#and he turned to a cousin closer to his peer age who was also rejected by the family who repeatedly spouts his love so loudly

[vanityangel]

Acknowledge me. Love me.

[katsukikitten]

Just some general warnings and disclaimers, this is an aged up Victorian era AU that I did a sort of collab with @bakugotrashpanda, so please check out BTP’s work as well. We had so much fun discussing this idea and breathing life into it, we would love to hear how these stories made you feel. Please also note that the woman in the banner is NOT the set skin tone for reader so please feel free to have that match your own skin tone! Also this is one of my bigger works coming in at a little over 14,000 words! (maybe a part two idk) but enjoy~

The room ebbs in the low light of flickering candles, people gather in clusters like lost geese as they honk their gossip at one another causing you to sigh. It would be another long night of mental games as your cold eyes fail to warm from the eccentric sights. Silk dresses, long gloves, shimmering gems, and endless drink and food. 

Yet you hated how little power you had over your choice of being here or not. 

Countless eyes rake over your long dress, always choosing a color so deep in hue it is often mistaken for black. They often murmur curiosities as they ponder over what exactly you are mourning.

Little do they know it is your freedom. 

Tonight you are in blood red with matching gloves to your elbows, diamonds, garnets and rubies drip from your throat and ears. A sight to be seen in your bold dark colors that are often frowned upon during the bright season of spring and summer. 

A bold male approaches and yet the closer he gets to your stunning form the more meek he becomes. He nods his head and reaches for your hand, pressing his lips to your gloved knuckles. 

"May I have your first dance?" He peers up at you as you stare down with an icy glare. Removing your hand with deadly precision from a man you know of but could not care less about. 

"You may not." You say simply and all he can do is stew in his rejection, affirming your wishes with a small nod. Another male in a smooth storm grey suit approaches. His large hand grasping onto your fingers, bringing your knuckles to his lips. 

"You look exquisite my dear. Would you honor me with your first dance?" 

"I shall not." Another subtle yet swift removal of your hand from his, wishing you had worn two pairs of gloves for this sniveling little asshole. Not everyone knew his secret love for abusing women but you did. He would never get the pleasure of dancing with you and in the two years since your introduction into the market you've made sure he had no one to wed. Using the power and respect people had towards your Father's name, towards you for guidance, ultimately steering them away from this pathetic sack of bones. 

And with your power you were dubbed the icy hot debutante of Alryne, fierce as a flame so hot, it felt cold. 

You wear a neutral face, but you do not smile, making yourself a touch unapproachable. This already weeds out the weak men who want nothing more than to suck the blood and money from your father's estate. 

But it wasn't as if the neutral face was easy to achieve, oftentimes you had to fight a scowl. For two years you've hated every second of every ball, party, or soiree since the Queen smiled in your favor during your first debut. She often praised, as did your mother, your cold precision, quick wit, and intelligent political decisions that were so well disguised that men just thought you modest. 

When in actuality you were playing the game, and since you were being forced to play by your father then by Hell's flames you would win it all. 

The first half of the ball drags in stupor of tedious repetition as you idly chat with women of various titles to gather any information you could without revealing your own hand. 

Besides all of the pestering gnats, everyone knows that your first dance is always reserved for important males, to never approach until after the two of your six stamps have already been taken. Even then there was a high chance of rejection, as there were no men of value to be seen. 

At least not yet. For as long as you could remember the higher ranked males arrived a touch late, "fashionably late" they claim. Abhorrently annoying is what you call it.  

Fashionably late men such as Lord Bakugou, son to the Duke of Summer or his distant cousin Lord Kirishima, son to the Duke of Spring. 

Bakugou arrives first, his grin wolfish as he scans the crowd, women flock to his arrogance in troves, although he ignores them. He has one woman in his sights yet it is not the woman he stands before. You give a small courtesy as you speak. 

"My Lord." Offering your hand gently. 

"My Starlight." He presses his lips to your silky glove for a long moment unable to keep his cocky smirk off of his face, "May I take your first dance?" 

Fighting to keep the delighted smile off of your face you offer a flutter of your lashes. He kisses your knuckles once more as if you needed convincing but the two of you know what you are doing. 

"You may." And with that his wolfish grin returns as he sweeps you onto the dance floor, showcasing your abilities as he shows off his own. Not to mention the dance floor is a great place to talk in private. His hand lingers just above your lower back, firm in his grip as his other hand holds yours almost delicately. 

"We match tonight, my Starlight. A brilliant touch." He guides you along the floor with ease, his eyes gesturing towards his vest and tie. 

"I only took an educated guess as to what you would wear, my Lord." 

"Do not sell yourself short. I know how sharp that mind is." Another wolfish grin, his eyes never leaving yours while feeling the court gaze upon the two of you. You give him a knowing smile before asking. 

"Any luck with her majesty, the prized diamond?" You ask, eyes blazing with curiosity. He smirks again, only his eyes revealing his true scoff as he twirls you in your jeweled slippers. 

"I did as you instructed and went with my father to that dreaded stay at the countryside Manor, how did you know her Majesty and Princess Amila would be close by." 

"I took an educated guess." A blatant lie that has him grinning from ear to ear. He leans closer, pulling the attention of the ladies especially as his ember eyes burn into you. 

"Far more than an educated guess." He spins you again and you fight the tightness in your gut. Enjoying the dance as he parades you around the room as if to say look at what I have that you could never. 

Even if the two of you agreed you would never be his. The two of you having struck up an arrangement of sorts on your first dance. He was forced by his Grace to ask at least one woman to dance and he had only chosen you with hopes that you would say no. 

But you loved the honest, irritated look that lingered in his eyes and on his lips. So of course you said yes as misery loves company. It was then he told you not to fall for him as he had his eyes set on the Crown, you laughed loudly and said "As if I would ever fall for an arrogant pig such as yourself, my Lord." His smile was wild as he enjoyed your insult, it was then you told him you would help him with the Crown, only if he made you his first and last dance of the evening at every event. 

Back then he had hesitantly agreed, now he can see how far your scheming mind went. Saw the numerous callers and suitors who loitered in your parlor, the extravagant flowers that they sent in excess. The rings they bestowed to you as they dropped to one knee, bold enough to peacock the large diamonds in front of other callers. 

And all after Bakugou had done as you asked for only three parties. He got a front row seat to rejection every single time, which in turn started the talk, the gossip, that this city loved.  You were desired because of how you painted yourself and in turn made Lord Bakugou desired as well. Talked about, all because he was the only male who had your approval. 

He loved your scheming mind so much he could kiss you, but alas you did not wear a crown. Although you often had a braid of jewels atop your head, sadly you were not kin to royalty, only a Baron's daughter after all. 

Bakugou wonders what you could have done as a queen. He would think you an empress.

"Is that all the detail I get? Just a confirmation that I was correct about their holiday?" He spins the two of you in step, hand guiding you although you did not need it. Having memorized every step to every dance there was since before your debut. 

"She saw me." 

"And?!" You can hardly keep up the façade of calm collection as you wait. 

"And she flushed. Her cheeks were as red as any rose, Starlight, she was a rare red diamond sparkling by the lake. She must already be in love with me."  You snort, unable to stop the smile on your lips. 

"I've never heard you so poetic before. Normally you leave that to Lord Kirishima. How many times did you run into her? Not more than three I hope."

"Oi, I am a well versed student and I listened to my teacher. I made her wait for the fourth and denied it. Left her in wonder and hope as you said." He rolls his eyes, fingers sliding up to your dress line touching your bare skin with his beneath your guise of hair. The sensation of his warm fingers against your cool skin does not go unnoticed. 

"Are you practicing for your dance with the 'rare red diamond' now?" You taunt, earning that chest tightening wolf grin. 

"I'm only doing as my teacher has instructed." 

"Well the Princess will fall for you the moment you kiss her hand." 

"One can only hope. Her official debut is less than a month away. I want it to be perfect." His eyes shimmer with plotting mischief as does yours. 

"So it shall." 

The music flows and ebbs to the end of the song as Bakugou deposits you right back where he got you. Bringing your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles as he holds your gaze once more. 

"My Starlight." When he straightens you curtsy.

"My Grace." With that he leaves, heading towards the table of sweets and beverages, you were sure he would be ordering bourbon. Your mother clears her throat from her chair, the out of season silk blanket over her thick skirts pulls at your heart. She sits on that plush chair as if it were her throne. 

"You dance with Lord Bakugou often." An observation. 

"Indeed." A dry retort. 

"I am sure Lord Kirishima will be your next dance, correct?" 

"One can only hope." 

"So you have an eye for a Duke's son?" 

"I am happy to dance with those deserving, Mother." Your mother keeps her eyes on the turning bodies on the hardwood floor, Kirishima makes his way through the crowd once he spies you. Your mother turns to face you as she says 

"Is the Duke of Winter's son deserving?" 

"Hmm, he has three sons, mother." You keep your eyes away from her until she finally looks back into the crowd. 

"Ah yes but only one is ever at these events." You follow your mother's gaze and they fall upon the Lord, he is the third son, he opted to chase after the world of medicine rather than women. Earning his doctorate much faster than his peers, he only just returned to conduct his practice in Alryne. 

Pity he returned at all. 

He catches your eye and you make a point to turn your cheek, unable to stomach his heterochromatic, condensing gaze. Your turned cheek was as close to fuck you as you could ever say to the high and mighty Lord. Still the words burned on your tongue as if you swallowed acid. 

"It is not as if he ever dances mother. Therefore, how can I give him my attention? As you taught me a woman must wait to be asked as it is every woman's dream to be wed to a handsome, skilled dancer." Out of the corner of your eye you can feel her displeased look before she straightens. 

"At least do not string along Lord Kirishima, that boy is not as zealous as his cousin." She says just as the large man slips through the last throng of the crowd. 

"My shining gem." He smiles with sharp teeth before he places a chaste kiss atop your hand. 

"My Lord." A curtsy before he asks. 

"May I have this dance?" His smile is plastered on his face as he knows your answer. 

"You may." Kirishima sweeps you across the floor in a different manner than Bakugou. Lord Kirishima is more flirtatious in the way that he guides you. Always choosing more of the upbeat dances as opposed to his cousin's serious selection. You do not hesitate to go in for the kill. 

"So when do you plan to ask Lady Mina for her hand?" He blushes at your words. Biting the inside of his lip subtly, a habit you could only notice from being up close. 

"Have you even attempted to court her? What fear plagues you, Lord?" Confusion dots your features as a sad smile paints his soft lips. 

"I am not sure she would- That we would be an ideal fit." Kirishima admits, turning you gracefully, pulling you close to his body. Scandalous some would say had the two of you been an inch closer. 

"Well my Lord, I believe, had you actually talked to her while the two of you danced, as I suggested, then you would come to find out that she is lovely. Pure hearted as she is honest in this game seeking love. Most women here are making attempts to move up in position, my Lord. As a Duke's first son the title of Grace is yours to master. She is a delight and air is not the only thing between her ears as some of these…"You survey the room as everyone watches with greedy eyes, "Vultures." 

He laughs never used to your own unwavering honesty. He knows you are not participating by your own free will, he knows because you are helping himself and his cousin when he was sure you could have had anyone in this room.

If the Majesty's nephew, Prince of the Yarrow were to attend even one ball this season, Kirishima was sure you would have his attention too.  

He twirls your body away from his and brings you back to the safety of his sturdy form. Your eyes are molten determination as you all but hiss 

"Ask her to dance next. You know the host prefers the set to be serious, flirtatious, and then a slow dance. It will be the perfect time to talk." 

Lord Kirishima sighs, squeezing your hand as he guides the two of you closer to your mother so he can leave you in her company. 

"You could turn any dull man into something more. Whoever wins your hand is getting a precious gem indeed." He kisses your hand as the music begins to change into something slower as you had predicted. 

"One shall only hope." You curtsy as he takes his flushed neck towards a certain Countess. Your mother gives you a knowing look and you offer her a cat smirk. She shakes her head but even she cannot hide her own satisfied smile.

A blonde male approaches, as he does every third ball after he ensures your first two dances have been taken. The flamboyant male has not once asked for a dance first, trying to be just as calculating as you. Although he is much more obvious. 

You suppose it was not half bad for a male. 

"My lady." He bends lower than he should for his station in life, but he is obviously copying the cousins before him having seen how it makes you smile. 

Lavender eyes shine up at you as the Viscount brings his lips to your gloved hand. You debate if you should say yes tonight. Having left him in the dark as your desire to dance with him solely depended on your mood. 

"May I show the room the grace in which steals the breath from my lungs?" Your eyes smirk as your lips form a small smile. It seems flattery would earn him a dance tonight. 

"You may." 

The Viscount smiles with delight as he gently takes you to the dance floor, holding you to him as he takes you across the hardwood. The candle lights play along your features as Monoma's face grows soft. Had he been anyone else his gaze might have brought a flush about you. The two of you shared a few dances before, he has sat in your parlor in the time he has attempted to court you and the flowers he sends are always the most expensive. 

He has even brought you chocolate from a month's long trip. Even you had to admit that was thoughtful, not too many people knew of your Achilles heel. A small part of you thought that if no one else would do, at least this man would bring you luxurious chocolates. 

"No trips this season?" You smile politely, he blinks as he seems to come to. 

"Only if I can take you with me." He smiles, a hint. You pretend yourself modest and look away to fight the roll of your eyes. 

Maybe chocolate would not be enough to sate you. 

His eyes flicker to your mother as a question forms on his lips. 

"Neither your brothers nor the Baron attended tonight?" 

"Ah unfortunately no. My mother is my chaperone tonight." You say tilting your head, he turns so you can face her, stepping slowly as the song lulls on. 

"I am elated she is well enough to attend." He smiles, you cannot tell if it reaches his eyes so instead you offer 

"As am I." 

The rest of the night is filled with rejection tumbling from your rouged lips as champagne flutes seem to find their way into your hand. 

"Not too much of that dear or you will not be able to enjoy the company of your suitors." 

"Truly a pity." You say taking another from a passing waiter. Eyes trained on Lord Iida and the lovely dancer in his hands, a blue dress sweeping across the floor and a white carnation nestled in her hair. 

A beautiful touch and it pays homage to their first dance before they were even wed. 

The love that embraced the couple could turn anyone in the room green with envy. 

You down your flute as you reach for another. 

Night brightens into morning much too soon as curtains are ripped open in your room. 

"My lady callers will be here soon." Rose, your handmaiden says softly, "I have a bath waiting for you."

You groan in response having not had enough sleep after pouring over your drafts for your book until your candle snuffed itself out. 

"Turn them all away Rose." You growl turning away from the irritating light, could it not have rained this morning to delay the suitors as it always did in this forsaken town?

"She will do no such thing." Your mother says as she walks into your room with her cane, her hand gripping onto the golden beak of a bird. 

"Mother, why not marry off Hendrix or  Hideki?" 

"Hendrix must apprentice under your Father for a period of time while Hideki can do as he pleases for now. He is only 20, besides he makes an excellent chaperone does he not? He isn't too nosy nor does he neglect his duties to intimidate pushy men." She pushes some of your hair back as she sighs, "Although I doubt you need help in that manor." 

"I deserve a strong bloodline, so I will do what I must to ensure that. Even if my face has to be scary at times." You and your mother share a laugh before she adds. 

"Your face is far from scary my dear." She touches your cheek softly rising from the bed to allow you to get ready, "The suitors shall arrive within the hour. Make haste." 

"Yes mother." You half groan rising to wash. Enjoying the warm water that Rose has so kindly added aromatic flora and citrus to. Once you enter your bedroom Rose has a dress picked out for you, waiting for your final approval. You nod allowing Rose to assist you with your corset and strings of your dress before you pick out jewelry to match your silver finery. You choose a silver bracelet with little diamonds as stars that Lord Bakugou had given you for your birthday this past year, smiling down at the small thing before assessing yourself in the mirror. 

"What do you think Rose, should I add some rouge to my lips?" She gives you a smile of delight. 

"And your cheeks too, my Lady." 

Breakfast is served in the parlor as it consists mostly of fruits and finger pastries that will be served to the other guests. Hideki comes down in a fine and deep sapphire suit. 

“Sister.” He gives a smirk to which you nod.

“Brother.”

“And what trouble will you get into today?” He stage whispers, causing you to cut him a glare as your father comes around to loom in the arch way of the parlor. 

“Remember, you need to pick a husband this season or I will pick for you. It is disgraceful to have gone through two seasons at your age.”

“I am only twenty four, dearest Father..”

“That just proves my point. You have a month before I extend an offer to the Duke's-.” He takes in a sharp breath to chide you further only for his Grace to swoop in and save the day.

“Baron.” Bakugou says, his eyes challenging as your father bows his head. As Bakugou makes his way towards the delicate foods. Father cuts you a knowing glare. As if to say I know your games child.

You offer a sweet smile as you make your way towards your small writing desk, fighting off the urge to groan outwardly. You just wanted to work on your manuscript or read for that matter. Instead you would have to entertain men who cared not what you thought only what your pretty mouth would not say. They would swarm you, demanding attention as you waved them off gently, half you had never even spoken too.  Bakugou gives you a wicked smile from beside you as if he could read your thoughts. At least he always sat closest to you, saving you in a way although you never instructed him to sit close. 

He just always had. 

"Do you not want to play the piano today, my shining Gem?" Kirishima asks from the door. 

"Ah I am not sure I am in the mood for it, my Lord." 

"Easier to avoid people as the bench is only meant for one." Bakugou gives a devilish smirk, Kirishima almost pouts, his sullen expression does not go unnoticed by his cousin. 

"It has been an eon since you last played for us." Bakugou adds. 

"Am I to be your song bird today?" You cut a glare at him. 

"Yes, Starlight I believe you are." It seems it had no effect. Sighing you stand, collecting your skirts as your wrist twinkles in the morning sun. Garnet eyes bore into the delicate wristlet. Your fingers pluck a key here or there until you begin to play. Losing yourself in the music as you sing ballads from ages ago, melding them into songs you've written until it all sounds like a cohesive piece. Each old song is lost in transition to the new one, time ticks on but you do not notice the string of men who come and go from your parlor. Resting your voice for the time being as your fingers fly across the keys to something you composed while thinking of your father and his ever pushing hand towards a Duke's son you had great distaste for. The notes are sharp, almost jarring at times yet still the piece is stunning.  In that time you had not noticed the lavender eyed man who sat closest to you, right in front of the piano in the corner of the couch. The finger cramping song ends on a somber, harsh note. 

"What a beautifully charged song." Monoma says breathlessly. 

“Well I was thinking of my enemies when I composed it.” You smile at the sunshine blonde with a devilish grin, he feels unsettled by it but says nothing nonetheless. His lavender eyes glance over to the wolves at the back of your den. Hideki gives him a small nod, Kirishima a soft smile but Bakugou gives him a glare that feels like Monoma is gripping needles. 

He swallows thickly, adjusting himself on the plushed silk of the couch before your small piano. 

“Ah before I forget.” He smiles pulling out a box setting it atop the polished wood. Gifts were a natural part of courtship or so your mother said. You offer a smile, grabbing for the box with poised eagerness and yet not overly so. 

Not that you were excited but you had to pretend to be. You unbox the obvious jewelry and fight back the distaste as you stare down at a gaudy, overly large necklace. The colors are a soft green and yellow, colors you avoid for many reasons. 

“Thank you.” You think to add a chord or two to your unnamed song in honor of Monoma. Bakugou laughs loudly from the back of the room, feeling how much you hate the gift, you look over your shoulder to send him a glare that he can only smile at. 

After hours of trepid and boring conversation Monoma takes his leave. 

“Another evening my Lady.” He smiles softly and you return it half heartedly.

“Another evening.” Lavender looks over your shoulder before Monoma clears his throat

“Your Grace and your Grace.” He bows his head, the ash blonde and redhead nod in unison. 

"Shall we go and drink my high friends?" Hideki asks, hoping for an excuse to leave the stuff house. He was more than over bearing witness to  gag worthy stares and compliments some of these men gave you. 

"An excellent idea!" Kirishima exclaims, standing before stopping by you. He takes your gloveless hand with a sharp, flirtatious smile. 

"My shining gem." He presses his lips to your skin and you return his smile. 

"My Lord." He nods and takes his leave, Hideki at his heels as Bakugou approaches. He does an exaggerated sigh unable to hide his smirk. 

"Little songbird how will I ever get through the night without my Starlight?" He holds your hand, lowering his upper half as did his cousin before him. 

"I suppose you will fumble in the dark."

"If only I had the pleasure." He purrs as he presses his lips to your bare skin. Suddenly his fingers are too warm as he holds your gaze, he looks as if he could devour you. 

Lest he forget he is staring down a panther himself. 

"Have fun fumbling in the dark by yourself, my Lord." You remove your hand and look out of the corner of your eye at him. He backs towards the door of the room. 

"I should hope to have thoughts of Starlight." He calls before he disappears into the hall. You tap a key as your mind wanders before you rise, famished and ready for dinner before you would take a long night of writing. 

A month passes by faster than you'd like and you find yourself outside of the ballroom in the grand hall of the castle. Soft music filters in through the doors as your Father insisted the family be a bit late this evening. 

For he wanted to make a statement and one at your expense. 

"If Duke Enji's son asks you for a dance you will oblige." Your father hisses, his large hand curling around your bicep. You bare your teeth, stepping out of his grip as you collect yourself. 

"He has three." Acid drips from your tongue as sure as morning dew. 

"The doctor. Not the failure first born and not the inadequate second. The third. Shoto. Think of your ailing mother...would you abandon her for such vile, pointless ambitions?"

"I think you will not weaponize her. So do as I please and decline." You hold his burning glare as you add, "If the Duke's family is as bad off as you make it seem." 

"Oh I think you shall accept his dance. Or so help me God I will burn every book your ill, grief stricken mother ever shoved into your scrubby little hands." He leans closer, a nasty smile forming as his lips, "And if that is not enough I will throw your manuscript into the fire for fodder." 

Your eyes blaze with a rage that ignites beneath your skin, burning your blood as your eyes make unspoken promises. When I am through with you 

You part your lips to retort but your eye catches Hendrix and Hideki, their eyes filled with pity before your mother slowly approaches. 

Father chose his battleground well, knowing you would be unable to react as you pleased and with Bakugou already at the party there was no other male to save you. You bite your tongue until you taste blood. 

"Is everything alright?" Mother asks tentatively, fussing with your hair, "Darling you must mind your face, my love." 

You swat her away, breathing through your nose as if you were a dragon. Heat still dancing in your veins as you allow your feet to move on their own. 

"Announce me. Only me. And do not announce another soul until I am beyond the last step." You hiss to the harbinger whose eyes grow wide before he nods. His voice booms over the murmurers of the crowd and once eyes begin to land on you they are silenced. 

Your eyes are set hard and as cold as stone as you look over the crowd, slowly descending the steps in your deep ombre gown. Starless night black from the bodice before it lightens gradually into a charcoal grey, glittering crystals sewn into the material shine in the candle light like miniature stars. Your gloves followed the same gradual pattern except it seemed as if each finger was dipped in glittering silver and atop your wrist was your favorite piece, diamonds winking in the low light set into silver pointed stars. Woven in your hair were diamonds and pale citrine alike forming a crown in its own nature. 

Had Her Royal Highness not have already been announced and seated it would be easy to mistake you for the Crown. Considering how you commanded attention and held yourself, eyes looking at no one but seeing all. 

The envy, the awe, the lust. 

A pivotal moment was coming, the last three stairs is where a woman would normally hold out their hand, expecting their favorite suitor to take action but you did not hold out your hand. Keeping one firmly on the dark wood of the banister while the other was eloquently posed beside you. Even if you had held out your hand the men in the room were too stunned to step up to help you. This allowed a soft, devilish smile to form on your painted lips as they performed exactly as you had planned. Finally your gem encrusted slipper touched the hardwood, parting the crowd before the spell was broken by the announcement of the rest of your family. The room let out a collective breath and instantly erupted in hot gossip. All of it falling on deaf ears as you grabbed onto a flute of trusted champaign. 

From across the room you felt burning garnet eyes on you, you met them briefly before sipping at your bubbly beverage. He begins to cross the sea of bodies when a large man steps into your view. 

His eyes are cold as they bore into you, a shining sapphire paired with a smokey quartz. Distaste curdles your stomach as you fight to keep your face neutral and your eyes trained on him. Fans block painted lips as they spread more gossip about the man before you. 

"Is she ensnaring another Duke's son?" 

"She is becoming too haughty for a Baron's daughter." 

"Do you think she insulted the Crown with her entrance?" 

"Would you allow me your first dance?" His deep voice cuts through the vultures' cries pulling you back to him. He has your glittering left hand in his. Brining the dazzling glove to his lips in greeting, there is no joy in his gemstone gaze. 

The hot rage bears its teeth again as it surges through your blood like liquid fire, burning so hot it felt cold as it licked at your bones. Your lip barely twitches, No poised on your tongue as your father's grating voice echoes in your head. 

"Think of your ailing mother...would you abandon her for such vile, pointless ambitions?" 

And so your mouth finally forms the words. 

"You may."  He looks surprised, surrounding faces mirror his own before he fully takes your hand. Guiding you to the floor during one of your favorite songs that you always sat out as no dance partner ever dared the secret, advanced steps. You were steeling yourself for disappointment 

Shoto's grip on your body is tight but not uncomfortable as he sweeps you across the dance floor, twirling you, guiding you as he holds your gaze. His stare is heavy and intense in a different manner from Bakugou's with a hint of something that could be mistaken as flirtatious. But you saw it for what it was, discontent. 

As the song pushed on the discontent seemed to change into something new entirely as he showcased your skill while hiding his own. Allowing you to twirl away from him in several rotations that would make even the most skillful dancer fearful of misstep and yet you breathed in the music as if it were precious air. Neither of you notice how the other dancers give you room, allowing for more twirls and advanced steps as the two of you are becoming lost to the music. His fingers brush your bare skin as he pulls you back to him for  guided, sharp steps as the music heightens. His skin brushes yours again, electricity thrums beneath the pads of his fingers before he sends you into another dizzying rotation but to you it was nothing. Briefly you wonder if this were a test until you see the soft smile on his lips when you return to his arms safely for the final set of guided steps before the music were to abruptly end, just as the dance was intended. His eyes were glued to yours the entirety of the dance, softening with each step. 

Both of you stop in beat with the last soaring note panting as the movement seems to catch up with the two of you. Neither of you realize how quiet the room is until clapping comes from the royal dais high above the room, the rest of the crowd follows suit. Shock melts into a smile as your eyes return to his. A sharp pain rings out in his chest. 

"Not bad for a Baron's daughter." Disgust settles on your face faster than you can stop it spewing from your lips. 

"Not bad for a recluse of a Duke's son." You tilt your head up, fighting the snarl of your lip as his face becomes so mind numbingly neutral while his eyes darken. Shoto drops you off by your mother only for Bakugou to approach, swiftly bringing you to the floor for a slow song. 

"Starlight. How did I not know you could dance like that?" He is astonished by your skill, "I've never seen you so happy. Maybe the Duke of Winter's third son will do you justice yet." 

You scoff but all Bakugou can do is offer you a deadly smile. 

"Enough about my dead end dancing." Your eyes glance towards the dias, the Princess cannot look away from the two of you, "This should be enough for the Princess to want to dance soon." 

It is Bakugou's turn to scoff. 

"Are you sure she is even going to have the opportunity to dance? No one is even allowed on the stairs to their enclave." 

"Ah but this is her debut. The Queen will allow it, besides the princess cannot keep her gaze off of a certain ash blonde." 

"How could she ever?" Your laugh rings out, it warms even the coldest hearts as Bakugou pulls you closer to him. Heat radiates from his body in a calming manner, your fingers squeeze his. 

"Arrogant as ever." You smile, thinking how you will miss dancing with him or even having him at the back of your parlor to laugh with over sad attempts at your hand, "Remember once you take her one dance for the night, she must be your first and last dance of the night in the future, if not your only." 

Bakugou cannot hide the dejection in his eyes even as he feigns cockiness. 

"I am a well versed student, remember?" His fingers brush over your skin, his middle finger tracing a small circle. 

"The best student I could ask for." The music comes to a close on more than just the song as Bakugou returns you to your family. He presses a long kiss to your glittering glove. 

"Until we meet again, my Starlight." He holds your stare. 

"Until then my Grace." With that the night sets into motion as you turn down dances left and right. Eyeing a ruby haired man who twirls a certain countess in his hands. As the music ends the Queen stands earning a hushed crowd. 

"My daughter, the Royal Princess shall take the dance floor, she will only allow one dance on the night of her debut." It is not a shock that she is allowed so little but there is no worry on Bakugou's face. The princess straightens at the top of the stairs, trying to exude the same commanding energy you did. She falls short in power but outshines you in other wordly innocence and grace. As if she were a lily that only bloomed for the moon, her beauty unmatched in her pale pink dress. Carefully she guides the layers of it down the steps as diamonds and pearls drip from her hair and throat. She tries to keep her eyes from sticking to a broad shouldered man and yet at the same time from wandering, as she stares at the back wall of the room. 

As she nears the third step Bakugou struts towards his prize with the ease of a relaxed swagger, glaring at men as he passes before he reaches the bottom of the steps. Extending his hand to the Princess just as she hits the third step from the bottom. She cannot keep the smile off of her face as her gloved hand claps onto his bare fingers. He bows deeply, raising her hand above him to look from beneath long lashes before he brings his lips to the silk. 

"Your Royal Highness, my shining diamond. You are truly the envy of the night." A flush gives the Princess' lack of experience away, "May I have this dance?" 

"You may." It is a breathy answer before Bakugou sweeps her off of her feet. Charming her with each calculated step and  arrogant quip. The princess smiles wide and almost pouts once the music begins to ebb. Bakugou returns her to the stairs, supporting her hand as long as he can before she rises out of reach.

But to Bakugou she never was and never will be unattainable. 

Before the night is over an envelope is pressed into your hands with the Crown's seal pressed into the wax. You quirk your brow, tucking it away to be read at home. 

"I am so elated you came." Her voice is like honey as the butler opens the doors to a parlor so large it could hold your entire home. She guides you towards a small table and fights with the layers of her silk dress before sitting.

"How could I reject a personal invitation from her majesty?" You sit across from her, eyes going over the deck of cards and a set of tea. 

"Well, believe it or not, I do not have the pleasure of friends, so please call me Amila." 

"Everyone would desire to be a friend of the Crown, your Royal Highness." You counter, quickly she points her fan towards you, tapping your side of the small ornate card table. 

"Ah but you do not have the desire to befriend the Crown, so I have high hopes that you will befriend me for me." She smiles, a certain gleam to her eye before she says, "Now let's talk about handsome Bakugou and how well you played me." 

Your face gives nothing away as you look up from the cards you've been dealt. Your mind rushes down all possible avenues but you know to avoid the one of playing dumb. It is obvious that the Princess has a keen eye. 

"Surely you'll reveal to me what gave us away." 

"After that dance Bakugou had with me, had I been anyone else he would have returned to you. He either has his only dance with you or his last dance with you. I figured him or Lord Kirishima to be heavily interested in you. You are a sparkling gem amongst the coal down there so I know you have many callers and suitors. But the last to leave are always Lord Bakugou and Lord Kirishima. That is what has thrown me off the scent."  You laugh at her honesty of the knowledge she has obviously collected about you or was tactful enough to guess. 

"This is what we do, your Royal Highness." Your gloved hand gestures to the table, "I take them for all that they are worth." An honest giggle leaves Amilia's lips.

"For that I am grateful and some would dare say I am in your debt." 

"A brazen statement." Your eyes return to your cards, "I would not state it as a debt although I am happy to receive your gratitude. Especially since it is in the form of cards and cake." 

A laugh falls from her lips as a smile settles on yours. The round of cards continues. You win the first few rounds and then Amelia has a lucky hand. Winning the last white tea macaron. 

"Did you allow me to best you?" 

"Lady Luck just happened to take favor of the Crown." 

"Or maybe she took pity. " She smiles, fingers fidgeting nervously, "Would you care to admire the art? Mother allows me to have this as my own personal parlor so I decorate it as I wish." 

"I would love to admire some of these lovely paintings. Starting with the one behind you." You stand, heading to the large piece you had been eyeing for some time during the games. You could tell by the stroke of the brush that the artist was newer to painting but they were quite talented, the strokes almost went unnoticed even by your sharp eye. 

Most importantly were the emotions the work of art evoked from the viewer. 

Silently the two of you drank in the large oil painting. The canvas colored in deep pinks, reds and oranges as the sun laid to rest to allow its lover the full scope of the sky. Shadows stretched far and towards the viewer and if one paid close attention they would notice the black cat in the corner with two large moon eyes. 

You especially liked this painting, the ease it made you feel even earning a small smile. 

"I can already tell this one is by far my favorite, your Royal Highness you have a fine eye for art." She blushes at your compliment, twisting some of her low hanging hair. You keep your amusement of her flustering to yourself, eyes trained on the swirling colors of the rippling blue mirror of the sky, looking for a signature. 

Odd, there isn't a looping set of initials in the corner like most have. As if reading it on your face she speaks. 

"I- I am the artist…" It is shy and soft, unlike the Princess and you realize the weight of the truth. That she had not heard one genuine compliment of anything that she had ever done. 

All she would ever receive is flattery and only for the hopes of kindness from the Crown. Finally time swallows up her sudden meekness as she blurts out.  

"Are you sure Lord Bakugou is not in love with you? I know you fancy Lord Todoroki, Doctor Shoto." 

"I do not fancy the Doctor, he simply is the most logical option I have currently, he would make a fine partner and husband. The seasons have not brought anyone new and my days of spring are limited." You idly move to the next painting as you speak, "As far as Lord Bakugou, he and I are too much alike. Too ambitious for our own good, we'd either explode or implode I'm afraid. Like some tragic star in the vast galaxy." 

"You would not marry for love?"  

"It is best to marry for a strong partnership, love is a possible byproduct, however it proves to be a rarity. Love comes with time, your Royal  Highness, a luxury us women do not have." You glance her way, "Not even a Princess is immune to this unfortunate condition from which all women suffer." 

"But he looks at you with intense burning, with...love." 

A quiet moment passes between the two of you before you offer your honesty. 

"He would learn to look at you that way, more than he would see the Crown. Especially with your mind and artistic skill. He would be a fool not to fall for you." Her eyes water at your response, "Come, let me teach you how to best Bakugou at his favorite card game, Amelia."  

When you return home later that afternoon Bakugou is fidgeting outside of the manor causing your brow to furrow. Then it dawns on you that one of your brother's has a big mouth and told his Grace where you would be. 

"My Lord." 

"Starlight." He offers you a strong arm and you take it as he guides you up the stairs and into the parlor just off the foyer. 

"Are you here to gossip?" You trust Bakugou enough to go without a chaperone, besides the doors to the parlor are wide open. You sink into your writing chair as he takes his normal seat by your side. The plush cushions do not ease his twitching fingers before you give him a playful shove. 

"Out with it then!" You giggle, the sound pulls a devilish smirk from the blonde seemingly easing whatever troubled his mind. He leans back into the cushions. 

"So, how much did her Highness speak of me? Endless compliments no doubt." His teeth flash white as you roll your eyes. 

"And here I thought you had a pressing matter." You move to turn away from him to focus on writing but he grabs onto your knee. Giving it a gentle squeeze as his face gives him away. The tips of his ears burn before he clears his throat. 

"I have to show you something and I need your honest opinion." Silence is his answer as you patiently wait for him to produce the mystery item. Slowly he reaches into his pocket, a black velvet box is in his hands. A smile blooms on your lips as you anticipate the ring he must have picked for the princess. He opens the box and your heart free falls into your stomach. 

It is a pear shaped black diamond flanked by silvery diamonds that wink in the afternoon sun. At the top of the circle of diamonds was a deep red garnet that looked like a drop of blood. The ring felt powerful if it could make one feel such a thing. You fist your skirts as you collect yourself.  He watches your face contort as you look over the ring, his jaw ticking with worry as you assess what is essentially both his ego and pride. 

But the ring is breathtaking, perfect really. 

"Katsuki, it is a gorgeous ring…" Your voice trails as you admire it, "But I believe the princess to have less...moody tastes. She does not normally wear dark colors." 

A small silence stretches between the two of you, almost as if he expects something else, quickly he snaps the box shut. 

"This is why I ask you things, my stunning Starlight." He pulls out a red velvet box popping it open. This ring is beautiful as well but does not have your heart as much as the first. 

It is a stunning and giant marquise cut white diamond. Blinding in the light with a halo of pale pink diamonds. It is vibrant, radiant like the princess. Katsuki always did pick out the perfect jewelry to match a woman's tastes. Bakugou watches your face carefully, the sad smile that pulls your lips upward causes a deep ache in his chest. His jaw ticks again but you answer before he can even think to lash out. 

"Your Grace, this will surely win her heart." He looks you in your eyes, a flash of an emotion you cannot quite catch before his arrogance returns. 

"Indeed it shall. We can discuss the best date to ask another time." He closes the box and tucks them both away, he grabs your left hand, fingers ghosting over the bracelet he gave you, "You seem tired, you should get some rest." 

"I believe that to be a grand idea." You say softly as he kisses each knuckle. He squeezes your fingers. 

"My life would be dark without you my Starlight." You fight to keep the bitterness out of your voice as you reply. 

"Soon you will have a shining diamond to light up your life." 

"Only thanks to you." With that he takes his leave. 

With burning eyes you add to your manuscript, foolishly writing a love story as your other novels have been completed. The candle dwindles as the hours pass before your hunched shoulders ache from the poor posture and lack of movement. You stretch, yawning as you do before you decide to head to bed. 

Expecting an empty foyer you are surprised to see your father looming in the hall, your mother standing solemn by his side. Her fingers clutch at her pearls as your eyes catch sight of bags at their feet. It is not unusual for them to leave in the middle of the night in order to keep the severity of your mother's health from the limelight. 

"Is there troubling news?" Anxiety twitches in your fingers as you clasp them together. Although your father's next words make your fingers want to wrap around his thick neck. 

"We have been invited for an extended stay at Duke Enji's manner in the countryside in hopes the two of you will court one another." 

"Father that is scandalous in itself." 

"Not if an engagement comes of it. Which one will, whether you fall for him or not, young lady. The matter has been decided among the men." His words sting like a slap in the face. Where most would cry you lash out. 

"Oh, I get it. Per usual the men can think with nothing more than what hangs between their legs, fearful that theirs is not long enough. So the men do all that they can to control everything but their own fragility." You step towards your father and he takes a step back, "Or is it more gruesome than that? One blackmailing the other? I just cannot imagine the ambitious Duke wanting a Baron's daughter for his son. Unless his family is so far in decline he must place the weight on his new heir and bride." 

His eyes widen unnaturally before he is frothing at the mouth. 

"YOU WILL NOT SPEAK OUT OF TURN. YOU WILL LEARN YOUR DAMN PLACE. " He slaps you, causing a hush to fall over your family. Your eyes are wide with animalistic rage as you lunge only for Hendrix and Hideki to hold you back. Both strong men begin dragging you away.

"Forgive her, Father." Hendrix starts before Hideki finishes, "You know how the heat gives women a touch of hysteria."

"We will help her pack her bags." 

All the while your mother looks at her husband in horror.  The sight falls beneath the stairs before you are shoved onto your bed. 

"Sister!" Hendrix roars while the youngest brother looks flustered, worried, "What were you thinking? You know how closed minded father is." 

Hideki cuts the eldest a look before he adds. 

"We are just worried. Normally you keep your wrath at bay." 

"As much as it may come as a surprise. I am only human." You rise from the bed asking Rose to prepare you a trunk. To pack anything, that you did not care as you sat at your desk furiously writing. Your bothers watch you with curious eyes as the tension seems to subside before they take their leave.

Minutes tick by before you're standing in the foyer. Father and mother were already sitting in the carriage that waited outside under the cover of misty rain. Hendrix and Hideki stand awkwardly by the round table in the middle of the foyer. Pretending to fuss over lavish flowers Lord Bakugou had sent that morning. A beautiful arrangement of roses and hydrangeas, two of your favorites, the Lord knew of them through observation alone. You wait patiently until one brother makes eye contact with you. Hideki breaks first, guilt shining in his eyes as it threatens to spill over. It is obvious he does not want you to leave the house, his normally crooked smile falters. You cup his cheek, smiling up at your sentimental younger brother, he acts as if you will never come back. 

Maybe there is some truth in that. 

"Cry not, for I have an iron will while father's is but made of glass." You swipe the tear, before pressing two letters into his chest, "Besides I have an important task for you." 

"Is it your scheming?" Hendrix chides and you laugh in answer before continuing. 

"These are for Lord Bakugou and Lord Kirishima, it is imperative you deliver these letters." The paper contained important instructions for not only a successful proposal but a marriage as well. 

You'd be damned if all three of you would turn out miserable. 

"I'll put them in the post." 

"No hand deliver them." Your eyes turn icy causing both brothers to go rigid, "And should I find out the seal has been broken before their arrival I shall take the family jewels from between your legs."

"Is that any way for a lady to talk, my dearest sister?" A jest in an attempt to lighten your souring mood. 

"Yes, it is."

"They will be in their hands by this evening. We are wagering on a fight tonight. Enjoy your stay." Hideki leans in close with a tease but his voice almost cracks, "Make sure the rock is huge." 

"Indeed." Hendrix agrees with an almost sad look in his eye, leaving you to wonder what it is that they know and you do not. 

Well, you do know why they have such long faces, you just do not care to admit. You wave to them and their eyes catch on the silvery reflection of diamonds on your wrist. 

The manner is stifling to say the least. The large, grand thing is as your trunk is set in your room that overlooks a small garden and the long sweeping hill that leads home. You pace your room before a knock comes at your door. 

Hoping to ignore it, having not the desire to speak to a soul, your feet quiet. You listen for them to retreat but instead a louder knock sounds out. Before his grating voice floats from beneath the door and through the keyhole. 

"I know you are in there, my lady." 

Ugh, that stupid doctor stood on the other side of the door. Still you ignore him. 

"It is rude to ignore your host."  It ignites something in your stomach before you rip the door open. Eyes ablaze as Todoroki stands perfectly still in his onyx black suit sans jacket. White sleeves rolled up showcasing his strong forearms. 

"Surely, a good host would not force his guests to his estate?" 

"A good host would not mention how unwanted their guest is." His smile is sickeningly polite, eyes as cold as yours. It is hard to keep your composure as you breathe in deeply through your nose, eyes widening before you slam the door in his face. 

Only once you hear his footfalls retreat and the moon shines long on your floor boards do you finally make your way towards the door. A woman on a mission as you yank the door open, uncaring that you were not in much but a thick white nightgown that could be mistaken for a dress.  You rush for the stairs and through the door just off their back parlor, having memorized it from the long winded tour both your father and his Grace Enji insisted the small party take of the grounds. 

A cool summer breeze whips your hair this way and that as it dries the sweat that sits at your nape. Normally people would describe this feeling as miserable, that even the breeze had a bit of heat to it, but you. 

You lived for it. Twirling in the moonlight you allow yourself a moment for vulnerability you often cannot afford before you go deeper on the grounds, closer to the woods that lie just beyond the manor. 

Once you are at the edge you give the grand home a glare with your back towards the woods. The creatures of the night sing their symphonies well into the late hour. A twig snaps behind you cause you to turn about face, your eyes meet with lavender framed beneath light lashes. 

Ice runs through your blood as you faintly recall him speaking of these trees by his own countryside manor. He often went to these grounds to hunt. 

So why was he standing on the Todoroki grounds? 

"So it is true?" Monoma chokes out an ugly sound. It is between defeat and a snarl. He takes a step closer, "Whisked away in the night. Did Todoroki steal your maiden head from me?" 

Your eyes widen at his scandalous accusation and it is then you see how truly disheveled he is. Hair plastered to his forehead, his canary suit stained green from foliage. The fabric even darkening beneath his armpits and at his collar, it sends a sort of frantic look to his eye. He steps forward and for once in your life you yield, stepping back. 

"That is a damning accusation." You fight to keep the cracking rage from your voice, the small fear that blooms in your belly like poison nightshade. Swallowing thickly he steps forward. 

"He, he can't take what's mine. I- I was going to propose today. But that damn Bakugou is always lingering around like toxic gas. Poisoning your mind with his….ambitions." It is then you see red. 

How dare anyone thing you were so fucking fragile and innocent some young blonde could corrupt you. Your palm strikes his cheek with enough force that he is facing away from you. You strike again and then as you rear up your fist he pulls you to him. Pressing his whisky soaked lips to yours as he swallows you whole. Mouth extended over your lips, sloppily engulfing you as he makes sounds that make you want to retch. His tongue slides past your lips and you bite.

Not enough that he loses it, although you wish you could afford to do such a thing. But you still lived in a society where a man's word was far more valuable than that of a "whore." Shaking you pull back, so much rage that you do not see the flash of light until it is too late. 

"Fucking bitch!" He slashes at your nightgown, cutting the fabric away as you think you've doged, he goes to slash again, "God damn whore!" 

His voice echoes through the trees and that scares you more than the knife in his hand, his sloppy demnor creates an opening as you kick him so hard between his legs he falls to the ground, puking up his belly full of liquor onto the moss floor. 

Suddenly the summer night is too hot, the frogs and crickets too loud as an owl calls deep within the wood. Thunder roars overhead before the clouds become too heavy. Panic slicks your skin before the pounding rain as you turn to run, hopping you kicked hard enough to rupture something in this cowardly man. 

If you lived in any other world, you would have tried your best to seize that knife and plunge it into his chest. 

But you didn't, so you ran. Vision blurring as the pain finally catches up to you. Hand instinctively flying to your stomach only to come up wet. 

"It's the rain, it's just the rain." You gasp out rushing into the house and shutting the glass paned door as quickly and quietly as you can. Fumbling for a lock before you give up all together, arms outstretched in the dim room looking for a candle or a mirror. Shaking fingers find a match that you light using the wallpaper, uncaring of the risks as you frantically look for a stick of wax. Lighting the wick once you've found one and taking it to the mirror above a small runner table. You set the wax down, close to the glass, thunder shakes the windows and the house as you pull the fabric from your torso. It reveals an angry red slash that weeps crimson, a choked gasp leaves your lips as lightning flashes illuminating the whole room. Still you do not see the reflection of the man in the mirror. 

"What happened?" It sounds animalistic as it comes from the corner. Your whirl to face him, pulling the cloth back down to cover your decency. A lie falls from your lips as easy as breath. 

"Nothing." Your rasp, feigning embarrassment, "My-my courses have come early. Your Grace this is not something you should witness." 

"Do you take me for a fool?" He steps closer, eyes burning in the candle light, "I may not be an expert of female anatomy but I know the basics." 

You swallow thickly, trying to jest. 

"Then my Lord you are far more experienced than myself. I am bashful to be in the presence of a skilled womanizer. This truly is nothing." He closes the distance, wrapping his deadly hand around your small wrist. Pulling it away from your body.

"That laceration does not look like 'nothing'." He mocks, "I will not ask again." 

Silence engulfs you as the storm rages on, it competes with the roaring in your head. Your knees slowly buckle as Shoto keeps you up right. His winter's night by the hearth scent floods your senses. 

"I feel a bit faint." Your voice sounds so small, so far away that it stirs something in Todoroki. In the year that he has watched you, he has not once seen your falter or become meek. He makes way to scoop you into your arms and is a mixed of relieved and agitated as you swat him away. 

"I-I can walk." You straighten your back, smoothing the reddening fabric over your bodess and for once you're thankful the blasted nightgown is so thick. He gently guides you to your room. 

Once there he prepares a basin as you try to sit on the plush bed. 

"Aht!" He whispers harshly, "Change." 

You relax into the foot of the bed anyway, unable to hold yourself up right any longer. He sucks his teeth, bringing the supplies to the bedside table before searching through your trunk. 

"A Lady's things should not just be rummaged through." 

"Hmm is that so?" He finds another night gown before he hovers over you, face pinched as he asks, "Can you undress yourself, truthfully?"

Moments pass before you admit that you are not sure that you can with a shake of your head. Slowly he eases you out of the damp fabric, dabbing at your wet skin with a towel. He avoids looking at your breasts and as much as he would love to stare a weeping wound commands his attention. He places the gown just enough to hide your breasts before he lies you down on your back. 

"From beginning to end, tell me what happened." When you do not answer he forces your chin to face him, "Tell me, now." 

And your name slips off his lips like poisoned honey, a truth serum you swallow whole. You retell the quick exchange, including the damning kiss as you watch rage blister across Shoto's handsome features as he silently begins to work. 

"We must  prosecute him."

"We must not!" You exclaim as he dabs antiseptic at your wound. He gives your an exasperated

"What would have happened if he had nicked an internal organ?"

"I suppose I would be free of this wretched world." A nonchalant shrug as best as you can manage.a glare cuts your way as his roar turns soft.   

"Why would you say such a thing? Do you think no one would mourn the loss of you? Do you think he would not weep at your service?" Shoto touches the bracelet of dancing stars and you pull your wrist back. Tears burning your eyes, you do not allow them to fall. 

"He is not up for discussion!" It's a loud whisper before you grip Shoto's jaw with enough force it grinds, "I am more than capable of taking care of myself, Lord. You can take your leave as I do not need a soul."

He melts as he watches the pain flutter in your eyes, a long sigh escapes him as he melts into your touch. His fingers feathering over your forearm.

"Pride is a deadly sin. Allow me to help. I will be quick." Slowly you drop your arm away from him. He digs around in his bag before you change your mind. He disinfects the sutures before he sends the needle through tender flesh, your tears dry as you allow your mind to retreat. Shoto takes quick notice. 

"You do that a lot…" He comments softly, pulling the suture through your skin, you glance his way, "You seem to disassociate." 

"Well, feelings hurt so it is better to not feel at all." You grind your teeth as he pulls the widest part of your wound together. 

"Is that why you push him away so often?" He holds your gaze before returning to his work.

"Did I not tell you that he is not up for discussion. No matter, I do not have feelings for Lord Bakugou." He scoffs at your lie. 

"Ah so then it was not you who suggested the Princess in the form of flattery? Lord Bakugou is a smart man but you played into his blind spot, stroking his ego and enticing his ambition." Your gritted teeth say it all. 

"And how pray tell would you even guess at such grandor things when you are not in attendance at even half of these events?"

"I am privy to this knowledge because I too keep everyone and everything at arm's length. It is much easier to see the moves when one is far enough away from the board." He dabs at your abdomen, "And you my Lady are by far the best player." 

"Flattery does not go far with me." You sigh softly,  fingers idly playing with the wrinkles in the sheets,  "Father wants me to set a final round."

"Mine wishes for me to begin and end in the same turn." He slowly places your nightgown down, "Which is why we should make an effort to at least get to know one another. With your wound I suggest staying an extra week or two to ensure it closes properly. I can convince our Wardens that the extension is for an attempt to win your hand."

He leans back in his chair, sweat on his brow from fusing with your wound, from worry as it furrows. Your chest tightens and suddenly the urge to be in control sinks its teeth into your skin. Quickly you unclasp the birthday present Lord Katsuki had given you, setting it on the nightstand beside Shoto with dramatic flare. His eyes widen as he reads between the lines, the silent vow of "I will make an effort...for now". The promise seems to pierce his heart. 

"Fine. I enjoy picnics, I suggest we do that on the grounds so that we may be chaperoned from afar and yet have privacy. My expectation is unbashful honesty from both parties." You turn over to give him your back as you pull the fine blankets to your shoulders, "Furthermore you must come up with some sort  of endearment for me. Anyone who has ever tried to seriously court me has. I have come quite fond of them as titles bore me. Something lovely so give it thought."

Shoto is stunned into silence for a moment before he lets out a dark laugh. 

"I see, this is still your game"

"Precisely." You say, he stands, lingering in the doorway before shutting the heavy oak. 

It was difficult to sleep to say the least. Still you were grateful to have risen before Rose. Dressing yourself before she could see your wound. More grateful still when Rose set down some tea claiming Lord Shoto sent it.  

You downed the scalding liquid in three swallows, surprising Rose, before she passes you a folded note. 

Meet me in the back garden for lunch. 

-Shoto 

A muscle ticks in your jaw as pain blooms across your stomach as you stare at his lovely script. 

Shoto hates to admit that the first thing he looks for is that bracelet on your wrist, when he does not see it he lets out his held breath. Drinking in your deep, sapphire dress. It sparkles as if covered in stardust, his heart clenches. He looks towards your stomach, worry etched on his features. 

"How are your stitches? No corset right?" He asks, gently guiding you to the plush pillows on the ground. Maybe he should have asked the butler to bring out chairs instead. 

"I feel naked without it." You admit, he sees a bit of nervousness you have normally schooled away. 

"You look lovely." His eyes are gentle, lips formed in a soft, genuine smile. Your heart tried to skip a beat. It's the heat you tell yourself. 

"Flattery will not get you far remember?"

"I'm only being honest, my sweet petunia." You give him a puzzled look, was this going to be his nickname for you? You were not a delicate thing. 

"A flower?" You give him a look but his smile does not falter. 

"Ah would you rather I say my dew kissed rose? My begonia?"

You both laugh at his last suggestion. 

"My sunflower." Your heart stutters, you glance away for just a moment and he takes notice. 

"Ah so you approve," He collects a strand of your hair between his fingertips, "Sunflower?" 

Heat rushes your cheeks as you fight the smile on your lips. You lose as he kisses your hair. Maybe you could be a delicate thing. 

"Did you know sunflowers can remediate soil? It is why they are planted after tobacco is harvested in hopes to use the fields once more." He is quiet as he waits for your admission. 

"It is my favorite flower, it is in season now. Alas not one suitor has sent them. Roses and hydrangeas are my favorites too but nothing quite says summer like a sunflower." You sigh, looking over the manicured bushes and flowers in the garden. 

"Is that your favorite season?" He is perceptive, you take  a moment to breathe in the sweltering breeze with closed eyes. Humming your answer. 

"Indeed." You kick off your shoes and place your feet into the grass, leaning back to allow your face in the sun. Not many women would be so open to sitting on only a blanket and with no umbrella or covering. And yet here you were soaking up the sun like a lazy cat. Heat rushes Shoto's cheeks as he realizes just how perfect his name for you is. 

"Have you ever had intercourse with a woman?" You ask, eyes still closed as Shoto flushes further. His cheeks are as red as part of his hair. 

"Sunflower." He gasps but you giggle. 

"Unbashful honesty, remember?" He lets small silence stretch between the two of you before he answers. 

"I have. My brother convinced me it was a good idea." His eyes look sad, it makes your gut clench as you look away for a moment. Question burning on your tongue. 

"What if I were to say my maiden head was taken?" 

"Who am I to judge after I have slept with another. Sadly I know some are stolen." He answers without hesitation. 

"This is true. Mine is still intact, I am grateful Monoma had only stolen a kiss." You sigh.

"You'd never kissed anyone?" His tone is curious although his eyes are dark with anger for you. 

"I tried to be a proper lady. More so because I do not like to touch people or feel their skin. Touching them makes them real, you know? And when someone is real they can have power over your heart." Shoto mulls over your words and realizes how much he relates. He places his hands near your fingers but does not touch them. You notice the gesture and scoff without the pretension you skillfully lace his fingers with his. Delighted to see the burning blush on his cheeks. 

Maybe life with Shoto would not be half bad, if only he gave you more moments like this. 

Moments like this last over the two weeks that drag into three. Days are spent  beneath the summer sun with exchanged and often heated, intellectual debates. Both of you feeling mentally stimulated for the first time as each of you allowed a few walls to come down, pulling each other closer than arm's length. While a few hours of the night are spent beneath the moon. His gem stone eyes raking over your abdomen in worry but nothing more than his checking on your wound as he was ever the gentlemen.

On Monday of the second week Shoto has come fond of his summer sunflower, so much so he brings a large black box to the next picnic, tucked away in his pocket is a matching, much smaller box. He presents to you the medium sized box as you giggle in delight. 

"My Lord, my shining Shoto. What could this be?" Your cheeks hurt from the width of your smile as he opens the box for you to see. Your face flutters into shock before joy returns as you hold out your wrist. Shoto takes the delicate golden bracelet that has several round onyx surrounded by citrine in the shape of petals. Sunflowers dance on your wrist as you twist it this way and that, unable to school your features into your normal distaste for guadry gifts from suitors. But this gift was far from gaudy, only one man before Shoto had earned this reaction. You bring your parasol to hide your face and his from the prying eyes of the manor as you gently press your lips to Shoto's cheeks. 

"I love it." You admit. It gives him enough courage to commit to ask you on Friday, the bigger question. 

Having you walk for "therapy" through the grounds, pointing over your shoulder to point out phantom ducks on the lake as he nervously sinks to one knee. 

"Shoto, love I do not see-" You turn to face him and see his loving eyes, wavering smile and shaking fingers holding open the box that reveals a giant oval ruby surrounded by diamonds.  He clears his throat. 

"My sunflower," You fling your arms around him, making him fall off balance as you land on top of him. Peppering his face with uncharacteristic kisses as excitement, for once, rushes through your veins like a second blood. He laughs lifting you by your ribs, careful of your slowly closing wound as he spins you before setting you on your feet. He fumbles for the momentarily forgotten ring before he slips it onto your ring finger. He presses a kiss to your cheek, smiling warmly. It reaches his eyes in such a way your gut clenches. 

And for a moment you forgot you were ever anyone's starlight. 

For one returning to the manor seems almost dreadful and not because of waiting suitors but because you would be without your own. He insisted the two of you be seperate as your mother and his, prepared to arrange the wedding, as you demanded the ceremony to be small. Despite your desire for to keep the engagement quiet for just a week or so, your mother and father took it upon themselves to spread word back home before you could even arrive. 

You exit the carriage as the house looks quiet, earning a soft smile. Your ring catches your eye and you remind yourself that this truly was the best possible outcome. 

The foyer is covered in flowers, from congratulations to a giant trove of sunflowers on the center table. 

You smile at the flowers Shoto must have sent this morning, they sit in a glass globe of a vase, their usually tall stems cut short. Their flower heads are large and vibrant even in the ambient candle light. You finger a petal as you reminisce over the past few weeks, your stomach hardly protesting as you stand on tip toe to look at them all. Relishing the moment of silence before you realize you are most likely home alone. Your brothers lost in some fighting match while your parents took their leave from the Todoroki manor to busy themselves with venues. You figured a change of clothes would do you nicely before you settled down over your much neglected work. 

A black nightgown and almost sheer robe clung to your frame as you stepped down the grand staircase, smiling once more at the flowers before slipping into your parlor. Lighting only one other candle by the door before taking yours to your desk. With deft hands you pull out one of your manuscripts and tap along the top with a manicured nail. A sigh leaves your lips, you finger with your bracelet, with the ring on your finger before a fresh page is found on your desk. You write furiously. 

About something as trivial as love. 

Still the quil seems to move on its own as if enchanted as words dot the parchment in ink. Suddenly your work is disturbed by someone entering your parlor. You assume it is a brother who has come home, glancing up you see locks of ash blonde causing you to grip at your robe to close it tighter. The moment you realize it is just Bakugou your grip on the fabric loosens.

"I wasn't expecting you at this hour." Fear of needing a chaperone barely crosses your mind since it was Lord Bakugou who was your company. You relax into your seat as he crosses the room to sit in his normal seat, on the corner of the couch, closest to you. His posture is poor as he leans his forearms on thick thighs, garnet eyes cast downward, he grips at his own hands as his knuckles turn white. You wonder if he did not heed your letter. 

"How did the proposal go with Princess Amelia?" Your voice sounds out over the silence of the room, still he remains quiet. It is unnerving how solemn and silent the normally wolfish man is. Something pulls at the strings of your heart. His eyes seem misty. He keeps them to the ground or so you think, as they rake over the ring on your finger, on the bracelet on your wrist. The onyx and citrine dance in the low light of your burning candle. Bakugou feels a sheen of sweat coat his hands, bile rising in his throat that he has to swallow down. 

You think the worst, you think the Princess rejected him but that didn't make sense either. She was so obviously in love with the ambitious man, you heard while away that she even turned down a dance with a forgein prince. 

"What's wrong, Katsuki?" The way your voice forms around his name, the way your eyes look with unbiased worry causes Katsuki's limbs to act on their own. In one swift motion he cups your face in his broad hands, bringing his lips to yours so softly. Once the plush of your lips touch his he cannot stop as his hunger for you comes to the forefront. He kisses you with a fervor unmatched as his lips move yours, his hand moves to the back of your neck. Tilting your head so he may deepen the kiss, tongue sliding over yours as the world falls from beneath your feet.  

But as quickly as it fell it returns, pushing him away while turning to face away from him. You keep your head held high as he pants on the couch beside you. He grabs your thigh, desperate for touch, for anything but rejection. 

"Starlight." His voice is deep, rough from what might be disuse as it cracks on the second syllable. A question runs rampid in your mind.  How long had he felt like this? 

"Please, my starlight." He squeezes your smooth thigh and you look towards him. Watch his force contort with pain, as if you held his beating heart in his hands and crushed it.  

Really it is what he had done to you, as you look down at him with hot tears. 

He is the first and only soul to see you cry in decades. It seemingly tears him about but he brought this among himself. 

The kiss is answer enough as to why he is here. 

It should not be this tempting to throw it all away. 

"Get. Out." You seethe, fat droplets catching on your sheer robe, falling down your cheeks as if you were an actress going through a tragic scene. He does not move, does not breathe as he hopes your temper will cool. 

Instead it heats. 

"Get out, Get OUT. GET OUT GET OUT!!" More composure lost with each increase of volume before you completely lose it, "FUCKING GET OUT!" 

He hardly moves and the ruckus calls alarm for your brothers who were home, who let Bakugou in at such a late hour. They come from the office across the hall in hurried steps, expecting to see an assailant, hoping that Bakugou could fight them off. 

They silently determine what they see is far worse. Bakugou gripping at your thighs with this pleading look while your face is now firmly buried in your hands. A sob racks through your body setting your brothers ablaze. 

Hendrix speaks first. 

"What did you do?!" His eyes are flaming as he sets them on Bakugou, who ignores the two men. Hideki begins to close the distance and his eldest brother follows suit. 

"What have you done to make my lovely sister cry?" Hideki's voice is full of hurt, disappointment and when they receive no answer they decide it is time to remove your true assailant. 

Both grab at Bakugou, pulling him away from the couch as you wet your palms with years worth of tears. 

Everything in your life, no matter how hard you tried to conduct it, was truly wrong wasn't it? 

The fresh swirling ink on the pages answered you enough, the love story you did not know you needed with a protagonist with soft ash blonde hair. 

"Please. Do not make me BEG!" He yells as your brothers' sad attempt at forcing him from the room topples furniture and the like. 

Still you weep your self pity away. 

His next words are deafening  as your heart finally cleaves apart, the pieces falling to the floor before shattering like glass at your feet. He brandishes the black velvet box with the black diamond ring tucked inside as you finally look up to him. 

"IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN YOU, STARLIGHT!"

[ginnranger]

Character Information

 Clearly I have put more thought into some of these characters than others, but I will add to this as I write more and develop them more.

General Information -

Name: Ginn Ranger

Gender: Female

Nickname(s): Little G, Sweets (By Martin only), Lady Ranger (Martin), Little Ember (Past - hated),

Date of Birth: 1st January, 2002

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Capricorn

Ethnicity: English, Irish

Nationality: British

Species: Human

Sexuality: Panromantic, Asexual

Family: 

The Ranger family is an Irish descended family, residing in Liverpool City, then London. They are a poor family, but they get by well enough with what they have. Patrick and Mary had Ginn accidentally when they were 18. They got married when Ginn was 5 years old, when they were 23. They follow an ancient and rare tribal culture, known as Star Chasers, who believe the stars are the souls of their ancestors, and prioritise a person’s ability to fight.

Father: Patrick Ranger is a Northern Irish descended man who moved to Liverpool with his father when he was 10 years old, after the mysterious death of his mother. He was arrested and thrown in Juvenile Detention when he was 15 for assault and assist in an attempted murder, where he stayed until he turned 16. Once he was released, he was put on parole and pursued an apprenticeship and career in carpentry. He met Mary in the carpentry workshop, as she worked as the clerk in the shop. He is extremely creative, and blessed with artistic skills, like drawing, carving, and pyrography. He also enjoys music, and played guitar, until he had to sell it to scrounge enough money for bills when he was 25. His mother died mysteriously when he was 10, making his father even more neurotic than before, and forcing them to run to England and live with his uncle and cousin. He was disowned by his father at 17, when he started dating Mary. He has rusty ginger hair, styled messily, cut 4 inches at the sides and back, and 5 inches in top, having it fall over his right eye. The sides are tucked behind his ears. He has forest green eyes and light pale skin. He has a slim build, with broad shoulders and strong arms.

Mother: Mary Pendle (Later Ranger) is a Southern Irish descended woman whose family moved to Liverpool two generations before Mary was born. She completed A-Levels in Maths, Physics, and a B-TEC in Business, then moved on to do a degree in Mathematics and Finance in the university of Liverpool. She met Patrick at age 16, when she went to work as the saleswoman in the carpentry shop Patrick worked in. She worked so she could make her own money and run away from her abusive mother. However, she was disowned by her mother when she started dating Patrick. Her mother and her sister attempted to murder her after disowning her, but luckily, she managed to get into public eye before passing out to be taken to the hospital. Mary became pregnant aged 18 with Patrick’s child, so struggled a lot more with university than originally thought. She was diagnosed with Autism when she was 20, after one of her professors recognised some of the general characteristics in her. She has curly, messy, brown hair, that she usually keeps down, with a fringe swooping to the right, and cut to the middle of her shoulder blades. She has pale skin, with light freckles over the bridge of her nose, and bright, electric blue eyes. She has a skinny, curvy build.

Other family (s): Liyo Anand (Friend of Mary and Patrick, husband of Scot), Scot Lander (friend of Patrick and Mary, husband of Liyo), Amanda Lander (the mother of Scot, who took in Mary and Patrick when they were disowned, and helped them with Ginn when she was a baby), Gillian Pendle (Mary’s mother, never met), Finnley Ranger (Patrick’s father, never met).

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s): When she is older, she helps Martin’s charity.

Occupation(s): Illustrator, activist

Appearance -

Height: 5’3”

Weight: 6st 5lb

Eyes: Heterochromia; right eye is electric blue, left eye is amber-brown

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): pale, with light freckles on bridge of nose, and often had bags under her eyes. She had two large scars on her back, stretching from her right shoulder, down diagonally to the middle of her back, under her shoulder blades. There is a straight, thick scar on her left side, a slimmer scar on her right forearm, and a few self harm scars on her thighs.

Hair Colour/ Style: Rusty ginger. Cut short to the top of her ears, but often left to grow to jaw length, in a choppy and messed up style. She has a fringe swept to the left, covering her brown eye. It is mainly cut at home by her mother, but she will cut it on her own when she is going through a crisis. She had longer hair when she was younger, but she went through some traumatic experiences that made her cut it short to feel more in control.

Dress sense: She dresses in loose, baggy clothing, as she is very uncomfortable with being perceived as feminine due to trauma. She often wears an oversized khaki green army style jacket. Her favourite colour is green, so she often wears one of her many green tshirts, with all types of sleeve length. She likes black jeans and walking trousers, and often wears boots.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): English (Dyslexia), Sciences

Best Class(es): Art

Sport(s): running, gymnastics (no team, but very good) (Enjoys free-running and parkour)

Club(s): N/A

Status: Loser, outcast, art kid. When she becomes friends with the others, she moves up the social ladder

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favorite place: top of Anglican Cathedral. likes to be outside, so is happy anywhere she can see the stars at night.

Hobbies: Drawing, animating, running, parkour.

Past events: As a child, she was never able to connect with her peers, for reasons she could not understand. This made her so lonely, she was manipulated into entering a bad crowd, but she only ended up gaining scars on her back, trauma from sexual and physical abuse, and more trust issues. She says the only good thing she got from those experiences is her excellent judge in character and her ability to fight.

Medical/Psychological history: She has a rare medical condition (Hemovenenum [blood poisoning]) that requires 1-2 injections a day in order to keep her steady and alive. This makes her have heart attacks, and makes her immunity severely low. Needs at least two check-ups a year. She developed PTSD and depression from the traumatic experiences as a 12 year old. She developed social anxiety after so much rejection by her peers as a child.

General Information -

Name: Martin Williams

Gender: Male

Nickname(s): Mart, Tin (by Ginn), Master Williams (By Ginn)

Date of Birth: 25th October 2001

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Ethnicity: Spanish, Black

Nationality: British

Species: Human

Sexuality: Bisexual

Family: The Williams family is new money rich. Martin’s father, Conner, invented a new printing press machine, as well as more sustainable paper and ink, patenting it and creating his own printing company. Mr Peterson’s magazine was the first to invest in Conner’s company. This happened when Martin was 4 years old. His mother’s side is Spanish, and father’s side is black. They are all extremely close, having family gatherings a lot and doing many of their hobbies together. Their main connection is their love for music, all of them playing a different instrument and writing songs together. Martin and his two brothers love to run and venture through nature, parkouring through the wilderness.

Father: Conner Williams is a British black man, who despite his money, is very down to earth as he remembers what it is like to struggle. He is a caring CEO, and makes sure every employee has a good wage, great conditions, and an excellent experience in the workplace. He likes to help people, and is very generous. He enjoys music, and taught Martin how to play different instruments. He has dark brown eyes, thick curly black hair, and a thin, neatly shaved beard.

Mother: Elena Williams moved to England when she was 20, her family following her six years later. She is an interior designer, and works with Zack Peterson, advertising herself and putting simple designs in a section of his magazine. She is a caring, unbothered woman who does not care what people think of her, she just lives her life how she wants. She taught all her children Spanish, plays piano wither family, and taught Martin and Valeria how to cook. She had long, wavy, mahogany brown hair, reaching almost to her butt. She likes to keep it down, but if needed she will put it in a pony tail. She has large, russet brown eyes, and sun kissed skin.

Conner and Elena were the youngest couple in the group of parents, until Mary and Patrick joined them.

Other family (s): Dominic (eldest brother), Mateo (older brother) Valeria (younger sister), aunts, uncles, cousins, all four grandparents

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s): a charity he volunteered in from 14yrs old.

Occupation(s): the same charity he volunteered in

Appearance -

Height: 5’7” (age 15), 6’2” (adult)

Weight: 11st

Eyes: russet brown, sparkling, often bright and happy.

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): Dark skin, but closer to his mother’s lighter shade than his father’s

Hair Colour/ Style: Mahogany brown. Ordered messy, like he had spent several minutes gliding his fingers through his hair, methodically spiking it up, then brushing it forward, leaving bits sticking up. Every portion of his hair was cut to a similar length, apart from the front, which was slightly longer, dropping lightly in front of his right eye

Dress sense: Martin’s dress sense is often describes a grungy by his friends. He wears loose fitted tshirts, slim fit, dark coloured jeans, with bright coloured trainers. Depending on the weather, he switches between wearing button ups over his tshirts, zip up hoodies, and pull over hoodies and jumpers. His hoodies are all oversized and baggy.

He has been described by his teachers as ‘looking for trouble’, as his crooked smile makes him look like he is planning something. Really, he is thinking about something funny.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): sciences, art

Best Class(es): music, English

Sport(s): gymnastics (likes free-running and parkour)

Club(s): band, debate club

Status: disruptive one in class, but means well

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, face claim, theme song, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favourite place: mountain tops, his paternal grandparents’ living room

Hobbies: music, making videos, anything to do with social justice

Past events: a few generations before, Martin’s ancestor “Andrew Williams” and Ginn’s ancestor “Hailey Ranger” were friends in the Army. Ginn and Martin bond over this. Martin was excluded for two weeks after he punched the PE teacher for discriminating against him.

General Information -

Name: Alex Peterson

Gender: Male

Nickname(s): Domer

Date of Birth: 14th November, 2001

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Ethnicity: English

Nationality: British

Species: Human

Sexuality: Bisexual

Family:

The Peterson family is descended from people who were more than able to get themselves into The Dome after the Nuclear War. They are a rich family, living in the rich city centre of London. Zack Peterson inherited his business from his father, like his father did before him. They are a well respected family in society, so image is everything to them, however, they still remain pleasant and kind people.

Father: Zack Peterson is the owner of a massive world-wide magazine, Wonder. He inherited it from his father, like his father before him, and he is obsessed with keeping his social image pristine and perfect, so he tries his best to make good connections and do good things. He loves writing, both fact and fiction, but is useless when it comes to DIY and housework. He has a Masters Degree in English, and a Bachelors in both English and Business. He has short blond hair, and vibrant blue eyes. He tends to wear suits, even when he is not working.

Mother: Sarah Peterson is a psychologist with a particular interest in child development and how trauma affects a young person. She is supportive and maternal, but is also image driven, so hides problems. She has long blonde hair, neatly cut down to her mid-back, that she usually keeps up in a braid or bun, and light blue eyes. She has a very feminine style, never wearing trousers.

Other family (s): Grandparents, paternal uncle, maternal aunt, cousins

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s): Churchill’s Private Secondary school, Parliament (adult)

Occupation(s): Politician

Appearance -

Height: 5’9” (age 15), 6’2 (adult)

Weight: 10st

Eyes: Cornflower blue

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): pale but healthy. As an adult, he would have bags under his eyes a lot.

Hair Colour/ Style: light blond. Shaved sides and back, with a classic side parting, favouring the right

Dress sense: Alex likes to wear button up shirts with jeans, trainers or canvas shoes, with smart casual jackets.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): Biology, physics, maths

Best Class(es): ICT, History

Sport(s): Rounders

Club(s): Photography, rounders team

Status: nerdy jock

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favourite place: Gardens and parks, his bedroom, the lounge in the Peterson home

Hobbies: photography, editing, photoshop

General Information -

Name: Louise Mitchel

Gender: Female

Nickname(s): Lou,

Date of Birth: 2th April 2002

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Taurus

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: British

Species: human

Sexuality: Bisexual

Family: Louise is the eldest child of three in the Mitchel family, with twin brothers, who are 6 years younger than her. Her parents married as they are secretly gay, and they think they hide it from their children and friends, but fail terribly, as they fool no one. Still, they refuse to break up until their incredibly religious parents die.

Father: Parker Mitchel is a lawyer. He is secretly gay, and often stays out late hooking up with men. Laila honestly could not care less.

Mother: Laila Mitchel is a speech therapist. She develops strong crushes on women very quickly due to her repressed sexuality. Mary Ranger is a particular weakness for her.

Other family (s): Jacob (younger brother), Thomas (younger brother)

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s):

Occupation(s): Psychologist and counsellor

Appearance -

Height: 5’5”

Weight: 9st

Eyes: Sky blue

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): Pale and pristine

Hair Colour/ Style: Light brown. Long (mid way down back), often kept up in a loose braid.

Dress sense: Louise likes to dress very feminine, wearing short skirts and neat blouses. She is classy, yet hot.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): history, art

Best Class(es): Psychology, English

Sport(s): N/A

Club(s): N/A

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favourite place: her bedroom, libraries

Hobbies: sewing, makeup, dance

 General Information -

Name: Elsie Brown

Gender: Female

Nickname(s): El, Els, 

Date of Birth: 6th March 2002

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Pisces

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: British

Species: human

Sexuality: Straight

Family: her parents bonded over their similar names.

Father: Daniel Brown is a botanist specialising in fruit/veg baring plants to make them more efficient in harvest.

Mother: Danielle ‘Dani’ Brown is a marine biologist professor at the University of London. 

Other family (s): Jasmine (younger sister), Robert (older brother)

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s):

Occupation(s): Primary school teacher

Appearance -

Height: 5’4”

Weight: 8st 8lb

Eyes: forest green

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): pale, but slight tan. Darker than the other girls

Hair Color/ Style: strawberry blonde. Long and wavy. Barely ever kept up. Has a thick fringe swept to the left side.

Dress sense: Elsie likes to dress more conservatively than Louise, but still very feminine. She wears skirts down to the knee, with tights and simple dolly shoes.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): Art, music

Best Class(es): Maths, English

Sport(s): N/A

Club(s): N/A

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, face claim, theme song, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favourite place: anywhere she can see water

Hobbies: making cloths, dancing

 General Information -

Name: George Groden

Gender: Male

Nickname(s): N/A

Date of Birth: 10th September 2001

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Virgo

Ethnicity: white

Nationality: British

Species: Human

Sexuality: Straight

Family: the richest family in the group.

Father: Grant Groden is a doctor and medical researcher in a private hospital. He is rather pretentious and class based, so has a slightly low view on the Rangers, but eventually he’ll get used to them

Mother: Molly Groden is a high class Interior Designer.

Other family (s): Diana (Older sister)

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s):

Occupation(s): Doctor and Medical researcher

Appearance –

Height: 5’11” (15), 6’0” (Adult)

Weight: 11st 5lb

Eyes: Dark forest green

Complexion (skin tone/ conditions): more tanned skin than Elsie, but still not dark

Hair Colour/ Style: light honey brown hair, neatly combed and cut short, with a fringe

Dress sense: George likes to dress simple yet formal. he often wears woollen vests over button up shirts, and dress trousers.

School Information -

Worst Class(es): history, English

Best Class(es): all sciences, maths

Sport(s): N/A

Club(s): N/A

Status: stook up nerd publicly, but more relaxed with his friends

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, etc.)

Random Facts:

Favorite place: Library, sitting under a tree with a book, museums

Hobbies: drawing, writing, reading

[shanastoryteller]

Let Down Your Hair

he is a young man, with a young, pregnant wife. they are poor, and can’t afford much, so he sneaks into the witch’s garden at night to steal away the rapunzel lettuce his wife so desperately craves.

when the witch gothel catches, him she demands the child that her garden is feeding as payment.

he agrees, because there’s nothing else he can do.

he and his wife can have more children, but not if they’re dead. they can have more children later, when they have the means to provide for them, when they’re older and more sure of themselves, when the prospect of being responsible for another mouth to feed isn’t quite so terrifying.

his wife is still slick with blood when he wraps their daughter in an old pillowcase and brings her to the stone wall separating their land from the witch’s. “are you going to hurt her?” he asks, clutching his crying daughter to his chest.

gothel raises an eyebrow and says, “what a foolish question.” she pulls away from him and is gone in the next instant.

his arms feel empty, but lighter too. he’ll never say this aloud, but it’s almost a relief to give the child away.

they couldn’t even afford to feed themselves, never mind anyone else.

he wants to be a father. he doesn’t want to be the father of a hungry child.

~

this is not the first time gothel has bargained a child away from its parents. and so she tucks the squalling little girl in bend of her elbow, and goes where she always goes.

“caroline!” she calls out, “oh mother caroline!”

she stands in front of large house, one that has the general appearance of being many houses stacked up on top of each other, all different colors and sizes and styles. also, from the side, it does not look unlike a rather large shoe.

the door bangs open, and a small wave of children run for her, small sticky hands grasping at her dress and cloak, and gap toothed grins everywhere she turns. “have you brought us another brother?” a girl asks, wrinkling her nose. “i have too many brothers.”

the boys turn to her, glaring, but the girl is unrepentant. she’s the only girl in among the younger kids, and is quite cross about it.

then the older kids surround gothel, the ones that had had the patience not to go chasing after her at a sprint. the teenagers like to pretend like they don’t care, but she has many eager and impatient eyes on her, lots of twitching fingers eager to take the baby away from her. that’s fine by gothel – she’s eager to be rid of the blasted thing.

“that’s enough!” a powerful, creaky voice shouts. “that’s quite enough of that! make room, make room, let me through!”

the crowd of children part for mother caroline. like gothel, caroline has dark skin and black hair, a strong, wide nose and plump lips. but while gothel appears to be a woman in the prime of her youth, caroline is an old woman. her back is straight and strong, and there is strength in the width of her waist. but her dark hair is streaked with silver, and her skin has started to bend to the will of time and gravity, causing delicate wrinkles to frame her face. “little sister,” gothel greets, “you’ve gotten older.”

caroline shoots her an irritated glance, “while you haven’t changed at all.”

“you could have became a witch like me,” gothel says, not for the first time, “you were always quite good with physical magic. then neither of us would age at all!”

“change is inevitable,” caroline says with the type of finality that makes gothel’s skin crawl. “let me see the child.”

the children crowd impossibly closer as gothel hands the baby over, red faced and new. caroline cradles the babe against her chest, then stills, her lips pulling down at the corners. “what’s wrong?” gothel demands, peering down at the baby anxiously.

she looks like any other baby gothel has seen. her face is squished oddly and her eyes are a watery blue. she has ten fingers and ten toes – gothel checked! – and she was crying when her father handed her over, but she’s quiet now.

“i can’t take this child,” caroline says.

the children crowded around them go deathly quiet. caroline never rejects a child – it’s why her house is towering and drooping, it’s why there are so many of them. just as gothel is a witch, caroline is a mother, and she takes her job very, very seriously.

“why not?” gothel asks. “she can’t go back to her parents. they’re too poor to feed her.”

“of course they are,” caroline says. the baby is twisting in her hands, making soft, discontented sounds. caroline pushes the baby into gothel’s arms, and she doesn’t want to take her, but she can’t just drop her either, so she tilts the baby against her chest and holds her there, hoping the sound of her heart will sooth her. she quiets instantly. “i suppose you gave the mother food from your garden?”

“she craved lettuce, so i let her have it. so what?” gothel asks.

caroline shakes her head, “you nourish that garden with your magic, and it’s full of it. you don’t notice when you eat it, because it is from you and simply returning to you. but this baby is also full of your magic now. you must raise her, because she’ll grow up with a power equal to yours, and you must teach her how to wield it. she’s your daughter now.”

“i don’t know how to be a mother!” she says, and tries not to let the panic leak into her voice. one of the many reasons she broke up with richard was that she had no interest in starting a family. she’s the most powerful witch of this land. she’s commanded the tide to change and fire to be born from ice. she shouldn’t be afraid of one little baby.

“a name is a good place to start,” caroline says, and gothel must not be hiding her panic very well, because caroline is clearly doing her best not to laugh at her. gothel would tell her little sister to mind her elders if her head wasn’t spinning.

she cups the back of the baby’s soft, warm head, and she’s going to have to find her something better than a too-thin pillowcase. she thinks of the lettuce the girl’s mother craved so desperately, the lettuce that got her into this mess to begin with, and says, “her name is rapunzel.”

~

gothel finds motherhood hard. rapunzel wants for nothing, is fed and cared for, wears silk and lace, and gothel even makes a sling to carry her across her chest when she figures out the only way to get her to stop crying is to place her against her heart. gothel grows to love her, but she can’t help but worry – if love were enough to raise a child, then she imagines most people wouldn’t have any trouble at all.

but it gets easier as rapunzel grows older. she’s spirited and curious, and loves visiting her aunt caroline and her dozens upon dozens of cousins. gothel will sit reading at home, and rapunzel will climb into her lap and snuggle against her chest, her eyes roaming over the words she can’t yet comprehend. “momma,” she says, pressing her hand against gothel’s, marveling as she always does at how much paler she is than her mother, “what were my first parents like?”

gothel pauses, and thinks. “your father wanted to make your mother happy, and your mother wanted you. they were poor, and they were good, but they could not care for a child.”

“oh,” she says, then looks up at her. gothel obligingly looks down to meet her daughter’s eyes, “i’m sure they were nice. but i’m glad i’m with you instead.”

tears swim in gothel’s eyes, and oh, maybe this right here is why caroline is always filling her home with children. “i’m glad too.”

~

there are places where gothel has a fearsome reputation as a cruel and heartless witch. then there are places where people know her as she is, an impatient, powerful woman who’s always willing to barter a bit of help in exchange for some freshly baked bread. one of these places is where she raises rapunzel, abandoning her castle and garden. she does not know what people would do the daughter of a feared witch. she does not want to find out.

for a while, all is well. rapunzel plays with the children in her village, and several mothers bring gothel warm bread and kind words, advice on how to raise a rambunctious little girl. “her hair’s getting a little long,” one of them says one evening when gothel shows up to pick rapunzel up from school.

it’s an understatement. her flaxen gold hair drags on the floor if gothel doesn’t braid it and pin it in a towering bun on top of her head. “it’s how she likes it,” she says. she’d tried getting rapunzel to cut it several times, but her daughter had summoned a thunderstorm last time gothel had brought it up, so she doesn’t mention it again.

like her hair, her magic grow. gothel trains her, and rapunzel grows into an exceptionally powerful witch. but controlling her powers is like trying to guide a waterfall through a funnel. gothel does not know where all this power came from – she does not think it could have come from her.

the big spells, she can do. the ones that are all power and very little control and finesse she’s mastered by the time she’s ten. but the little ones, the ones that require delicate touches and a soft application of magic, remain far beyond her reach.

gothel kisses her forehead and tells her not to worry – she’s a little girl still. perhaps control will simply come with time.

all is well.

until it is not.

rapunzel is thirteen when it happens.

it’s an accident. of course it’s an accident.

gothel is out of town, on one of the many errands and jobs she finds herself performing as one of the most powerful witches in the kingdom. she’s not there when it happens. if she’d been there, she may have been able to stop it.

rapunzel is at school, learning with the other kids as she’d begged to, even though she was far beyond them. it’s an accident. one of the kids knocks over a candle, and no one notices until the school is full of smoke, and the small flame seems to burst into an inferno within moments. the exits are blocked and children are crying, and the teacher is screaming, and all around them is fire.

rapunzel had wanted rain. she’d said the word for rain and thrown her hands into the sky, and used her magic to try and put out the fire, to save all her screaming and crying friends.

but rapunzel is too powerful. she called for rain, but a hurricane answers.

it puts out the fire, but it also tears the roof off the school house, and now the whole town is screaming. she tries to undo it, but can’t, undoing a spell is delicate work. so she does the only thing she can think of, and casts a sticking spell across all the people of the town.

the hurricane ravages and consumes everything in its path, except for the people. they’re spared, but their homes aren’t, their possessions, their livestock, all of it – torn apart and carried away by the hurricane.

gothel comes back to devastation. the hurricane has gone, but it has left destruction in its wake. the people are still stuck, and they cry out curses to gothel as she runs past them.

she finds her daughter collapsed on the ground and sobbing, just as stuck as everyone else, as her classmates and teacher scream at her, call her horrible names and accuse her of terrible things.

“stop!” gothel cries, standing in front of rapunzel. her daughter’s arms encircle her waist, and she presses her face into her back. “how could you say such things? she’s just a little girl!”

“she nearly killed us!” the teacher says, “she’s a monster! look at what she has done, we should have her head for it!”

gothel feels a great and terrible anger well up inside of her. she can’t believe she ever entrusted her daughter’s care to a woman who was so vile. “be mindful of who you’re speaking to,” she says, her dark eyes flashing a sickly green with the promise of her power. the teacher closes her mouth so fast that she nearly bites her tongue off, hunching her shoulders and lowering her gaze.

“momma,” rapunzel hiccups, digging her skull into the small of her back, “momma, please. please fix it.”

gothel doesn’t want to fix it. she wants to leave these people to waste away, stuck to the ground. she wants to call back the hurricane her daughter made and have it sweep these people away.

“if that’s what you want,” she says, forcing her voice to come out even. they can all see the anger in her face, and it’ll have to be enough.

she raises her hands, and opens her mouth. out pour words of power, more power than she’s used in a long time. houses and buildings rise from the ground, clothes and furniture and photos go sailing back to where they belong. by the time she’s finished chanting, it’s almost like nothing has happened.

“what of the animals?” the teacher asks, “we’ll starve without the cows and pig and sheep!”

“so starve,” gothel snarls. this is more magic than she’s done in a long time, and rapunzel holding her around the waist is one of the only things keeping her upright. she uses another word of power to undo her daughter’s sticking spell, and it’s harder than it should be. if rapunzel hadn’t wanted her to undo it, if the magic wasn’t so desperate to work with her, she doesn’t think she could have managed it.

she places her hands on top of rapunzel’s, and in the next moment they’re gone. she takes them far away, to a cottage in the middle of a dense forest. she hasn’t been there in a long time – it’s where she and caroline grew up. but it’s someplace no one will find them. gothel is too weak to fight anyone.

she stumbles and falls to her knees, head spinning. taking them away had drained the last of her magic, and it will take time to build it up again. “momma!” rapunzel cries, grabbing her by the shoulders. “momma, please, look at me!”

“i’m all right,” she slurs, raising a clumsy hand to cup her daughter’s cheek. “i just – just need to sleep. everything will be fine. we’re safe here.”

rapunzel is still crying, and gothel wants to do something about that, wants to dry her tears and sing her to sleep like she used to do when she was a baby she could carry against her heart. but her vision goes black, and she feels herself falling into rapunzel before she passes out.

it will have to wait.

~

gothel wakes up days later. it’s slow, but she blinks her eyes open. the shutters are open, and sunlight pours into the cottage. it’s sparkling and new, every surface cleaned and put away. she’s in a soft bed with clean sheets and blankets that smell of lavender. it seems like rapunzel has been busy.

“rapunzel?” she calls out, wincing as she gets to her feet. “rapunzel, are you here?”

her magic is still weak, a soft, fluttering thing beneath her breastbone, but her body has recovered, at least. she’s ravenous, and when she steps into the kitchen she sees a loaf of bread waiting for her on the counter. it’s not warm anymore, but it’s still soft. she uses magic to clean herself up, simple spells that twinge, but she can manage. it’ll take longer to build her magic back up if she doesn’t flex it, just a little.

she steps into the forest, absently tearing off pieces of bread to eat. her daughter is nowhere to be found, but there’s a clear path into the forest where someone walked through. no one disturbs these woods, so rapunzel’s trail is easy to follow if one knows where to look. gothel follows the footsteps, deeper and deeper into the woods. by the time she reaches the end, she’s eaten the whole loaf of bread. she feels better, more awake and stronger. but she’s terribly confused – she can’t think of why rapunzel would come this far into the forest.

her mouth drops open when she reaches the end of the trail. in what used to be a small field, now stands an impossibly tall stone tower still sparking with magic. “rapunzel!” she calls, frantic, “rapunzel! are you there?”

“momma!” her daughter’s head pokes out of the window near the top, and relief sweeps through her. “are you feeling better?”

“what’s the meaning of this?” she asks, “why have you made a tower?”

rapunzel hunches her shoulders, then says, “it’s a containment circle, momma.”

gothel’s eyes widen and she runs forward, pressing her hands against the stone. sure enough, it ripples with her daughter’s magic, made to keep all manner of things out. and to keep her in. “why?” she cries, “rapunzel, i can’t free you! my magic is still weak, why would you do this?”

“i don’t want you to free me,” she says. “i want to be here. as long as this spell holds, i won’t be able to hurt anyone again. once i have enough control of my magic to undo my spell, then i’ll have enough control to be let out.”

“what if you never have enough control?” gothel asks, heart pounding. it’s a fear she’s never said aloud before, something she’s been thinking of for the past year but didn’t want to say. rapunzel’s power is too great for any one person, it’s too much, and gothel doesn’t think that can be blamed on her lettuce so long ago. maybe the magic food rapunzel’s mother ate helped nudge it along, but this isn’t a power that can be given or stolen. it’s a power that was meant to be hers no matter what.

rapunzel’s face darkens. “then i’ll never leave this tower, and the world will be better off! i won’t hurt anyone, momma! i won’t!”

gothel wants to argue, wants to fight this, but she can’t. even at full strength, she won’t be able to tear this circle down, not if rapunzel doesn’t want her to. “so this is how it is now?” she asks, heart squeezing painfully in her chest, “you’re up there, and i’m down here?”

she frowns, then leans out the window. she pulls out the pins keeping her hair in place, and it tumbles out of its bun and falls down the side of tower. “grab onto my hair, and i’ll pull you up!”

“this is ridiculous,” gothel says wearily, but reaches up. she can just barely grab the end of rapunzel’s hair if she goes on her tip toes. but she keeps her grip, and sure enough, rapunzel pulls her up to the window.

gothel doesn’t like this. but she can’t change it, and the only thing to do is focus on rapunzel’s studies even more intently. mastering her magic is the only way rapunzel will ever leave this tower, because she is the only one powerful enough to undo her own spells.

~

years pass. rapunzel’s control goes, but so does her magic, something gothel would have said was impossible, but she’s wrong. as her power grows and strengthens, so does the circle of containment. a decade ago, when the spell was cast, gothel may been able to pull at its seams, to fray it around the edges if nothing else. but now? she wouldn’t be able to even scratch the surface.

rapunzel isn’t a little girl anymore, isn’t a rambunctious teenager. she’s a powerful, learned young woman. one who’s stuck in a trap of her own design.

“i could travel,” gothel says, “go to other lands, see if there are any sorceresses or wizards who could free you.”

she doesn’t look up from her book, “i will gain the control to free myself, or i will stay in this tower forever.”

gothel scowls, “you shouldn’t be stuck here! you should be – doing things! not wasting away in this tower!”

“i’m hardly wasting away,” rapunzel says idly. “i live better than many princesses who spend their lives stuck in towers, since those prisons aren’t of their own design.”

“shackles you put on yourself are just as heavy,” she insists, crossing her arms.

rapuzel bites her bottom lip to keep from laughing, “yes, momma. so you’ve said.”

“perhaps i could get a dragon to tear your tower down,” gothel muses.

rapunzel finally looks away from her book, laughing. “momma. do not worry. i’m getting better every day. one day i’ll be able to unweave the circle i cast, one day i’ll have enough control over my magic that i won’t have to worry about hurting anyone, and all will be well.”

“i suppose,” gothel says reluctantly. “perhaps i’ll go and ask around, just in case? perhaps there is something we’re missing, some method that would make control easier for you.”

“you can go if you like,” she says, “i’m the one trapped in this tower after all, not you.”

she sighs and wrings her hands, “i don’t like leaving you alone.”

“i’ll be fine!” her daughter insists. “don’t worry about me. if it will make you feel better, you should go. besides, even if you don’t find anything to help me, you might at least find something interesting.”

gothel paces, and thinks about it for a few more days, growing more distracted by the minute. she decides to go. she hasn’t left the confines of the kingdom since rapunzel was born, and she’s long known that she’s the most powerful magic user in the kingdom, besides rapunzel.

if she wants to find something new, she’ll have to go outside these walls.

she leaves at dawn the next day. rapunzel spends several minutes unpinning and untwisting her hair so it falls out the window, landing on the ground with a soft thump. “be careful, momma!”

gothel kisses her on the forehead and looks around one last time to make sure she’s not forgetting anything, then she climbs down rapunzel’s hair and out of the tower.

~

there was a time when gothel travelled among the kingdoms frequently, providing aid and solidifying alliances in the name of her king. she still writes, and sends potions and powders, but it’s been twenty three years since she did that. still, she has friends in high places, and she goes to them.

they greet her with open arms. she does as she did before, providing her magic and her knowledge to the thorniest of their problems. once those are solved, she tells them of her own troubles, and asks for their advice.

but they have none to give. no one has ever heard of a being as powerful as she describes rapunzel to be, and no one can think of how to help her.

when she’s exhausted all her other options, visited every other country and king and favored lord, she resigns herself to the inevitable. she must go east, to her least favorite country, her least favorite king, her least favorite wizard.

she takes a single step onto the land, and a chill goes up her spine. the magical energy of this country is like oil, and it leaves a feeling like a dirty film over her skin. she doesn’t like it, she wants to turn around and leave at once. but no one else has been able to help her, and she doesn’t want her daughter to be trapped in the tower forever.

the king has changed, as kings in this land often do, and gothel pays him no mind. but the royal sorcerer is the same as he always is. “my dear,” he says, eyes and voice like the oil of his magic, “what brings you so far from home? i haven’t seen you in – decades.”

“you’ve certainly aged,” she allows, her lip curling up a half snarl against her will. he did always resent her grasp on time magic, fearful she would leave him for a younger looking man as the time passed.

she’d left him for a multitude of reasons. his appearance was not among them.

“so sharp tongued, my darling,” richard chides, “especially since the rumors are you that you come asking for favors.”

“not favors,” she corrects, “just knowledge. if you have any to offer.”

“have dinner with me tonight, and perhaps i will,” he says.

she was in love with him once, but now the sight of him makes her skin crawl. this isn’t about her, though, or for her – it’s for her daughter. she can stand having dinner with the man for her daughter’s sake. “fine.”

“wonderful!” he smiles.

her stomach feels like lead, but there’s nothing for it. he’s her last hope.

~

the dining room is opulent, the food is served on golden plates and the wine poured into silver goblets. she wears her traveling dress and doesn’t bother to wash the mud from the hem.

“tell me of your troubles, darling,” he says, holding her chair out of her. she wants to set his fussy silk cloak on fire.

she sits, pointedly placing her hands in her lap, refusing to pick up her fork. she almost wants to refuse to talk, but that defeats the purpose of her coming here entirely. so she tells him, of rapunzel, of her power, of the containment circle she cast as a teenager that holds stronger than ever ten years later.

she almost reaches for her food and drink a dozen times, but always pulls her hand back at the last moment. richard rolls his eyes and leans over, quickly spearing a bite of each of the courses off her plate and popping it in his mouth. he then picks up her goblet and washes it down with a mouthful of wine. “satisfied?” he asks, holding the goblet out to her.

there’s a moment when she considers taking the goblet and splashing the remaining wine in his face. but she restrains herself. “by you? almost never, if my memory serves correctly.”

he lets out a bark of laughter that sounds so genuine that for a split second she remembers why she fell in love with him. it relaxes her enough that she picks up her fork and starts eating.

“your girl sounds like a tricky problem,” he says, “if she hasn’t mastered her powers by now, it’s unlikely she ever will. have you tried the old fashioned way of breaking too powerful magic?”

“true love’s kiss?” she scoffs. “and how shall i arrange that? just start kidnapping eligible young men of good character and dropping them off in my daughter’s room?”

“there are worse ways to meet a young lady,” he says, “one could be wandering alone through a forest, for example, minding their own business, and get clubbed over the head.”

she wants to retort that he’d done it to himself, that of course she’d attacked him when he’d been skulking around like that. but her head feels heavy and stuffed with cotton, and the edges of her vision are starting to fade. “you did put something in the food,” she accuses, words coming out slurred.

“don’t be silly, gothel,” he dabs delicately at the corners of his mouth, “i coated your silverware with a sleeping agent and magical suppressant.”

she tries to stand, but her legs won’t support her, and she’d fall crashing to the ground if it wasn’t for richard’s magic catching her and holding her upright. “i’ll kill you,” she snarls, trying to force her eyes to stay open and failing miserably.

“must you always say such hurtful things, my love? i let you get away from me once. i won’t be so foolish as to do so again.”

~

when gothel wakes, she’s in a bedroom. the fact that it’s far too neat to be richard’s bedroom is a small comfort, considering she can’t access any of her magic, and is as good as chained here.  

he can’t keep her drugged forever. she’ll get her powers back, and when she does, she’ll make it so he can never hurt her or anyone else again.

she’s only just struggled to her knees when there’s a thunderous boom that echoes throughout the castle. there’s a high pitched whistling sound in the air, like a rough wind through bare trees, like a – hurricane.

gothel is on her feet in the next instant. the door is locked, so she pries the pins from the hinges and opens it the other way, running through the castle. she simply goes in the opposite direction as everyone else, pushing soldiers and nobles aside in her rush to get outside.

when she finally pushes though the open door, it’s to what looks like the end of world. fire and water swirl in the air, trees are ripped from their roots, and the air fluctuates from too cold to breathe to swelteringly hot. richard is there, ember-red magic gathering in his hands.

across from him is rapunzel.

her hair is in a thick braid that billows out behind her, and her eyes glow with power. gothel has never felt more helpless and small than she does right now. her daughter is facing off against her ex-lover, and there’s nothing she can do about it, not a single thing she can do to help. she has no magic, and all she can do is cling to door’s edge and watch.

richard is a powerful wizard. he’s almost as old as she is, and he delved deeply into the darker arts that she’d always pushed aside, the ones she’d refused to learn out of principal, no matter how enticing they’d seemed.

but he’s no match for rapunzel.

her power pours out of her like an overflowing well, spilling across the oily, cracked land and leaving it cleansed and whole in her wake. she takes even, measured steps, slowly closing the distance between them. richard seems as if he’s throwing every dark spell he knows at her, but they all fizzle out and dissipate by the time they reach her. he tries to drive fire through her hurricane, but it’s suffocated the second it leaves his hands.

he runs, but there’s nowhere to run to, no place to go that isn’t in rapunzel’s control. she doesn’t move, but her magic stretches between them, lifting him into the air by his throat and leaving him there dangling, legs kicking out uselessly as he struggles to breath.

“where’s momma?” rapunzel demands, her voice low and cruel and like nothing gothel has ever heard from her before. “what did you do to her?”

richard tries to answer but can’t, no air left in his lungs for him to form words.

gothel picks up her skirts and goes running, fear making her reckless. her daughter is a kind girl, a sensitive girl. she locked herself in a tower for ten years because she was afraid she’d hurt someone. if she allows her anger to cloud her now, to suffocate a man’s life, she’ll never forgive herself. “rapunzel! rapunzel, stop! don’t do it!”

“momma?” she turns, and when she sees gothel she releases her grip on richard, leaving him to fall painfully to the ground and gasp in greedy breaths. all that cruelty leaves instantly, and tears well in her daughter’s eyes. “momma!”

rapunzel meets her half way, strong arms encircling her waist and holding her painfully tight. her shoulders are heaving, wracked with sobs, and gothel rubs soothing circles into her back as she keeps a careful eye on richard. he’s still on his knees, unable to stop coughing. she’d wanted to kill him, to make it so he could never again ruin her life, to teach him a lesson. but her daughter is crying in her arms, and some things are more important than revenge. “honey, let’s go home, take us home.”

“i was so scared!” she says, “i can always feel your magic, always, no matter how far away you are, but then i couldn’t, and i though – i thought–”

“it’s all right,” gothel says, mind whirling with this new information. she can sense rapunzel if she’s close, maybe up to a mile, but for her daughter to feel her even across countries is – amazing. “everything’s all right now, i’m fine, we’re both fine. take us home, rapunzel.”

her daughter nods, and gothel could never transport herself so far, never mind another person. but rapunzel isn’t her, has a wealth of power at her command that gothel never will, and in the next moment they’re back in their woods. the tower has fallen, nothing more than rubble and smoke, a ring of black where her containment spell used to be.

“so you didn’t undo the spell, then,” gothel says, dry. “tearing your own spell apart is dangerous. if you had failed, and it rebounded, you wouldn’t have been able to get away. it would have killed you.” her daughter in her arms is proof that it didn’t, which is all that allows her to keep a firm hold on her temper.

she pulls away, eyes red, face splotchy and wet. “i was scared! i couldn’t feel you, i didn’t know where you were, or if – if you were even alive!”

gothel uses the edge of her sleeve to clean the tears from rapunzel’s face. “i know. i suppose some good came of it – at least you’re not trapped in that tower anymore.”

“i should recast it,” she says, looking toward the blackened stone. “i still can’t control my powers, if anything this is just further proof that i should be locked up-”

“no,” gothel interrupts, tone hard, and rapunzel’s eyes widen. “no more towers, no more circles. maybe you’ll never gain complete control of your powers. maybe you’ll never be the perfect witch. i don’t care. you’re already my perfect daughter, and that’s all that matters.” she cups rapunzel’s face in her hands, “no more hiding in towers trying to make yourself into the perfect version of yourself.”

“but what if i mess up?” she whispers, “what if i break something, or hurt someone, or ruin everything?”

“then we’ll fix it,” gothel says confidently. “women aren’t meant to be locked away in towers just because they’re dangerous. everyone’s dangerous in the right circumstances. you’ve never known more than one village, than this one tower. once my power returns, we’ll just – go. there’s a whole world out there, and it’s time that you got to see it.”  

she bites her lip, and turns her back to what remains of her tower. “and you’ll be there? to see it with me? to help me fix the things i break?”

“for as long as you need me,” she promises. “that’s what mothers are for.”

rapunzel beams and locks arms with her, pulling her away to the well worn trail out of the woods.

gothel glances behind her, looking at this place for the last time.

then she takes a step forward, her daughter at her side.

it’s the beginning of a whole new story, one that has nothing to do with being locked away.

read more of my retold fairytales here 

[trdwriting]

The Many Exes of Wilbur Robinson: Chapter 1- Tim Anderson

Portals: FF.net | Ao3

Summary: Wilbur Robinson may think he has everything under control, but his rocky love life may be an exception. Who does he date and how do things go wrong? Well, that’s an excellent question.

Story Rating: M (technically MA)/E/R. Story Content Warning: strong cursing, mentions of drugs and alcohol use, sex scenes (both implied and explicit), instances of underage sex (under 18, but not before 16), toxic relationship.

Chapter Rating: G/K. Chapter Content Warnings: None.

A/N: Hello, everyone! This project was born out of a desire to explore Wilbur’s romantic experiences as he moves from his teenage years to his adulthood. Each chapter of this fic will be focused on a different person he has dated. Because there are no characters Wilbur’s age or viable love interests from the movie that I can explore, all of Wilbur’s relationships will feature an OC. I know there are crossover characters that Wilbur has been paired up with (Violet Parr, for example), but since this fic is taking place within the Meet the Robinsons universe, I will not be exploring those crossover pairings. (There may be some OCs that draw inspiration from these pairings, though, Hint hint.) I aim to keep Wilbur and his family at the center of the fic, so that my OCs don’t become overwhelming or take away from things. I hope they come off as normal people.

Currently, this fic is rated G, but I am planning to increase that rating as the series progresses. I plan for the rating to jump to an E by the time the end comes around. In each chapter, I will note any trigger/content warnings that may apply.

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy the first chapter.

Wilbur walked through the halls towards the buses, weaving in between his classmates. Normally on Wednesdays, he would have run straight to Comic Book Club, but Lazlo was unveiling his newest art installation. Wilbur was obligated to attend. Just as he turned a corner, someone called out to him: “Wilbur!”

He stopped and turned around. Tim Anderson, a boy in Ms. Kroman’s class that he had talked to a total of one time, ran up to him. “Uh, hi.” He said softly.

Wilbur studied Tim. He was fiddling with the loose straps of his backpack and looking all around the emptying hallway like he was afraid someone would stop and tackle him. “Hi. What is it?”

Tim finally met his eyes for a second. “Are-aren’t you going to Comic Book Club today?” he asked.

“No. My cousin Lazlo has an art thingy that he’s doing. My folks want me to see it. I don’t want to go, but I gotta support my family, you know?”

Tim nodded. He rocked from heel to toe, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. “Oh, gotcha. Well, uh…”

Wilbur put his hands in his pockets, not sure how to respond. While he waited for Tim to say something, he looked at one of the bulletin boards next to a nearby classroom with the title “All About Fossils” spelled out in big shiny blue letters. He was just about to read one of the holosheets underneath about how the preservation process worked, when something soft, warm, and slightly wet briefly touched his lips. Wilbur froze, eyes glued to an image of a trilobite. By the time Wilbur blinked, the sensation was gone and Tim was booking it down the hallway.  Wilbur knew he should do something: call out to Tim, run after him, demand to know what just happened. Instead, he stood alone in the hallway, his mind still fighting to make sense of what had passed between them.

On the bus ride home, he was lost in his thoughts. Had he…been kissed? Wilbur dismissed the idea immediately. Surely, there was some other explanation. Maybe Tim just brushed his face in a weird way. That had to be it. It was an odd thing to do while you are having a conversation, but then again Wilbur had been distracted. Maybe he was just trying to get his attention! None of this explained the wetness he had felt. He turned the event over and over in his head while he ate dinner. He was pulled away from his homework every now and then, thinking about what happened. To the surprise of his mother, he barely put up a fight when she fixed his hair and straightened his tie as the family prepared for the gala. He wasn’t very talkative during the ride to the gallery and he couldn’t have told you anything about Lazlo’s new pieces. All that existed in his brain was Tim Anderson, a cartoon trilobite and a wet something on his lips. During his ride home, he pulled out his tablet, debating whether to text his friends about it. He tried George Yagoobian, his best friend, but he was inactive. He sent Angela a quick text as her icon indicated she was available, but she never respond quickly, so Wilbur didn’t hold his breath.

Eventually, he closed out of the messaging app and slouched in his seat. Tim Anderson is cute at least. he thought absently. Maybe not super cute, but cute enough. Maybe this wasn’t that bad. Sure it wasn’t ideal and he really wished he could’ve saved his first kiss for someone special. Not that he cared about first kisses that much. Just Tim hadn’t been on his top ten list of people he might’ve been kissing. Yeah. This didn’t bother him at all.

Later that night, before he fell asleep, his mother knocked on the door and came in. She didn’t tell him why she was there, but he knew immediately. Franny sat down on the edge of his bed, looking at him. “Are you ready to tell me what’s been eating you?  You’ve been quiet all evening. And I normally get an eyeroll out of you when I tell you to put on a tie.”

Wilbur shoved his stuffed bear under the covers and gripped at his Captain Time Travel-themed bedspread instead. “Someone kissed me?” Wilbur felt his cheeks reddening as the word came out of him.

Franny’s lips twitch a bit upward. “Oh really? What kind of kiss? Was it a pretty young girl? Or a handsome young boy?” She had a full smile on now, though it was probably more of a smirk.

“B-boy and it was uh, on the lips? But I didn’t kiss him, really, he kissed me first.” The last sentence rushed out of him. Wilbur didn’t need his mother getting the wrong idea.

“Uh-huh.” She narrowed her eyes and leaned in a bit closer. “Was it George?”

Everything internally within Wilbur grinded to a halt. “WHAT? Ew, no! Moommmm! George and I are just bros. He’d never kiss me.” He couldn’t even believe his mother was suggesting something as ridiculous as that.

Franny laughed. “Oh, honey! I was just joking.” She stopped laughing and continued. “Who was it?”

“Tim Anderson.”

“Hmmm…Tim Anderson.” Franny tapped her chin. “Do I know him?”

“No.” Thank goodness, he thought. He could imagine the scene now: his mother calling up the Andersons to ask innocent questions, peering into their house from the bushes with binoculars….

“I guess you didn’t like being kissed by this mysterious Tim Anderson?”

“No…He’s not really my type.”

“I didn’t know you had a type.”

“Mom, I just don’t like him that way, okay?”

Franny laughed again, but gentler this time. “Okay, baby. I believe you.” She leaned in to place a kiss on his forehead. “Did you tell him you didn’t like the kiss?”

Wilbur chewed at the inside of his lip. “No. He kinda…left before I could say anything.”

“Well, you should tell him. You don’t want him thinking that it was okay for him to kiss you if you didn’t want to be kissed.”

Wilbur just nodded. He thought about tomorrow during recess, about Sharon talking to her friends and those friends talking about them in whispers. He thought about bullies teasing Tim on the playground. He knew he had to tell Tim before that happened. “I think he has a crush on me. I don’t wanna hurt his feelings.”

Franny pat one of his legs. “Having your crush reject you is never fun and it isn’t easy when you have to be the one to do it, but it’s also not fair to either of you if you aren’t honest.”

For a moment, there was a silence as Wilbur let everything sink in. His mother moved to get up and say goodnight when Wilbur said. “Mom?”

“Yes, Wilbur?”

“Do you think...Is it weird that my first kiss was like this? I mean, it wasn’t really you know, romantic or anything…”

Even with her face partially in shadow, he could still see her smile. “Of course not. My first kiss was with a frog, so I think I have you beat.”

Wilbur huffed. “You’re lying.”

Franny winked at him. “If you say so. Now, get some sleep. Good night.”

“Night.”

His mother turned off the lights as she left, leaving Wilbur to contemplate kisses in the darkness.

 Wilbur found Tim at recess. He was sitting with Jay playing with action figures amongst the fallen leaves. Wilbur stood at the other end of the playground, pacing back and forth.  As soon as he arrived at school, the rumor mill churned away. People came up to him, accusing him of kissing a total of ten different people.  He was thankful that the rumors had not just involved Tim. Even George had asked him about the situation, having heard about it from Sharon (of course, who else would be telling people things to literally everyone!) Since Tim wasn’t in the same class as him, Wilbur needed to talk during recess, the only time the whole fifth grade was in one place. Not only were there other people around, but the rumor mill wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

“You know, recess is gonna be over soon.” Wilbur jolted, turning around to see George standing nearby, a kickball tucked under his arm. His messy chestnut hair was partially in his face and Wilbur had to bite back a laugh at how George looked, peering through his own bangs.

“Yeah….I just…I don’t want to do this. What if I say something wrong? What if I accidentally say yes? What if he kisses me again? What if I fart randomly while I’m talking? What if-?”

             A hand grasped Wilbur’s forearm firmly. “Wilbur….just tell him the truth.” George said, squeezing his arm. “I promise that the world won’t blow up. I’ll be at the hoops if you need me.”

             He knew George was right. Why was George right so often? “Okay…Okay I’ll go.” He gave his best friend a quick smile, before sucking in a deep breath and walking over to Tim. Eyes were on him, but he ignored it.

“Hey, uh? Tim?”

Tim shot up to his feet almost immediately, his action figures abandoned on the ground, leaves scattering around him. “W-Wilbur!” he said, “H-Hi!” Tim was practically shaking as he stood there and Wilbur knew it wasn’t from the cold. “U-um. Look, I-I’m sorry. About the uh…” He glanced at Jay, who nodded a bit at him. “About the kiss. I-“

“It’s fine, Tim. It’s no big deal.” A blush grew on his cheeks, which he hoped Tim would think was just from the brisk weather.

“No. You…It was dumb and…well…” Tim’s voice cracked.

“You…you have a crush on me?”

A strong gust of autumnal wind blew through them before Tim whimpered out a yes. His face was tomato-red.

Wilbur inhaled deeply through his nose. He could do this. Be honest, Wilbur. “So, Tim. I…I can’t date you?”

Wilbur swore he could see life literally drain from Tim. He instantly wanted to take it back. “Oh. That’s fine. I get it.” He heaved a sigh. “It’s not like you’d feel the same way.”

He let out an awkward laugh. “Well, hey. You never know! I’m sure someone else likes you. Maybe someone who’s even better than me.”

 “Yeah. Maybe.” Tim sat back down on the ground, turning away from Wilbur.  He knew he should leave, but Wilbur felt like somehow winter had come early and froze him to where he was.

 “…I’m really sorry, Tim.”

Jay wrinkled his pudgy nose up at Wilbur. “Get out of here, Robinson! Leave us alone.”

Wilbur finally got his muscles working after that. He walked as confidently over to the basketball hoops, where George was busy attempting to make a three-point shot. George caught the ball on a rebound,  tucked the ball under his arm again when he noticed “How’d it go?” 

“Welp. I’m pretty sure Tim and Jay hate my guts. And everything else for that matter.” He knew that he had to say what he did and be honest with Tim, but he still felt guilt making a home for itself in his stomach.  He kicked at a stray pebble on the ground.

George put a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, giving him a soft smile. “Yeah. It sucks, but I think it would’ve been a whole lot worse if you dated him.” Wilbur somehow caught his ridiculously contagious smile despite himself.

“You’re right. Thanks.” He might have made two enemies today, but he still had a best friend.

“Y’know, I think there’s a saying that you may or may not have heard before, Wilbur. I think it would work perfectly for the situation.”

“Let me take a wild guess. Keep moving forward?” Wilbur crossed his arms.

“Actually, it was ‘It could’ve been worse’, but close enough.”

Wilbur laughed and George pulled him into a game of HORSE until the recess bell rang.  For the time being, Wilbur didn’t worry himself with first kisses.

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And there’s the first chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it! I have decided for this project to include songs that I think match the feeling of the chapter, especially the ones I listened to while working. Unfortunately, there isn’t really a song that I knew that matches this chapter’s mood, so I decided to go with a song I thought fit the general feeling of this project.

The first one is Crushcrushcrush by Paramore. I think this song may be a little more edgy for the kind of situation going on in this chapter, but there are still discussions of a secret crush, so…it works? Mostly, I just think Paramore is a great band and their songs have aged incredibly well. Please enjoy.

The second video is a groovy song, Hit the Road Jack by Ray Charles. Since this story is about break-ups, I figured I’d put up a generic song about it. Also, I felt it was appropriate since jazz is a music genre that Wilbur probably listens to a lot, considering Franny’s work.

I have accounts on AO3 and Fanfiction.net. Want to request a fanfic? Send me an ask or PM!

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

I saw:

Raw- It’s a familiar tale in a way. A quiet, extremely studious, virginal, “good girl” arrives at school where here wild child older sister pushes her to try to fit in among the cruel peer pressure cooker surroundings. Brutal hazing leads her to do something she does not want to do, and has never done before, which leads to a downward spiral and dire consequences. The thing here is it isn’t sex, drugs, or alcohol that triggers her change but....meat.

See, her family have always been vegetarians. Her sister had until she started school, but now she gleefully partakes. Now our heroine’s first taste causes a reaction that builds. A hunger for flesh, the more raw the better, overwhelms her until one day it goes beyond the meat from a grocery store. In an accident her sister cuts off a finger and, instead of saving it to be reattached, our girl eats it. The sister isn’t too shocked by being stuck without a finger for life. See, she’s got the cannibalism bug too, and she has decided to embrace it. How far will the sisters go in indulging the hunger unleashed in them?

The film takes cannibalisim and uses it to comment on growing up, both in the obvious off to college way but also with the connection to family.  I’m not sure that the hazing aspect isn’t more horrifying than the flesh eating, but that’s because my own anxieties are based of social interactions with bullies and not a fear of being eaten/eating people. Still, an excellent little film, a sort of cousin to Ginger Snaps in using horror to deal with the adolescent female experience. 

Black Death- In the 1300s the plague ravages the land, but a young monk has a personal problem. He sends his secret lover to hide in a forest, but is then torn whether to join her or stay true to his vows. When Sean Bean rides up to the monastery needing a guide in the direction of his beloved he takes it as a sign. Well, anyone would take Sean Bean riding up as a sign! He discovers that the bishop has sent the group of men he joined to go to a remote village that has not been sickened and so is believed to be involved with demonic forces. They are to uses barbaric forces to take out the leader and get conversions. Funny about that. The vilagers are pagans and just as devote to their religion, and just as willing to use violence. The young monk had discovers his girlfriend had been killed by bandits in the woods, but the village priestess seems to have the ability to raise the dead. Which side will he turn to with he is offered his love returned? 

This is not a movie about magic but the horrors of humanity, filmed to try to keep a sense of dirty reality.  If anything the pagans have a hint of moral high ground by having simply been keeping to themselves until the christians, out to destroy them, kept arriving. It’s a slim advantage though, because both groups are equally willing to be unmercifully cruel for their faith. For me this is far more chilling than anything that goes bump in the night. Humans have always been the source of my terrors, and fundamentalists of all sorts in particular.

(I went on a bit about my anxiety on the subject, but since it’s about my being an agnostic in the fundamentalist christian bible belt I’m making it so you have to click. I tried not to talk about some of the more upsetting things, but it still ended up a lot of venting. LOL    It is NOT about the movie!!!!!!!!)

Alright, to be honest, because I have lived surrounded by them here in the bible belt, christian fundamentalists scare me the most. Sure, many of my family are christians and all the friends I had were christian. I know them, and have first hand experience with how quickly they can turn on you. Not all of them of course! But enough.

See, in first grade I became an agnostic. The exact train of thought at that age I won’t go into here. But yes, yes, go ahead and be disgusted. I joke it’s the one thing every religion and atheists agree on: they believe agnostics are wishy-washy. Nah, it’s about not thinking the unknown is anything other than the unknown. It’s embracing doubt and uncertainty as rational. Basically it’s “can’t prove it? Then I can’t claim certainty”

The point is, also in first grade my teacher would have us recite a prayer before going to lunch. She was NOT supposed to, but it is very likely I was the first non-christian she’s taught and I was not talkinging about my views. Heck, I didn’t have the terminology yet! All I did was simply remain silent while the prayer was said, what with having a lifelong dedication to NEVER say things I do not believe. My silence was noted by the meanest boy in the class, who actually happened to be a preacher’s son. He started shouting how I wasn’t praying. Obviously the teacher couldn’t punish me since she wasn’t supposedto be doing it to begin with. For days afterwards everyone shunned me. This would not be the last time.

Actually the shunning would become almost an annual occurance. In between everyone would seem to forget. I think it was simply I didn’t fit their ideas of atheists (the catagory I was lumped into, which is fine. It’s closer than any actual religion). I was quiet and friendly. I never got into any trouble, never sweared in public, was famously honest (heck, I paid back a kid that had loaned me a dime even though he was out of school for more than six months after an accident). I always tried to help people, including many of them with school work. An atheist (agnostic) was evil, but I wasn’t evil, so they had to reject the label. But something would come up, like my not saying the “under god” part of the pledge of allegience. And there would be the shunning.

Well, one time I did out myself. In high school a couple of girls were talking about non-believers. Apparently we were all devil worshippers pretending to be nice to seduce christians into evil. I turned around and asked if that’s what they thought I was and they were stunned. They had forgotten!!! They actuallylooked embarressed and hurriedly asked for a bathroom pass. One guy did say “Just ignore them.” and it meant the world to me. A bit of kindness from an unexpected corner when most just stared at me in confusion  and horror.

Christianity is REALLY big here. I had a junior high teacher, a born again christan, who talked about seeing witches. Witches, satianist, demon possession seemed to start to be believed in seriously in the 1980s. I am not sure how it happened, how it got to the point where a Star of David spray painted by some kid on a street sign could be seen as proof of local satanists, but I argued about just that with a freaked out lady myself.

In the 1970s and early 1980s the school Halloween Carnival was about the bigget event of the year and all the kids went trick or treating, but as the 1980s wore of the local churches got very active in insisting the holiday was satanic and evil. Heck, every October we will get at least one lecture from the person checking us out in stores about Halloween being the devil’s holiday. They tried to relabel the Halloween Carnival as a Harvest Festival to get the churches to stop deliberately doing counter events to keep people away from “sin”. One year a rumor started that satanists were going to kidnap a child to sacrifice, so Halloween was cancelled! Really, Halloween barely exists in this town any more.

I dunno. I could go on about the local views on religion. The point is, I know seemingly perfectly nice people that can turn on you out of fears and religious devotion. They half expect the devil to be mucking about in every shadow and those of us that don’t share their faith are subject to suspicions and misunderstanding. Considering the fact that before I was born  my family got shot at  and death threats, for being “yankees”, having black friends, and the (untrue, but whatever) rumor they were jewish, I never can feel comfortable with being reminded of how they really feel about non-believers.

Truth is, I expect if they ever started a witch hunt around here I’d be top of the list. First to the gallows......