reblog with 3 of your favorite reaction pictures of your muse



"Oh, thank you. I would tend to it myself, but I don’t have anything that I could use." 


"Not to worry. I’ll get you back on your feet in no time at all."

Her hands were steady and her voice soothing as she tended to the wound. “I could teach you a few tricks to caring for these sorts of things, if you’d be so inclined.”


He snatched it from her with a pout and glared at it for a few moments. “What’s this?” he asked. Would a support make him look weak? Gaston wasn’t too sure. On one hand, a manly wound could come with an epic battle story. But on the other hand, it was still a limp.

Finally he slowly set it down against the flagstones, testing his weight on the dusty wood. After a few moments he muttered a soft “…Merci,” careful to avoid her eye.

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she gave him a curt, dry answer. “It was a broom. Now it’s your key to a healed leg.” She watched him as he gathered his bearings, careful not to smirk too widely as he finally thanked her. 

"Make sure you don’t stay on your feet too much," she warned as she strolled to the door, holding it open with an odd sense of satisfaction.

The Mask and the Dancer || Ottoman & Esmeralda


"Yeah, my palace," he grins. Oh he isn’t pulling her leg about it, he does have a palace right in the middle of no where north of the city of Kandira, an hour away from Istanbul where his palace orignally sat inside the walls of the Topkapi palace that was far more a city inside of a city than a palace itself. "Ya can ask him about it if ya dun believe me. Since yer his, I can invite ya both there sometime~" Sadik enjoys company since he never has any—at least any that he wants, most of the assholes that show up at his doorstep are dickweeds that aren’t invited. 

Ottoman sips his tea, completely calm. Claude already knows who he really is now, it was easier for him to believe since he had already seen the impossible palace, standing in all its glory as if it weren’t over 600+ years old. 


Her mouth hung open as she remained sitting there, stiff and unmoving save for her eyes which carefully scanned and examined the strange and most likely crazy man sitting opposite her. Part of her wanted to laugh at the idea that Claude had managed to attract some nutcase like a stray cat off the street. Though she supposed nutcases had to stick together.

She continued questioning him, her words dry and cynical. “So you’re…what? A prince or something?”

How is writing a paper about Disney princesses turning into one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do frickle frack I picked this topic because I thought it would be fun.

Mini Announcement for CDRP Members:


You probably all know this by now (that is, if you’ve read through my guidelines) but seeing as my main partner will be returning in a few days, I thought it might be polite to bring this to everyone’s attention: Esmeralda’s “main” relationship on this blog is with Frollo, and while I personally don’t think we’ve done anything that’s triggering, I fully understand if the very idea of it may make some of you uncomfortable.

Since we’re in a group and we all have to follow each other, and since I don’t want to subject anyone to anything that might make them uncomfortable, I’ll be more than willing to tag any or all Frollo/Esmeralda interactions with some kind of content warning. 

Just let me know if it (or anything specific) makes you uncomfortable or might be potentially triggering and I’ll tag it accordingly.

Carry on, lovelies~


Gaston looked up sharply at that. He shied away from her helping arm, as if it were a venomous viper that could strike out at him.

"I don’t…want to be helped," he muttered softly, glaring at the floor like a scolded child. Gaston loathed to pay attention to any of his flaws. He took pains to avoid any he found, or simply refused to recognise the obvious ones he did posses. A limp made him weak, and Gaston would not allow that!

Her lips curled into a sneer as he refused her offer once more. At this rate, she was content to let him fumble around and make a fool of himself, but then, there was no point in acting spiteful toward someone in need — no matter how unpleasant they might be.

With a sigh, she resumed her search for anything on which he could support himself. “You can’t possibly limp all the way home,” she said, a hint of a lecturing tone to her voice, “You could hardly make it across the room!” 

By some stroke of luck, she found an old broom handle that had been nestled into the corner, covered in cobwebs and dust, which she promptly brushed away before offering it to him. “If I can’t help you, at least take this so you don’t injure yourself more.”



"You’re telling me. The city repair guys must’ve burst a pipe. You’d think they’d know by now to look before they drill."

"You would think the city could find someone a little more competent to do the job…must have been a new guy."

"A warning might have been nice. I could have brought something to plug up my nose for the day.”

The Mask and the Dancer || Ottoman & Esmeralda


"Thanks," he is surprised she made him tea, he takes it to do the same, lightly blowing on it. 

"No no, I’ve known him since October." The next part about how they met up again and how they grew to tolerate each others presence is strange—beyond strange actually. "I ran into ‘em again, took ‘em ta see my palace in Kandira because he was in need of my help for a few nights back in October, ya mighta noticed ‘em out of town. After that I’ve dropped in when I felt like it to bother him. I have some issues back home that I need a break from and he is letting me stay here so I guess he didn’t hate all my visits. I dunno if he would call me a friend of his—if he does than he shows his friendship in a weird way but I guess I would consider him one of mine."

A smirk twisted across her lips as she began to sip at her tea, listening to this stranger weave his tale. “If he’s willing to let you stay here, then it’s safe to say he at least tolerates you.” Maybe. She’d have to run that by him whenever he decided to show up. “And if he—”


She could have shattered her mug to pieces given the might with which she set it onto the table. Leaning forward, her elbows resting against her knees, she stared up at him with wide eyes that gave away the extent of her skepticism. 

"Did you just say ‘palace?’"