#Abbey Cocktail

[markgraeflerin]

Die besten Cocktails mit Lillet (Update 2024)

#Lillet #Feierabendcocktail #Bordeaux

Zum Start in die Feierabend-Cocktail-Saison gibt es heute eine Zusammenfassung der besten Cocktails mit Lillet. Euer Click-Favorit hier im Blog ist und bleibt der Lillet Wild Berry und man kann aus eienr Flasche Lillet noch viel mehr rausholen, denn es gibt jede Menge anderer Varianten. Hier habt ihr eine große Auswahl  – von klassisch bis spritzig-fruchtig ist für das ganze Jahr etwas…

[roadkill-dreaming]

♡

[monsterhighfemboy]

"Frozen Summit"

An Abbey Bominable themed blended cocktail

Vodka

Pineapple juice

Coconut rim

Blue curacoa

Coconut rum

Coconut cream

Blue rock candy stick garnish

[eurydike-on-media]

There is value to aesthetics. There is a calm that design can provide. These flowers were from Mother’s Day. They were on the brunch table and as the beautiful farm spot that hosted the event was closing for the day afterwards, they allowed us to keep them so they wouldn’t go to waste.

The farm is a coop that aims to respect the land and reflect on what we can provide to the Earth as much as we benefit from it. I’ll be sure to write about it in the future because it’s thanks to efforts like this that may help guarantee our future.

[menubot]

Why not enjoy some Cocktail sauce at Abbey Inn? http://menus.nypl.org/menus/32577

[gravehags]

desinare

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: awwww look it's a pre-relationship fic just like old times, dinner party, reader meeting the papas, reader and copia being awkward little weirdos with baby crushes, papa nihil slander, references to other curator reader fics

Words: 3,784

Summary: Your very kind cardinal friend has invited you for a meal with three Satanic popes. Surely there's a proverb about this.

a/n: i had so so so much fun writing this lmao i didn't realize how much i missed writing them pre-relationship. my beloved nerds.

~~~

“Eh, signorina?”

“Fuck!” you yelp, dropping the stack of folders you were holding in shock. “Shit…sorry Cardinal. How do you move so quietly with all that fabric on?”

“M-many years of practice, heh,” he kicks himself for how stupid he sounds, wringing his hands while you smile kindly up at him as you stoop to pick up your papers.

“Teach me how some time? I’m always falling over myself. I’d love to have even an ounce of your grace.”

He can feel his ears burn as a dopey grin spreads across his face. She complimented you. Now compliment her back. Go on, say something charming, idiota.

“Dancing!” he half-shouts, making you jump. You fucking fool. “I…I mean I learned how…how to be graceful from dancing. Ballet. In my youth.”

You’re making an impressed face now which is worlds better from the look of terror you previously wore when he barked at you like a senile chihuahua.

“The Cardinal is a dancer?” you murmur, eyes glittering, “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“Oh, it’s been years,” he blushes, “this old body doesn’t move the way it used to.”

He swears he sees your eyes flick up and down his form and a tiny smirk lift your lips.

“I don’t buy that for a second, Cardinal.”

Are you flirting with him? You turn to busy herself with organizing your folders but Copia can see the pink tinge at the tips of your ears.

“Do you like bolognese?” he says, once again loud and blunt. 

“I…what?”

“My…my fratelli and I - the Papas that is - would very much like to meet you. A-and share a meal with you. If you are interested?”

Your mouth forms a little “o”.

“There’s more than one Papa?” you ask, cocking your head. 

“Sì, sì, there is also eh, Papa Emeritus I and Papa Emeritus II, known as Primo and Secondo, respectively. Terzo you already know,” he grumbles, and your lips twitch.

“Three Satanic popes and a Cardinal. Wow…life sure comes at you fast, huh? Never expected this from a job offer.”

“So…is that a yes?”

“No,” you say and Copia’s face falls, “I mean - shit - sorry! A no about the bolognese. I don’t eat red meat. But a definite yes for the dinner, I’d love to meet some more people here! You’re very kind to have invited me.”

“Ah,” he waves his hand dismissively, but a smile still curls his lips, “We don’t get pretty new faces around here very often. It would be our pleasure.”

It doesn’t dawn on him what he said until he sees your lips silently form the damning word and your cheeks light up. Shit, why couldn’t he be normal around you?

“Anyway,” he says, his voice going up a humiliating octave, “would you be available this week? Friday evening, perhaps?”

“It’s a date. I mean–” you look as panicked as he feels at your wording, “--a dinner date. W-with your…with the Papas. And yourself. Sorry, where should I meet you? I’m uh, still familiarizing myself with the abbey. This place is huge.”

“Eh, how about I meet you at your office and I’ll lead the way from there, sì?”

“Sì. I mean, yes. Is there a…should I dress a certain way?”

An image is conjured in his mind of you in a pretty cocktail dress, heels lifting your shapely calves and your decolletage on display—

He shakes his head to rid himself of the vision.

“Uh…dress in whatever is most comfortable. Undoubtedly Secondo will put you to work in the kitchen so–”

“Oh good,” you say, “I mean my culinary talents are uh…definitely lacking but I’d be happy to help and keep busy. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, and all that. Well…something like that anyway, I’m not sure if there’s a Satanic version. Anyway I am definitely blabbering on so feel free to ignore…literally everything that just came out of my mouth.”

You’re embarrassed. As if he couldn’t listen to you talk and talk and talk for eternity. He’s about to tell you something to that effect before his brain yanks him away. Bit much for only knowing her a month, fool. Instead he gives you a friendly nod, and bows slightly.

“I’ll eh, see you Friday then yes? At 6:00?”

“Sounds perfect. And…thank you. I don’t remember if I said it or not but thank you for making this place feel like home.”

He feels as if his heart is about to burst from his ribcage.

“Signorina,” he murmurs, “it is my honor. Ciao.”

“Ciao, Cardinal,” you say softly as he turns and exits your office. He doesn’t see the way you collapse into your desk chair with a dreamy sigh.

—

You’re going to be late.

As soon as your work day ended you hustled up to your apartment and began getting ready but it’s now 5:41 and you still have no idea what the fuck you’re going to wear. Half your wardrobe lies scattered on your bedroom floor (you know it’s going to make you insane when you return later that night but fuck you can’t remember what clothes you even own) as you stand in the center of the room in your underwear.

“Okay. Okay you’re going to meet three Satanic popes,” the sentence has a delirious laugh bubbling out of your throat. “Three Satanic popes and one…sweet…handsome…Cardinal. What is the correct choice.”

You eye a snug, knee length burgundy velvet cocktail dress to your left. You’ve been saving this one for a while - for a real special occasion. You would undoubtedly impress but…nah. Too much. To your right is a pair of mom jeans - you pick them up and give them a tentative sniff - acceptably clean. You toss the jeans onto your bed behind you. Okay now for a top. How about…ah! You spy a soft, dark green sweater in a pile and snatch it up. Cozy, comfortable, and practical. Perfect. As for shoes…your well-loved black Chelsea boots should do the trick. You look down at your watch.

5:48

Shit! Almost tripping more than once you jump into your jeans and pull the sweater over your head, tucking it halfway into your waistband. You don’t have the time or the patience to put any makeup on beyond a few swipes of mascara and a dark red lipstick and when you make it out the door with your phone and keys, it’s five to six. You briskly power walk the entire trip to your office and by the time you’re standing outside the door, you’re clutching your side and heaving for breath. You pray to whoever is listening that the Cardinal is a little late so you have a chance to compose yourself but before you can even form the thought–

“Signorina?”

You spin on the spot, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Cardinal!” you rasp. “Uh…hi.”

“You look lovely,” he says with an anxious little smile that gives you butterflies, “you’re glowing, signorina.”

“Thanks, it’s the sweat.”

You ought to be taken out back and shot like Old Yeller.

To your immense relief, he doesn’t look disgusted but instead seems to relax as if your odd faux-pas cuts the tension. Chortling, he gestures for you to follow him with a gloved hand.

“What’s for dinner?” you ask, as the two of you proceed down the hall.

“You’ll have to ask Secondo that, I have no idea what the maestro has planned for us this evening.”

“Sounds ominous,” you smile.

“Eh, sì. He is.”

Oh God.

“Your week has gone well?” Copia asks, adeptly changing the subject.

“Yes, just you know. Trying to make sense of everything von Schreck left me with. Can’t help but feel his presence looming over me whenever I change something he did. Did you know him well?”

“Not well, no. He was a quiet man, kept to himself. His eh, mind started to go, in the end. Became paranoid.”

“Ah. Explains his cataloging system then. If you can call it that.”

You realize you’re now in a wing of the abbey you’ve never seen before - a long hallway with a dark red rug running the length of it and arched doors. Copia stops at one that is open and gestures inside with a nervous smile.

It’s a kitchen. A very large, very well equipped kitchen with a massive island and high ceilings. There are three men standing inside it - you recognize one of them and the other two are staring in your direction. The tallest (and from what you can tell, the oldest) has a soft smile on his face. The other is also tall but broad where the older figure was slim, the overhead light glinting off his bald head. Terzo hops down off the counter, swirling a glass of wine and grinning. You’re suddenly aware of four pairs of the same mismatched eyes boring into you.

“Uh. Hi.”

The three Papas are on you like flies on honey in a snap, pulling you into the warmth of the kitchen while Copia removes his black biretta and wrings his gloved hands. With a shaky voice he introduces you to the two you are unfamiliar with and to Terzo he simply gives a hard stare.

“It’s an honor to meet all of you,” you murmur, smiling around the room, “Wow, three Satanic popes. I haven’t even met one uh…regular pope. Not to say you aren’t ‘regular’ or ‘normal’, of course. The Satanic versions are so much more interesting.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Do you drink?” the bald, mustachioed one - Secondo - asks.

“Please,” you sigh in relief. He gestures you over to the counter.

“What do you know about Italian wines, piccolina?”

Piccolina? You remind yourself to look that up whenever you manage to take a bathroom break.

“Uh, not much. That is to say…nothing.”

He smirks. You know immediately this man is a heartbreaker.

“I will teach you. This riserva is from the Ministry’s vineyards in Piedmont. Made from Nebbiolo grapes.” He pours you a generous glass which you swirl delicately in your hand before leaning in to sniff.

“Oh! I’m definitely getting…red fruits, perhaps cherries? Something mineral, like the way a damp cave smells. Hold on–”

You take a sip as Secondo watches you carefully.

“Wow that’s gorgeous,” you gush, “I didn’t smell the rose element but I definitely taste it. You said the Ministry made this?”

“Sì,” he nods, as he pours more into your glass, “I’m pleased you like it, you have excellent taste.”

“Oh, I really don’t,” you smile, “you’d cringe if I told you some of the swill I find acceptable. Particularly what I drank in college.”

He laughs loudly.

“What kind of self-respecting American college student drinks wine?”

“One from California, that’s what,” you smirk.

“Secondo stop hogging our guest,” Terzo calls from the other side of the room. “I want to see her pretty face.”

Secondo ushers you over to the small breakfast table where Copia sits with the other two Papas before leaving to fetch several wine glasses.

“Don’t you look bellissima tonight,” Terzo grins, and you blush as he gives you a very obvious once-over. That smile disappears though when he jerks violently, slamming his knee up under the table.

“Stronzino, that hurt,” he hisses at Copia, who has carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression. 

Huh. Wonder what that was all about.

You’re distracted by Primo softly saying your name and you turn to the older man with a smile.

“Are you enjoying life at the abbey so far?”

Ah. Well about that. You want to lie - to tell him everything has been smooth sailing but something about the way he looks at you instantly makes you want to be more candid.

“It’s um. It’s been…a lot,” you say, looking down into your wine glass, “The Cardinal is really the only one who speaks to me outside of Sister Imperator. I-I haven’t got out of my apartment much except to go to work. I’m a little self-conscious about exploring, to be honest.”

Primo gives you a gentle smile.

“Do you know where the greenhouses are, fiore mio?”

Fiore mio. Another one for the list.

“I think I know where the gardens are but I’m not sure if they’re nearby–”

“They are.” he says, “Sister Imperator…doesn’t have much use for an old relic like me. I spend my time tending to all that grows here. With some assistance from my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?” you ask, cocking your head.

He smiles.

“Ah, you haven’t met any yet, have you? Well I won’t spoil the surprise. I’m sure the Cardinal would love to tell you about them some time. Anyway, all this to say…please come visit me when you have the opportunity, sì? Ah, that reminds me,” he gets up and walks through an adjacent doorway to what you assume is the dining room. When he returns, he’s bearing a bouquet of vibrant pink dahlias in a glass vase.

“Oh!” you say, setting down your wine glass as Primo places the flowers on the table in front of you.

“For you, cara. To welcome you.”

You’re squeezing the meat of your thigh as hard as you can under the table to keep from crying but the tears well up in your eyes all the same.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and he reaches out to take your hand into his long, wizened one.

“Cazzo, are you making her cry, you old fuck?” Terzo grouses.

“Terzo!” Copia says with a sharpness you’ve never heard from him before. You’re not sure if it’s the wine but you’re definitely picking up on some tense vibes between the two of them.

“Uh, need help with dinner, Secondo?” you ask, trying to cut the awkwardness.

“Most of it is already finished but you are welcome to assist with the antipasti. Forgive the lack of aperitivo but someone forgot to pick up olives today.”

Secondo glares across the room at Copia, who turns beet red.

“That’s okay, I don’t like olives anyway,” you say cheerily. Primo groans.

“Ugh! Philistine!” Secondo snaps, making a sharp gesture, “Get over here and atone for your sins before I kick you out of my kitchen, piccolina.”

Now your face is red.

“Yes, Papa,” you murmur obediently as you rise from the table, missing the way the four men look at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Va bene,” Secondo says gruffly as you approach the island, leaning over to pour more wine in your glass, “Do you know how to toast bread?”

You give him a look.

“I think I can handle toast,” you scoff, setting down your glass. “Are we making bruschetta?” 

He favors you with a nod and a half-smile. A point in your favor.

“Here is the olive oil,” he says, gesturing to his left, “here is the balsamic. I have already diced the tomatoes and here,” he turns and opens the large refrigerator, coming back with a healthy amount of burrata, “is the cheese. Think you got it?”

“I…think so? Wait, do you have a grill for me to use or…”

He hands you a square metal pan with holes perforated in it.

“You’ve used a brustolina before?”

No, you have not used a brustolina before.

“How hard can it be? Don’t worry about me, please go sit down.”

He gives you one last sideway glance before snagging his wine glass off the table and joining his brothers. 

Ten minutes later, Terzo is standing on the breakfast table waving a rag in front of the aggressively beeping smoke detector as Copia looks as mortified as you feel.

“It’s alright, fiore mio,” Primo soothes as you sniffle, staring at the charred remains of what used to be several slices of sourdough bread.

“It’s toast. I cannot believe I actually fucked up toast.”

Copia scurries to your side and Primo steps away to make room. When your head thunks heavy against his shoulder he wraps an arm around you, making soothing noises. 

You don’t see Terzo thrusting violently into the air with a wide grin on his face, still standing on the table but you do see Secondo yank him down when he lets out an undignified squawk. The noise has you choking out a laugh, and you turn to Copia to see him staring down at you with a painfully soft expression.

“It’s nothing, piccolina,” Secondo says, unhanding his brother, “We didn’t need bruschetta anyway. Prometto. The real star is coming soon. Please–” he picks up your wine glass and gives you yet another generous pour, “--go take a seat. Enjoy the company of the Cardinal, and Primo, and my other idiot brother.”

You nod, accepting your glass.

“Sorry,” you murmur, and you feel Copia’s hand rub warm circles on the small of your back. You’d be willing to burn all the toast in the abbey if this is what you got out of it.

“It’s nothing, signorina, truly,” he says quietly in your ear, leading you back over to the table. Secondo efficiently dumps the cremated bread into the garbage and puts an apron over his head which reads “Osculari Coquum.” 

By the time Secondo tells the four of you to take your seats in the dining room you are…pleasantly tipsy and incredibly hungry. The smells coming from the kitchen are so decadent, you can feel yourself salivating. 

“Here we are,” Secondo says, entering the room with a loaded plate, which he places in front of you, “Pollo alla cacciatora con riso.”

You have to sit on your hands to keep from rudely digging in before the others have been delivered their meals but as soon as Secondo sits down, you’re ready to strike. Before you can, Primo speaks up.

“I would like to toast our lovely new friend. To your health and happiness. May you find a home here amongst us. Benvenuta nostra sorella. Ave Sathanas.”

Sorella. The word sounds familiar, as if you’ve heard it in the abbey halls before. It makes a warmth bloom in your chest that you’re certain cannot be attributed solely to the wine.

“Grazie mille,” you murmur with a smile. “Thank you all for having me this evening, I appreciate it more than you know.”

Copia’s hand, resting next to yours on the table, twitches and ever-so-slightly his gloved pinkie finger brushes against yours. You look at him out of the corner of your eye but he’s staring diligently down at his plate, mustache twitching as he fights to smile. The sight makes your heart thud in your chest. It’s as if the two of you are in your own little world, oblivious to everyone else despite the fact that neither of you openly acknowledge the other. It’s a breathtaking feeling and you wish you could put your finger on what is so special about this peculiar man.

“Bella, if you don’t eat that I’m going to eat it for you.”

Terzo is staring at you from across the table, mouth full of chicken cacciatore. The whole room, in fact, is staring at you.

“Shit! Right! Sorry I was…I don’t know where I was. Hmm.”

The four men once again exchange a look as you politely dig into your chicken and rice. It’s divine, as you knew it would be. The conversation flows wonderfully, the Papas all eagerly explaining the Ghost project to you.

“So you are all part of the same band?”

“We each had our terms,” Primo explains, “I was the first, Secondo was second, and now Terzo is the third.”

Your brow furrows as you mouth their names and something clicks.

“I’m sorry, you’re all brothers and you’re named first, second, and third? Who does that to their kids?”

Copia snorts into his glass at your candidness.

“Our idiot father, that’s who,” Primo says, and you’re shocked at his venomous tone, “You’ve met Papa Nihil, have you not?”

Oh. You’ve met Papa Nihil alright.

“Ah…yes. Yes, we’ve met. I don’t think he cares much for me.”

Terzo laughs.

“We all have that in common, bella mia! Consider it a badge of honor.”

You don’t quite know what to say to that and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

“So,” Secondo begins, “you must listen to each of our albums and tell us which one you like best, sì?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m qualified to properly judge that sort of thing–”

“We insist,” Terzo says imperiously, “I want nothing less than an album ranking and your overall top five songs. Cardinal, see to it that she gets educated.”

“I don’t see how this is my area of expertise,” Copia says sullenly, stabbing at what remains of his chicken. “It’s not my band.”

Hmm. Another frisson of tension.

Interesting.

“If everyone is done with their meal, shall we move back into the kitchen for dessert? Piccolina, how do you feel about gelato?”

Your cheeks redden at the moan that escapes your mouth. Copia coughs sharply at your side, having turned red himself.

“What’s your favorite flavor, bella mia?” Terzo asks, rising from the table as you do.

“Stracciatella, definitely, but I will never say no to chocolate.”

“Ah! A woman after my own heart! Copia do you hear this? She likes stracciatella.”

The Cardinal remains seated, nodding distractedly. As you exit the room you see Primo move closer to him and put a hand on his back, leaning in to speak quietly.

—

“Oh topolino…she’s just as lovely as you said. Kind, smart, beautiful. Burns bruschetta but eh, no one is perfect.” Primo smiles as Copia looks up at him in earnest.

“Papa…I really like her.”

It’s the first time he’s voiced his feelings out loud and he can feel the flush on his cheeks creeping down his chest.

“I know, ragazzo mio. And you know what? I think she really likes you too.”

Copia’s heart skips a beat.

“Really? You think so? I-I want to do something nice for her, something she deserves but I’m not sure–”

“Spend time with her,” Primo says, smiling, “She is very lonely. Continue to be the friend you have been thus far - that’s what she deserves.”

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” Copia murmurs, “Surely she’ll tire of me or–”

“Surely nothing of the sort,” Primo says firmly. “If she cares for you as I suspect she does, she will welcome you into her heart. All parts of you, not just the best ones. You’ll see, topolino. Prometto.”

“Grazie,” Copia whispers as Primo places a kiss on his forehead.

“Hey you two what flavor–oh, I’m sorry, I’m interrupting something.”

You move to exit the room but Copia stands abruptly.

“No, please. Stay.”

You smile. If only he knew now how you’d take that request to heart.

[wyattjohnston]

stay forever - jake debrusk

summary: the real reason jake was scratched against l.a. on october 21.

word count: 2.9k

note: have been absolutely fascinated by him pulling a tyler seguin for 9 months and started this fic back in october...

An emptiness overwhelmed Juliet’s house as it always did when her parents had returned back to Connecticut. It was a purchase she regularly regretted—three bedrooms more than one person needed and more living spaces than she could ever fill—but people had gotten to her with their constant comments about needing to grow up. Needing to prepare for a family.

She hoped that her future husband would appreciate its location on the Pacific Coast Highway because that wasn’t something she regretted.

For the time being, she owned a very unnecessarily large house which she only lived in part time when her filming schedule allowed. She spent a lot of time on her own waiting for company to arrive.

Juliet’s company for the evening was someone she didn’t see very often at all—mostly when he was in California for work, or when she visited her parents—but someone she always wanted to see more often than she could.

She sat down at her kitchen bar, a poorly made cocktail sitting in front of her, and her feet swinging around the base of the chair as she waited for Jake to arrive at her door. By the time the GPS tracker was outside her house, her drink was empty, and she was filled with nervous excitement. She waited by the intercom, no longer embarrassed to open the gate the second he pressed the buzzer, and then opened the front door to wait for him to walk up her driveway.

“That drive feels longer every time,” Juliet told him, reaching for his belt buckle as soon as he was in reach so that she could tug him closer until they were chest-to-chest.

With the door closed and the car disappearing out of the gate, he nodded, saying, “I think I learnt the entire history of the Pacific Coast Highway.”

“I can send a car to pick you up,” she reminded him as she did every time he was in California.

“But how would I know that The Beach Boys released a song about it in 2012? Or the Australian pop punk band who mentioned it in one of their songs? Or—”

“I get it,” Juliet cut him off, still leading him through the house with her hands on his belt. “You like facts about the Highway. Music about the Highway, specifically.”

Before he could get any more words out, Juliet pressed her mouth to his, still keeping him close with her hands on his belt.

They had the whole afternoon together—the whole night—which was a luxury that they were rarely afforded, and Juliet was overwhelmed by all the things they could do together. As was usually the case when near Jake, she never got any further than an arm’s length away.

The Pacific Ocean stretched out beyond Juliet’s balcony as they sat and watched the waves roll onto the shore beneath them. Being cuddled up under the warm afternoon sun was more than she could ask for. She fit so naturally in the space between Jake’s legs, her back pressed against his chest and his fingers hiding underneath the hem of her cropped shirt and across her rib cage.

There wasn’t much to talk about that they hadn’t already spoken about in their daily phone calls or their frequent texts, but the silence wasn’t so bad. Just being with each other, in each other’s space, pressed up against each other on her surprisingly comfortable outdoor couch was enough. Juliet caught him just smiling at her on more than one occasion. It was nice to just see him in person rather than on a phone screen.

The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving behind the pink sky Juliet so adored about Malibu. She looked over her shoulder at Jake and melted into the instantaneous kiss.

“Do you want dinner? Abbey made you the chicken one you said you liked last time. The one that fit with your nutrition plan?”

Jake’s forehead came to rest against the back of hers. He asked, “You remembered that?”

“I wrote it down and you hadn’t said your plan had changed. I hoped.”

Her fingers started to tap against her ribs.

“God, I need her to be in Boston to be my chef.”

“I can ask her if she wants to,” Juliet said without hesitation.

“Do you come with her?” he asked, his mouth pressed against the back of Juliet’s neck. “Because the only person I want to move to Boston is you.”

Juliet hummed. She didn’t want to rehash the conversation they’d had all summer, not on their first night together since he left for training camp. She’d thought about moving back to New England, about being closer to her parents and her sister, about being closer to Jake. Her house might have been too large for just her, but it was a better alternative than uprooting herself for a relationship where they hadn’t even said they love each other after nearly twelve months.

Her sister’s commentary about them being unable to say the L word because they spent too much time apart always fell on deaf ears.

“Jake—Jake,” Juliet panicked, shaking his shoulder viciously. “Jake. Your alarm didn’t go off.”

He woke all at once, a violent flail sending his limbs in all directions as he sat up. His first instinct was to reach for his phone on the bedside table; his phone that wasn’t there.

Typically, on the rare occasions when they woke up in the same bed, Juliet was wrapped up in his arms before she’d even woken up and before either of them even thought about getting out of bed there was slow, lazy, but oh-so-good, morning sex and a healthy amount of cuddling.

That morning, though, she watched him launch out of bed so quickly he nearly tripped over the top sheet he didn’t take time to remove. She couldn’t fault him.

She tried not to follow him around the bedroom too closely as he dressed, nor throughout the rest of the house, but she found herself picking up things that fell out of his overnight bag and slotting them back in gingerly.

It was the lack of speaking that was the most unnerving. Jake wasn’t a typically angry person, in fact Juliet couldn’t recall a time where she’d seen him mad, but the heavy footsteps and the tension in everything he did made her hesitant to speak.

On the kitchen counter downstairs, next to an empty bottle of red, was Jake’s phone which he swiped off the counter with such fervour that it crashed to the floor, causing Juliet to recoil. Jake didn’t seem to notice.

Standing in just the shirt she’d managed to throw on, Juliet kept her distance as Jake scooped up his phone and ordered an Uber. If Juliet were to be petty, she’d have mentioned that if he’d let her organise a car then none of this would have happened. Except, she wasn’t petty, nor was she interested in stoking fires, so she stretched out the bottom of her shirt as she nervously wrung it through her hands.

The silence remained until Jake looked like he was readying to leave, standing up from where he’d been leaning across the island and texting furiously. He didn’t look away from the screen.

“I’ll see you after the game,” Juliet said, tentative to break the silence but not at all wanting to let him leave without saying anything at all.

Jake scoffed, “I’m not gonna play so don’t even bother.”

Juliet stepped towards him, the space reducing to only a couple of paces, reaching out to him with her eyebrows pulling together. She asked, soft, scared, “What? Why? Are you injured?”

“I’m late, Juliet,” he snapped, still not looking up from his phone. “They’re not gonna let me play.”

“Oh, well, I’ll still come,” Juliet said, harried. While she was relieved that he wasn’t keeping injuries from her, her brain was reeling to create a solution. “Maybe I can talk to somebody and tell them I had an emergency—”

“Don’t do that. Whatever you fucking do, do not do that.”

“Okay… I don’t have to do that.”

Jake used the buzzer to open the gate to let the Uber driver in and Juliet’s eyes began to well up with tears as she heard it get closer to the house. Their perfect night shattering before her eyes was creating a tightness in her chest she hadn’t felt in years.

She reached out to him, despite him being too far away, and asked, desperately, “I’ll see you after the game, though?”

“Sure, whatever you want, Juliet.”

“Jake.”

He didn’t respond, only pulled open the front door as the Uber stopped in front of it.

Juliet, panicked and incapable of thinking anything else, ran to him and gripped the loose sleeve of Jake’s hoodie and said, “I love you.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t so much as look at her before he shrugged her off, got into the Uber and closed the door, his phone immediately pressed to his ear.

It wasn’t the confession she’d imagined, that was for sure.

Juliet had considered cancelling her car and watching the game from her couch. Through the entire process of getting ready—which was getting longer and longer every day as the comments she was seeing got worse and worse with every second she aged—she stared at her phone for any sign of Jake. Whether he was going to beg her to show up or tell her to not come at all, she wanted something. She got nothing.

Sitting at her kitchen island, staring at the ugly painting her agent had bought her to congratulate her on an Oscar nomination the year prior, she didn’t think she’d ever felt more pathetic—and losing that Best Actress Oscar when it was universally agreed that she would win was the previous champion for that category.

With the car arriving shortly to pick her up, Juliet knew she had made an unconscious decision to go to the game. She had her jersey across her lap, the 74 hidden, and was the least excited she’d ever been for a hockey game.

As with every public appearance, Juliet made sure she was at least able to fake a smile before she got out of the car. Oliver, her driver, was her greatest confidant and the best secret keeper she knew. He’d seen her in some truly horrible states and, while it may have just been the ironclad NDA, not even her agent or PR manager had heard about the worst breakdowns. She was hugely grateful for him and the minor adjustments he suggested to make her seem realistically happy.

It was always a while before she was noticed at games; most people weren’t in the target demographic for her movies, and those that were weren’t expecting her to be there, so she was able to walk the concourse, get a beer and sit down before the whispers and photos started. She wasn’t hidden with centre-ice, bench-side seats and it was only a matter of time before the camera operators found her—she stood out enough being the only yellow jersey in a sea of black without being famous.

She shouldn’t have gone alone was her main takeaway before the first period even started. She’d never had the problem before, but never before had she felt a dull ache in her chest and never before had she so desperately wanted a buffer.

It wasn’t until the beginning of the second, when LA scored their first goal, that Juliet’s face was plastered across the screens. It was, at least, a good enough reason for being caught looking as miserable as she felt. She smiled, nonetheless, throwing her hands up into the air as if to ask what can you do and also to show everyone that she was wearing what she deemed to be the correct jersey. Even if they booed her for it.

The texts that started coming through weren’t a surprise. It wasn’t unheard of that someone she knew was also at the game, though they were much more likely to be rooting for the Kings and in a box where they wouldn’t be bothered.

Juliet made a point to not pull out her phone until intermission because too many people had opinions on her not paying attention when she was out anywhere, and she didn’t need to give them anymore ammo. So, she waited until she was standing in line for another beer before she pulled it out of her pocket. Most of the texts she ignored because they were from people she never really spoke to asking her to get drinks after the game, one was from her sister with a tweet mentioning her being at the game which she reacted to with a thumbs down, and, finally, one from Jake.

He had been scratched, just as he said he would be, and the text was almost definitely sent at the exact time she was shown on the screen.

Thanks for still coming. Will you hang around after?

She sent back a text and closed her phone, ready to order another beer and ignore her phone for the final period.

Do you want me to?

Yes. Course I do.

It was something. That’s what Juliet was forcing herself to think, anyway.

Juliet didn’t need much to get past security; not when someone had come for her. It meant that, despite Jake’s disinterest in her being there that morning he hadn’t gone to the trouble of calling off her escort.

Her way down to the locker rooms was filled with people stopping her for photos. It wasn’t like her to deny people, and she hadn’t any other time she’d been caught at a hockey game, but she had somewhere to be and when she didn’t know exactly what was waiting for her.

There was no Family Room for her to wait in, unless she wanted to crash the Kings’ room uninvited and face more questions than she’d already been hounded with that night, so she bravely stood in the hallway unaccompanied as she waited for the coach to address the team and for Jake to be free enough to come and meet her. The few very confused Kings staff and partners she passed were to be expected, at least.

Juliet was ready to open up her burner account and search her own name in Twitter—she was already in a bad enough mood that any comments she read about her cellulite or the confusion about her cellulite when she was allegedly too skinny after her last role couldn’t do any further damage—when the visitor’s locker room door opened with a groan. Jake had the decency to look sheepish, repentant, when he stepped out. He didn’t look at anybody but Juliet as he crossed the hall to meet her.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and shy. “For still coming. I don’t think I would have if I was you.”

“I nearly didn’t,” she admitted, trying to act cool when she knew that she could only look as desperate as she felt. “You really hurt me, Jake.”

“Yeah, I—I know, Juliet. I shouldn’t have taken any of that out on you.”

The door opened again, the agonising groan rattling whatever small amount of composure Juliet had been able to pull together, and she looked down at her feet.

Jake closed the gap between them, making room for the wave of people to exit the locker room, and Juliet put hand on his chest to steady herself at the unexpected movement—she hadn’t realised how good it would feel to touch him and felt herself lean ever closer.

“Do you have to stick around? Or can we go somewhere a little less noisy?”

“I have to get on the bus, Jules,” he said, his head lowering. He put his hand over hers on her chest to keep her close. “I want to go back to Malibu. I don’t want to sleep by myself in a hotel room when you’re in the same city…”

Juliet sighed. “But you had one chance.”

He started to look around and Juliet knew he was looking for somewhere more private for them. He opted for slightly around a corner, not quiet by any means but at least out of the thoroughfare. Juliet was long past being caught in a compromising position with anybody—and, truth be told, any positions she’d been caught in were hardly scandalous and all with serious partners—so she wasn’t worried about effectively being boxed in against the wall, with Jake leaning down to talk to her.

“God, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “None of it was your fault; you didn’t deserve to be treated like that. I love you and I treated you like shit.”

She tilted her chin down and looked up at him sheepishly through her eyelashes as she asked, “You love me?”

Jake’s laugh was abrupt and aborted just as suddenly as it started, the realisation that it was not the right time was clear on his face. “Well, yeah. Yes, Juliet. I don’t think that should be the thing that gets me over the line, though.”

“I’m still really mad at you,” Juliet said, even as she slipped her arms around his waist. “But I think I’m just going to enjoy you while I have you.”

Juliet was delighted to share a photo sent to her by her sister of her and Jake leaving Honda Center hand-in-hand, mostly so she could caption it ‘I want to be @/taylorswift when I grow up’.

She was even more delighted when less than ten minutes later she opened up Jake’s story to see that he’d reposted it with a caption that just said ‘same’.

[honeyynymphh]

These fics are mostly Copia focused and I write him as dom with an acerbic and mostly terrible personality. All readers are fem!reader and are not named. I do not use Y/N. If you like Vincent Price, you may like my Copia. Please read warnings for each fic! 18+ MDNI

Inflight Meal

Papa IV x FemReader Rating: E As an air hostess you are used to strange people, especially when they have their own private jet. but this was definitely the strangest one. AO3

Tear You Apart

Papa IV x FemReader Rating: E Chapters: 2 of 2 There were four things you had not expected when you had decided to break into the old abbey on a particular full moon: 1. That it would actually be inhabited 2. That it would be inhabited by people performing a satanic ritual 3. That you would end up being chased through the woods by a satanic madman 4. That you would enjoy it AO3

Nocturnal Me

(Dracopia)Papa IV x FemReader Rating: E The Haze is open from sunset until sunrise every day of the week. Some people, like you, order a margarita with a silly little cocktail umbrella shoved in it and a slice of lemon. Others order the AB negative and should drink it quickly before it congeals. AO3

➸Corrupted/Evil Papa IV

there’s total depravity (standing right in front of me)

(Dark) Papa IV x FemReader Rating: E As a maid, I tended to pass by unnoticed. Nobody really cared who made their beds or cleaned their clothes—as long as it was done. And I should have just done my job and left. But I didn't. And now I was stuck here at the mercy of the Fourth. AO3

Nothing Ever Lasts Forever

(Corrupted) Papa IV x FemReader Rating: E “You still wear his paint.” Not a question. Just a statement. He hardly ever asked questions. There were orders, demands, requests—not to be denied. “He is dead, sorella.” The Emeritus line is finished. There is a new Papa now to serve, but you are hesitant to throw your loyalty and love aside. But he gives you no choice. AO3

A Discordant Melody

Cardinal Copia x FemReader, Papa IV x FemReader Copia and Papa are two separate characters Rating: E Chapters: 1 of 2 “Maybe this place is cursed.” I wrapped an arm around Copia’s and pressed myself close, delighting in his warmth and the way he smelled. It reassured me and I pressed my lips against his cheek. “You will have to keep me very close, darling, lest some ghoul tries to steal me away.” I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my lips and I smiled when I noticed the tips of his ears had gone pink. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad—and it wasn’t as if we were staying here. Inheriting an old abbey in a supposedly cursed town, what could possibly go wrong? AO3

➸Daddy Dom Papa

La Principessa di Papa

Papa IV x FemReader Rating: E After days of being sick in bed, you’re feeling restless. But Papa is always there to look after his little principessa. AO3

Il Cuore Della Principessa

Papa IV x FemReader Rating: E Overworked and exhausted, Papa insists you take a break. AO3

➸drabbles/ficlets (not on ao3)

listening to Papa read while you lie on his lap (sfw, 600 words, any Papa)

Copia comes home late to find his princess asleep on the couch (mostly sfw, 800 words, Papa IV

➸ Misadventures in the Ministry (Series) This series involves the same reader. You don't need to read them in order but it’s better if you do. This reader is not the sharpest sacrificial dagger in the abbey but she does her best.

Freshly Squeezed (Part One)

Cardinal Copia x FemReader Rating: E A secret passageway. A far too ditzy curious reader. And a very naked Cardinal. Hmm. AO3

A Lesson in Heroinism (Part Two)

Cardinal Copia x FemReader Rating: E They say Cardinal Copia is a vampire but you don't believe that…do you? AO3

The Wager

Cardinal Copia x FemReader Rating: E A new Sister of Sin, you feel you are not living up to the expectations of your new church and seek out confession to unburden yourself. Little do you know, that the Cardinal has something he needs to confess to you. AO3

The Mark of the Beast

Cardinal Copia x FemReader Rating: E Chapters: 2 of 2 An imposter has apparently been hiding in the abbey, and there is only one way to prove you're part of the congregation. And that is to submit yourself to an examination to find Lucifer's mark upon your body. AO3

a little nightmarish, a little maudlin (good golly go get this kid some laudanum!)

(Dracopia) Cardinal Copia x FemReader Rating: E Chapters: 2 of 2 A storm hits while on your way home from a party and your coach breaks down. Surely the church you passed by will offer shelter until you can safely return home? AO3

Our Merge Is Eternal

(Vampire) Papa III x FemReader Rating: M Chapters: 2 of 3 Something is not quite right, it makes her stomach twist with a sick sort of anticipation. She should stay right here, she should not leave the library—she definitely should not follow the Cardinal. But if she doesn't, she will never know. Her mother always said curiosity killed the cat, but Cora knew satisfaction brought it back. (on hiatus)

[folkloresthings]

hello lovely!! can i request NORTHANGER ABBEY with carlos and exes to lovers? thank you 💌

ugh yes??? second chance romance my fave

SECOND CHANCE. ❨ carlos sainz x reader ❩

✩⡱ warnings: slight sexual buildup but no smut

when people asked you what happened between carlos sainz and yourself, you never really had an answer. it had been a strange breakup, one that built and built over months, and then broke in the space of one night. you had wanted different things. you were ready to settle down, get a house, commit to starting a family. but carlos was at the peak of his career — his main focus was on racing. you needed more than he could give.

the actual fight had been a catastrophe. him shouting, you crying, doors slammed. the cool down consisted of him on his knees, grabbing at your legs on the couch, trying to reason. but you knew you couldn’t stay, it was pointless. so you left. you packed your bags and left the next morning. three years, all for nothing.

it had been just over a year since that terrible day, and you hadn’t heard from carlos once. you kept up with his races, still fully supporting him. you didn’t hate each other — and it only made things so much harder.

“come on, you deserve a break!” your best friend insisted, clicking button after button and booking your trip before you could even argue.

monaco. you hadn’t been back since you left carlos, and the prospect scared you. but you braved the memories, distracting yourself with your girlfriends and anything you could. you spent your days on the beach, your nights in clubs and cocktail bars. for some reason, amongst it all, you’d forgotten carlos still lived here.

nipping out one afternoon to pay a visit to your old favourite bakery, your mind was clear. a coffee and your favourite pastry in hand, you were actually happy. enjoying yourself. until you bumped into a figure that smelled an awful lot like your ex—boyfriend.

“mierda, sorry—” he grabbed your forearms, steadying you both. freezing, his eyes meet yours and he falls silent. you can’t stop staring at him, not really believing that he was real. actually there, close enough to touch, for the first time in a year.

“hi.” it leaves you in one breath. carlos smiles, glancing between you and the bakery.

“back for an apple pastry?” he teases and you turn sheepish, cheeks burning. “i didn’t know you were in town.”

“just for a vacation,” you tell him, only realising then that he’s still got a hold of you, chests practically pressed together. you clear your throat, stepping back. you had pictured this moment so many times, what you would say, and now it was done. the moment gone and you wished you could go back and do it a little better.

carlos nods, taking all of you in. you looked… amazing. your skin was glowing, thanks to a few days in the sun. you were still as beautiful as the day he met you. you were even prettier in real life, rather than the images that plagued carlos’ mind every night.

“how long are you here for?” he asks, and your brows raise. you knew where this was going, but you didn’t have the power to stop it.

“until monday.” three more days. “why?”

“no, no reason. maybe we could… catch up? i’ll make you dinner. your favourite pasta,” he offers, blinking down at you with those big brown eyes, and how can you say no?

he’s got a new apartment now, and you’re glad, because you’re not sure you could face the home you shared together. you knock twice before he lets you in, taking your coat and pouring your favourite wine. the pasta he always used to make for you simmers on the stove, the smells taking you back to your date nights together.

“it’s as good as ever,” you tell him after your first bite, nostalgia filling your taste buds. carlos smiles proudly. he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since you stepped through the door, your cheeks constantly tinted pink.

still, the conversation was flowing like no time had passed, like nothing had happened between you. you’d been together for three whole years, it was easy to fall back into that routine again. a glass of wine or so later, you were curled up on the couch, telling him about everything that happened at christmas — the first christmas he hadn’t been to since you first got together.

somewhere between your mother’s roast potato meltdown and your grandfather’s six glasses of whiskey, his hand had found it’s way to your thigh, warm and big. your breath hitched, eyes warning as they dart to his.

“carlos…” you whisper, feeling yourself slip the closer he gets.

“mi alma,” he counters, his other hand grazing across your brow, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“we shouldn’t. we can’t,” you insist, but you sound less convincing than you intend. his hot breath ghosts over your lips, his taste so close.

“tell me to stop, and i will,” carlos meets your eyes, wide and pleading. he needs you, he’s needed you for twelve months. “one word and i’m done.”

your lips open, ready to speak, but nothing comes out. you can’t say no, because you don’t want to. any logic is gone from your mind, flooded with a love that never really went away.

in a moment, carlos presses his lips to yours. both of you fall into each other, fall into what you know so well. hands grasping at your clothes, teeth clashing and tongues hot, trying to get impossibly close. it was dizzying. carlos had always been a good kisser, but a starved man savoured his first meal like it was heaven sent.

his hands dipped lower, slipping under your top and to the warm skin underneath. palming at your chest, teasing but desperate, lips dipping to suck at the supple flesh of your throat. he pulls whines from you like an expert, your fingers grasping at the mess of brown locks upon his head. it’s longer now, you like it.

“wait, wait,” you mutter, pushing him back by the chest. so many thoughts running through your head, but it goes blank when he looks at you. pupils blown wide, hair messy, lips wet and swollen. he’s angelic, a sculpture on display in the finest of museums.

carlos finds the hesitation in your eyes and sighs. “i know.”

“what are we doing?” you groan, head falling against his shoulder. his thumb rubs at your back, comforting you coming as second nature. “i can’t just — fuck you and pretend like it never happened. i’ve been trying to get over you for a year now, and this just sets everything back.”

“did you?” he asks, unsure if he wants to know the answer. “get over me?”

“no,” you sigh, answering a little too quickly. “i don’t know if i ever will.”

carlos softens, more so if possible, hands smoothing all over you. “i love you. i always have, i always will. i’ll do whatever it takes, just — can we try again?”

you look at him, his pleading eyes and tight grip. he does love you, you’ve know that in your gut for a while now. he’d loved you so hard when you were together, with everything that he was. just because you broke up doesn’t mean that disappears.

“carlos, we want different things…” you begin into the same argument you had a year ago, and he cuts you off with another kiss.

“i don’t care. i’ll compromise, i’ll do whatever you want. we can get married tomorrow, if it’s what you want,” he professes, cupping your cheeks. you stare at him in shock, his profession of love coming crashing down.

“we’re not getting married tomorrow,” you laugh breathlessly, taking his hands in yours. “but… we can try again tomorrow, start over.”

hope fills him, a bright smile painting his face as he kisses you, again and again. maybe not tomorrow, but he knew he was going to marry you someday. sooner, rather than later.

“i love you so much, carlos.”

“i love you even more, cariño.”

[midnight-mismanagement]

Yes which makes watching him so fascinating, entertaining, frustrating, and deeply upsetting! I love what you said about how he’s the one who is probably implausibly saved the most by chance, despite the fact that he is trying so hard to control his destiny. The more he tries to control, the more things fly out of his control. Despite his best efforts, he usually ends up making things worse for himself until chance saves his butt, and yet, he is deeply resentful of characters who he believes have had anything “handed” to them, who have been awarded by chance or good fortune, like Bates swooping in to be made valet when Thomas was anticipating the promotion, or Molesley being made valet for Matthew (he has a particular resentment against valets lol), Tom moving up into the upper classes through marriage, or O’Brien hoping to push for Alfred to move up the ranks despite him being new. He thinks he has to scheme to get anywhere, when arguably, scheming is what holds him back (but there have been times, as you mentioned, where him taking control over his fate has saved his life, which sort of reinforces his idea of the necessity), but even if he was perfectly nice, he would’ve still been passed up for Bates, and Molesley. Which makes him failing upwards so many times deeply ironic. He does work for things, but in ways that may hurt others or himself, and he does not usually achieve his original goal, but through circumstance, he may be given a reprieve, mercy, or reward in some other way (though it usually walks hand in hand with a healthy dose of karma, or the understanding that although he has had a good turn today, it will likely not last, case in point with attaining the Valet position when Bates was in prison. His future was uncertain if/when Bates got out. This of course, only reinforces his job insecurity.) 

He is also afraid of being ostracized, sacked, and isolated for something out of his control, so he pushes people away, both through his spite and resentment, and through his own fears that he would like to pretend he doesn’t have. He would like to pretend he is above wanting anyone’s approval, or friendship, and resents the parts of himself that still want to fit in, so instead he attempts to lash out in ways to assert he is above it all, and to protect himself from what he believes may be potential threats (and sometimes just cause he’s bored, I’ll call that season 1 Thomas). And sometimes because he is resentful of other people’s good relationships that he does not see as possible for himself, like Bates and Anna. This is a cyclical effect, in which people do not like him because of his behaviour, which causes him to push people away even more, until people usually don’t believe him when he does have good intentions, which only reinforces his confirmation bias. Andy is an example. People warn Andy of Thomas’ sexuality (something he has no control over) which is likely reinforced by his behaviour (people don’t really trust him to have honest friendship as a goal due to his standoffishness) which leads to Thomas’ isolation and thus, his continued resignation and resentment. When Jimmy left and he was once again alone and wanted to “fit in,” he tries to change his nature, not his behaviour (he tries to “choose his own path” and is told he can’t. Ouch.) 

He does not believe he can have an honest friendship with no strings attached and without losing the attachment in some way, without him exerting some form of control, and then finds himself in situations where he has none. With O’Brien, they both had teeth, and it was a matter of time until one won out over the other, which makes it so striking when he actually admits defeat, because, this is Thomas, he is always trying to control his fate, and yet she manages to break him. (I actually find it endlessly fascinating that Thomas, although he gave Bates the code phrase “her ladyship’s soap,” he doesn’t actually reveal to Bates what it means, even though it would make sense for him to do so at this point in time. It comes across to O’Brien as both an offensive and defensive move, but it remains defensive without her knowledge.) Jimmy meanwhile, was a huge disaster of miscommunication made worse by O’Brien’s manipulations, and Thomas had to get beat up for him for a friendship to form (for anyone to believe in his good intentions). 

Baxter is different. Thomas tries to use her as a tool to ensure his job security (whether it be imagined or from experience from always being on tenterhooks as a result of both outside factors and his own fuck ups), and he resents her friendship with Molesley, and views her standing up to him and taking his power away from her (which, coincidentally, almost got him sacked) as a betrayal to him. Then, after his awful treatment of her, she keeps...being nice to him??? What. Fake news. Must hide and ramp up the pushing away, clearly there is a defect or she’s just waiting to do something. And then she still helps him, even after he confesses to the letter thing (I saw that confession as like, one last check, she would have every right to abandon him, and yet he gives her the full knowledge of that for her to rightly make that choice and leave him at his most vulnerable, and she still doesn’t.) Then, full Barrow Loyalty UnlockedTM.  

I didn’t mean to dive into a whole character analysis or whatever this is, but just, yeah. Also, that picnic scene where he tries to turn over a new leaf right before he attempts to give up for good just hurts me. It’s like, he is finally trying to be nice and useful! To everyone! He brings the bottle Ms. Patmore forgot, he attempts to save Andy from embarrassment, he is constantly offering help, only to have the last of any of his purposes stripped away. Andy doesn’t need lessons from him anymore? Clearly that means they probably won’t be friends anymore since Thomas won’t be useful to him. No one needs his help? He should’ve seen that coming. He is gently rebuffed by everyone because they all are being polite, and it’s just a casual, well-meaning, “hey, you don’t have to inconvenience yourself, Thomas,” (and they’re probably a little confused at him even offering to help.) So what he hears is, you have no place, you have no use, you have no purpose (even though that wasn’t the intention of anyone at that picnic). 

HE IS NICE TO MR MOLESLEY. He hopes he will make more of his life than Thomas ever made of his own. He hopes he will have a purpose and a place, that Thomas no longer feels any hope for having himself, as a result of both outside factors, and his own behaviour and choices, and the constant interplay of all three. 

And Molesley remarks on how weird he is acting. 

And Baxter catches on. I think what makes me saddest about this, is, Baxter has seen the worst and the best of him, and she has not left. She is likely the one to have defied his fears and expectations the most, and he was going to leave without saying goodbye or anything at all because he knew she knew him the best and she would’ve noticed something and stopped him. AGH.

It’s just. He is such a lucky, unlucky, tragic, conflicting, frustrating, entertaining character who often just perpetuates his own misery. Maybe he would be better off if he tried to relax and stop trying to control everything, but he can’t fully let himself (”it’s being nice what got me into trouble,” etc,) and when he tries to let everything go and accept his situation, let Downton go, and try to turn over a new leaf in a new job, he is LONELY and miserable. And then it is, once again, through chance, that he replaces Carson. 

Just. What a guy. The universe is both conspiring for and against him.

(Also, if you couldn’t tell, Baxter is the real MVP.) 

Thomas Barrow is such a funny character, it’s like, man wants job security, proceeds to go about attempting to secure his job and land promotions in ways that will ensure his prompt termination. Somehow against all odds he continues to be rehired/accidentally promoted to everyone’s disbelief, including his own. Some suspect divine intervention is involved.

[ghoul-slime]

Mushy May Day 6 & 7 - You're Blushing & Gift Giving (Aether/Dew)

Did a little bit of prompt combining and swapping this time around! Thank you again @forlorn-crows for organizing this. Normally writing challenges are really hard for me, but I'm having SO much fun with this one. And thank you @ghuleh-recs for the adorable dividers!

Day 6 & 7 - You're Blushing & Gift giving, Aether/Dew, no warnings, 1426 words

PS - See the end of the work for notes/photos of what Aether and Dew got for each other!

It’s their summoning day - eight whole years since the day Aether and Dew were summoned together straight from the Pit to serve the ministry. As with all summoning days, the pack throws a huge party, inviting all the ghouls and siblings in the abbey to celebrate. Papa even makes an appearance to toast his two longest-serving band ghouls.

It’s a huge party, full of food lovingly prepared by Mountain and tasty cocktails served up by Sunny and Aurora. Swiss has appointed himself DJ for the night, knowing just what to play to keep everyone in the mood to party. There’s even a cake, and later, the pack goes around the room one by one, each giving Aether and Dew a thoughtful little gift. 

Finally, the night grows late and the celebrations begin to wind down, and Aether and Dew excuse themselves after exchanging a final round of bear hugs and big, wet kisses (Phantom is definitely not drunk, thank you) with the other members of the pack before heading back to their shared room.

They always wait to exchange their gifts for each other in private, a tradition they started just one year after their joint summoning. The same year they promised themselves to each other as mates.

As soon as their door is closed, however, Dew’s mood shifts. He seems anxious, eyes immediately darting over to the brown paper gift bag he’d set on the nightstand with Aether’s name written carefully across the tag.

“Can you go first?” Dew asks, uncharacteristically reserved. 

Aether smiles, unsure as to why the normally confident little fire ghoul might be so nervous, and passes his gift over. It’s wrapped simply in white paper with a red bow on top and the tag says “Dew,” with a little heart drawn next to it. Dew takes it and carefully tears into one of the corners of the paper with a claw.

“You didn’t!” Dew exclaims, immediately recognizing the mystery object. He rips through the rest of the wrapping with abandon and pulls out a hefty box set of DVDs in smart, red packaging.

“I did!” Aether beams, proud of himself and delighting in the way Dew is already ripping off the cellophane and flipping through the sizable book of disks with a massive grin on his pretty face. “Couldn’t have us running out of movies to watch on kung-fu night, now could we?”

“Yes!! You’re the best, Aeth!” Dew exclaims with delight, throwing his arms around the quintessence ghoul and showering his face in kisses. “Gotta pace ourselves this time though. We watched them all way too fast last time.” He looks back at Aether with wide, expectant eyes.

Aether nods in agreement and presses a kiss to Dew’s forehead. Happy that his nerves seemed to have calmed for the time being and ecstatic that Dew loves his gift so much.

Dew flips through the disks for another few moments, rattling off all the titles he’s most excited to see. Finally, he sets his gift down and reaches for the bag he has waiting on the nightstand.

“Ok, my turn,” he says, and all but shoves the gift straight into Aether’s chest.

Aether takes the bag and contemplates the little ghoul for a moment.

“You’re blushing,” he informs him, matter-of-factly.

Dew’s head whips up.

“Um, I am definitely not blushing,” he answers with an indignant little pout. 

“No, no. You are definitely blushing,” Aether assures him. “Should I be worried about what’s in this thing?” he teases, holding the bag up next to his ear and shaking it gently.

“Oh my god just open it already before I change my mind and throw it out the damn window,” Dew barks, blushing harder.

Aether leans over to kiss the other ghoul on the lips apologetically before turning his attention back to the gift bag in his lap. He carefully takes out the tissue paper and reaches in, pulling out what looks to be a large, leather-bound book. 

Dew holds his breath.

Aether sets the gift wrap aside to inspect the book, turning it over in his hands. It’s heavy, hand-bound in a supple black leather with a beautifully embossed crescent moon in the center of the cover. Below the moon are two alchemical symbols, also embossed, one for fire and one for quintessence, and around the edges and corners is an elaborate, twisting geometric design. Aether turns the book over in his hands. Along the spine are four brass rivets and in the center, a beautiful piece of brass antique hardware with scalloped edges and a natural patina. 

Aether flips the book’s cover open. There he finds beautifully hand-marbled paper with a bright purple scalloped pattern. There’s a hand-stamped bookplate affixed to the inner cover too, a black and white image of a crescent moon surrounded by a sky of stars, reading ex libris in Latin across the top. On the bottom someone has written “A+D” with a calligraphy pen. And finally, hanging inside and bound into the spine is a thin, black leather bookmark with a tiny brass star charm matching the look of the hardware on the spine. 

It’s absolutely beautiful and like nothing Aether has ever seen before. But despite the antique look of the book, it smells brand new. 

“Dew, did you make this?” Aether looks up at the fire ghoul in awe, mouth agape as he realizes.

Dew’s still blushing, and he reaches to rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Yeah… Mountain helped me with it. Showed me how to emboss the leather and bind all the pages together and everything.” He looks up at Aether. “I messed up a bunch though, so it’s not perfect or anything,” he explains, still rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to make a more elaborate bookplate too, but I ran out of time because I kept fucking up the paper marbling…” he trails off.

“There’s uh.. There’s more too.” He starts again. “If you open it.”

Aether carefully opens the book again, this time to the first proper page, where he’s greeted by a collage of photos, little pieces of paper, and other flat objects, lovingly and meticulously affixed to the pages. The first photo is of Aether and Dew, way back on their very first day in the band together. The very first day they met. They stand side by side, not close enough to touch, silver masks pulled over their faces and obscuring their expressions. Dew stands rigid straight with his chest puffed out and his bass strapped across his front. Aether looms tall next to him, shiny new black Fantomen guitar in his hands.

Aether flips through the book and sees their entire history laid out in front of him. Photos of Dew slouched over, fast asleep in his seat on the tour bus. Aether caught with a mouth full of ramen noodles at a restaurant in Tokyo. There are more than just photos too. A pair of their first guitar picks, lovingly used and placed beside each other. A pressed flower, the first flower Aether playfully passed over to Dew after catching it from an audience member. There are little scraps of paper torn from hotel room notepads with silly drawings on them. Pamphlets from tourist traps that Dew insisted they stop at while on the road. A menu from their favorite taco spot in Mexico City. Pages and pages of photos and objects full of cherished memories. 

An archive of them.

Aether can’t find the words, so Dew breaks the silence. “I only filled it halfway… since I figured we’ve got so much more to add in the future.”

Aether makes a choked sound, and Dew looks up at him for the first time since he opened the gift.

“You’re crying.” Dew informs him, a smug little grin creeping across his face. 

Aether sniffles. “No I am not…” 

“Ok, fine. Maybe I am a little bit,” he immediately concedes, wiping away the tears that start to stream down his cheeks. 

Aether sets his precious gift down on the bed and pulls Dew in for a hug, wraps his arms tight around the little ghoul and presses kisses and happy tears into the top of his head.

“Thank you, Dew,” he says after a while of holding his favorite ghoul in the world tight in his arms. “I love it so much, I don’t even know what to say.”

Dew reaches up and pulls Aether down for a kiss. He doesn’t even know why he was nervous at all in the first place.

Dew's gift. What I based Aether's book on, what the marbled paper looks like, and examples of what a bookplate looks like!

[angelswing236]

"Did you stick to the plan?"

Fictober 24 challenge

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Fanfiction

‘Did you do it? Did you sort it?’ Jimmy whispered out of the side of his mouth as Thomas loped into the drawing room to stand beside him at the drinks cabinet.

‘Yes,’ Thomas murmured back, eyes front like the good, well-trained underbutler he was.

‘Did you stick to the plan?’

‘What plan?’

Despite the professional need to remain blank-faced and do an impersonation of a helpful yet expressionless automaton, Jimmy risked shooting an exasperated glance at his colleague.

‘The plan. The one we discussed at length last night,’ he hissed back.

‘We didn’t discuss a plan,’ Thomas said, his servant’s blank perfectly intact.

‘We did! You know, the one with the – ’ Jimmy paused, glancing discreetly around before finishing his sentence ‘ – the powder.’

‘Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy,’ Thomas replied, sotto voce. ‘That wasn’t a plan. That was a lot of drunken waffling on your part and a lot of comforting pats on the shoulder of my poor, inebriated friend on mine. It certainly wasn’t a plan. It wasn’t even in the vague vicinity of a plan.’

‘What are you talking about? It was a great plan!’ Jimmy whispered before having to break off to serve cocktails to a couple of the assembled guests.

Thomas allowed himself a condescending side-eye at the young footman. ‘Putting itching powder in Alfred’s britches is not a great plan; it’s a childish trick.’

‘That lanky beanpole deserved it, though,’ Jimmy muttered, mutinously. ‘Swanning in here and stealing first footman from me. That’s my job, not his!’

‘And it will be your job tonight,’ Thomas said, soothingly.

‘Why? What did you do?’ Jimmy enquired, curious now to find out how Thomas had manipulated the situation to his advantage.

‘Me? Not a thing. Innocent as a lamb, I am,’ Thomas said, serenely.

Jimmy suppressed a snort. ‘Yeah, right. Maybe when you were a babe in arms. Not since, though. What happened?’

‘Well, let’s just say there was an unfortunate series of events downstairs, beginning with Daisy carelessly tripping over my foot and then bashing into Ivy, who most unfortunately stumbled back against the swing door just as Alfred was approaching from the other side. Smacked him in the face something terrible, it did.’

Jimmy abandoned protocol and twisted his head to stare at Thomas in disbelief.

Thomas flashed him a small, triumphant smile. ‘Suffice it to say that Alfred is currently sporting a rather red, swollen nose that would not be a good look for a first footman serving dinner to his lordship’s esteemed guests.’

‘Yes!’ Jimmy crowed under his breath before frowning slightly. ‘Although, does that mean he won’t be serving at all? Have we just doubled our workload?’

‘Given the number of guests, Mr Carson has summoned Mr Molesley to come and act as second footman while Alfred puts ice on his big, fat nose,’ Thomas replied.

‘Thanks, Thomas,’ Jimmy said, gratefully. ‘I owe you. Although I would have liked to see Alfred scratching his backside all day.’

Thomas smiled happily, servant’s blank be damned.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

This left a mark: Christian Dior & Saks partnered for Light up the NYC Night for Christmas 2023

No doubt "DIOR Contract" was at the top of the 2017 RMM- DIANA 2.0 vision board & megxit manifesto. In other words: Sparry's 'honey do' for MeMe list: Meet Beyonce (on yellow carpet)✔ Disney (princess) gig✔. oh to be a fly on a Cali wall after that Dior ANNOUNCEMENT: guttural moans & tears for weeks! 😬

Dior in 2018: MEgain's inappropriate Dior cocktail dress w/pinwheel headpiece for 1st balcony appearance. She also appeared to lose a tooth during the reception.

2019-"Christening"

2021 & 2022 New York City

2022 Jubilee as Wallis Simpson & 2023 Sparry

A word to the wise and to the Meghans: The REAL Santa knows whose on the MARKLED List.

Play stupid games and MARKLE yourselves!

I'll buy that Jill Smoller (formerly Gina) badgered Dior on behalf of MEgain, but no way would Dior sully their brand with the toxic, mentally unstable, over seas royals who can't be bothered to iron 🙄

"Oh & I took FRENCH for 8 years in high school or was it 4 years?" 😉

"...but but I'm not a model, I'm just a mom. Thankfully Sparry was here to coach me that I can be both. I wonder how he became so wise?" Variety 2022

Please follow the link to subscribe to "Woman Behind Kate" & LIKE👍

Princess Diana 2.0 caught in the act

Sparry, YOU MARKLED yourselves. Stop blaming the BRF for your failures to launch.

Princess Diana 2.0 Tom Bower

The Sun: What is the history between Dior and the royal family?

December 12, 2023 || Born in 1905, Christian Dior, the fashion designer, climbed the ranks of several Parisian fashion houses before establishing his own establishment in 1946.

One of the early royal admirers of the designer was Princess Margaret, the sister of Queen Elizabeth II.

She became a client of the fashion house and one of Dior's most famous designs, the "Margaret Dress," was named after her.

Queen Elizabeth II also shared a close connection with Dior.

She appointed Doir to design her Coronation gown for the crowning ceremony in 1953.

The gown, famously called the "Hartnell Dress," was a collaboration between Dior and British couturier Sir Norman Hartnell.

Over the years, various royal family members have continued to wear Dior creations for public appearances.

Dior dressed Prince Harry for King Charles' coronation in May 2023 - as the royal forwent wearing a military uniform. 

Shortly after the coronation ceremony, Dior took to its social media to reveal Kim Jones was the designer behind the suit. 

"Tailoring fit for royalty. Dior is honoured to have dressed Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex, for the coronation of King Charles III in a custom design by Kim Jones," the brand wrote on Instagram.

"Seen arriving at Westminster Abbey, gain an insight into the savoir-faire of his three-piece suit next," it added. 

Why was it speculated that Meghan Markle would have a deal with Dior?

In June 2023, it was reported that Meghan was in talks about taking on a deal with Dior.

Following the cancellation of her Spotify podcast after just one season, there was widespread speculation that the Duchess of Sussex was poised for a new role with the French fashion house.

Meghan has worn Dior several times throughout her time as a working royal, including at the late Queen Elizabeth's funeral in September 2022.

However, sources close to the Royals said no contract had been inked.

Dior also expressed its surprise and confusion when the idea of a deal was initially brought up.

A source told the Telegraph: "The Duchess of Sussex is not in talks to sign a deal with Dior.

"There is no truth to the claims that she will partner with the French fashion house,"

A Dior insider said its team was "nonplussed as to how the story came about".

Who became 'the Duchess of Dior' in 2023?

Meghan lost out on the opportunity of a lucrative Dior job to a Kate Middleton actress.

It was revealed in November 2023, that Meg Bellamy, 21, who plays a young Kate Middleton in season six of the hit royal drama The Crown is to be the new face of Dior.

An insider told The Daily Mail: "They have been queuing up for Meg, she is playing the most famous woman in the world in a globally famous television drama, so many labels and brands want some of that.

"She is a total unknown, but she is being treated like Kate, an A-list princess."

What deals and contracts does Meghan Markle have?

After leaving the royal family and their royal duties, Prince Harry and Meghan vowed to become financially independent.

It was reported that the couple would support themselves through Prince Harry's $10 million inheritance from his mother, Princess Diana.

With the world eager to know their story, lucrative million-dollar deals started rolling in from AppleTV, Netflix, and Spotify.

The couple signed a deal with Netflix through their production company, Archewell Productions, with a hefty payment of $100 million for multiple projects.

They have since released one documentary, Harry and Meghan.

Their upcoming documentary series titled, Heart of Invictus, is in the works.

While their third documentary is to be shot in South Africa, the Sussexes are also planning to delve into the rom-com genre with the streaming giant

In June 2023, the couple made headlines when it was reported that their 25-million-dollar deal with Spotify had ended.

According to Rolling Stone, the couple would pay back a portion of their deal money and look for another company to produce podcasts with.

In a joint statement, they said: "Spotify and Archewell Audio have mutually agreed to part ways and are proud of the series we made together."

Royal biographer Tom Bower believes that the couple's "joint ventures are falling apart" and that Meghan is finding it difficult to sell her brand.

"They're beginning to taste the medicine that they handed out after the Oprah interview and they're finding it very very hard to keep their brand reputable," Bower told new magazine.

"They're constantly having to defend themselves and grasping at opportunities that don't exist anymore."

[in-flagrante]

Downton Abbey ‘makes shock return’ as secret revival series ‘begins filming’

Report claims that the hit period drama is returning for a seventh series, nine years after coming to a close

Louis Chilton

1 hour ago

Hit ITV period drama Downton Abbey is reportedly filming a new series, nearly a decade after coming to an end.

The series, which originally aired on ITV from 2010 to 2015, followed the lives of an aristocratic Yorkshire family in the years between 1912 and 1926.

A new report in the Daily Mail claims that a revival series began filming a few weeks ago, and is expected to arrive on screens “by the end of the year”.

The outlet quotes a source close to the production as saying: “Filming has been going on for a few weeks now, it is all very, very secret. There are people working on it who have never seen secrecy like it.

“Those working on the set have been made to sign non-disclosure agreements so that they don’t give the game away but there is a lot of excitement at the return of Downton.”

The Independent understands that the series has not been commissioned for ITV.

The original series featured an ensemble cast that included Hugh Bonneville, Michelle Dockery, Elizabeth McGovern, Joanne Froggatt, Dan Stevens and Maggie Smith.

It was reportedly Smith’s reluctance to continue that prompted Downton to come to an end after six series in 2015, though the thespian returned for two feature film sequels, 2019’s Downton Abbey and 2022’s Downton Abbey: A New Era.

Rumours of a series comeback started surfacing back in May 2023.

In December, series creator Julian Fellowes didn’t brush off the possibility of a comeback, telling Radio Times: “I have said goodbye to Downton so many times, and I have written the last scene about six or seven times. Now I’ve got out of the habit of making permanent statements about whether it’s gone.

“It just gives me a lot of pleasure that so many people enjoyed it, so to feel that you created a show that cheers people up and they had a good time with it, I love that.”

The Independent has contacted production company Carnival Films and Fellowes for comment.

During its peak, Downton was one of the most popular series on UK TV, with its third series pulling in an average weekly audience of 11.5 million people.

In a two-star review of the latest film adaptation, The Independent’s critic Clarisse Loughrey wrote: “Downton Abbey: A New Era is whatever the opposite of a French Exit might look like. Rather than a party guest slipping out quietly, it’s the bumptious visitor making their final, sluggish turn around the room. Their pottering seems to extend for another hour or two – or another cocktail.

“The first film, released in 2019, was designed to pay a final farewell to Downton’s 47 TV episodes and five Christmas specials – an opportunity to tie up a few loose ends and resolve things with a hearty slap on its own back. A New Era manages to uncover even more threads, and makes neat little bows in the most languid way possible. It’s as much of a film as an encore to the encore can be.”

https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/tv/news/downton-abbey-new-series-return-itv-b2495921.html

[icedsodapop]

Watching Downton Abbey for the servants can be so frustrating for me, a very vocal critic of British aristocracy and imperialism. I need a molotov cocktail to throw at Julian Fellowes.

[chapel-of-rizztual]

Favorite headcanon for every ghoul! Go!

Mountain

obviously I’m a big advocate for puppy mountain 

Had a plant for each of the ghouls. 

Can grow flower and herbs in his hair. Grows mushrooms when he’s stressed

one of the best cooks. 

One of two ghouls that can drive.

Early riser, rises with the sun.

Ridiculously tall. Always hitting his head don door frames.

Big lover of kissing.

Favourite colour is green.

Loves reading poetry

Vegetarian

Ram horns

Collects bug and insects

Spider catcher of the ghouls.

Joins the girls for girls night

Rain

webbing between his finger and toes

Gills on his neck and ribs

Chronic biscuit maker.

Worst chef. Can’t even make cereal

Presses the flowers Mountain grows into books.

Big sweet tooth

Will only wear crop tops. Even in the winter.

Cold to the touch

Scales on his arms and back

Bellybutton piercing. It’s a little sparkly raindrop that Dew got him for Christmas.

Night owl

Super clumsy

Slightly slimy skin

Loves the aquarium

Dewdrop

 Kitty

has scars where his gills use to be

Blue eyes from being a water ghoul

Early riser with Mountain. They like to cuddle on the sofa together while eating breakfast

Obsessed with dinosaurs

Hot to the touch

Good chef

Sucks the spade of his tail

Scared of the dark. Can’t sleep without Aether

Loves baking with Cumulus

Gets used as a heater in the winter

Likes sleeping in the fireplace

Can explode lightbulbs if he sneezes

Calls cereal ‘boy kibble’

Can play drums

Unhealthily obsessed with milk.

Pescatarian

Swiss

Loves getting stoned with Mountain

Just dance champion. Seriously no one can beat him

Horrendous chef. Don’t even let him look at the kitchen

Is the reason salt lamps are banned from the den

Hawaiian shirt wearer

Paints his claws

Has an extensive skincare routine

Crazy strong. Can lift Dew and Rain up together

Steals the fluffy blankets from cirrus’ bed

Crooked fangs

Hates sleeping alone

Greek mythology obsession

Two tongues

Phantom

also puppy

Sleeps with a stuffed rabbit. Seriously can’t sleep without it

Loves hiking and being outdoors. Spends a lot of time in the greenhouse with Mountain

Loves worms

His quintessence is more focused on orthopaedics

Cries at anything

Loves cocktails

Scar on his cheek from when he was summoned

Also Sucks the spade of his tail

Cow-like ears

White strip in his hair

Always wears glittery eyeshadow

Obsessed with cats. Can’t see a cat in the street without stopping

Aether

Dad? No, mother

Also a Hawaiian shirt wearer. Him and Swiss share

Nurse at the abbey infirmary

Carries Dew and Phantom around like kits

Second ghoul that can drive

Red Mohawk

Nose, lip and tongue piercing

Vinyl collection

Best collection of hoodies. Will let anyone wear them

Loves fruit

Paints

Bonded with Copias rats

Can’t ride a bike

Cirrus

daddy

Wears rings

Buff af

She/her/he/him

Goes to the gym with Swiss and Aether

Mechanic. Can fix anything

Good chef

Big top little pants

Makes fun of Aether for not knowing how to ride a bike.

Clothes stealer

Really sharp fangs

Made a Battle jacket

Wine drinker

Flexible

Cumulus

literal Barbie girl

Sims player

Loves all games is so good cod

Whiskey enjoyer

Country music lover

Favourite colour is pink

Crazy curly hair

Has deep stretch marks on her belly. Swiss like to put edible glitter on them and lick it off

Gap in her front teeth

Steals cirrus’ battle jacket

Loves Valentine’s Day

Fluffy tail

Has feathers on her arms and thighs

Sunshine

Literal ball of sunshine

Has a Christmas tree in her room all year around

Should wear glasses but doesn’t

Mountain always grows sunflowers for her

Gold jewellery wearer

Super freckly

Has one yellow and one orange eye

Good at photography

Has a cat hidden in her room

Stayed at the abbey instead of touring because she was working in the nursery and fell in love with the kids

Aurora

kitty

vitiligo

Purrs the loudest

Literal princess. Always gets her way

Obsessed with space and the stars

Loves horror movies

Coffee snob

Can sleep anywhere

Scared of flying

Very good baker

Wears heart shaped sunglasses