#oh the countess we’re really in it now……

[mossytrashcan]

this october I’ve decided to celebrate her and her only

[anyarose011]

Bah, Humbug! {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Realizing you are stuck over winter break in the school your father (with many nicknames such as: Rat Bastard, Colossal Asshole, or the most popular, Walleye) teaches at, you try to make the best of it. Or, at least the best you can make it with five other boys your age

Part 1 of 10 (Masterlist)

Warnings: Swearing, period typical sexism, feminism (abandon all hope ye who enter if this has to be a warning), sarcastic reader, Teddy Kountze, and casual racism (a subsection to Teddy Kountze)

You've heard of "Paul Hunham being a father figure" now I present to you: "Paul Hunham being a girl-dad and an academic rivals to lovers with Angus Tully". I became obsessed with this movie, and decide to add my own spin onto it. It's also my first time writing for Tumblr, so I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4.8k

“You said we were going to Copenhagen this year.”

The first nine words you said to your father after he told you about the predicament the both of you were in.  He sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“I know.” You haven’t heard him trying to be this understanding since…you couldn’t recall. “I don’t want to be stuck here just as much as you-.”

“-So then just say no.”

He scoffed, yet still smiled. “It’s a stupid lottery, and my name got picked.”

“Bullshit-.”

“-Hey.” He warned.

Sighing, you glanced out your window. Thin specks of snow were falling onto the already pure as white ground, cascading down the roofs of houses. At least it was snowing and would resemble somewhat of a nice Christmas.

“Can we at least do something fun?” You questioned.

“I thought you said men don’t deserve to have fun the same way they think women don’t deserve rights?”

“Do the boys you teach think the same?” You looked at him.

He shrugged. “Not really in my field of work to get to know them.”

“Wonderful.” You rolled your eyes.

Your father squeezed your shoulder. “Yes, we can have little activities that children your age would consider fun. Still, I vow to enhance their intellect and schoolwork, considering that most of them are…lackluster.”

“Does this mean that I’ll get to drag their asses in mythology trivia?”

“In colloquial terms, yes.”

That brought a smile to your face, and you got up from your bed. “I think I’ll make dinner tonight if that’s alright?” You didn’t wait for him to answer as you left the room. “Maybe pie? I know Mary taught me-.”

“-Woah, woah, woah.” He followed you out into the hallway, stopping you. “We’re not eating here.”

You blinked, the only sound forming from your throat being. “Huh?”

He sighed as if going to tell you the worst news in the world (at the time, oh boy, was it). “They’re cutting the power to the faculty housing, so we’re going to be living at the school over winter break.”

Your face drops along with your heart, shock settling in. “Say that again?”

“We’re going to be living at the school-.”

“-No I heard you.”

“Then why did you ask me to repeat myself?”

“You’re telling me,” you bring on the drama, raising your voice. “I have to lodge with teenage boys?! The cursed sex?!”

He sighed. “You won’t be sleeping in the same room as them-.”

“-I can’t even look at you right now.” You pushed past him, going back into your room and tossing yourself onto your bed.

“Countess Natalya,” he taunts tiredly, knowing you hope your melodramatic attitude would wear him down. “we don’t have a choice.”

You point at him, not bringing your face up from your pillow. “Don’t you dare bring Natasha into this, she would react the same way!”

He laughed. “You get your stubbornness from your mother.”

“I get it from my father!” That’s what made you turn and bring your head up.

There’s a silence with tenseness lacing it like icing on a cake. Paul Hunham’s sigh of frustration broke it, approaching you. “Whether we like it or not, we’re stuck here. Whether we like it or not, we’re going to have to endure the attitude of pubescent boys who, I guarantee you, even when their frontal lobes form at twenty-five, will still be inconsiderate, full of themselves, and not know what true hard work is…We don’t get to do things we want all the time, that’s the reality of the situation.”

You still wore the same, spiteful look on your face as he told you this; as if you were a little girl being told, no, you can’t stay up until midnight tonight. Then, once he was finished, the look subsided only a little.

“I hate you.” Was your reply.

He ruffled your hair. “You’re the light of my life too, Jo March.” With that, he stood up with a pleasant smile. “But no worries, I don’t expect you to deal with the inadequacy of the male testosterone.” He then left the room, and you could hear his voice echo. “Now pack your things; clothes, toiletries, your books above everything, I know.”

He still continued to ramble, but in all honestly, it wasn’t important enough to this day for you to remember. All that was going through your head, was that you were going to spend almost a month in a musty, falling apart, preparatory school, with who knew how many musty teenage boys.

It was then you started planning how exactly you’d fly to Copenhagen by yourself.

That only lasted for about two minutes when you realized that your father had your passport locked in a safe with his, and you weren’t really in the mood to lockpick that day (or learn how to for that matter). So instead, you spent the majority of the time packing your suitcase, and your father was right; your books were the most important ones you’d pack.

You didn’t initially plan on socializing with the boys, so you nearly brought your entire library of books to entertain yourself; the only thing stopping you from bringing all of it was, besides your father, the copious amounts of clothing. You didn’t quite like planning out what outfit you’d wear for each day, so it was better to be safe and bring choices.

Your father had gone ahead of you to help the Boys Left Behind (a title you wouldn’t tell anyone for a few years), settle in. Settle in being him being your father and setting the ground rules whilst running that school like the damn Navy. So, there you were, walking through the ankle-deep snow with your backpack and suitcase that was meant for Copenhagen.

The school only had a few buildings; two dormitories for the boys, a small shack for the maintenance, the chapel, and one large building consisting of all the classrooms, dining hall, infirmary, and whatever else was needed for a rich, all American boy education system.

Perhaps you’d gotten a taste of what the American Revolutionists felt at Valley Forge when you heard a voice call.

“Hey!”

You looked up from where you stood and saw five boys near the courtyard by a pickup truck. Your blood, if not already freezing from the winter snow, ran cold at the sight. The same boy yelled again.

“Do you need help, are you lost?”

You shook your head, pitching our voice up a bit higher and shouting back.

“No, thank you!”

Trying to continue on your way, you looked up again to see one of them running towards you. Cursing to yourself, you tried to keep your head low and pick up the pace, but you got to see him one he was closer to you. His face was boyish, and you first thought he was a sophomore at first. His hair to his shoulders, something you didn’t expect to see for someone attending such a prestigious school. And…damn it all, he was attractive (for a boy your age).

“Hi,” he greeted you warmly with his hand out. “Jason Smith.”

You looked at it for a moment (still a bit blindsided how someone at this school could be so genuine) before shaking and giving him your name. He shook his head, chuckling as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket.

“You’re Hunham’s daughter?”

Oh…perhaps you shouldn’t have told him that. Still, you tried to let it roll off your back and played it cool, laughing along with him. “Yeah, I’m stuck over here with you guys.”

“Well, hopefully we won’t get on your nerves too badly. Do you want me to carry that for you?” He offered.

“Oh.” You looked down at your suitcase and handed it to him. “Go ahead, thank you.”

Jason took it, and the both of you began to make your trek up the small hill with the truck. He was being a gentleman, so you decided to keep the conversation going.

“So, why’re you here?”

He shrugged. “My family usually goes skiing for the holidays, but my old man won’t let me go until I cut my hair.”

“That’s really mean of him.” You stated.

Jason snorted “You should tell him that.”

“I will.”

“Oh yeah?”

“For sure.” You went ahead of him, turning around and walking backwards up the hill. “Give me his number and I’ll give him a stern talking to.”

That only made him laugh harder. “You should study to be a lawyer; you make a great case.”

“My father said the same thing once; I just personally have a theory that all parents tell their children they’d be good lawyers because they argue with them. As if it’s not a child’s right to argue.”

“You’re well-spoken too.”

“For a woman?”

You saw panic pale his face. “What?”

A smile couldn’t help but make its way to your mouth. “Only teasing.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Scared me for a moment.”

“Yeah?” You joked, turning back over your shoulder as you felt yourself at the top of the summit. “I usually get that a lot. That’s why my da-.”

Once your eyes drifted up to see the rest of the Boys Left Behind, your words fell silent. The youngest ones, who you assumed to be freshman, you did not recognize but knew immediately they would be kinder than the two whom you already knew.

Teddy ‘I only lost because I went easy on you’ Kountze, and Angus ‘I know more than you’ Tully.

These motherfuckers.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Angus groaned.

Teddy merely blinked, as if he couldn’t believe it. “What’re you doing here?”

“She’s Walleye’s kid, idiot.” Angus pointed out. “Of course she’d be here.”

Jason looked between the three of you. “You know each other?”

With whatever self-control you had (and you barely had any), you kept calm. “They’re just sore losers I met months ago.”

Teddy rolled his eyes. “Hunham wasn’t proud of us after one test, so he called in her one day, and we had to basically go up against her in some bullshit trivia match.”

“Wait,” Jason looked back at you. “so it was you versus the entire class?”

You stood proudly. “Uh huh.”

“Lost to this dickwad of all people.” Teddy slapped Angus’ back. “We couldn’t believe she met her match; she tore apart almost everyone else in class.”

 “So then why are you acting like you did any better?” You tried your best to sound as if you were joking but were also dead serious.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter if I did; you still lost.”

Rolling your eyes, they soon fell onto the youngest pair, staring up at you as if in study. You smiled, holding out your hand, introducing yourself. “What’re your names?”

The one with glasses and black hair shook yours first. “Ye-Joon.”

Then the boy paler than a lightbulb and cheeks turning red from the cold. “Alex.”

“And what’re you two doing here?”

Ye-Joon spoke first. “My family is in Korea, and they think it’s too far for me to travel alone.”

“I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken.” Teddy snickered.

“What’s a rickshaw?”

You shrugged, despite knowing what it was. “Not sure, I am sure that he’s an idiot though.”

Teddy acted as if you were flirting with him. “Highest compliment I’ve ever gotten from you.”

“What about you?” Jason questioned. “You’re Hunham’s kid, but do you go to school in town or…?”

“Homeschooled.” You weren’t the one who responded. All eyes went to Agnus Tully, still smoking a cigarette and averting his eyes from everyone. “Which checks out.”

You tilted your head, hiding your growing nerves with a surprised smile. “Aw, look at that; Frankenstein’s Monster does have the capacity to memorize things.”

The only one who laughed was Teddy, and you almost wanted to take it back.

Angus just shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what kind of schtick it is to be the angry girl, but it doesn’t look nice on you.”

“Hey, leave the lady alone.” Jason stepped in.

“Lady?” He said the word as if it was foreign to call you that.

“Yes,” you agreed with Jason despite how much you didn’t want to, but your desire to humble Angus Tully outweighed your morals (a reoccurring theme for the Winter of 1970). “I’m a lady.”

“For how much you start fights, I wouldn’t call you one.”

“Ladies do not start fights, but they can sure as hell finish them.”

He merely rolled his eyes and went back to smoking. Fair enough…him not engaging only made him look like the bigger person. Still, it wasn’t worth it for you to continue beating a tall, dead, dumb, horse with curly hair.

“What’s your story?” Jason asked Alex.

“Oh,” he sounded shocked. “my parents are on a mission in Paraguay. We’re LDS.”

“Mormons, right?”

Teddy asked before he could respond. “Do you guys wear some kind of magic underwear?”

You turned to Jason and whispered as Alex went into an explanation. “I’m going to slap him into next semester the next time some stupid shit leaves his mouth.”

He tried to hide his smile. “I don’t think any of us would mind, to be honest.”

“Hey,” Teddy interrupted. “what’s with the townies?”

Everyone turned to the chapel and saw two men carrying the Christmas tree out. Agnus yelled. “Excuse me! What are you doing with our Christmas tree?”

“The school sold it back to us!” He responded. “Scotch pine, still fresh.”

The other one added. “Yeah, we’re gonna put it back on the lot. Do it every year.”

“This is the most bullshit ever.” Angus shook his head, then looking at you. “Did you know about this?”

You couldn’t even respond right away, the question was so ludicrous. “I had no idea about being stuck here with you idiots until about an hour ago, so I naturally knew the townies would steal your Christmas tree.”

“Unbelievable.” He muttered under his breath, putting out the cigarette and heading towards the main building.

The rest of the boys’ gaze drifted to you, and all you said was. “Do you think he’d believe me if I told him they worked for the Grinch?”

You were more than halfway through A Christmas Carol when you were in the room you shared with your father in the infirmary. He was chatting with Mary, the head cook and the closest woman you would have to a mother figure, downstairs, leaving you by yourself.

Not exactly.

In the next room, you knew Alex, Ye-Joon, and Angus shared one, and then Teddy and Jason. They were quiet for the most part, save for Kountze tossing a tennis ball against the wall, but it stopped bothering you after a few minutes.

 You’d read the Charles Dickens’ tale a million times, but you couldn’t help and see how many similarities Angus Tully shared with Ebenezar Scrooge. It would be a lie if anyone were to ever claim you didn’t have hobbies; what would they call you assigning fictional characters to real people?

You found yourself beginning to pace around the room the more you read. Whilst voices raising in the background grew louder, you didn’t know exactly what had been happened until you wandered in on Tully and Kountze having a fight you could only summarize as it being straight out of Lord of the Flies.

You knew how that story ended, so with one look, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Finding a quiet corner outside of the infirmary, you thought you were safe when-.

Your father yelled your name. “Could you come here, please?”

Roling your eyes, you yelled back. “You told me not to deal with the inadequacy of the male testosterone, so that’s what I’m doing!”

He called for you again, and you groaned, bookmarking where you were and marching back to the infirmary. All five boys and your father stood before you, and you leaned against the doorframe, making it known you wanted to be anywhere but there.

Paul Hunham sighed. “You wouldn’t happen to know who started this ‘Not fight’ mister Ollerman described to me?”

Your eyes drifted to Tully (for reasons, you had no idea), who simply glared back at you. You could’ve done it…lied about him starting it even though you had no idea; it’s what he deserved for being an ass you to that day, and for winning months ago.

But, where you were a bitch, you were also just.

“No,” you stated. “I don’t know.”

He thinned his lips, turning back to everyone. “All right then, we’ll do it like the Roman Legions. Absent a confession, one man’s sin is every man’s suffering. For every minute the truth is withheld, you will all receive a detention.”

“And I thought all the Nazis were hiding in Argentina.” Angus mumbled.

“Stifle it, Tully.” Your father refuted.

You shrugged (this somehow being the first time you agreed with Angus Tully). “He’s got a point; you’re breaking the Geneva Convention if you do.”

“The what?” Teddy scrunched his nose.

“Well,” Your father sighed as he said your name. “if you want to have an opinion on the matter, you can join them as well.”

“I don’t even go here!”

“Well, you’re standing under the roof right now. Now in the first of said detentions, you will clean the library. Top to bottom. Scraping the underside of the desks, which are caked with snot and gum and all manner of ancient, unspeakable proteins. On your hands and knees, down in the dust, breathing in the dead skin of generations of students and desiccated cockroach assholes.”

“It was Kountze!” Little Alex pointed to him. “Kountze started it!”

While the guilty party in question’s face had dropped, you watched as your father’s brightened. “Bravo, Mister Ollerman. Bravo.”

It must’ve off put Mary how you were smiling in the kitchen when you picked up the pitcher of water and bread as she got the platters of chicken and potatoes and asparagus.

Still, she asked. “How bad of a day was it for you to be smiling as you serve the men at the table?”

“Eh,” you began. “I would rather be on a plane to Copenhagen right now, but being stuck at this hell hole with you makes it tolerable; better, even.

Mary smiled at that. “Feeling’s mutual, Jane Bennett.”

“I’m Lizzie.” You playfully whined.

“And I can’t be bothered to finish that book.” She teased, and the two of you were beginning to make your way to the dining hall.

“Speaking of books, do you have another one I could borrow?” You asked.

“Already?” Mary sounded surprised. “I gave you that book last week.”

“And I finished it in a few days, I just haven’t had the chance to ask you.”

She shook her head as you pushed through the door out into the dining hall, holding it for her. “I’ll recommend the Bible next time to keep you occupied for longer.”

“I think I’ll stick with James Baldwin, if that’s alright.” You jested, then seeing Jason’s lips move as he asked a question, Teddy responded, and then your father spoke quite loudly.

“Consider yourselves lucky. During the third Punic campaign, 149-146 B.C., the Romans laid siege to Carthage for three entire years. By the time it ended, the Carthaginians were reduced to eating sand and drinking their own urine. Hence the term punitive.”

You and Mary set down the food, and you scrunched your nose in disgust at your father’s ‘fun fact’ while sitting beside Jason and facing Angus. It took everything in your bones not to burst out in laughter to see Teddy Kountze sitting at the edge of the table like a toddler having a silent tantrum.

“Thank you, Mary.” Your father greeted as everyone began to serve themselves. “Would you maybe care to join us?”

Oh, the look of distaste on Teddy’s face nearly made you lose it. Mary took notice immediately, and she offered a meek smile. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

The same moment the door to the kitchen closed when she left was when Teddy turned to all of you, whispering as if it would help. “I mean…I know she’s sad about her son and everything, but still, she’s being paid to do a job. And she should be doing it well, right?”

If it weren’t for the fact you were chewing on a piece of chicken, and that your father was just two seats away from you, you would’ve given him a piece of your mind. The glare in your eyes would have to suffice.

Still, he opened his dumb mouth to continue. “But I guess, no matter how bad of a cook she is, they can never fire her.”

“Will you shut up?!” Your father hit the table so hard, silverware flew. You’d seen this rage from him before…but it still made you jump. “You have no idea what that woman has been through-!”

His gaze turned to you, and saw the look that could only belong to you in moments like that; where you stiffened yourself and hardened your eyes to look as if you did not know what fear meant. Yet, there was still an undeniable amount of terror even within those eyes you tried to have been the most fearless.

He reigned himself back in. “You know, Mr. Kountze, for most people, life is like a henhouse ladder; shitty and short. You were born lucky. Maybe someday you entitled little degenerates will appreciate that. If you don’t, I feel sorry for you, and we will not have done our jobs. Now eat.”

The boys obeyed, keeping their heads low. You felt your heart go back to itself, and as you were returning to eating, you heard an irritating voice mumble.

“Not our fault her kid was one of the poor bastards to be drafted.”

It took you three seconds to find Teddy’s foot under the table, and one for you to step on it with all your weight.

He jolted, cursing under his breath before looking at you. “The hell?!”

You feigned innocence, a potato on your fork. “Oh, was that your foot? I’m so sorry.”

Teddy’s eyes tried to burn through your skin as you continued to eat, but you barely felt them. The eyes you did feel on you were soon gone when you looked across from where you sat.

There was Angus Tully, keeping his head down as if he was a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

…Interesting…

What else were you supposed to think?

You finished A Christmas Carol by the time your father forced you to turn out the lights (and then confiscated your flashlight from under your bed…had to think of a better hiding spot). It always took you a while to go to sleep (still does, some nights).

As you laid in darkness, your mind would rush with the worlds you vowed to lose yourself in through the books you read. Frodo had Middle Earth, Emma had Highbury, and you had…Barton, Massachusetts.

Not even Concord like the March Sisters, just plain old Barton.

So, naturally, when your mind had tired itself from living these fantasies, and as you were about to drift off to sleep, your father’s snoring awoke you.

You hadn’t even noticed he came into the room, only when he started snoring to wake the dead. Sighing heavily, you tossed yourself out of bed, and used what moonlight coming in from the windows as your guide. Not long after, you saw that Angus and the freshmen boys drew the short end of the stick in their room choice; there were no curtains to the windows, causing the lamplights to bleed into the room, making it an unfavorable color of piss yellow.

That’s when your eyes drifted to where Jason and Teddy were; a little light peering in from their window facing the moon, and correspondingly, the other bedroom, but still quite dark. Closest to the door…a spare bed.

Yes, it was by Teddy, but your father’s snoring being fainter in that room was enough for you.

But again…it was by Teddy.

So, swallowing your pride, your eyes darted around for a solution, and they landed on Frankenstein’s Monster right behind you. Sighing to yourself, you turned back around into his room, and after thinking of what to say, you shook him awake.

He was somehow relaxed at first when he opened his eyes to see you; but that was just shock, he nearly fell out of bed when his vision adjusted.

“What the hell?!” He gasped, sitting up.

You shushed him, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I need a favor.”

He blinked, looking around to just double check where he was; nope, it wasn’t a bad dream, yep, he was still at Barton. “You appear like one of the fucking ghosts from A Christmas Carol, what could it possibly be?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, Ebenezar Scrooge, my dad snores like he’s trying to be the Giant from Jack and the Beanstalk, and I can’t sleep in there. So, I’m gonna go sleep in the other room, and you gotta wake me up or I’m dead.”

Angus Tully stared at you as if your head had grown horns. “I have no idea what you just said right now because you woke me up at,” he turned and looked at his watch. “oh look, 1am.”

Sighing you bit back a response only because you needed something from him. “Look; I want to actually be able to sleep, and I know I won’t at all if I’m stuck in a room with my dad all night. I’ll sleep in the extra bed in the other room, and you wake me up so that none of us will be killed if I oversleep in a room with teenage boys.”

It’s more than obvious he understood, but he then asked. “Why not just ask one of the guys in the room you’re sleeping in?”

“I don’t trust Kountze with anything and Jason…”

Damn your exhaustion for not being able to come up with a good explanation besides-.

“You like him.” Angus’ face lit up with a teasing glee that unnerved you somehow more than Teddy’s entire existence did that day.

“No!” You immediately deny. “I mean, yes, but in a way that of course I like him because he’s the only one of you assholes who are nice to me. So, I don’t like like him.”

You liar.

Angus scoffed, yet his shit eating grin was still on his face. “What are you, twelve?”

“I was about to ask the same thing since you’re so interested.” You rolled your eyes.

“So why me?” He asked. “You like the freshmen, don’t you trust them more?”

“I like them and actually want them to sleep.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Sighing you said. “I’ll give you whatever you want; not whatever you fucking perve but-.”

“-I never even thought of it like-.”

“-Sure, you didn’t.” You interrupted. “But I got a friend in town, so I can always go and get you stuff. What do you want?”

He took his time thinking; so much time you were tempted to wake Mary up and beg her to let you sleep in her room (you knew she would've let you, but you didn't want to disturb her. You also never questioned your father why he didn't initially have you sleep in Mary's room; more than likely just to give her her own space). Finally, he answered.

“Chocolate and cigarettes.” The look you gave him would’ve made you laugh if you could see it. It only made him scrunch his eyes. “What?"

“That’s it?”

“I'm running out of both, big deal." He scoffed. "Am I allowed to change my mind after each time you pay me? Besides, when will you?”

You shrugged. “I can’t go out every day. I’ll see if he’ll let me the day after tomorrow, so I can stock up then. How about…every three days you wake me up, that’s when I give you stuff. Sound good?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Holding out your hand, you were surprised he shook it right away. You looked him dead in the eyes when you said. “If any of them try to do anything to me while I sleep, I’m using their own pillow to suffocate them; that goes for you too, clear?”

“Crystal.” He drew his hand away. “I won’t say anything either.”

You nodded in thanks, standing up. Before you could tiptoe to the other room, you looked back at him. “Wake me up at six-thirty; he’ll wake you all up at seven.”

When you turned your back again, he asked in an unsettled fashion. “How?”

You knew that he hated the light flooding the room for a different reason now; to see your smile of mischief before you left.

[kmomof4]

A Scoundrel... Or a Gentleman? Ch. 4

We are back with a new chapter, and this one's a bit of a doozy... but not anything I have to apologize for. I think y'all will like this one! Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me! I really can't put into words what it means to me 🥹

Thank you again to @jrob64 @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 for their advice and being my sounding boards as I worked on this. And also to @snowbellewells and @motherkatereloyshipper for the artwork they did for the fic!!! I STILL can't get over either one!!! 😍

Ch. Summary: Ruth's birthday has arrived and Emma and Killian both come to some realizations.

Words: 8550 of approx 59,5k

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton's Story, Smut in Later Chapters.

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Chapter

On Tumblr Prologue Ch2 Ch3

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615 @donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings @booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza @djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

“Is he here?”

“He is not.”

“Are you quite sure?”

It was all Emma could do to keep from rolling her eyes in irritation. “He hadn’t yet left Kilmartin House when I did, and I haven’t seen him since, so yes. I’m as sure as I can be that he hasn’t arrived.”

“But he is coming?”

“Yes. He is coming.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Fisher was quiet for a moment, looking around the Nolan ballroom. “There’s Ariel. I must go see to her. Lovely to see you again, Emma.” With that, the woman - one of the most notorious gossips of the ton - left her alone to interrupt her daughter, who was speaking most animatedly with a handsome, but sadly, untitled gentleman on the other side of the room.

The conversation with the society matron would have been amusing if it hadn’t been the seventh, no, the eighth - one mustn’t forget the conversation with her own mother - she’d had to endure since she arrived. And since Ruth had announced that Killian would be in attendance at her birthday soiree, she didn’t think there was any possible way to avoid the interrogation of the unattached females, and their mamas, of the ton. All trying to find out tidbits about him that might smooth the way for them to charm the dashing earl, as he was now known.

“Lady Kilmartin!” She turned to see Lady Lucas making her way toward her. She was a stern older woman that many in the ton feared, but Emma rather liked her. Not afraid of anything or anyone, she wasn’t hesitant about making her thoughts and opinions known. She was a legend around town and Emma counted herself fortunate to be consistently in the countess’ good graces. The crowd between them parted like the Red Sea, the partygoers removing themselves from Lady Lucas’ line of sight.

“Lovely to see you, Lady Lucas,” Emma greeted the old woman, when she was finally close enough that Emma wouldn’t need to shout to be heard over the din of the party.

“Hmphh,” the old woman replied. “Don’t lie to me. We’re both well aware that no one thinks it’s lovely to see me coming.”

Emma couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement at her bluntness, even if she didn’t fully agree with her. “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked instead.

“I’d enjoy myself better if someone would tell me how old your mother is.”

Emma gasped in shock. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“And why not?” Lady Lucas asked, indignant. “It’s not as if she’s as old as I am!”

Emma smiled slyly before speaking. “And just how old are you, Lady Lucas?”

The countess shot her an impressed look tinged with a knowing gleam in her eye. “Heh, heh, heh,” she chuckled. “You’re a clever one. But don’t think I’m going to fall for your tricks. You’ll never find out how old I am.”

“Then you must allow the same consideration for my mother.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But what’s the point of a birthday party if we don’t know what we are celebrating?”

“The miracle of life and longevity?” Emma asked, pertly.

Lady Lucas snorted at that. “Where’s that new earl of yours?”

Emma tried not to choke on her drink. “He’s not mine,” she asserted.

Lady Lucas raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re still the countess, are you not?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. Her heart thundered in her chest and she prayed the woman next to her was unaware of it.

“And he is the earl.” The eyebrow went even higher. “Is he not?”

“Yes, of course he is.”

“That makes him yours,” she insisted with a sharp nod. “And besides, I thought you were friends.”

“W-we are,” she stammered. That much was definitely true, but Emma couldn’t countenance the underlying message the countess seemed determined to get across. “He is my brother-in-law. That is all.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Lady Lucas looked around the crowded room before speaking again. “I do believe you deserve a reprieve. From me,” she continued, in case her meaning had not been abundantly clear. 

“You are my reprieve,” Emma mumbled under her breath. But Lady Lucas gave no indication that she’d heard her, no matter that her hearing was positively wolf-like, able to hone in on anything of interest within a fifteen foot radius.

“I believe I’ll go pester your brother. Isn’t he newly arrived from Cyprus?”

Emma spied August some twenty feet away on the other side of the ballroom, surrounded by his own group of admirers, no doubt hanging on every word of his adventures.

“Why, yes, he is,” Emma acknowledged, a sly grin on her face. August was terrified of Lady Lucas and Emma would rather enjoy watching him try to avoid the countess once she set her eyes on him.

“Mr. Nolan,” she barked. Emma giggled behind her hand to see the terror flash in her brother’s eyes while he tried to pretend he hadn’t heard her. As Lady Lucas moved toward her latest target, Emma realized that she had been a very effective deterrent to the many matrimonial minded mamas who saw her as their only link to Killian. Good heavens, three of them were already heading her way.

It was time to escape. Now. She turned on her heel and marched right over to where her sister Ruby stood conversing with their sister-in-law Mary Margaret, and their brother Will’s intended, Belle French. Ruby was easy to spot in the crush of partygoers, wearing a beautiful red gown. Emma would have rather left the party completely, but if she was serious about finding herself a husband this season, she was going to have to stay visible and let it be known. Not that anyone would take any notice until Killian arrived. She could announce that she planned to move to the dark continent of Africa and take up cannibalism and the only response she’d be likely to garner would be if the earl was going to accompany her.

“Good evening,” Emma said, joining the small group.

“Oh, hello, Emma,” Ruby greeted her. “Where’s…”

“Don’t you start,” Emma growled. “If one more person asks me where Killian is, my head will explode.”

“That would certainly change the tenor of the evening,” Mary Margaret remarked mildly, taking a sip of her lemonade.

“As well as the cleaning duties of the staff,” Belle added.

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Well? Where is he?” Ruby demanded.

Emma sighed. “I don’t know. He said he’d be here.”

“If he’s smart, he’s probably hiding in the hall,” Belle observed.

“Goodness gracious, you’re probably right.” Emma could just see him bypassing the ballroom completely to socialize in the smoking room. In other words, away from all the females. “I wish he would get here so people would stop asking me about him.”

Ruby laughed loudly. “Oh my poor delusional Emma,” she guffawed. “Once he arrives, the questions will double and simply change from where is he to tell us more.”

“I fear she is right,” Mary Margaret said, with Belle nodding in agreement.

“Oh, dear,” Emma breathed, realizing that was exactly what would happen.

“You’re wearing blue!” Mary Margaret exclaimed.

Emma looked down, almost surprised. She’d nearly forgotten. The shade was really quite lovely, a soft sky blue. The comparison to Killian’s eyes couldn’t possibly be avoided.

“Yes, yes I am,” Emma replied, raising her chin just a touch. 

“You’re out of mourning, then?” Belle asked gently.

Emma couldn’t meet her eyes and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, I’ve been out of mourning for quite some time.”

“Does this mean you’re wanting to remarry?” Trust Ruby to get straight to the point.

“It has been four years after all,” Mary Margaret added.

Emma couldn’t hide her wince. But there was no use denying it.

“Yes.” 

For a moment, there was silence from the ladies. Then they all spoke at once offering their congratulations and bits of advice that she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear.

“We shall have to spread the news, of course,” Mary Margaret said, excitedly.

Emma gasped. “You can’t be serious!”

“Of course I am! The blue dress is an excellent signal of your intentions, but the only ones astute enough to notice are fellow females. The men of our acquaintance are simply too obtuse. Don’t worry,” she continued, laying her hand on Emma’s arm, who was feeling rather ill at the prospect. “We will be the very model of discretion and tact.”

“Trust us,” Ruby interjected, the smirk on her face inspiring the very opposite. “Oh, look. There’s Killian.”

And so he was. The ladies all looked toward the entrance to the ballroom to see Killian already surrounded by a gaggle of women. Not that Emma was surprised in the least.

“My goodness,” Mary Margaret breathed, “I forgot how handsome he is.” Emma’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“He’s very tanned,” Belle added.

“He was in India for four years. Of course he’s tanned,” Emma snapped.

Ruby’s head jerked toward her. “You’re of rather a short temper tonight, Emma,” she observed.

Emma tried to school her features into a more neutral mask. “I’m just weary of being asked about him all the time. There are so many other more interesting topics of conversation.”

“Did you two have a falling out or something?”

Emma’s breath caught as she realized she’d left the wrong impression. “No, of course not,” she assured her sister. “But he’s been literally the only thing I’ve talked about all evening. At this point, I’d be delighted to comment on the weather.”

“Hmmm.”

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

Emma had no idea who said what as they were all once again staring at Killian and his crowd of admirers - about half pursuing him for marriage, either for themselves or their daughters, while the other half were young and already married, obviously pursuing him for another reason entirely.

“He is very handsome,” Belle commented. “All that black hair.”

“Belle!” Emma exclaimed.

“What?” she replied. “It’s true!”

“You’re to be married!”

“Well, I’m not yet!” she exclaimed. “And even then, I’m not blind!”

“Does that mean that Emma and I are the only ones allowed to comment on how handsome he is? Spinster that I am and unattached as she is…” Ruby asked.

“Killian is the last man you’d want to marry, Ruby,” Emma said.

“And why is that?” she asked. The words had been out of Emma’s mouth before she’d even had a chance to think, and now all three of them had their full attention fixed on her, awaiting her answer.

“‘W- well,” she stammered, her eyes widening as she cast about for something to say. “He’s just a terrible rake, is all. And you know his reputation. He could never remain faithful to one woman.” As she watched him charm the masses, her heart squeezed at her flippant words. He may have been a rake and a scoundrel, with no real responsibility, but the way he’d dutifully stepped into the role of the earl since being restored to health had been unexpected to say the least. She had a feeling that the change she’d sensed in him since their reunion a month ago, may very well extend to matters of the heart, as well. Or, maybe not necessarily matters of the heart - it was still very difficult to imagine Killian falling in love - but matters of duty to crown and country. The duty to marry and produce an heir. And Killian’s heart of honor would likely not allow him to break his marriage vows.

“Rake or not,” Ruby mused. “He’s terribly handsome. No wonder he attracts so much attention.”

“He’s always attracted female attention, but not from the marriage minded,” Emma said. “The fact that he’s an earl is the only reason he’s the catch of the season.” 

“You should go greet him,” Mary Margaret said, nudging Emma with her elbow.

“Why on earth should I do that?”

“Because he’s here.”

Emma gestured around the room as she spoke. “So are a hundred other men,” she replied. “All of which I’d rather marry.”

Ruby turned her shrewd gaze on Emma for a moment, making her want to squirm. “Mmhmmm,” she hummed. “Don’t know why,” she continued, now rolling her eyes. “Killian is far more handsome than any of them.” Emma turned her head sharply at her sister. Of all the Nolan siblings, Emma and Ruby were the closest in age, exactly one year apart. And while, of course, she’d give her life for her sister, more often than not, she felt like strangling her. Like now. Especially right now. “There’s only three here that I’d even consider obeying. And I’m not even sure about them…”

“Be that as it may,” Emma replied, desperate to redirect Ruby’s thoughts, “spending time with Killian will not help my prospects in finding a husband.”

“And I thought we were here to celebrate Mother’s birthday,” her sister quipped with a smirk. Emma glared.

“But Mary Margaret is right,” Belle said. “You should go over and greet Killian. It’s only polite and will signal to the ton that you fully accept him as the earl and that there is no rift between you. Which everyone will think, if you don’t.”

Emma sighed. Belle was right. Killian deserved a proper and formal welcome to London society and if she didn’t do it, it would be gossip fodder for weeks. And that kind of speculation at the moment would not help her. Not when she was trying to find a husband.

She’d always found Killian’s reputation to be amusing. Probably because she was rather removed from it all. What did his reputation matter to her as a happily married woman? But she was no longer a married woman. She was in the market for a new husband and to see Killian flirt and charm so effortlessly irked her for some reason that she didn’t want to look at too closely.  

“I will go greet Killian,” she promised. “Just as soon as I see to myself.” If she was going to fight her way through all the ladies surrounding Killian, she’d rather do it without having to hop from foot to foot.   

As she passed Ruby, she could have sworn her sister whispered coward under her breath. Emma inhaled sharply and walked faster instead of turning and lobbing back a scathing retort. Because Ruby just might be right, and that was terrifying to consider.

~*~*~

He was aware of her from the moment he entered the room. Emma stood on the other side of the ballroom conversing with her sister and sisters-in-law; or nearly, in the case of Belle French, Will’s betrothed. He couldn’t hide the small smile that touched his lips when he saw what she wore. Light blue silk glowed under the light of all the candles, and while she was too far away for him to experience the full effect, he still had to catch his breath at the picture that formed in his mind's eye.

Even four years away from her hadn’t changed that one whit. And he didn’t suppose it ever would. At least in India, she wasn’t around for him to be aware of her. But now that he was back, it was as clear to him as it ever was. He’d never be free of her. And she’d never be his. His heart clenched at the thought.

Within seconds of entering the room, he was surrounded by no less than half a dozen debutantes, and their mamas as well. As he suffered through each introduction, and re-introduction of the ladies, he blessed his ability - gift, really - to charm and appear wholly focussed on those seeking his attention, even if that attention was truly elsewhere. Emma suddenly left her family and was making her way toward the side entrance, no doubt seeking the ladies retiring room. Once she was gone, he announced his intention to locate his hostess to offer his thanks and best wishes, and excused himself.

When Emma arrived back in the ballroom, he hadn’t yet spoken with his hostess, being waylaid by Lady Lucas and Emma’s family. Not that he minded the Nolan ladies, since Ruby was the only one among them unattached, and she was as much a sister to him as anything. Killian immediately changed direction and caught his breath yet again, as the full realization hit him of exactly what it meant for her to be dressed in blue at a social event, even if it was her mother’s birthday f��te.

She was out of mourning. Officially. She would flirt. And dance. And laugh. And find herself a husband. And it would probably happen within the space of a month. Because once her intention became clear, she would be flooded with suitors. After all, who wouldn’t want to marry her? She was beautiful, vivacious, witty, and had an air of maturity the younger debutantes didn’t have. And as her highest ranking male relative, he’d have a front row seat.

A soft, knowing smirk adorned her face as she approached him. He responded in kind as he met her halfway.

“Lady Kilmartin,” he murmured with a bow, taking the hand she offered him and brushing his lips across the knuckles.

“Welcome back to London, my lord,” she replied, curtseying properly. The moment they were both upright again, giggles and a full bodied laugh burst from them. The utter ridiculousness of the formality of their greeting was not lost on either of them.

Killian held his arm out for her. “May I have this dance?” She took his arm, the knowing smirk back on her face as he led her to the dance floor. He took her in his arms, his necessary mask when in her presence firmly in place, and began to lead her in a waltz. “You look lovely this evening, Emma. The color looks splendid on you.” 

Her cheeks flushed prettily and she demurely looked down. “Thank you. I see you did make time to see the tailor. You look quite handsome as well.”

They continued the waltz for a few moments before he spoke again. “So, are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Belle all said I should greet you properly, since this is your formal entry to society. Can’t let the ton think there’s any issue between us.” Killian swallowed hard, as he spun her and then drew her close again. “No matter that we’ve been living in the same house for weeks.”

“What issue could they possibly think may be between us?” he asked, honestly puzzled.

“I haven’t a clue,” she replied, “but that’s never stopped them from wagging their collective tongues, speculating about a non-existent scandal.”

“This is true.” Even in the few minutes he’d been the center of attention, he could plainly see the essence of the ton was unchanged since he’d left four years ago. He wasn’t sure if it was amusing or hell. Amusing, at the moment, he decided. Next week, it’d likely be hell.

“And what about you? Are you enjoying yourself, Killian?”

“Of course.”

“Of course?” She raised her eyebrow as if she didn’t believe him. “Even dancing with me, instead of being surrounded by a whole host of giggling young ladies hanging on your every word?”

“Why, Emma,” he said, waggling his brows, “Is that a note of jealousy I hear in your voice?”

Emma blanched and her eyes widened. He’d only been teasing her, but her response, quite honestly, startled him.

“O-of course not!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flaming again. “Why would you think I was jealous? I’ve never been jealous of your admirers before. Why would you think I am now?”

“Calm down, Emma,” he cajoled. “I was only teasing. I know you’re not jealous.” Even if the most fervent desire of his heart was for her to love him as he loved her, he couldn’t wish the torment of jealousy upon her, not when he himself had lived with it day in and day out for so many years.

She was still flustered and wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Killian couldn’t help the way his heart leapt with hope. “You must be careful though. These ladies are not your usual ladies.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I wasn’t aware I had a usual.”

Emma finally looked at him, though the color was still high on her cheeks. “Oh, come now, Killian. You know what I’m talking about. Four years ago you had standards. You didn’t seduce anyone who’d be irreparably harmed by your actions.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to start now?” The hope that filled his heart moments ago, plummeted. He brought them to a halt in the middle of the dance floor and led her to the edge of the ballroom and out onto the blessedly deserted terrace. He knew exactly what she was saying and he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been very conscious and purposeful to flirt and seduce where either Emma could see it or she’d hear about it later, all so she’d never know the truth that lay buried in his heart. And now his reputation as a rogue and scoundrel diminished him in her eyes. And that was the last thing he wanted. Bitterness and resentment rose up within him as he turned back to her, and he couldn’t keep their bite out of his words. “Tell me, Emma. Just who do you think I am? Do you really think me so dimwitted or careless that I might accidentally ruin some young lady?”

He didn’t think he’d ever seen her pale so quickly and he immediately regretted what he’d said. “O- of course not,” she stammered. “I’m just afraid…”

“Afraid of what?”

Her chin trembled slightly. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to count the number of hearts you’ll break this spring.”

His voice was quiet but hard. “And why are you so concerned about that? It’s not your job to count them.”

“I know.” Her voice was nearly a whisper and he had to strain to hear her. “But I won’t be able to help myself.”

He had nothing to say to her. Her words and posture had his mind spinning. Why would she concern herself with how many hearts he might break? He certainly didn’t set out to do so. But the fact that she expected it of him hurt. 

“You should dance,” she burst out.

“We just finished a dance,” he informed her, testily.

“I meant with someone eligi…” She cut herself off before finishing the word, and Killian couldn’t help but wonder why. There was no possible way she might have guessed that he’d consider her eligible. He’d kept his feelings too well hidden for that. “Someone you might marry.” 

Someone he might marry, he thought irritably. To her mind, anyone but her.

“As a signal to society that you are looking for a countess.” He made no comment, but he could feel the muscle in his jaw twitching in his agitation. “You are… looking for a countess… are you not?”

He shrugged, flippantly. “If you say so.” 

“Someone who won’t fall in love with you.”

He turned sharply toward her and raised an eyebrow sardonically. “Heaven forbid I fall in love.”

She turned her head more fully toward him, her mouth open in a soft O of surprise. “Is that what you want? To fall in love?” 

The joy and delight on her face was too much. Surely there was no more perfect irony in the universe. God must be sitting on His throne having a good laugh at how tied up in knots he was.

“Killian?” she asked when he didn’t answer right away.

She wanted him to find love. She wanted him to be happy. And all he wanted to do was scream.

“If you will excuse me,” he said, his voice cold and formal, “I must go find someone with whom to dance. Someone I might marry. But someone who will absolutely not fall in love with me.”

“Killian, please,” she said in a whisper. “Don’t be like this. I didn’t mean…”

“Oh, I understand exactly what you mean, Emma,” he stated. “We must preserve the delicate and pure hearts of the ladies of the ton, since my heart is far too black to be helped.” 

With those words, he turned back toward the ballroom and left the terrace.

~*~*~

The next morning, Emma felt perfectly wretched. She couldn’t shake the guilt that clung to her like a blanket, even though Killian was the one who was so cold and heartless the evening before. 

What had she done or said to provoke such an unkind response from him? He’d never been interested in love and marriage before, and while she knew he’d eventually fulfill his duty to marry and beget an heir, when he’d said what he did about falling in love, her heart had beat double time. She wanted that happiness for him, but his cold and callous words towards her, and then his actions the rest of the evening, showed her plainly that his words about love were just that. Words.

When she went back into the ballroom from the terrace, she’d been inundated with dance requests and spent the rest of the evening dancing with this gentleman, or that viscount, and even a marquess. But Killian still commanded her attention. And she was painfully aware of how he charmed every single female in attendance. It got to where she was quite disgusted with herself for not being able to put him out of her mind. 

Every once in a while, his eyes would meet hers and they would turn hard and cold, but with an edge of mocking as he moved on to the next conquest. It was obvious to her that he knew exactly what he was doing. After her whispered confession about counting his broken hearts, he rose to the challenge with alacrity. She still wasn’t sure why she’d said that. Or even what exactly she meant. The words were past her lips before she could really think about it.

But they were true nonetheless. She had counted. But why? What did it matter? She’d never cared before! And it was only going to get worse. The women of the ton were mad for Killian. If the rules of courtship were reversed, the drawing room of Kilmartin house would be overflowing with flowers of every description. All addressed to the Dashing Earl.

But it was still going to be dreadful. She expected numerous female callers today, all hoping that Killian would walk through the drawing room. But even if he didn’t, she’d still have to answer numerous questions about him…

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, looking into the drawing room. “What’s this?” 

Flowers. Flowers everywhere. Flowers of every description on every available surface.

It was her nightmare come to life! Had someone changed the rules of society and failed to tell her?

Lilies, orchids, tulips, violets. Roses. Roses everywhere. In every color. The scent was overwhelming and nearly sent her running.

“Tom!” she called the butler. She heard a loud sneeze and then he appeared in the doorway of the room holding a vase of daisies, his nose red and eyes watering terribly.

“Oh, Tom! I’m so sorry! All these flowers must be terrible for your allergies! But where did they all come from?”

“They are…” sneeze “for you…” louder sneeze “milady.” three sneezes in remarkably quick succession.

Emma blinked.

“For me?” She couldn’t fathom it. She was a widow. Men didn’t send flowers to widows. Did they?

Tom sniffed loudly and blew his red nose on his ever-present handkerchief. “I left the cards…” sneeze “on each arrangement…” sniff “so you would be able to identify each sender.” More sneezing.

“Here,” she said apologetically, “let me take those and you go take care of yourself.”

He handed the vase over and hurried off, no doubt thankful to be away from all the flora in the room.

Emma walked slowly into the room, and set the vase of daisies down on the nearest empty surface, too overcome by the lavish display. She came to an arrangement of tulips in the brightest of colors. Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady the card read. It was signed Viscount Trevalstam. He’d lost his wife two years ago. Everyone knew he was looking for a new bride to give him an heir. 

A delicate purple orchid was the next vase she came to. From Baron Whale.

“Who could these be from?” she mused, approaching an arrangement of yellow roses. She couldn’t keep the giddiness inside of her hidden as a wide and delighted grin spread across her lips. A Shakespearian sonnet, if she wasn’t mistaken and signed by Earl Stone. They’d only been introduced the evening before and shared a single dance. He was quite handsome, but since she had a full dance card, she hadn’t had the opportunity to converse with him after their turn on the floor. 

“Good heavens!”

Emma turned to see Alice in the doorway. Her mouth hung open slightly, much as hers had been upon discovering the floral display. 

“What is all this?”

“I believe those were my exact words when I came in,” Emma laughed. Alice approached and Emma handed her the cards she’d already read. She watched her mother-in-law carefully. She’d lost her firstborn son when Liam died. How would she react to Emma being pursued by other men?

Alice’s eyes were soft as they rose to meet hers after reading the cards.

“Oh, my,” she breathed. “You seem to be the season’s Incomparable.”

Emma felt her cheeks heat. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she protested. “I’m far too old for that.”

“Apparently not,” Alice replied. “Have you looked at all of the cards?”

“Not yet,” Emma said. “But I imagine…”

“They’re more of the same?” 

Emma met Alice’s gaze and slowly nodded. “Does that bother you?”

Alice’s smile was sad, but her eyes were kind and wise. “Do I wish that you were still married to my son?” she asked. “Of course, I do.” She laid the cards down on the table and took Emma’s hands in her own. “Do I wish for you to remain married to his memory? Of course not. You are my daughter, Emma, and I want you to be happy.”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “I would like to have a child,” she said, feeling the need to explain to Alice that she wanted to be a mother, not necessarily a wife. 

Alice nodded and dabbed at her own eyes before turning toward another arrangement, a delicate and lovely arrangement of grape hyacinths and stephanotis. “We must read the rest of these cards. And then prepare ourselves for a flood of afternoon callers,” she said, her tone brisk, clearly communicating her wish to move on from the heavily charged moment.

“I rather think the callers will be women,” she murmured, “inquiring after Killian.”

“You may be right,” she agreed. She held up the card. “May I?”

Emma nodded and Alice opened the card. Her mouth dropped open slightly as she read the words.

“What is it?” Emma asked, almost dreading her response.

“Cheshire.”

Emma gasped. “As in the Duke of?”

“The very one.”

Emma raised a hand to her heart. “The Duke of Cheshire,” she breathed. “Oh, my…”

“Oh my, indeed,” Alice agreed. “You, my dear, are clearly the catch of the season.”

“But…”

“What the devil is all this?” Both ladies turned to see Killian standing in the doorway of the drawing room, looking exceedingly cross.

“Good morning, Killian,” Alice said cheerfully.

He nodded in response then looked at Emma. “You look like you’re about to faint,” he said, waving his hand around aimlessly. Emma dropped her hand back to her side, having forgotten completely she still held it over her heart. He came further into the room and raised his eyebrow. “Are we opening a flower shop, then?”

“We clearly could,” Alice answered him. “They’re for Emma.”

“Of course they’re for Emma,” he replied. “Who else would they be for? But good God, how many roses are there? And who would be idiot enough to send them?”

“I like roses,” Emma protested.

“Everyone sends roses,” Killian groused. “They’re trite and old and… who sent these?” he asked, motioning to a display of white roses she hadn’t yet read the card for.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t seen the card yet.”

He plucked the card from the arrangement and opened it. “Lord Gaston,” he read.

“You will under no circumstances marry him. He hasn’t two shillings to rub together.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open in shock. “And how do you know that?”

He fixed her with an unamused look. “I’ve been to my club.”

“That may be true, but it’s hardly his fault.” She may not have seriously considered marrying him, but she did feel compelled to defend him since everyone knew the young Lord had spent the last year trying to repair the damage his father had done to the family finances.

“You’re not marrying him, and that’s final,” Killian announced.

She should have been annoyed by his arrogance, but in truth, she was only amused.

“Very well,” she replied, a smirk on her lips. “I’ll choose someone else.”

“Good,” he grunted.

“She has many to choose from,” Alice supplied, helpfully.

“Indeed,” he said caustically.

“May I take these daisies to my room?” Alice asked suddenly. “They are my favorite flower.”

“Of course,” Emma agreed quickly. Alice picked up the arrangement and left them alone. It was only a moment later that Killian let out a violent sneeze. As soon as he recovered, he glared at the display of gladiolas next to him that prompted it.

“We shall have to open a window,” he groused.

“And freeze?” Emma asked.

“I’ll put on a coat,” he ground out.

“Are you jealous?” she asked coyly. He snapped his head toward her so fast, she quickly backtracked. “Not over me,” she clarified, mortified to feel her cheeks heat. “Heavens, no. Not that.”

“Over what then?” he asked, his voice quiet and clipped.

“Well… just…” she stammered, gesturing aimlessly toward the ostentatious display around them, “I mean, we’re both after the same goal this season, aren't we?” 

He stared at her blankly.

“Marriage?” Good heavens but he was obtuse this morning.

“What of it?”

She let out an impatient breath. “I don’t know if you’d thought of it or not, but I rather assumed you would be the one to be relentlessly pursued. Not me. I never dreamed that I would…”

“Emerge as a prize to be won?” He lifted his eyebrow at her knowingly.

“Well, yes… I guess.” It wasn’t the nicest way to put it, but she couldn’t argue the point.

For a moment, he was silent. His clear blue eyes never wavering from hers. “Any man who doesn’t want to marry you is a fool.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “Oh… well…” She was quite at a loss for words. “I believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Emma,” he sighed. Emma couldn’t look away from him. He looked tired, and sad, and something else. Regretful, maybe? No, Killian didn’t regret anything.

“I would never begrudge you this, Emma. You…” he cleared his throat, “deserve to be happy.”

She had no idea how to reply. Especially after their words last night.

“We both deserve happiness, Killian. Your turn will come.”

He turned questioning eyes upon her.

“It already has really,” she continued. “Last night. I was besieged by far more of your admirers than my own.”

Killian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t look angry, just… hollow, almost. And it struck her how odd an observation that was.

“Speaking of…” he began, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “Last night. I must apologize for my behavior. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

“Everything is fine,” she assured him.

“Nonetheless,” he said gruffly, “I’m sorry.”

She watched him intently. His face was so dear to her and she knew every last detail of it. But something was different about him now. And she wasn’t sure what. And she wasn’t sure how it’d come about. She was also quite sure there was more he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t find the words.

“Everything is fine, Killian,” she repeated. “We’re fine.”

He nodded sharply, turned on his heel, and left the room.

~*~*~

Later, Killian sat in his club, a tumbler of rum in his hand. He grit his teeth, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he reflected on Ruth’s birthday party. He didn’t enjoy acting like an ass, but he truly had, and the guilt ate at him. He couldn’t really blame Emma. She’d always wanted to see him happily married. As happy as she’d been with his brother. But when he’d uttered the L word the previous evening, the joy on her face at the prospect of him finding love was just too much and he’d snapped. At least he’d apologized, and she’d forgiven him, but the maelstrom of the feelings he held for his sister-in-law almost guaranteed that it would happen again.

Once she was married and out of the house, and he wasn’t sitting across from her for every meal, he’d be better. They’d remain friends, of course. Emma wouldn’t allow anything else, but her new husband would certainly not allow her to spend so much time in his presence, brother-in-law or no.

“Jones,” a voice called, before Killian heard a clearing of a throat. “Er, Kilmartin, rather. So sorry.”

Killian looked up to see Baron Victor Whale, an acquaintance from Cambridge. “Think nothing of it,” he said, motioning to the chair across from him.

“Splendid to see you back in London,” Victor said, taking his seat. “I trust your journey home was uneventful.”

“It was,” Killian replied. “Thank you.” 

They exchanged the most basic of pleasantries until Victor got to the point. “I understand Lady Kilmartin is in the market for a husband.”

It was a very good thing Killian was so well versed in keeping his true feelings hidden, because the baron’s words and the gleam in his eyes made the alcohol in his stomach sour, and he had to fight to keep his countenance even. No matter that he thought of little else in the last few days, hearing others speak of it was the very last thing he wanted to hear.

“Er, yes,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “I believe she is.”

“Splendid.” The smile on Victor’s face grew and Killian steeled himself for his next words. “Will you dower her?”

Killian’s eyebrows jumped on his head in surprise. “What?” It hadn’t even occurred to him. Good God, he’d probably have to give her away at the wedding.

“Will you dower her?” he repeated.

“Of course,” he bit out, holding on to his temper by the most tenuous of threads.

“Her brother said the same.” Killian feared for his teeth if he ground them any harder. If Victor thought he had any chance of gaining Emma’s hand and her apparently double dowry, he had another thing coming. He’d been a frequent visitor to the track back in their university days, and he doubted that had changed appreciatively since then. He was very likely impoverished and looking for an heiress to save him from ruin.

“The Jones’ will care for her,” Killian replied through grit teeth.

Victor shrugged. “Apparently, the Nolan’s will as well. Well, good seeing you again, Kilmartin,” he said, standing. “I must be off to tell Cheshire the news. Not that I want the competition, but this won’t stay under wraps for long. Might as well be the one to start its spread.” He laughed and Killian glared as he walked away.

Killian looked down at the empty glass in his hand. Damn, he’d already drunk it all. He signaled for another and then heard his name again. He did his best to hide his irritation, but this time wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded.

“Good evening, Kilmartin.” The voice belonged to Earl Arthur Stone. The man was familiar to him, of course, enough that a friendly conversation in the club wouldn’t draw undue attention, but he often reminded Killian of a strutting peacock, and after his floral delivery this morning, there was little doubt why he was seeking Killian out this evening.

“Stone,” he greeted, motioning to the chair Whale had recently vacated. He was only a bit more circumspect than Whale had been, engaging him in pleasantries for a full five minutes before bringing up his true purpose.

“I called upon Lady Kilmartin this afternoon,” he informed Killian.

“Did you?” he replied, nonplussed. He may not have been in the house when Stone called, wanting to spare himself the parade of suitors that seemed inevitable after the floral display that morning, but he wasn’t a fool.

“She’s lovely,” Arthur continued, when it became clear Killian had nothing else to say in light of his revelation.

“She is indeed.” Killian swirled his fresh drink and brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving the man across from him. 

Stone cleared his throat and spoke again. “I intend to court her, you know.”

Killian pierced him with a stare and was gratified to see just a slight bit of discomfort at his scrutiny. 

“Well, if I didn’t, I certainly do now.”

Stone pulled at his cravat. “I wasn’t sure whether to inform you or her brother.”

Killian had no doubt David Nolan, the viscount and Emma’s eldest brother, would have no trouble determining the worth of potential suitors. But as her higher ranking relative, it’d be customary for him to be informed first by those same suitors.

“I am sufficient.”

“Excellent.” He took a sip of his drink and cleared his throat, a bit nervously in Killian’s opinion.

“Stone!” a rather jovial voice called. “And Kilmartin, too! What a surprise to see you!” It was Lord Cassidy. And if he wasn’t drunk yet, he was close to it.

Killian refrained from rolling his eyes at the man’s statement, as he took a seat between himself and Arthur. 

“When did you get back to London?” Cassidy asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“I’ve been back about a month,” Killian replied. He realized his glass was empty again and signaled for another. He was going to need it.

Cassidy nodded several times in quick succession. “And Lady Kilmartin, as well, I see,” he continued. “Finally out of mourning, yes? She wore blue last night,” he said, answering his own question. 

“She looked quite lovely,” Stone added.

“Indeed, indeed,” Cassidy nodded again. “A fine woman. Why, I’d go after her myself if I wasn’t already shackled to Lady Cassidy.”

Small favors, Killian thought, barely able to keep himself from rolling his eyes in annoyance. He couldn’t imagine being faced with a potential suit from the buffoon in front of him.

“How long did she mourn the old earl?” he asked and Killian bristled.

“Four years,” he bit out. “My brother died four years ago.”

“Whatever,” Cassidy replied, blatantly ignoring Killian’s emphasis on his relationship to the old earl. “It was a bloody long time.” He shrugged. “All the same to us though. She wasn’t looking for a husband until now.”

“No,” Killian said. If only because Cassidy had actually stopped to take a breath.

“The men are going to be after her like bees to flowers.” He drew out the s so that it sounded like a long zzzzz. “Beezzzz to honey, I say. And there hasn’t been a hint of scandal about her in all that time.”

“Of course not!” Stone sounded shocked and Killian ground his teeth wondering where Cassidy was going with this.

“Not like some of the widows out and about, eh?” he continued, elbowing Killian and shooting him a significant look. “If you know what I mean.”

Killian looked him square in the face and speared him with a stare that would have sent his underlings back in India scurrying, but which he was afraid Lord Cassidy was a bit too obtuse, or a bit too drunk to notice.

“What, exactly, do you mean, Cassidy?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice.

“It’s like…” He leaned in conspiratorially and his grin turned salacious. “It’s like…”

“Oh, for God’s sake, man. Spit it out,” Killian growled.

“I’ll tell you what it’s like,” he repeated, his grin turning into a leer. “It’s like you’re getting a virgin who knows what to do.”

“What did you say?” Killian’s voice was deadly quiet.

“I said…”

“I would take care to not repeat what you just said, if I were you, Cassidy,” Stone tried to warn him.

“Eh? It’s no insult, I assure you,” Cassidy continued before finishing off his drink. “I mean, she’s been married, so you know she’s not untouched, but she hasn’t gone off and…”

“Stop now,” Killian ground out.

“What? Why? Everyone is saying it.” 

“Not to me, they’re not.” If Cassidy was too dense to take the warning, then Killian was just going to have to cut his tongue out of his head. Or strangle him. “Not if they value their head.”

“Well, it’s better than saying she ain’t like a virgin,” Cassidy chortled, “If you know what I mean.”

Killian lunged.

“Good God, man,” Cassidy choked out, his back on the floor. Killian didn’t know how his hands came to be around the bastard’s neck, but he found he rather liked the way they looked there. “What… the hell… is wrong with you?”

“You will never,” he hissed, his face inches from Cassidy’s, “speak her name again. Do you understand me?” Cassidy tried to nod, but it only cut off his air supply more.

Killian released him and stood, wiping his hands on his pant legs as if wiping away something foul. “I will not tolerate Lady Kilmartin being spoken of in such disrespectful terms. Is that clear?”

Cassidy nodded and so did several onlookers.

“Good.” Killian decided now was a good time to vacate the premises, and so strode out of the room. Once in the hallway, he heard his name yet again and wondered who’d be so idiotic as to approach him when he was this angry. Will Nolan. Emma’s older brother. Damn.

“Kilmartin,” Will said, his customary knowing smirk firmly planted on his face.

“Nolan,” Killian greeted.

“I was having a quiet drink when I heard the commotion,” he said, motioning to the room Killian had just left. “Come join me.”

Killian may have wanted nothing more than to leave, but Will was Emma’s brother, so they were relations of a sort and he couldn’t get away with snubbing his invitation. Will had always unnerved him. They shared the same sort of reputation, that of the devil-may-care-rogue, but where Will was always cooed over by the society mamas because of his charm and wit, Killian had always been treated much more suspect. At least until he came into the title.

But Killian knew the man was sharp as a whip, and he had long suspected there was quite a bit of substance underneath Will’s always jovial exterior. If there was anyone in Emma’s family who might accurately guess Killian’s true feelings for Emma, it was Will.

Killian intended to share one drink with the man and leave.

“Fine evening, don’t you think?” Will asked, motioning for their drinks once Killian was settled in his seat, pretending to be comfortable. “Aside from Cassidy, obviously. He’s nothing but an ass.”

Of course, Killian agreed with the sentiment, but with Will watching him so carefully - even under the guise of friendly conversation - he could manage no more than a terse nod. Will cocked his head to the side just a bit and narrowed his eyes slightly. Almost as if to get a deeper look into his soul. Killian fought the urge to squirm.

“Thank you for defending Emma’s honor,” Will said quietly.

Killian didn’t know what he expected Will to say to him, but it certainly wasn’t that. It was his place to defend her honor, just as it would have been if any of the Nolan brothers had heard Cassidy’s despicable words.

“Emma deserves respect,” Killian replied, equally as quietly as their drinks arrived. Killian gave a nod of appreciation and took a sip. “I will not countenance anything less. From anyone.”

There was silence for a moment between the two men as they sipped their drinks.

“You could marry her, you know,” Will said easily. Killian nearly choked.

“I beg your pardon?” Killian was sputtering. Killian never sputtered.

“Marry her,” he repeated, moving forward just a bit, his gaze intense. 

Killian realized it was too much to hope that Will was referring to anyone else except Emma, but he had to try.

“And who am I supposed to marry?”

The look on Will’s face was condescending in the extreme, mixed with a fair amount of pity as well. “Do we really need to play this game?”

“I can’t marry Emma!” he exclaimed.

“And why not?” He looked honestly puzzled and Killian felt his jaw opening and closing, not a word coming out of it. 

“Because…” he trailed away, completely at a loss. Because that one simple statement made Killian realize that he could marry Emma. There was nothing illegal about it. There was only his own damn conscience. The conscience that maintained there was everything immoral about it. 

She’d been married to his brother. The brother whose death gave him money, power, prestige, and a title. And if he compounded the utter betrayal of his brother - loving his wife - by then stealing her for his own, didn’t that mean he had somehow wished for Liam’s death? 

And how could he possibly live with himself then?

Will sat back in his chair, his dark eyes still on Killian, watching and cataloging every muscle twitch, every eye movement, every emotion Killian was too shocked to keep hidden that worked their way across his face.

Will waved his hand dismissively, but without looking away. “I can see it’s a moot point anyway.” 

That brought Killian’s swirling thoughts to an abrupt halt. There was something in the tone of his voice. Something biting and provoking. He met Will’s stare with his own, searching for clues as to the other man’s agenda. “And why is that?” he bit out.

Will took his time answering. He toyed with his glass, took a small sip, and continued to scrutinize Killian. 

“Why is it a moot point?” Will finally repeated, his eyebrow raising in intrigue, just like Emma’s sometimes did. “Because you’re so clearly not interested in marrying her.”

Killian’s mouth opened for a quick, biting retort, but he shut it just as quickly when he realized he’d been about to say, Of course, I am.

He’d very nearly confessed the deepest desire of his heart to the brother of his beloved. And as he searched Will’s face, he knew that the man had somehow seen into the depths of his heart and mind and knew precisely how Killian felt about his sister.

“I must be going,” Killian blurted out, finishing his drink and rising to his feet.

“Of course,” Will said, affably. As if their conversation had been about nothing more important than the weather. “Think about what I said,” he murmured, as Killian strode purposefully toward the door.

As if he’d be able to think about anything else. For the rest of his life.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! New ch will be up Wednesday!

[kujo1597]

It’s been a bit! But I suppose that’s normal for these. I did have a good reason for it taking so long this time. In the first episode recap or whatever you’d like to call these posts I said that I started doing them to get back into writing Unbreakable. Well! I’m done chapter 6!!! 🥳 Woo! Well… mostly done it. I have to like, write at least a couple verses for a song Stormer wrote and do my usual week of proofreading before I post it. But! I’m 99% done it!!!

Let’s celebrate my new spare time with an episode of Jem.

I had literally no idea what this episode’s title was. It completely escaped me for some reason. Why am I so confused by that?

Kimber’s my favourite character! How did I forget the episode with her name in it? I think the actual answer is that there are a couple episodes where Kimber’s rebelled and those ones were a little more of a meaningful rebellion. Especially the one that really kicked off my favourite Jem ship.

Oh by the way. I actually forgot that the last episode ended on the yacht being on a crash course with an oil tanker. I think part of why I don’t feel too bad about how densely packed my Jem fanfics tend to be is because the show itself covers a lot in each episode.

Let's get to it.

So the yacht almost crashes into the taker ship, Danielle’s crew manages to save the ship. Although the party guests get a little thrown around.

Jem included!

So… Is this how boats work? I grew up in a landlocked province; I didn’t even see the ocean until I was in my mid-20s. My family would go to a lake but it was small, probably too small for a speeding yacht. I don’t know boat physics.

Anyway, Rio pulls Jem back onboard.

And here is our first kiss between Jem and Rio. Jerrica got caught up in the moment and gave her boyfriend a kiss on the lips. But of course she’s Jem right now and Rio to his credit, pulled away and said that it’s wrong to cheat on Jerrica with Jem.

He’s not bad in these first few episodes!

With the crisis averted everybody makes sure Jem and Rio are okay, then they see the Misfits taunting them from their little speed boat. And Stormer does a Flim Flam as hell laugh. Sorry Sue Blu I love The 13 Ghosts of Scooby Doo so I associate this style of laugh with the lovable scam artist. Now that everybody’s nice and frustrated with the uninvited guests they decide that they need to start filming Jem’s first music video as soon as possible. Anthony says he’ll direct it, and the countess offers to fund the whole thing and fly everybody to Paris.

Kimber wanted to do the whole thing the very next day. But Jem being Jerrica is like, “Sounds great, but we need to actually record our album first.”

Now we cut to Starlight Mansion and the girls. Krissie says that Jem and The Holograms will be leaving in two days. Deirdre is pretty into the idea of Paris but Ashley sure isn’t. She’s pretty darn bitter about how everybody is talking so much about Jem.

Lela asks Ashley how much money she’s made for the Honor Jar (We’re almost done with this thing. So far I haven’t spelled it Honour Jar once.) and Ashley presents the $30 she got off of Stormer. But Lela explains the rules of the jar, you must say how you earned the money because the work is as important as the cash.

Ashley has a pretty understandable reaction. She’s new and feeling unwelcome. She’s been getting criticized a lot lately and reached her breaking point. Ashley throws the money to the floor and storms out.

Yeah she didn’t earn the money in a way that would be seen as “acceptable” but I feel like at this point Ashley feels like nothing she’ll do will be good enough for the people in this foster home. And who knows what her previous one was like. This could be something she’s been dealing with for years for all we know.

Time to watch Jem and The Holograms record their first album. The song playing is Twilight in Paris, I’ll say more about it after the actual music video.

Rio asks the band to tighten up the song and asks them if they can keep going. Jem tells him that they’ll keep at it until they nail the song.

Then we get an immediate comparison to The Misfits who are recording their album. Eric tells them to pick up the tempo, Stormer enthusiastically agrees to work at it. But Pizzazz and Roxy have very little interest in honing their craft.

Then Pizzazz complains to Eric that he’s not flying her group to a place like Paris. And Eric tells her that he can only embezzle so much money from Starlight Music before he owns it.

But he does fly Zipper to Paris in order to sabotage Jem’s music video.

After a quick pan over Paris we see Anthony going over the steps for the music video with Jem. Kimber gets jealous of Jem and storms off.

She starts heading towards Zipper and her first kidnapping of the show. But Rio catches her in time. And well

is pretty rough with Kimber.

Kimber’s frustrated and tells Rio to not play big brother with her. And then after a little fight she goes to tell Rio that Jem’s not so great because she’s actually Jerrica. Shana and Aja stop Kimber right in time.

Kimber points out that Rio has the right to know. And she’s right! And Shana agrees with her! But also points out that this is Jerrica’s love life so she should be the one to tell Rio.

After that scene Zipper looks up at the top of a skyscraper and sees the gargoyles and he hatches a plan.

I’m fond of the song Twilight in Paris. Not because it’s a great song. It’s really not, the music video is kinda neat. No. I’m fond of this song because the lyrics feel like Kimber was scrambling to think of stuff that has to do with Paris, and France in general. And I just love the mental image of that. Kimber scribbling in a notebook everything she knows about Paris and coming up with only four things, the Eiffel Tower, City of Lights, a location Jem sings that I can’t understand, and France being a romantic country. And that’s it. That’s all Kimber could come up with in a day. It’s wonderful.

After the music video we see Zipper’s plan in action. What is this plan?

Why crush Jem of course! Literally!

The gargoyle misses the mark though. Zipper is very good at his job.

Rio gives Jem a tight hug after her close call and she asks him to never let go.

Kimber’s not dumb and knows exactly who sent Zipper.

Time to get an update on the Ashley subplot. She runs away from home and to a bar frequented by the Misfits.

Stormer likes kids. I did a post about it. She sees Ashley at the bar, leans down to get closer to eye level and asks Ashley for her name, and if she’s in trouble.

Pizzazz leads Ashley into the bar and I highly doubt it’s because she likes kids. She probably just saw an opportunity to get at Jem. Or Jerrica. At this point she probably dislikes them equally.

Now we see the Misfits giving Ashley some life lessons. These lessons are the opposite of what Jerrica’s been teaching her girls. Be rude, be pushy, never thank people.

Back to the stars of the show, intended stars anyway, and they’re discussing things with Danielle. Kimber’s still jealous of Jem. I do like how Danielle calls Kimber “my petite.” It’s pretty cute. I think the countess likes Kimber.

After getting into the airport, whatever section this is, I’ve never been on a plane, Jem runs off to change. And we get our first instance of Rio’s pissiness. Aja reminds him that Jerrica is supposed to meet them at the airport and he blows past her to be all mopey. Jerrica’s disappointed that Rio took off.

Aja promises her that taking a look around town will cheer her up. However...

*laughs hysterically*

Oh, sorry. I just forgot how shitty this poster looks.

Um.

Okay, so while Jem and The Holograms were in Paris The Misfits were busy putting up posters advertising them. Or maybe Eric hired a bunch of people because Pizzazz and Roxy couldn’t be bothered. Either way, their faces are plastered all over town.

Song time! This is a pretty nice song complete with convenient hole for Pizzazz to climb out of. We see Jem and The Holograms along with some Starlight Girls running around town trying to hang up all their posters and just advertise their band in general. But they’re being sabotaged the entire time. And one of the saboteurs is Ashley.

Kimber sees this and she is not happy.

She confronts Eric in his office where he is writing directly onto his desk.

And Eric starts being creepy as hell! Stop it! Jesus. If Jerrica’s 18 then Kimber’s only 15.

Eric tries to butter up Kimber by saying that as the songwriter she deserves far more credit than she’s getting, that she should be star instead of Jem. And even offers to sign Kimber on without Jem. She doesn’t outright say no to the offer but she does leave.

Now to Starlight Mansion where we see Aja and Shana reading magazines, Kimber playing guitar, and Jerrica being bushed from all the work they’re been doing. Then the phones rings.

It’s Lindsey Pierce! She asks to speak to Jem and after filling her sisters in Jerrica speaks to Lindsey in the exact same tone of voice she normally speaks in and says, “This is Jem.” I can excuse Lindsey for not really caring because Jerrica is currently a nobody. But it’s just very funny.

Lindsey says that she only wants to interview Jem and she’ll do something with the Holograms at a later date. But when Jerrica tells Kimber that only Jem is invited to this interview Kimber yells and storms out declaring that she’s going to go solo.

Hey look, Kimber’s first cry of the show. Not counting the funeral. *adds this to the Kimber rarely cries around others pile* Don't worry I won't call attention to every time a character cries. I'm just putting these into my crying folder. That is a totally normal sentence I just typed.

After Aja and Shana try to comfort Jerrica she decided to make a phone call to Lindsey to insist that the entire band be on her show. And Lindsey doesn’t mind one bit.

With that mess sorted out it’s now time to sort out a different mess. Getting Kimber back. Jerrica knows her baby sister well and figures that Kimber’s driving aimlessly while listening to her favourite radio station. And heads there in the Starlight Express to ask the DJ to broadcast a message to Kimber. Jerrica figures she’d be too unknown to get any air time but Jem definitely would be allowed on the air.

They deliver their message and Kimber hears it and returns home saying that with no Jem there is no Holograms.

Rio pulls up and calls out to the group that they’ve got 15 minutes until air time. Jerrica tells her sisters to take the roadster while she rids with Rio in his van.

There’s a lot of vans in this show.

During the drive Rio tells Jerrica that he can’t be Jem’s manager anymore. That he’s afraid he’ll hurt Jerrica. And she insists that Rio keeps working for them because they all need him and he’s irreplaceable. Rio does give in because it does mean a lot to Jerrica that he stays a part of the team.

He did not appreciate Jerrica being pulled off to do more work for Jem, as shown by him shaking his head. Part of the problem probably was the fact that Jerrica got yanked out of their hug.

Live interview time! The Misfits see this and are not happy. They run out of whatever building they're in to put a stop to it.

So, before I started this episode summary I tried very hard to remember which Misfits song played in this episode. There’s a reason I couldn’t remember! There wasn’t one!

I like this song a lot. I find myself singing it on occasion. To be honest I generally prefer Misfits music and those are the songs that tend to get stuck in my head. But there are some Holograms ones I find myself humming and singing.

Boop.

What was I doing? Oh yeah, the interview!

At some point the Misfits picked Ashley up before arriving at the TV station. Last time we saw them they were hanging out in one of their houses. I think. It's unclear where they were.

Well, trying to get in with the Misfits name didn’t work so Pizzazz sent Ashley in. And Ashley distracts the guard by kicking him really hard in the shin.

Lindsey asks Jem and a really good question. Where did the name Jem and The Holograms come from?

I suppose an easy answer would be to say that it sounds cool and futuristic.

But before Jem can think of that explanation the interview gets interrupted by The Misfits. They’re their usual pushy selves and Jem stands up to them and insults them. Good for her! I like how this show isn’t afraid to have the protagonist be rude right back.

A quick tangent because my brain is funny. I listened to the Jem audiobooks a while back and was amazed by how completely rude Jem is in some of them. Not because she was being rude to Pizzazz, but because she was being rude to everybody. The show strikes a nice balance. Jerrica does get more patient with Pizzazz post-syndication but not a lot more patient, and in season 3 all that patience is gone. With good reason!

Back to the show, Lindsey sensing a brawl on her hands asks the station to cut to commercial. She informs the Misfits that she was planning to invite them onto the show for an interview too, but now she doesn’t want to.

The Misfits demand equal time and that they get to play a song so they take the instruments on stage. But Jem isn’t having any of this and pulls Aja’s guitar out of Stormer’s hands.

Lindsey’s had it. She asks the men on the set to escort these ladies off of the set.

And we get our first slap of show. Pizzazz tells Lindsey that her show isn’t classy enough for The Misfits.

Rio is one of the people dragging the Misfits away. He grabs Pizzazz and she makes an offer to Rio, that he should work for her. And Rio turns her down. So Pizzazz elbows Rio in the gut sending him careening off into some equipment which causes a domino effect putting Jem’s life at risk.

A fire breaks out and that is where the episode ends.

A lot of fire in this show.

And well, now you see what I mean when I say that Jem is a densely packed show. A lot happens in it. Part of why these first five episodes are like this is likely the nature of the original release of them. But wow, this is a lot to take in. Imagine being a kidling trying to keep up, watching the shorts once a week. What if you missed one? You’d be so lost!

The next one of these should get done a lot sooner than my current pace. I'd like to finish the opening five episodes before I finish writing that dreaded wedding I promised.

[nazuqi]

Even If You Become a Stranger, I Will Fall In Love With You Again

— CHAPTER ONE: I AM NOT YOUR DAUGHTER, AND I AM NOT YOUR LADY

The Countess and Count are so kind. Unlike most nobles, they married for love, which helped create a healthy environment growing up. It’s nice to be complimented, spoiled, and taken care of so attentively by everyone. It makes me wonder how that had gone away through the years. 

To be truthful, even though it’s been just under 10 years, I can’t get used to being “Astelle Belrose”. Even though I’m Astelle, I’m also Qian. Having the knowledge of a teenager as a baby was… quite the experience, to say the least. 

“Aste~lle! Are you there? Is my baby studying?” Countess Hyacinthe Belrose knocked on the door to my study.

I grumbled. “I’m not a baby.” I knew she was affectionate that way, but I really wasn’t a baby. Seventeen and being called a baby? That was too much- although it was hard to blame her, because as Astelle, I’d only been born 10 years ago. 10 year-olds were still babies- although my case was quite odd. 

Learning the basics like walking took up a lot of time and energy, and with a baby’s body, talking was hard. It was easier to go through normal things I’d be able to do as time passed, and being in a 10-year-old’s body isn’t as different as before. It’s changing, slowly. 

“Oh? Them again? I always wonder who they are; I always see you drawing them, and I’ve never seen them before,” she took a closer look at them. “They look very cute~” 

Of course she’d never seen them before. Ra*bits didn’t exist in the Empire, and I’m the only fan of a group that “doesn’t exist”. How could I tell her that? “They’re my characters! They like to be cute and sing and dance for everyone and they’re happy when all of their fans are happy!” I wish I could tell her that- but it wouldn’t be right to call them characters. They’re real to me, the people closest to me. 

“That’s a secret, mama.” I say with a proud look on my face. They respect my privacy, and it’s easy to act when you know they won’t see through you so fast.

“Alright, I look forward to getting to know them~” she giggled. “Anyways, guess what?”

“What.”

“My best friend is moving to the capital! We’re visiting her next week,” she put her hands to her hips. Countess Hyacinthe’s best friend is Duchess Ariane Lambert- Leveret’s mother. When Duke Lambert had an affair, she’d decided to take her children with her and move to the Capital, far away from the Northern Region where the Lamberts had resided for generations. 

“Oh… do I have to go?” It was risky for me. Leveret was always my favorite character; I’ll get attached far too easily. 

“Of course, silly! You’re shy now? Having friends is good, I promise.”

“But I have friends in the mansion.”

“Have a friend your age! Just try it out, and if you two don’t work out well, then you don’t have to meet them again unless we both end up going to the same event. Is that okay?”

I nodded. I can’t really argue with that. I don’t want to sound like I hate Leveret; I can’t sound like someone who hates someone for no reason. 

Hyacinthe got up from her seat, “We’re meeting your father in a restaurant near the palace tonight for dinner, so get ready, okay?” Oh, the restaurants in the Capital are good, it’s hard to say no to that.

She left to let me get ready with the maids. Needing them to change into a dress for dinner sucks, but the fashion is too difficult for me to get into myself. I let the maids in, and they fixed me up before dinner.

“Eat well, my lady!” I waved to them as I got into the carriage with Hyacinthe. At first, I’d hate being called “my lady”, but it was normal here. Making people bend the normal in their reality to fit my “reality” is too cruel. 

I hate living a lie. If only I could tell the Countess that I wasn’t her daughter, never to begin with, the servants that I was never their lady. I have no choice but to move on; I’m stuck as Astelle as long as I am in this world. 

[amerrierworld]

brain.

I chewed the end of my pencil’s eraser, the flavour off-putting but not unwelcome. Looking at my pile of drafts and blurb prompts, the brief inkling of my motivation that I had earlier seemed to be slipping away.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if I became obsessed with something new again, quickly,” I grumbled, abusing the delete button on my keyboard as I rewrote a sentence again.

“What’s wrong with the things you’re currently obsessed with?” A low chuckle came from the other side of the room. Lou stepped through the doorway and to the side of my desk, planting reassuring hands on my shoulders. “Just write another steamy fic about me... You’ve got plenty already.”

“Yeah but I don’t want to just write about you, no matter how much I love writing about you,” I look up at her and she tuts, stealing the pencil from my mouth. “I have to keep up with different things!”

“Well, you keep promising them you’ll write more about us,” Hela grumbled from the couch in the back of the room, pointing between her and Alcina, who was hunched over uncomfortably in the small office space. “How many parts does Babysitter still need to finish the story, hm?”

“Don’t start,” I groaned, hiding my face with my hands.

“And Songbird was supposed to be just three parts, right? Now what, you’ve given yourself about ten total? You think you’ll have the stamina for that?” The Countess added.

“You’re not helping! Any of you!” I snapped, closing my laptop and getting up. “I need a drink.”

“I hope it’s one of my brands,” Alcina commented. “You know they’re the best.”

“I don’t drink blood-wine, Alci.” 

Lou, trusty Lou, followed me around the elaborate palace of writing I had constructed for myself, flicking through a notebook of drafts and characters from my recent writings. 

“You really stuck around with this, didn’t you?” She gestured to the pages of scribbles.

“What?” I asked, grabbing a glass from the cabinet in the kitchen. 

“Me, Debs, Hela, Carol, Alci, basically everything Cate Blanchett played and then some.”

“Oh, shut up,” I growled. “I wrote about some other characters too you know!”

“Yeah, years ago,” Thorin muttered, sitting at the kitchen island next to Obi-Wan. “We both barely got any mention. Fili’s story took years to finish, didn't it?”

“Boys, I promise I still love all of you. It’s just that the women characters have been more on my mind recently.”

“Well, you haven’t written about all of Cate’s characters,” Valka muttered, and Bernadette nodded. “When are you gonna invite Lydia in?”

“When I have the stamina to even begin thinking about such a complex character! I could barely write one fic about Lilith as it is!”

“Oh, sorry, we’re not complex enough for ya!” Karl snarled, chugging back my entire last bottle of wine. “This is shit, by the way.”

“Hey! That was my last bottle.”

“This is your dream, just think up another,” he scoffed, chucking the bottle into the sink.

“Just pick something! Anything will work, and to be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t written about me yet,” Legolas sat perched on one of the tables, fiddling with the ends of one of his arrows. “There’s loads in Fellowship you could write on.”

“Jesus Christ, where’d you come from? And no, I can’t just pick something! I need a good explanation for my insane hiatus... again!”

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” Bernadette replied. “The loyal fans will understand.”

“Don’t call them fans,” I muttered. “I feel weird thinking that people out there actually enjoy my writing.”

“Besides,” she kept going, “You’ve been coming and going as you please anyways since the start! Isn’t that indicative enough that you can take all the time you need if you need it?”

“Doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty though!” I sighed. “I feel like I owe my writing another piece. Something good. But that’s scary, because what the hell is supposed to be good? And what if no one reads it? It’s not even a ground-breaking novel, it’s just silly little paragraphs about characters that aren’t even mine.”

“So what?” Lou crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway -- her best place to pose. “You like writing it, so write it. Doesn’t matter if people read it. You don’t even have to post it, if you don’t want.”

Galadriel walked in beside her, hands deftly clasped in front of her. “There’s plenty to write about, meleth-nin. You’ll find something. If it’s not a fic like this, maybe something else. And if something is unfinished, let it be. That’s what the process is for.”

I opened the kitchen cabinet, and sure enough, there was another bottle of wine. But, instead, I reached for the apple juice next to it. It was nice and cold, despite not being in the fridge. God, I loved imagining things. 

“I could write more smut -- people like reading it, and it’s fun to write,” I shrugged after chugging half a glass. “But what if I should try something more? Maybe a couple parts to a story, like in dreams, but just stop it after a few, and not force myself to think of it as a massive novel with endless chapters? That’s what happened with Babysitter... I had a fantastic idea and now I’m scared to take it somewhere.”

“Maybe one day you’ll finish the big ones,” Obi-Wan mused, stroking his beard from the table. “You could always try a different series that you’ve already seen, watched, and loved. Maybe that’ll get the ball rolling. There’s lots more to Star Wars than just me.”

“I know, but I love you,” I pouted. “And Star Wars is massive!”

“So is Tolkien,” Thorin shrugged. “You’ve written about us plenty.”

“Could’ve written about me,” Loki grinned. “You basically did, of course, but you made me more the side-character. I think I would do really well as the protagonist--”

“Maybe take the time to watch new stuff, you know, the things you keep saying you’ll get into, but then don't?” Debbie suggested, pulling out a massive list of my to-be-watched and to-be-read. I pouted again, I wanted to, but had no idea where to start.

They had all entered the dining room now, Alci sitting on the floor to make room for her head. And they all looked at me expectantly. There was a typewriter on the table.

“Oh, no, absolutely not. I’m not writing something while you’re all sitting here watching me.”

“Well, what’ll it be then?” Hela countered. “You’re gonna finish this fic and be done for the day -- or should I say, year?”

“I don’t know what to write about!”

“Write about this,” Bernadette said, gesturing wildly around the room. “And then maybe something new will happen after.”

“You know, this is definitely a fever dream,” I grumbled. “I could never look a so many of Cate Blanchett’s characters at once and be able to form complete sentences.”

Three peculiar flies landed around the typewriter, buzzing haphazardly. Alcina shooed them away and the three daughters materialized, hanging from the chandelier.

“If you break that, you’ll pay for it!” I warned.

“If we break it, that means you made us break it!” Cassandra cackled. “Can’t win, sweetie. Not even in your own daydreams.”

“No, I suppose not,” I slumped in the chair and looked at the blank page. “Writing fic isn’t meant to feel like a chore, right?”

“Don’t ask us, we’re not writers,” Karl grumbled, sitting at a plate of hot food piled high. 

“Where did that come from?” I gaped. He wagged a finger in the air in thought while chewing a massive piece of steak.

“Hmn, I think... you might be hungry. Best get some fuel when you wake up.”

“But first,” Carol said softly, resting her hand on my shoulder. “Write something. Anything. Any word.”

I thought for a moment, the clock in the hall ticking loudly. Fuck it.

brain.

[prettylittlelyres]

Ladies Don't Write Music - update, 1st November 2023

I woke up at 6:30am today, excited to write something for my NaNoWriMo project before work. When did I last get excited to write this early in the morning? I'm not sure, but I made myself a cup of coffee, sat down at my laptop, and spent about an hour writing.

Between 6:50am and 7:55am, I wrote 1,821 words for the first "Violins and Violets" book! It's a WIP I've had since 31st July, but I haven't been progressing with it as quickly as I've wanted to, so I've decided to finish it off this month. If I get it done before 30th November, I'll use the rest of NaNoWriMo to start the second in the series.

I'm so enjoying writing this story, and getting to know Katharina and her life in Salzburg before she (spoiler alert) runs away to Prague.

Here's a celebratory excerpt!

“Peter rather took a shine to you when you met him and Rupert the other evening," Elisabeth said, "Yes, he’s very interested in you.” My heart thudded. “Is he coming to the party tonight?” What if I had to dance with him? What if the first gentleman who’d taken “a shine” to me found out how bad I was at dancing, and told everyone. And what if he laughed at me? While I wasn’t sure if I’d taken as much interest in Peter as he’d apparently taken in me - especially now - I’d certainly enjoyed that evening with him, Elisabeth and Rupert. Would there be another one if he found out how clumsy my feet were? I doubted it. Elisabeth shook her head sadly. “He and Rupert are at some devastatingly boring school event,” she said, “It’s something to do with Rupert’s studies. Peter’s just been dragged along because you have to take your younger brother to these things, apparently.” Perhaps she saw my shoulders slump. “Oh, dear, you really do like him, don’t you?” Elisabeth hid a giggle behind her hand. “Oh, poor Käthe! And poor Peter!” I froze. Went to say, “No, I don’t,” and then realised how mean that would sound. But something in Elisabeth’s reaction made me worried that she might tell Peter I liked him - in the way she clearly thought I did - and I wasn’t ready for that. “Don’t tell him!” I exclaimed. “Oh, no, I certainly won’t,” she said, squeezing my hand, “I promise. Oh, but, Käthe, wouldn’t it be nice to have a sister?” “A sister?” “Me!” she said, “If you marry Peter, we’ll be sisters, at least in law. Which would make you the sister of a Countess, if Bruno von Clary-Aldringen and I…” My eyebrows leapt. “Isn’t that a bit sudden? I tell you I like velvet, you say Peter has a velvet jacket, you say he likes me, and all of a sudden we’re getting married?”

Now it's time for me to do the rest of my day. I've never tried to fit NaNoWriMo around a 9-5 job before - the last time I did it, I was at university, and had a much more flexible schedule.

[kinetic-elaboration]

September 26: AHS 5x08 Ten Commandments Killer

Eh. I’m coming to the conclusion that I really am only here for the B-plots. The more I like an aspect of the season, the less time and attention is given to it.

Detective John is my least favorite character and the Ten Commandments Killer my least favorite story—tied perhaps with March and his whole back story and for essentially the same reasons. I just don’t care about serial killers. I don’t care for all this faux-deep ‘I’m just a rage-filled man but I’m actually imposing bloody justice and order on a chaotic and unjust world’ or literally whatever. ‘Killing is an art form blah blah.’ The absolute pretension. I can’t tell to what degree that’s supposed to be on purpose (purposefully stupid) and to what degree we’re really supposed to find characters like this scary and disturbing, or maybe even, in John’s case, the tiniest bit sympathetic. I just… I don’t care. I don’t know any other ways to say it. It sort of reminds me of I Am the Night when the guy was like ‘I’ve read Breton and now I understand the Truth about Everything and that truth is I must murder and main young women!’ And I was like, oh, hmm, I’ve also read Breton, and I’ve read Bataille, and I’ve never killed anyone, so…. Your logic is unsound. But at least in that miniseries the heroine told him he was pretentious before fighting her way to freedom in a satisfying way.

Here, as I said, I’m left wondering if I’m supposed to find something deep and meaningful, or at least properly frightening, in his ‘black aura’ or whatever.

I remembered that John was the killer so there really wasn’t much of interest in this episode. If there had been any mystery or surprise it might have been satisfying to see everything played through again except this time we know the truth. But… the truth was so obvious. The 10 Commandments Killer was John’s story line from the first episode. No one else was ever really involved with it. So who are the options? A totally new character—plausible given how late certain plot points are added in but kind of a random choice. March himself—probably the intended red herring but he can’t physically leave the hotel, which means it can’t be just him. And…. John. And that’s it. So. Not a surprise at all.

I have mixed feelings about this ‘everything all fits together’ place that we’re in now with the plot. Originally, it seemed like the only connecting thread was that all this weird stuff happens in the hotel, and all these weird creatures and ghosts live in the hotel, and that’s it. A unity of place but everyone’s just running around in it doing their own thing. But now we’re seeing that, oh, actually the Countess and March were married and that’s why she lives in the hotel, and oh, the Detective was March’s protégé all along, and oh not only did the Countess steal his kid but she did it on purpose to target him, and it’s just… it’s all very neat. Maybe I’m being too harsh and it should be really satisfying to see all the pieces coming together. But it feels more awkwardly contrived and forced than natural and satisfying. Maybe that’s just me.

Sally was the best part of this episode, not because she was or is particularly great as a character, but because there was no competition. I liked how she was playing with Wren’s hair in that creepy way at the end.

I also liked the glimpses we got of Alex (who definitely appears way too good for him in the snippet we see here, though of course we know from other episodes that she is actually equally deranged), Iris, and Liz (obviously).

[geniequestria]

Starlight opens up the DisChaos program from within her lamp. She had just invited some pony to contact other than Fluttershy. None other than the first pony she personally genified…

<Starlight> Good afternoon, Trixie~ I pray that you can see this message? <Trixie> I see it, Starlight! This is amazing! Trixie isn’t sure what to think of that mismatched oaf that is Discord, but I’ll say one thing. He knows how to make a service when he puts his mind to it! <Starlight> Mmhmm, this will certainly be useful for our plans. I still have to wait for said mismatched oaf to add the public servers that Fluttershy told me about. But once they do… it’ll be even easier to spread our message~ <Trixie> Hehehe, the Great and Powerful Trixie can’t wait! Though that reminds me… if you’ve talked with Fluttershy, and in an amicable enough way… is she a genie too now? Are all the elements genies? I admit I did have this worry that maybe they’d be… resourceful enough to find a way to reverse everything. They almost always do… <Starlight> Not to worry, Trixie. Fluttershy herself is indeed a genie. The rest still aren’t, but that’s the whole idea. It’ll be more fun to genify them one-by-one over time as they give in to us. With Fluttershy already genified, the elements are useless. Victory has been assured. We’re just taking our sweet time with every pony who doesn’t realize that yet. <Trixie> That’s great news! Trixie can’t wait for your plans to be fulfilled so we can enjoy our wish-filled eternal life together <3 <Starlight> Neither can I, Trixie~. Though pardon the slight subject change, but how did you and the others from Our Town do in Manehattan? <Trixie> Ehehehe! We started our genification spree with a bang! We genified none other than Countess Coloratura live on stage! And then we genified her entire audience! <Starlight> Oh ho! That must have been one heck of a sight~ <Trixie> It sure was! Although… it was nothing compared to what we did together back up in the Crystal Empire~ <Starlight> Yes, it’ll indeed be hard to top that moment for sure… though is that all you’ve done over in Manehattan by chance? <Trixie> Well… besides genify a cop that tried to block our entrance. Not really? I apologize, was Trixie supposed to do more? <Starlight> No no no, don’t worry. I promise what you’ve done is respectable enough. Who knows if you want to give anyone in the audience their special moment of genifying their friends and family. It’d also be hypocritical of me to be mad at you for taking it slow when I’m doing the same for Twilight and her friends. Also, Celestia, Luna, and Cadence have told me they plan to wait for the next gala before genifying most of the capital. <Trixie> Oh... thanks for being so understanding. Frankly, Trixie can’t see why there’s still some resistance to Geniequestria. I ought to see Twilight soon, and tell her my perspective. She hasn’t met the genified me yet after all. <Starlight> Hmmmph, don’t expect to convince Twilight very easily. She still insists there must be some terrible catch that has yet to manifest… <Trixie> Maybe not… but she needs to at least see how happy I am now. I could have never dreamed of anything like this prior to being genified. You make Trixie feel so special… can you really be as bad as they say you are with that in mind? <Starlight> Yeah, they believe just because I don’t conform to their ideals of friendship that I must be doing something wrong. Even the currently genified Fluttershy still thinks I must change my tactics soon… I’m slowly making Equestria greater than it’s ever been and yet they resist simply because I’m not “friendly” enough for them.

<Trixie> Ha! Trixie knows how that feels. I gave crowds a good show, but some heckled me because my boasting was over-the-top and I looked full of myself… including three of Twilight’s own friends! But Trixie is supposed to play it up for the audience! They may be known as the elements of friendship, but apparently understanding what a performance is isn’t part of friendship… …I guess to be fair it is true that I can be a little too proud of myself, but c’mon just look at me, especially NOW!

(Vector by ShutterFlyEQD)

<Starlight> Ohhh, yes~ You were a very pretty magician before, and you make for an absolutely stunning genie~ <Trixie> Oh you flatter Trixie too much~ But do go on anyway! <Starlight> We ought to have another ‘duel’ when you get here, too~ <Trixie> Hehehehe, Trixie is so tempted to just use my genie power to teleport myself there right away just so we can get it on right this second~. But I’m feeling a stronger urge to genify some more ponies in this big city first. But I promise I’ll tell you when I’m heading over! <Starlight> That’s ok, Trixie. I’m feeling the same urge to grow Geniequestria further…  In fact, why don’t you gave a good look of how much is already Geniequestria territory~

<Trixie> Wow! We’ve spread that fast?! That’s great! What do the striped portions mean though? <Starlight> That just means the places currently in process of being genified. Naturally, that’s Ponyville, Canterlot, Manehattan, and Fillydelphia since that’s where most of the Cloudsdale refugees went. There could still be some ponies we still haven’t gotten in the more space I've labeled as our territory, but non-genies are more populous in the striped areas. We’re likely going to be tied up for a long while since these places are the most important places in Equestria. Maybe for the exception of Las Pegasus. But I was going to ask if you’d like to head over there once Manehattan is completely genified. <Trixie> Oh YES! PLEASE let me have Las Pegasus! I’ll share the reason why at some point, but let’s just say… it’s quite personal. I’d much rather tell you about it when we’re together rather than from a long distance like this. <Starlight> If that’s what you wish, Trixie. You should get whatever personally satisfies you most. I’ll make sure to tell the other genies that Las Pegasus is your mission. Though while we’re talking… you’ve been to Ponyville a few times, right? Is there a commerce that you think would be smart to target? <Trixie> Hmmm… did you and/or the Crystal Ponies already get Ponyville’s mayor? <Starlight> Wha…? Why does Ponyville have a mayor when they have a Princess in the vicinity? What’s the point? <Trixie> Well to be fair, Mayor Mare’s been the mayor there for long before Twilight became a Princess. And I imagine it’d be seen as quite rude to push out an elected leader for an unelected (Albeit still popular) ruler. Even if yeah… Twilight clearly has a lot more sway over her <Starlight> I see… that does give me an… idea for some fun temptation before transforming her into one of us. We’ve already gotten a few parts of Ponyville’s society genified like the Day Spa and the hospital. I imagine genifying town hall will do some wonders as well. Ponyville’s government would be under our control! <Trixie> Sounds like a plan! I’ll head off to let you go then. Ta ta! Can’t wait for our next ‘duel’~ <Starlight> Same to you, Trixie~. Enjoy yourself in Manehattan. For Geniequestria! <Trixie> For Geniequestria!

[chernayawidow]

OH MY OH MY OH MY!!! We finally get to indulge in some domestic adjacent material for our babies omggg!!! LETS GET INTO IT!

““Ex-wife, isn’t it?” Stan said, raising a brow.” — LMAOOO Stan really went and humbled that jackass REAL QUICK! The only good thing he’s ever done 🤙

“Perhaps he’d gone a bit too far, but he’d only been trying to subdue you. To get you to listen to him. But you’d always been stubborn.” — Oh yeah Jon, you’re just the absolute epitome of father of the year, aren’t ya? What a delusional prick 🙂

“Your thighs were molded to his hips, and he was still buried deep inside you. But as of yet, you had no reason to move. You were enjoying your vantage point above him, watching him collect himself with closed eyes.” — OH HELL YEAH WE’RE GETTING FED AREN’T WE? LESHGOOO!! Although with all the sex they’re most likely having, you’ve gotta hope that she’s somehow on birth control… 😅

“Holding your free hand at the nape of his neck, you pressed your lips above his brow. Then another kiss to his scratchy cheek. His beard had gotten overgrown. “You need a trim,” you said, letting out a breathy laugh. You kissed his cheek again.” — Even though this part was in the sneak peak in the last one, it’s even better seeing it in complete context! It’s such a simple yet domestic thing to say 😩🫶

“And there were other things too, that he was beginning to realize, but not yet willing to cement in his mind.” — Mhmm, you’re getting warmer and warmer bud! Slowly putting together the picture of what you’re feeling for her! I love that we’ve gotten to witness the progression of their relationship, it’s so satisfying when you think of where they started out and where they are now. There’s still some road to go, but they’re still in quite a good place now.

“But maybe he mourned the connection he could’ve had with a son. From what he’d said about Crimson Countess, you knew he wanted a real family. That softened you. You brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes with delicate fingers.” — Time to toss that birth control ig 🤷‍♀️

“Alert the media,” you said. “We’ve got the ultimate weapon against Soldier Boy: a slow ride on his dick.” — He’s truly met his match and it’s absolutely spectacular to witness 😂 this made me WHEEZE!

“Thank God for IUDs, you thought.” — No cause that would have to be some military grade birth control for it to hold up against SB’s nuclear level sperm!

“He heard puttering in the kitchen, knew it was you because of your soft humming. It drew a smile to his face without him realizing.” — Awwww look at him being smitten with his girl! You’re killing me (affectionate) with how cute these moments are omg!

“He ventured into the kitchen, where the smell of good food made his mouth water, and the sight of you frying bacon (trying not to get burned by the sparking grease) deepened his grin.” — They’re being so fluffy and domestic that it’s warming my soul so deeply 🫶 and they’re practically getting a taste of living together too mwahahahaha!! 😏

“You’re probably the reason that didn’t happen,” he continued. “And that I’m here now.” — I love that he’s addressing this, it feels like a piece of growth for him. I really adore that he’s telling her these things instead of letting his pride or something keep him from expressing these things.

“But I’m getting it off you too," he said gruffly. "You want a deal? Here it is: no one’s fucking touching you again as long as I’m around.” — AHHHH MY HEART!!! No because THIS is such a strong expression of his affection for her, it feels like such an intimate statement and he’s just outright saying it to her instead of suppressing it! And it very much gives off the impression of him wanting to stay in her life… 🫣

“Butcher calling…” — NOOO BUTCHER YOU COCKBLOCKING MOTHERFUCKER NOOOO!!! Top 10 moments of betrayal right here, this is at number 1 for SURE!

“Annie gave you an incredulous look. “So you’re okay with that psycho killing a little girl?” — You really do capture the essence of these characters, especially there key characteristics. Like this moment right here showcases Annie’s self righteousness 🤣

““If you’re grown enough to throw a punch, you’re grown enough to take one,” he argued.” — Oh lordy lord his toxic ideals strike again, he needs to take a chill pill 🤚 tbh I reckon he’s the type to argue with a child about the most minimal thing…

“Yeah, are you gonna say that in a few years? If he turns out just like Homelander, are you going to come crying to me to take him out?” — Its a grey area when it comes to Ryan in my opinion, because no good outcome can come from him. If his mum was still around to raise him, I reckon he would’ve had a chance at growing up decent and becoming a good person. But since she’s gone, I don’t see a good result coming from him remaining alive, especially because so many traumatic things have happened to him and that’s already impacted him negatively. Like yeah he’s a kid now, but he won’t always be.

“I’m asking you to keep your word,” you said. “For both of our sakes.” — That’s the important part of the whole thing, is that if he steps even an inch out of line, there’s gonna be consequences. Grace would just be waiting for the chance to strike down on him, so he needs to grow up and accept that our pookie is trying to keep him within the bounds of his deal.

Now while I haven’t left as many little bitty comments, that’s because I was so invested and I probably would’ve just been repeating myself because I was just in awe of everything 🫶 but I love the side of Ben and Pookie that we got to see, and that in spite of the bliss, we still get to see that they still very much have opposing ideals. Their differences didn’t just go away because they’re being affectionate with each other. And I also love that in spite of their argument, they pushed past it and had a tender moment (that aloe moment was honestly adorable omg)! And it really seems like they’re getting close to having their big epiphanies, especially after that protective declaration he made to her. And I love the revision of Ben’s dream to have a family of his own, as well as how he used to want that with Countess. Really loving how this is all going and I’m SOOOOO excited to watch how everything else unfolds!!! 💖💖

Break Me Down - Part 14

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

AN: Stick around at the end for a special note — new SB fic dropping soon!

Word Count: 6,000 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! We return to the smut! Plus a healthy dose of fluff, angst, action, moral quandaries, and feels.

 Part 14: Safe House

Jon lied in his hospital bed, frowning hard at a computer screen. His arm and collarbone were broken, along with a few ribs. He had a private room, at least, courtesy of Vought. 

Stan Edgar strode in following a quick knock on the door. 

“Hello, Jonathan. I meant to visit you earlier,” said Stan. Jon stared at his boss, silently simmering. On his laptop played footage of the destruction wrought on the Lower West Side by a major car chase.

“How are you feeling?” Stan asked.

“Why was Black Noir set loose on my wife and daughters?” he seethed through gritted teeth. Damn how the effort of keeping still was almost as painful as moving.

“Ex-wife, isn’t it?” Stan said, raising a brow.

Jon was not amused.

“I gave the order, yes,” Stan acknowledged. “On your eldest daughter.”

Jon was incensed. If he could get out of this bed, he’d very well contemplate strangling the other man. Stan seemed to know it, but considering his personal security guards were standing near the back wall of the hospital room, he also didn’t look worried.

“Why?” Jon asked, genuinely surprised and dismayed. “She’s not a threat.” 

“Soldier Boy kept her for a reason,” Stan pointed out. “She brought him to our doorstep, with the intention of helping him assassinate me…eliminating her was a calculated risk.” 

Jon shook his head.

“But since Noir has failed, we will have to prepare accordingly,” Stan said. 

Jon glared back at him. “You think I’m going to help you?”

“I think you have a job to do,” Stan returned. “It didn’t stop you from breaking your daughter’s ribs, and very nearly her neck.”

Jon faltered, a brief regret weighing his frown. 

“That wasn’t…that was to teach her a lesson.”

Perhaps he’d gone a bit too far, but he’d only been trying to subdue you. To get you to listen to him. But you’d always been stubborn.

Stan broke him from his thoughts.

“I am not being attacked, Jon,” he said. “We are. Your daughter is a part of it.” 

“Marie and Luisa are not. Leave them out of this!” 

Stan merely rose a brow. He folded his hands behind his back and withdrew. He was flanked by his bodyguards as he left the room. 

“Rest up, Jonathan,” he said. “I’ll need you soon enough.”

The master bed was actually pretty comfortable, as you and Ben found out. 

You clung onto his shoulders after both of you were spent. You panted for breath as he held you to him with his solid arms wrapped around your waist. You two were both kneeling, technically, in the middle of the bed.

Your thighs were molded to his hips, and he was still buried deep inside you. But as of yet, you had no reason to move. You were enjoying your vantage point above him, watching him collect himself with closed eyes. 

The simple truth of it was, you’d missed him. 

Even when he was being a stubborn pain in the ass, you hated every moment you had to watch him caged, watching him start to think he may never get out.

Your hands slid around to his back. It allowed you to hold him in more of an embrace as you caught your breath. 

When his eyes opened, you met him with a smile. You slipped your fingers through his sweaty hair. Holding your free hand at the nape of his neck, you pressed your lips above his brow. Then another kiss to his scratchy cheek. His beard had gotten overgrown.

“You need a trim,” you said, letting out a breathy laugh. You kissed his cheek again. Slow, and with purpose. 

Ben let out a sigh through his nose. His eyes closed again at your gentler kisses, your touch. Maybe he reveled in this—being able to hold you back. It felt right. 

If he was honest with himself (and this time, he was), you were somehow able to ease the frayed edges of his mind. Edges that had been starting to unravel in that cell. 

And there were other things too, that he was beginning to realize, but not yet willing to cement in his mind.

So you reluctantly detangled from one another, but remained in bed. The problem was, for whatever closeness you two had just shared…you weren’t quite sure what to do now.

You hesitated to ask him just what the two of you were doing. Mostly because you didn’t want to ruin whatever this was by labeling it. 

So instead, you relaxed against his chest and pulled the blankets over you both. Ben didn’t just tolerate it; he settled a heavy arm across your lower back and over your hip. It made you smile.

“Ben…what do you want from the rest of your life?” you asked. 

You didn’t know what possessed you to ask, but you had to wonder what the end goal was for him, after the issue of Vought was settled. After he presumably kept his end of the deal and retired to South America, or Europe, or wherever he wanted to go, really. 

His hand came up to pet your hair. “I just got some of it.”

You huffed a laugh, hiding your face into his chest for a moment. You couldn’t see it, but Ben grinned at how easy it was to embarrass you, for how wanton he knew you could be.

“Come on, seriously,” you said. 

“Seriously?” he teased. 

“Yes,” you said, despite a giggle.

He let out something of a sigh. Meanwhile, his hand drew lazy patterns up and down your naked back.

“I always thought I had time,” he confessed. “To settle down. Have a family…I actually thought it would be Tess.”

That thought was accompanied by a bitter chuckle. Your brows furrowed in question. 

“Crimson Countess,” he explained. 

“Ah.” You nodded and rested a hand across his lower abs, playing with the thin trail of hair there that led south. He found it strangely soothing, if a hint arousing.

“Was it difficult killing Homelander?” you asked. 

Ben scoffed. “Just chock full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

You sat up and propped an elbow on his shoulder, so he had to look at you. 

“Not physically. Emotionally,” you said. God forbid you ask him about his man feelings, but you really were curious. 

Ben eyed you with a raised brow.

“I know he wasn’t really your son,” you said. “He was a raging psychopath and needed to go down, but was there a part of you that…was it hard for you?” 

Ben’s mood dimmed as his lips pulled into a frown. “He was a true disappointment. Barely a man.” 

That didn’t quite answer your question, but you thought you could read some of his true feelings on the matter. You didn’t think he regretted killing Homelander. But maybe he mourned the connection he could’ve had with a son. From what he’d said about Crimson Countess, you knew he wanted a real family.

That softened you. You brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes with delicate fingers. 

“He was told he was a god his entire life. That’s what happens,” you said. 

Ben scoffed at that, his gaze cutting away from you. You didn’t know what that meant exactly.  

“And you?” he asked, turning back to you. “What do you want from all this?” 

“Besides my family safe?” you retorted. But then, you considered his words. “I don’t know. I thought I knew who I was before I met you. Now I’m realizing that I can’t control anything in my life.” 

Ben raised your chin, and therefore your face up to him. 

“You can control you. You’ve been doing that since I met you.” His thumb swiped against your lower lip. “Especially this fucking mouth.” 

You smiled. “But you like that though.” 

His lips pulled at amusement, huffing in response. 

“Come on,” you teased. You moved, slipping a leg over to straddle his lap. You delved into his hair with both hands, and he let you tug his head back as he now looked up at you. 

“Admit it,” you said cheekily. “You like my mouth. Talking back to you…on you…and getting you off.” 

All while you spoke, you brushed your lips across his cheek, down his jawline, pressed a nipping kiss along his neck, below his ear. Then you returned to his lips. But you also ground down into his lap, feeling his rising length brush against your wet folds.

He groaned deep as you plied him the way you’d learned to do. And your tongue slipped into his mouth with your next kiss. He gripped your hips tight, wordlessly urging you to lower down into his lap and onto his waiting cock. But you resisted. 

“Say it,” you demanded. 

When he merely smirked, denying you control, you lowered a hand to take a firm hold of his cock. He let out a low hum of pleasure as you pumped him a couple of times, then held him poised at your entrance. 

“I’ll give you what you want,” you said, brushing his lips. “But first, tell me how much you missed this.”

His next breath came out sharp as you squeezed his cock in your hand. You knew you’d find his fingerprints on your hips and ass in the morning, but you didn’t care. Because you were about to fucking win. 

“Fine,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Maybe I’ve been craving this, more than a fix. More than goddamn sleep.” 

Ben’s eyes were dark with lust, and he thumbed at your lower lip. 

“And this fucking mouth. Gets you into all kinds of trouble, baby doll.” 

You smirked and finally sunk on top of him. His cock slid past your folds and bottomed out inside of you, making you shudder and Ben groan in relief. 

You did exactly as you promised. With your hands braced on his shoulders, you moved over him nice and slow. 

Well, nice for you. Torturous for him. 

He cast his head back to the headboard as he fought not to make you move. 

“You’re fuckin’ killing me here,” he growled.

Your mouth curved into a grin. 

“Alert the media,” you said. “We’ve got the ultimate weapon against Soldier Boy: a slow ride on his dick.”

Ben’s rich laugh rumbled out, crinkling his eyes at the corners and making you smile. You felt the impact of his laughter deep inside you, which wasn’t unpleasant. But you had mercy on him and finally picked up the pace. He grabbed a fistful of your hair for leverage while your lovely tits bounced in his face.

Then his fingers slid between you, parting your folds to rub at your clit. It made your hips stutter as you let out a mangled moan. Your inner walls started to tighten around him, earning you another muttered curse. He couldn’t help but thrust up inside you, mostly in time with your movements. 

But he got impatient.

He grabbed your hips tighter and flipped you over, with your thighs wrapped around his hips. 

“The moment I saw you, I knew I’d have you,” he gritted out. “Fuck, just like this.”

You gasped as he pounded deeper inside you. You felt like the bed was going to swallow you up. But you pressed your heels into his lower back and held on for the rest of the ride.

Within moments, Ben spilled into you so hard and fast that it took both of you by surprise. It felt hot and tingling inside you, making you shudder again. 

Thank God for IUDs, you thought. 

And when his fingers found your clit again in time with his last wild thrusts, it was enough to tumble you over along with him.

Afterwards, Ben braced himself on the headboard as a line of sweat dripped down the column of his neck. You grabbed onto his free hand while you caught your breath. His lips tugged at a smirk, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. 

“And we’re not done,” he said. “Not by a long shot.”

Ben woke to the annoying sound of coffee percolating. A normal man would have slept right through it, but thanks to his sensitive ears, he was up at… 

Christ, it’s 11 in the morning. He noted the digital clock on the nightstand and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He actually slept all night. And all morning. 

Up until recently, that had been impossible. 

He heard puttering in the kitchen, knew it was you because of your soft humming. It drew a smile to his face without him realizing. 

He climbed out of bed, showered, shaved and trimmed off the wilder parts of his beard, and dressed casually with the clothing he found in the closet. Wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do for now.

This house was also not what he was used to. It was small, and too “suburban dad” for his taste. But he guessed it was better than an underground glass prison cell.

He ventured into the kitchen, where the smell of good food made his mouth water, and the sight of you frying bacon (trying not to get burned by the sparking grease) deepened his grin.

All you wore was his discarded shirt from yesterday, presumably over your underwear as it hung around your thighs, and a pair of slippers you must’ve found in the closet. 

Maybe you heard him coming, because you glanced back over your shoulder and met him with a smile. But it soon edged into a more serious look as you turned and leveled him with your spatula. 

“Okay. I don’t want any smartass remarks,” you warned. “I did make breakfast, because I’m a nice person, but don’t expect this for every meal.” 

Ben raised a wry brow.

“Morning to you too,” he drawled. He rested a hand on your lower back as he looked over your shoulder, surveying the plate of cooling bacon, the pan of scrambled eggs, and the toast ready to be buttered on the counter, next to a jar of strawberry jam. “Looks good.”

You watched him steal a piece of bacon, your lips quirking.

“Is that a thank you?” you asked. 

He purposefully bit into the bacon instead of answering. You gave him a narrowed look, but you were still amused. 

“Even a child can say please and thank you,” you pointed out. 

Ben turned to you then and hooked an arm around your waist, suddenly pulling you tight against him. 

“All right. How about this?” he replied. His head bowed and kissed you thoroughly. He tasted coffee and jam on your tongue. A surprised moan caught in your throat, and you clung to his arms on instinct. Meanwhile, free hand went to your hip, bunching the material of the stolen shirt.

When he broke from you, he looked down on your somewhat dazed expression and had to temper his smile. He gave you a nice slap on the ass, shocking a yelp out of you. 

You shot him a dry look.

“Is that please, or thank you?” you teased. 

Ben rolled his eyes and kissed you again, trapping you against the counter this time. But he didn’t allow himself to get carried away (yet). He swept back strands of your hair and let his fingers skim across your cheek, feeling your skin warming under his touch. 

He finally settled on brushing his thumb across your bottom lip, meeting your eyes.  

“Thank you,” he said.

It had a deeper meaning, you realized from the gravity of his gaze.

“That fucking bitch probably wanted to put me on ice the second they brought me in,” he said. 

You could only assume he meant Grace. 

“You’re probably the reason that didn’t happen,” he continued. “And that I’m here now.” 

Emotion threatened to choke you, beginning to sting your eyes. You cleared your throat and soothed a hand along his forearm. 

“You made the deal,” you pointed out. Ben shook his head.

“You were right. I want the fucking target off my back, once and for all,” he said. He touched where a smattering of bruises from the car accident colored your temple and part of your cheek with fading purple and yellow.

“But I’m getting it off you too," he said gruffly. "You want a deal? Here it is: no one’s fucking touching you again as long as I’m around.”

Your breath hitched as your heart began to hammer in your chest. You wanted to ask what that meant. You wanted to ask if, maybe, he wanted to be with you. If he…

But you lost your nerve.

“The eggs are gonna get cold,” you said in a coarse whisper. 

Ben smirked. 

“That’s really what you’re fucking worried about?” he asked, shortly before he cut off your would-be reply with a heated kiss. 

Your arms twined around his neck, almost of their own volition. He already had you by the waist, and from there he hefted you effortlessly onto a small clean portion of counter space in the kitchen. His hands burned up your thighs, underneath the overlarge shirt. When he encountered nothing but bare ass, his lips curved against yours. 

“What a naughty girl. You’re out here cooking with no fucking panties on?” 

It was your turn to smirk as you held a hand to his cheek. He did in fact trim the beard. 

“You like that, don’t you?” you remarked. 

His dark chuckle was your answer as he spread your thighs wider. Your breath came out a bit shakier as his hand went smoothly up the inside of your thigh and slipped between your folds. 

“Already wet for me, I see,” he said. His smirk only grew as you whined with pleasure at the invasion of his fingers. First just teasing inside your entrance, working you up. Your grip on his neck tightened, your nails digging into his shoulders. 

“Ben…”

“How many fucking times I gotta tell you to be patient?” 

“Ugh.” You dropped your forehead into the crook of his neck. “You are the worst.” 

His resulting chuckle reverberated in your chest and tingled down into your lower belly. Combined with his teasing, it made your inner walls tighten on nothing from anticipation…until two of his fingers suddenly sunk deep into your heat. You cried out into his ear in surprise. 

“Ben,” you breathed, but it ended on a moan as he finally began to give you what you wanted. His thumb found your clit and circled slowly while he thrust and turned his fingers inside you. You gripped at his hair, holding on tighter and tighter as your walls clenched on his hand. 

“That’s it, baby doll. I gotcha,” he muttered. Though you teased a grunt out of him when you snaked a hand between you to palm at the bulge in his jeans. If he was going to give you a good morning, you’d be sure to return the favor. 

He kept working on you, but with shaking hands you unzipped his pants and aimed to free him from those tight boxer briefs. 

Unfortunately, your cell phone ringing halted both of your plans. It was on the kitchen counter, and it vibrated across the tile next to you. 

Butcher calling…

Both of your heavy breathing accompanied the shrill sound. But when you noticed the caller ID, you gave Ben a rueful look. 

He frowned in annoyance, but he withdrew from you, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before he grabbed your phone and answered it (even if it took him two or three angry tries on swiping the green button). You put it on speaker. 

“What?” Ben grouched into the phone.

“Apologies for interrupting what I’m sure is a dewy morning after,” Butcher said with all due sarcasm. “We’ve got a lead on Neuman.”

You raised a brow at that. Tugging down your shirt back over your thighs, you answered, “Where is she?”

“She’s giving a speech at NYU this afternoon.”

You frowned. You knew for a fact he hadn’t run that by the whole team. 

“It’s not a good idea to catch her there. Too exposed. Too many people could get caught in the crossfire,” you said. 

“Her next scheduled outing is a fundraiser for the homeless. That any better?” Butcher asked with mock cheer. “At the least the college kiddos won’t be coughing up a lung because their hepatitis A’s on a flare up.”

Ben’s lips twitched at amusement, but your frown only deepened in irritation. 

“You’re unsavory, you know that?” you said, rubbing at your temple. “…Fine. We’ll catch her at the college.” 

“Wasn’t really up for fuckin’ debate,” Butcher replied. “We head out in two hours.”

This isn’t going to be easy, you thought. 

You were teamed up with M.M., Annie, and Hughie on surveillance, sitting in Frenchie’s van on one of the side streets outside the auditorium where Victoria Neuman was giving her speech.   

Kimiko and Frenchie had formed a perimeter with Butcher on the campus. After the speech came to a close, Butcher, M.M., and Frenchie had worked out where Victoria would likely be escorted out to get back to her limo. 

But you forced yourself to take deep breaths. You watched the various camera angles you and M.M. had been able to hook up to the monitors inside the van. On one of the screens was Ben in his full Soldier Boy gear, sans helmet, waiting for his cue.

You felt M.M. glancing at you, and you met his stare. His expression was tight, but mostly stoic. Still, you had a feeling you knew what he was thinking. 

“He can do this,” you said. 

M.M. shook his head and faced the screens. “You think you can fucking change him.”

“No,” you said. “But he just might surprise you.”

You weren’t trying to change him, nor were you trying to free yourself anymore. He’d caught you, in more ways than one. 

Now, you were just trying to help him. And maybe, help yourself. 

“I don’t give a fuck,” M.M. bit out. Annie and Hughie glanced at both of you in thinly veiled concern. You just quirked a humorless smile. 

“I think you do,” you replied. 

“All right, look alive,” Butcher said on the comm. Victoria’s speech was over. She was shepherded off the stage by her bodyguards while the president of NYU got up to make closing remarks. 

She got as far as the hallway leading to the back door of the auditorium before Frenchie and Butcher sniped out her guards. You watched Victoria gasp and flinch at the bullets flying all too close to her. She looked around sharply, but finding no one there, she made a run for the exit. 

That was when Ben ambushed her from the side, grabbing her from behind and shoving her through the door of the next room before she could aim her gaze at any part of him. 

Ben stalked in after her. You adjusted the camera monitors to connect to the science lab they’d burst into. Every muscle in your body tensed as you watched. 

Meanwhile, Ben was wary but not afraid as he kept his shield in front of his face. Victoria raised a hand to a her now bruised arm, but she scrambled in her navy pencil dress and heels to pick herself up. 

She looked up at the supe striding toward her, taking in his head protecting his upper body. So she focused her gaze on his right thigh, making him falter as her power made her eyes roll into her head and blast at his suit. 

The skin underneath was durable though. It felt like a nasty sunburn, one that Ben could ignore. He approached until he could grab her by the hair and turn her face away from him. She cried out, clawing back at his hand. 

He placed his shield onto the holster on his back and got a hold on the back of her neck. He forced her onto her knees while he made her keep looking at the ground. 

“Soldier Boy,” she panted. “Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Cut the fucking chit-chat. Where the fuck is Stan, that dick tease?”  

He was about to start squeezing his grip, when he was suddenly thrown into the far wall. He fell into a mess of student desks, beakers, and various scientific instruments. 

“Zoe!” he heard Victoria shout. Apparently the woman’s daughter was a supe too. A telekinetic, by the looks of it.

With an angry growl, he picked himself up and shook off the glass from his shoulders. By the time he looked up, Victoria was ushering her daughter out the opposite door. 

Ben ran after them, following them into what seemed to be another classroom. This one was full of students busy taking a test, and a professor grading a large stack of papers. Ben zipped through and ignored the gasps and shocked faces, along with a couple of kids that recognized him and immediately took out their phones. 

He also didn’t care that his elbow knocked the stack of papers to the ground (to the professor’s outrage). 

He bulldozed his way into another empty classroom, where he threw his shield at Victoria’s back. With a cry, she tripped and fell into a desk, and was separated from her daughter.

“Mom!” Zoe cried and reached out for her, but Victoria raised a frantic hand. 

“Stay there!” she shouted back at her. Her attention focused back on Ben. 

She razed at his face and chest with her powers. Ben winced as heat flared across his skin, blistering to the point of second-degree burns on his arm after protecting his face. He strode forward and grabbed her again, this time with a thumb pressing over one eye. 

“You wanna keep your fucking eyes, or you want to tell me where your father is?” he demanded. 

“No!” Zoe shouted. She raised her hands, and a violet glow of energy spread between them. Ben picked up his shield, ready to use it as a projectile against the girl. 

Until your voice sounded in the comm in his ear.

“Go easy, Ben. She’s not the target,” you warned. He hesitated, his lips twisting in annoyance. 

“Zoe,” Victoria warned. His thumb still pressed threateningly against one of her eyes. The other looked up at him, defiant. But her lower lip was trembling. 

“You really want your daughter to be a part of this?” Ben asked darkly. 

You were on pins and needles. While you watched the screen, M.M. glanced at you. 

“We need to do something,” Annie said. She had been antsy the entire time, and when Hughie tried to grab her shoulder, she shrugged him off. 

“We can’t extract the girl without Neuman seeing us,” you said. But you weren’t happy about it. 

Annie gave you an incredulous look. “So you’re okay with that psycho killing a little girl?” 

“Of course not, Annie!” you snapped. “But this is the reality of catching criminals. They rarely go down by themselves.” 

She frowned angrily at you. 

“That sounds like an excuse for murder,” she said. 

There was a tense moment, in which you and Annie stared back at one another. You eventually relented. 

“Okay, go. But stay on standby with Kimiko and Frenchie. They’re outside the classroom, 112B,” you told her. She and Hughie raced out, and you let out a breath while you turned back to the tense scene in front of you. 

“Look, I don’t know where he is,” Victoria said. “We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms.”

“Then get him on the fucking phone,” Ben snapped. 

A tear streamed down her eye, the one that briefly closed, then looked up at him. 

“He’s not a bad man,” she said. “Not…entirely.” 

Ben snorted in response. “Well, aside from trying to replace me with a bullshit knockoff, shipping me off to motherfucking Siberia. He stole from me. My life. And the bitch of the whole bunch, tried to kill me with a fucking clone, with the help of my own DNA. So excuse me if I’m past the fucking point of forgive and forget.” 

“Fine! Fine,” she said, when he started squeezing in earnest. “Let my daughter go, and I’ll help you.” 

Ben glanced up at the girl. She was frightened, with her glowing hands still poised to try and take him out. He still had half a mind to knock her out first. 

“She’s just a kid, Ben. Let her go,” you said in his ear.

After another tense moment, Ben nodded.

Annie burst into the classroom, followed by Butcher, Frenchie, and Kimiko. Annie reached Zoe with a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she shared a look with Victoria. 

“She’ll be okay,” Annie told Victoria, who nodded as more tears slipped down her cheeks. Ben held her firm by the shoulders when Butcher came with a device, no doubt provided by the CIA. It looked like a large metal band that clicked into place around Victoria’s head, covering her eyes. 

Kimiko and Frenchie led her out, while Annie and Hughie did the same for Zoe. Butcher shared an appraising look with Ben, who stared back at him coolly.

Meanwhile, you let out a deep breath. You sat back in your seat and ignored the way M.M. gave you some cursory side-eye. 

Thank Christ that’s over.

Back at Supe Affairs, Victoria gave them addresses to her adoptive father’s known safehouses. Not because they expected to find him there, but because they might find even more material to leverage against him before they attempted to arrest the man. 

 While Butcher and the rest of the team ran down the leads, you and Annie made sure Victoria’s daughter Zoe was put in protective custody, again, with Grace’s help.

Afterwards, Ben was waiting for you in the car that would bring you both back to the safe house. You rode there in silence. 

When you got inside the house and made your way to the bedroom, Ben followed you. It seemed he couldn’t help himself. His arms were crossed, and his face was tight. You waited on him to speak as you started rummaging in the dresser for a shirt and pair of jeans to change into after a shower.  

“I don’t need you yapping in my ear when I’m trying to get shit done,” he said. 

You paused in your search, and you turned to him, raising an incredulous brow. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to stick to the plan. Targeted kills only, remember? Zoe wasn’t the target.”

His frown soured. “She hit me first.”

You stared back at him. Then you raised your eyes heavenward, praying for strength. And you let out a breath. 

“She was trying to help her mother, Ben.”

“If you’re grown enough to throw a punch, you’re grown enough to take one,” he argued. 

“You’ve never hit me once,” you pointed out. “Is it different because she’s a supe? Were you really going to kill a child?”

“I never said that,” he said, glaring at you. 

“Would you have killed Ryan too?” you asked.

Ben expelled a sigh of exasperation. “Would you shut up already?” 

“No,” you refused. And you followed him into the living room when he stormed out. “You’re not going to weasel your way out of this. Would you have killed Ryan?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “He was Homelander’s fucking kid.”

“And that makes it all right?”

“Yeah, are you gonna say that in a few years? If he turns out just like Homelander, are you going to come crying to me to take him out?”

You glared at him. He was making a valid point you couldn’t refute, but that didn’t change what he was trying to do. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You shook your head and crossed your arms. “You’re actually justifying this.”

“Whether you want to admit it or not, a supe is a supe,” Ben said, raising a finger. “No matter how old they are, they’re a threat.”

“It doesn’t mean a child shouldn’t be protected, Soldier Boy,” you countered. “A life is a life.”

“Hey, if you want to be sanctimonious, good for fucking you,” he shot back. “But don’t tell me how to do my fucking job.”

“I’m asking you to keep your word,” you said. “For both of our sakes.”

That managed to shut him up. With a sigh, you tried to ease up and take his hand. His glove was busted, the skin underneath was red and raw. He allowed it, but he still looked down on you with reserved irritation.

You knew you didn’t have to remind him what breaking Grace’s agreement would mean, for both of you. 

“Just follow the plan,” you implored. “Targeted kills only. No collateral damage.”

After Ben came out of the shower, he went into the bedroom to change with a towel wrapped around his waist.

You were already cleaned up, a messy bun atop your head, wearing a plain shirt and some shorts, and sitting up in the bed with your new laptop. But you subtly watched him move around the room.   

You noticed the burns across his chest. You were still irritated with him, but you couldn’t help it. You set your laptop aside and went to him. 

Ben saw you coming through the large mirror above the dresser. His head turned to you just as you raised a tentative hand near the burns across his chest.

“Does it hurt?” you asked with furrowed brows. Your fingertips were light in touching his chest. 

It did sting, but it wasn’t that bad. 

Still, all Ben said was, “No. They’ll probably be gone in a few hours anyway.”

Your lower lip stuck out a little, like you didn’t quite believe him as you inspected the various burns. 

Ben eyed you. He still couldn’t fucking figure you out. 

He knew you were into him…and evidently, you cared about him. 

Still, you fought him on virtually everything. There were times when you seemed almost disgusted by him, but when he fucked you, you acted like he was the eighth wonder of the world.

Even now, that perfect damn mouth of yours was frowning while your fingers moved delicately over his skin.

“You want some aloe vera?” you asked. 

He knew by your face that you were completely sincere. It made him chuckle. You looked up at him in confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

Not unlike this morning, he picked you up (smirking at your squeal) and set you down on the dresser. His hands rested on your hips while yours laid gently on a non-burnt area of his chest.

“For someone as breakable as you, you seem to be real concerned about me,” he said. “...You’re really not afraid of me, are you?”

Your fingertips ran down his skin, unintentionally raising goosebumps. Though you considered his question with a tilt of your head. 

“Why, are you going to break me?” you teased.

Ben huffed in amusement. His lips drew near yours, hovering but not yet claiming. He wanted you to come to him this time. Wanted you to let him know if this thing, whatever it was between you two, was heading where he thought it was…

And you didn’t disappoint him. 

You reached out and framed his face with both hands, and pulled him into a kiss. For once, neither of you were in a hurry as one languid kiss turned into another. 

Your tongue slipped into his mouth, and he welcomed you with a deep, reverberating hum, along with your thighs slipping around his hips. He took a firm grip of you there, while your fingers carded through his hair. 

“Still not tired of this?” you whispered against his lips. 

He backed off enough to look at you. Really look at you. His brown hair fell above his brows, and as was your habit, you swept some of it out of his eyes. 

You read his answer there without him having to say it in words. 

So you pulled him back in.

AN: 😏 Was their reunion everything you wanted it to be? Let me know in the comments!

(And do you wanna know where we're going next?)

Next Time:

“Good morning,” Stan greeted, raising his mug. “Care for a cup? Perhaps a donut.”

“Still fucking smarmy,” Ben said. He stood in front of the man’s desk, flexing his half-gloved fingers. He glanced up at the walls of this office, this tower in the sky. “We’ve been doing this dance for a long time, you and I.”

“And yet, on entirely different tempos,” Stan replied. “How can I help you, Soldier Boy?”

Special Note:

I'm releasing a new one-shot soon, set in this story-verse called "Love Actually." It's part of @deanwinchesterswitch's Christmas in July fic event running this month!

Go here to check it out and participate (as a writer/artist or a reader)!

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[therealityhelix]

By Talos, This Can’t be Happening pt 27

Now resuming Tamriel Tuesday! America’s sweethearts try to leave Chorrol.

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions

                                                    ?~?~?~?~?

Swag awoke to a headache the size of the White-Gold Tower. Every inch of him felt heavy, and his mouth was filled with powerful, cloying sweetness. He could barely remember what had happened the night before except that it had certainly involved Helix. Several times.

They had definitely been drugged. He was familiar enough with the feeling to recognize what had happened. Likely at dinner, but why? And who? And were they the only ones?

“Helix?” he rasped. “Baby? You okay?”

“Mnh.” she moaned noncommittally, voice just as rough as his. “Feel like I got run over by a horse.”

“You know what that feels like?”

“Unfortunately.”

Well that explained a few things. Namely, why they weren't just riding one all over the world, and in particular why that one date he'd planned had gone so awry.

“My poor baby.” he cleared his throat, trying to get his voice out of 'mobster who smoked three packs a day for forty years' range. “You know what happened to us?”

“Maybe. Somebody tried to poison us?”

“I dunno if it was poison, but it was definitely some kind of 'substance' if you know what I mean.”

She groaned and rolled over, cuddling into his chest to block the low mage lights.

“I gotcha babe.” Swag said, draping an arm over her. They drifted in and out for an unmeasurable amount of time, helpless in the throes of lingering aftereffects, until Anthragar banged on the door.

“You two!” he called through the door. “You were at the Oak and Crosier last night, weren't you? Are you all right?”

Swags brain churned through the headache fog. It hadn't been just them.

“We're...alive?” Swag offered.

“Oh, thank the Nine! When we heard what happened, and you didn't come upstairs, I ran down to find you! Are you ill?”

“Not exactly...What do you mean you heard what happened?”

“Everyone who was at the Oak and Crosier last night was drugged with moonsugar.” Anthragar said. “Talasma has been arrested, but she insists it's impossible.”

“Moonsugar?” Helix mumbled. “That's...not great.”

“What's the deal with it?” Swag asked.

“It's sugar, but it's also basically heroin. But worse.”

“Goddamn. And that cat lady just put it in our food? Just because?”

Big crunchy sugar crystals, sopped up with the bread and honey. It had been right out in the open.

“Frankly, it seems odd to me.” Anthragar said. “Talsama is a snob, not a poisoner. She wouldn't do anything to jeopardize her business.”

“Some kind of accident? Sabotage?”

“We might never know. I just wanted to make sure you two were all right.”

Swag rolled over with a groan. “Well, we're definitely feeling it, but I think we'll be okay.”

They kept feeling it for the better part of the day, cuddling close through the shivering, rolling apart with only fingers touching during the heat waves. The exhaustion lingered, as did the overly sweet flavor on their tongues. They could taste it on each other through idle kisses, feel the spasms in each other's muscles while they held each other. Anthragar kindly brought them simple meals.

“I tried moonsugar once, when I was much younger.” he admitted. “It was pleasant, right up until it wasn't. You'll probably feel better by tomorrow. The investigation into Talsama's business has come up with some supplies that may have possibly been tampered with. She might not have known, or she might have been in on it. Either way, the Countess will probably be getting involved.”

Well, that was none of their business, as long as this didn't happen again. If the cat lady did it on purpose, well, he'd been in a local jail. They kinda sucked.

Not that Swag was some squeaky clean D.A.R.E. Program success story. He indulged in things that were not alcohol. But he only ever did it by choice, and the removal of his consent was what really irked him.

The dreams were wild, full of demons and stars, that sweet feminine voice whispering possibilities. The flash of fangs in red moonlight. A silvery fox always just barely out of reach. Suffocation.

That last bit actually woke him up. Helix had crawled on top of him in their fitful sleep, and had her arm across his throat. She jerked awake when he did, rolled off with a quiet apology.

“Weird dreams?”

“Yeah...”

“Here.” He folded her up in his arms, so they were molded into one another. “Harder to choke me this way. Not that I'm complaining, mind, but I'd prefer to be awake when you do that.”

“I'll just file that away for later.”

“Ooh, baby.” he shivered playfully against her. “Can't wait.”

It took them until the next afternoon to be hale enough to engage in that kind of fun, and by then they were both beyond tired of being in bed.

They split up under the Great Oak, Dar-Ma and her singing absent. Swag headed to the Fire and Steel to pick up his gauntlets. Rasheda had them ready, noticeably colder in demeanor towards him.

He tried them on, and his eyebrows climbed.

“Wow...these are perfect!”

It really did feel like he was wearing next to nothing, the metal sections fitting seamlessly into one another, allowing for a full range of movement.

“Not gonna lie, this is super impressive.”

Rasheda smiled, drawn up in satisfaction.

“This kind of thing is my preference.” she said. “My passion. Speaking of...”

Uh-oh. Well, here it came.

“Look, I didn't assume that I was going to tie you down, and frankly, I don't even want a permanent relationship just yet.” she explained. “That being said, I'm also not interested in helping you run around on your wife. If you weren't sure about her, you shouldn't have put that ring on her.”

You don't know the half-

He held up his gloved hands.

“Yo, don't worry about it. She and I have a kind of understanding.”

“Sure you do.”

“Seriously. We both know about each other, and we stay anyway. That's between us. She knows, and she literally doesn't care.”

“Well I do. I'm not going to make a big fuss about it, but I'm not just going to continue on with it either.”

“Fair enough. These are great, by the way, I'll definitely recommend you.”

“You'd better!”

He found Helix outside the Gray Mare, staring blankly into the middle distance as a visibly drunk man babbled into her ear. Swag was familiar with that look. It was the Emotionless Gaze of Approaching Disaster. Helix wore it when she was locked in the valiant internal struggle to refrain from tearing someones spine out through their nose.

He'd probably better go save her. And the drunk fellow too.

“Hey baby!” he called, strutting over. “Check out my fancy fingers!”

“Oh, look. My husband is here.” Helix said, tone alternating between sweet and harsh.

“Hm?” the drunkard turned to him, squinting. “Oh. Yes. So he is. So as I was saying-”

“Nope. Leaving.” Helix said, and was at Swag's side in a heartbeat.

“Okay, but if you see him, step on his toes for me!” the drunk man called after her.

“So, besides silly, what was that all about?” Swag asked as they walked away. Helix heaved an exasperated sigh.

“He thinks someone in another city is impersonating him, and he's pissed about it. He's also too goddamn drunk to do anything about it himself, so he's basically begging every adventurer he sees to go kick this guy's butt. Nobody even knows if this other guy even exists! Whatever, when we go to Cheydinhal,  if I see him, I probably will stomp on his foot, just for how annoying this guy is!”

“Sweet revenge. Well, now that I've got my gloves, maybe we should pack up and take this show on the road?” Swag suggested. Helix nodded.

Teekeeus and Alberic sent them off warmly, Anthragar trying to foist more clothing on them even as they were leaving.

“You know, I can't tell if that guy just loves fashion as much as I do, or if he was trying to say something rude about my style.” Swag said as they headed for the gate.

“Who could say anything rude about your style?” Helix said soothingly, as if she wasn't fully aware that Gotham's trendsetters had left him behind years ago. Fickle, ungrateful Time raced on without him. One day his iconic look would be regarded the same as tweed jackets with leather elbows, or stirrup pants. Oh well. Everyone had two choices: grow old or don't. And he had come far too close to the latter to ever regret clinging to the former.

Besides, in a few years, he might be regarded as fashionably retro. The new old hotness. Not that he needed to wait to be hot, he was himself after all, and-

Seed-Neeus paced around just outside the gate, staring off into the forest, tail lashing in distress.

“Oh! You! Nord!” she cried, dashing up to him, her fins flat  against her head. “Have you seen my daughter? I know you've been talking to her! Filled her head up with silly notions of adventuring, and now look at what's happened!”

“Woah, woah, woah! Ma'am calm down. You mean Dar-Ma? What do you mean, what's happened?” Swag asked. He hadn't spoken to the kid in a few days, though they had passed one another on the street.

“She went off to Hackdirt without me!” the Argonian lady exclaimed. “We were supposed to go together. I deliver to the Moslins twice a month. The pay is good, but that village is very brusque and unfriendly, and she isn't used to that yet. We were supposed to go yesterday but...”

Swag nodded.

“I saw you at the Oak and Crosier too. That wasn't a nice prank to play on the town, was it?”

“Blast that Talasma! I simply wasn't aware enough when she told me she would take the delivery instead. I would have told her to wait, but she's been trying so hard lately to prove herself. What's worse: she took the leftovers from that cursed meal with her! We didn't know yet what had caused my malady. All she knew was that I wasn't feeling well, so she thought she would take on the responsibility. Oh, the thought of her, drugged and lost out in the woods, with only her horse for a companion...I can't bear it!”

His eyes flicked to Helix. From one mother to another, there was no way she was going to let this go. And he knew the kid too. He didn't think he could forgive himself if he walked away now.

“So, uh...which way's Hackdirt?” he asked.

                                                  ?~?~?~?~?

[umbramatic]

Backwards

This is a small part of a larger story set in a larger universe, specifically the backstory of one of the main characters in a high fantasy universe of mine. As a result, it will probably have that “part of a larger story” vibe to it, but I’ve tried to make it stand on its own as much as I can. Additionally, it’s got a bit of violence, blood, and death – but slightly less than you’d expect from the subject matter. 

Anyway, let’s go:

Backwards

Lilith Polidori watched as the windowless throne room of the castle flickered with the dim light of the candles lining the wall. She observed how the light distorted the faces of the stone monstrosities perched higher up, making them more grotesque.

Frankly, she had nothing better to do.

She looked up above the currently-empty thrones of her parents to see the crystal attached to the ceiling glowing faintly- which meant sunrise, and thus bedtime.

She almost got up to retire for the day when she noticed a commotion down the hall.

A gaunt man with blonde hair, gold eyes, and pale gray skin was dragging a ragged-looking young woman with pinker skin and brown hair down the hall via her arm. The girl was adamantly resisting, despite the man’s apparent strength.

The man turned around and snarled, revealing a set of teeth that included two pairs of fangs.

“Quit this little game of yours,” he said, “Unless you’d be more comfortable in the dungeon.”

The girl said nothing, just glaring at the man.

The man leaned in closer. “I could do worse,” he said. “I could easily-“

“Remy!” said Lilith. “Having this much trouble with a child? Be grateful you didn't get an ADULT human!” 

Remy’s eyes widened, and he immediately stood at attention.

“Madame Lilith, I am sorry, but this servant needs to be disciplined!”

“Is that so?”  Lilith replied, making a beckoning motion with her hand. “Bring her to me.” 

Remy snorted and hauled the girl over to Lilith.

“Tell me, girl,” said Lilith. “What’s your name?”

The girl remained silent, looking down at the ground.

“Well, go on,” said Lilith, smiling to reveal her own set of fangs. “I don’t bite.”

The girl was silent for a few more seconds before finally speaking.

“That joke was terrible.”

Remy stiffened. “You can’t backsass a countess-to-be like that, human!”

“She’s fine,” said Lilith. “Anyway, now that we know you can talk, tell me your name.”

“…It’s Emma,” said the girl.

“Emma… You’ve got spunk and no fear. I like that. How about you be my personal servant?”

Remy’s jaw dropped, then he shook his head and pointed an accusatory finger at Lilith.

“This is ridiculous! You can’t just replace me with a human girl all of a sudden!”

“Relax, Remy,” said Lilith. “You’re not being replaced, per se. I’ll find a use for you soon.”

At this Remy snarled and stormed off. Once he had left Lilith dropped her smug countenance and leaned in close to Emma.

“Hey,” she whispered."You're not really my servant. You can just hang around with me to look the part if you want."

Emma quietly nodded. “Also he needed to be knocked down a few pegs.”

At this Emma, despite herself, almost giggled.

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

A few days later in the same throne room, a cleaned-up Emma approached Lilith as the latter was writing on various scrolls.

“What are you doing?” said Emma.

“Paperwork,” said Lilith. “Apparently I’ll need to do it a lot once I become countess.”

“Ah, OK.”

Emma shifted a little.

“How do you vampires work anyway?”

“Eh?” said Lilith. “Well, it’s a myth that we’re undead monstrosities that turn other people into vampires. We’re just another species just like elves or satyrs or-“

“No, like… Who’s in charge, aside from the count and countess and all that?”

“Oh. Well, it’s pretty much an aristocracy. The old blood - no pun intended – is always in charge.”

“Is it like that outside of this city?”

Lilith frowned.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been outside it.”

She gazed wistfully at where a window would probably be in any other castle.

“Ultopolis is kinda isolated aside from a few trade routes; I hardly know what’s outside the night forest that surrounds the city. Do you?”

“I… Don’t.” replied Emma. “Lived here all my life… Been on my own ever since my parents…”

She grew silent.

Lillith frowned and placed a hand on Emma’s.

“Hey. As far as I’m concerned you’re safe here.”

Emma gave a small smile.

“Thank you…”

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

A few weeks later, Lilith was reading a book while Emma looked over her shoulder, moving from playing with Lilith's hair to inspecting her hands.

“…What’s with those gauntlets?”

“Hmm, these?”

Lillith put the book down and clenched her fists, causing blades to emerge from the gauntlets with a distinctive “snict” noise.

“Weapons?” said Emma. “What for?”

“Assassins, of course.”

“Do you get those a lot?”

“Me?” said Lilith before shaking her head. “Not yet. See, one of the oldest laws of Ultopolis is ‘vamp shall not kill vamp.’”

“Then why do you have assassin problems?” asked Emma.

Lilith smirked. “Simple. We get other species  to do it.”

“…Oh,” said Emma.

She shifted uncomfortably before continuing.

“Any other tricks to avoid them?”

“Well,” said Lilith, “most vamps, not much. I’ve been doing some research on the side, though, and…”

Suddenly in a split second her form warped and twisted and shrunk until a black-furred, green-eyed vampire bat sat in her place.

Emma blinked. “You vampires can actually do that?”

Lilith quickly shifted back to her normal form.

“All the nobles learn how to do it. It’s a lost art among most vamps, mainly because it’s really, really hard to learn. It took me years.”

Emma smirked. “Considering how long you vampires live, it shouldn’t be too much.”

Lilith smirked back. “Clever girl.”

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

A couple months later, Lilith was sitting on her throne sipping a glass of blood as Remy stood by.

“I don’t get why I have to be reduced to blood delivery duty now,” said Remy.

“Well I don’t want to have Emma do it,” said Lilith.

“You always request animal blood anyway, so I don’t see why she’d be bothered. Not that I want that brat taking more of my job anyway.”

“She’s less of a brat than you.”

Remy gave Lilith a harsh glare.

“Consulting with that girl is very… Un-vampiric. It could get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t bother, Remy. You can’t hurt me.”

With that Lilith stood up and walked out of the throne room, glass of blood in hand.

You have no idea how much I can hurt you, thought Remy.

And with that he left as well.

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

A few days later Emma and Lilith were cuddled together on Lillith's throne, but while Emma seremed content Lillith stared off into space in thought. 

“Hey Emma?”

“Hmm?” 

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to… But… How did you lose your parents?”

Emma was silent for a long while before speaking.

“My parents… They served the vam[pires too… They raised me, protected me… Then one day a few years ago they got hauled off and never came back.”

It was Lilith’s turn to be silent before speaking.

“Then I know what I have to do.”

“What?”

“When I become countess, I’m going to change things. Make things better for the other species that live with us, humans included.”

She sighed and hung her head.

“I don’t know, though. Everyone else will just think I’m backwards.”

“They won’t,” said Emma. “I know you can do it.”

Lillith lifted her head back up and smiled.

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

The next day Lilith was walking down a hallway towards the throne room when she heard a strange noise.

She stopped and listened, confused.

Then she realized it sounded like muffled screaming.

She ran into the throne room and was greeted with Remy restraining Emma, his fangs sinking into her neck as he gorged himself with her blood.

Instinctively, Lilith unsheathed her wrist blades and ran at Remy with an anguished yell, sinking a blade into his own neck.

Remy detached himself from Emma screaming and gurgling as his own blood poured from the wound. In a few seconds he collapsed, said blood pooling around his body.

Dalv quickly rushed over to the fallen, similarly bleeding Emma and scooped her up in her arms.

“Emma! Please, answer me, Emma!”

“…Lillith?”

“Emma, I’m so sorry, I should have been there, I should have protected you…”

“It’s not your fault…”

“Emma, please, please don’t leave me…”

“Lilith… Thank you… For everything… I... Love you..."

With that Emma closed her eyes and grew still.

At this Lilith broke down into anguished sobs, her tears mingling with the blood on the ground.

Her mourning was interrupted by a clattering and the sound of footsteps running away from the throne room.

Someone saw, thought Lilith. Vamp shall not kill vamp; who knows what they’ll do to me?

I have to run.

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

She fled.

The darkness of the night forest seemed to stretch on forever, but she flew, staying in bat form to prevent anyone from tracking her.

She only stopped to feed on sleeping forest creatures and to sleep in narrow nooks and crannies, then flew again.

She lost track of time. Had it been days? Weeks? The thick, light-blocking branches and leaves of the forest all looked the same.

Finally, after who know how long, she collapsed in a tree hollow and slept a long while.

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

Lilith woke up to the smell of smoke.

She initially panicked, thinking someone was trying to smoke her out, but then realized the smell was faint and off a ways.

She cautiously peeked out of her hollow to see a faint light in the distance. Hesitantly, she flew toward it.

She landed on a tree bordering a grassy field. Below her was a campfire, around which were gathered three individuals – a young woman that seemed human except unusually short and with strange gems on her face, a young human of indeterminate gender dressed in simple clothes, and most unusually a red dragon about the size of a small horse.

“We’re right on the border of a night forest,” said the girl as she looked warily over her shoulder. “It’s giving me the creeps.”

“I thought you dwarves weren’t scared of anything,” said the human.

“We’re not!” she snapped back. “It’s just… Mildly unsettling, is all!”

”C’mon, guys,” said the dragon. “This is a great place for scary stories!”

By now Lilith had crept up between the dwarf and the human.

“I’ve got a good one!” the dragon continued. “It’s about… the Ghost Lord!”

“…Ghost Lord? Seriously?” said the human.

“Well,” said the dragon, “It’s less cliché than a dark lord while giving off the same kind of vibe…”

“Bah,” said the dwarf girl. “Tell us something that would be scary now. Like, I dunno, something about vampires?”

Lilith chose this moment to shift back to her true form.

“Someone mention me?”

The dragon yelped and backed up a ways. The dwarf and human grabbed an axe and sword, respectively.

Lilith stiffened for a second. Keep your cool, keep your cool…

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she said with a condescending air. “If I was you’d all already be dead.”

“Then what are you here for?” said the dwarf girl.

“Just passing through,” replied Lilith. “I’m a wanderer at heart.”

“We’re wanderers too,” said the human. “If only because our leader doesn’t know where he’s going.”

“Hey!” said the dragon.

He then gave Lilith a look-over.

“Say… Why don’t you wander with us for a bit?”

Both the human and the dwarf started at this statement.

“We just met her!”

“She’ll suck us dry in our sleep!”

“But guys!” replied the dragon, “I’ve read enough adventure stories to know an angsty, brooding vampire would be the perfect addition to our team!”

Lilith merely blinked at this.

“Anyway,” continued the dragon. “What’s your name, vampire?”

A name. Lilith thought back to her ancestors. Dracula, Nosferatu, Vlad…

Vlad…

“My name is Dalv.”

“Well,” said the dragon. “I’m Iggy. The human is Sam and the dwarf is Hilda. Would you like to join our little adventuring party?”

Dalv thought a good long while before responding.

I’ve just met these people… Yet I’ve lost everything and have nowhere else to go. 

It’s rather risky… And I don’t know where we’ll go…

But… Emma would want me to have a new start. So I’ll do it for her.

“Fine. I will.”

+++

[wispstalk]

OC prompt meme: Coradri, 7

7 - personality

The life of a Grandmaster, when it comes down to it, is not so different from the life of a monk. Jauffre spends most of his days in seclusion, elbow-deep in ink and paper. Takes his meals alone at his desk, so there is minimal interruption to his work.

Usually the kitchen is empty by the time Jauffre finally remembers to break his fast. This time it is not. Tanis, as he often does when Jauffre enters a room, leaves. Coradri remains, spooning jam into a helmet with the focus of a surgeon.

“Coradri,” he says wearily, “what are you doing?”

“I am putting jam in Baurus’s helmet.” She reaches in to smear it around, not looking up from her work. “He beat me, sparring this morning, so.”

No further explanation comes; such vengeance, to her, is a foregone conclusion. She licks jam from her fingers.

“These little games of yours waste time and,” he says, “not to mention resources. All our stores must be brought up by mules, you know.”

“Oh, I only put about a spoonful in,” she says, and spoons in more. “It’s not that much. If I came in here and ate it instead, you wouldn’t call that waste, would you?”

He must, in fact, account for two extra mouths that refuse to speak the Blades’ vows. He tries not to think of this as waste; he tries not to resent it. The Hero of Kvatch proved himself bloody and efficient, and the girl's wiles come part and parcel with his presence. Jauffre will not disturb their fragile peace and cast aside allies. And thus he finds himself negotiating with a hellion who sees him not as spymaster or diplomat or elite guard to the highest office in all Tamriel, but as a sort of crotchety uncle.

“Coradri.” Jauffre sighs as if to squeeze one last drop of patience up from his diaphragm. “We can't afford any lapses in vigilance. Our fortress could be attacked, and I have all of a dozen Blades to defend the last surviving heir to the Ruby Throne. When they’re not sleeping, they are on duty, and your little… pranks… interfere.”

The Elder Council has abandoned us, he wants to add. The legion is overwhelmed and bleeding numbers, through casualty or desertion, and the counts and countesses have hunkered down within their walls to weather out the storm, and the common folk are fleeing only to find there is nowhere to go. Some part of him longs to lay out all he learns in his correspondences, to show someone else the way this crisis creeps to every edge of his map like a slime mold.

But he won’t; he knows how to bear such weight alone.

Still no answer. The girl studies him with candid eyes and a slight smile, smooth and transparent as pure water. The perfect, practiced innocence of a liar so seasoned she can evade the need for it at all. She really would, he laments, make an excellent Blade.

“I’m not stupid,” she finally says. “I know why we’re here. But I think you have to laugh, even now, especially now. Otherwise we might as well march south and throw ourselves in the lake. Yeah?”

Jauffre lets his head hang. A half-smile tugs insistently at the corners of his mouth.

“I doubt Baurus will be laughing,” he says wryly.

“But I will,” she trills, and sets the helmet aside.

He leans his chin in his hands. “Your help has been invaluable to us, you know. I don’t want to have to scold you like some unruly child.”

Coradri snorts. “What are you gonna do, then, take away my birthday?”

The door to the east wing opens, and Jauffre hears the familiar clank-and-scrape of lamellar armor. Baurus pokes his head around the corner. “Ah! There it is.”

Coradri throws Jauffre a warning look. “You left it in the kitchen after breakfast,” says she who surely stole it from the barracks. “And it took you this long to notice? I’d say that shows a certain laxity, Captain Baurus. A lapse in your vigilance.”

“Thanks, Coradri,” he says flatly, and strides out with it under his arm. Not a breath later, they hear a yelp and a string of curses from the other side of the door. Jauffre rolls his lips inward, containing himself.

Clanking footfalls approach the east wing door. Coradri is already halfway out the kitchen window. “Don’t you dare laugh,” she says, throwing a stern look over her shoulder. “Back to your duties!”

[wildestflowrs]

🏴‍☠️Ronancetober Day 15: Pirate AU⚓️

Hook, Line and Sinker

Robin dislikes the royalty.

It was they, alongside their piggish council, that made laws that cruelly punished people like her. That pushed people like her to do what she did, living life at sea alongside Captain Edward Munson, plundering and destroying just to survive. She didn’t ask for this, never wanted the possibility of being hung if they ever were captured.

That’s not to say piracy isn’t fun, however.

“Do my eyes deceive me, Edward, or are we in the company of the crown Prince and the lovely Countess?” She sneers, leaning against the doorframe to the brig, inside of which their two noble prisoners sit, positively glaring at her.

“Who knew Prince Steven and Countess Nancy would be so eager to board a pirate ship,” Eddie grins as he saunters over to the cell, “Didn’t anyone teach you not to talk to strangers?”

“Fuck you,” the Countess spits, her brow furrowed in a stormy scowl. Her curly hair is ruffled, sticking out in places it is supposed to be pinned down; her dress is torn slightly at the bottom and a blooming bruise on her forehead from head-butting Jonathan when he brought her in. The prince stays silent, chewing the inside of his cheek and looking between Robin and Eddie.

“You’ll be back home soon, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Robin smirks, crouching down to be on the prisoners’ level, “Just as soon as we get your stuck-up parents to give us immunity; after that, we’ll give you back alive… probably,”

The countess continues to scowl but the Prince bursts out laughing.

“Oh, you’re out of luck if you think they’ll want us back,” Steven manages through his laughter, “We’re about as much use to you as tits on a boar,”

Eddie frowns and mutters, “We’ll see about that,” as he leaves the brig, gesturing for Robin to follow.

“Fuckin’ prissy nobles,” Robin mumbles as Eddie fills his pipe. He takes a drag and exhales, long and thoughtful. They sit on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, the crew fussing and working around them. When Robin first boarded the Corroding Coffin years ago, she was only a cabin girl. At the time, Eddie’s uncle was the captain of the ship; known as Wayne the Unwavering for his stubborn nature. Eddie was a rigger; he was a couple of years older than Robin but just as scrawny. He’s the one who invited her onto the ship, and when his uncle stepped down as Captain, Robin encouraged him to take up the role.

“At least we’ll get ‘em gone soon. I’m struggling not to shoot ‘em right now,” Eddie grumbles.

Night falls and they weigh anchor, they eat with the crew and laugh and sing way into the night, sharing hushed stories between the stragglers before dragging themselves down the lower deck to turn in for the night. The evening is pleasant, with no harsh waves or bad weather, no sound apart from the lapping waves and rocking of the ship.

As she’s making her way to her hammock, Robin hears a thud. She thinks nothing of it until she hears it again. She looks around the sleeping crew, trying to make out if it’s any of them - it doesn’t seem to be. Thud. Again. She checks the galley, finding none other than countess Nancy, trying to snap the ropes that bind her wrists together. She’s taken off one of her heeled boots, positioning it in one of the holes in the floorboards, and is hitting the rope against the heel. She’s made little progress so far; nothing more than minimal fraying and pretty bruised hands and wrists, but she keeps going, even when Robin walks up to the cell and crouches down.

“Trying to make a daring escape, countess?” Nancy jumps, scrambling to kick the shoe away from her. “I appreciate the effort, princess but those ropes are pretty damn strong,”

Nancy pouts, “I’m not trying to escape… these ropes are just really fucking annoying,”

“Sure, like I’m gonna believe that,” Robin scoffs, “maybe I should upgrade you to some iron shackles instead?”

“No!” Nancy blurts out. She looks more vulnerable than Robin’s seen her the entire time she’s been held captive; there’s a glossiness to her eyes and wobble in her voice, and the look she gives Robin is so pleading. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“I don’t want to go back to them,” Nancy mutters. She chews her bottom lip. “Steve doesn’t either- just… don’t make us go back to them, please?”

Robin is dumbfounded by the stark contrast between the countess she met earlier today and the Nancy she was met with now; fierce and commanding turned desperate and vulnerable. It goes about everything she’s built up all these years; the walls she’s so meticulously built, the opinions she’s formed and believes as fact. But, in spite of all of it, she sympathizes with Nancy. This girl of such high nobility so similar to her; wanting to escape. Not from pirates, not from the possibility of death - just from home, to start fresh.

Robin isn’t sure how to feel about the beautiful noblewoman before her; to let her stay would be quite literally teaming up with the enemy, but I’m the other hand… it hurt to see someone so deeply afraid of their home, when she could offer her an opportunity to get away from it. She sits down now, leaning against the cell bars on one side and continuing to look at Nancy.

“Uh, sure I’ll uh, I’ll speak to the captain about it,” Robin says. She’s honestly unsure how Eddie’ll react when she tells him the prisoners requested not to be sent home; she hopes he shares: her sympathy, he understanding.

“Thank you,” Nancy says, barely above a whisper. For a few moments, they sit in silence, bathed in silvery moonlight that practically makes the countess shimmer, and rocked slowly back and forth with the boat.

Robin doesn’t necessarily understand why, but she decides to talk to the prisoner.

She smiles gently, “If you wanna stay on this boat you’ll have to pull your weight I’m afraid,” she says it with good intent and Nancy smiles back, a bashful, sweet smile. She slips her hand through the bars and Nancy takes it.

“If you need a gunner I’m quite good with weapons,” Nancy says and Robin raises an eyebrow. Nancy pulls up one side of her skirts to reveal a flintlock pistol in a holster on her leg. “I’m quite a good shot,”

“I’m sure you are, princess,”

She takes out her pocket knife and severs the ropes that bind the countess’ hands together. Nancy raises her eyebrows and offers Robin a confused glare, as if she’d trying to figure her out like she had the first time they met.

“Make sure to behave, darling,” she smirks as she leaves the brig.

In the morning Robin finds Eddie before he leaves his quarters. She informs him of the prisoner’s wishes and he begrudgingly agrees to let them stay aboard for the time being as crew.

“But, if I notice any funny business they’re getting thrown back in the brig and given back to the closest navy ship,” he says in a warning tone.

The nobles are released from their cell and welcomed to the crew (a half-hearted welcome, but it’s enough). The prince is rather confused about the situation having slept through Nancy and Robin’s conversation the night prior, but he goes along with it, being lent some of Jonathan and Eddie’s clothes as ‘you can’t do any work in that rich kid shit’.

Robin rifles through her sack of clothes to find something for the countess, throwing her a button-up shirt and some trousers she grew out of years ago. She steals one of Chrissy’s old pairs of boots to give to Nancy too and lets her change.

“I thought you might have stayed,” the countess smirks as she undoes her corset.

Robin flushes, recovering quickly to quip back, “There’s plenty of time for that in the future, princess, I thought I’d offer you some privacy for now,”

“Oh, come on, Buckley, I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me all day,”

Robin stops dead in her tracks. Shit, the countess wants to kiss her?

“Why?” She asks, turning on her heels and walking back over to Nancy. Nancy grins, chewing her bottom lip and looking down.

“Whatever do you mean, ‘why’? You’re completely gorgeous, that’s why,” Nancy tucks a strand of curly chestnut hair behind her ear and Robin steps closer.

“Who would have known that countess Nancy Wheeler likes to kiss lady pirates,” she teases, placing her hands on the countess’ waist.

“Not just any lady pirates; you,”

Robin leans in and Nancy does the same, tangling her hands in the pirate’s hair. Robin’s never kissed nobility before, but she’s got to say Nancy isn’t half bad. They kiss until they’re out of breath, and then Robin pecks another quick kiss on her lips. She rubs circles in the small of Nancy’s back and tucks a curl behind her ear.

“How was that for you, princess?”

“Can’t wait for you to do it again,”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Visions of Johanna

Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet ? We sit here stranded, though we're all doing our best to deny it And Louise holds a handful of rain, tempting you to defy it Lights flicker from the opposite loft In this room the heat pipes just cough The country music station plays soft But there's nothing really nothing to turn off Just Louise and her lover so entwined And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind. In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman's bluff with the key chain And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the D-train We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight Ask himself if it's him or them that's really insane Louise she's all right she's just near She's delicate and seems like the mirror But she just makes it all too concise and too clear That Johanna's not here The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place.

Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously And when bringing her name up He speaks of a farewell kiss to me He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall Oh, how can I explain ? It's so hard to get on And these visions of Johanna they kept me up past the dawn.

Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues You can tell by the way she smiles See the primitive wallflower frieze When the jelly-faced women all sneeze Hear the one with the mustache say, "Jeeze I can't find my knees." Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel.

The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him Saying, "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him." But like Louise always says "Ya can't look at much, can ya man." As she, herself prepares for him And Madonna, she still has not showed We see this empty cage now corrode Where her cape of the stage once had flowed The fiddler, he now steps to the road He writes everything's been returned which was owed On the back of the fish truck that loads While my conscience explodes The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain.

~ Bob Dylan ~ (Blonde on Blonde, 1966) [Echoes of Panhala]

[bridgeportbritt]

Creeksbrey Palace | Umbrage, SimDonia

Rose frustrated: Ella! How do you stand on your tippie toes like that when you’re dancing? I can’t do it!

Ella chuckles: Well, it helps to actually be graceful, Rose. I don’t know if you’ve got what it takes.

Rose annoyed: Ugh! That’s not nice, Ella! I’m telling, mom!

Ella laughs: Oh, come on! You’re in a little mood today, aren’t you?

Rose: Mom! Ella said I’m not graceful.

Bria: Ella? Stop picking on your sister. Rose? Stop being a tattle tale. Now, both of you, sit and shush. We’re having an impromptu family meeting.

Ella: Aw, come on!

Rose pouts: No fair! I wasn’t tattling.

Emmitt firm: Girls, listen to your mother.

Bria: First order of business... uh, is that my sweater, Ella?

Ella knowing: Uh... no?

Bria: Okay, scratch that. First order of business, my closet is officially off-limits!

Ella: But, this - among other things in your closet - look so good on me!

Rose: I guess I can play in Ella’s make-up instead.

Emmitt: Maybe we should move on to what this meeting is really about, honey?

Bria: Ugh, yes. The real reason for this meeting. Well, girls I have some news.

Ella: You’re not pregnant again, are you?

Bria: What? No!

Rose: Are we going to Willington Palace?

Bria: No, Rose. But we’ll see the Queen soon. Now, will you two let me talk? The news is...

Bria: Your brother, Grayson, is moving back home!

Rose surprised: Really? That’s great news!

Ella: Wow! That’s awesome!

Emmitt: He’ll be here later tonight.

Rose: Is he bringing Piki?

Bria: Yep. Lance is out getting carrots or whatever it is that cats eat.

Rose: Ohhh! I can’t wait to pet him!

Bria: ... and that’s not all he’s bringing...

Ella: What else?

Bria: Apparently, his girlfriend.

Ella: Mom, keep up! Grayson and Sarah broke up, remember? Grayson would’ve said something to me if he had a girlfriend.

Bria: It’s not Sarah, Miss Know it All. It’s actually Countess Olivia of Parkshore.

Ella: Wait, really?

Emmitt: Yes. Is there a problem, Sweetie?

Ella scoffs: I mean, what about Grayson’s job? Or his house? He’s just leaving all of that and suddenly coming home with the Countess? What is going on?

Bria: We don’t know all the details yet. Grayson called and said he needs the jet to pick him up and that it was urgent. 

Emmitt: Yes, we’re sure he’ll tell us more when he gets here. We just want to make sure he and Olivia are alright.

Ella quietly: Weird. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me...

Rose: I’m going to go get my Voidcritters cards ready to show Grayson!

Bria: I should go make sure they got his room ready.

Ella: Wait! Mom, Dad. There’s something I wanted to ask you...

Bria: Oh, Watcher. It never ends with these kids.

Emmitt: What is it, sweetheart?

Ella: You guys know Luka...

Bria: How could I forget? He was in my house all Summer. What about him?

Ella: His parents invited me on their family ski trip and I wanted to know if I could go. 

Emmitt: Well, I don’t see why not...

Bria: Slow your roll there, Daddy of the Year. I can think of 5 million reasons why not.

Ella: Here we go.

Bria: Where is this trip happening? How long is the trip? Who all is going? Will there be separate rooms? Do you even know how to ski? How are your grades so far? Any more trouble at school? And last but not least, do I have to buy a bunch of expensive skiing gear?

Ella: Komorebi. 5 Days. Him and His Parents. Yes. I’m taking lessons. Good. No. And of course, but you love shopping!

Bria: She’s got a point there...

Ella: So, is that a yes?

Emmitt: I mean, it all checks out. Luka’s dad does work for the SBI and Ella hasn’t caused any trouble lately.

Bria: Fine. But I want to meet these parents before the trip. And you’ll be calling us everyday you’re there!

Ella squeals: Thanks, mom! Thanks, dad! 

Bria: Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood because your brother’s coming home.

Butler: Your Royal Highnesses, Grayson and Countess Olivia have arrived.

Ella: This day just keeps getting better and better!

Emmitt: Let’s go welcome them in.

Grayson: Hey, guys!