#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

[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.”

[spoks0nat]

Make You Feel Alive

Rating: E Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Female Reader Tags: Tipsy Sex, Fucking in an Alleyway, Fingering, Dry Humping, Vaginal Sex, The Gloves Stay On Words: 3,931 AO3 Link

...

Getting fucked beside a dumpster was not exactly on your yearly bingo card. 

It had been a long day. The elder Sisters had drained you with all the errands they had you running from the moment the sun came up to dinner time. It was a Friday evening, your friends had all disappeared on dates here and there with whatever Sibling they were interested in sinning with that week, and you were left sitting alone outside the Abbey waiting for a cab to pick you up. 

Leaving the grounds was not unheard of or forbidden, though it wasn’t often that you felt the urge to explore the town. You hadn’t had a moment to relax, burying yourself in your work and running yourself ragged - to what end, you weren’t sure. Something drew you to leave the Abbey tonight and as the cab pulled up the road, you felt a slight chill down your spine. Chalking it up to the cool September air, you waved the car down and slid into the backseat.

Your dress rode up your legs as you adjusted yourself. At some point you had changed out of your stiff habit for a mid-thigh length black dress with a generous neckline. It felt good, stepping out of your comfort zone for once, albeit frightening as all hell. You fiddled with the buckles on your ankle boots nervously, staring out the window as the cab sped down the forested road towards town.

There was no exact destination in mind, but when you got out of the cab you gravitated towards a bar that seemed to not attract many of the Abbey dwellers. At least that’s what you thought.

Flashing your ID at the bouncer, you weaved past the various bodies standing around until you managed to get a seat at the end of the bar. You tugged on the skirt of your dress as you plopped down on the stool, ordering a Honey Jack lemonade when the bartender came over to you. Thanking him, you took a small sip of the drink, relishing in the burning sensation in your throat. You looked around the bar - there was a neon grucifix hanging on one of the walls - but otherwise you had never seen any of the people there in the Abbey. Good, you thought to yourself. It wasn’t unheard of for local businesses to support the church, especially more divey, underground places. Papa was a local celebrity.

Not that you didn’t want to be found or noticed, but you were hoping for a slight break in the monotony of the Abbey - all robes and habits, sermons and confessions. You wanted to finally let go of all the stress and anxiety you’ve been holding onto lately, and you decided you would do so by nursing your cocktail.

You waved down the bartender for another drink - make it a double - and pulled out your phone, scrolling mindlessly until you finished your drink. You didn’t drink often, outside of wine during Mass or at meal times, and the whiskey drink was slowly dulling your senses. The bartender slid another glass the bar and you looked up, confused. “I didn’t…”

“From the dude over there,” he said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. You looked down to see a shot glass with what smelled like tequila with a little lime wedge stuck on it. You then looked up to see a familiar face at the end of the bar - had he been there this whole time? His white eye glinted, reflecting the bar lights, as the other one seemed darker in contrast behind the black panda circles painted around them. You raised an eyebrow, lifted the shot glass and motioned in his direction, before tossing it back and biting down on the lime before the sharp tang could hit your tastebuds.

As you opened your eyes, recovering from the shot, you noticed that the generous donor of your drink had perched himself upon the stool beside you.

“Cardinal.”

“Sorella, what a surprise to see you here.”

“You come here often?” you asked, realizing how stupid and suggestive you sounded.

The Cardinal chuckled and shrugged. “Often enough to have noticed you seem, eh, out of place.”

“Just wanted a change of scenery for the night.”

“Instead of indulging in sin and debauchery back at the Abbey with the rest of the Siblings?” The Cardinal’s stare drilled into you and you shrank back in your stool. He crossed one leg over the other and you unintentionally bit your lip as you watched him intently. You had seen him in his black suit before - you’d also seen the white one and red one as well - and you knew exactly where it hugged his body best.

“Well why are you here, Cardinal? I’m sure there’s plenty a Sibling lined up to warm your bed.”

The words left your mouth faster than you could process them - thank you alcohol. The Cardinal smirked - suddenly, you wished you had been wearing something slightly more conservative, but it wouldn’t stop the way the Cardinal was undressing you with his eyes. “Just wanted a change of scenery,” he echoed, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth. You pursed your lips and ordered another drink when the bartender came around. “What she’s having,” the Cardinal said before the bartender could even ask. You raised your glass.

“To a change of scenery, then.”

He clinked his glass against yours, fingers lightly brushing your own, lingering longer than you had expected them to. The two of you sipped on the cocktails, and you tried to chat casually with the Cardinal. You hadn’t spent much - any, really - time with him at the Abbey. He was a busy man and you were tied up in your work. Occasionally, he would catch your eye during Mass, but you had convinced yourself it was nothing, he was looking somewhere past you. He had always been shy, skulking around in the shadows, and you noticed he was trying very hard not to stumble over his words while you two talked.

“Cardinal…”

“Copia.”

“Huh?”

“Please. Copia. We’re not at the Abbey.”

“Oh.”

You sat there quietly, staring into your drink and gripping the hem of your dress before looking back up at him and sharing your name. He repeated it back to you, grinning from behind his glass as he took another sip. You took in a deep breath, pressing your chest out before letting it out and curling back into yourself. You noticed him wince slightly and raised your eyebrow as he uncrossed his legs, widening your eyes at the sizable bulge now visible in his crotch. You quickly averted your gaze, hoping he hadn’t noticed you looking. It wasn’t your fault his pants were so tight!

Copia cleared his throat as he adjusted himself.

“In the spirit of the night, sorella, perhaps we change the scenery a little?”

You cocked your head. “You wanna get out of here?” Brazen…

He nodded, licking at his bottom lip before worrying it with his teeth. He was nervous and you could tell. You reached out cautiously and placed a hand on his knee, feeling him jump beneath your touch. He made to put his hand over yours and you quickly drew back with a mischievous glint in your eyes. If he wanted to play this game, you wouldn’t make it easy for him. You hopped down from the barstool, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in toward his ear.

“Well, if you’d like to handle the bar tab, I’m going to go to the restroom and I’ll meet you outside,” you whispered, warm breath tickling his ear and making him shake. Just as quickly as you got up, you skipped off to the bathroom, leaving him to settle the tab.

Once you entered the single person restroom, you clutched the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror. What the hell am I doing? you thought to yourself, staring at the face looking back at you. Sure, you had come out here to maybe make some bad decisions, but never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined the Cardinal propositioning you in a bar. At least, you thought he was propositioning you…

And what if he wasn’t? What if Copia was just looking for a fun night on the town and you happened to be his chosen companion?

Too late.

You had already started shimmying your panties down your legs, balling them up in your fist. 

You flushed the toilet for appearances and left the restroom. Keeping your fist out of view, you looked around for Copia. The bartender caught your eye and motioned to the side exit by where you were standing. You didn’t know how to thank him, and frankly he didn’t seem particularly interested, and you ducked out the side door while tucking your panties into your dress pocket. 

“Copi - AH!” 

A pair of leather-gloved hands came around you from behind, one landing on your throat and one firmly grasping your hip, pressing you into the warm body behind you.

“Ssh, sorella, we can’t be too noisy,” Copia whispered in your ear. Your knees buckled slightly and you tried to keep steady, leaning back against him. His erection pressed hard against your ass and you couldn’t help but wiggle it slightly, eliciting a soft groan from the Cardinal. “Is this, eh, change of scenery enough for you?”

“Copia, yes,” you breathed out, struggling slightly against his leather grip.

“Good, good.” He loosened his grip on your throat, spinning you around to face him. His nose was centimeters from yours as you locked eyes with him, but you were suddenly too nervous to do anything. You swallowed hard as he smirked, pushing into you and forcing you to step backwards until you were pressed up against the cool, damp, brick wall of the alleyway. You bit down on your lip, avoiding his gaze and instead staring at his own mouth, slightly parted and glistening. Copia’s hands shook as he gently cradled your face.

Finally, finally, his lips crashed into yours.

You squeaked and he broke away from you, a worried look crossing his face. You reached up and grabbed his face, pulling it back to yours with a hunger you didn’t know you had. Copia gripped your hips, grinding against you as he pushed you harder against the wall. You were barely hidden from sight, alley lights shut off and a large dumpster to your right blocking the street from seeing the two of you . He could taste the booze on your lips - you were slightly drunker than he was - and it only spurred him on even more. 

“Thought you could tease me tonight, eh?” He moved down to your neck and you tilted your head, giving him better access as his warm, wet tongue made your eyes roll back in your head. Your hands dropped to your sides, palms flat against the brick wall. His voice was shaking - it was endearing. “Sticking your tits out in my face like I wasn’t supposed to notice.” He sucked down hard on your pulse point, releasing your skin with a loud pop! “And then looking at my cock, dirty girl.” He continued his assault on your neck, moving a hand slowly up your side before reaching and palming at your breast. 

Strangled noises and whines escaped your lips. This was a side of the Cardinal that you hadn’t seen before and knowing it was hidden behind his shy exterior made you shiver.

“I’m going to fuck you, sorella, okay?”

Your heart nearly stopped. Copia pulled back, studying your face.

“Is that okay?”

Your chest heaved as you gasped for air. You nodded, reaching up to grab the lapels of his jacket to pull him back into you.

“Use your words, sorella. Is that okay?”

“Please, Copia. Please fuck me,” you cried, desperately whining until his lips reclaimed yours. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip and you moaned into his mouth, allowing him access into yours. Copia continued grinding into you - you could feel his cock straining and throbbing against the confines of his pants. He whined, biting down on your bottom lip as his hand traveled from your breast to the bottom of your dress, skimming against the soft skin of your thigh. Copia’s other hand remained on your hip, holding you in place as he rocked his length against your leg repeatedly. 

He kneed your legs apart while his mouth migrated back to your neck, hand drifting upward under your dress. You could feel yourself growing wetter and wetter, the cool autumn air hitting your slick thighs as the hem of your dress slipped up your legs. 

“Cazzo…” he suddenly choked out as his gloved hand made contact with your bare pussy. You squealed as he bit down on your neck, cupping your mound. His fingers slid through your slick and you grasped at his sides. “So wet for me already, dolcezza?” Copia’s erection was threatening to burst the seams of his pants as he rubbed against you more furiously than before. You now noticed a slight wet spot at the front of his pants. He withdrew his hand, with much protest from you, and touched the tips of his fingers to your lips. Obediently, you parted them and let your tongue swirl around his digits, tasting yourself on the leather and sucking his fingers clean. 

Copia suddenly let go of you, dropping to his knees. With a lascivious grin, he lifted your dress and ducked his head underneath. His hot breath against your wet folds was more than you could bear and your hands drifted downward, one holding up your dress and one tangling in his hair. Copia’s sideburns tickled at the tops of your thighs and you braced yourself as he mumbled something to himself before his lips made contact with… yours. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, running along your outer labia and you gasped, tugging on his hair slightly harder than you planned to. Copia moaned loudly at the sensation, vibrating against you.

Parting your lips with his thumbs, Copia suddenly pressed his lips to your clit, sucking it gently into his mouth. You gasped, bending forwards and further threading your fingers through his hair. The Cardinal’s tongue explored you further, swirling over your clit upon return to the top of your pussy. Each time he did, you cried his name out, earning rough squeezes to the top of your thighs.

“Delicious,” he murmured, running his nose along the patch of your pubic hair. Diving back in, Copia returned his tongue’s attention to your clit while two fingers toyed at your entrance. “Sorella, can I? May I?” He mouthed at you hungrily, running the tips of his gloved fingers against you.

“Uh huh,” you choked out, nodding pathetically at him as you made eye contact. Seeing his face buried between your legs sent shivers down your spine. You felt him grin against you as his fingers - gloved fingers - entered you, curling gently as he rubbed against the spongy spot within. The squeal that escaped from your mouth echoed in the alley and you bit down on your lip as you heard people walking past on the sidewalk.

Copia pulled away from you, replacing his tongue with his thumb as you continued to cry his name out. “Someone will hear you, cara, you should be careful.” He pumped his fingers harder, and another moan slipped from your lips.

“You’re making it… difficult,” you gasped, releasing one hand from his hair and desperately clawing at the brick wall behind you.

“Good.”

Copia latched himself to you again and the sensation of his tongue and lips on your clit was enough to send you over the edge. You cried out as you bucked your hips against his face, and Copia gripped your ass hard to keep you firmly attached to him. As your hip thrusts slowed down and you cried out from overstimulation, Copia withdrew his fingers, licking them clean. He rose from the ground, wiping the dirt from his knees. 

He caged you between his arms, kissing you deeply and slowly, almost like one would a lover. You tried to push the thought from your mind as you tasted yourself on his tongue. His mustache was drenched in your fluids and smearing them all over your face. You became very aware of Copia’s throbbing erection pressing into your thigh again. Slipping one hand to the nape of his neck, you twisted your fingers into his hair and held him against you as your other hand traveled down to his crotch. 

Copia’s eyes shot open as he pressed his groin into your palm. “So hard from eating me out, Cardinal?” you purred, tilting his head so you had a better angle to press your lips to his neck. He shuddered, and you felt his cock jerking against your hand. You trailed soft, wet, open mouthed kisses across his throat as your finger outlined his cock, stroking gently until you could trace his balls through his pants. 

“Cara, please,” he choked out, desperately thrusting into your hand. 

“Please what, Cardinal?”

“Say you want this. Say you want me.”

“I need you, Copia.”

The second his name left your lips, his mouth covered yours again as he fumbled with his pants button. His cock sprang free of its confines and you gently wrapped your fingers around his length, feeling the warm bead of pre-cum dripping from his head. He groaned, reaching down to pull your dress up over your hips. Your boot found a foothold on the dumpster ledge as you opened yourself up to him. 

Copia sighed into your neck as you lined him up with your entrance, gently rubbing his head along your folds. “Dolcezza, you say stop and I stop, sì?”

You nodded as his stubble scraped against your neck. Copia’s hands drifted to your hips, holding you in place as he slowly filled and stretched you. You couldn’t stop yourself from whining desperately in his ear, clawing at his back until he finally bottomed out inside you. Copia trembled, not moving as he let you adjust to his girth. 

“Fuck me, Copia. Take me. Make me yours,” you moaned into his ear, feeling his cock swelling inside you with every word. He pressed his forehead to yours, mismatched eyes fixed on you as he slowly began to thrust up into you. You flung your arms over his shoulders and around his neck, holding him tightly as your skin slapped together, his pants slowly creeping down his thighs with each thrust. 

Copia mumbled something in Italian before covering your mouth with his, prodding at your lips with his tongue. He rocked into you slowly, licking at your mouth until you finally let him in. Once his tongue met yours, Copia’s grip on your hips got tight and you felt his knees start to shake. He panted into your mouth, thrusts becoming sloppier and less rhythmic as he sped up, cradling the back of your head with one hand so you wouldn’t slam backwards into the wall. 

“Dolcezza. Bellezza. Brava ragazza.” He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust into you before resuming his relentless pace. “Cazzo… Cara, I won’t last.” You let out a soft, breathy moan as his hips stuttered against you. “Where should I…”

“Cum in me.” You startled him and he stalled briefly before fucking into you again. “Fill me up, Copia.” Before he could react, you tightened your arms around him and closed the gap, tangling your tongue with his. Copia whined as he desperately fucked up into you several more times before emptying inside you. You felt his cock kick pathetically as you milked him dry. Copia’s whole body relaxed against you as you continued kissing him, letting his now softened cock slip out of you. 

Copia pulled out of your grasp, taking your face in both hands and looking at you with a feeling you couldn’t place. He pressed his lips to your forehead, stroking your cheeks with his thumb. “Would you like a ride back home?” 

You nodded tentatively, forcing yourself to meet his mismatched eyes. The green one looked brighter than usual as he smiled down at you. Copia started to put himself back in his pants and looked around. “Let me find something to clean you up…”

“No need,” you said, pulling your panties out from your pocket. He watched, mouth falling open, as you mopped up what you could spilling out from your pussy with the cotton panties. You made to toss them in the dumpster and Copia stopped you, holding out his hand. You dropped the panties in his hand with a grin and he carefully folded them up and tucked them in his pocket. 

“Just a little reminder of tonight.”

You adjusted your dress and pushed yourself off the wall, stumbling slightly into Copia’s arms. 

“Come, one of my ghouls has the car nearby.” He dropped his hand to your waist - now a familiar feeling - and led you out of the alleyway towards his car. He held the door open for you and you slid in, startled by the ghoul sitting behind the wheel. “This is Aether. He doesn’t bite.”

You sat awkwardly, toying with the hem of your dress, when Copia patted the space next to him. You scooted closer to him and he tucked you under his arm against his chest. The ride passed by in silence, but not an uncomfortable one, as you listened to Copia’s heartbeat hammering in your ear. He nervously played with your dress sleeve, skimming his gloved fingers against your skin every so often. You were suddenly very sober and very aware of the fact that the Cardinal’s cum was coating your thighs. 

Aether pulled up to the front entrance and the two of you got out of the car. Copia’s knuckles bumped against yours as the two of you walked up the steps, entering the Abbey. “Let me walk you back, sorella, it’s late.”

You nodded, still unsure of how exactly tonight’s events transpired, leading the Cardinal back towards your dorm. He kept nervously bumping into your shoulder as you two walked and you finally reached over and grabbed his hand. His fingers flexed, gloves creaking beneath the leather, before relaxing and entwining with yours. You looked up at him and he had a hint of a smile on his paint-smeared lips. 

“This would be me.” You stopped in front of your door and turned to face him, reaching up with your free hand to wipe some smudged paint from the corner of his mouth. 

“Can I see you again?”

“You know where I live, Cardinal, I’m sure we’re bound to run into each other.”

Copia sighed, anxiously squeezing your hand. “No… cazzo… Can I take you out some time? For a walk? Dinner? No pressure.” His face turned red as he babbled and you quieted him with a kiss. You could hardly believe this was the same man who had spontaneously fucked you raw by a dumpster in the middle of a bar alleyway. Reaching around him and into his back pocket, you pulled out his phone and tapped your number into it. 

“Call me.”

Before he could register what you said, you disappeared behind your door and clicked the lock behind you. You slumped down against it, squealing into your fist. Your phone buzzed and you fished it out of your pocket. 

Good night, dolcezza. Sleep well. Dream of me. C. C. 

[lukedanger]

OC Ask Game, tagged by @dujour13

Here's my Wrath of the Righteous Knight-Commander, Elaina.

(No portrait yet - have not yet gotten around to getting one commissioned, but the one I used from a portrait pack is in the KC Template post I did)

General . . .

Name: Elaina Alias: None besides the standard titles (and Nenio calling her 'Book-Paladin') Age: 24 (25 after WotR Act I) Gender: Female Occupation: Paladin (of Iomedae), Knight in the Order of Heralds, Knight-Commander Sexual Orientation: Lesbian Spoken Language(s): Taldane, Kellid (not too well though), Celestial (post-mythic path, possibly Truespeech from that?)

Favorite . . .

Color: Silver Entertainment: Reading, song (singing or listening), discussions on philosophy or history Pastime: Besides reading just for her own enjoyment, she also begins to step into writing herself after the dust settles with Wrath (Ember, the Redeemed Brotherhood, and how they relate to Andoletta's teachings becomes one of the first major writings she does) Food: Fish, particularly if spiced (and not Worldwound mutated) Drink: Spiced Demonade* for non-alcoholic; for alcohol she prefers various wines thanks to her upbringing *From one of the recent sourcebooks; it's basically an energy cocktail for students needing to be awake post-carousing. No actual demon parts in the recipe (just in case the ingredients from Wrath gave you ideas)

Have they . . .

Passed University: Equivalent studies from Iomedae's church and training from the Order of Heralds, but technically 'No' because it was not at a formal university with degrees. Had Sex: Yes, though pre-WotR it was services ran by Lymnieris' temples rather than anything romantic. Had Sex in Public: No, and the idea makes her uncomfortable as she sees it as something private (not shameful, just private) Got Tatoos: No, though if she got any it would probably be pattern art instead of something specific. Got Piercings: None, partially because she would end up closing any piercing holes with how much healing she slings around with her Hospitaller archetype. Got Scarred: The scar beneath her heart from mythic power. Otherwise, most of the ones she would have gained would be healed before they scarred thanks to a combination of using Lay on Hands to dispel fatigue on the march and frequently channeling positive energy. Had a Broken Heart: Not romantically, but she had a big one with being a crusader and its leadership due to the Act IV Field Trip and how she got sent on it in Wrath, followed not long after by the Hand's (understandable) freakout during said field trip.

Are they . . .

A Cuddler: Reciprocally. Not touchy-feel enough to start it, but she'll settle into it if someone else is starting it (*cough*Arueshale*cough*) Scared Easily: Immune to compelled fear as a paladin and is the kind of person who would take a shot at a Demon Lord to see if the random crossbow given to her could really pierce their hide. On the other hand, she is usually good at risk assessment when looking at a bad idea she really wants to see the result of. Jealous Easily: Not romantically, but does have a deep chip in her shoulder about people judging the Mendevian Crusaders (especially negatively when those doing said judging are letting Mendev take the brunt of the carnage) and envies the safety and prosperity other realms have. Trustworthy: Yes, and will try to at least uphold the spirit of what she promises. Though she is not above being technical with the truth should a situation really warrant it, but it has to be something she planned on.

Family . . .

Sibling(s): None by blood Parents: Biological parents were dead long ago (for much longer than Elaina knew), and she never had proper adoptive parents at the abbey as the orphans she was with were communally raised. Children: None yet, though she is in no rush either given everything. Pets: Only if you count horses she uses for travel, though her personal one would have been lost just before the attack on Kenabres and afterwards she would just be borrowing one from the Crusade's stable for travel.

Open reblog for anyone who is interested!

[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.

[gravehags]

desinare - the natalie edit

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

Rating: Teen

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

Words: 3,791

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

a/n: take a shot every time secondo pours more wine in her glass

~~~

“Eh, signorina?”

“Fuck!” Natalie yelps, dropping the stack of folders she was 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 she smiles kindly up at him as she stoops to pick up her 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 her jump. You fucking fool. “I…I mean I learned how…how to be graceful from dancing. Ballet. In my youth.”

She’s making an impressed face now which is worlds better from the look of terror she previously wore when he barked at her like a senile chihuahua.

“The Cardinal is a dancer?” she murmurs, pale green 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 her eyes flick up and down his form and a tiny smirk lift the corner of her lips.

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

Is she flirting with him? Natalie turns to busy herself with organizing her folders but Copia can see the pink tinge at the tips of her 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?”

Her mouth forms a little “o”.

“There’s more than one Papa?” she asks, 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 her 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,” she says 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 her lips silently form the damning word and her cheeks light up. Shit, why couldn’t he be normal around her?

“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–” she looks as panicked as he feels at her 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 her in a pretty cocktail dress, heels lifting her shapely calves and her 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,” Natalie says, “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.”

She’s embarrassed. As if he couldn’t listen to her talk and talk and talk for eternity. He’s about to tell her something to that effect before his brain yanks him away. Bit much for only knowing her for a month, fool. Instead he gives her 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,” she says softly as he turns and exits her office. He doesn’t see the way she collapses into her desk chair with a dreamy sigh.

—

She’s going to be late.

As soon as Natalie’s work day ended she hustled up to her apartment and began getting ready but it’s now 5:41 and she still has no idea what the fuck she’s going to wear. Half her wardrobe lies scattered on her bedroom floor (she knows it’s going to make her insane when she returns later that night but fuck she can’t remember what clothes she even owns) as she stands in the center of the room in her underwear.

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

She eyes a snug, knee length burgundy velvet cocktail dress to her left. She’s been saving this one for a while - for a real special occasion. She would undoubtedly impress but…nah. Too much. To her right is a pair of mom jeans - she picks them up and gives them a tentative sniff - acceptably clean. Natalie tosses the jeans onto her bed behind her. Okay now for a top. How about…ah! She spies a soft, dark green sweater in a pile and snatches it up. Cozy, comfortable, and practical. Perfect. As for shoes…her well-loved black Chelsea boots should do the trick. She looks down at her watch.

5:48

Shit! Almost tripping more than once she jumps into her jeans and pulls the sweater over her head, tucking it halfway into her waistband. She doesn’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 she makes it out the door with her phone and keys, it’s five to six. She briskly power walks the entire trip to her office and by the time she’s standing outside the door, she’s clutching her side and heaving for breath. She prays to whoever is listening that the Cardinal is a little late so she has a chance to compose herself but before she can even form the thought–

“Natalia?”

Natalie spins on the spot, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Cardinal!” she rasps. “Uh…hi.”

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

“Thanks, it’s the sweat.”

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

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

“What’s for dinner?” she asks, as the two of them 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,” she smiles .

“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 Shreck 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.”

Natalie realizes they’re now in a wing of the abbey she’s 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 - she recognizes one of them and the other two are staring in her direction. The tallest (and from what she 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. Natalie’s suddenly aware of four pairs of the same mismatched eyes boring into her.

“Uh. Hi.”

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

“It’s an honor to meet all of you,” she murmurs, 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,” Natalie sighs in relief. He gestures her over to the counter.

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

Piccolina? She tells herself to look that up whenever she manages to take a bathroom break.

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

He smirks. She knows immediately that 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 her a generous glass which she swirls delicately in her 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–”

Natalie takes a sip as Secondo watches her carefully.

“Wow that’s gorgeous,” she gushes, “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 her glass, “I’m pleased you like it, you have excellent taste.”

“Oh, I really don’t,” she smiles, “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,” she smirks.

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

Secondo ushers her 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 Natalie blushes as he gives her 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.

She’s distracted by Primo softly saying her name and she turns to the older man with a smile.

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

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

“It’s um. It’s been…a lot,” she says, looking down into her 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 her 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?” she asks, cocking her 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 she assumes is the dining room. When he returns, he’s bearing a bouquet of vibrant pink dahlias in a glass vase.

“Oh!” Natalie says, setting down her wine glass as Primo places the flowers on the table in front of her.

“For you, cara. To welcome you.”

She’s squeezing the meat of her thigh as hard as she can under the table to keep from crying but the tears well up in her eyes all the same.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and he reaches out to take her hand into his long, wizened one.

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

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

“Uh, need help with dinner, Secondo?” Natalie asks, 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,” she says 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 her face is red.

“Yes, Papa,” she murmurs obediently as she rises from the table, missing the way the four men look at each other with raised eyebrows.

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

Natalie gives him a look.

“I think I can handle toast,” she scoffs, setting down her glass. “Are we making bruschetta?” 

He favors her with a nod and a half-smile. A point in her 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 her a square metal pan with holes perforated in it.

“You’ve used a brustolina before?”

No, she has not used a brustolina before.

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

He gives her 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 Natalie feels.

“It’s alright, fiore mio,” Primo soothes as she sniffles, 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 her side and Primo steps away to make room. When her head thunks heavy against his shoulder he wraps an arm around her, making soothing noises. 

She doesn’t see Terzo thrusting violently into the air with a wide grin on his face, still standing on the table but she does see Secondo yank him down when he lets out an undignified squawk. The noise has her choking out a laugh, and she turns to Copia to see him staring down at her 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 her wine glass and gives her yet another generous pour, “--go take a seat. Enjoy the company of the Cardinal, and Primo, and my other idiot brother.”

She nods, accepting her glass.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, and she feels Copia’s hand rub warm circles on the small of her back. She’d be willing to burn all the toast in the abbey if this is what she got out of it.

“It’s nothing, Natalia, truly,” he says quietly in her ear, leading her 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 them to take their seats in the dining room Natalie is…pleasantly tipsy and incredibly hungry. The smells coming from the kitchen are so decadent, she can feel herself salivating. 

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

She has to sit on her hands to keep from rudely digging in before the others have been delivered their meals but as soon as Secondo sits down, she’s ready to strike. Before she 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 Natalia. Ave Sathanas.”

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

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

Copia’s hand, resting next to hers on the table, twitches and ever-so-slightly his gloved pinkie finger brushes against hers. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye but he’s staring diligently down at his plate, mustache twitching as he fights to smile. The sight makes her heart thud in her chest. It’s as if the two of them are in their own little world, oblivious to everyone else despite the fact that neither of them openly acknowledge the other. It’s a breathtaking feeling and Natalie wishes she could put her 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 her from across the table, mouth full of chicken cacciatore. The whole room, in fact, is staring at her.

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

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

“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.”

Natalie’s brow furrows as she mouths 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 her candidness.

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

Oh. She’s 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.”

Natalie doesn’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?”

Natalie’s cheeks redden at the moan that escapes her mouth. Copia coughs sharply at her side, having turned red himself.

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

“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 she exits the room she sees 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.”

Natalie moves to exit the room but Copia stands abruptly.

“No, please. Stay.”

She smiles. If only he knew now how she’d take that request to heart.

[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