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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 1

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn's attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain's father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter One: Moonlight Messages

Soon, the flowers wouldn’t be enough. No, Elain corrected herself as she glared at the vase, they weren’t enough already. They had never been enough.

The house slept while Elain perched on her window ledge at the River Manor. Despite her cotton nightgown, she had not yet been able to find sleep herself, as so often she did these days. And so, Elain had risen to sit in the silver light of her window ledge and watch the impossibly beautiful night sky of the Night Court wink down at her tauntingly.

The revelation had occurred to Elain a few nights ago, but it hadn’t seemed important then and, along with most of Elain’s life experience thus far, had been brushed under the proverbial carpet. Her education in the etiquette of balls, the correct way one must curtsey in the presence of lady’s and dames, even the novels she’d read on the history of cutlery; it was all useless. She should be upset; she should care that the values that had been instilled in her by her terrifying mother had all but evaporated. But Elain felt nothing.

She was afraid of the flowers, though, because once they’d gone she’d really have nothing left. No mother, no father, no mortal etiquette, in fact, no mortality at all. After being reborn in a world that didn’t make sense to her, after being abandoned by everything she held dear, her father, her fiancé, gardening truly was the only common factor between her life then, and her life now.

And that was useful, to begin with. Gardening was a lifeline to pull her out of the fog that was those first months out of the Cauldron. It should’ve been a steppingstone in her road to recovery, the first step into her new life. Instead, it had consumed her.

As Feyre continued to prove that she’d always meant to be the High Lady of the Night Court, and especially when Nesta – Nesta – found her footing with the Valkyries and began to make a life for herself in Prythian, Elain was left to her flowers. There was nothing else for her, no purpose. No one knew how to talk to her; too afraid she might break if they ask anything more of her than a new pot of petunias.

But if flowers were all the universe could give her, whilst her sisters got married and began to spew out their beautiful children, then she would be grateful. But the flowers weren’t enough, and she was a fool to ever think otherwise.

She’d read every book, familiarised herself with the climates of the different courts and the different shrubbery that grow there. The information was running out, and so, her purpose was running out. Maybe this wouldn’t have threatened her when she was a human, when she only had a good 80 years, if she were lucky, before she’d be taken in the arms of oblivion. But it was eternity that now stretched before her. Eternity of being her sister’s gardener.

Death gives life meaning, petal – so live. It’s what Elain’s father had told her when Graysen had asked for her hand in marriage. Elain had kneeled at her father’s feet, giggling as she gripped his knees and begged him to say yes. In all her life, she’d never been so happy. She was to be married, she was to have her own estate, her own gardens! Imagine that. It would be a little life, nothing of the prince her mother had sworn she was pretty enough to marry. But Elain would’ve gone with Graysen even if he had only a cottage and a ring made of straw.

Her mother, rest her soul, had told Elain that she was a fool, because she believed in romance the way children of the night believed in the fae. Elain devoted her life to romance, her holy books were the novels her father had brought her from the continent, full of dangerous escapades and rising tension, love confessions and secret weddings. Where Nesta had wished to marry rich, Elain had wished to fall in love.

Silly girl, infatuated with infatuation. Her mother’s voice echoed around her head. Just wait, Elain. Wait until a man breaks your heart, it’s all they know to do, then you’ll realise that you and I, well, we aren’t so different after all.

Elain hated her mother for a multitude of reasons, but most of all because she was right. Now her engagement ring was sitting at the bottom of her beside drawers, her heart was broken, her body something else entirely, and her mind…Her mind was torture. It was a labyrinth, and it was complicated. Where Elain used to have silence, she now had noise, endless undisturbed chatter of visions that had not yet taken form. And above it all, beating like a drum of justice – his heartbeat.

At that moment, it was steady and satiated, and Elain knew that meant he was asleep. Lucien, her mate, safe and asleep on the other side of Prythian, and though she could never admit it to herself, the thought did bring her some comfort. At least Lucien was stagnant and reliable, even if he was only reliable in his ability to avoid her at all costs.

It felt like rejection.

All this time Feyre and Nesta, even Rhysand, had talked to her about Lucien in terms of everything being her choice. It would be her choice if she wanted to accept the bond with Lucien, and no matter her decision, Lucien was a good enough male to accept that choice and move on. But it didn’t much feel like her choice mattered, not when her supposed soulmate spent his days at the other end of the lands, as far away from her as possible. Maybe he was hoping she’d reject the bond, but that didn’t explain his behaviour when he visited, all racing heartbeats and flushed cheeks.

Lucien was a hypocrite, Elain couldn’t help but think as she sighed into the crook of her elbow, feeling a surge of emotion batter through her. Damn her human heart. Lucien was a hypocrite because in leaving her, he’d left her with no choice at all.

He may as well have rejected her. As Graysen had rejected her. As Azriel had rejected her.

All Elain wanted was to love, and to be loved, and yet she was loveless, alone – drowning, all over again. Most of the time Elain could keep the ocean of agony at bay, the one that had almost killed her when she’d first come out of the Cauldron. But then there were moments like these, in the dead of night, when she could not sleep. In these moments, the pain had nowhere to go, and it rose up in her life a black wave, before taking her under.

Sinking her teeth into the crook of her elbow until she tasted her fae blood, Elain battled through the wave of emotion. Her tears coming hot and quick as she curled into herself and lay, paralyzed in the depth of her aloneness, till the clouds smothered the moon and turned the world dark.

***

On the other side of Prythian, Lucien found himself tumbling into consciousness. He was sprawled on his back in his bedroom of the Lockhart manor, the residence of Vassa and Lucien, and he supposed, his own home too. Supposedly. The pale sheets were crumpled around his waist and his bare chest was rising steadily in the moonlight.

Unable to stay still, and forever thinking the worst after a childhood of running and hiding, Lucien sprung from his bed and unsheathed his sword from where it hung on a nearby armchair. Breathing through his nose, Lucien turned back to the dark room, his eyes, one fae, one machine, roved over the room, checking for any threat.

But the moment he was up and moving, his body showed him his cause for waking. A sharp, agonising tug from in between his ribs on his left side caused Lucien to surge forwards with a gasp, his sword cluttering to the floor. Just when he recovered from that first tug of the mating bond, a second followed, throwing Lucien onto his hands and knees as a wave of pure, agonising, hopelessness washed over him.

“What…” Lucien gasped into the silence, his hand running over his ribs, trying to ease the bond that was so fervently demanding his attention. The bond had pulled on him, not Elain – at least he could tell that by now. But the way in which the bond had demanded his attention, it was haunting. It felt as though it had reached the end of a limit, like an elastic band stretched to far only for it to snap right back.

With his mating bond being tugged on so viscerally the base mate desires that Lucien had spent two years putting a damper on, raged into fiery life. Go to her. Find her. Comfort. Keep her safe. Protect her. Comfort…She’s hurting. Kill the threat. Growling into the silence, Lucien scrunched his eyes shut and threw himself against those urges, shoving them deep down. As he did so he repeated his mantra to himself – ‘She doesn’t need me. She doesn’t want me. I will not demand anything of her. She’s fine.’

The last one didn’t really help, not if the overwhelming sadness was any indication of how his mate was faring. She’s upset. The bond seemed to whisper in his ear and Lucien felt his guts turn. Elain was supposed to be happy, that’s why he was doing all of this. He was keeping himself on the other side of the world so she could find herself, so she could be happy. But she wasn’t. If that spout of emotion was enough of an indication, Elain was miserable.

Sighing, Lucien rocked back onto his knees and ran a hand down his face, only for his hand to come away wet. Touching his cheek again, Lucien smelt the brine of tears in his room. But they weren’t his tears. No, a lady, his lady, was weeping on the other side of the world, hard enough for her tears to roll down his cheeks.

Again, Lucien felt his guts turn and thought for a moment he might be sick. Throwing himself to his feet Lucien sat back on his bed, glaring out his window to the moon, the same moon she might be looking at, at that very instant.

Lucien didn’t have anything going for him. He was a traitor, a coward, a seventh son, an outsider; when the world reforged itself around the Archeron sisters, Lucien had got left behind. No, not left behind, stuck. He was neither here nor there. Neither friend nor foe. Nothing was solid in his life, nothing constant, except that golden thread wrapped around his ribcage, tugging him north to…her.

She was enigmatic and good, supposedly. The same way he was supposedly cunning. He wanted to…well, he wanted to do everything. But in this moment, and over the past few months, he just wished to know her. A minute of her time, each day, would that be so much. But she was beyond him, in every sense of the word.

She was still broken and still healing, and he couldn’t impose himself into her new world. Right?

Lucien groaned and turned away from the moonlight, burying his head into his pillow. All Lucien seemed to be able to think was that somewhere, on the other side of Prythian was Elain. Elain, alive and well. His mate. His mate. Mother, he’d never get over saying those two little, impossible words.

She was his soulmate, did that mean she was awake now, thinking of him the way he thought of her? Obsessively, incandescently, without remorse or restraint. Rolling on his back, Lucien looked again at the moon.

“Are you thinking of me?” He whispered into the silence, only the moonlight and the mother to hear the tremble in his voice, “…because I’m thinking of you…I’m always thinking of you.”

#acotar #elucien #elucien fic #Elain #elain acotar #elain x lucien #elain archeron #elain and lucien #lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x elain #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #fffaf

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littledrummeraussie · 3 years

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wrapped in midnight blue.

Word count: 1500+

Author’s note: modern day prince!Calum x reader. part 2. find part 1 here.

@notinthesameguey HAPPY (LATE) BIRTHDAY BLANCA! I’ve promised you something including your Royal Highness, and look! He’s here to sweep you off your feet!

Enjoy babe! Love you so much! ❤️

masterlist.

- - - - -

You were sure that either someone was playing a prank on you or that the letter found its way into your bedroom accidentally. There was no way that the crimson envelope with the fine gold lettering belonged to you. You have seen plenty of these when the messengers packed them up to make sure they arrived on time to the addressees – another royal ball, this time to celebrate the Royal Family’s All Hallows’ Eve party. A smile pulled at your lips as you’ve remembered Calum mumbling something about the name, how his parents tried to give a fancy term to their usual Halloween celebration.

Carefully you picked up the envelope, not wanting to bend or crease the paper. You just wanted to peek at the name to know who else was invited before finding one of the guys working as a messenger and giving it back to him, making sure that this time it really found its way to the correct princess or dame. Your breath hitch the moment you laid eyes on the name – this invitation was address for you, the letters of your name drawn with a sure hand in beautiful cursive, with a small little heart added at the end. Pulling out the invitation card you felt your cheeks turn hot, but you couldn’t fight your smile as your fingers brushed over Calum’s name at the bottom.

You soon needed to realize that it was impossible for you to make it to the All Hallows’ Eve ball – if it wasn’t enough that you did not have a dress that would pass as acceptable during an occasion like this, (and how could you, you were only a kitchen girl for God’s sake), the head cook came up with such a difficult and intricate menu for the event that you didn’t even have time to let Calum know about it. He tried to corner you a few times, but he was always shooed away by Mrs Higgins and Mrs Jones, saying how he should keep away from all the food prepared for the celebration. They never failed to remind him how six years old Calum got sick from too many cupcakes or how ten years old Calum got peanut butter all over his white dress shirt and how…

“Y/N? Psst, come here!”

The voice made you stop in your tracks – the ball was already in full swing, so what did Mali do down in the kitchens in her stunning black dress? She clutched her mask in her hand as she nodded towards the door, asking you to come meet her. You looked around quickly then put down the basket of vegetables on a table before slipping out of the room, following the princess.

“Miss Mali, I have to go back to work…” you’ve tried to reason with her, but she shook her head, already grabbing your hand and pulling you towards your sleeping quarters.

“No, you don’t. You need to dress up and make an appearance at the royal ball. You’re already late.”

“Your Highness, I have work to do, I can’t just… I can’t just leave my post,” but your words didn’t appear to make Mali stop as she spun around, hands on her waist, golden bracelets clinking together as she gave you a pointed look.

“And I have a lovesick puppy of a brother moping in the ballroom, waiting for his Cinderella,” she signed before lightly grabbing your arms, squeezing them lovingly. “Look, I know I shouldn’t know about you two, but he clearly has it bad for you and you make him happy. He lights up like a Christmas tree whenever he sees you around, and that’s all I want for him.”

“I– don’t know what to say,” you felt your cheeks turn hot, your stomach flipping pleasantly at Mali’s words of support.

“Say you will come and make Calum happy. Please!”

“I don’t have a dress… or a mask…” your fingers nervously played with the hem of your apron, knowing all too well that you couldn’t show up in your messy clothes.

“Oh, sweetheart, I have already taken care of it all,” Mali gave you a brilliant smile before taking your hand again, running down the hallway with you.

You felt breathless as you’ve stepped into the ballroom, and you needed to remind yourself that no one in there knew who you really were. People didn’t pay too much attention to you as you passed them by, and really, how could they? All of their eyes were trained on the Royal Family, the King and the Queen ready to give their opening dance before letting others join as well. You caught sight of Mali and Calum at the other end of the room, one of them smiling and beaming happily at their parents, the other trying to look interested and hiding his bored looks and yawns.

Then you saw it, how Mali found you in the crowd with her eyes and she slipped next to Calum, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket to get his attention then pointing at you. You could see even under the mask hiding his face how he was furrowing his brows, mumbling something to Mali, probably about how he didn’t want to go up to the stranger and dance with her, no matter how much his sister insisted, but then Mali whispered something in his ear, and Calum’s whole attitude changed. He pressed a quick kiss onto his sister’s cheek before making his way down the steps, excusing himself as he passed dames and princesses, his eyes trained on you.

“May I have this dance?” he stopped in front of you, slightly bowing before you as he held his hand out.

“It would be my pleasure, Your Highness,” you made sure to remember the royal etiquette, giving a quick curtsey to him before slipping your hand in his.

Calum’s lips pulled at the corners, a smile spreading across his face as he led you to the dancefloor, his hand settling on your waist while he pulled your hand onto his shoulder, grabbing your other hand in his.

“It’s okay, just follow my lead,” he whispered in your ear and you nodded, letting him guide you as the two of you started dancing. “That’s a really nice dress you have there.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s from Mali’s closet,” you rolled your eyes, and Calum giggled, squeezing your hips.

The dress was a beautiful midnight blue colour, with a smattering of silver all over it, making it look like a starry sky. You were ready to tell Mali that you couldn’t accept it, this was too big of an offering from her, but she just pushed a similar colour blue mask into your hand before excusing herself, going back to the ball she has left.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Calum smiled before twirling you around, pulling you back to his chest. “I was hoping you could make it. I started to lose faith.”

“Well, thank your sister. Otherwise I would still be in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and whatnot,” your answer made Calum chuckle again.

“Hope you don’t have to leave at midnight, Cinderella. Not sure Mrs Higgins would let me chase after you into the kitchen. She seems to be really protective of all the royal food,” he slowly started guiding you towards a side entrance before looking around and slipping out with you to a hallway.

“I definitely need to make up an excuse why I was missing,” you wrapped your arm around his offered one, and Calum hummed, walking with you to the garden.

“I’ll come up with something. Or let Mali handle it,” he shrugged, making the both of you laugh. “But I really do owe her one. I guess I didn’t think through all the possibilities when I’ve left that invitation on your bed.”

“It’s okay. You’re still my favourite prince,” you slowly stepped closer, fitting yourself against his side, and he wrapped his arm around you.

“Does this favourite prince of yours deserve a kiss now?” he cupped your face in his palms, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Cause he’s been missing you like crazy.”

You nodded, already pushing yourself up on your tiptoes to brush your lips together, and Calum quietly moaned as he wrapped you in a hug, his lips soft and warm against yours. Your teeth knocked together as he deepened your kiss, his tongue teasing yours while your fingers slipped into his hair at the nape of his neck. It took you long minutes to pull back from each other, his teeth lightly nipping your bottom lip before peppering small, soothing kisses all over it.

“I missed you too, Cal,” you sighed, resting your forehead against his shoulder, and he ran his fingers through your hair, down your back and then up, pressing another kiss on your temple.

“We should maybe go back,” he lightly swayed with you, not ready to let go. “We could dance a little more and then maybe when people are not looking… we could slip back up to my room… I’m sure I could find you a similar midnight blue shirt that would look even better on you… wrinkled and buttons undone… what do you think?”

“I say…” you pressed a kiss against his chin before fixing his mask. “…that it would be my pleasure. Lead the way, Your Highness.”

- - - - -

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday @ashtondaddy90 @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal

#calum hood #calum hood x reader #calum hood fanfic #prince!calum #fiction time #afic: prince!calum

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fatalezr · 3 years

Text

Secret State - Part 10

"How's hotel life treating you?"

Rebecca rolled her eyes and invited her guest into her room. "I'm bored, Kate, really bored". She had been sitting in her suite at the Savoy. It was late December and already dark outside at 4pm, let alone the 8pm it was now showing. Rebecca felt tired - she had been moving from hotel to hotel for the past 5 days, finding new ways to change her appearance back and forth when she went into the office for work. The weekend had been particularly rough - whilst the hotels she was in were comfortable, she felt trapped inside them. She wanted to go outside, see her friends, do some last minute Christmas shopping and experience all that she loved but the threat to her life was still real. After the excitement of Friday and the potential arrest of the Prime Minister, the weekend had been relatively uneventful. She had moved hotels twice now, deliberately now picking the Savoy to be closer to her office.

Sullivan had asked the team to take work with them over the weekend whilst urgent discussions were had with his superiors. George's testimony and the fake photographs she had presented had been enough to release a statement to the media that whilst there was still an active investigation, no arrests would be made imminently. There was still wild speculation in the press and the PM's befuddled look and unkempt hair seemed to be plastered on the front pages every day but he was surviving. Monday had been a better day as Coulter's private bank found the disputed transactions and had proved that they had been faked by an employee who had since disappeared. Rebecca had spent her hours in the hotel room looking over every detail she could but there was no proof she could find of the Home Secretary's plot. The security reforms seemed to move apace as well and there were reports of mass suspensions at MI5 whilst a merger with MI6 was contemplated. The stress of the situation was making Rebecca's head spin and she missed her family and her comfortable flat.

"Well let me see if I can find something to cheer you up" Kate said cheerfully, pulling Rebecca back from her melancholy. "Come on, let's have a walk".

"Do we have to?" Rebecca asked. It was Tuesday evening now and she didn't even know where she could walk safely.

"Yes we do, now get up" Kate said. Her friend marched across the room and threw Rebecca a wig and a coat.

Rebecca knew better than to argue with a determined Kate. She put the wig and some glasses on, then wrapped the coat around her. "We're just going for a walk?" she queried.

"Something like that" said Kate. She led Rebecca out of the room and to the elevators but as they stepped into an empty one, Kate took out a small key from the pocket of her jeans and placed it into the panel. She turned it and pressed the basement button before winking at Rebecca. The elevator rumbled down below the reception floor to the basement level.

"What have you got planned?" Rebecca asked, now intrigued.

"We're going on a little adventure" Kate said. She led the way through the basement, passing service corridors and through a kitchen that was bubbling with activity until they reached a back door that led to a small underground parking garage. Rebecca recognised the black Mercedes that awaited her and the bald-headed man smiling at her.

"Good evening Ma'am" he said as he saw her.

"Fraser!" she exclaimed and she found herself running to him and giving him a hug. She realised it was nice to see a friendly face. "How are you?"

"Doing my best" he said, "enjoying some extra time with the family that seems to have arisen. But come, we must be quick". He opened the door for her to get into the back seat and Kate joined her inside the car. Fraser drove out of the garage and onto the streets of London.

"What's been going on?" Rebecca asked, "are you OK?"

"It's been an interesting few days," Fraser admitted as they drove, his Scottish accent still calm and his driving smooth. "As you know, they've placed a lot of us from the service on administrative leave for a while but we've always had ways of keeping in touch and my wife isn't sick of having me around the house just yet".

Rebecca smiled. "That's good to hear. I..." she found her voice breaking, "I'm sorry Fraser, I feel like it's all been my faul-"

"None of that now" he said, interrupting her. "We've been betrayed, we all know that and thanks to you and Kate we still have a fighting chance". He returned his focus to the road and Rebecca sat back.

"Where are we heading to?" she asked.

"You'll see" he said. The car headed into Chelsea and Kensington before Fraser took a sharp left and went into another underground garage amongst a regal looking set of flats. He parked and opened the door for Rebecca. "Quickly" he said, ushering her towards an elevator and swiping an electronic keycard inside.

"We'll see you soon" Kate added from her seat in the car as the elevator doors closed with her and Fraser on the outside and Rebecca on the inside.

Rebecca was sad to see them go but her thoughts soon turned to where she might be heading. It was evidently somewhere important. The elevator was plush, much like the exterior to the Victorian building it was in. It pinged when it reached the floor and opened directly into a reception room of an apartment with a grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Rebecca stepped out and tried to take in all of the details in the room. There were columns around the edge of the large windows, a brightly coloured rug and detailed furnishings. It felt like being in a stately home.

"Good evening Miss Davidson" a distinguished female voice to her right said, "I trust it is you under that wig?". Rebecca turned, startled a little and saw Dame Lucy Grosvenor walking towards her, a drink in hand.

"Good evening, my lady" she said, curtseying unsuredly and cursing that she did not know how to formally address the head of MI5. She fumbled and took the wig off her head.

"Now what did I tell you about curtseying?" Dame Lucy chastised her, having already told her at her first meeting that it should be reserved for members of the Royal Family. She chuckled and gave Rebecca a warm smile. "I'm very glad to see you, Miss Davidson".

"Thank you ma'am" Rebecca said back, "it's a beautiful place you have here".

"And currently the world's most beautiful prison" Dame Lucy said, rolling her eyes and sighing. "I always believed house arrest wouldn't be so bad, but it is rather dull after a few days".

Rebecca remembered that Dame Lucy had been in this situation for about a week now and whilst Rebecca could sympathise with being locked in a room, she was at least able to get let out and work. She wondered how the older woman must be feeling. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, I feel like I'm responsible for this mess" she admitted.

"We got dealt a bad hand, Miss Davidson, a very bad hand. You weren't to know and look, we're still in the game and now we know who sits on the other side of the table. Come," she beckoned Rebecca to join her on a sofa, "let's sit".

Rebecca did so, taking off her coat as she did so. She felt like her jeans, t-shirt and cardigan were inadequate amongst Dame Lucy's finery. She was still dressed in a blouse and trousers that accentuated her power. "I want to help where I can Ma'am, but..."

"But you're currently in a hotel for fear of MI6 assassins" Dame Lucy finished. "Yes, that's why I've asked Fraser to drive your friend around town for a bit - throw them off the scent if they've been following you". She took some of her drink. "Some intelligence does still reach me" she said slyly, "I do have one or two friends left in our establishment to help out".

"Have you had chance to speak with George, ma'am?" Rebecca asked.

"Indeed, we spoke over the weekend. I'm aware of your actions on Friday. Well done, Miss Davidson, sterling work indeed".

"I just wish we knew about what came next" Rebecca admitted, "I get the feeling this isn't over yet".

"Your intuition is correct" Dame Lucy told her, "and that is why we are having a discussion. I received word today that the slimy bugger Colonel Umarov has changed his flight to leave London. He's staying in town for another couple of days".

Rebecca looked at her. "What do you suspect?"

"I suspect they are moving up their plans before we can re-establish ourselves" Dame Lucy said, "there are so few people I trust at this moment, Miss Davidson, which is why I must turn to you". She picked up a folder off the table in front of her and handed it to Rebecca. "Do you recognise this man?" she asked.

Rebecca opened the folder and stared at the face - she immediately did. It was the thin man who had been the partner of Petra Grigovic at her flat in Tooting where they had found the evidence of doctored photographs. She saw the file contained his name - Uri Balakov. She nodded at Dame Lucy.

"We believe he may be our best lead as to the current plans. After you left him on Friday he was picked up by MI6 and taken to one of their safe houses".

"MI6? What are they doing with him?" Rebecca asked.

"We do not have many allies in that building. There's always been a friendly rivalry" Dame Lucy explained, "but their current leader has always been an ally to the Home Secretary and there have always been rogue elements prepared to focus on their self-interest, hence why I believe you're within a hotel at the moment".

Rebecca sighed. It was true, she was in fear of any future assassins MI6 might send in her direction. She had already killed two - how many more could there be? Dame Lucy seemed to read her mind. "There's a particularly soulless unit they operate, codenamed Wolfmouth, who have been active in trying to disrupt our plans. It's a Wolfmouth safehouse in Clapham where Mr Balakov is being held now".

Rebecca steeled her nerves. "OK" she said, "I'm on it". She sighed again.

"I do hate to put you in this position, Miss Davidson" Dame Lucy said sympathetically. "But I believe we can still win this war and this country will be all the better for us doing so. You can go home, feel safe again".

Rebecca knew she was right - they did need to win or else she could never be safe again. She nodded and took the rest of the file. It contained details on the address where Balakov was being held. She started to formulate a plan of attack in her head whilst Dame Lucy fetched her a box. She opened it and saw some all-black clothing and more ammunition for her Walther P99. "Thanks" she said.

"My pleasure" Dame Lucy said, "but I'm afraid it's time for you to go. Fraser will be back soon to take you to a place you can prepare". Rebecca stood and Dame Lucy shook her hand vigorously. "Good luck, Miss Davidson" she said earnestly before Rebecca turned and headed back to the elevator door.

------

"Fraser, tell her I'm right"

Kate's voice was stubborn and Rebecca knew it would be useless to continue to argue. "I'm staying out of this" Fraser said from the front seat of the car.

"Because you know better than to argue with me, right?" Kate urged.

"As you say, Miss Belmont" he replied quietly.

Kate turned to Rebecca and crossed her arms. "So that's settled then".

Rebecca still felt uneasy. She had told Kate of her plans for breaking into the Wolfmouth safehouse and her colleague had immediately insisted that she join her. Rebecca had protested - she didn't want her friend joining her in a potentially deadly situation against MI6 agents but as predicted, Kate had argued her point that the two of them would always be better as a team than as one.

"OK" she said, relenting and watched as Kate pulled her Glock 17 from her bag and suppressed it. They were sitting in the back seat of Fraser's car down an alleyway near the street in Clapham where the safehouse was nestled amongst the terraced houses. They had both changed into all-black outfits and had balaclavas ready to put on their heads. It was 1am and the streets were quiet. Rebecca knew they had to be quick - they may only have one opportunity to grab Uri Balakov from the house. "Fraser, we need you to keep the engine running" she told him, "go to the main road".

"Of course" he said. Rebecca took a deep breath and opened the car door. The night was freezing cold and she could see her breath in front of her as she stepped out. She set off, jogging towards the house with Kate behind her. They stopped a couple of houses along the terrace. There was no-one out the back of the property but there were two cameras.

"Get the cameras, I'll go for the roof" Kate said. Rebecca looked to argue but Kate was already jumping onto the window ledge of the neighbouring house and clambering up, using a drainpipe to crawl up. Rebecca had forgotten how athletic she was. She turned to the house and took careful aim with her Walther P99 at the camera. Pfft. The first shot was a direct hit on the camera. She turned to the next. Pfft. Her shooting was accurate and she saw it spark as it died. She hurried to the back of the house and waited, putting her balaclava on. The door opened and a man appeared at it, wearing a shirt with a shoulder holster and carrying a pistol. He looked at the camera and Rebecca took her chance to fire. Pfft-pfft. She hit him twice in the chest and he crumpled.

The adrenaline was kicking in within her. She felt no guilt - this was a rogue element that needed to be stopped. She stepped over the body and entered the house. The lights inside were off. There was a movement as someone came down the stairs but as soon as they turned the corner -pfft-pfft- Rebecca gunned them down with two shots. She kept her pistol raised as she walked upstairs slowly. She saw two shadows on the landing above her, both with pistols raised and aiming at the top of the stairs.

Pfft-pfft, pfft-pfft. Rebecca heard the sound of suppressed gunshots and the shadows crumpled to the ground. She sprinted up the stairs to see Kate, gun in hand and looking satisfied. She nodded at Rebecca and pointed to the bedroom door the men had been standing outside. Rebecca covered it whilst Kate turned the handle and pushed the door open. They saw a bed and a figure sleeping within it. Rebecca recognised his curly long hair and thin face as that of Uri Balakov. He stirred and Rebecca ran to him, grabbing him by the neck and muffling his shouts with her mouth.

"Shut the fuck up" Kate hissed at him, pointing her gun at his torso. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in. Uri stopped struggling a little and together the two women forced him down the stairs and out of the front door. Rebecca looked down the street and saw Fraser pulling up by the front door. They bundled Uri inside and Fraser drove off quickly with all of them in the back seat.

The car was warm and Rebecca pulled her balaclava off. She smiled and took some deep breaths to slow her heart rate. She looked at Kate who was grinning back at her - they had done it. Uri had stopped struggling and was instead looking frightened as the car sped through the streets. He looked from Kate to Rebecca. "Wait...I...I know you!" he said, sounding frightened, "you were....the other day...".

"That's right" Rebecca said, "so you know what we're capable of". She showed him her gun. "Now we're going to go have a nice little chat".

"You're going to kill me!" he said, "please, please! No, do not!"

"Then it's time to start talking" Kate said softly.

"I talk and you will kill me" Uri said, "why...why would I do this?"

Rebecca shook her head and tried to put on an empathetic voice. "Co-operate with us and we can work something out" she said. He still looked like a scared rabbit. "Come on Uri, I know you're not a true believer to this. Who got you involved? Was it Petra?" He nodded. "She was your lover?". His eyes filled with tears.

"She was my....my world. I would do anything for her. I begged her and begged her to not have me forge those documents but she....she insisted" he said, his voice breaking slightly, "and now she....."

"She chose to take the easy way out" Rebecca said, leaning closer to him and putting her arm on his shoulder, "but you, you don't have to do that. You can start again Uri. Use your talents for good".

"We just need to know what Plan B is" Kate said, changing her tone to being more sympathetic. "We know that they want the PM gone. How are they going to do it?"

Uri cried a little more but Rebecca let him do so. The emotion was a sign that he was giving up. Eventually he sat up. "I...I want to live" he said, "I want to be free".

"You can be" Rebecca assured him, "we'll help you get out Uri". She was being sincere and felt some pity for him.

"OK" he said after a pause, "OK, I will tell you what I know". He dried his eyes. "If we could not remove the PM by stealth, the plan was to use force..to...to kill him" he said.

Rebecca felt her heart skip a beat - could they really assassinate the Prime Minister? "How?" she asked.

"I do not know all the details, I swear" Uri said, "but I know they have a man in the PPU".

"The Personal Protection Unit?" Kate asked, a look of concern on her face.

"Yes" Uri nodded, "they have someone and they have a shooter too. They want...they want to do it in public I know...make it look like a terrorist attack".

"Where?" Rebecca asked urgently, "When?"

"I do not know, I swear!" Uri said, "soon...I think, but I never knew all the details" He looked at Rebecca and Kate. "Please, that is all I know. You said I could be safe".

Rebecca was deep in thought. "We've got to get back to the hotel" she said to Kate. "Fraser..."

"I'm on it" he said, turning the car around and heading for Central London. "I also know somewhere where Mr Balakov can be safe". There was a stoic calm to his voice that relaxed everyone in the car as it drove through the streets.

------

"What...what time is it?"

Simon Selwick was rubbing his eyes as he stood on his front porch in a bright pink dressing gown. "And who are you?" he said, looking at Rebecca and Kate in their wigs and dark glasses, "how did you know I live here?" He was starting to sound frightened.

"Relax Simon, it's only us" Kate said. She took off her wig and glasses to reveal her blonde hair, "and for the record, it's 8:30am. When normal people are awake".

"Kate?" he said, rubbing his eyes, "what...what are you doing here?"

"Can we come in please?" Rebecca asked, taking off her glasses.

"Rebecca!" Selwick was starting to wake more now, "of course, of course!" he said, ushering them in. "I must say, I've been so worried ever since I read about last week. I'm so happy to see you're OK". He led them into a large kitchen area. "Or....are you not? Why the wig?"

"It's been an interesting week" Rebecca said, chuckling a little as she considered the absurdity of the situation.

"You must tell me about it" Selwick said. "Coffee?" he offered, going to a pot that was brewing.

"Please" Rebecca said, and he poured a cup. She felt exhausted and sleep-deprived.

Her and Kate had been up for most of the night trying to work out the Russian plan until at 3am while looking at the PM's schedule for that day Rebecca had spotted something that made her shriek with excitement. "Fuck Kate! Fuck!" she had shouted, "I know where they're going to do it!" They had worked together to confirm their suspicions before coming up with a plan. It was a long shot but Rebecca knew it was their best chance of keeping the PM alive. They had both grabbed a short two hour nap before waking early. Kate had already called into their office to give excuses for her and Rebecca chasing down potential leads. DSI Sullivan had given her an earful and demanded that the results they bring in the next day had better be worth the trouble but it had at least bought them 24 hours. Rebecca had also been in touch with George and Marcus as she brought their plan together.

"This is bonkers" Kate had finally said as they left The Savoy, both wearing disguises to avoid being followed by any rogue Wolfmouth operatives. Rebecca wasn't sure if that was an insult to her plan or a compliment.

"So" Selwick said, placing the coffee down, "what brings the two of you to my door?"

"We need a favour" Rebecca said and Selwick sighed. "Please Simon, it's urgent".

"I thought last week was a favour!" he protested, "and aren't I hosting your Christmas party next week?" He sighed again. "What can I do?" he asked.

"I need to see Arkady Romanov" Rebecca said.

"No!" Selwick immediately said, "no, no, no". He looked frustrated. "The trouble you caused last week...." he stopped himself from saying more, "no Rebecca, I have a business to run here".

"I wouldn't ask unless it was life or death" Rebecca said sincerely, "and it is Simon, it really is. I need to see him and you're our only way in".

He paused. "Life or death?" he asked, "surely not?"

"Not his life no, nor yours" Kate said, "but this is serious Simon. We're trying to stop something big". Selwick looked from one woman to the other, considering. He sipped on his drink. "And after this" Kate said, "we owe you a favour at last". She laid her hand on his. "Please" she said sweetly.

"You just want to talk with him?" Selwick asked, "nothing more? I have your word".

"You have my word" Rebecca said, "but we need to see him straight away".

Selwick considered for a few seconds. "And you owe me?" he clarified.

"Anything you need," Rebecca replied, sincerely. "please, Simon".

He sighed again. "OK" he said, "let me see what I can do. Wait here". He poured them both some coffee and left the room. Rebecca sipped her drink and waited. She noticed Kate shifting in her chair uncomfortably. Silence passed between them and the minutes felt like hours until a few minutes later, Selwick reappeared.

"I've booked an appointment for 10am" he said, "will that do?"

Rebecca leaped from the table and hugged Simon. "Thank you Simon, thank you!" she said. She kissed him on the cheek and he blushed.

"Just let me shower and change," he said, "some of us do not keep to normal working hours". He gave the women a smile and headed upstairs.

Just over an hour later they were in the back of his car, Selwick in the passenger seat whilst his driver took them to North London and the Emirates Stadium. It was now Rebecca's turn to shift nervously. She wondered how Romanov would react to seeing her - she had made a large assumption in coming here but for their plan to succeed, it had to work. She chewed her lip as the car pulled in front of the main entrance to the offices in the stadium. Her and Kate followed Selwick into the building reception where they were directed up two flights of stairs to Romanov's office.

She swallowed her fears as they approached his door. "Wait" she said softly to Kate and Simon, "let me go in alone". Selwick gave her a puzzled look and Kate put her hand on her shoulder.

"Bec, we're a team" she said.

"I know" Rebecca said, taking her hand and squeezing it, "but trust me. I've got this". She found that she instinctively knew what she would have to do and walked confidently to the door and knocked.

"Da" his voice came from inside.

Rebecca entered and saw Arkady Romanov sitting behind his wooden desk, reading a newspaper. He was wearing a dark grey suit and an open white shirt. His hair was still short and his beard typically scruffy. He glanced up at her and his face looked confused for a second before he recognised her face. "Harmony!" he said, sounding surprised. He stood up. "I...What....I..." He was speechless but he seemed happy to see her.

"Hello Arkady" she said, smiling politely at him.

"But....you are spy" he said, his face contorting, "you spy on me, yes?"

"No" she said, looking him in the eye with sincerity, "not on you, Arkady. On Colonel Umarov".

Something about Umarov's name made Romanov bristle for a second. Rebecca took a step towards him but he put his hand up. "No" he said, "no, I trust not". His voice lacked conviction.

"Can we talk?" Rebecca said, "I want to help you".

Romanov looked to the sky and whispered some sort of curse but nodded and invited Rebecca to sit. "OK" he said.

"Your English is better than you let on, isn't it Arkady?" she asked. She had noticed an awareness about him when they were together at Wembley. He understood the language perfectly, even if pretending to not do so helped him at the negotiating table and with the media.

"Maybe" he said, but he grinned. Rebecca smiled back.

"Then let's start with the truth" she said, "My real name is Rebecca, I'm a police detective and yes, sometimes I do some work for MI5". She studied his reaction as he took it all in.

"Rebecca" he said finally, "it is still a pretty name".

"Do you know what Umarov's plan is?" she asked. Romanov bit his lip but said nothing. Rebecca glanced around the room. It was full of English footballing artifacts, from old trophies to photographs of famous games at both Arsenal and beyond. She decided to change tactics. "You like it here, don't you?" she said, smiling at him.

"Da" he affirmed.

"More so than Russia?" she asked.

He paused. "In Russia, there is too much politics, too much hunger for power and domination" he said. "Russia is run by bad men. Here" he looked around his office, "I can be at home. I love football, I love the passion, I love the people, the taste, the smell".

Rebecca nodded. "You've built a home here" she said.

"Yes" Romanov said, "but always there is trouble. There are.....debts.....debts I must pay".

"To Umarov?" Rebecca asked.

He nodded. "When the Soviet Union collapsed it was chaos. A lot of business to be had, a lot of bad people to do business with. I....am not proud of some deals...I had to make".

Rebecca nodded - she knew that there were a number of corrupt dealings around the end of the USSR. Romanov had emerged with control of a large oil and gas company. Umarov had obviously helped him to that position and now held that over him. She reached across the table with her hand. "You did what you had to do at the time" she told him, "but now..."

"Now he still controls" Romanov sounded frustrated, "I want...I want to live in peace, live happily, enjoy my life here! But no, he must always be wanting more and more and more. Bastard" he swore softly.

Rebecca kept nodding. "Arkady I want to help" she said. "I want to get Umarov, and help you get free of him, with a clean slate here to enjoy what you want to enjoy".

"There is no help" he said, shaking his head.

"No Arkady, there is" she reached for his hand and held it in hers. "We can do this. We can help you. I can help you". He did not look convinced but she held his hand for a bit longer. It was time to ask the key question. "Do you know what the plan is for today?" It had been the appointment that had made Rebecca sit up and notice when she looked at the PM's schedule for that day. He was due to be appearing alongside some schoolchildren who had taken part in a fitness initiative run by Arsenal and the appearance would be at the Emirates. Even more intriguing, she saw that the event had been suggested and booked by the Home Secretary only a couple of days prior, presumably under the guise of helping his friend to get some good publicity. It made too much sense for the attempt on the PM's life to not be made then. It would be a closely controlled environment, but one where Umarov could pull the strings.

Romanov paused. "I do not know, I swear. He, Umarov, he simply ask me to move the event here and hold in front of stadium, that is all I know. I want to ask more, but he say no".

Rebecca felt her heart racing. It was here. "I think....I think they're going to try and kill the Prime Minister".

Romanov looked incredulous. "No!" he said loudly, "no, he cannot! He...my God" his voice changed as he saw the pieces slotting into place. "The Home Secretary...he will win any new election....and if Umarov control him...."

"Then he controls the country. Our country. Our home" Rebecca said, nodding.

"What must we do?" he asked her.

------

"So this is now the point in the plan where we really don't have a clue?"

Rebecca was a little annoyed by Kate's question despite the truth within it. "It's the point in the plan where we use that famous Kate Belmont intuition" she retorted. "Look, we've come this far, we can go a little further, right?". She said it as much for herself as for Kate. There were so many points overnight when it seemed like their plan could fall apart. What if Selwick couldn't get the meeting? What if Romanov wouldn't co-operate? And yet they were here, outside the Emirates stadium wearing press passes and having managed to retrieve the guns they had stowed in Romanov's office.

He had organised for them to have access to the event and agreed they could store their weapons inside but was still none the wiser about the plan that Umarov had concocted to target the PM. That was the predicament that Rebecca knew her and Kate were now in - they had to work it out before it could be executed. Romanov was sure that he would be safe inside the stadium itself and the PM had arrived for a quick tour 10 minutes ago.

Rebecca surveyed the surroundings. She asked herself how she would do it - how would she kill the PM if she was a Russian sniper? The stadium was relatively far from any of the high apartments nearby and sheltered so there would not be an advantageous place from which to shoot nearby, so they would need to be closer. She looked at the group of young schoolchildren, laughing and joking, some running around and trying to be corralled by their teacher. They were at the foot of a large set of concrete steps going from outside the stadium to the upper level entrances. There was some press milling around near the bottom, a couple of photographers and TV cameramen who had arrived in various press vans with their media outlet name on the outside. Nothing caught her attention. "How would you do it?" she asked Kate.

"Hmmm" Kate's eyes were wandering about and doing the same thing as Rebecca, "I'd steer clear of the children at the bottom - too unpredictable there. Best place would be as he comes down the stairs, but his security will be covering that".

Rebecca's eyes widened. She knew what was going to happen. "Of course!" she said, "that's it!" Kate frowned at her. "Remember what Balakov said - one of his personal protection unit is Wolfmouth".

"Oh fuck" Kate said, realising that would be the case, "so at the right moment..."

"Exactly" Rebecca said.

"We've got to find the shooter" Kate said. There was a clap from the top of the stadium and they looked to see the PM waving, his blonde mop of hair blowing in all directions. His security surrounded him in a diamond formation. "Fuck" Kate said. They might be out of time.

Rebecca turned again towards the media vans, her eyes scrutinising every detail. She saw Kate set off towards the stairs. "Kate!" she called, but it was too late - her colleague was marching towards the steps. Rebecca turned back to the vans and one caught her eye - the RT van, with it's green logo on the outside. All the other vans had satellite dishes on the top but it did not and there was no cameraman outside it. She looked harder and glimpsed a small opening at the top of the van and something black and cylindrical poking through. There were cheers and claps from the schoolchildren as the PM descended towards them but Rebecca set off towards the van. It was now or never, she knew. She glanced towards the steps. The PM was halfway down and Kate was pushing her way through the crowd.

Rebecca drew her pistol, the suppressor already on and aimed at the back of the van's door. Pfft. Her shot hit the lock. There was an "ooh" sound from the crowd in surprise and she saw the front of the PM's security detail tripping and falling down some steps, exposing the PM's chest. She flung open the door with one hand while her pistol was raised in the other. She saw two men in black inside, one with a set of binoculars and the other with a large sniper rifle standing up. Pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft. She fired rapidly in his direction and he fell before she turned to the man in binoculars who was drawing a pistol of his own. Pfft-pfft-pfft. She put him down too and clambered into the van. Both men were struggling to move. Pfft, pfft. She put bullets in each of their heads before opening the back of the van and holstering her pistol.

She heard sirens blare and two large black vans pulled up to the stadium, the doors opening as they did so and a squad of armed officers emerged. "ARMED POLICE" she heard Marcus shout as their leader, and other members of his team did the same. "ARMED POLICE, GET DOWN!" he shouted some more and the crowd screamed and scattered, people falling down or running out of their way as he and his squad rushed towards the PM. Rebecca saw Kate at the foot of the steps, kneeling on the back of the personal protection officer. The rest of the PM's security were in a daze, and the PM himself looked confused by the situation. Marcus grabbed him and together with his squad rushed him back into their van. She got down on the floor herself but was certain she saw Marcus flash her a smile as he passed. She saw the PM being bundled into the van with the team but she also saw a pinstriped trouser leg from another person who had been sitting in the van.

She turned onto her back and looked up at the sky. 'It worked' she told herself, 'it worked!'. Tyres squealed and the vans screeched away. She looked over and saw cameramen and photographers capturing the scene and the confusion. She peered through the crowd and saw Kate picking herself off the protection officer and apologising as if she had fallen on him by accident. Rebecca grinned and got up off the floor. She walked away from the stadium, ditching the press pass as she went. She walked towards Finsbury Park and it was not long until she heard Kate jogging up behind her and jumping on her back.

"Fuck yes Bec, fuck yes!" she said. She got off Rebecca's back and the two hugged tightly.

"All go OK with you?" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah, made it look like an accident when I fell on him" Kate said. "I even...got his number". She held up a card on which a mobile phone was scrawled. "I figure a quick hack on this could be quite interesting"

Rebecca laughed - only Kate could help stop a terror attack and then get a number from one of the accomplices. "I'm glad you were here Kate" she said.

"I'm glad you're a fucking badass Bec" her colleague replied, "what now?"

Rebecca already had that part figured out. "Now we go find that bastard Umarov" she said, "and we finish this thing once and for all".

#secretstate #story #hitwoman #femme fatale #silencer assassin #silencer hitwoman #female assassin

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prettylittlelyres · 3 years

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Violins and Violets (update - 16th April 2021)

"If it's the spinning backwards you're worried about, you shouldn't be," said Brigitte, smiling as though she could hear my thoughts out loud, "The Ländler doesn't have any of that. Come, I'll dance the man, and you dance the woman. Take my hands." She straightened her back and held out her arms for me.

I did as she said, and she bowed to me. "Meine Dame," she said.

"Mein Herr," I stammered, bowing to her, and then remembering my place: to curtsey. With a giggle at my mistake, I dropped a clumsy curtsey, and let her lead me into the first steps of the Ländler.

Brigitte's hands in mine were strong and warm, and they supported my hands like the beams of a house support the roof where it perches, light and full of quavering thatch. Brigitte had spent years working hard – scrubbing and sweeping and sluicing to pound dirt out of clothes and linen and carpets – and now they were sturdy and firm and proud, but still so gentle and careful. Even where her skin had hardened into corns and calluses, her touch was soft and smooth, letting my fingers slide through hers as she turned me around on the spot, and around again, and around again. She drew me close to her, and then sent me away before drawing me back, then sending me away again, three times, before twirling me around again and leading me around in a circle.

"I used to dance this with my friends, back home," she said, "But there were never enough boys interested in dancing when we wanted them to be, so we girls danced with each other instead. And because I was one of the tallest girls in the village, it fell to me to dance the man's part." She stopped at the end of the sequence but didn't let go of my hands. "You, Käthe, I think you would have been asked to dance the girls' part... Your movements are so delicate."

I’ve written 1,000+ words today for the redraft of Violins and VIolets, and I’m really enjoying this scene so far! Hopefully tomorrow I will manage to get the additional opening sequence finished, and be able to get on with redrafting the rest of the book (which should be a faster process!) in line with feedback I’ve had from my lovely beta-readers.

#writeblr #blog #violins and violets #historical fiction #historical romance #sapphic romance #sapphic fiction #sapphic author #laendler #folk dance #austrian folk dance #excerpt #excerpts #nanowrimo #camp nanowrimo #nanowrimo april 2021 #romance #hilary hale writing #hilary hale author

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purple-spring · 5 years

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songfic day 20: “may waltz”

In a society full of rules and expectations, two outcasts find their way towards each other... in a dance.

A Regency era Bughead AU, inspired by the social satire of Jane Austen.

(Inspired by Brooke Fraser’s “May Waltz”. Hopefully something to tide you over while Ao3 takes some scheduled down time!)

...

The general pleasure that accompanied the news that the Weatherbees – a distinguished family with an estate of eight thousand a year, but unfortunately without an heir – had taken a ward soon dissolved as rumours of the young man’s dubious origins persisted throughout town. Forsythe Jones, whose figure was otherwise handsome, youthful and pleasing, was a mystery in the sense that he was not entirely knowable, and thus, he was suspicious to all. All that was truly certain of his character was that he was no more than two and twenty: his parentage was keep a secret by his guardians, and his chief occupation (“A writer,” hissed Mrs. McCoy across the church aisle on Sunday morning) drew mistrust amongst the small-minded, limited folk of Riverdale.

Still, small-minded though they were, they were not entirely uncivil, and when the Lodges – the wealthiest family in town – prepared to throw a ball in their residence, an invitation was belatedly, but courteously, extended to Forsythe. One envelope arrived at the Weatherbee estate a full week before the event, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Weatherbee. A few days later, another arrived, this time addressed to Mr. Jones.

He took up the envelope at breakfast and noted, with some amusement, the obvious hurried strokes of his name on the heavy paper, the ink smudged and barely dry. Along with the tardiness of the gesture, it was a sure indication of the strained machinations that surrounded the decision to invite him. While he disliked balls and felt some discomfiture that the equivalent of a prince’s ransom negotiation had occurred for his sake (he suspected that the Weatherbees had cried foul and pulled rank over the perceived insult), he resolved to attend, and informed his benefactors that he would gladly accompany them to Pembroke in two days’ time, where the ball was to be held.

…

Armed with the intuited knowledge that he was not quite welcome in Riverdale, Forsythe did not expect a flurry of courtesies upon arriving at the ball. Yet the exact opposite occurred, with introductions and invitations being heaped upon his feet – to dine at a certain gentleman’s house, to play bridge at another’s, to hunt and fish and visit the poor of so-and-so’s parish. While he responded in kind, it all but confirmed his suspicions: there was no society more polite than one that felt itself to be under threat.

In this case, he was the threat – a threat to the delicate, careful order of this sleepy little town.

As the evening progressed and the tense civility around him softened to cautious friendliness, he made a fortunate acquaintance with a certain Mr. Keller, who was kind and frank enough to tell him all about the various people around the room.

“Ah, yes, Miss Veronica Lodge,” Mr. Keller murmured, nodding discreetly towards a dark-haired young lady, who was standing beside their host, Mr. Lodge. “There are rumours of a secret betrothal with Mr. Archibald Andrews, but her parents do not approve of the match.”

Forsythe nodded in assent. “The objections are--?”

“There are… several,” Mr. Keller replied delicately. “But it is well known that he has trifled with many a young lady, including a governess who was in the employ of a local family. Geraldine Grundy, I believe her name was.”

Forsythe was amused. He had been the object of such terrific rumours – that he was the illegitimate son of a duke, that he had challenged a farmer to a duel – and having done so little compared to the exploits of this young man! He was about to reply with something witty when he heard Mr. Keller choke on his brandy.

“Mr. Keller, are you ill?” he inquired, full of concern.

Mr. Keller shook his head, looking past him. Forsythe noticed that a hush had fallen upon the room, and that all eyes were now directed none too subtly towards the entrance of the ballroom.

An older, elegant dame was making her way in, her finery on full display. Forsythe thought that she could have walked in leading with her hands if she could, her fingers ringed with heirlooms beyond the quality and worth of anything he had ever seen his entire life. She was defiant in her walk, as though she had something to prove, and the crowd cleared before her like water resisting oil.

“The Lady Cooper,” Mr. Keller whispered. “Good god. After everything Lord Halverton had done, I didn’t think she would—“

Then he gasped. Something else had arrested his attention. Forsythe looked up to see what it was.

Behind Lady Cooper emerged a younger figure, equally fine and defiant, but possessing of a beauty that took Forsythe by surprise. Her hair was flaxen gold, and her eyes were a striking green that pierced him, even from across the room. Judging from the murmurings of the men around him, there was something familiar but pitying in their regard towards her, as though they had once found her beautiful, but could not permit themselves that same sentiment now. Mr. Keller shook his head.

“’Tis a shame,” he said. “Elizabeth once had her pick of suitors, and would have undoubtedly been occupied for every dance tonight. I had thought that they would leave her in London, where no-one knows…” At this, he seemed to remember the ignorance of his companion, and cleared his throat and changed the subject.

But he would have been in no danger of being heard: Forsythe was occupied in watching Elizabeth. She seemed to bristle at the strange mixture of fear and pity inspired by her presence in the room, and kept her eyes carefully fixed and staring into distance while her mother greeted everyone. What a shame, Forysthe thought, to have been loved by many, and no longer. Whatever Lord Halverton Cooper had done to earn his disgrace, it was not to be blamed on his daughter. After all, Forsythe knew – more than most – that one should not be held to account for the misfortunes and misdeeds of one’s relations.

He had an idea.

“Mr. Keller,” he said. “Would you care to introduce me to Miss Cooper?”

Mr. Keller was surprised at the application, but assented. He seemed to desire further serious conversation with Forsythe, as though to prepare him for his encounter with the Coopers, but his friend pressed on through the crowd, not to be deterred by anything.

When at last they stood before Elizabeth Cooper, Forsythe very nearly lost his nerve, for she was far more exquisite than the single glimpse afforded to him by distance. Up close, he decided that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld, and when she looked to him with surprise upon Mr. Keller’s introduction, it took him a moment before he gave her the customary bow.

An awkward silence ensued after the proper courtesies were exchanged, and it was only then that Forsythe remembered his purpose in coming. “Miss Cooper, I…” he began. “Would you do me the honour of a dance? That is, if you are not otherwise occupied.”

She appeared shocked; Mr. Keller looked positively flabbergasted. In all likelihood, given the scandal of her father, she had not expected to be asked, and would have been content to sit alone without hearing the unforgiving whispers of people she had once considered to be friends.

But it appeared that Forysthe Jones would not have been content with such an outcome.

“I… I am not occupied, I thank you,” Elizabeth replied haltingly. Then she gave a small smile. “Yes, of course, Mr. Jones.”

Forsythe bowed and retreated to the crowd, feeling somewhat dazed. When the concluding strains of the Boulanger sounded, followed by an enthused round of applause signalling the next dance, he approached Elizabeth and offered his hand. All around them, he could hear the whispers ascending to an audible murmur, which was only to be expected at such a pairing: a penniless, unknown writer with a disgraced young woman, neither of whom, by any stretch of the rules that governed propriety, should have expected to dance tonight.

Yet here they were. Her lithe, unblemished hand in his gave him such a thrill as to inspire him to write new poetry in his head in that very moment. They kept their eyes carefully averted throughout, but every now and then, he would look at her, and he would notice her looking curiously at him, as if weighing up his decision to ask her for a dance.

The music ended. He bowed, and she gave a curtsey, but no sooner were they parted when she approached him again. “Mr. Jones,” she called after him. “Will you indulge me your reasoning for the dance? I do not doubt that you know who I am, and my father. You are the Weatherbee ward, are you not? It is madness that we should come together.”

He was surprised by her frankness, but he supposed it made sense: what had she to lose? “Madness, indeed,” he replied. “And yet you assented to the request.”

She smiled. “I was curious. And very few things make me curious these days, Mr. Jones.”

“A pity. I am glad you enjoyed the dance then.”

“Why, may I ask? Why did you come to me?”

Forsythe hesitated. He could give an excuse here, but what was the point? Neither of them were bound any longer by the constraints of polite conversation. They were beyond that now. He took a deep breath. “The parable of the lamp under the bushel, in the Gospel of Matthew: are you aware of it, Miss Cooper?”

“Indeed I am.”

“There is no use for light when it is concealed,” he said. “And in much the same way, beauty is wasted when it is hidden away to absolve the faults of one’s father.”

Elizabeth blushed. “You are forward, Mr. Jones.”

“You dislike it?”

She gave that some thought. “No, I am relieved by it - by your honesty. But indeed, you flatter me.”

He smirked. “You just called me honest; I never flatter.”

She laughed, and he decided that he would write a poem about the sound of that, too. “Then… I thank you.”

The exchange seemed at an end. He was about to bow to excuse himself, but she spoke again. “We are much alike, are we not, Mr. Jones?”

“We are? How do you mean?”

“We are strangers to that which we are supposed to call home.”

He smiled, and held out his hand for her to shake. “Well, no longer a stranger, at least to one. Would you agree?”

She took his hand, and he held it only briefly, attempting to resist its magnetic pull. “Very much so. I am glad to have met you tonight, Mr. Jones.”

#paperlesscrown writes #songfic writing challenge 2019 #regency!bughead #bughead fanfiction #jughead is a mysterious ward #a song with multiple meanings to you #also omg i really had fun writing this???#they fit so well into EVERY CONTEXT

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yesterdaysprint · 5 days

Photo

The Wichita Beacon, Kansas, January 4, 1922

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uwcairns · 5 years

Text

Hallowe’en “weird merry-making” ideas from Dame Curtsey’s Party Pastimes

Looking for more inspo for your Hallowe'en get-together? Dame Curtsey has lots of suggestions for themes, including:

A Cinderella Party for Hallowe'en

A Witch and Goblin Party

A Bete Noire Dance

A Ghost Party (not to be confused with the Ghosts We All Know party)

the classic Hallowe'en Party

A Black Cat Party (my personal favorite)

The description concludes on the next page: “In the dressing-room a black cat perched over the mirror bore a reminder like this: ‘Two people looking in a mirror must smile at each other to avoid bad luck.’ It is needless to say that this was a jolly party.”

Suggested games mostly revolve around finding a sweetheart, with "The Yarn Charm to Find Partners" and the elaborate "Dear Hunt," though there are also suggestions for how to host "A Superstitious Dinner."

Maybe you've already got a theme in mind, but haven't sent out invitations yet. Well, Dame Curtsey's got you covered:

"Dame Curtsey's" Party Pastimes for the Up-to-Date Hostess. Ellye Howell Glover. Chicago: A.C. McClurg & Co., 1914.

Call number: Cairns GV 1471 G6 1914

-Samantha, graduate student employee

October 29, 2019

#Cairns Collection of American Women Writers #special collections #libraryfun #tumblarians #Halloween #hallowe'en #party ideas #weird merry-making

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haveanotherkpopblog · 5 years

Text

Defying Gravity

Inspired by @noona-clock‘s “EXO as Royal Princes”

Pairing: Do Kyungsoo x You

Genre: AU

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: None

Masterlist

It was happening. It was actually happening. After so many years of hard work and dedication, it was happening. A knighting ceremony. It wasn’t unusual, a knighting ceremony, but this one was extra special. And for more than one reason.

This was the first time Prince Kyungsoo would be conducting the ceremony. Prince Kyungsoo was a lover of great literature. He’s read all the classics and everything new. He was well educated and was proud of it.

The second reason this knighting ceremony was special was whom it was being held for. The daughter of a lowly nobleman, the sister of four brothers, the youngest of five. So much competition for the limelight. So many things to compete for. A young professor whom had many published, highly acclaimed works. Your father was ecstatic, your brothers less so.

You stood outside the Great Hall, staring at the polished, wooden door. It went really really well with the marble flooring. Dark oak against white marble. You would have gone a faded mahogany, but it’s not your palace. Instead, you focused on the swirls and lines, steadying your breathing. There was nothing to be nervous about, but the butterflies in your stomach didn’t seem to care. You heard footsteps approaching, but you focused on the door, concentrating on your breathing. The footsteps stopped.

“Miss?” a deep voice called. It was pleasant to listen to, like one of those ASMR’s, but you couldn’t worry about some guy with a nice voice. “Miss, are you alright? Do you need something?”

“I’m fine sir, just waiting,” you told him.

“Waiting for what?” the voice inquired. You rolled your eyes. Why was he being so nosy?

“Not your concern,” you informed him. You heard a scoff. “No offense, but unless you’re my family or the royal family, it’s not your concern.” There was a deafening pause.

You almost turned around when he spoke again, “You’re right.” The footsteps retreated and you let out a sigh of relief. You shook all thoughts of him out of your head and focused on the event ahead.

Horns blared, signaling the start of your knighting ceremony. The doors opened and you stepped through. Multiple important people (nobles, doctors, lawyers, and professors) stood on either side of you, lining the walls. The Prince stood at the end of the aisle, hands clasped behind his back.

You approached him slowly, eyes traveling just past his head. Your heels tapped off the marble, echoing through the crowded room. Now you had a legitimate reason to be nervous. The Prince was beyond handsome. It wouldn’t hurt if he smiled. He had nice, plump, heart-shaped lips.

Stop. No. Bad Y/N. He was the freakin’ Prince. You couldn’t be having those types of thoughts about your monarch. They’d have your head. Not literally, but you can’t be making up such thoughts! Pull it together! You stopped before Prince Kyungsoo and knelt. You watched out the corner of your eye as he grabbed his sword. You swallowed thickly, exhaling slowly.

“Lady Y/N L/N.” Wait… oh no. “For your great contributions to our kingdom’s literature and positive influence on our culture.” You knew that voice. “I hereby dub thee, Dame Y/N L/N.”

The blade was cold and heavy against your shoulders as you knelt there completely embarrassed. You rose, turning to face the other nobles. They applauded, unaware of how stupid you were feeling.

The celebration helped take your mind off what had happened before the ceremony. It was an honest mistake. You weren’t paying attention to who was talking. You were trying not to have a panic attack! It’s not like you were trying to get smart with the Prince.

The celebration lifted your spirits. There was a giant feast and dancing. Cooked lamb and sweat filled your nose as you stood against the wall, sipping your wine and watching your brothers attempt to flirt with the ladies of the court. You found it quite pathetic, the way they threw themselves at women. But, not everything was like the books, and unfortunately, your brothers chose not to read. You were listening to a particular conversation when you almost snorted your wine when you heard what your brother said to one of the ladies.

“That’s not very ladylike,” came a familiar voice.

You turned around and there was Prince Kyungsoo, standing behind your looking pleased with himself. You closed your eyes, pulling your mouth into a thin line. Great, you just made yourself look like a complete idiot in front of the prince for a second time. Today was going great.

“Your Royal Highness,” you greeted curtseying. You stood up, licking your lips, trying to find something to say.

“A lost for words I see,” he jested. “I thought authors were never at a lost.” He smiled, a nice smile. His lips really did look like a heart. It was almost supernatural. You brought eyes back to his, trying to make it seem like you weren’t just doing an analysis of his mouth.

“I didn’t realize that was you, with whom I was talking to,” you told him. He smirked, stepping closer to you. Your heartbeat sped up as your hands grew sweaty. Did he really need to be this close? And why was he so cocky? “But you know I didn’t know.” He tilted his head.

“I did,” he affirmed, slowly circling you. “I’m sure if you had known who were talking to, you would have been a bit more polite.”

“What are you doing?” you inquired, turning to keep your eyes on him.

“Assessing you,” he answered. You quirked a brow, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Pardon?”

“Not like that,” he assured you chuckling. “I’m just taking in the woman who supposedly writes great literature. You scoffed, shaking your head. He was a lot different than what you thought a prince was supposed to be.

“Supposedly’? If I remember correctly, and I should considering it happened roughly twenty minutes ago, you knighted me for my works. I believe your exact words were, ‘great contributions’ and ‘positive influence’.”

“Simply a script to follow. It’s standard procedure,” he said nonchalantly. You nodded, taking a step closer to him.

“And is spending weeks reading my books standard procedure?” you inquired, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. He inhaled sharply, his eyes piercing yours.

“No.”

“So one could argue that his Royal Highness is impressed with my works, yes?” This was fun, watching him trying to come up with a response.

“That’s one way to put it,” he said after a while.

“How would you put it?” you inquired. He pursed his lips, taking a step closer until you were centimeters away from each other. He gazed down at you, dropping his voice.

“I’m impressed with the fact your work is considered a great contribution to literature.” You raised your eyebrows. “Nothing personal, I just don’t see how works about bugs can be considered great literature.” You grinned, tilting your head up slightly.

“I see, but let me ask you the same thing.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why would a books about bugs be considered great literature? After all, aren’t you ‘supposedly’ smart? You tell me, your Royal Highness.” You took a couple of steps back, pleased with yourself. He smiled, highly amused.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Perhaps,” you replied. He smirked, sticking out his hand.

“Challenge accepted.”

#haveanotherkpopblog post #exo #exo au #exo royalty au #exo do #exo kyungsoo #exo do kyungsoo #exo fics #do #kyungsoo #do kyungsoo #kyungsoo fics

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sunlightswallowed · 4 years

Note

👶

ARIANNA STORMBORN of Arendelle has never met someone she did not want to befriend. And yet the woman before her gives the princess pause. In the first place, Arianna has met everyone who works in the palace, and she has never seen this woman before. Papa and Mama usually tell her when they have a guest, so she will be on her best behavior. So if the lady before her is not a servant or a guest, then the little princess has no idea how she came to be in the royal residence.

White-haired and pale as snow, the tall stranger gives off an otherworldly air, as though she was not quite human. ( Arianna wonders, secretly, if Skadi Herself has come to visit her ).

❝ I beg your pardon, min dame, ❞ She dips into a clumsy curtsey, more formal than she’s ever been with anyone else in the castle. But when your guest may or may not be a goddess come to earth, Arianna reasons, it was probably best to veer on the side of politeness. ❝ I was looking for my brother. We’re playing hide-and-seek. ❞

#♔ ∵ * ∴ 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 › in character #dalvve #♔ ∵ * ∴ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 & 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 › answered #♔ ∵ * ∴ 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 › v : childhood

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trixcuomo · 4 years

Text

The Kaja-Cola Flava Girls Reunite

((Welcome to my very fangirl headcanon for Trixany and my femme alts. Something cute, needlessly complex, and over-the-top for you to enjoy <3...))

youtube

Daily Mail Org: Zug zug folks, here we have it! Hot off the presses... the Kaja-Cola’s premier girl-band that helped spread the message of this exceptional Goblin party drink beyond Kezan, beyond Goblin lands, and tear into new world markets... And I mean literally, last week. They almost danced a man to death on the Stormwind tram in order to sell him Kaja-Cola... They’re back! In The Daily Mail Org studio today, we have all six of the original Flava Girls. Well, not so original--the newest addition, lucky lady number seven, is a beautiful Nightborne goddess.

Arcana Mama: Haha--yes, Arcana Mama. That would be me.

Daily Mail Org: Wow, she even has a sweet speaking voice.

Flava Girls: *all giggle and cheer*

Daily Mail Org: This is amazing. Your old fans, especially the Trixany Cuomo fangirls and fanboys out there, have to be thrilled. Today, the Flava Girls are officially no longer a throw-back.

Trixany: That sounds a little insulting, you know. We’re just grown--we’re all full-grown ladies! *laughs* We know what we want and we’re not taking any prisoners this time. Right, ladies?

Flava Girls: *wild cheers, wolf-whistle*

Daily Mail Org: Oh, of course! That’s what I meant. And Trixany has been the lead singer. It’s her successful parody career that ignited the spark for the Flava Girls to come back, am I right? You wanna talk about that, Trixany?

Trixany: Well, it’s no secret that the band sort of went its own way when I broke out. I wanted to go solo, see what I could do. But the girls were always there for me, we kept in touch...

Daily Mail Org: Uh, really? You destroyed their careers single-handed and we’re supposed to believe you were having wine-and-cheese nights, holding hands, crying on each other’s shoulders?

Mega Meghan Mango: *husky Tauren voice* Spiritually, we were always connected. Even when we weren’t talking to each other, we were attuned to what was going on in each other’s lives. The band wouldn’t be here today if I didn’t get on the scrying orb one time and tell Trixany, “Look. I can see what that rivalry with Haris Pilton is doing to you. I can see it crushing your soul, Trix. This isn’t you.”

Trixany: Oh my gods, she’s so right. I can’t believe I forgot about that! Now I remember, that was Meghan and Jojo, right? Where’s Mojo Jojo? Why are you sitting way back there, girl? Come on, scoot up so they can see you.

From left to right: Mojo Jojo (Troll), Shuga Slam (Orc), Fiesta LimeTrixany (Blood Elf), Cocoa Crush (Goblin), Mega Meghan Mango (Tauren).

Mojo Jojo: *chill Troll voice* Ya, ya, mon. Dat was me and Meghan. I asked miss Trixany-mon, ‘What joo gonna do about dat nasty richmon Haris? Dis needs to stop right hea, right now.”

Trixany: And Jojo, you said something about a loa... By the Sunwell, I can’t remember that part exactly, it was good too--

Org Daily Mail: Did Mojo Jojo try to sign you up with Bwonsamdi, Trixany? That sounds more like a career-ending move to me.

Mojo Jojo: *cackles wildly*

Trixany: That’s not at all what she did--

Mojo Jojo: No, no. I tol’ her that she betta make a bargain with Kimbul quick so the tiga loa can tear dat witch up for spreadin’ dose rumors.

Arcana Mama: Oh my word... No she didn’t!

Shuga Slam: *orcish accent* Yes, she did. She did it for the Horde!

Trixany: Hahaha...

Cocoa Crush: *goblin siprano* Yeah, that’s totally something Trix would do anyway on her own. If not Kimbul, then she would have paid the Goblin mob or something--

Trixany: Oh my Garrosh--Don’t say that out loud!

Org Daily Mail: Wait, did she? What’s that sly smile, Trixany?

Trixany: Okay, so I did sign on with Kimbul for a while during BFA--um, didn’t everyone?--and maybe Haris Pilton’s career did tank for a while. But was it a coincidence? You decide. Remember when she fell off the stage during that Consortium fashion show last spring? *shrugs* I don’t know if I believe in the loa stuff. As a Blood Elf, I guess it’s probably against my brand--

Mojo Jojo: Ya, I don’ tink you should claim dat.

Trixany: ...But at least now Haris does. She’s a devout believer in Kimbul. I hear she’s sworn never to go to Zuldazar, for fear of him.

Org Daily Mail: ...Ouch. But Trix, can you finish up the story for us? What happened to make you go to the Kaja-Cola Company and get the band back together?

Cocoa Crush: No, I should tell this part. Trixany wasn’t actually thea.

Trixany: *frowns, but tries not to say anything*

Org Daily Mail: What’s this? More sibling drama!

Cocoa Crush: I told the Kaja-Cola Company that people need thoughtless entertainment these days. Tha kinda fluffy, pathetic, ‘I’m dancing in a tube-top, look at me’ stuff that only my big step-sista Trixany could provide. And they agreed with me. Let’s not lie, I’m the brains hea. The fourth war was hard on everyone, and it was about the only way the company could get people to start drinking Kaja-Cola again.

Trixany: ...Yes.

Org Daily Mail: Trixany? Is that all you have to say?

Trixany: Legally, yes. That’s how it happened. Except for that tube-top jab my sis squeezed in there--

Coca Crush: After you drunk butt-dialed the Kaja-Cola Company for the last time, you betta be lucky I’m still even speakin’ to ya. I’m always cleaning up my step-sister’s drama. Ironic, too. They were getting ready to call Horde Records and have them drop her butt!

Shuga Slam: Ouch. Sounds like it’s always lok’tar ogar at the Cuomo house.

Trixany: Grr...

Cocoa Crush: But! I also saved my step-sista’s career. And now I’m officially the underwriter, so I’ll get the song credits I was supposed to be getting this whole time.

Cocoa Crush (Troll), Arcana Mama (Nightborne), Fiesta Lime Trixany (Blood Elf), Shuga Slam (Orc), Mega Meghan Mango (Tauren)

Black Cherry Dahlia: *smokey Forsaken voice* Nobody has asked about me yet. Or why I’m always getting cut off in all the publicity photos!

*girls screaming, then the male Orc interviewing starts yelling too*

Shuga Slam: Actually, why am I screaming? Me and my fangs get cut off on the other side of the photo if it’s not spooky Dahli getting cropped out.

Cocoa Crush: Eh, blame the KCC. They mix it up dependin’ on tha demographic they’re selling Kaja-Cola to.

Org Daily Mail: Blood and thunder! Black Cherry Dahlia? You’re a damned scary dame. I’m even impressed! How’d you even get into the studio? You weren’t here before? I could swear it--

Black Cherry Dahlia: I’m more than ready to spread Kaja-Cola products through Forsaken lands like the mighty Plague we all know and love.

Meghan Mega Mango: Do we... Does anyone love the Plague? Officially?

Mojo Jojo: You gotta take dat kinda stuff up with Bwonsamdi, dat not be in my contract, Undead-mon.

Shuga Slam: I’m not commenting, either. I’m Frostwolf Clan by birth, and I don’t need that kind of drama following me around on the Orc social media streams. If Eitrigg or Thrall unfriends me, I’m dead. Black Cherry, will you tone it down! It was bad enough when Sylvanas burned that tree. Don’t go burning our careers down! Again!

Org Daily Mail: One last thing. My producer is telling me now that you all have secret identities when you’re not out saving the world with your music. Care to go into detail?

Trixany: Other way around. We’re already strong fighters for the Horde. Saving lives, our lands, our people--that’s a daily thing. Our real names--I guess except for mine I suppose--those are the secret. But everyone knows our stage names.

Org Daily Mail: That doesn’t make any sense. Here ya go, while we try to figure this one out... We’re going to play some more Flava Girls footage in the background for the people streaming at home on their scrying orbs.

youtube

Trixany: Yes it does so make sense! It’s like... Jem and the Holograms but it’s flipped around. They were a band but nobody knew they were actually running around helping people, right?

Cocoa Crush: I told Trixany not to bingewatch that Jem show while she was drinkin’. *sigh*

Org Daily Mail: I’m pretty sure it’s the exact same thing, NOT flipped. You’re musicians, but you also have secret identities for when you’re fighting your enemies. This whole time, I never called any of you by your real names.

Trixany: Anyway, come see us perform. And if any of you fans out there recognize one of us in real life too, please don’t out us! We need to keep our true stage identities secret in order to play the happy, sassy music that we do.

Org Daily Mail: I’m still confused.

Arcana Mama: Yes, I think Trixany just really wants the ‘magical girl’ element as part of our aesthetic. It’s okay.

Trixany: There are wants and needs, Arcana. ‘Magical girl’ is a need for me.

Org Daily Mail: Alright! Well, thanks for coming into the studio, ladies. We look forward to seeing your heavily synchronized dances and auto-tuned voices wherever the Horde needs joy. Can you sing a little something for us before you go? Or, does that need to go through rehearsals and a pre-recorded lip-synching session first?

Black Cherry Dahlia: We’d better do it. This grimy Orc has been insulting us the entire time, ladies. I think he needs correcting. *cracks knuckles, neck super loudly*

Flava girls: *Trixany counts out a beat first, then they all hold hands and harmonize* Nobody loves Azeroth better I'mma stick with Malfurion forever Nobody gonna take Azzy higher That's why you're my Shan'dooo Only Malfy appreciates her Forget Tyrande--my archdruid baby! Nobody ever healed Azeroth this way No Shan'don't. He's my Shan'dooo!**

Org Daily Mail: LOKTAR!! Wow, that’s... all kinds of meta and complicated, yet LIT! It’s even cross-faction. I love it!! Tyrande won’t--but hey! Let’s hear it for the Kaja-Cola Flava Girls, everybody!

*The girls stand, still holding hands, and they curtsey beautifully. Then tall Meghan suddenly picks up a squealing Trixany. The other girls cheer and shake Kaja-Cola bottles. They spray a rainbow of tropical soda on everything*

All the Flava Girls: Arcana Mama (Nightborne), Mojo Jojo (Troll), Cocoa Crush (Goblin), Fiesta Lime Trixany (Blood Elf), Mega Meghan Mango (Tauren), Shuga Slam (Orc), Black Cherry Dahlia (Forsaken)

((**Parody song is Shan’dooo by Trixany @trixcuomo))

#kaja-cola #wyrmrest rp #kaja-cola-flava-girls

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ninja-hamsterstyle · 5 years

Text

Of All the Shattered Worlds, Pt. 1

A/N: Okay, y’all, this is the first part of my first series! I’ve spent a lot of time on it and I hope you guys enjoy it. It’s a soulmate AU, but details of that are not discussed in this chapter.

Pairing: Siberius Vaako x Reader x Dame Vaako, Dame Vaako x Reader, Siberius Vaako x Reader

Words: 2,794

Warnings: Swearing, so much smut, threesome, nipple play, vaginal fingering, oral sex (female receiving), masturbation, vaginal intercourse, a little female on female action because I don’t have enough gayness in my life.

Dame Vaako was staring at you.

You tried to ignore her, to focus on cleaning the giant window looking out into space on the observation deck, but you couldn’t help sneaking glances at her every so often. The commander’s wife had been on the observation deck since you first came in. That had been nearly two hours ago.

You were pretty sure she had been watching you the entire time.

She approached you as you were finishing up. “Y/L/N,” She said evenly.

“Dame Vaako.” You set your supplies on your cart and dropped into a low curtsey. The Dame was smirking when you straightened back up. “How might I be of service to you?” You asked.

Her smirk grew. “Come with me,” Was all she said.

All you could do for a moment was stare at her as she turned and walked away. Then you shook your head, regaining your senses. You hurried after her, leaving the cart of cleaning supplies where it was. Those could be picked up later.

Dame Vaako didn’t stop, didn’t turn to look to make sure you were following her. She moved quick enough that you nearly had to run to catch up. By the time you reached her quarters, you were slightly breathless.

“What do you need, ma’am?” You asked as the door hissed shut behind you.

Dame Vaako turned around, still wearing that grin. Your heart leaped into your throat when she moved toward you, stepping into your personal space, close enough that you were very nearly touching. Air whistled through your teeth when she leaned into you, her arm brushing your shoulder as she fiddled with the door’s privacy lock; you tried not to finch away out of pure nervousness.

There was a beep, signaling that the privacy lock had been activated, but Dame Vaako didn’t move away. Her hand grasped your shoulder, preventing you from stepping back as she pressed a kiss to the space below your ear.

A gasp escaped your lips without your permission. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t move as she trailed kisses from the corner of your jaw to the corner of your mouth. She stopped just short of your mouth and pulled back just enough to look you in the eye.

“Do you see what I need?’ She asked.

You nodded, your eyes wide. “Yes, ma’am,” You breathed.

A smile curved her lips before she pressed them to yours, softly at first, but quickly growing firm, insistent. Your eyes slid shut as another gasp fell from your mouth. Her hands moved to cup either side of your face, holding you steady for her assault.

Before you even realized it, you were gripping her shoulder with one hand and the back of her neck with the other. You kissed back just as hard as she did, moaning when she pulled your bottom lip in-between her teeth.

You were panting when she finally broke the kiss, stumbling back to lean against the door as your legs shook. The Dame watched you with eyes shining with lust, making a heat rise to your cheeks. It took all your willpower not to fall to the floor when she moved closer once again. There was a look of surprised pleasure on her face.

“Only one kiss and you already look so debauched,” She mused, sliding a hand into your hair, expertly pulling at the tie that held in a bun at the back of your head. The tie came free easily; she let it drop to the floor as your hair fell down your back. “I wonder how you’ll look in my bed.” You inhaled sharply at that last comment and she grinned deviously.

“You like the thought of that, don’t you?” She asked and you felt the heat in your cheeks spread to the rest of your face. Her arm snaked around your waist, her hand pressing into the small of your back. She gave you no time to answer as she buried her face in the crook of your neck.

Her teeth scraped your pulse point, sharp and exquisite. Your head fell back against the door with a dull thud, but you hardly noticed. All of your attention was pinpointed on the mouth sucking bruises across your neck. Your hands gripped at her shoulders as if they were the only thing keeping you standing.

Honestly, you weren’t even sure that they weren’t.

“Mistress.” The word escaped your mouth without your permission. “Mistress, please.” How was is that you were nearly past the point of coherent thought already?

Dame Vaako moaned into your skin and you couldn’t help but moan back. She pulled away from your neck, only to crash her lips against your again in a debauching, open-mouthed kiss. Her hand on the small of your back slid up until she found your dress’s zipper. Within moments the dress was in a pool at your feet and you were stepping out of your shoes as well. You stood in nothing but your bra and panties, shivering at the unexpected chill of the room.

Her hands moved to the backs of your thighs, encouraging you lift one leg to wrap around her waist, then the other. You instinctively shifted so that your arms were around her shoulders, but you didn’t need to worry, because she supported your weight easily. Her hands were cupped around the back your thighs, just below your ass. Her fingernails digged into your legs, most likely creating red marks on the skin there.

That thought should not have turned you on as much as it did.

For a moment, Dame Vaako just stood there, pinning you to the wall as she kissed the sense out of you. Then she turned and carried you across the room. To her bed.

A wordless noise of surprise emerged from you when she dropped you on the bed, breaking the kiss off unexpectedly. She stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes scanning your scantily clad form. You squirmed and pushed down the urge to cover yourself up.

“Hmm, not bad for a human,” She mumbled to herself, reaching a hand around her back. “You will make an excellent pet.”

A pet? Your lust-fogged mind whispered, but before you could comprehend the thought, there was the hiss of a zipper and suddenly the Dame was naked.

Your jaw dropped. God, she was beautiful, all slender limbs and dark skin that you desperately wanted to taste. A smirk graced her face as she climbed on the bed and crawled over you, slowly, as though she could sense you trembling and she enjoyed it.

She gave you a rough kiss that had you whimpering against her lips as she reached behind you for your bra clasp. You arched your back to give her easier access. The second it was unclasped, she was pulling the straps down your arms and throwing it somewhere over her shoulder. You whined when she broke away from the kiss, but it was quickly replaced with a choked off moan when she sucked at a spot on your neck hard enough to leave a bruise. She left a trail of bruises down to your sternum.

A cry left your throat when she covered one of your nipples with her mouth, “Oh!” Your back arched as her hand came up to massage your other breast. “Mistress,” You moaned.

You could have sworn she was smirking. She sucked on your nipple, flicking it with her tongue and grazing with her teeth until you were whimpering and writhing underneath before she switched to your other breast and gave it the same treatment. You grasped at the sheets beneath you. It felt so good .

Distracted as you were, you didn’t hear the hiss of the door as it slid open and closed and quick succession. Nor did you notice the Dame’s husband until she spoke to him.

Letting go of your breast, she glanced at you before looking over her shoulder. “Hello, darling,” She practically purred.

Your eyes shot open (when did you close them in the first place?) and your pushed yourself up onto your elbows. How could you have forgotten about the Dame’s husband?

Commander Siberius Vaako stood just a few feet away from the bed, watching you both with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. There wasn’t any anger in - at least, none that you could see, anyway - but… was that lust that just flashed through his eyes? “Well, this is a lovely surprise to come home to,” He said.

Was that a smile playing at his lips? You couldn’t tell.

“Want to join us?” Dame Vaako offered and you made a strangled noise. Sex with two equally handsome Necromongers? The thought aroused you much more than you were willing to admit. You resisted the urge to squirm and cover yourself up when she moved off of you.

The commander openly stared at you for a minute, his eyes studying your flushed and panting form.

“I believe I do,” He answered and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached out, running his hand down your leg until it reached your ankle. His wrapped his fingers around it. It took all your willpower not to lose it right then and there.

The Dame pushed herself up onto her knees to give her husband a filthy, open-mouthed kiss before turning back to you. She cupped your clothed pussy, drawing a moan from you. “So wet,” She commented, then trailed her hand up the waistband of your panties. You lifted your hips, then your legs, allowing her to slide the garment off and toss it away from the bed. You were gonna have a good time searching for your clothes later. Dame Vaako shifted, moving so she was laying between your spread legs.

“Look at my husband,” She told you. “Keep your eyes on him.”

“Yes, Mistress,” You said and shifted your eyes to look at Vaako, acutely aware of his hand still around your ankle.

“Mistress?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “What will you call me, then?”

The corners of your lips turned up in a grin. “Why, Commander, of course,” You replied cheekily.

“Commander.” His lips twitched upward. “ Of course .”

You opened your mouth to say something else, but a high-pitched squeak escaped instead when his wife blew a breath of cool air across your wet folds. Your breathing hitched when her hand grasped your hip firmly, preventing you from moving.

She dragged her tongue through your slit once, then twice when you moaned. After the second time, she put her mouth over your clit and sucked. Hard.

“Fuck!” You swore, clutching at the sheets beneath you.

Vaako let go of your leg and moved so that he was sitting further up on the bed and facing you. He unzips his tunic and shrugs it off. You only have a moment to gawk at his well-defined muscles before he’s leaning his upper body over yours, his forearms on either side of your head as he gives you a kiss as dirty as the one Dame Vaako gave him. You moaned into it, lifting one hand to grasp at his upper arm as he coaxes you into opening your mouth for him. God, he was such a good kisser.

The kiss is broken not long later by you pulled your head back, crying out when Dame Vaako pushed two fingers into your entrance and curled them in a come-hither motion. She gave you only a second before you started moving her fingers, making sure the tips brushed against your g-spot with every thrust. “Mistress!” You shouted.

You could have sworn you felt her chuckle against you at that. You squirmed, trying to thrust down to meet her fingers, but her free hand had a tight grip on your hip.

Vaako was definitely smiling now. He kissed you again before sitting back up. “You taste so sweet,” He’d breathed against your lips. “Sweet thing.”

He traced a finger around your nipple before suddenly pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. “Commander!” You gasped, arching your back at the bite of pleasure-pain. He pinched your other nipple as well and received the same reaction.

The knot in your gut was coiling tighter and tighter - you knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

“Come on, sweet thing,” Vaako murmured, swirling the pad of his finger around your nipple again. “Let us see you, sweet thing.”

He pinched your nipple at the same time that his wife rubbed her fingers against your g-spot and you saw stars. A wordless scream escaped your throat as the knot snapped. Your hands clutched at the sheet hard, your back arching into Vaako’s touch. Dame Vaako moved her mouth, but kept thrusting her fingers in and out of your spasming pussy, pushing your pleasure on and on until it was almost unbearable.

You came down a couple minutes later, feeling as if your bones had been replaced by jelly. “Fuck,” You breathed, your eyes sliding shut as you attempted to catch your breath. A small whimper fell from your lips when Dame Vaako pulled her fingers from you.

A weird sucking sound made you open your eyes a few moments later. You groaned when you saw Vaako licking his wife’s fingers clean.

“Doesn’t she taste good?” Dame Vaako asked, her eyes on you. The devious grin she wore made your heart skip a beat.

Vaako pulled off of her fingers with a wet pop. “I can’t wait to see how she feels around my cock,” He said.

Your eyes widened at that and you inhaled sharply. Dear god, you weren’t sure you were going to survive this night, you thought.

Vaako laughed unexpectedly and you realized that you said that out loud. He gave Dame Vaako a brief but passionate kiss before climbing off the bed. Your breathing hitched when his hands went to his belt buckle.

Dame Vaako laid down next to you, and put her hand under your chin and turning your head so she could kiss you. You kissed her back, whimpering when you tasted yourself on her lips and tongue.

“You come so pretty,” She murmured when she pulled away. She flick a finger across her nipple before sliding her hand down her stomach, skipping over her belly button. She gasped, then moaned as she rubbed at her clit, then slipped a finger into herself.

“Oh!’ She breathed, spreading her legs a little further apart.

Your whole face heated up as she started to finger herself, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. At least, not until you felt the mattress dip near your feet. You looked down toward the end of the bed and -

“Holy fuck.”

It should be illegal for someone to look that good.

A wicked grin curved Vaako’s lips as he crawled up over you, completely naked. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Well?” You asked. “What are you waiting for, Comman- FUCK !” Your taunt was cut off by him sliding his cock into you without any preamble.

“You were saying?” He wore a smug expression.

“Fuck, Commander,” You gasped, arching your hips. He gave you a minute to adjust before he was pulling his hips back, then thrusting forward hard, pulling a moan out of you. The pace he set was hard and rough and fast and you loved every minute of it. Vaako gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, his face buried into the side of your neck, sucking hickeys into your neck. You had your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him in deep with every thrust. Moans and whimpers fell from your lips with abandon.

The edge of what was no doubt an explosive orgasm was shimmering right in front of you when Dame’s Vaako’s breathing hitched. “Shit, I’m-” She cut herself off with a moan, her hips rising to meet her fingers over and over.

You’re not sure what came over you, but you turned you turned your head to face her and kissed her, messy and open-mouthed, as you boldly reached down between her legs and rubbed at her clit. She came not long after, moaning into your mouth.

The sound of her coming, paired with Vaako brushing your g-spot is what sent you over the edge. You broke away from the Dame’s mouth, crying out as the waves of pleasure started crashing around you. This orgasm was much stronger than the last one. Vaako was came moments after you did, groaning loudly as his hips stuttered into yours. Your walls clenched around his pulsing cock, pushing each other’s orgasms on and on until it became too much for your body and the world went dark around you.

#lemons #siberius vaako x reader #siberius vaako/reader #siberius vaako x reader x dame vaako #siberius vaako/reader/dame vaako #vaako x reader x dame vaako #vaako/reader/dame vaako #vaako x reader #vaako/reader #dame vaako x reader #dame vaako/reader #the chronicles of riddick #a ninja writes

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fandoms-consume-me · 6 years

Text

Arranged Pt. 4 (Arthur Pendragon x female!Reader)

Summary: You are a free spirit learning to be a queen one day. Your first time accompanying your father, the King, on a diplomatic trip was meant to simply be a chance to observe. Little did you know that the universe had much different plans. You find yourself attracted to the heir of Camelot, Arthur, even though he is to marry another-one of your good friends, Princess Dulcina. The marriage is the doing of kings and queens, without the approval of the participants themselves. Can two star-crossed lovers overcome fate?

Warnings: none in this part really

Characters: Reader (Y/N), Arthur Pendragon, Uther Pendragon, Lady Morgana, & several OCs (including but not limited to: Princess Dulcina, Viscount Cadby, King Pellinore, and Queen Aethelgyth)

Pairings: Arthur Pendragon x female!Reader; Arthur Pendragon x Princess Dulcina (forced)

Word Count: 3,527

Catch up: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3

Skip ahead: Part 5; Part 6

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You stepped out of your chambers in a purple gown that made you feel like a walking cloud. It was so large it might’ve fit an entire person underneath. And, although it was a little ahead of fashion, you knew it was stunning.

Your maids at home had brought you a new fabric, from the silk makers in China, called organza. According to them, it was made from silk but had a different texture. Upon wearing it, you could tell that they were right. The dress was roughly half as heavy as your others and just as large.

You started down the hall, toward the banquet hall, but you were stopped by a maid.

“M’lady,” a maid, Tandy, said, “Your tiara.”

You reached up and found that you had forgotten your tiara. “Indeed, it seems I have forgotten it.” You chuckled as you turned back to your room. Tandy followed you in, moving around you to the cabinets that held your collection. She chose a golden band with a brilliant purple gem suspended over your forehead. She tucked it into your hair, allowing the gem to rest cooly above your eyebrows.

“Did you do your own hair, M’lady?” She asked.

“Y/n, please,” you corrected, “I did do it myself. Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous,” her hands took one of the loose curls and tucked it behind your ear. You admired the braids you had done; it had taken you ages to get them twisted up just right. “You look fit to be an angel.”

“Tandy, that is such a nice compliment, thank you,” you said, touching your heart. You rose and made your way to the feast, surprised that the halls were mostly empty.

When you reached the large room, you were met by your mother, who, to her credit, smiled at you and outstretched her hand. You smiled back and took it, greeting her as you knew you should.

Without a word she nodded and began to walk, forcing you to keep pace with her.

“Best behavior, Y/n/n,” She said under her breath just as you rounded the corner. You smiled wider as you descended a few stairs to join the feast.

When you came into view you noticed several people, mostly ladies in the King’s house, look up at you. You could tell that your dress would be a topic of gossip for days to come. Your mother and you broke apart, going in separate directions. She was met by your father, who immediately took her hand in his and walked away to mingle with those in King Uther’s court. On your side of the room, you were met by King Uther, himself.

“Princess Y/n, you look beautiful,” he greeted.

“Thank you, your Majesty.”

“May I introduce you to my ward, Morgana,” he said, leading you to a young woman talking in a group.

She looked up at us as you approached, taking in your dress and hair, obviously judging you but not saying a word. Morgana smiled as she locked eyes with Uther and stepped away from the group.

“Your Majesty,” She greeted with a curtsey.

“Morgana, dear,” He said as he kissed the top of her hand. “This is the Princess Y/n of Cenred. Y/n, my ward, Morgana.” He gestured as he introduced us. You smiled genuinely at her, hoping that she would see that you meant no harm. Her smile was just as genuine but held much more judgement than there was before.

“How do you do?” You asked with a slight bow of your head.

“Well, I will leave you two to get to know each other. I am sure you will be great friends,” Uther said, excusing himself.

“Come, your Majesty, let me introduce you to my friends,” She said, mischief playing in her eyes.

“Just ‘your Highness’, please, I am in no place of power to be called ‘you Majesty’,” you grinned at her, trying to ease whatever tension she was creating.

“Well, your Highness, allow me to introduce you to Lady Susane, of Mora,” She smiled, approaching her friend group from before. “And Lady Zenith, of Cedref, Baroness Ailith, of Caerloen, and Dame Devona, of Merris. My friends, meet Princess Y/n, of Cenred.”

“Yes! Dear Y/n!” Ailith said, reaching out to hug you. “It has been far too long!”

“Ailith, has it been two years already?” You exclaimed, hugging her back.

“Yes it has!” Her voice was shrill, but at the same time it was like a bird singing, a strange sort of comfort in it.

“You two know each other?” Morgana asked.

“Yes. We’ve known each other since our infancy. Our mothers are dear friends,” You explained to those looking at us.

“How sweet,” Susane said, smiling at us.

“Quite,” Morgana said, not nearly as sweetly as Susane had. You stood, smiling at each other, for a while.

“Why don’t we walk, Y/n?” Morgana asked. You smiled and moved next to her. She took you to the perimeter of the room and stopped you.

“You’re the king’s ward?” You asked politely once she’d positioned you by the wall.

“Yes.” You nodded at her short answer but could not find words for more. “King Pellinore is here on business.” It sounded more of a statement, although it should have been a question, but you answered.

“Yes, he is.”

“And you are here. Why?” She asked, finally looking you in the eyes.

“To learn diplomacy.”

“Ah,” She clicked her tongue, “Do they bring you along often?”

“More recently not as much, but in the past I was brought to show good will to those we were visiting.” You explained.

“Of course,” She replied.

“Do you have siblings?” You asked after another pause.

“A sister,” she responded curtly.

“Is she here tonight?”

“No, unfortunately she is not welcome at the castle.”

“I am sorry,” you said, taken aback by her response. You had not expected to make her share something that seemed a more intimate matter. Thankfully, years of manners training helped you hide your shock.

“What of you? Siblings?” She asked, remnants of the acid from her previous comment still left in her voice.

“Yes. I have four younger sisters and two younger brothers.”

“How delightful. Tell me all about them.”

“My sisters are nine, eleven, thirteen, and fifteen years of age, while my brothers are three and seven years old. The boys are quite rowdy for their age. I know that Audric, the older of the two, is aware that he will one day be king as he tends to run about the castle screaming ‘bring me my armies’ and ‘all hail Audric, the best king in the world!’, things like that. It is quite endearing for him to be so excited for his era on the throne. Garrett, the younger, has hardly an inkling that he is a prince, but he follows Audric around screaming the same things. They are very great friends,” you smiled to yourself before glancing over at Morgana; she was looking at you intently, as if she were imagining the memories playing out in your head.

“Do go on,” She prompted.

“The girls and I are currently being groomed for our future husbands,” you said, less fondly. You did not notice Morgana shift her gaze from your face to a person behind you, so you continued talking, “My father has assured me that I will marry no less than an heir, but in all truth, I don’t care. If I could live comfortably and the marriage would profit my family, I don’t imagine I would complain much.

“My youngest sister, Arietta, has just begun her lessons with a tutor. The second youngest, Daisy, is at an awkward stage in life where she isn’t allowed to do too much; something I remember all too well—if you remember your eleventh year perhaps you know what I speak of.” You smiled and Morgana returned it along with her attention back to you. “Farah is the middle sister and she is developing a beauty unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I have a feeling that she will be married quite soon. And the second oldest, Rhoswen, has finally begun taking guests at our castle, accepting them with Audric as the heir apparent when my father is not present. It’s remarkable, though, how my father’s house has expanded.”

“Quite remarkable, indeed, Princess.” She said, smiling politely. “Pray tell, what is your gown made of?” Her fingers pinched the fabric of your skirt and rubbed it together.

“Organza. A new method of Chinese silk.” Your smile didn’t falter once as you smoothed the airy material down.

“It is gorgeous. I must admit, I am jealous of your fashion sense.” She said.

“Thank you. But you must know that I know of very few people that could wear a dress like the one you don, and you appear to be one of them,” you gestured to her red gown, tight to her skin in all of the right places. Her thanks was in a nod but you accepted it all the same.

The longer our conversation dragged on, the more you realized that she was not as nice a person as she seemed. Rather than growing more comfortable around her, you found yourself retaining your lady-like manners.

“Tell me, Y/n, do you enjoy life in Cenred?” She asked after you were on your second chalice of wine.

“I do. I have my moments where I wish I were not living at all, but in the end, I know that I have it better than most.” You confessed.

“It must be difficult.” She put her hand on your exposed shoulder in sympathy.

“Not nearly as bad as I make it sound, surely,” you promised her. “Do you enjoy life under Uther?”

“As much as the next.” Her answer was short, as all of her other answers were. And, although they were filled with less hostility than when the conversation started, they were no more friendly.

“I must apologize, I am monopolizing our conversation and your time!” You said, earning an irritated look from her. You suspected she had a purpose in talking to you but the fuzzy feeling of the alcohol in your veins prevented you from investigating further.

“No trouble.”

As if on cue, Lady Zenith approached you, taking Morgana’s arm and leading her away with an apology and a laugh.

You stood, suddenly alone, looking at the crowd around you. Older women stood in bunches around each other, easily on their third glass of wine before the meal had even started. Older men stood randomly throughout, staring at the younger women as they danced about the room. Some younger ladies stood in groups while others hung hopelessly onto knights or lords. Eligible men not occupied by a girl were in also in groups, telling stories of glory and impressive feats.

You looked at the gowns of the other women in the room, taking in the shine of the fabrics and dull colors. Nearly all of them had a regular tight bodice, leg-of-mutton sleeve, and heavy skirts. Some ladies ventured so far as to add belts to their ensemble.

Your dress easily stood out from the others. It had a tight bodice, but the organza made the skirt light. You had small caps of the same organza over your shoulders for sleeves and purple gloves rose far above your elbows, a sort of mock leg-of-mutton styling.

You knew that the reason you were still alone was due to the outlandish fashion. At least at home the women had more expensive tastes, kept up with the new styles more.

“What could you possibly have done to earn exile from social groups, m’lady?” A knight asked, stepping in front of you.

“Why, I’m not quite sure, good sir. I have a sense it’s that I’m not quite a familiar face,” your smiled widened at such a humorous man.

“Sir Allard, at your service, my lady,” He said with a mock bow. You couldn’t help but let a laugh fall from your lips. It was quite unusual for you to meet someone without having someone introduce you. You did not miss how his eyes had risen immediately to your face when the noise escaped you.

“Y/n,” You told him. His chin cocked at your name. Silently you cursed yourself. Of course all of the knights would know your name. Just as he opened his mouth to question you, no doubt, Morgana reappeared.

“Princess?” She asked. “Won’t you allow me to introduce you to some diplomats?”

“How kind, Lady Morgana,” you said before turning to Sir Allard, “Won’t you excuse me?”

“If you find yourself in need of company.” He waved his hand into an over exaggerated bow before walking off.

You anticipated it would be an hour or so before food was served, and a large part of you hoped Morgana didn’t use all of it to introduce you to countless viscounts and barons. You were confused as to why she was doing you such a great favor when she had been so short with you earlier, but you realized that it was a good deed she was doing for you.

“Viscount Cadby, meet Princess Y/n of Cenred. Princess, meet Viscount Cadby of Camelot,” She said as Cadby took your hand and kissed it. You were surprised wrinkles hadn’t started to form across your knuckles thanks to all of the saliva from the mens’ kisses.

“What a great pleasure,” He said, his brown hair stricken through with grey and lines defining themselves around his eyes and mouth.

“The pleasure—” You were cut off when the viscount began speaking again.

“I have heard,” He paused to look you up and down, making you remarkably uncomfortable. During his pause, you noticed a figure walk up to his right. Your eyes flitted over to see Prince Arthur coming to listen in on the conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Morgana smile at him. “I’ve heard that you are the most beautiful woman in these parts, that you are the fairest woman to be beheld!” His voice rose with each word in his statement, bringing a blush to your cheeks.

“That is very kind, sir, but—” You tried to silence him, especially while he was gaining more and more attention.

“No! Now that I have seen you with my own eyes there is no disputing it. It very well may be witchcraft, your beauty!” He roared with laughter, while the rest of us stared on in shock. It was no secret magic of any sort wasn’t tolerated in Camelot or any of their allied kingdoms.

“Sir. I must ask you to lower your voice,” you said, taking a step forward, your eyebrows creased in concern.

“Do you not know the legend?” He asked, grabbing your arm. You looked helplessly to Morgana who was stifling a laugh. Over Morgana’s shoulder you saw your mother look up at you. To your credit, though, he did lower his voice considerably.

By now your smile had faded and you hoped for any sort of end to the conversation you were having.

“Fairest, fairest, fairest girl, lovely like the moon, Stars crossed, impossible love. The perfect girl, with a laugh like bells, becomes a perfect queen. The flawed boy, with a dependable sword, the once and future king. Between them stands a group of five, will—they—survive.” The viscount’s eery song made you shiver under his stare. You were sure that fear danced in your eyes but you worked to keep a straight face.

“Princess? Why don’t I show you the gardens?” Arthur’s voice broke through a silence that hung between just the viscount and yourself.

Though an unexplainable fear had settled itself in the pit of your stomach you found yourself mumbling, “Splendid,” while turning and walking away from Cadby’s grip.

Prince Arthur fell into step beside you as he guided us outside. You forced your smile to return as you nodded at those you passed.

“Viscount Cadby is not the best with first impressions, I’m afraid,” Arthur said, turning toward you slightly, “Or second, or third impressions, if I am completely honest.”

You breathed an involuntary laugh as you looked sideways at the Prince. His smile was wide and white in the moonlight.

“Certainly not the best at making one feel comfortable,” he continued.

“No,” you said, able to keep your voice steady, “The feeling that he instilled was not settling.”

“I apologize.” He sounded sincere.

“No need. If anyone is exchanging formalities, I should be thanking you,” you said, hoping he would see your genuine thanks. “I don’t know what I would have done—how long I would have stood there like a mindless fool—had you not stepped in.”

“The viscount has a habit of speaking of magic and legends. In truth, I am surprised my father hasn’t taken his head.”

You were silent as the mention of legend caused the one you’d just heard to repeat in your head.

“Princess?” Arthur asked, stopping and looking concerned. You stopped with him and looked up from the ground.

“Yes?” You realized why he had such an odd expression when you released the furrowed muscles in your forehead. “Sorry. I—I suppose I’m not used to mention of such things.”

“Do your villagers not speak of old tales and legends in Cenred?” His voice was very skeptical as he questioned you.

“I wouldn’t know. The farthest I venture from our castle is to the stable, directly adjacent.” You admitted. You took a step forward, hoping he would follow—which he did.

“Your father has told me of your siblings. Who else occupies your days if you do not leave your castle?”

“My maids and tutors,” your voice was quiet as you realized how lonesome your life must seem.

You were both quiet as you continued to walk.

“I—I’m sorry. I have to ask. Do you suppose the viscount thought that I was the girl from the legend?” You asked stopping us once again.

When your eyes met Arthur’s you saw one side of his mouth turn up. “I wouldn’t worry if he thought so or not. Legends are not real.”

“Of course.” You said. You stood in the path facing each other for a while without saying a word. Your mind repeated the off-key song over and over in your head while you stood there. Suddenly, the start of trumpets sounding ripped the melody from you. You turned your head in the direction of the castle, as if to check if the trumpets were real.

“I suppose that means the feast has officially begun,” Arthur stated. You nodded before walking back to where you came from. Arthur jogged a step or two to catch up with you but soon fell into stride again.

Once inside, you took your seat next to your mother. She refused to look at you until the food was set in front of us and King Uther commenced the meal.

“I sincerely hope you will thank the prince for removing you from the embarrassing situation with the viscount.” She said, under her breath.

“Already done, Mother,” you responded in the same manner. The rest of the meal was silent as you watched others have lively conversations. The seat next to you was empty, for which you were grateful, saving you from polite, yet painful, conversation.

Uther, Arthur, Morgana, and your father sat at the head table, with your mother and you in the seats nearest to them at the table to the left. An identical table was across from us, forming a box-like “u” shape, seating people on the outside of it.

By the time the main meal was brought out you had resorted to scanning the line of people, quizzing yourself on their names and kingdoms. By the time you reached the end, you were quite proud of yourself for you had not missed one person. Suddenly it dawned on you that one person was missing—Viscount Cadby.

You searched the room again but it was fruitless; he was no where to be found. You were relieved when you realized that he was not there to cause another scene. Breathing in through your nose, you focused on your chicken.

A thunderous laugh startled you as the servants brought out cake. You looked up to see your father slapping Uther on the shoulder while Uther tried to catch his breath. You smiled to yourself to see your father so happy. You allowed your eyes to wander once more, this time landing on Arthur.

His eyes darted around the room before he leaned back and waved to his manservant. The boy, no older than the prince, leaned down and listened to Arthur before whispering something back to him. You watched as Arthur processed whatever information the boy had given him; then you met his eyes as they moved to you. You were confused by the shock and sorrow they seemed to hold.

You smiled at him before a maid came to take your plate, forcing you to turn your attention to her. When you looked back, he was whispering to the boy again.

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Keep Reading: Part 5; Part 6

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@hellboundblogger

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