Oliver held his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, yeah. Okay. Fine. Won't mention it at all."

Abigail was returning with their food at this point. She set their respective dishes down and the couple lapsed into silence for a long while as they ate, not so much as looking in the other's direction. There was an undeniable tension in the air over their table: You could have cut it with Mack's blunted knives.

Bess was about halfway through her shepherd's pie when her beau spoke again.

"So, what'd'ya think, Specks?"

Bess finally looked up to see Oliver looking at her again, still not appearing to be what one would consider happy over the situation. He did look more resigned, however; as if he'd finally managed to put to rest whatever doubts had made him initially uneasy.

With a shrug, as he noisily chewed on a fatty bit of his over-cooked pot roast, Oliver asked: "Ya wanna be Mrs. Oliver Sprague?"

Mrs. Oliver Sprague. A shiver ran through the young woman at the very thought, but not in a good way. And it made her feel horrible because it should have been in a good way. She should have been giddy, nauseous with butterflies, perhaps shedding tears of joy because the man she loved wanted to be with her forever. Instead, she felt dread and just plain sick. And for no good reason: Oliver was a decent fellow in both temperament and looks and had a job many people would have killed for if they realized how well it paid. And, above all else, he treated her like a person instead of some diseased vermin unfit to be around. Not the most romantic and passionate testimony one could make of their sweetheart, perhaps; but romance and passion weren't in the cards for her.

Again, Bess could hear the voice telling her she was lucky to have what she did--that she would be a fool to let it go: Your past, your looks, your attitude--you'll have a hard enough time finding any decent man to put up with your harsh edges, let alone a perfect one. Take it or leave it.

Again, Oliver was certainly decent. Mostly. He certainly never raised a hand or even his voice to her, and he never threatened her or tried to manipulate her into a compromising situation: She felt safe with him. Like George. Sort of--it wasn't quite the same kind of warm, fuzzy, homey feeling that came along with George's security; nor did it have the sense that he would do anything to protect her. Still, overall, she did feel safe and protected with Oliver, and that was important to her.

There are other important things to consider too, Mudpuppy, she felt George's voice in her heart again.

"Why do you want to marry me?" Bess asked by way of answer. She was almost afraid to hear his reasonings--her insides were already bracing for the blunt impact--but she had to hear them anyway.

Oliver looked at her as though she'd spoken French. His jaw ceased its grinding on the leathery beef in his mouth as he stared at her, completely taken off-guard. "What?" he mumbled around meat, potatoes, cabbage, onions, and carrots.

"Why do you want to marry me, Oliver?" she repeated calmly.

For a long moment, her young man was quiet as he tried to process that question and figure out how to answer it. Finally, he answered uncertainly: "Well... we've been going together for two years-"

Bess cut him off in some annoyance: "Yes, we've been steady for two years, and the family weekends, and I make supper, and we go to breakfast, and your lunches--I know--we've established all that. I want to know your feelings, Oliver. And I know how uncomfortable a topic that is for you, and I'm sorry, but I have to know before I decide anything: Why do you feel you want to marry me?" She repeated the question again, slowly, emphatically, looking her beau right in the eye as she said it.

Again, Oliver was clearly struggling with something to say. "Um... I... like you."

Bess felt her heart twist. "Like" not "love"; but Oliver was bad at communicating things like this, she reminded herself. "You like me. What does that mean, exactly?"

Oliver cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head and neck awkwardly. "Uh... w-well... I... I like when you cook and bake for me; everything you make tastes real good--even better than Ma's. And... I like that you can stitch up my clothes to make 'em look practically new. And I like how you don't hassle me like other girls to take you out on big, fancy dates all the time or demand I buy you expensive stuff."

The girl felt her insides completely drop into the abyss to leave her a cold, empty shell. None of those things had been about her as a person. They hadn't even been about her physical attributes, which was somehow both refreshing and vexing at the same time. And while it was nice to be appreciated for and complimented on one's skills, that wasn't exactly what one wanted for an answer as to why their sweetheart wanted to marry them. And it certainly didn't make one feel very loved. Valued, perhaps, but not loved.

Oliver sighed heavily, looking like that little confession had taken everything out of him. "Look, Bess," he said quietly, smiling a bit at her in a way that Bess couldn't help but feel a bit patronized, "I just... I think you'd make a good wife, and I know you've always wanted to be married, and we know each other and get on real well as a couple, I think, and I want to get married to a good wife. So... doesn't it just... makes sense that we tie the knot? Isn't it logical?"

"Logical": he was using logic to justify their being married. Of course, logic and sense had to play into something like this a bit; one didn't go around getting married willy-nilly--that would be idiotic. But to have that be the only thing considered felt wrong. And depressing. Bess felt like a spare princess being betrothed and married off to some foreign dignitary for the sake of political power and nothing more.

"Ollie," she began, leaning forward to look as closely into her beau's gray eyes as she could, "do you really want this?" She swallowed hard, thinking about how Oliver had started this conversation looking uncertain like he hadn't been exactly sure that he wanted to do this. Surely he had to have some misgivings about this idea. "Do you... do you really want me?" She thought about all the women Oliver had flirted with in the past while he had never flirted with her. Not once--before courting or during. Yes, he walked out with her, he called her his 'sweetheart', he hugged her on occasion, kissed her sometimes--all things he didn't do with other women. But he didn't ever play with her, or try to make her blush and laugh like he did with other women he called "friends". He didn't wink, didn't try to cop a feel (not that she wanted that... exactly), didn't try to tickle her--he did nothing with her that he did with his female "friends" and she was courting him. He didn't even call her by the same cute, endearing nicknames he did them: She was either 'Bess' or 'Specks', and 'Specks' had originally started out as something to make her cry when they were small children. Even as the one girl he'd asked to go steady with, the one girl to be chosen out of all the girls he could have picked, Bess had never felt wanted by him. Not as a friend. Not as a potential wife. Certainly not as a lover.

She should have taken George's advice back then; to ask Oliver why he was interested in courting her before jumping into the relationship. But she'd been eighteen and lonely, and Oliver was one of only a handful of people who weren't disgusted by her. The fact that he would look her in the eyes when he talked to her, was enough to make Bess swoon then. That initial feeling of what she thought was being in love had quickly faded as she'd realized just how generally uninterested in her he seemed--not to mention the serial flirting. But she stayed with him. Because she felt stupid for not taking George's advice and didn't want to disappoint him with the revelation that she had been wrong when she'd assured him she wasn't; and because she was terrified to be alone and not have a life. She was terrified of everything her mother told her about herself, and that it was all true. So if Oliver would take her in any capacity, she would accept it and count herself lucky. At least, that's what she'd told herself in the past. She didn't feel that way now that it was happening. Spending the rest of her life with someone that didn't seem to love or want her beyond the domestic services she could provide him sounded almost as bad as being a spinster.

Almost.

"I just... think it makes sense," Oliver replied to her question. She knew it was the closest thing to an answer she would ever get. "Isn't that good enough?"

Bess felt her stomach lurch and twist into a giant knot. No. It wasn't good enough. But it would have to be. Oliver was right about one thing; she wanted to be married--had dreamed of it ever since her mother and stepfather had married. Oliver was the only person who would ever be willing to give that to her, despite that he didn't seem to really love her, despite that he didn't seem to really want her. He was her one chance. And she was safe with him. Like George. She just wasn't loved or wanted by him, like George.

But safe--safe was good enough, she thought. Safe was all she would get, anyway.

With a sigh, Bess let her gaze fall to the ring again and tried not to show her distaste for it as she picked it back up. She slipped it on her left ring finger. Internally, the girl cringed; it looked so out of place on her hand--clashed so horribly with her sensibilities and who she was. But it was her engagement ring now; she would have to get used to it. "Okay, then," she sighed heavily. She looked up at Oliver and tried her best to smile at him, despite how sick she felt. "You got yourself a fiancée, Mr. Sprague." She'd never tasted anything so vile--it made her want to vomit on the grimy tavern floor. And that made her feel even more terrible because Oliver really didn't deserve that. He wasn't bad, he just wasn't The One. But he would be the only one she got. In return for that, she would make him a good wife.

Oliver smiled back at her, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes. "All right then," he said simply. He turned back to mutilating his pot roast.

Bess turned back to her own food, though she was no longer hungry. Picking through the remains of her meal, the girl stared at her new accessory, trying to will herself to like it; will herself to be happy; will herself to love Oliver. After her first initial, naive infatuation with her beau, Bess had held out for the hope that, maybe, she would eventually grow to love Oliver, just as her mother had done with George some time in their own courtship. The problem was, Oliver was nothing like her stepfather, and Bess was even farther away from loving him now than she had been then. Still, love or not, happiness or not, he was her one ticket to any sort of life worth having: Her mother was right--another one wouldn't come along anytime soon. Or ever.

No, Oliver Sprague wasn't like George. But he and the security he offered would be the best option Bess would ever get.

»»————-　♡　————-««

London, England--June 1845

Bess had never been so disgusted in all her life, and she'd had plenty of things in her life to be disgusted about. She didn't know how she was going to be able to eat her dinner, when it finally came, with him sitting right there next to her and his pompous, arrogant voice resounding loudly in her ears to the point she had a migraine. At least he wasn't directly in her line of sight, she supposed; but it was a bad trade because, sitting where he was, the man was well within reach to easily reach out and touch her. Which he did. A lot. Bess hadn't wanted to cut off somebody's hands so badly since she was fifteen.

Lawrence Bryant, on the surface, was everything a woman could possibly want: sinfully handsome, lively, devilishly charming, rich, and from a very powerful family. He was very good at making the most out of these qualities and making them appear deeper than they actually were. But Bess didn't believe him--not for a second. She had a sort of sixth sense about these kinds of things, an intuitive gut reaction; and hers had screamed that Bryant was bad news since the moment she'd met him a year ago.

She could still recall it vividly; how he'd eyed her, undressing her with his eyes the moment she'd walked into her uncle's library; how he'd snatched up her hand without invitation and gripped it so tightly, as though he'd never let go; how he lazily kissed her knuckles--she could still feel the moisture of his inner lips on her skin if she thought about it long enough, and it made her shudder and want to dunk herself in boiling water. She felt the same way now, as Bryant reached over again to brush her arm with the backs of his fingers. The woman was thankful for her long gloves that offered a barrier between their skin, but even then she shuddered and cringed away at his touch, unable to help herself.

She scolded herself: Stop it! She had to behave tonight--couldn't do anything to upset Bryant. If she did, she knew he'd report to her uncle how she displeased him, and then who knew what her uncle would do in response? If it was just herself she had to worry for, Bess wouldn't have cared and bitten Bryant's hands off the moment they moved to touch her. But she wasn't what she had to worry about--her siblings were. If she made her uncle angry, there was every possible chance he could use the stipulations set in her mother's will to break the terms of it early and take custody of her brothers and sisters while throwing her out on the street. However much she hated Bryant and felt disgusted and uncomfortable with him, Bess couldn't risk custody of her siblings. She couldn't allow them to grow up under her uncle's roof, where they would surely be treated with cruelty. Aunt Effie had already stated once that she would send her sisters abroad to boarding school: Bess couldn't allow that to happen to George's children!

Bess took a deep breath and let it go slowly through her nose. She could do this. She was a big girl--she could handle some discomfort and disgust for a few hours. Just focus on all the different ways you could torture Uncle Gerald and Aunt Effie, she thought to herself. That oughta keep you occupied. Might even be pretty cathartic. Unprompted her gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. They'd been sitting here for forty-five minutes--where was the food? The sooner the food came, the sooner she would be free!

"Looking to see how much time you have left to bask in my presence, Beautiful?" Bryant's voice brought the woman out of her thoughts.

Slightly shaking herself back into the moment, Bess looked from the clock back to her suitor. He was gazing much too intently at her with those deep blue eyes of his, as if he were trying to will her affections for him into being. His lips were curved and parted in a grin that was much too white and perfect. She supposed that smile was meant to set her insides aflutter with butterflies; instead it filled her guts with rancid, dead fish. Could the man be any more repulsive? Don't tempt fate, Elizabeth.

Trying her best to smile in an amicable way, Bess replied: "Something like that."

"Aaaawwww!" a sappy, syrupy, nasally voice grated like nails on a chalkboard in Bess' ears. Lady Penelope Anne Michaels and her fiance Mr. Rupert Anderson III, heir to the Earl of Overton were seated at the table across from them: A double date. Bess had been set up on a double date with a man whom she didn't like (putting it lightly) and a couple she didn't know (she'd heard the names and seen the faces at balls the past seasons, but that was as far as her acquaintance with the pair went).

Lady Penelope was looking between Bess and Bryant with an expression that reminded the Yank of her baby sister on Christmas morning. Grinning and biting her bottom lip to the point Bess worried she may have bitten through it, Penelope clapped her gloved hands and squealed girlishly. "Only your second outing together and you're already watching the time, trying to will it to not slip away from you. Ooh, that's positively adorable! Isn't that adorable, Rupey?" She turned to her fiance for his input.

"Rupey" was looking much the same as Penelope, only less wholesomely smitten and more knowingly sly. "Yes, Penny," he agreed. "Very adorable." He winked at Bryant and nodded toward Bess. "You're a lucky tyke, Larry: Don't let this one slip away from you. She's a keeper."

Bryant grinned widely at his friend, raising his glass of champagne in a toast to himself. He looked incredibly pleased with himself. "I have no intentions of letting such a thing happen, I assure you, Rupert. I am well aware I'm a lucky tyke in Bess!" he laughed in agreement He turned to Bess and winked brazenly at her. Beneath the table his hand found her knee and gave it a presumptuous squeeze that caused Bess to stiffen. "Maybe we'll find out just how lucky tonight, eh, Darling?" He threw back his head and raucous laughter, Rupert joining him.

Penny pressed a petite hand to her lips and tittered with amusement. "Oh, Larry, you naughty boy!" she affectionately teased the man. "You'll bring scandal down on your own head if you're not careful!" She continued to laugh with the men.

Bess didn't know she could feel even more sick, but she did at the utterance of those words. The rolling in her stomach was unbearable. She had to step away from this and breathe or else she was sure to vomit all over everyone and everything and then she really would be in trouble with her family. Doing her best to force her nausea down, Bess stood. She managed a small, tight smile at her companions as she told them: "If you'll excuse me--I must run to the powder room for a moment." She pivoted away and took off in a hasty walk before they were able to respond.

The woman hardly had time to get in front of the toilet before her stomach heaved and emptied itself. A vile, bitter concoction of bile, champagne, and bits of partially digested lunch spewed into the toilet bowl with a sickening, cascading splash. The second heave brought Bess collapsing to her knees, bracing her arms against the round porcelain edges of the bowl. She sucked in a desperate breath before heaving again. Goddamn it! Saliva flooded Bess' mouth in a desperate attempt to cleanse it of the nastiness, drool dripping down her lips and chin, ruining her once immaculate lipstick. She would have to reapply before going back to the table, or else Bryant would be upset. He had a horrid lipstick fetish, apparently.

After upchucking a few more times, Bess' stomach finally decided that it was empty enough and stilled. She gasped and coughed, trying to pull air back into her aching lungs. Propping her forehead in her hands, she tried to relax and pull herself together again. Tears burned her eyes. "I can't do this," she whispered. She wasn't sure who she was whispering to. Herself? The toilet? God? "I can't do this! I can't--I can't--I can't! I hate him! God, forgive me, but I hate him! I can't keep seeing him: I know I can't marry him! But that's what Uncle Gerald and Effie want, and if I don't do what they want..." she broke off into a choked sob, unable to stop it. Bess clasped her trembling hands together and buried her face in her arms, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. "Jesus, help me, what do I do? What do I do?!"

Ebenezer's face came to her mind's eye and the most agonizing of pangs wracked her body, heart, and soul. Bess wanted him. In every possible way, she wanted him, but right now, at this moment, she would have settled for just having him here beside her for moral support. She would have given anything to be surrounded by his long, strong arms and curl up into the protective warmth of his broad chest; drown in his deep, smokey, chocolatey smooth voice as he murmured sweet, gentle comforts into her ear. She needed his presence; she needed his advice; she needed his security; she just needed him! But Ebenezer was not here and, unless summoned by some miracle, wouldn't be here. She was on her own.

Sighing heavily, shakily, Bess pulled herself together and sat back from the toilet. She pulled her hankie from her bosom and wiped herself off before rising to her feet and flushing away her sick. Turning to the sink, she looked herself over in the mirror and finished drying off before turning on the water, removing her gloves, and cupping her hands under the stream. She pressed her face into the little pool in an attempt to cool her heated skin and soothe the slight headache starting to throb in her temples. The coolness of the water made her relax a bit. After a moment or two, Bess straightened up and looked at her reflection again. She didn't look quite as red; the cool water had soothed the tearstains. All she need do was straighten her dress, touch up her makeup, and reapply the lipstick and she would be good to go. She grabbed up her handbag that she'd dropped on the floor.

When Bess left the powder room, she ran smack dab into Penny. "Oh! Lady Penelope, pardon me!"

"Oh, it's quite all right," Penny assured her with a smile that was meant to be friendly but grated on Bess' nerves. It just seemed so fake. "No harm done. And please, call me 'Penny'. Any friend of dear Larry's has a right to do so."

Bess fought the urge to roll her eyes. Ah, yes--"dear Larry". Honestly, Penny talked about the sleaze like he was a saint! "Oh, well, all right then--if that's what you'd like. Penny."

Penny beamed. "Excellent! I merely came to find you and tell you our meals have arrived."

"Ah, I see. Well, thank you. I was just coming back."

Penny was looking at her closely, making Bess feel uneasy. What could she possibly be studying so hard on her face? "You've redone your makeup," she stated after a moment.

Bess didn't know what to say. "Uh...."

Penny's smile became knowing, almost conniving. "Bess, did you rush to the powder room in order to be sick?"

Again, Bess wasn't sure how to respond. "Um... well... n-not very-"

Penny squealed like a schoolgirl again, clapping her hands beneath her chin. "I knew it! I just knew it! I did the very same thing when I first started seeing Rupert! I was so charmed by him and so in love that I felt so rumbly and rolly with it all I couldn't help but be sick! And now here you are in your blossoming romance with Larry and experiencing the same thing! Oh, how magical!"

Yeah, Bess thought sarcastically. Magical. She offered the woman a small, awkward smile and replied: "Um... something like that."

"Ooh, and you're too shy to discuss it! Adorable! Simply adorable! Ah! I know the two of you have only been out twice, but trust me, my dear, I have an intuition about these sort of things--and I most definitely hear wedding bells!" Penny sang the last part of the statement, wiggling her brows at Bess.

Bess' stomach lurched a bit again. Penny was probably right, unfortunately, and not because Bess was in love with Bryant and wanted to marry him. She likely wouldn't have any choice.

The two women made their way back to the table together. Penny exchanged a little kiss with Rupert as she retook her seat beside him, staying as close to him as possible the entire time. Contrarily, Bess did her best to stay as far away from Bryant as possible, walking the long way around the table to get to her chair and slipping into it from the far side. Her gaze never met his and she stared at the seafood dish steaming on her plate. Drawing her lips into a thin line, Bess tried to will the remainder of her nausea away. She had to eat at least some of it or else Bryant would deduce something was amiss with her; he'd seen her appetite before and knew how healthy it was. "My Lady, you eat like all my horses combined!" he'd told her once. He'd said it as though it were a compliment.

No sooner had Bess sat down than Bryant was reaching for her again. She froze in order to keep herself from shifting away. She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from snapping. Good God, could he just not for two minutes?!

"I missed you," Bryant purred. It was probably supposed to sound loving, perhaps seductive: to Bess it sounded like the ravenous snarl of a lion. As always, Bryant gave her the sense he would eat her alive if given half a shot, and not in a good way. That feeling only grew as Bryant reached down to grab her hand and squeeze it tight as if he never meant to let go again.

Bess knew she should have reciprocated the squeeze, but she just couldn't bring herself to. She was using all her willpower to not throw up again. "I was only gone but a minute," she responded quietly, still not looking at the man.

"Ten minutes and twenty-six seconds," Bryant stated. There was a slight edge in his voice that time.

Bess felt like she was hit by a runaway carriage; she swore her heart jolted to a stop. Panic slammed into her stomach like a cannonball. Her head snapped towards the blond, mustached man as she finally looked at him, her utter shock forcing her to. "Yo-You... you timed me?" she gasped in disbelief. A nervous smile pulled at her mouth.

Bryant smiled at her, but there was nothing good in it: no warmth, no softness, no kindness. He tried to fake it, but Bess could tell. Her gut could tell. All Bryant's smile had to offer was desire, possessiveness, and danger--the kind that would end with her six feet under. Bess had never wanted to run so fast and far in her whole life. Again she longed for Ebenezer to be here to protect her and make her feel safe.

"Of course I timed you, stupid woman," her date chuckled. "Just as you were watching the clock to see how long we have together, I watched the clock to see when you would return to me." Bryant lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I love you."

There were a million things to scream on the tip of Bess' tongue. First was to tell him off for insulting her. Did the idiot really think calling a woman "stupid" even if he said it in what was meant to be an affectionate tone (which he failed at) was a surefire way into a woman's heart? He was the stupid one, and that was putting it lightly! The second was that it was not normal to time the absence of someone down to the second they returned. That was insanely disturbing and borderline psychotic behavior, and would not endear him to any sensible woman either. And the third Bess actually voiced: "You don't love me." She tried to say it as calmly and evenly as possible as if she were trying to reason with him instead of rebuffing him.

Bryant chuckled, leaning closer, pulling her closer at the same time. Bess' free fist instinctively clenched. "Of course I love you," the man insisted. If he thought that tone in his voice was seductive, he was dead wrong; Bess had never heard something sound so chilling and sinister. "I think about you all the time. I yearn for you all the time. Sometimes I feel as though I can't breathe without you." He trailed spidery fingers up the woman's arm and shoulder and brought them to brush her graceful jawline.

Bess couldn't help but pull away that time. "Mr. Bryant," she said, trying to sound polite but firm, mimicking how she'd heard other girls gently scold gentleman callers that weren't as repulsive as her current one was, "what you are describing is an infatuation-" actually it was more like "obsession", but Bryant was not the person to tell that to, "-not a love. Besides, we hardly know each other--there is no possible way you could honestly profess to love me."

"We know each other quite well, I believe," Bryant countered. He took hold of Bess' chin, holding it so tightly between his fingers that it pinched. Bess wanted to pull away, but the cold, flinty gleam in the man's gaze made her stay. "I saw you quite regularly throughout the season last year and this year. We've danced at every ball, sat beside each other at dinners, spent time together last summer at your Aunt's house party in Somerset: I'd say we've spent more time together than most couples."

"You've certainly spent more time together than we have, that's for sure," Rupert remarked as he devoured his beef wellington with a fervor that didn't quite reflect a gentleman.

"How much of that were we alone though?" Bess challenged Bryant, ignoring Rupert. "How much do we really know about each other? I mean, what did we really talk about during those times, Mr. Bryant? The weather? We certainly never discussed anything personal. The truth of the matter is, Mr. Bryant, we hardly know each other beyond name."

"I don't need to know anything other than your name and how beautiful you are," Bryant insisted, starting to sound a tad bit testy.

Bess felt an alarm bell go off in her head. She was pushing him too far--she had to calm this down, sweeten it up and smooth it. For a frantic moment, she thought, mind racing for ideas. "Mr. Bryant," she started slowly, "I once thought about love the same way you did; that only one or two things really mattered and everything else would fall into place. I came to find out the hard way that that isn't the case at all. Being in love isn't just about someone's looks or how they make you feel a certain way. Those things certainly factor into different degrees, of course, but they're not everything." She managed a small smile at the man, hoping it looked sweet and friendly and maybe even a tad sympathetic. "All I want is for you to be careful about this, Mr. Bryant," she fibbed. She really couldn't care less if he got hurt or not. "Take it from me--a broken heart is a terrible wound to suffer, especially if you find out it was already empty to begin with." She found the will to squeeze his fingers as if in reassurance. "We really should get to know each other better before we make such claims... Larry." Lord, calling him by his casual moniker made her want to be sick on the table all over again. Nothing had ever tasted so bad!

Bryant had been quiet the entire time, listening to Bess' words intently, his eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but consideration. A couple times he'd even looked a bit surprised as she'd made insinuations about her past, something he had never inquired about even in all the time they'd apparently spent together. When Bess smiled, he'd smiled too, the sharpness leaving his eyes. When she'd squeezed his hand, he'd almost seemed to beam; a nasty, sickly-looking beam that only served to disclose his malignance further. And when Bess said his name, the woman was sure all the work she'd just attempted to do, had been undone, and the man was right back to being certain of his love for her; but she supposed she was never going to sway him from that thought. Perhaps she'd at least staunched the flow.

"Oh, I know my heart would never be broken when it comes to you, My Lady," Bryant crooned, pulling her hand back to his lips. "Because I know you would love me as purely and truly as I love you. In fact, I'm sure you feel the same way right now, but are only denying it because of the sorrow you experienced in your past." He smirked in some annoyance. "I'll admit that I find this a tad vexing, as I am not and could never be anything like the man who hurt you, and struggle to understand how you can't possibly see that after all our time in each other's company. However, I know women are of much more delicate sensibilities in matters of the heart-"

"Here, here!" Penny chimed in.

"-and I don't wish to appear insensitive to your womanly plight. As such, however hard it will be for me, I am more than willing to give you time to accept your feelings for me."

It took everything within Bess not to roll her eyes and clonk the dunderhead on the noggin. "Mr. Bryant," she said, shaking her head, "I can't promise you that I'll ever-" she was cut off as a cold, spidery finger was pressed to her lips. The woman froze, her heart leaping into her throat while her stomach plunged in the other direction. Wide-eyed, she stared at Bryant. He was so close to her--much too close! All of Bess' instincts screamed at her to strike out at the man and knock his block off, but she didn't. Hard as it was, she held back. For her siblings, she had to. Still, just in case, Bess tightened her already clenched fist.

"Hush," Bryant purred (Bess supposed that's what it was meant to be). He trailed his fingertip over her lips, smearing her lipstick onto the pad of it. "I will hear no such negative talk, my love," the man stated softly but adamantly. "Not when it comes to the concept of our love." He trailed his hand down beneath Bess's chin and cupped her jaw. "We are meant to be together, my love--you know it, I know it-" he gestured to the other couple, "-they know it." Bryant chuckled and leaned in even closer, his dark, desirous eyes gazing deep into hers. Bess had never felt so stricken with fear. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in this damn room knows we are meant to be together."

"Oh, there's no way they can't possibly know, Larry Darling!" Penny chimed in. She was watching the pair intently again, her hands clutching at her chest like her heart was about to implode. "To witness the two of you together is to witness true love personified! Oh! It's like seeing Romeo and Juliet together!"

Um... they died, is what Bess wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut, which was fairly easy to do, as her terror had dried her mouth entirely and glued her tongue to the roof of it. She didn't even think she'd be capable of squeaking.

Bryant must have taken her silence to mean she was so flustered and awash with sensations of love and desire that she couldn't speak. Finally he pulled his hand away from Bess' jaw and began to sit back in his chair. He looked at his lipstick stained finger and brought it to his mouth, kissing it, tracing it over his lips and smearing the paint onto them. The dark red color made him look even more ominous, as if he'd just recently killed and devoured raw flesh and had stained his lips with the blood of his victim.

Bess could only stare at the display in mesmerized horror. All of her instincts screamed at her to flee, but she was quite incapable of moving now, either to run or look away. She had never felt less safe. Even here in the middle of a busy restaurant among all these people, the Yank felt as though she was mere seconds away from Bryant slitting her throat and gutting her like a deer. Not even in the Connellys' household as a vulnerable teenager had she felt such danger.

Bryant wanted her. More than anything. And he was set on possessing her no matter what he had to do. His delusional thinking that what he felt was love and that she felt the same for him was what made it all the more threatening because it meant only one thing: He would stop at nothing to have her.

Bess felt she'd been dropped buck-naked in the middle of the Arctic Circle. All those times she'd silently wished and prayed to be wanted by someone again, this wasn't what she'd had in mind at all! This was nothing like George or what he'd talked about! Nothing like what she wanted! No sense of security, no loving warmth, only want, desire, lust--hotter and more obliterating than the furnace Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had been thrown into. And Bess suspected she wouldn't be saved from it as they had.

Finished coloring his lips, Bryant reached out again for her hand. He brought it to his lips once more and pressed a firm kiss to it, leaving behind a faded but undeniable lip print on the periwinkle blue silk. "I said I would wait for you to realize and accept your feelings in your own time, Bess," Bryant murmured, meeting her gaze as he caressed the lipstick stain on her knuckles. "But I yearn for you far too fervently to pass up this chance." With only that cryptic warning, the man yanked the American in by the hand , and pressed his mouth flush to hers.

Bess swore her soul fled her body. Simultaneously she felt her lips being branded with both hot and cold irons, marking her as this horrid man's. Everything faded away and she was left alone with Bryant in a vast, dark, perilous sea of existential dread. Something told her Bryant would never let her slip from his grasp now. Only the grave would be able to truly separate them, and it would likely be hers.

Very vaguely through the blackness and fear, Bess could hear both Penny and Rupert fawning and making comments at them, but she could not comprehend the words. Her mind was much too focused on Bryant: How his lips were just as possessive as the rest of him; how his cologne was even stronger this close and made her feel even sicker; how his mustache prickled uncomfortably beneath her nose; how he felt unpleasantly cold, even as his lips seared hers. The touch of a tongue against her top lip was what finally caused adrenaline to burst through the Yankee's system and force herself out of the kiss. (Not an easy thing to do, as Bryant had reached around to hold the back of her head at some point.) "Mr. Bryant, please!" she hissed, unable to keep the anger or the tremor out of her voice. She felt a mess: Her face burned with rage and humiliation, but her whole body trembled with fear now that they'd pulled apart.

Everyone else at the table merely chuckled.

"Oh, Darling, you look positively scandalized!" Penny tittered.

"Come on, Yank, don't be so prudish," Rupert said dismissively, successfully cementing himself on the list of individuals Bess wanted to box the ears of.

Bryant sneaked in and pecked another quick kiss on the corner of Bess' mouth, making her startle. "Don't worry, my dear," the man chuckled, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "Public displays of affection will be limited, I promise." He leaned into the woman, hissing in her ear, "Once I have you in my house, I do not intend on ever letting you out again."

The tone was meant to be seductive, Bess was sure, but there also seemed to be a sinister threat in it that she wasn't just imagining. She looked out of the corner of her eye at her suitor, studying him carefully. Perhaps it was just the odd, peripheral angle at which she viewed him, but the American could have sworn his face distorted, and for a moment he appeared with some horrible, demonic visage. When she turned her head to look at him fully, he looked as he normally had, which honestly wasn't that much better in Bess' opinion.

With a chuckle, Bryant winked at her and pulled away to turn back to his meal.

Bess sat and watched him for a long moment, a hurricane of emotions whirling through her. Her lips and cheek still burned where Bryant's lips had touched her; her heart raced her boiling blood through her veins; the rotting, dead fish in her gut had transformed into a nest of angry hornets that were determined to tear her apart from the inside out. Bryant's statement rang in her ears, tattooing itself into her memory. She thought of what she'd heard of Bryant's past; all the women associated with him that had ended up hospitalized, institutionalized, a few even dead; the wife that had apparently just vanished; his own mother who he openly admitted had abandoned him and never spoke with him. Bryant joked bad things trailed him wherever he went; Bess was growing surer the longer she knew him that he was the bad thing. And in her gut filled with raging hornets, the woman knew if she married Bryant--if she ended up in his house--she would either be killed or chained up and locked away forever.

Bess' gaze fell away from Bryant and down her hand, locking and holding on the lipstick stain he'd left behind. All at once she felt dirty--tainted--as if she'd been branded by the devil himself. She was a marked woman: Desired, yearned for, wanted with a passion that would burn the globe to a crisp if it wasn't fulfilled. But not loved, whatever Bryant believed or claimed. And certainly not safe.

Lawrence Bryant was nothing like George. He wasn't even a decent man.

»»————-　♡　————-««

St. James' Square, London--House of the Dowager Countess of Calloway--November 23, 1850

Bess could hardly breathe she was laughing so hard. She'd always known Tom to be witty and clever, but she never could have guessed him to be an actual comedian. But here he was, standing in Granny Felicity's parlor before the assorted rabble that was their social circle, proving himself to be just that as he gave her a good and right-proper roasting for her birthday. Bess had mentioned to Addie months ago how she would like to be roasted, and evidently, her cousin had passed the word on to her hubby as well. A most welcome and appreciated surprise! And apparently, she wasn't the only one who thought so, as everyone in the room was laughing just as hard as she was. Except Granny of course. She never smiled or laughed; at least not with her mouth--those piercing blue eyes of hers were sparkling brighter than stars though.

"Now, when I first heard that our lovely Bess was engaged to our dear Mr. Scrooge, my first thought was: 'How would that even work?'" the swarthy man was saying, as he stood before the roaring fireplace and casually sipped at his champagne, the smile never dropping from his face as he gazed at his audience. "I mean, none of us, not even the happy couple, can deny the age difference, yeah? Thirty and... how old-"

"Old enough still to take you over my knee and learn you some manners if you finish that question," Ebenezer snarled good-naturedly.

"Now, easy does it, Mr. Scrooge," Tom snapped back with a devilish grin. "Save the spanking for the missus!"

An uproar of laughter and shrieks peeled out of the partygoers at that, even Granny FeFe letting loose a delightfully scandalized cry. It was only fueled further by the bright red faces of the couple being fired at.

Bess giggled madly as she hid her strawberry blush in Ebenezer's collar. The long arm draped loosely about her waist tightened in the most loving way as the man leaned his cheek against her hair, burring a warm chuckle into her ear. Bess shivered delightfully and cuddled closer to her hubby, reveling in his comforting warmth despite how stuffy the parlor was with the fire and all the bodies present. Ebenezer didn't seem to mind either as he pulled her even deeper into his lap. Bess' heart fluttered.

"Well, anyway," Tom went on with a chuckle, "as I said, I was more than a little perplexed with their union: the age difference, the culture difference." A wicked gleam came into Tom's eyes yet again. "But then I realized she's so young and he's so old, their bedtimes would be the same anyway, so."

Another round of laughter filled the parlor.

"That was utter rubbish," Ebenezer remarked quietly so only Bess could hear above the laughter.

"You're still laughing," Bess countered, grinning up at her love's smirking face.

The man's blush deepened as he smiled softly at her. He pressed a gentle smooch to her hairline and trailed butterfly kisses down her brow to the bridge of her nose before nuzzling her. Bess tittered happily.

"Hey, hey, hey--easy now!" Tom's scolding voice brought the couple out of their reverie and drew their attention to him. He scowled playfully at them. "Simmer it down, you lovebirds! Need I remind you there are youngsters here? And Harry?"

More laughter.

"It's my party, Thomas Aaron, and I'll kiss who I damn well please!" Bess shot back, drawing even more laughter from those around her.

Tom lifted his hands to try and quiet everyone down. "Okay, okay," he chuckled. "But no, all jokes aside, I think we can all agree what an honor it is to be here tonight to pay tribute-" Tom held out a hand toward Bess, "-to this lovely woman right here."

A round of "here, here's" went around the room and Bess felt her blush utterly burn in touched embarrassment.

"Lady Bess--Cousin-" Tom's eyes briefly fell on Addie, who sat closest to him, her hands and arms cradling her growing belly, her eyes and wedding ring shining like stars, "-I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we are all so very blessed to have you in our lives." The man moved towards his pregnant wife and took up her left hand, kissing her ring. "I know, at least for myself, that you have changed life for the better." He and Addie shared a brief, soft moment of gazing devotedly into each other's eyes before Tom turned back to Bess, though he remained grasping Addie's hand. "Bess, you are clever, kind, beautiful, and so full of love, you make this gloomy old city a better place just by living in it. You are truly a treasure. And for a Yankee... eh--you're not bad." Again everyone laughed, and then Tom raised his half-gone glass of champagne. "A toast!" he called out. "To our dearest Mrs. Lady Bess Scrooge. The happiest of birthdays to you! May you continue to grace the London streets and the lap of our dear Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge for many years to come."

From his spot in the corner, Harry suddenly sang out: "For she's a jolly good fellow!" Soon everyone had joined in the song, a dozen or so mixed voices echoing throughout the parlor with fervor.

Bess hid her face in her hands and buried it into her husband's chest for good measure, feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room or the handful of glasses of her favorite wine flowing through her veins. She felt so appreciated--so cherished. Six, five, even four years ago, the Yank never would have guessed she would be so awash in affection, or so deeply ensconced in her own little network of society that she would never have to worry about being alone ever again. The lonely, friendless little girl of her past would have burst into wailing tears of happiness to hear such news: Bess was a bit older and more mature now, so she didn't wail, but she did quietly sob into Ebenezer's waistcoat. The man rubbed her back and kissed her crown in comfort.

"-And so say all of us!" the group finished with a shout, practically vibrating the room with their volume. Whoops resounded, what remained of drinks was finished off, and everyone rejoiced as one.

"Tommy," Granny spoke up as soon as they'd all quieted down some, "as hostess of this little soiree, I believe it's my turn to have the floor."

Tom bowed low with a grin. "But of course, My Lady. The floor is all yours." He stepped aside and took his space next to Addie, his lips immediately connecting with her temple and one of his hands coming to rest upon and gently caress her belly. Addie beamed at him, totally and completely in love.

Standing straight and tall and stately as ever, Granna Felicity slowly made her way to Tom's previous spot in front of the fireplace. Her elegant, silver-headed cane tapped out a steady, strong rhythm on the floor. Coming to a stop in the center of the hearth, the old woman turned towards the group, shoulders straight and square, head held high and proud. The woman was an absolute pillar of their little community. Piercing blue eyes found and fell upon Bess, who had pulled her face from Ebenezer's chest, but still remained resting upon his shoulder. Granny's eyes warmed, and her thin, wrinkled lips softened ever so slightly, but did not curl. The closest thing to a smile that would ever grace her face.

"Bess," Granny began, her thin, wavering voice strong and commanding absolute attention, "my darling great-granddaughter, lost to me but then found, I cannot tell you how it overjoys me that I am here today, able to bless you with this celebration of your thirtieth-year of life that you so greatly deserve. And I hope to endow you with more as time carries off." At that, Granny sighed deeply, and she suddenly looked very tired as she leaned more heavily on her cane. "But, let us be honest--I am old--no spring chicken by far." She drew herself straight again. "In light of that, I believe it would only be fair that I open the dancing tonight with your fine young man."

Bess couldn't help throwing back her head in a laugh. "Granny!" she exclaimed. "It's my birthday!" She tightened her arms around Ebenezer and cuddled even deeper into his lap.

Granny looked completely unfazed. "I know, my dear, but you are likely to have many, many more birthdays, whereas I am likely to keel over any moment now and am limited on the amount of time at which I might be swept around the dancefloor by a strapping young gentleman."

"You know, she has a point," Ebenezer remarked with a smirk, his slate-blue eyes sparkling with delight.

Bess turned on him and fixed the man with a good-natured glare. "You just like being called "young man"," she accused.

Ebenezer didn't even try to deny it and simply shrugged. "Regardless."

"And, need I remind you, Elizabeth," Granny continued, "that if it weren't for me, you and that wonderful young shaver you're so tightly wrapped up with currently may never have come into being at all." A playful yet slightly haughty shadow settled over the woman withered and wise visage. "All that is to say, I am due for my just desserts--wouldn't you agree?

Snorting, Bess rolled her eyes. "Fine," she sighed melodramatically, "but I get him directly and immediately after you're done." A serious look fell over the American's face as another thought crossed her mind, and she held up a firm finger toward her great-grandmother. "And absolutely no groping. Or pinching. I mean that now, Granny."

Granny's eyes twinkled deviously. "But, my darling girl, you know as well as I, that's where all the fun is!"

The small orchestra Granny FeFe had hired was no half-baked group. Despite their small size, they played as well as, if not better than, the Philharmonic Society. They filled the front hall with a beautiful and speedy waltz which Ebenezer and Granny danced to splendidly. The steely-haired man gracefully swept the old woman around the wood floor, always controlled and collected in his movements despite how free he made the dance look. Granny's eyes sparkled though her mouth remained set in stone as ever. She, herself, moved with such grace and fluidity that she could have been floating along with Ebenezer. The music seemed to revitalize the octogenarian, shaving decades off her as she flitted about; if it weren't for her stark white hair, one could have sworn she was a far younger woman.

Waltzing around in Tom's arms (Addie had most graciously surrendered her husband for the moment), Bess grinned from ear to ear and guffawed as the man made a comment about her grandmother (or their grandmother technically) sweeping off with her husband if she weren't careful. Bess cheekily remarked that, with as much fun as he appeared to be having, it was more likely they would have to keep an eye on Ebenezer sweeping Granny off. They both laughed at that.

Hearing a startled yelp, Bess' head snapped in the direction of the pair in question. "Granny!" she barked over the music. "I said no pinching!" She tried to school her gaze into a firm glare, but it was difficult to do, especially when she caught the goofy grin on her hubby's blushing face. The black-haired beauty snorted and shook her head. He'd never admit it or let it cause him to stray, but Ebenezer did rather enjoy being felt up and admired for a younger man, and Granny FeFe was always more than happy to oblige him.

Bess couldn't help but keep her eyes on Ebenezer throughout the rest of the waltz. She didn't regret allowing her great-grandmother a treat (it only seemed fair after the woman had put together this wonderful party for her), but she was longing to return to her love's arms so that they might sweep off together too. Even surrounded by all this love and warmth from her friends--which of course she was exceptionally grateful for--Bess wanted to be surrounded by Ebenezer's love most. It had taken her so long to find him--a man that was compassionate, kind, humble, intelligent, loyal, handsome, and charming and possessed a passion that matched her own; and she wanted to be completely enveloped in him as often as possible.

Finally, the waltz ended and everyone on the floor parted and bowed/curtsied to their partners. Bess walked arm-in-arm with Tom back to Addie. "Here's your hubby back!" she chirped to her cousin. "Thanks ever so much for lending him to me. He's a spectacular dancer!"

"Best there is in London!" Tom piped up, puffing out his chest as he hooked his thumbs in his lapels.

Addie giggled. "Don't I know it," she remarked. She reached her hands out to her man, and he instantly took them in his and knelt before her, gazing up into her round, glowing face. Addie giggled again, blushing all the way up her ears, her gaze locked on Tom's.

Bess smiled, her heart filled with joy. First, she and Ebenezer had tied the knot (although not under the most romantic circumstances); then Addie and Tom; now Ernie and Ella were only a few months away from their wedding; Jules and Martha were likely to be engaged any day; Josie, Belinda, and Kathy all had wonderful, steady beaus; Ida was making good headway with Harold (he'd actually come with her tonight though he wasn't dancing--that seemed to be just too far out of his comfort zone); and, to top it all off, the next generation was well underway, with Harry and Hela on their fourth child and Addie and Tom their first. Bess had a feeling her duties as a midwife would be even more taxing in the coming years, but she couldn't wait to watch and help their extended family grow. Again she thought of her lonely childhood and how happy her child-self would be to know that she grew up to be surrounded by love of all kinds.

Then she thought of George. She could almost hear his deep, warm, gentle voice in her head: You made it, Mudpuppy. And you done good. I knew you'd get there. Tears pricked at her eyes, and Bess reached up to wipe them, sniffling ever so slightly.

A deep, velvet voice called her: "Bess?"

Bess turned to see Ebenezer coming her way, a concerned look on his face as he watched her dry her eyes. She smiled reassuringly at him, though her lips did quiver, and stepped toward him. "I'm all right," she said with a little dismissive wave of her hand. "Just... thinking is all."

"Ah," her husband replied, the worry fading from his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, raising it to her face to gently dab at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. "A dangerous pastime."

Bess rolled her eyes and giggled. "I know." She brought her left hand up to gently hold his right wrist as the Englishman blotted away her tears, leaning into his touch. Ebenezer's free hand sought hers, twining their fingers together and squeezing soothingly. Bess squeezed back, gazing up into her lover's face, her eyes brimming full with adoration as she admired him for the millionth time in their six years together (two of friendship--four of marriage). She felt a soft warmth bloom on her cheeks: She didn't believe she'd ever get over this remarkable, handsome man and how he was all hers.

"May I ask what you were thinking of?" Ebenezer murmured quietly. He sopped up a tear at the corner of his wife's left eye before bowing down to gently kiss her there, trailing more kisses along her cheekbone until he came nose to nose with her. The man gazed into her eyes, love, admiration, and desire shining out from his soft, slate-blue depths. Just as they always did.

Bess felt her heart clench almost painfully with love for the gentleman, bringing a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. She was very emotional this evening. "Just... the future. And the past," she answered vaguely. "And about George--what he would say if he were here."

Ebenezer hummed in consideration. Letting go of Bess' hand, he folded his handkerchief again and replaced it, gazing around the hall at all of the people here specifically to celebrate his wonderful wife: The Cratchits and their oldest children, the Huffmans (including Mr. Huffman Sr.), the Chars, the future Mr. and Mrs. Shaw, the Jenkinses, the Dowager of course, Ida and Harold, Bess' siblings of course. So many people here, just for her. Well aware of her past and how melancholy it had been (much like his own), Ebenezer knew what this party and all these people being here meant to Bess.

Still gazing around the hall, the reformed miser reached out and pulled his wife into his arms, pulling her close to his chest, Bess wrapping her own arms around his waist. He brought his gaze to hers again, smiling warmly at her. "I never knew George, of course," he stated, "but I like to think I've heard you speak enough of him that I could know him." Ebenezer touched his forehead to Bess' and gently smushed their noses together, making her giggle: His heart soared for it. "I know he'd be proud of you," he quietly cooed. "He'd be proud and happy and tickled every shade of pink for you and the life you've built for yourself." The man pecked a feather-light kiss on his love's painted lips before burying his face in the hair cascading over her shoulder and hugging her tight to him. "I know I am," he whispered meaningfully into her neck. He pressed his lips to the burn scar partially hidden by the new choker he'd gifted her, making Bess tremble ever so slightly.

That quiet declaration touched Bess deep in her soul: She felt more tears sting her eyes as the smile on her lips pulled wider in reaction. Clutching at her man's back, she pressed her face into his chest, trying to be as close to his heart as possible. His beautiful heart; so full of love for her. A heart that had not only proven its love for her but wanted her and beat with a fierce desire to protect her unto the ends of the earth. Like George. Just like her beloved George's heart, was her beloved Ebenezer's heart. Bess wanted nothing more than to kiss and cherish it into eternity.

"I've failed in telling you thus far, because I haven't been able to find the right words to say," Ebenezer murmured, stroking a hand up to cradle the back of her neck, his lips hidden in her hair right beside her ear, "but I am so very, very proud of you, my darling Bess. I still can't quite put it into words, I'm so proud of you."

Bess knew she was about to cry, his words filling and soothing a void deep within her that had been there ever since George's untimely passing. She hugged her husband tighter, never wanting to let go or him to let go. A quiet sob shuddered its way from her lungs. "Ebenezer...."

"You've grown so much, Bess," Ebenezer continued softly, reciprocating her constrictor-like grip. "You arrived in London hardly more than a girl; alone, lost, nearly penniless, thrust into parenthood and a society and culture you scarcely knew how to navigate. Look at you now! A grown woman who's successfully raised two children into adulthood and two more into fine youths; an accomplished and much sought-after midwife; a darling of London society-"

Bess snorted. "I wouldn't quite say that."

"-surrounded on her birthday by all the people who know and love her. You've come into your own, Sweetness--become the woman I always knew you could be. My chest is so tight and swollen with pride in you, I feel it will burst into pieces."

Bess nuzzled lovingly into his pectorals. The cheeky part of her wanted to make a quip about how she hoped not because she rather liked his chest in one piece, but the lump in her throat wouldn't allow the words through. She was so happy--so very happy! Never growing up would Bess have believed it possible for anyone--much less herself--could be as happy as she was in that moment: She felt she could explode off and fly all the way to Heaven's golden gates with the force of the blast. What had she ever done to deserve such fortune? What had she ever done to deserve this man holding her?

"You forgot one very important thing," the woman rasped. She pulled back just enough to gaze up at her tall love and meet his eyes with her tear-filled ones. "I'm a wife. A wife to an amazing, wonderful, magnificent man who loves me so much and treats me so well. And who helped to make everything else you've already mentioned possible."

Ebenezer smiled humbly, his cheeks pinking up a bit. He shook his head. "Bess-"

"No, Ebenezer, I mean it," Bess insisted, giving him a severe look. "It's true. I... I never could have done everything I have without you by my side. None of this would have happened if you weren't in my life." She reached up and grabbed his face, holding it in her hands and pulling him down closer to her to gaze even deeper into his eyes. "You helped me. You saved me--more than once. You've always had confidence in me even when I've had none in myself and given me the strength to carry on even in the darkest of moments. You've done so much for me that I can never repay."

"You are my wife," Ebenezer replied. He lifted a hand to wipe away some tears that had breached her barrier. "I love you. And before that, I was your friend and still loved you. You needn't ever repay me, Sweetness; all services were given freely from my heart." He smiled gently. "After all, it's not as if you haven't done the same for me in turn."

Bess' lips quivered into a smile. "You're my husband," she flipped it back around. "I love you. My life... it wouldn't be a life without you." She tilted his face further down to kiss his brow.

Her husband chuckled softly, leaning into her touch. "Nor would mine be without you," he murmured. Slipping a finger beneath her chin, the Englishman kissed his American love sweetly and slowly, his lips slotting expertly in with hers.

Bess utterly melted, her insides turning to quivering mush. Wrapping her arms around his bowed neck, she went up on tiptoe to deepen the contact. She squeaked against his mouth when Ebenezer suddenly clutched her about the waist and thighs and swept her up off the floor. Lovely, gorgeous, strong, tall man! Tickled by internal butterflies, a muffled giggle left her. The kiss was already making her giddy, and the sensation of nothing under her feet made it almost feel like she was floating. Her heart certainly was. The elation of it all caused both of the woman's feet to pop; knees together beneath her skirts, toes primly pointed skyward.

The band was finishing with a song and starting in on another. The couple parted for breath.

"Would you care to dance, Mrs. Scrooge?" Ebenezer lowly rumbled against the Yank's lips. His half-lidded gaze held hers.

Bess smiled a bit dazedly and nuzzled his nose. "I would be delighted, Mr. Scrooge." She loosened her grip around the man's neck and slowly, gracefully descended to the floor again.

Ebenezer took a slight step to the side, folded an arm behind his back, and debonairly offered her his left hand. Bess bit back a giggle and reached out with her right to take it. Holding hands they made their way to the middle of the floor, avoiding the other dancers. Turning again to each other, they bowed and curtsied respectfully before Ebenezer held out his hand again, smoothly pulling Bess into his arms when she took it. He pulled her quite a bit closer than was traditional, her front coming flush with his. His right hand fell much, much lower on her back than was proper. Bess gasped, a blush instantly heating her cheeks, and raised a speculative eyebrow at the man. "I say, Mr. Scrooge!" she hissed with a smirk.

Her lover merely snickered, raising a devilish eyebrow of his own, a spark of desire flashing through his slate-blue eyes that made the woman in his hold shiver with excitement. "Consider this a prelude for tonight, Mrs. Scrooge," he growled huskily as he leaned down towards her ear. "You'll have one more present to unwrap and play with before it's all said and done."

Bess' blush grew hotter, her smirk turning saucy. "However I wish?" she inquired coquettishly. Her hold on him tightened, her hand squeezing his, her nails lightly digging into the back of his shoulder.

"However you wish," came the rumbled answer. As if to provide further reassurance, Ebenezer's hand only trailed up slightly higher on Bess' backside, but only for the sake of comfort.

A wave of anticipatory pleasure rolled through the woman, settling low in her pelvis and tickling with delight. Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, what a lucky girl she was!

Hands lovingly clasped, their free hands positioned properly on backs and shoulders, Ebenezer and Bess finally swept into the next waltz with everyone else, the gentleman's long legs carrying them rapidly around the circle. They held each other's gazes the entire time, following the path simply by instinct. That never would have happened six years ago, when Ebenezer was first helping Bess learn to waltz. Which, perhaps not so coincidentally, had taken place in this exact hall.

Bess smiled at the memory. Even back then, when they'd hardly been more than acquaintances yet, Ebenezer had helped her--had been willing to help her. Even though she'd been a perfect stranger from a foreign land who'd been an absolute and sometimes offensive idiot about everything English, he'd been nothing but compassionate and shown nothing but kindness and graciousness to her all while expecting nothing in return. She hadn't thought of it then (there'd been so much else to consider) but as she thought of it now, it reminded her of George and the first time they'd met: Her a little buck-naked urchin, caked in the mud of a puddle she'd run away from home to find, and he a gentle-hearted giant of a man who hadn't batted an eye at her antics and had wrapped her up in his own shirt and taken her back home. The parallels didn't end there, as both Ebenezer and George had kept coming back, offering support and protection free of any charge. Then, eventually, both had also stayed for love and want of her.

Bess pulled her gaze away from Ebenezer's and rested her head against his shoulder, slipping her hand on his shoulder around the back of his neck to embrace him. Closing her eyes, she simply let her husband--the man she loved and trust more than any other person in this world--steer and carry her wherever he wished. It didn't matter where it was, she would go with him; wherever he went, she would follow.

"Sweetness?" Ebenezer murmured, slowing their dancing just a bit. He watched her with some concern.

"Thank you," Bess sighed with contentment. She looked up at him again, her head never leaving his shoulder, and offered a small smile. "Thank you so much."

Her husband smiled warmly. "For what, may I ask?"

Bess felt the prick of tears again at the corner of her eyes; she blinked them back. "For being everything I've ever wanted in a man," she answered softly. She squeezed his hand. "For making me feel safe, wanted, and loved. For being..." she trailed off to take a shaky breath as one more tear dripped from her lashes, "... for being even better than George."

Ebenezer's eyes softened, and Bess could swear she saw a sheen of tears in them too. Bowing his head, the tall man lovingly kissed her brow before resting his cheek against her head. His arm around her waist tightened, as did his grip on her hand. "If that's true, you're happiness is thanks enough, my darling," he assured her. "And it would be my greatest honor to continue these things if you'll allow me."

Bess could only nod her head and squeak "Yes," as the lump was back in her throat. Her lips quivered into a tight smile as she tried to control herself. She had cried so much already tonight, she didn't want to cry anymore. Squeezing her eyes shut, the American buried her face back into her man's chest, breathing in his comforting scent. Not only would George be proud of her--he would also be happy; for she'd finally done it. She'd finally found a man that measured up to him--out-measured him actually. Ebenezer was everything George had been and more, and he was hers. All hers. She still wasn't sure she deserved him, but that was neither here nor there--she had him. And she was not letting him go.

And he was not letting her go. Not ever. Just like George.

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