#I wonder what cloche is showing her

[robo-milky]

HIHI CHRIS!!!!! IM BUSY SO ITLL PROBS TAKE ME A WHILE TO REPLY TO THIS but may I req ∅ w Ashi??? 👀

[Ask game]

Cloche’ thoughts on…

Ashi

“I can’t say Master Ashi is a friend… but we get can along.”

• Cloche is very lukewarm about Ashi. She doesn’t harbour a strong like or dislike, as Ashi seems to be one of the more normal individuals— albeit a little too overwhelmingly energetic for Cloche. Despite this, Cloche commends Ashi’s cheerfulness, and respects the strength she has to never show a frown. Admittedly, Cloche thought Ashi’s bubbling positivity to be annoying at first, until after noticing how… static it was. As a skeptic who hates leaving stones unturned, Cloche can’t help but feel like there’s something more.

• Another artist, huh? Cloche would follow Ashi’s art account on Magicam (or whichever social media). She’d enjoy being able to converse with another artist and ask for Ashi’s thoughts on things, regarding designs or palette choices. Cloche is also intrigued in what Ashi would bring to the table. Each artist has their own interpretation after all.

• Cloche doesn’t mind seeing Ashi and Ace show off a little in public. Key word, a little. With Binding Bells, Cloche can feel like a third-wheel when she’s not even in their vicinity.

• In the end, if Cloche takes Ashi at face value and dismisses her own suspicions, Ashi’s lack of a concise opinion tick her off a little. She can understand how there may be some “go with the flow” kinds of people who genuinely doesn’t mind doing anything, but Cloche thinks the ambiguity is a hindrance that may slow down or complicate communication.

“That’s a nice pen colour you have there, Master Ashi.”

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 62 - service worker fashion in 1924

More servant outfits, but this is a more mixed bag: We have Mrs Hughes, Mrs Patmore, Daisy (why is no one calling her Mrs Mason, ever?), and the short little glimpse we get at the housemaids because the basic maids are only extras now; speaking roles are lady’s maids. Because that is the best Julian Fellowes could imagine a lower-class person to achieve in their life.

Not that Mrs Hughes working dresses are so much more thrilling than lady’s maid fashion. The first ensemble that stays for most of season 6 is just kind of there with a double stripe along the trims, and it’s honestly so unstructured and without any additions like collar and cuffs that it might as well be a dressing gown. The second dress is nicer, but I think it’s the dress she already had last season and she just swapped out the under layer – the little soutache elements framing the front split are the same, and so is the belt. Regardless, I do appreciate the change; the beige and brown are giving this outfit a little more life.

Could only get this one shot of the black coat, but it’s enough to tell that someone’s done a little box pleating to that collar. Also, is this coat and hat combo actually black or film black, as in, dark blue? I’m not sure, but then Mrs Hughes has no qualms pairing the hat with her grey pinstripe walking suit, so it may be colorless. The walking suit is nice, but it looks like it doesn’t fit her; according to smooth 1920s fashions, this wrinkling around her chest should not be there.

--------------

Not much new for Mrs Patmore because she’s one of those characters who never really reached the 1920s fashion-wise, so while I can recognize this as a new dress thanks to the fabric, it has the exact same shape as the last, same collar, same sleeve volume, pin tucks on the front. It’ll stay into season 6 because why ever not; Mrs Patmore doesn’t care for change.

Same with this blueish green blouse, which is curiously not a season holdover, but instead gets replaced in season 6 with an almost identical one. No wonder I never paid much attention to Mrs Patmore’s clothes. And it’s with the pin tucks again. Is there no novelty Downstairs?

--------------

Daisy’s new working outfit is pretty neat for such a grey dress. It fits her well, the double-breasted closure and the collar really serve some chef vibes, and I cannot believe that this is swapped out for something shabbier come season 6.

Something else that inexplicably disappears between seasons is Daisy’s everyday coat, a brownish tweed with a cute zigzag weave and waffle-structured cuffs. She even wears a little brooch to this because this season Daisy gets really into motion to kick up her life prospects a notch. Perhaps that’s why the coat has to go, because she wants something that fits her better than this for her belated school graduation. That peach dress with the fractal print that peeks out in the first picture is only seen in full in season 6.

Another peach shirt, another coat, this one very nice – they show up again, albeit quite late, in season 6. Daisy got them for rare occasions like visiting London and writing her exams. Which is a damn shame, because that tie closure of the shirt with the square buckle is quite chic. On the plus side, this strange hat does not reappear with them. What is that? An uber-cloche? Why is it so exaggeratedly bowl-y on top? And why does Daisy wear it for a visit to her father-in-law despite it not matching that yellow checkered dress with the lace additions? The only element of this hat that doesn’t irritate me is the comeback of the chignon cutout in the back.

--------------

And now to the nameless nanny and maids. Said nanny, despite being ostensibly higher up in the hierarchy, can only be differed from the maids in one regard: Her uniform doesn’t fit her. The dress is crinkly, the apron looks like it’s gonna fall off of her any moment. The maid uniforms are fine by comparison, even though they only have frilly bands on their head instead of caps. But the spread collars sit, the aprons literally look like drawn on with a ruler. I don’t know why they’re wearing black dresses, which I’ve only known as evening uniforms so far, in daylight, because when the Crawleys visit another castle for a family get-together, who do we see around there? A maid in a grey uniform, which are still very much in use! A crinkly grey uniform, no less. Someone get a flat iron onto this set.

[verfound]

WIP Wednesday 04.19.23

I started picking at the Epic again the last few days. I have this scene in ch2 with Juleka and Luka discussing the ball (it's set after the ball but before morning), but I'm not sure if it's actually going to make it into the final draft? The gist is there, I like the scene, but I'm not sure yet if it'll work better as-is as a flashback or summarized in a conversation with bits of flashback? I'm still kicking it around.

But I do like the scene, and I kind of forgot how much Stupid showed up in it. 😂 So I thought I'd share it today, just in case I do scrap it.

“…you’re still up?”

It didn’t really surprise her.  Luka usually kept late nights, busy composing or tinkering on some project or other, but after the ball – after the way their parents had shoved him at girl after girl, hoping he’d find someone to call his queen – she would have thought he’d turn in early tonight.  Or…well.  Maybe it wasn’t so much that she was surprised to find him still up, but more that she was surprised to find him up and here.

Sitting in the empty kitchens, spinning an off-white macaron in his fingers and watching it with that stupid, besotted grin he’d been wearing since they’d left the ballroom.

…or, no, actually.  Since he’d danced with that black-haired girl in the froofy pink dress.

“Can’t sleep,” he said, twirling the macaron again.  He paused, his smile turning bittersweet.  “I…I think I fucked up, Jules.”

“Obviously,” she scoffed, snatching the macaron away and taking a bite.  Her nose curled.  Marshmallow, eugh.  She’d never understood her brother’s sweet tooth – she’d always preferred the more bitter flavors.

“Juleka!” he snapped as he jolted up, the sound almost strangled, and she frowned as he glared at her.

“What?  You weren’t eating it – just staring at it like a weirdo,” she scoffed.  She gestured to a counter along the wall, where more of the leftover sweets from the party – including a large chunk of the cake she was pretty sure he never got a chance to try – were still set out.  “There’s plenty more.  Just get another.”

He continued to glare at her, so she rolled her eyes and grabbed one of the trays of macarons.  She dropped it on the table before plopping into the seat across from him.  He snatched another macaron from the plate, but he didn’t eat that one, either.  He just sat there, staring at it, that stupid smile back on his face.

“What the hell, Luka?” she asked, blinking at him.  He sighed and dropped his head on the table.  “I know mom and dad are pissed at you for showing up late, but –”

“I wasn’t late,” he grumbled. He glanced up at her, suddenly looking more guilty than stupid, and her eyes widened.

“No,” she gasped.  “You…you actually went through with it?”

She had known he was considering, but she hadn’t thought…she hadn’t noticed…

“Why do you think I had all the musicians wear hoods?” he asked, his tone not quite sharp enough to be sarcastic, but Juleka still felt the bite.  He groaned and dropped his head back to the table.  “And it was going great – perfect – but then…”

“What did you do?” she asked, remembering his claim that he had fucked up.  She frowned when she noticed his thumb rubbing against his fingers.  He’d been doing that most of the night, like he had burned himself or something.  She wondered if he had touched one of the cloches while it was still hot.  “Besides piss our parents off.”

“That’s the problem, Jules,” he groaned, pressing his thumb into his middle finger.  “I don’t think I did.  There was…did you see the girl in the pink dress?  The first one I danced with?”

He had lifted his head to stare at the macaron again, a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes.  She snorted and grabbed another one from the plate, ignoring the way he glared at her for it.  There were plenty there – he could share.

She took a bite and smiled.  Dark chocolate and cherry – much better.

“How could I not?  You didn’t stop gawking at her all night,” she said, and he bristled.

“I was not –” he started, but she just tutted and shoved the rest of the macaron in her mouth.

“You totally were,” she said after swallowing.  She tilted her head to the side frowning as she narrowed her eyes at him.  “Wait…wasn’t that the girl dad wanted you to meet?  The one you swore up and down you absolutely were not going to fall in love with?”

“Her name is Marinette, and I’m going to marry her and have all her babies,” he said, and the seriousness of his tone – the determination, the ferocity – almost gave her pause.  Instead, she snorted and chucked a macaron at his head.

“That’s not how babies work, dumbass,” she said.  He had caught the macaron and was now staring at that one like it was something precious, too.  Why was her idiot brother so weird?

“…ok, she can have my babies,” he said, smiling stupidly at the macaron.  “If she wants to.  Gods, I hope she wants to…”

“You had one dance,” Juleka said, shaking her head.  “You can’t fall in love with someone after one dance.  And what happened to wanting to find your soulmate?”

His gaze drifted to his hand, his smile getting even more stupid as his thumb brushed across his fingers again.  Her eyes widened in realization.

“…I think I did,” he said softly.  She shook her head, baffled.

“But…you were wearing gloves the whole night.  You never even touched her,” she said, looking back at his hand.  Despite the way he’d been itching at it all night, his skin looked perfectly normal.  If the pink girl was his soulmate like he claimed, and that was his mark, shouldn’t his skin be red or something?

“I met her before Dad introduced us,” he said.  He was still staring at his hand, smiling softly.  “It was an accident, but…”

And then Luka was telling her the dumbest story, about how he had snuck in with the band and met the pink girl by accident during a break.  How he hadn’t introduced himself as the prince – how he had used another name – so that by the time their father was introducing them it was too late.  The pink girl was too busy looking for him to pay attention to…well, him, and now the dumbass was convinced she was his soulmate because his hand – the hand that had touched her shoulder – wouldn’t stop itching, and that had to mean something, right?

“…maybe you’re just allergic to whatever her dress was made of,” Juleka snorted, and she could tell from the look on his face that he wanted to  throw the macaron at her.  If it hadn’t been made by his soulmate, he probably would have.

“She’s the one, Jules,” he said fiercely, his unmarked-yet-itchy hand clenching into a fist.  “I know it.”

“You know Dad’s never going to let you live this down, right?” she asked, smirking as she reached for another macaron.  “He is going to be absolutely insufferable when you tell him.”

“…don’t you think I should tell Marinette first?” he asked, rolling his eyes.  He frowned as he looked at the macarons.  “If she even wants to talk to me, that is.  I lied to her.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding.  “You really shot yourself in the foot there.”

“Juleka!” he groaned, and she shrugged as she finished the macaron.  She hopped off her stool and reached for the plate, taking it back over to the counter to sit with the other leftover desserts.  She glanced at the uneaten cake and, after a moment’s deliberation, cut him off a small slice.

“Well, the good news is…” she said, walking over to him and offering him the slice.  He stared at it, his expression going weird again, and she rolled her eyes before lifting the fork with a piece of cake on it.  She wagged it in front of his mouth, and he rolled his eyes before taking the fork from her.  His eyes widened the second the cake was in his mouth.  “…it’s not like you don’t know where she lives.  Get some sleep so you don’t look like a deranged lunatic come morning, and then go serenade her under her window or whatever it is you romantic musician types do.  And actually have some of this cake – it’s your birthday, after all.  Aren’t we supposed to be celebrating?”

“…I am going to get so fat,” he said, taking the rest of the cake from her to shove another bite in his mouth.  “Dad said she made this.  Did you try this, Juleka, it’s amazing?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, hooking her arm through his elbow and tugging him up.

“Come on, dumbass,” she snickered, leading him towards the door.  “You’ve seen Uncle Tom, right?  I doubt she’s going to mind if you gain a couple hundred pounds.”

“…I’m going to mind,” Luka said, but that didn’t stop him from popping another bite of cake into his mouth.  “This is seriously the best cake ever.  Did you try this yet?  Gods, what did she put in it?”

“Of course I tried it,” Juleka snorted, maneuvering her idiot brother so he didn’t walk into the wall as they cleared the steps.  “Mom wasn’t shoving me at every eligible bachelor in the kingdom.  I needed something to keep me awake.”

She wasn’t about to tell him she had thought the cake was too sweet, too.  He was the one who liked marshmallows, not her, and it was his birthday cake.

“I’m going to marry her, and she’s going to bake amazing cakes, and I’m going to get so fat,” Luka said, shaking his head.  “I’m going to need to go on a quest just to stay in shape.  Are we at war with anyone?  We might need to go to war with someone.  How much exercise do you think soldiers get?”

“…you are such a dumbass,” Juleka snorted, shaking her head as she laughed.  “Come on, you goof.  Let’s get you to bed before you start naming your ki…”

That was when it all went a bit pear-shaped.

That was when the palace had started shaking, and the hallway before them disappeared in a terrible crash as a massive red dragon had crashed through the ceiling.

[bridgertonbabe]

Domestic Benophie Drabble

Sophie blinked awake to the sun shining through the window with the rays warming up the bed in which she lay in. She rolled over Benedict’s bedside table where he always left his pocket watch (her husband seemed incapable of actually carrying it on his person) and took a look at the time. It was nearing three in the afternoon and she groaned at the thought of having missed out on most of the day. 

Two weeks had passed since Violet’s traumatic birth and though Sophie felt perfectly well again, she still required bed rest on the doctor’s orders. She hated laying about all day, being waited on hand and foot by the Crabtrees and her husband, and in spite of the fact she spent most days doing nothing she still experienced exhaustion to nap during the day as well as sleep all through the night. Sophie hated feeling so useless especially now that she was a mother of four. Sure, her boys would visit her all the time and snuggle up to her in bed, even dozing off alongside her, but she wanted to be able to run after them just like she had done for the last six years. 

Though still on bed rest, she was permitted to use the bathroom unaccompanied; but today Sophie was in need of a longer stretch than a mere wander to the next room. 

She got out of bed, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders (Benedict would only scold her otherwise), and went off in search of her baby. When she was awake Violet’s bassinet would be in their bedchamber but when Sophie was resting it would be in the nursery. 

She padded into the pastel green room (the colour chosen by Benedict as a sign of new life and beginnings, an artistic choice Sophie couldn’t disagree with) and already wore a smile on her face as she approached where her baby lay - except, when she peered into the bassinet, Violet wasn’t there. Though disappointed not to have found her tiny little baby, Sophie expected her husband to be doting on the infant. 

Sophie made her way downstairs and observed how quiet the house seemed to be. In the dining room she found a transparent cloche displaying sandwiches on the table with a note propped up against it. Mrs Crabtree had ever so kindly saved the lunch for Sophie upon her late rising and the housekeeper wished her a happy rest of the day with the mention that she’d see her tomorrow. Touched by Mrs Crabtree’s thoughtfulness - not that she ever showed her employers anything less - Sophie helped herself to a couple of the sandwiches before she returned to the mission of locating Violet. 

She still couldn’t get over just how peaceful My Cottage currently was. With a baby and three young boys under the age of six, the household rarely knew tranquility like this. Sophie began to wonder if Benedict had taken the children out to the lake, though he would normally inform her of such a plan, or at the very least leave her a note. She decided there was one more port of call before she tried trekking outside to meet her family. 

The door to Benedict’s studio was open ajar and Sophie quietly entered. Her movement was instantly caught by her husband, who peered around the canvas he was working on. 

“Good afternoon, my love.” he greeted gently. “And what are you doing out of bed?” he enquired, instantly beginning to make a fuss of her like he had perpetually done so for the last two weeks. 

“Stretching my legs so I do not acquire bed sores.” she replied with an arched a brow, daring him to admonish her for moving about freely. 

“Darling, if you were to develop such sores, you know I would be on hand to massage them away.” he winked at her as a crooked grin tugged on his face. “Wherever your sores might be, I shall relieve you of them as your dutiful husband.” 

“I do not doubt that.” she shook her head at him, trying to suppress her amusement from his flirtations. “It’s awfully quiet.” she remarked and stepped forward into the room. “What have you done with our boys?” 

“Well, Alex and Will are having their afternoon nap, whilst our eldest is,” and he turned around only to raise his brows in acknowledgement, “also asleep.” he nodded. 

Sophie steered around the easel to follow her husband’s gaze. Charlie was lounging on the sofa, clearly having been keeping his father company, but had dozed off in the afternoon sun that streamed through the windows of the studio. What added to the scene was how Charlie mirrored Colin the cat, who was also stretched out on the floor beside the sofa, basking in the sun’s rays. 

“My, my; I don’t believe I’ve ever known all three of them to go down quite so easily.” Sophie noted in a softer tone, now that she was aware she was in the presence of one of her slumbering children. 

“Mhm, yes. I daresay the brandy I gave them all worked a trick.” Benedict jested.

“Ben!” Sophie hissed incredulously even at the thought of him encouraging their sons to drink in order to sleep better. 

“Got to start them off some time.” he shrugged teasingly. “Just be grateful you won’t have to witness all the debauchery they’ll get up to at university.” 

Sophie didn’t like to think of her boys all grown up; they were all far too sweet and loving (when they weren’t piling on each other, that is) for her to ever imagine the mayhem they would one day make as young men of the world. If the three of them turned out to be anything like the three elder Bridgerton brothers as they were in their prime, she could only count her blessings that Violet had completed their brood instead of another boy to really add to the brotherly chaos. 

“Do not test me, Benedict Bridgerton.” she warned him though it fell on deaf ears as her husband simply chuckled at her discouragement and returned to his painting. 

Sophie then opened her mouth to ask for the whereabouts of their baby, seeing as she wasn’t in a cradle in the room, when something suddenly caught her eye. As he always did when working, Benedict’s top half was only dressed with a shirt and loosely buttoned up waistcoat. What caught Sophie’s attention was the tiny little hand sticking out from his waistcoat that clutched onto the ruffles of his shirt. 

A smile gradually grew on her face as she closed the gap between her and her husband. She brought a hand to his arm and he looked away from his painting to watch her curious gaze as she peered at his chest. Now at a better angle she could see Violet tucked snugly between Benedict’s body and his waistcoat, as a little smile played on her lips in her sleep. Sophie’s baby was so perfectly content as she rested against her father, and it made her heart melt as her love for her husband reached new heights. 

“Sleeping beauty,” Benedict addressed his wife, “might I introduce you to my mini sleeping beauty?” 

When Benedict then met his wife’s eye, he instantly began to fret from the way her green irises began to water. 

“Soph, what is is? Are you not feeling well?” he worried, putting his paint brush down and twisting on his stool to hold her by the waist, concerned she might be feeling faint from being on her feet for so long. 

Sophie cupped his face with her hand and brought her other hand through his hair and he realised the tears that were brimming in her eyes weren’t of hurt or sadness but of fondness and joy. 

“My younger self never could have believed I would end up with such a wonderful man. Never in my wildest dreams could I have hoped for someone like you. You truly are the best of fathers, best of husbands, Ben.” she said with a watery smile. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart and with all my being, thank you.” she whispered and pressed her lips against his forehead. 

[edupunkn00b]

French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution, Ch. 9: Stay

Prev - Stay - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

16 June 1789

Janus could hardly believe his eyes. He didn’t know what else Remus had said to the head chef, but not only had she allowed him to steal Prince Roman’s tea and replace it with a much simpler meal, but she'd piled the misappropriated tray high with sweets and confections fresh from the ovens. Before they left, Remus scrawled something on a scrap of parchment and secured it under a saucer, winking at the servant preparing to take it up to the younger prince.

“He’ll know it really was me,” he said vaguely and the head chef poorly hid rolling her eyes and returned to her duties, an actual smile peeking out from the corners of her stern mouth.

Bearing the tray proudly in front of him, Remus strode down a new corridor where the doors were placed closer together than in the rest of the palace. The prince seemed to know where he was going, so Janus followed, eyes scanning from side to side as he wondered where they were headed—and whether he’d ever be able to find his way back unassisted.

His concern must have been obvious because Remus moved a little closer as they walked. “My brother and I used to sneak off and explore the palace when we were young. We would run away from whichever tutor or nanny was in charge of us and just start chasing each other down the halls. Well….” the prince grinned, “We hid from everyone except our music tutor, at least.” He shrugged, a fuzzy smile turning up his lips, bright eyes dancing around the corridor between the doors. “We got to know these hallways well.”

“That is reassuring,” Janus said smoothly. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to share where we are headed?”

Remus pressed his lips together in a crooked smile, eyebrows raised. Instead of speaking, he extended his elbow and looked pointedly at it. After Janus hooked his hand over his forearm, Remus nodded and tucked the offered hand close to his side and continued walking. Janus chuckled, shaking his head. “I see you don’t want me to ruin the surprise.” He turned and lightly kissed Remus’ cheek, darkening his rouge. “Carry on, then.”

They walked to the end of the corridor and down a small set of stone stairs until they finally reached a heavy wooden door, a little larger than the others they’d passed. Remus balanced the heavy tray on one hand, then knocked three times and, after a bit of shuffling from inside the room, the door slowly creaked open.

The prince grinned and gave a little bow. An old man leaned on the door, smiling up at Remus with a shake of his head. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Remus?” Janus’ eyes widened at the familiar tone he took with the prince and looked quickly at him for his reaction.

His smile widened and he presented the tray. “Merely delivering a little something for you, Maître.” 

“Maître,” Janus repeated quietly, confusion pinching his face, but he followed Remus when the man gestured toward a small table near the only window in the tiny stone-walled room. The walls were bare, without the tapestries common in other parts of the castle. A small wood stove stood in one corner, a few feet from a narrow bed, neatly made. A small shelf next to the bed was lined with worn-looking books. At the other end of the room, though, was a polished mahogany piano, leaves of sheet music scattered about, a tiny bottle of ink and a worn quill on the top.

“Have you been practicing your scales, Remus?” the old man asked. Maître. It finally clicked. This must be Remus’—and Roman’s—music instructor. In the thin light pouring from the window, Janus could now clearly see the tremor in the old man’s hands, the ink stains on his thumb and forefinger.

“Yes, Maître.” Remus replied with a dutiful nod of his head. Janus had never seen him so quiet… so deferential. 

“Well…” he waved his hand at the piano as he slowly lowered himself into a chair. “Show me, then.” He struggled to lift the cloche from the tray and Janus rushed to his side.

“Allow me, Sir,” he said automatically. 

Remus’ eyes flicked over to his, a small, grateful smile curling up his lips before he bowed his head again at his old music teacher. “I thought you’d never ask, Maître.” 

~~~

Remus played until the sun had dipped below the window sill and the room grew dark enough for candles. “Thank you for having us, Maître.” He bowed his head and Janus quickly followed suit. “Oh,” he gestured to the tray still laden with pastries and fruit. “Chef knows where I was headed with this,” Remus grinned as they left. “You’re likely to get some hungry visitors at the shift change.”

Maître smiled, his eyes wistful. “I would like that.”

Remus took Janus’ hand and laced their fingers together. “I thought you might, Maître. Enjoy your evening.”

“And you, as well, Remus,” Maître murmured, his smile growing as he looked down at their interwoven hands.

The door closed behind them and they began the long walk back toward the music room. Or, at least Janus had expected it to be a long walk. Instead, his eyes widened when, with a wink, Remus pushed on the wall a few feet from the entrance to the kitchen and a narrow section of the wall popped open like a door. The prince raised one finger to his lips then stepped inside and beckoned Janus to follow.

He sealed the door behind them and they were enveloped in darkness. Janus’ hand tightened reflexively in Remus’ and he struggled to steady his breath. Remus squeezed his hand back and slowly raised his hand close to his lips. “You are safe, mon douceur,” He kissed Janus’ hand then placed it on his own waist. “For just one moment. I’ll need both hands to light a candle.”

In the dark, Janus’ grip gradually tightened until he clung to a fistful of Remus’ coat. He felt the velvet shift, then the sharp sound of a flint box and the bright golden light of a candle filled the space. Remus held the candle out and above their heads, illuminating the space but keeping the threat of dripping wax far from them.

Embarrassed by the strength of his grip on Remus’ coat, Janus let out a small laugh. “Do you always carry around a candle and flintbox?”

“Of course I do, mon douceur,” he murmured with a little smile. He tilted up Janus’ chin and pressed a slow kiss against his lips. “It’s very helpful for skulking around secret passages.” He smiled and offered his arm, holding the candle up high in front of them. “Would you join me and find out where this one leads?”

Lips still tingling from their last kiss, Janus chuckled and he rested his hand in the crook of Remus’ elbow. “My intuition tells me you know precisely where this passage leads, Your Royal Highness.”

“Your intuition is wise,” Remus murmured, bending his head to press one more kiss against Janus’ lips. “Will you join me?” he whispered, his eyes impossibly large and sparkling in the candlelight.

Janus’ breath caught in his throat. “Lead the way, my prince.”

They’d walked in silence for a few yards when Remus tucked Janus’ hand closer to his side and murmured near his ear, his tone low and serious. “I haven’t forgotten what you told me. About Paris.” 

Janus looked up at him in surprise. When Remus had bent near, he’d half-expected, perhaps even anticipated a flirty little kiss. He stopped mid-stride and met the prince’s gaze. Remus stared back, eyes glistening in the candlelight. “Good,” Janus said, buying a bit of time to work out what else to say. His throat went dry when he realized he’d forgotten why he was even there, Logan’s warning tearing through his mind.

“The people are depending on you,” Janus said to the prince. And to himself.

Remus nodded slowly. “I know. I have a formal meeting with my father tomorrow. He has to know the truth of what's happening in Paris. I know—“ he began when Janus looked ready to remind him of the king’s tour only a few decades ago. He pulled Janus’ hand close to his own heart as he spoke. “If he knows the situation has only worsened, I am confident I can convince him. He has a heart.”

Janus smiled up at the prince, his optimism and his hope contagious. Perhaps this really was the path, perhaps this was how they would change Paris, change France. One heart at a time, starting with his. He nodded slowly. “If anyone can change his mind, I believe it’s you,” he whispered, warmth spreading through his chest and up to his cheeks at the smile that burst onto Remus’ face.

He brought Janus’ hand to his lips and gently kissed it. “With your faith, mon douceur, I could do anything.” Remus stared into his eyes for a long time before finally returning his hand to its place in the crook of his own elbow and gestured further down the dark stone corridor. “We’re nearly there,” he murmured, and led Janus down a few more feet.

When they stopped walking, he handed him the candle, then pressed a stone on the wall that, to Janus, at least, didn’t appear different from any other. Light spilled out from the long vertical crack that opened before them. Remus pushed it and they slipped through together and into the music room.

“That… that took us five minutes,” he stammered, thinking about the long, winding path they’d taken to get to the kitchen and then to the Maître’s room.

“I know,” Remus grinned, dancing his shoulders back and forth as he blew out the candle “It was fun, too, wasn’t it?”

~~~

Almost an hour later, Remus rang for Alienòr and asked her to send for Janus’ carriage. When she left, he smiled and offered his arm to Janus with a little bow. “May I escort you to your horses, mon douceur?”

Makeup freshened, Janus’ face powder hid his needless blush and he bowed his head. “Are you certain you do not wish I simply roamed the castle? See what other secrets I may find?” he said, lips twitching in a smile.

“No need to roam, mon douceur .” Remus stepped closer, one hand slipping around his waist and drawing him close. Janus had to tilt his chin up to keep the prince’s gaze. “I think you’ve discovered the key to all my secrets.”

“I have?” He could barely manage a whisper, his throat gone dry, lost in Remus’ eyes.

Humming quietly, Remus bent his head down and pressed a featherlight kiss on Janus’ lips. “You have,” he murmured, then stepped back and offered his arm again. “Shall we?” He held open the door, smiling with another of his little shoulder dances when Janus placed a hand on his arm.

They walked slowly toward the grand entrance, the prince uncharacteristically quiet, but he kept his little hopping step and peeked at Janus every few seconds, watching him more than he did the hall ahead of them. Suddenly, Remus turned and glanced down either side of the corridor. He grinned, then cradled the back of Janus' head before pressing him against the wall and kissing him. Janus melted against him before he regained his sensibility and broke away, breathless.

“Someone will see,” Janus whispered, cheeks pink beneath his powder.

“Let them see,” Remus whispered back, but he waited, gaze bouncing between his eyes and his lips as he turned Janus' hand. He stroked his palm and bowed his head to press another small kiss into the center. “Let them see who I love.”

“You…” Janus blinked up at Remus, grateful for the wall at his back keeping him upright. Remus grinned and took advantage of his momentary speechlessness to steal another slow kiss, one hand still cradling the back of his head, while the other slid down to the small of Janus’ back, holding him close. When he broke away, both of them were left breathless and they stared at each other in silence.

Finally Janus regained his voice. “You love me?”

“You needn’t say it back,” Remus quickly murmured, eyes a swirl of softness and heat. He bent down, forehead resting against Janus’ as he brushed his thumb over Janus’ lips. He smiled at the touch of rouge left behind. “I know it is sudden. Even I am tempted to dismiss it as simple infatuation.” He met Janus’ eyes, his face serious. “And there is still a great deal we don’t know about each other.” 

Remus touched his left cheek and Janus wondered how much of his scar showed through his smudged face powder. “But everything I’ve learned about you, mon douceur … Everything…  has only left me craving more.”

He leaned in and kissed Janus again, softer this time, and slower, carefully tasting his lips and his mouth. He pulled back just enough to speak. “Will you give me the honor of getting to know you more? And of sharing with you more of myself?”

“That is an irresistible offer,” Janus whispered against his lips, then smiled. “Not that I’d ever want to try to say no.” He nodded slowly, before lightly kissing the smile spreading across Remus’s face. “Yes, Prince Remus. I would like that very much.”

Remus’ joyous laughter sent sparks through Janus’ heart. “Will you come see me again…  soon? And… and when you do… if you do… Will you stay with me for a few days?”

Janus’ breath stuttered and his shock must have been clear because Remus stepped back and added, “You’ll have your own room, a wardrobe of anything you like, privacy, anything… I am not asking you as a consort.” He met Janus’ eyes, his face serious. “There will be nothing required of you. I…”

A mixture of relief and… disappointment washed over him and Janus decided to interrogate his complicated feelings later. “I will come. I… will need to make some arrangements…”

“Of course, of course! And you needn’t worry about packing up your household for a few days, I…” Remus traced the line from Janus’ temple to his jaw. “I will provide you everything you need, I can send a carriage—”

“Thank you, but no.” Janus smiled, mind racing as he fought competing impulses to run from this game where he’d already gone too deep. And the impulse to run right into the prince’s open arms. “I simply have some business to attend to.”

Remus held his hand, gently stroking his fingers over the back of it. Eyes locked on Janus’, he bowed his head and gently kissed the bare skin on his inner wrist between his glove and his sleeve. “So you will come? Is a week enough time for your preparations?”

“I will be here, Remus,” Janus promised, his lips moving independent of his mind. ”In a week.”

~~~

That morning, when Logan had arrived at the palace stables with his carriage, a small group of ostlers were preparing to leave for de Choisy, the tiny hamlet that served as a market for the staff and long term guests at Versailles. “Could you use another set of hands?” he called to them. “I have little to do once my horses are watered.”

The driver eyed him warily, brow relaxing marginally when he took in Logan’s mended shoes and the worn patches in his breeches. Logan grinned. “I promise, I’m stronger than I look.” He reached to shake the driver’s hand. “My name is Logan.”

“Jérôme,” he nodded and waved him toward the large, open wagon. He smiled when Logan easily scrambled aboard. “We’ll test that promise,” he laughed good naturedly. “We have a lot to load.” 

In the town, Logan worked side-by-side with the ostlers as they loaded the wagon with sacks of flour and millet, and baskets and baskets of apples, wax-covered cheeses and preserved jambon sec. When they were done, the driver clapped him on the back. “You were good to your word, camarade. We finished early, thanks to you.” He gestured toward a pub a few storefronts down. “Come, join us for a small drink before we head back. Their beer’s terrible but it’s cheap.”

At the pub, Logan listened as the patrons gossiped—mostly inconsequentially—about the palace. It wasn’t until their drinks were nearly finished that someone mentioned the carriages arriving for the Estates General.

“They’ve had to open up the Trianon to make room for them all,” the tallest of them, Gérard, murmured. “That’s what the coince little steward claimed, at least.” He swirled the dregs of beer in his tankard and swore. “I think the prissy royals just don’t want to rub elbows with the rest of them.”

“Ha! Serves them right,” Jérôme laughed. “Let the bishops see what it’s like to be the racailles for once.”

Logan leaned forward to be heard but spoke casually into his beer. “You don’t think they’re concerned about security?”

“They should be,” a low voice replied from the next table. The man was older than most in the pub, and wore a bright red cravat around his neck. The rest of his clothes were fashionably muted, shoes polished and he had traces of white powder around his hairline, as though he’d recently removed a court wig. “Thankfully, cooler heads have prevailed so far, but I don’t know how much longer that’s going to last.”

“Would you care to join us, Monsieur—”

“Colére,” he said with a curt bow of his head. “No, I am due to greet more members of the Third Estate arriving today.” He left three shiny silver coins on the table and bowed his head. “Good day to you. And… keep your eyes open. If things go the way I fear, anyone at the palace could be a target. If you don’t take up arms against the King when the mobs arrive… get out.”

During the two mile ride back to Versailles, Logan turned the man’s words over in his head. The red cravat was a clear signal to the rest of the movement, but he spoke like a pacifist and their ranks were shrinking fast. His name was familiar and with a jolt, he remembered the day he’d met Patton, and the table of students from the Sorbonne. Colére. He must be Lucas’ father. Logan looked out toward the sun slowly dipping down to the horizon, suddenly anxious to return to Paris to see what may be fomenting in the café. And the streets.

He looked up when the wagon suddenly jerked to a stop. “Back with us!” Jérôme cheered. “We’ve arrived. Come, many hands make light the work and other mierde”

Logan nodded with a wry smile, hefted a sack onto his shoulders and followed the line of ostlers toward the back entrance to the kitchen.

With the help of a few kitchen staff, it took even less time to unload the wagon at Versailles. Logan had been pleased when Patton had joined the group, literally bouncing with energy as he ran up to the wagon. “Logan!” he called out to him as he picked up a crate. “Logan, can I help?”

“Your help would be much appreciated, Patton. We’re bringing all of this in.” He chuckled when the cheerful young man hefted with two giant sacks of millet on each shoulder. The burly ostlers watched his pace barely slow under the weight. They added more to each of their own loads, red faced and grunting as they lumbered down to the pantries.

When they were done, Logan pulled Patton aside, claiming he needed his assistance with the carriage. “I see you have managed to find a place with the staff.” He spoke quietly and pointed to a loose bolt on one of the carriage steps. “Well done.”

Patton’s cheeks turned pink and he grinned brightly, nodding and using a small tool Logan provided from the driver’s perch. “Thank you, Logan.”

“Are you able to return to Paris with the same driver you came in with? Or should we pick you up?” He met Patton’s eyes when he nearly dropped the spanner and jerked his head up. “We have much to discuss.”

“He’s heading out tomorrow at dawn. I’ll be back in Paris before noon.” He grinned up at Logan and stood. “See you at de Foy?”

Logan gave his shoulder a little squeeze. “Excellent. We’ll see you then.”

A few hours later, a pinch-faced courtier appeared in the stables, lip curled up and stepping carefully along the edges of the path between the horse pens. “Your employer is readying to leave,” he said without greeting, then turned and left without another word. 

Shaking his head, Logan waved to Jérôme, who laughed, “His Lordship awaits?”

He chuckled as he led the horses out of their pen and hitched them to the carriage. “In truth, he is a decent man. I suppose I got lucky.” Logan reached out to shake his hand. “If you’re ever in Paris, come find me at Café de Foy.” And with one more nod, he climbed onto his perch and led the horses down the widening path back to the gate to wait for Janus.

~~~

“Thank you, Logan,” Janus murmured to him as he helped him up into the carriage. He looked over his shoulder, but instead of watching Logan as he spoke, his golden eyes lingered on the palace, scanning the large windows at the center. He suddenly smiled and when Logan followed his gaze, he spotted movement in one tall window, as though someone was waving the curtains back and forth like a flag. He glanced back at the pleased smile gracing Janus’ lips. Or perhaps like a signal.

Logan cleared his throat. “I still have your more comfortable riding clothes, and I fetched some water and…” He gestured toward a tiny wooden crate with various cloths and a solution of herbs a milkmaid told him would remove rouge. Solène had then surprised him with the bottle before he’d left to meet Janus at the gate. “And the box for your wig is still there… ” Logan smiled at Janus before quickly looking away. ”If you wish to change.”

“Is my court makeup not pleasing?” Janus asked lightly as he examined what Logan brought.

His throat went dry. “N—no… I—I mean, it’s perfectly pleasing.” Logan took a deep breath and pressed a smile onto his face just before Janus looked up at him. “I merely intended… They are supplies in case you are more comfortable without it.”

“Lo, I am only teasing.”  Janus reached over the window sash and squeezed Logan’s hand. “This is incredibly thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Logan whispered, his eyes drawn to where Janus lightly gripped his hand. “It was my pleasure. Why don’t you relax and I’ll stop once we’re past the last checkpoint and we can ride together.”

“I’d like that, Lo, thank you.” Janus smiled at Logan and relaxed against the seat. His eyes still darted back to the palace and Logan thought he spied a touch of longing in his gaze. He nodded again, and climbed onto the driving perch and led the horses down the road back to Paris.

They made it through the checkpoint without incident. The guards were beginning to recognize him and waved them on without even looking inside the compartment. Once they were out of eye and earshot, Logan stopped the carriage and knocked. 

Janus opened the door, fresh face glowing in the soft, early dusk. He was still lacing up his tunic as he stepped out of the carriage, a broad swath of his chest exposed, revealing the cut of his muscles. Logan averted his gaze, attention seemingly focused on a joint near the wheelhouse. He looked up when Janus let out a low sigh.

“I feel back to myself now. Thank you again, Lo,” he said before settling on the driver’s bench. He looked over his shoulder at Logan. “How are you feeling? Would you like me to drive for a while and you can nap in the passenger compartment?”

“No! No, that is quite alright. It’s lovely evening. It would be pleasant to share the fresh air with a friend.” Janus’ responding smile strengthened his own and by the time he’d joined him on the bench, his wide smile was genuine.

Janus described his visit with the prince, stammering and blushing at some points, leaving Logan with the impression that he was hearing a slightly edited version of their time together. Janus became more effusive when he talked about visiting the kitchen and the switched trays. “Oh, and I nearly forgot. Patton was there. How did—”

“I asked him… to see if he could stay close while you were in the palace.” Logan kept his eyes on the road. “Last night, he charmed his way onto a carriage headed to the Estates General assembly. Promised to help with the horses when they stopped. He’s staying in the servants’ hall overnight and heading back to Paris with them tomorrow morning.” 

Janus was quiet for a while and Logan finally turned to him. “They’re a friend of a friend. I trust they’ll keep him safe. And he knows his way around the palace—”

“Oh, yes… Yes, I could see that. And I know he’s tougher than he looks. And… wilier.” Logan chuckled, Janus’ observation bringing to mind their young friend’s minor theft of a bottle of wine from the palace. “I am confident he’ll be more than fine.” He licked his lips, mouth working without any words coming out.

“Janus, are you all right?” Logan rested his hand on his forearm. He’d never seen the great Janus Robespierre need to search for words.

Nodding quickly, Janus smiled at Logan. “Yes! Yes, I am.” His eyes were bright and a small, tentative smile twitched the corners of his mouth. Finally Janus shook his head and said in an uncharacteristically jumbled rush. “The prince asked me to stay with him… near him, I—I think. It seemed to be up to me, but… I mean… A—at the palace. He asked me to stay with him for a few days. At the palace.”

“Oh,” Logan’s voice faltered and he took a slow breath before he attempted to say more. He slowed the horses and turned to face him. “Do you believe his intentions are to make your relationship… physically intimate?”

A soft pink the same color as the sunset bloomed over Janus’ cheeks, neck, and chest. “Yes,” he whispered. “I do.”

“Did he say or do anything that made you feel this was a command and not a choice?”

“No! No, of course not!” Janus shook his head, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “Remus isn’t like that. Not with me… and as far as I can tell, not with anyone in that palace.”

Logan was quiet for a long while. During the past two visits he’d spent with the workers in the stables, Logan had made a few whispered inquiries along those lines. Everyone he spoke to confirmed that, while he was blasted royal, he’d never been known to be abusive to any of the staff. 

That information brought him some comfort. “I cannot counsel you on what your personal boundaries should be.” Logan swallowed hard, iron bands wrapping around his chest and his heart. “But we cannot deny that spending additional time with the prince, with the future King of France, is a remarkable opportunity. Both to learn more about the workings of the castle and to, perhaps even influence his thinking. Perhaps we truly can find our way out of this morass without further bloodshed.”

Logan took another deep breath, his voice low. “What will you say?”

“I already said yes,” Janus whispered.

“Oh.” Logan’s fingers tightened on the reins and the horses whinnied quietly. He relaxed his fingers and turned to his friend.

“Remus’ company is not… objectionable," Janus began slowly. "He’s charming and funny and…  attractive.” He cleared his throat and avoided Logan’s gaze. The soft bare skin at the curve of his neck and his jaw flushed brightly in the fading light. “Under other circumstances…” his voice trailed away and he didn’t need to finish his sentence. Under other circumstances, Janus sounded as though he would have been pleased to be courted by the man. “I told him I would stay.” 

“That is… most excellent news,” Logan said, eyes on the road. The last sliver of the sun had slipped under the horizon and they were cast in a growing darkness, but the pavers were near iridescent under the starlight. He delayed lighting the lantern, and instead hid his tears in the gloom that hung between them.

[duchessofostergotlands]

Princess Charkene BRINGS IT for the Monaco National Day celebrations. Every year she just looks so damn fabulous. Which is your favorite look on Charlene for National Day? (Sorry if you've answered this before.)

So as there's only 11 looks I decided to just do a ranking of all her looks!

11th Place - 2015. The fact this is the bottom one does show the quality of the National Day looks as this is not an ugly outfit by any means. I love the colour and I think a cloche style can be beautiful but it's just like a swimming cap here and I'm not a huge fan of the line through the middle of the dress or the way the top of the dress is constructed, particularly the bust.

10th Place- 2012: The reasons for this one are pretty much the same as the above so honestly they're fairly interchangeable. If I did this tomorrow I might switch them around! I don't like the hat. I usually like a hat with a veil but a bowler with a veil is not a style I enjoy. I think the construction of it is slightly lacking as well.

9th Place- 2019 - I actually don't dislike the outfit. I do sometimes find all white a bit distracting as I mostly just think about the stains haha. But all in all I think it's a nice look. But I just hate this hat. Honestly with a different hat or no hat at all this would be so much higher but I just dislike it so much. It's like a cartoon character or a mafia movie prop.

8th Place- 2016- This problem is a bit like the reverse of the above. I think the hat is beautiful, really different for Charlene. I love it with the red lip as well. The outfit is well tailored but it's just quite dull.

7th Place- 2018- I really like all these pieces individually. The hat is beautiful, the coat is beautiful, the shoes, the skirt. But if you put them all together it just feels quite heavy and bulky.

6th Place- 2013- I appreciate the attempt to make what could be quite a boring silhouette into something a bit more interesting with the different textures crossing over. It's a very elegant outfit but I don't know if the intention with the textures is as successful as it could have been as the top fabric looks a bit too shiny.

5th Place- 2017- I'm similar to Charlene in that I like neutrals so I loved that she did some colour in her own way. This is another one where it could be lower if you ask me on a different day as I don't love it - I'm already wondering if I should have put it lower lol - but I appreciate the attempt at doing something a bit different.

4th Place- 2010- Her first one! I love the silhouette. The peplum works so well on her, it's so flattering. I love the colour scheme and the hat is absolutely gorgeous. I do like the silk as a contrast to the fabric of the suit but the suit itself is not a fabric I love, it's a bit like a sofa in a retirement home, and I think the button at the front is too big and out of place with the outfit.

3rd Place- 2020- I really love the maxi coat because it's not too formal but not too casual, which is just the sweet spot for an event like this. The hat is adorable, super chic, but one of the reasons I really love this one is the pops of colour. Not only are they interesting for the eye in what could have been a plain look but they are also reminiscent of the colour of the outfits worn by the priests at the National Day church service and given Charlene's strong faith I think it's a nice personal touch which links to Monaco's culture

2nd Place- 2011- CAPE. IT'S A CAPE. CAAAAPE. I love a cape and I think this outfit is beautiful. The only reason it's not at the top is the shoes are slightly off in terms of the shade for me and I would have preferred the cape didn't have zips as that would have felt more timeless and elegant.

1st Place- 2014- You didn't get to see this one in full glory as she was pregnant so she just hung around in the Palace. But if you piece it together from various photos I just love it. I would wear this coat in a heartbeat. I think the hat with the outfit is just really effortless. It's good for an event in November but not too heavy or bulky.

[slippinmickeys]

I will be posting the first three chapters today and then two chapters a day (one in the am and one in the pm) for the next five days. 

You can also read on AO3 here. 

CHAPTER ONE

He rolled his head on the pillow and was rewarded with a noseful of soft lavender-scented hair. It tickled him enough that he awoke completely, sniffing to consciousness with a feeling of patent unfamiliarity.

He lightly brushed the hair away from his face and opened his eyes to find that he was in a strange bed in a foreign room. It took him a moment to remember that he’d fallen asleep in the countess’s chambers. Scully’s chambers. His wife.

So it hadn’t been a delicious dream, after all; they had married the day before.

There was light coming in behind the thick curtains of the room and a small cloche-covered tray had been set on a table in the sitting area. There were a couple of modest trunks set just inside the door -- Scully’s personal effects, no doubt. The servants were up and about, then. When he really looked, the quality of the light suggested it was nearly late morning.

He tended to keep country hours when he was at Henwick Priory, the family estate in Sussex, but opted for later hours when he was in Town. The Season was in full swing and the aristocratic set woke up late and went to bed later.

He was naked under the bed’s thick coverings, and a quick peek confirmed that Scully still was as well.

She was curled onto her side, facing away from him, the soft slope of her back arcing into the smooth, rounded shape of the two globes that formed her perfect bottom. He felt his manhood stir to life looking at her.

As if sensing she was being observed, he watched her slowly come awake as well, rolling onto her back and stretching, cat-like, her toes pointing down as her arms raised over her head. Mulder let the covers fall gently back down.

Her eyes fluttered open and she turned her head, pinning him with her sapphire stare. He smiled at her and she returned it, her grin shy, yet pert; a hint of licentiousness curling up her cheek.

“Good morning,” he said, and after a brief moment decided to lean in for a soft kiss.

“Mmm,” she said, as he returned to his own pillow, “good morning.”

His cock, which had been in a lazy state of partial-arousal since he’d swept his eyes down the length of his wife’s backside, had come fully to life when his lips made contact with hers.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked politely, trying to ignore the part of his body that was reaching for her without any regard to civility.

“Very,” she said and smiled, turning towards him, the satin sheet slipping down to reveal the hint of a curved breast. Damn his eyes, they slid down to look of their own volition. He had to shake himself.

“And how are you feeling this morning?” he asked, pausing briefly before finishing with “Are you very… sore?”

He was not as experienced as his rakish reputation made him out to be, and his previous sexual encounters -- as few as there had been -- had been with much more experienced women. He had never before bedded a virgin.

“No,” she said thoughtfully, “I feel… a bit tender, but have no pain. Honestly, it feels most similar to the morning after a very long day of riding.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her and she smiled, no doubt realizing what she’d said.

“And no wonder,” she said with a laugh.

He chuckled with her and leaned in again to steal another kiss.

“I’m glad to hear it.” When he leaned back he nodded toward the tray on the table nearby and said, “There is some refreshment, if you wish for me to serve you?”

She shook her head and stretched again.

“I don’t believe I wish to leave this bed,” she said, and he felt his pulse beat in his cock.

“Stay all day if you wish it,” he said. “Unfortunately, I have some business to attend to -- the speed of our nuptials did not permit me to clear my schedule as I would have liked. You deserve a honeymoon, but I’m afraid today you’ll have to settle for an afternoon drive through Hyde Park. That is, assuming you wish to spend time with me as ardently as I wish to spend it with you.”

She reached over and ran a hand down his face, the scratch of his morning beard catching a bit on the skin of her hand.

“I would like nothing more.” She sat up, leaning on her elbows, and the sheet slid down her form, just shy of revealing her perfect, pink nipples. “I do wonder if I have anything fitting to wear for a drive. Have my trunks arrived?”

“I believe so,” he said, and when she turned back to him he was certain she saw the raw want on his face.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“When is your first appointment?” she asked, and let the sheet covering her fall just a little bit more.

He reached for her in answer, and she fell atop him with a startled breath, the long silk of her auburn hair falling down to fan along his shoulder and arm. He ran the backs of his fingers up her side, just grazing them along the outer curve of her breast, and she leaned down and captured his lips with hers, her enthusiasm more than making up for her lack of experience.

After a long bout of kissing, he flipped her expertly and began tonguing his way down her body. Her legs fell open as he descended and he smiled into her skin. He would not have blamed her if she were shy or prudish -- young ladies were raised from the cradle to place their sexual virtue above almost anything else, and years of that kind of thinking were sure to impart an austerity that could be difficult to overcome -- but Scully seemed to embrace the marital bed and the carnality that could come with it. He was a lucky, lucky man.

She gave a breathy sigh when he ran his tongue up her seam, her sex already dewy with want. She tasted sweet, with a honeyed tang he had already committed to memory. He laved at her, rubbing his erection with one hand, as sexually excited as a stripling. He honed in on the swollen nub at her crest, and it did not take long before she started breathing harder, her crisis imminent.

He encouraged her with muffled words and finally she broke, her hips surging up into his mouth, a cry on her lips. He licked at her gently until she settled and then moved up and laid his head next to her on the pillow.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he said, searching her face. She was a rare beauty. He’d wondered, after he’d met her two nights ago in that garden, if it were merely the magic of the moonlight and the setting that had captured him so -- that had compelled him to offer her her first kiss and so set into motion the wheels of fate that had brought them here. But no. Her face was exquisite even here in the dim light of her chamber. A composition not even a master could better on canvas.

“Is that what they call it?” she said and he nodded mutely, running a light finger up the center of her torso until it found her chin, which he turned toward himself for a kiss.

“The French call it le petit mort,” he mumbled into her lips.

“The little death?” she said, smiling into his lips. “Oh, I like that.”

So did he. He would not press himself upon her this morning, he’d decided. He was certain that even though she’d insisted that she was not in pain, another assault so quickly on such tender flesh would surely do more harm than good. He had resigned himself to a morning of discomfort when he felt her light touch on his stomach, her hands moving over him slowly but surely.

“It feels good when you touch me,” she said, “does it feel good when I touch you?”

He swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Show me how,” she said, and he reached down and grabbed her hand, guiding it to where he wanted it most. When he pressed her fingers around his aching cock and showed her best how to stroke him, he felt his eyes roll back into his head. She was a quick study and seemed to almost intuit what he liked best, so it was not long before he reached out and put a hand on her arm.

“Stand back,” he panted, though she was not standing, “I am… close.”

But she did not move, and instead began pumping him with even more enthusiasm until he threw his head back, giving up the ghost. On a wave of ecstasy, he felt himself spurting hotly into her hand, and she made a noise, though it was one of surprise rather than revulsion, for which he would be thankful when his faculties finally returned to him.

“Fascinating,” she said after a moment.

Spent, he took a deep breath and turned to her, cocking his head in question.

She was sitting up, propping herself up on one arm, her long hair over her shoulders, the sweet buds of her nipples peeking out from in between the glossy strands.

“We spoke of science, and my interest in it,” she clarified, looking at him, “I find the mechanics of the act of copulation most intriguing.”

He smiled at her. “Should you form any hypotheses that might need testing, I’m more than eager to assist you in proving any theories,” he said, and she gave him the smile of a minx.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“My apologies,” he said shortly as he strode into his study. Mr. Flynn, his solicitor, was sitting in the chair across from his desk, looking bored.

Flynn waved a hand dismissively in the air. “I charge you by the hour, my lord,” he said. “What you do with that time is at your discretion.”

Mulder sat, willing himself not to go pink thinking about how he’d just spent his discretionary time.

“Did you have time to go over the marriage contract?” Mulder asked.

“Yes,” Flynn said, “a footman brought it to my office first thing this morning.”

Mulder nodded and the lawyer leveled a look at him.

“You were… most generous to your new wife’s family, my lord,” he said.

It was Mulder’s turn to wave a dismissive hand. “Is it otherwise in order?” he asked.

“Yes,” Flynn said, and Mulder nodded at him.

At that moment a maid came in carrying a tea tray, which she took her time setting up on the small table in the middle of the room.

Mulder flashed a look at her, and then one to Flynn.

“And on the other matters?” he asked.

Flynn sat up straight and cleared his throat, also darting a look to the maid, who was humming quietly to herself.

“Yes,” Flynn said, “I have been looking into both. On the first, I have been able to find no evidence to back up the gentleman’s claims. No debts are on record at any bank or other institution. I have even gone so far as to check wager books at White’s and some of the other clubs. Nothing.”

Mulder leaned back in his chair, and the maid finally curtsied and made her way out of the room.

“It is difficult to find evidence of something that likely doesn’t exist,” he said with a sigh.

“Quite,” Flynn replied.

“Nevertheless,” Mulder said, “keep looking.”

“Indeed,” said the man. “Now, on the second matter…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope with an aged patina. On its front was scrawled a large black X. Flynn rose to his feet and handed it to Mulder. “In this case, I’ve also discovered nothing. However, it is a delicate matter, the inquiry of which requires both skill and discretion. It may be time to hire an investigative firm?”

Mulder sighed heavily, and set the envelope on his desk. “I’m afraid you may be right, Flynn.” His words were a dismissal.

Flynn shook Mulder’s hand briefly, giving him a curt nod.

When the door closed behind him, Mulder sat back down at his desk, shooting a troubled look at the envelope sitting in the middle of it, the large ‘X’ upon it as damning as a pirate’s Black Spot.

[maine-writes]

Vonvon's Space Adventure, Part 3

"You're not serious." Vonvon said.

Spinel had brought the child to White Diamond, who was checking on the progress of Vonvon's room. The pair were standing at the base of a titanic, crystalline ziggurat. At the very top of it was a room with four massive glass doors that led to balconies that allowed for a full, unobstructed view of the surrounding area.

They took a floating platform up to the top of the structure where White Diamond was supervising a team of Gems. In fact, Vonvon recognized these Gems as the small army gifted to them for Christmas.

"Oh, Vonvon!" said the former galactic ruler, "You'll be happy to know that your room is nearly ready."

One thing Vonvon noticed is that the room was too small for White Diamond to enter. At least they knew that she wouldn't be barging in.

"Spinel, be a dear and show them the interior."

Inside, a grand bed sat in the middle of the room. The bedposts were made of pink crystal, alien branches wrapped around them, leading to a veiled canopy. The veil itself was mostly transparent, save for mildly opaque decorations that depicted what appeared to be different kinds of Gems. At the foot of the bed was a pink crystalline computer console.

"What's this for?" Vonvon asked as they examined the console.

"Oh! This is the coolest part of the room!"

Spinel tapped on the screen of the console, illuminating a white button that generated a gentle tone. The overhead lights dimmed and several circular beams of light shone from the floor near the wall opposite of the console.

From these lights appears several outfits on Pearl-shaped mannequins. To Vonvon, these seemed like holographic versions of Yellow and Blue Pearl.

"This computer controls everything in the room." Spinel explained. "Temperature, lights, storage, room service, and entertainment!"

"And the clothes?"

"White Diamond thought you'd like to try out some Gem fashion."

The giant woman peeked in through one of the large windows, visibly eager to hear the child's opinion on the selection of clothes. If she was trying to be inconspicuous, her brilliant, star-white glow made it difficult.

Each article of clothing was unique, some had a grand and futuristic feel, others were elegant and flowing, and a couple appeared rigid and uncompromisingly utilitarian.

But then there were two that stood out. One had an antiquated feel to it, a decorated, two-colored tunic, the other was a modern hoodie with flowing lines of light.

"That one is popular with the guys from the old Zoo. A modern take on a classic outfit." Spinel explained, donning a monocle for some reason. "The other is a design by our Lapis Lazuli. She calls it, Hoo-man Chic."

"I think they'd look grand in my third design." White Diamond suggested, only her mouth visible from the window.

The design in question was predominantly silvery white in color. The pants flared at the ankles, seemingly sparkling with the light of stars. The top half was a black shirt that featured subtle streaks of indigo and blue, and over that was a glowing white blazer with silver, metallic trim.

"If I may suggest." Blue Diamond added, appearing in the window opposite of White Diamond. "My second outfit might be more to their liking."

Blue Diamond's suggested outfit was a pair of baggy, indigo pants, the colors gradually growing darker closer to the ankle, a white button-up shirt with a blue gem on the collar, an indigo vest with gold trim, and a large, dark, hooded cloak with billowing sleeves, and a lighter blue interior.

"Blue, your outfit is too much." Yellow Diamond interjected as she approached the structure. "Spinel, would you show them my first creation?"

Yellow Diamond's outfit was a pair of plain yellow slacks, a black roll-neck shirt, and a yellow overshirt with padded, black shoulders. On the left breast, there were black gem glyphs that apparently spelled "Vonvon Maheswaran-Universe". The child noted that the outfit felt more like a sci-fi military uniform.

"Y-You know, I think I'll keep my normal clothes for now." Vonvon said, much to the Diamond's disappointment. However, they did like the look of the hoodie.

The child then noticed Yellow Pearl standing next to Yellow Diamond, holding a plate with a crystalline cloche over it.

"I guess you guys caught the chickens?" They said as the Pearl entered the room.

"Correct." said Yellow Pearl. "After quite a lengthy, and somewhat destructive, struggle, my Diamond's forces were able to quell their rebellion."

But when the Pearl removed the cloche, Vonvon was surprised to find that instead of the chicken salad sandwich they were expecting, there were chicken nuggets in the shape of Yellow Pearl's face.

"Um." The child muttered.

"My apologies." Yellow Diamond explained, ashamed of her failure. "I couldn't get the bread necessary for a sandwich right. However, Pearl informed me of a much simpler dish that is apparently popular with small humans. She recommended that the pieces be prepared in a shape that is both cute and familiar."

"So you chose her face?"

"Is her face not cute and familiar?"

Vonvon was starting to notice that the Diamonds, despite being giant alien crystals, were a lot more human than they give themselves credit for. It was rather endearing, actually.

But as they prepared to take a bite of a Pearl-shaped nugget, Vonvon glanced up at the unblinking eyes of the Diamonds, who were seemingly content with watching them eat.

In some ways, they were not entirely human.

Then they remembered a story their father told them.

"Uh, guys?" They began. "You aren't going to watch me sleep all weekend, are you?"

"Oh." Said White Diamond. "Would you rather we didn't?"

Vonvon was somewhat disturbed by the fact that they were going to, and wondered if the large windows were there not for giving them a great view of Homeworld, but so that the Diamonds could watch them. They now understood why Mayor Hammie, their old pet hamster, ran away. It was probably because they kept watching the poor thing eat and sleep. On the other hand, Amethyst might've actually eaten him as she claimed.

"It's, uh, just that you guys are a bit obvious?" The child tried to explain in the least hurtful way.

"We understand." Blue Diamond said with a bow. "We wouldn't want to interrupt your sleep."

Unfortunately, Vonvon couldn't sleep a wink that night. Although the many plush pillows and silky sheets were comfortable, Spinel was loudly snoring, her rubbery arms wrapped around the child, a Green Pearl stood beside the bed, watching them closely, two Quartz soldier guards stood at the foot of the bed, a small army stood guard right outside, and Vonvon could still see the Diamonds peering over the edge of the ziggurat.

"Is there anything you need?" Inquired the attending Pearl as she noticed the child's open, bloodshot eyes.

"No." Vonvon flatly stated. "Nothing at all."

Meanwhile, outside of the room, the Diamonds whispered amongst themselves whilst discreetly watching the child, unaware of the fact White Diamond's star-like glow made it impossible for them to be even remotely discreet. In fact, it was as if someone was shining a flashlight directly into Vonvon's room.

"They must be nervous." Blue worried. "It must be hard for them to be separated from their parents."

"What should we do?" Yellow wondered. "What can we do? It's not like we had parents ourselves."

"Steven warned us about this." White Diamond said. "But he chose to trust us with his child. We're Diamonds, we ruled entire planets, we cannot fail."

The platform the Diamonds stood on then began to descend. It was confusing to them that establishing and ruling colonies was easy compared to taking care of a child. As the platform reached the crystalline path at the base of the ziggurat, White Diamond was struck with inspiration.

"Yellow. Blue." She began, adamant that her idea will work. "Prepare your vessels."

@artsycooky13

[robo-milky]

Sometimes, you feel like you’re being watched.

The burning gaze of a person unknown, drilling its way into your back, staring into your very soul. It used to make you uneasy, wary, even. Yet you tried your very best not to show it.

Turning around discreetly around every corner, peeking from the corner of your eye. Stealing glances at shadowed nooks and crannies, trying to pinpoint the source of your unease. Remarkably, you’ve never seen anyone, even after all this time.

Not even the smallest glimpse of fabric, or a wayward footprint. Sighing to yourself, you resume your journey. Most stalkers tend to get conceited by now. They think they’re ever so sly, that they let down their guard. They get a little cocky, if to put in it such crude terms.

Unfortunately this stalker seems to be rather skilled in their profession. Despite your annoyance, you find yourself grudgingly admiring the ability of your wonderful little “friend”. Musing to yourself, you hum softly to yourself. A sweet little tune from the depths of your memory. You’ve heard it, somewhere before, but the memory seems determined to evade you.

“À la claire fontaine m'en allant promener

J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle que je m'y suis baignée.”

(As I was walking by the clear fountain,

I found the water so lovely I had to bathe.)

You pause, struggling to remember the next line. Only to hear another voice humming softly along with you. The same sweet little tune in a deep, passionate voice.

“ (refrain) Il y a longtemps que je t'aime, jamais je ne t'oublierai”

((refrain) I've loved you for so long, I will never forget you)

The voice had the richness of fine wine, yet there was something gravelly about it. It intoxicated you, creeping deep into your heart. A siren’s voice, you mused. A wonderful sound that was simply music to your ears.

You could curl up right next to the singer and listen forever, until your body rotted away. It was mesmerising, enchanting… spiriting you away from the present like a prince in a fairy tale.

While you were lost in your thoughts, you felt a warm breath, waft against the nape of your neck. Before a pair of soft lips pressed against it, gentle and tender. A kiss, like one a gentleman would yield towards a fine lady.

A soft chuckle was laughed as your skin flushed pink, before another kiss was pressed into your skin. But like the meek light from a sunset, the sensation was gone all too soon.

A weight pressed into your shoulder. Turning around, you see a flash of blonde, before those soft, gentle lips press against yours, capturing them in a lovely kiss. A greedy one, where he took every last bit of your air from your lungs like some depraved beast.

Yet the feeling… wasn’t totally unpleasant.

In the middle of it all, you catch a raspy whisper, words spoken ever so softly, just for your ears alone.

“Happy Birthday, Cloche dear.”

Anyways happy birthday from the mage of misery🫶 wishing you a great one!!!!

[Cloche’ Birthday Bash]

UWAHHHHHH CERUUUUUUU WHAT IS THIS- CLOCHE SINGING ONLY FOR ROOK TO CONTINUE AT THE RIGHT TIME??? THE PECKS BEFORE THE MAIN EVENT?? AND THE FACT THAT THEY FINALLY KISS ON THE LIPS- I’M GONNA LOSE IT- Oof this feels like watching those really long TV shows and finally getting to watch the will-they-won’t-they couple finally get together 😭😭

Ig it’s canon now that Cloche has French nursery songs drilled into her head from Canadian elementary- they pop in there at the worst times (as someone who was once in a half French immersion school- the war flashbacks are real-) But in all seriousness I just love this detail??? I will never not be salty that we were robbed of Rook singing more

Ofc Rook goes out of his way to tail Cloche instead of going to the party like normal people 😩 What is so special that it just can’t be shown to others??? Show off PDA, cowardly huntsman- assert dominance like an alpha— 👁️👁️ /j

Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to write this!! This will now forever be my brainrot- Like holy— I can feel this in my soul, hear it, see it-

Schedule’s tight now but one day….

[heart-stomper]

The Plantars Discover Sitcoms

It wasn’t going to be easy, especially after everything that happened back in Amphibia, but being back home finally gave Anne some room to breathe. Ease back into what she once thought of as “normal”. And while she totally plans on going for another round of hugs with her parents, right now she has another very important thing she’d like to do:

Show off as much human stuff as she can to the Plantars.

First order of business, channel surfing. It’s a totally relaxing activity where the biggest downside is that it’s basically impossible to pick something to watch. The perfect way to have a chill afternoon, and that’s just what they could use. Nothing could go wrong. Anne gathers up the Plantars and ushers them into the living room, holding out a hand as if she’s showing off a long lost artifact.

“Alright guys, here it is. The main attraction: the television. Or y’know, a TV, for short.” as Anne says this, the Plantars give lil “ooo”s and “aaa”s as if they really are being guided through some sort of museum.

Sprig bounces closer, his eyes lighting up half from excitement but mostly from getting waaay to close to the screen. “Whoa, it’s even bigger than I thought.” his words were hushed in awe.

“Impressive. You can really see all those lil details ya couldn’t with that phone of yours.” Hop Pop quipped as he reached Sprig’s side, also getting way too close to the TV.

“It really is like a giant phone! ... Can I touch it?” Polly asked, half begging. The girl was clearly ready to pounce from the spot on the coffee table she was currently at. There’s no way Anne was gonna tell her no.

“Sure dude, go ahead.”

“YES!” with that approval, Polly sprints off the coffee table and face plants right into the TV, flying between the boys. Anne lets out a low oof along side Polly’s, but once Polly triumphantly gets back up with a semi-evil sounding laugh, Anne refocuses herself to find the remote.

Cue canned laughter. 

“Oh hey, I know that laugh track. It’s from that sitcom my parents would sometimes leave on when we’d prep dinner together.”

“What’sa sitcom?”

“Well Hop Pop, I’m pretty sure it’s short for ‘situational comedy’. They’re usually about wacky stuff happening in a mostly mundane setting, like an office.”

“That sounds... kinda boring.” Polly commented with a tinge of confusion, clearly wondering why someone would want to watch something like that.

“Trust me, when you have someone to make fun of it with, even the worst jokes are funny.”

“She makes a good point. Let’s watch it!” Sprig said from... the couch? Man, that boy is quick. Anne does a spin when she reaches the couch so she can face the TV and flop down next to Sprig, and they’re shortly joined by the others. It looks like the main characters just arrived at some fancy restaurant. A server with a bowtie approaches the table, cloche serving dish in hand.

“And now for one of our finest delicacies,” the server removes the cloche, steam billowing out and concealing whatever may lie underneath, only parting when they introduce the dish, “frog legs.”

Anne and the Plantars let out a gasp. Sprig puts a hand to his mouth, wide-eyed in horror as the people on the TV gnash and tear off flesh from those poor froggy legs. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

“I KNEW IT!” Polly hops in front of Anne, pointing at her so hard her arm shakes a little, “You do eat frogs!”

“What?! Ew, no no no no no! Gross! I mean, some people eat them, but I didn’t grow up with that, so it’s always seriously grossed me out! Look, I’ll just grab the remote and-” Anne grabs at the empty space next to her, realization setting in, “oh frog, I never found the remote!” Anne quickly removes Polly from her lap and starts digging.

“I thought you said this was a comedy Anne, not a horror show!” Hop Pop covers Sprig’s eyes. The sitcom’s laugh track plays again as one of the protagonists acts shocked and calls the frog legs ‘delicious’. “Are those people laughin’ at the mutilation of my brethren?!” 

Anne stops shifting her hands in between the cushions and resorts to lifting them off the couch in desperation. “’Scuse me.” She slides Hop Pop and Sprig onto the ground, “Sorry Hop Pop kinda busy.” 

The protagonists finish, or at least toss out, the remaining frog legs. Hop Pop makes a comment complaining that you should at least finish eating something you’ve killed, which catches Anne’s attention. “Finally,” Anne glances back at the TV, and for once is happy to see an empty plate, “glad that’s over.” Hop Pop removes his hands from Sprig’s eyes. Anne closes her own and relaxes a bit. Then, the server returns to the sitcom protagonists’ table. 

“We have one last meal for the evening,” the server places a new serving dish and removes the cloche once more, “escargot.”

“Escar-what now?” Hop Pop asked.

“Oh, that’s French for...” Anne’s eyes widen in knowing horror, “...snail.” She seriously needed to find that remote.

Hop Pop gives Anne a suspicious look. “And how come you knew what they meant?” Hop Pop rapidly gets more livid, “Really Anne, ya eat snails too?! And here I thought Bessie meant somethin’ ta ya!”

“What!?” Anne gasps, scandalized, “How could you Hop Pop?! You know I love Bessie like my own family!” Hop Pop softened hearing that, snapping out of his fear induced paranoia.

“Sorry Anne, you’re right. This sitcom thingy is really gettin’ in my head.” 

“Apology accepted. Wait, how’s Sprig holding-” Anne’s voice peaks as she sees Sprig’s huddled body rocking back and forth, staring at the massacre taking place on screen, “-UP?! SPRIG!” She rushes over to him. “Oh no. Don’t look! Just hold on buddy.” 

“But... I can’t look away. I want to, but I can’t!” This time the sitcom protagonists are totally disgusted with the food, a huge departure from the pleasant surprise they had with the frog legs. However, because the server has such an expectant look on their face, the protagonists keeps forcing down those snails.

“Wow, those people are acting like they got served Hop Pop’s cooking.”

“Polly!!” Anne and Hop Pop reprimand simultaneously.

“What? It’s true!” Polly is given The Look. “Fine fine, I know. ‘Think those thoughts, don’t say ‘em’.” Hop Pop looks proud for a moment, but then notices something on the screen and doubles back in horror.

“I can’t look, that one looks just like Micro-Angelo!” 

“Oh c’mon Hop Pop, they can’t look that similar.” Anne takes her eyes off the Plantars and looks back to the screen. Her eyes lock-on to the fork slowly delivering that innocent baby snail towards that horrifying monster’s mouth. She can practically hear the ‘meep’ of her sweet baby boy.

As if possessed, Anne keeps her body totally straight and speed walks up to the TV. She leans over, and feels for something on the side of it. Presses a button. And the screen goes black. 

She totally forgot you could turn it off that way.

“Yeah! Woo-hoo!!” The Plantars cheer and use their combined strength to lift up Anne, their savior, in glorious victory. Anne proudly lifts her arms up and cries tears of sweet relief.

Once the short celebration ends, and Anne is returned to the floor, she hugs the Plantars. “I’m so sorry you guys, I had no idea it was gonna be like that! I’ll make sure to be more careful next time.” 

“Aw, it wasn’t THAT bad.” Polly said, waving an arm to emphasize it really wasn’t that big a deal, “It was actually kind of fun seeing those two freak out so much.” 

“Yeah, pretty dark, but that’s nature for ya.” Hop Pop added to the reassurance train.

“Pretty sure that one’s gonna traumatize me for life, but I forgive you.” Anne still felt a bit guilty, but hearing Sprig’s words, along with the rest of the Plantars’, made her feel a lot better. “But please never show me anything like that ever again.”

“You got it buddy.” Anne brought Sprig back into a hug, and gave his head a little pat. While she didn’t have to witness most of it, Anne didn’t wanna see anything like that ever again either. So it should be an easy promise to keep.

“Hey Anne?”

“Yes Polly?”

“...Thanks for holding back and not eating us.”

Utterly frustrated, Anne’s voice once again reached a frankly impressive peak, “I NEVER WANTED TO EAT YOU GUYS!”

[pseudofaux]

Tracassin {Comte/MC}

Nothing scandalous, but the desire is heavyyyyyyy. Kinda angsty. Please enjoy if that sounds like your thing! This gripped me in one of those creative MUST DO MAKE WORDS WRITE LONGING fevers. It’s been awhile, so I was happy to let it happen!

“Is it... Marcel?” she murmurs, back to the game they have been playing for weeks, always with much more space between them.

Rumpelstiltskin, Tracassin, she had suggested in the garden on one of her first happy days in the mansion, if you will not tell me your name, then let me guess! He had agreed, so eager to indulge her and feeling some relief that the game put him in the villain’s place. He could be her entertainer and friend, and of course he would protect her. But he could not orbit her like a lover would. They’d smiled companionably over their cups from the fine set of Limoges, the brilliant white space in the pattern reminding him of her unpointed teeth. He had been confident she would never guess his name. And he had thought it such a neatly-arranged way for her to pass the time, close but not too close.

She is being shockingly bold, but moreover needy, she is needy over his body there in the chair in the hourglass room, and she has said her need is for him, good Lord—

“Comte,” she whisper-whines, plump lips moving softer than her word over his cheek, his jaw. He would have sworn before this moment that he knew what it was to suffer, in life and in lust. Of course she would be the one to show him better. She has revealed so many of life’s joys to him already, clarified tastes like lemon juice in jellies and lifted cloche after cloche off the delights of Paris he may never have found without her. How could she do anything but make his despair a sharper, deeper cut? What will be left if all his rules bleed out of him through the split she is making in his heart? That is the true and most dangerous question.

Because it is so dangerous, he will resist her, he will gently extricate himself from the chair and he will get up and usher her out or leave the room himself. He will... he will remember his plan as soon as she moves her mouth from his jaw, the very second she stops sowing a soft line of kisses there, so precise that the gardeners of the Grand Trianon would weep to see the elegant devastation she is working against him. He has not felt flush on his own skin in such a long time but it is there now: inelegant, blotchy, lurid. A mockery of mortality. It makes him nervous in a way that is juvenile, as he remembers the first time he ever courted, the fumbling declarations, the warmth of love in youth, tender and unwise. Her face interposes itself between memories of learning to dance and kiss. He wants to groan but worries if he makes a single sound, he will break more than his own silence.

“Is it... Marcel?” she murmurs, back to the game they have been playing for weeks, always with much more space between them.

Rumpelstiltskin, Tracassin, she had suggested in the garden on one of her first happy days in the mansion, if you will not tell me your name, then let me guess! He had agreed, so eager to indulge her and feeling some relief that the game put him in the villain’s place. He could be her entertainer and friend, and of course he would protect her. But he could not orbit her like a lover would. They’d smiled companionably over their cups from the fine set of Limoges, the brilliant white space in the pattern reminding him of her unpointed teeth. He had been confident she would never guess his name. And he had thought it such a neatly-arranged way for her to pass the time, close but not too close.

She is quite close now, the expanse of her skirts allowing the knee she has put on his chair to cage him in. The wingback could hide them from the world, if they were really lovers. Her body leaning to his, the sweet honesty of her seduction, these things have stunned him.

She pauses for his response, but before he can use the time to gather himself and move, she moving herself, shifting over his lap and making another guess. “No, not Marcel. Adrien?” She exhales a little laugh. The sound blooms from her throat, below the blood place. He can smell it, precious as butter and salt, and he is grateful he has never needed to see Lear’s folly to know the value of these things. Le comte de Saint Germain knows what makes a table and a feast, and though he will not have it, he knows exactly what he wants spread out before him on the lacquered rosewood surface where the mansion takes its meals.

There is a kindness to her hum, a milky sweetness, when she lifts away from his skin. Only far enough away for the lonely beast in his heart to yelp pathetically for her return, please, anything, go far away or come closer and truly ruin me and it is all silenced with her words. “I don’t think that’s a yes,” she says. “But you are not giving me any real answers at all...” And she returns to kiss his jaw again, her bold but ever-gentle hand cupping the other side of his face. He is surrounded by the feminine pressure of her, but he cannot surrender and he absolutely cannot allow his thoughts to list toward any consideration of feminine pressure.

He feels her arms under his hands, the slight supple muscle of her upper arms tense from contact that has surprised them both, and he is grateful his body is faster than his mind. Her name is a warning on his breath, but it is so heavy with his own need he must yet again keep himself from groaning. If he heard her say his name with as much passion, nothing would keep him from her.

“No more guessing tonight, ma chèrie beauté,” he begs her as he pushes her away. “You must rest.”

She is looking at him with an assessing sort of fire in her eyes, but still she is kind. She has kept her hand on his cheek even as he moved her to stand on the floor in front of the chair.

“Will you tell me?” she asks with transparent, honest hope. If timeless ones had her grace, their lives would not be ones of melancholy.

“I would not take away your game,” he says. Her gaze becomes reproachful.

“It is our game,” she whispers, and she moves to lean in again, has even closed her eyes. But his hands hold her. The hurt in her face wounds him. He wishes it only wounded him. He is not good enough to receive her, let alone reject her-- that is why he must lean on the crutch of this farce and play at disinterest. He releases her arms to pat them and the second time manages to make it more of a quick touch than a caress.

“Shall I call Sebastian to take you to your room?”

He hates himself. For a moment she looks like she hates him, too.

“Non,” she says with emphasis, suddenly French to her toes, and it is a new torture not to smile at her. He tries to focus on not moving forward as she finally draws her hand away, fingertips sliding over the muscle in his jaw that jumps to maintain contact with her. He wonders if even she has limits to her grace, if she is doing this on purpose to twist the knife in his heart.

It is there as a plug, that yelping animal whines, craving her understanding as much as her self. It is there to keep you safe.

She does not look at him as she walks away, but at the door she turns. She is reproachful and a little prim, but no longer angry. “In my time, women take lovers,” she tells him. “If you do not want me for one, it is courtesy to tell me so.”

“I have told you I do not want you for a lover,” he says immediately, and the syllables are so wooden and lame he can see every way her face transforms from pique to victory.

“Goodnight, Monsieur,” she says softly. The door traveler is gracious in her laurels.

He bids her the same, and asks her to forgive him for remaining seated. She only nods, sparing him further ruin. When the door clicks closed, he counts her slippered footsteps as they soften to silence in the hallway of his home. At twenty, he allows his hands to destroy the rests of his chair, splintering the fine frame underneath leather and stuffing.

Rouge and Blanc are both in reach, and both completely unappealing. He shakes the dust from his palms and undoes one cuff. Cleanly, he rolls the sleeve to his forearm, cream against his skin. He thinks of going to find Leonardo for company instead of being so maudlin, but decides against it. Melancholy men find one another eventually, and he’s convinced the other man loves her, too. They all do, damn them. For tonight, he’ll keep his hurt and his blood and his regard for her to himself. He has a terrible sense of dread that these things will see sunlight long before he would like.

She did not touch his sleeve, but her scent is unmistakable over his own, perhaps haunting the air around him. Butter, salt, lemon, lilacs, life. He sucks it in through his nose as he pierces the vulnerable skin inside his arm. The adoration for her is too strong to even imagine biting her and he can taste his own blood so it would be useless to try, but the smell of her stays with him as he punishes and soothes himself. She is the golden light of summer, unavoidable as midday sun. If hers could be the only sunlight to see how weak he is for her, he might dare to reveal himself. She will burn him if he is not careful, and oh, she makes it so hard to be careful. But without her in the room he is cold, and desires her warmth like a winter beggar, even more than when she was there.

[karmaholmes221]

Vicomte de Phantom II

Pier 69

Paris, 1895- A mysterious fire consumed the Opera Populaire. A mob rampaged through the theatre's twisted catacombs baying for the masked man they held responsible. Only his mask was ever found...

I flicked a strand of wet hair out of my face and began messing with the sleeves of my dress. It was busy down at the piers for this time during the day as relatives stood and waited for the disembarking passengers to make their way through the custom house. I stumbled slightly as I was jarred by a young man, who rushed past me to join a rather large crowd just outside the gates. Unable to extinguish my curiosity, I moved closer to see what all the commotion was about, slipping into the crowd of reporters, photographers, well-wishers, and gawkers without notice.  The man, who was clearly a latecomer, turned to the man beside him.

“Has the Persephone docked yet?” he panted.

The man nodded. ”Yeah, the passengers are going through customs now.”

”Here they come!” A young woman whispered loudly to the two men as the first of the passengers made their way through the gate.

”It’s Mrs Astor!” one of the reporters called as a portly lady wearing an enormous plumed hat stepped through the gates, being escorted by a dapper gentleman.

”Hey, Mrs Astor! Over here!” the photographer called. Mrs Astor turned and several flashbulbs went off.

”How was your trip?” one reporter asked.

”Is that the latest Paris style?” another called.

Mrs. Astor  just smiled and blew them a kiss before turning away and allowing herself to be escorted to her waiting carriage.

”Look, there’s Colonel Vanderbilt!” A young man near the front of the crowd called.

”Hey, Colonel, enjoyed those French pastries, did you?” the reporter asked.

Vanderbilt smiled broadly. “There’s nothing there we don’t have bigger and better over here, I assure you.”

”Thanks Colonel!” the photographer said loudly, trying to be heard over the chattering crowd. The Colonel smiled indulgently, patting his ample waistline lightly as the photographers flashbulbs went off before moving off to hail a carriage.

”Hey, there she is!” Someone yelled and all heads turn to the gates, I glanced over, only slightly curious as to the reason to who this mystery person was that they were all standing here waiting for and felt my breath catch in my throat at what I saw.

There, framed in the gateway, clutching the hand of a young boy, stood Christine Daae’. She was nearly obscured by veils and a cloche hat but she was gorgeous, iconic, every inch a star. There was a moment of awed silence as I tried to reign in my pounding heart and push the dread that was seeping through me away. ‘Why, after all these years, why did she have to show her face here, in this town? If Erik finds out she’s here…’  I refused to complete the thought, I didn’t want to think about how far Erik would go to regain his hold on the former prima donna. I pushed the thoughts away as the crowd burst into pandemonium  as flashbulbs exploded and the reporters and photographers began shouting, all vying for Christine’s attention.

Christine remained silent, pulling the boy at her side closer to her and wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders as a familiar voice rose above the shouts of the crowd. “Her name is Madame de Chagny! Stand aside! Stand aside, please!” As Raoul appeared through the gate,  I couldn’t stop myself I gasped. The woman just ahead of me glanced back but I could hardly find it in me to care. It was Raoul, older and slightly more weathered looking than I remembered, but still the same man that I had been married to all those years ago, still dapper and handsome and, in this moment, brusque irate. “No pictures, do you hear? No pictures of my wife, no pictures of the boy!”

”Hey Christine, why Coney Island?” one reporter called.

”Your first concert in years, why ain’t you singing at the Met?”  A reporter in front of me, a young man with ink stains on his shirt, called out and Raoul looked towards him, a dignified look on his face.

“The Vicomtesse has been engaged by the well-known impresario –”

”Well-known?!”

No one’s ever seen the guy” the same reporter cut him off,  before launching another into another question. ”How’d he lure the great Christine Daaé over here, anyways?”

”It’s the money, right? All that American moolah!” The photographer said mockingly.

”Hey Christine, whatcha gonna sing, “Yankee Doodle Moolah”?”A man in the crowd called and the people around him sniggered.

Raoul turned towards where the man’s voice had come from. “My wife is an artist, sir - - !” Raoul began heatedly.

”Yeah, and her art is paying off your gambling debts, is what they’re saying in France.” The photographer scoffed. I was hit with a moment of surprise at the news, I had heard of there financial burden because of some poor investments but I hadn’t realized how badly off they must be if Christine was coming out of retirement to pay their debts off.

”Is it true you left your entire fortune on a roulette table in Monte Carlo?” the reporter asked and Raoul’s eyes blazed angrily. “Why, you insolent jackal! How dare you -” Raoul said taking several steps toward the reporter.

“Father-” The boy began in a quiet voice that was unlike either of his parents.

“Not now, Gustave!” Raoul snapped as reporters turned their questions on the boy.

”Hey kid, how does it feel to have a famous mother?”

”This is your first time in America?”

”What do you plan to do here at Coney?”

The child glanced around shyly, clearly not sure how to handle the attention. ”I… want to learn how to swim.” He said quietly. There were hoots and laughs from the crowd and I couldn’t help but feel a small amount of sympathy for the boy shrinking back against his mother.

”I said, leave the child alone!” Raoul snapped,  glancing around anxiously. “For God’s sake, didn’t this Mr Y send someone to receive us?”

I felt another stab of shock at the sound of Erik’s new name here. It was the name he had been using in the public eye at least, to me he was still Erik. The shock gave way to anger as I realized that he had been in contact with Christine and Raoul, however vaguely, while I had been forced to sever all ties with everyone in Paris because of his actions. I was brought out of my thoughts as the boy suddenly became very animated, he stepped forward and pointed at something across courtyard. “Mother, look..?Right over there… Across the square.. What is it?”

Everyone turned and I wasn’t surprised to see the sight of Erik’s carriage, fancifully designed with horses that were entirely mechanical and a driver whose face was completely obscured. The crowd around me began to buzz as words of astonishment, wonder, and even fear  were thrown back and forth. “What on earth could it be?”

“I’ve never seen such a thing before in my life!”

“Damn strange, that’s what it is!”

“The most peculiar conveyance!”

Suddenly the door of the carriage opened and three familiar figures extricated themselves from the vehicle. I ground my teeth as the three figures bowed in unison to the crowd before turning to approach Christine and her family with their usual bizarre yet beautiful motions. “Are you ready to begin? Are you ready to get on? You’re about to start out on the journey of your lives.” Squelch said before reaching behind the child’s ear and pulling out a colored handkerchief.

” Is this some kind of joke?” Raoul demanded, his voice filled to the brim with bewildered outrage.

One of the onlookers closest to Raoul scoffed. “No, it’s a publicity stunt for that freak show on Coney!”

”It’s a front page feature, is what it is! You getting this, Smitty?” One of the reporters asked his photographer as he rushed to write in a small, leather book and I couldn’t help but smile at the idea of such good publicity for free.

There was yet another flash from the photographer’s camera.“You betcha!” he replied, taking yet another picture.

Gangle stepped forward. “If you’re ready, then get in. Once you’re in, then we’ll get gone. And who knows, once it goes, Where you’ll be when it arrives?” Gangle spoke and, in one fluid motion, he had removed Raoul’s top hat and suddenly made it vanish into thin air.

“This is outrageous!” Raoul snapped as the crowd began to murmur again, this time in approval.

“It’s amazing!”

”Brilliant!”

”I’m telling ya, that Mr Y is an absolute genius!”

Gangle and Squelch quickly moved to flank the family and walked them towards the carriage as the bird-like Fleck beckoned them forward. “It’s a fun house where the mirrors all reflect what’s real.” Fleck said mysteriously.

“And reality’s as twisted as the mirrors reveal.” Fleck and Gangle whispered.

Squelch added his voice to the mix. “And the fun is finding out what the mirrors show…” By now the whole group had reached the carriage and Christine was helped into it as Raoul continued to protest.

“This is unacceptable, do you hear me? I will be taking this up with your employer! Whoever he is!” Raoul snapped as he was finally coaxed into the carriage, leaving only the boy, Gustave,  outside it.

Gustave gazed at the carriage and then at the crowd, his face and voice excited as he spoke.”Everything and everyone, it’s all just how I dreamed…All the freaks, and all the fun, exactly how I dreamed…And Phantasma still awaits…Wonder what’s behind its gates…” The boy climbed into the carriage and it silently rolled off as the onlookers watched, speechless. As the carriage disappeared from view I quickly turned on my heel and began to push my way through the crowd, catching snatches of conversation. ”That was something’, wasn’t it?” A boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen told the woman who was hanging on his arm.

”I was hoping she’d sing. Caruso sang half of Pagliacco for us when he got off the boat.” A woman complained to her friend.

“I bet she ain’t got it no more, not like the old days. Sure, she’s pitch perfect… But empty inside, like the flame went out or something’.” One of the reporters said simply, digging in his coat for a match.

I slipped passed a woman who looked to be my age as she suddenly began pointing to the arrival gates, calling out to the crowd. ”Look! It’s the Rockefellers!”

I finally made it through the last few people and slipped down the busy street, a plan forming in my head. I veered off the main street and into a dismal back alley. I would take a  shortcut back to Coney Island and Phantasma, and I would find out exactly what was going on.

[robbyrobinson]

OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS (XVI)

The next thing Eda, Lilith, and King knew, they were being escorted into the dungeon whilst still being stronghold by a few of the imperial guards. Nyarlathotep walked in front of them, humming some tune to himself. Once more, he was in his Black Pharaoh form. He turned to look at the prisoners with a half-amused smile. “Be sure to make yourselves at home.”

At the entrance of the dungeon with its large, heavy iron casing, stood Warden Wrath. He gave a slight bow towards the Crawling Chaos to which Nyarlathotep responded to with a wave of his hand. “At ease, Wrath.”  

Wrath examined the prisoners. His yellow button-like lens of his mask lit up. “Eda, the Owl Lady! We meet again.”  

Eda groaned in irritation. “Oh, Titan, not him.”  

Nyarlathotep smirked and tried to stifle a laugh. “I take it that you know this woman?”  

“Yes, my lord; the Owl Lady was the one that always escaped my clutches! Yet for as much as I desired her, she always rejected my advances.”  

He walked up to Eda and morphed his hand into a bouquet of flowers. He held it in front of Eda’s face. “Perhaps now that there is no escape, you could change your mind?”  

Before Eda could reply, Nyarlathotep broke the two up. While his smile was still visible on his face, he tapped his finger against the side of a wall. The sound of his finger echoed through the walls in a dry, hollow thrust. Warden Wrath immediately backed away. Nyarlathotep’s glare never faltered.  

“The human girl is essential in my plans; what would you think would happen if she knew that you laid a finger on her mentor? Need I remind you of the punishment that could transpire for your insolence?”  

Warden Wrath held his hands up. “Yes, my lord. Forgive me.”  

“You are forgiven; now show the three guests to their room.”  

Warden Wrath and the guards took the prisoners and tossed them into a glass cage. Once all three were in, the bindings that were placed on their limbs were removed. When the last guard exited the cage, the door was sealed shut with a wave of the guard’s finger. Nyarlathotep took a chair and propped it down to sit on it. His smile widening to the point of wrapping around the sides of his head, he crossed his leg and held a cup. Almost on cue, another guard arrived on the scene and poured a liquid into it. Nyarlathotep grasped the head of the cup and brought it to his lips.  

“What is your game, Nyarlathotep?” Eda asked.

The glass clicked against the Crawling Chaos’ teeth. He brought the cup down and sighed. “I really love this apple blood you witches brew; maybe moreso than the typical games I engineer.”  

“What are you planning on doing to us?” King said.

“You are all much too valuable to threaten,” Nyarlathotep stated, “it’s really the most mundane of gambits, but I am keeping you all hostage for as long as I like.”

Eda knelt down and clasped some of the shackles. She then made an unprovoked dash towards the glass. The cuffs slammed against the cage. Instead of doing what she had hoped, sparks of white lightning struck her and propelled her back to the ground. The walls jiggled from the magic that composed them. Once the gelatinous walls settled down, the cage regained its still composure. Eda tried it again only to be met with the same result.  

“What is this?” Lilith inquired. She casually poked her finger on the wall only to draw it back when a surge of lightning shocked her. She clutched her other hand over that one.  

“It is a wall that was created by some alchemist using some of my dark magic,” Nyarlathotep explained. “Any normal magic you witches could dish out will only bounce off it. It has the additional benefit of absorbing the magic and blows of other people making it three times as strong as it initially was.”  

“That can’t be true,” Eda denied, “every cage can be broken...just takes effort.”  

Nyarlathotep got up from his chair and rubbed his chin. “It isn’t like you can do much; I sense that your magic bile sac is faulty.”  

“For your explanation, if you must know that I ended up using it in order to save Luz.”  

Lilith looked down at the floor. She really wished that she could forget driving her sister to that point, but what was done was done. There was little inconceivable way that Eda would be able to perform magic again through the biological way.  

“Even if you and your sister, hypothetically speaking of course, transform into your beastly forms, that will not be enough to free you from that cage. Unless...”  

Eda’s eyebrow arched. “Unless what?”  

“You and your sister can always align yourself with me; I can remove your curses if you so please.”  

Eda turned her head in disgust. “Forget it; I am not going to agree to that deal especially because your little pet project lied to my sister about promising to remove my curse.”  

“Of course, he was unable to remove it; he represents only a sliver of my power. If he was able to cure anyone of their ailment, it would only be a temporary fix for a temporary situation. But once I have the Necronomicon in my possession, I can remove your little curse if in return you become my acolytes.”  

“I said no, Nyarlathotep. I will not spend the remainder of my days serving you until the Boiling Isles crumbles away.”  

Nyarlathotep sighed in disappointment. “Very well then; I may as well should just leave you condemned to your tragic fate.”  

The Black Pharaoh snapped his fingers not taking his eyes off the cage. In walked in Kikimora with a plate in her hand. On it was a silver cloche to conceal the contents within. She made a slight bowing gesture to Nyarlathotep and directed one of the guards to create a hole big enough to slide the plate into it.  

“What are you doing now?” Lilith asked in confusion.  

King grabbed the cloche and pulled it away. Underneath the plate were three sandwiches comprised of peanut butter and jelly. The crust of the bread was cut away leaving only the whiteness of the loaves. The three eyed the sandwiches suspiciously before directing their attention back to Nyarlathotep. He sat back down and drank more apple blood from his cup.  

“You may want to eat that,” he said.  

“You can go to Hell for all we care,” Eda declared.  

“Hell? Aw that’s cute,” said Nyarlathotep in a chuckle. “But I do insist on eating those sandwiches; it could may as well be the last time that you eat something in your life.”  

“You likely laced them with some...alien drug,” Eda said, “we do not want anything to do with your sandwich or you.”  

Nyarlathotep shrugged. “No skin off my back then; the clock is ticking.”  

He waved his index finger back and forth as a visual metaphor. “The Day of Unity is just about to take wing.”  

“You always say things on Day of Unity this; Day of Unity that. What exactly are you detailing?” Eda asked aloud.  

“It comes in two forms: first, my servant, Belos, wanted me to specifically destroy the Earth for his cause. I will admit that while I hate the idea of him gaining free will away from my control, he did keep the Isles nice and tidy while I was on temporary leave. I will do such once I regain my full power.”  

Eda tensed up. Her blood ran cold; shivers went up her spine. “Why does he want that?”  

“It is a very interesting story he told me: the reason he hates the Earth so much has to do with him being a temporary parent of sorts.”  

Eda sat down with her sister and King. “A parent? Belos?”  

She turned to look at Lilith. Lilith shrugged her shoulders expressing the same confusion that her younger sister was showing. “Belos never mentioned having any children.”  

Nyarlathotep laughed. “I would suspect not; one day, some human girl found herself wondering in the Boiling Isles along with scraps of metal and other things coming from the human realm.”  

“There were more portal keys out there?” Eda asked.

“I am certain that there were at least a few keys aside from the one that you had in your possession; whatever means she came here, Belos saw some potential in raising the child as a mentor. The child was always kept away in the deeper parts of his kingdom where he bestowed some of his power to her whilst keeping her being a human a top secret. The old man taught her every kind of magic there was under some belief that she would likely continue in his footsteps.”  

King was ripping his teeth into one of the PB&J sandwiches and shoveling large chunks into his mouth. “Wvell, hwhat rappened?”  

“She started to realize the corruption he was poisoning the Boiling Isles with, and she fought against him. Before she vanished, she left Belos in such a bloodied, beaten state, he swore to have his vengeance. From the way he described the beating he was delivered, Belos can now barely hold it together. Give or take a year and a half, I am quite certain that he would be shuffling off the mortal coil soon. With no heir to succeed him, this may as well spell the end of the coven system.”  

The three prisoners looked at each other whilst mentally trying to figure out what human girl would have even dreamed of defeating Belos and leaving him in a near-death state for the rest of his rule.  

Luz and Amity were arriving to Earth at a skyrocketing speed, the pressure of the air around them smacking into them. The brown rat was already further down and using the streams of cloud as a surfboard. Hypnos was following closely behind. Unlike the two girls who flailed their arms against the winds, Hypnos gracefully floated through the mist, his arms pinned squarely on his sides.  

“No fair, how can you do this?” Luz asked.

“Tons of experience, and...lots of drugs,” Hypnos bluntly stated.

“Oh.”  

The two turned back to glaring at the brown rat. “I have the tiniest inkling of where he is going.”  

“Where?” Amity asked.

“Let me confiscate the rat, and you can find me then,” Hypnos stated.  

Hypnos’ astral body curved in the air and jetted down like a heat-seeking missile. It was now just Amity and Luz plunging towards the Earth. Amity’s eyes were open in small squints. The pressure bounced off her eyes shifting them behind the back of her head. She grabbed onto Luz’s hand for dear life hoping that with her combined strength, they could slow down the speed with which they were free falling.  

She looked up at the sky seeing the portal that they had just leaped from. She could hardly believe it: she was now in another realm filled with alien tech her little mind couldn’t even bear to understand. Naturally, she knew that the Earth existed because Luz was a denizen of that world. But never in her imagination or calculations could have prepared her to the implication of a multiverse. The scenarios were limitless: in one, Amity could have been the one who was not born with magic whereas Luz was. She could likely be some other species on another world with a completely different personality. Perhaps there was one where she and Luz..she couldn’t finish that thought due to her feeling the warmness of her cheeks.  

“Amity, is the motion sickness making you sick?” Luz asked.

Amity shook her head to keep her thoughts at bay. “Oh...no. No, I’m fine.”  

She yelped when Luz placed her forehead onto hers. “Are you sure, Amity? Your head feels warm.”  

“Pfft...I’m fine, hahahaha...who’s Amity?”  

Amity’s oddness aside, Luz shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, we should probably brace ourselves.”  

She pointed to the ground which was now within reach. “Makes me wish Hypnos considered giving us parachutes.”  

Amity was confused. “Par-A-what now?”  

“Whatever, get ready...set....”  

Luz wrapped her arms around the witch girl’s waist. The pupils in Amity’s eyes shrunk. “L-Luz!?”  

Before she could say anything, the air tightened around the two as they faced the full brunt of the fall.  

[thethousandyearwitch]

Lest Darkness Falls on Yorknew

A Pariging Vampire + Werewolf AU!

High Priestess of Yorknew, Cheadle Yorkshire, is troubled by recent developments. Livestock and people have started to disappear or end up slaughtered, and people turn to her and the church in hope of saving. Could it truly be that the new owner of the hillside mansion has something to do with it? Investigating by herself may be more dangerous than she thinks..

Chapter 4: The Finale.

AO3 Link

What the hell am I doing? Ging cursed himself as he surveyed the hillside manor towering above Yorknew. The sun had freshly set, and darkness had spread over everything in the valley, except for the oil lantern Ging carried and the bright lights of the mansion in front of him. The mansion was framed by black wrought-iron fences, around 7 feet tall, melting into each other at a large front gate. Behind the gate, a stone path lead straight to the front door. There was no patrol outside, though Ging wondered if they could still sense him as much as he could sense them. The hairs at the back of his neck had stood up as soon as he had entered the area, his ears were twitching with the faintest trace of sound or movement, and his teeth felt uncomfortable in his own mouth, itching to bite down into whatever he could find. What am I even supposed to do? ‘Eliminate’ my ass, am I just supposed to ring the door? Ding Dong Hello yes, it’s me, a Werewolf, here to kill your coven leader- A shadow passed by a window on the second floor, and Gings attention got drawn back. Tall, upright statue, they had already mostly walked out of view. But for a moment, the shadow stood still, their left shoulder and half of their face still blurry and dark in the window.

And even though it was too dark to tell,

And he was hidden from sight,

Ging felt like they were looking directly at him.

Instinctively he hid behind the tree he was leaning on, and killed the fire of his oil lamp, biting the inside of his cheek. Slowly, shivers crept up his spine, his muscles tensed. His hand shot to his pocket to grab the cross Cheadle had provided for him. Pure iron bathed in holy water, uncomfortably warm to the touch for a werewolf, painfully hot and burning to a vampire. Ging had never interacted face to face with a vampire before, and yet something deep withing him recognized this piercing gaze as something inherently hostile and predatory. A century old feud that would carry on with generations, a natural born hatred for each other, its groundwork laid in territory conflicts and a right to hunt.

Everything around him felt intensified, more suspicious, from the cold breeze cutting his skin, to the creaking of old trees under their own weight. Leaves on the ground rustled with either footsteps or a gust of wind. Somewhere a twig snapped. Ging bit down harder on his check, until the comfort of warm blood engulfed his mouth, bitter and tainted.

Silence. Despite his heart beating heavily against his chest, Ging slowly turned around to check on the window. Clear, no trace of anyone. No sign of anyone exiting the mansion, either. Ging sighed with relief and leaned with his shoulder against the tree. His body was still alert, twitching and tensing, but it seemed like he wasn’t in any danger.

“Ah, I knew I saw a lost puppy wandering out here~” Before Ging could fully turn around and process what happened, a hand wrapped firmly around his throat, and lifted him off the ground.

He was face to face with who he could only assume was Pariston Hill. Blonde Hair, tall, lean, wearing a golden herringbone suit so ridiculously shiny, that Ging would have made a joke if his windpipe weren’t being crushed. Dark brown eyes were closely examining the werewolf, and slowly, Paristons lips parted to reveal sharp fangs. “Didn’t you know its impolite to spy on people? How should I go about punishing a stray dog like you?” Paristons grip tightened, and his lips curled into a smile.

Ging knew that trying to overpower a Vampire in this position would be difficult, not having the opportunity to transform, or freely move around to take advantage of his agility. But that would all be fair play, and he knew better than to restrict himself to that. His right hand was still in his pocket and clutched the cross.

In a swift motion, Ging pulled his hand out of his pocket, and smacked it flat on Paristons hand. Immediately the smell of burned flesh filled the air, along with a sizzling sound. Holy shit it actually works- The vampire withdrew his hand with a sharp inhale, and Ging fell to the ground, gasping for air. He looked up to see the other still holding his own hand, most likely covering a severe burn, eyes fixated on him, lips twitching.

Ging knew he should have immediately grabbed his bag and take the stake or holy water.

Or he should have just made a run for it, a werewolf has a vampire beat in speed.

But he just returned the others stare, painfully aware of his own vulnerability.

Paristons lips twitched to a bigger smile, a smile of irritation and disbelief. “Not bad, not bad at all. What’s your name, Mutt?”

“Ging Freecs, if you’d like I can use your ashes to write it down for you.” His eyes darted towards his bag, still next to the tree. He wondered if he could out speed the vampire to take the bag and grab the holy water.

A clap, and a pleased sound drew his attention back. “Ging Freecs, Ging Freecs! Marvelous, I must command you for your bravery. Tell me, are you just blissfully stupid, or did someone order you to spy on me?”

“Do you think I’d voluntarily spy on someone as boring as you? Next time you could at least put on a peep-show or something.”

Silence fell between them, Ging grinned confidently, Pariston replied with a satisfied smile. Time stood still for this moment, a Vampire and a Werewolf acknowledging each other as spiteful creatures.

The moment passed. Ging quickly leaned towards the tree and reached for his bag. One dash of holy water to burn and distract, and then a quick stab through the heart, and ill be back home before sunrise.

But before Ging could even stand up, or open his bag, a swift kick to his head threw his body against the tree, head hitting the hard bark. His vision faded fast as he fell back onto the ground, numb pain spreading from his head to the rest of his body.

“Don’t worry, we’re not done playing yet~” The last thing Ging saw, was a blurred Pariston towering over him, flashing another smile.

 ---------------------------------------------------------

Ging wasn’t sure how many hours had passed when he awoke. His head felt heavy, and his entire body ached, as if he were going through a bad hangover. Once he opened his eyes, he first saw the thick ropes that bound him into an uncomfortable seated position, unnaturally upright, arms and legs restricted.

It took more effort than he’d like to admit to lift his head, but when he did, he realized the darkness covering the room, only penetrated by a few lit candles on the large dinning table he was seated in front of. The table was decked with gold plated cutlery, and a plate covered by a stainless-steel cloche.

Gings night-sight had never been the best, but it was still good enough to pierce through the darkness of the room and find Pariston sitting at the end of the table, leaned forward on his elbows, chin rested in the palm of his hand. There was a small, burning red spark in his eyes, and he smiled at the werewolf. “Good Morning, sleeping beauty. How’s your head?”  The vampire chimed.

“Just great, never had a concussion as lovely as this.”

Pariston laughed lightly, as if Ging had told an actual joke before he tilted his head just a tad to the side. “I removed that pesky scarf from your head, I hope you don’t mind. I have to say, a werewolves’ ears are quite sensitive, even while they are passed out.”

Ging grimaced, “I hope you had your fill of touching my ears, because that will never happen again.” His ears twitched involuntary at the thought of someone else coming close to them.

“That’s a shame. It’s my first time I’ve had the pleasure with one of your kind, so I’m naturally curious. You should brush your teeth more often, by the way, I think I spotted some discolorations on your fangs.”

“Did you put your disgusting spider fingers in my mouth?”

“I may have sneaked a peak at the unique canines of a wolf, how truly fascinating!” Ging wasn’t sure if it was the concussion, or the thought of Pariston prying around in his mouth, that got him close to throwing up on himself.

“So how long are you planning to keep me here, ‘cause it smells like death in here, and I’d rather be anywhere else.”

Pariston, instead of answering, slowly pushed his chair back, and walked leisurely towards Ging. Again, alarm bells rang loudly in his head, even drowning out the numb pain, and the hairs at the back of his neck stood up. But he could not back away, not even when Pariston laid his hand on his head and ruffled through his hair. “To be honest, I was planning to keep you. The relationship between werewolves and vampires can be quite beneficial to both, if they are willing to set aside their differences.” His face came uncomfortably close to Gings, and the werewolf pondered if he could somehow manage to lunge forward and bite the others nose off. “You could go outside in the daylight, and run any errands and surveillance as is needed, and in exchange we can give you the security to hunt whatever and whoever, as much as your wild heart pleases.”

Ging spit, with precision, on Paristons right cheek, who in return jumped a few feet back, hastily grabbed a tissue from his suit, and tried to clean himself. “I don’t care much for hunting whoever. I’m a simple man, a couple of sheep every few weeks keep me satisfied. You’re disguising yourself as human, while I have kept my humanity intact.”

The vampire stopped wiping at his cheek, and tilted his head again, lips curled again in a playful manner. “Ah~ So it’s like that. A good boy who never bites the shepherd’s hand, never reaps the sheep he’s guarding. Of course, you wouldn’t want to associate with degenerates like us, would you?”

Slowly, carefully, he stepped closer to Gings side again, but stopped at the edge of the table. “Are you hungry, Ging? I will happily release you back to your herd, but I would be a horrible host if I didn’t offer you some food first.”

“Does a good host tie his guests to chairs?” Gings head still felt heavy, and he used most of his energy just to keep his eyes focused on the other. Naturally, he was hungry, wanting to recharge on energy. How long had it been again since he had hunted anything?

Pariston lifted the cloche to reveal a piece of meat, still steaming, served with a side of green asparagus and a couple of wedged potatoes.

“My specialty, filet mignon. Rare, ‘kissed by the flame’, served with a side of asparagus and rosemary-potatoes.”

The smell hit Gings nostrils, and he started salivating. He watched Pariston cut into the meat, like a knife cutting into hot butter, the meat seemed tender, and revealed its inner reddish pink. And for a second, Ging had forgotten whatever they had just been talking about. He just saw food, ready to be ate, to satisfy this hunger he had been carrying around. It was just when Pariston turned towards him, fork in hand, flashing another toothy grin, that Ging realized.

“This is- “Before the sentence could leave his lips, Paristons hand was firmly grabbing his jaw. “It’s bad manners to say you don’t like something before you’ve even tried it.”

Ging dug his nails into the chair he was bound to, tried to rip free from the ropes, tried to release his jaw from the vampire’s iron grip. But all in vain.

If he had eaten before going on this mission, or if he could have been thinking clear without a head injury, maybe then he would have had a chance.

But instead, Pariston pressed his mouth open, and insistently pushed the fork carrying a piece of the filet into the werewolf’s’ mouth.

Various images flashed in front of his inner eye. His son Gon, so small, how he promised him he’d be able to grow up between humans and live like one of them. Cheadle, who trusted him with her own life, and the life of everyone in Yorknew, whose kindness had saved his life. And the nameless corpse, faceless human, whose flesh Ging was eating. Pariston brushed the meat off the work on Gings teeth, and held his mouth closed. As if practiced, he moved his ring finger just under the others jaw, and imitated chewing motions with it.

Slowly, the taste of the meat spread through Gings mouth, coating everything. He did not notice when he started to chew by himself. Or when he finally swallowed the bite. Paristons hand was still on his jaw, though it was no longer in a firm grasp but merely resting there as a ghosting touch.

“How did you like it, Ging?” The vampires voice was just above a whisper, and for the first time since he had seen him, Ging saw something other than a dangerous abyss in the others’ eyes. There was no comfort in them, no reassurance or regret. But suddenly he felt like he could understand him. Not entirely, not his existence or his person, but something in his core.

“More.” Gings voice was strained, hungry, mournful. For the first time in his life, he felt his humanity ripped away from him. And yet he could not care less. All he could care about in the moment was to feed, to indulge in this primal need that he had kept himself from for so long.

Pariston brushed his thumb over Gings cheekbone, “Good boy.”

He proceeded to feed the werewolf the rest of the steak, though he no longer had to motivate him to chew, or open his mouth.

After just a couple of minutes, it was all gone, and Ging let his head hang forward. His face felt hot and flushed, and he licked over his canines and incisors in a desperate attempt to recover any more of the sweet, rich taste he had indulged in. He had consumed human flesh, which he had sworn to never do. To never loose this part of his humanity, to keep this moral ground. And it all got thrown out the window. His heart ached with disappointment and regret.

A hand lifted his chin, and he starred back into those deep brown eyes who did this to him. “Do you think you want to go back to the village? Play the good sheepdog?” Pariston leaned forward, resting his hands on each of Gings shoulders, whispering in a light tone into his ear, “Do you think you can? Now that you know what you’d be missing.” His left hand gently cupped his cheek. “You don’t have to. I’m giving you an option to come with me. Soon we’ll leave this village, and head west towards the next. Join us, and you can taste to your hearts content.” As Pariston pulled back, his lips briefly brushed over Gings skin, chased by shivers and goosebumps.

“Why me? You’ve seemed to be fine hunting so far.” Ging flexed against the tight ropes again.

“Because you intrigue me, Ging Freecs. I want to know more about werewolves, about what they are capable of.  What you are capable of.”

With a snap, the ropes came off one after another, a demonstration of Paristons finely sharpened nails. He stood up straight and extended a hand towards the wolf, a devilish smile on his lips. “Will you indulge me, Ging?”

And Ging pondered if he would.

[seleneshield]

A Fine Flame

@bow-tie-bartender

To say that the resolve Selene had built up within herself just moments before to gracefully let go of any hope for a romantic relationship with the fine flame melted would be an understatement when she felt him lean into her hand at his cheek and gently encompass it with his own warm touch. But with his thanks at her words she persevered and gently let him go to politely end their evening together. She was delighted that Grilby had enjoyed his time with her and that when he took her hand one last time to give it a quick kiss before saying their final goodbyes.

These were the thoughts that lingered with her as Selene stood in her doorway and watched as the large car carried away Grillby's blue glow on his way home till it turned the corner pulling him out of sight. In the cooling night air the sounds of the city with its many other people and families trying to get home were not but whitenoise to her till the clicking of Sebastian’s shoes on the stairs of her stoop pulled her from the thoughts of her departed guest. Back inside Selene paused for a moment before turning to Sebastian as he locked and shut up the house for the night, “...I kept everyone up rather late tonight with my dinner, be sure to let Lucy and William know tomorrow we can all have a late start and sleep in a bit. That goes double for you Sebastian. I have no plans tomorrow until evening and no intention of doing much till then. You’ll all also be well compensated for the extra effort above and beyond what is normally asked. Thank you very much for everything Sebastian.” Selene’s soft smile to her steward was met with a small bow, “of course Miss Shield, i’ll make sure the others know of your wishes as well.”

Selene ascended the stairs on the way to her room and paused at the top landing. Across the hall sat the guest bedroom all freshly made up with a large white box wrapped up in string sitting on the bed. Within it sat a very well tailored suit made of a soft dark charcoal gray fabric sized to fit Grillby as best as an off the rack suit could. It had been an impulse and far too much wishful thinking on her part at the time when she picked it up the day before while out shopping for tonight, but that showed how much optimistic hope she had for tonight and where it would lead. With a sigh she continued on to bed. If nothing else ever became of the two of them then at least it could always do as a nice suprise or possible parting gift.

Slipping into her room Selene began the solitary ritual of dressing down, sliding out of her silver satin gown, unclasping her jewelry to be safely stored away, removing her makeup, and changing out of her fancier undergarments to slip into a comfortable nightgown. Tucked between her soft sheets Selene curled onto her side and contemplated the wide empty spaces of her bed when all alone. It was in that moment that she came to a conclusion and barated herself for behaving so poorly, even if only in the privacy of her own mind. Grillby had responsibilities, a business to run. She should be grateful for the wonderful time they had and enjoy his company for as long as he would allow. He bid her to enjoy the rest of her evening and invited her to see in tomorrow evening and that was just what she was going to do. Looking at her hand resting next to her head she remembered how he held it so gently and left his final gentle kiss, at the fresh memory she could feel the slight tingle of his touch on her hand like a mark she could nearly see. On her gently parted lips she felt his lingering touch too like a brand, smiling at the feeling Selene finally went to sleep and dreamed in vivid shades of blue.

The start to the next day was just as Selene promised, later in the day than usual to the point that everyone's first meal was more of a leisurely brunch then a breakfast. With no other plan in her day than to visit Grillby’s later that night, Selene spent her day comfortably lounging around her home. With book in hand, glasses on nose, and cat at her heels, she began reading her matching copy of ‘The Mysterious Affair’ by Agatha Christie in the sweet sun that filtered in through the wide window. The book was rather gripping and completely engrossing, so much so to the point that she was only pulled away from its pages to discratiedly accept a cup of tea mid day, use the facilities, and finally have dinner. Sebastian had even been so attentive that she didn’t even notice when the electric lights had been switched on when the natural light would no longer be enough for her to easily read by. Dinner was a delicious affair but a far more casual one compared to the previous night. Making sure her bookmark was securely in place nearly halfway through the book the lady of the house made her way upstairs to go change for her night out.

Lucy had been a doll and had pulled out her little decorative dress with that flared into a layered skirt that looked like the petals of a flower, fading from black to gray to white. Accessorising her outfit with a bit of delicate silver jewelry, a white cloche hat decorated with a flower, and black frock coat detailed with sweeping silver embroidery she felt she was all set to go see Grillby once more. Selene headed down the stairs into her hall, made the request of Sebastian to call for a car to take her to the nearest corner to the tucked away dinner, and informed him that she should be home before 1:00 AM unless she called him to tell him otherwise.

When the vehicle pulled up outside her home and whisked her away, Selene did her best to rein in her feelings for the fine flame. This however, only proved to be harder than expected as the thrill of seeing Grillby once more grew as she drew ever closer. As the car rolled up to the nearest corner and let Selene out, she took a deep breath and calmed herself to prepare for anything the night might bring. Walking down the dark alleyway easily towards the tucked away door she gave the secret knock on it’s sturdy surface and waited for the small sliding window to open up to a pair of shifty eyes. Smiled at the onlooker she watched as the door eased open before being allowed in and greeted Doggo politely. Stepping into the glow of the speakeasy Selene continued on in to delicately sit at what she beginning to believe was her seat at the corner of the long polished bar counter. She idly took it all in, the atmosphere, the sents, the warmth, until Grillby finally caught her eye and she smiled.

[alma-berry]

A special occasion - Kitty Fluff

500 Followers Celebrations

This was set to be a special evening.

Kit was trying to enjoy the process as much as he could; he opened himself a bottle of wine, put on a record in Ty’s record player, and munched several mozzarella sticks until he realised he wasn’t in a romantic comedy, that the wine was making him feel rather dizzy, and that there was almost no mozzarella left for the lasagna.

At least he enjoyed the record, he thought. It wasn’t what he would usually listen to, but he always believed some music was just good, no matter your taste. Etta James’s voice floated through the small apartment halls like smoke on water, and as always, small goosebumps climbed Kit’s arms like vines.

It was a special evening, or at least he intended it to be. Well, maybe special evening wasn’t the right word for it. It was a special day, one both of them always remembered, but never spoke of. It was six years ago when Ty had tried to raise Livvy from the dead, and only partially succeeded.

Every year Ty would become deadly silent whenever the date got closer, and in the actual day, he would drown himself in so much work Kit didn’t see him until after midnight. After the clock had showed him that the date had passed.

This year, Kit wanted to break the wheel.

He had a specific, well planned day for Ty, one that he had no idea about. Kit had recruited Dru for the mission of urgently calling him to the institute as soon as the sun broke. They wrote an impressive scripted confession of hers in which she confess to Ty that she is seriously considering going to the scholomance, which no doubt will produce or an eager monologue about the amazing learning experience that she might receive, or a long list of reasons why she should drop the idea. There would probably be lists in both scenarios, and there will definitely be olive loaf in the second one.

The second phase of his plan should be executed by a grumpy Aline, that was supposed to suddenly find a lost kitten or lizard and present it to Ty before he could leave the institute. Kit had offered a skunk as a solid, time consuming option, but his aching ribs were to serve as a reminder of Aline’s stern refusal.

In shorts, Ty was to be thoroughly occupied until evening came, where he was to rush back to their apartment to fetch Julian a volume of Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, which was actually one of the only things Kit brought back with him from his father’s house.

When Ty will enter the room, he would find a romantic dinner Kit had made with all the things he liked to eat. And cookies, for dessert. Though that one was mainly for himself.

He was labouring for hours, soaking and creaming and slicing and dicing things he never even knew existed till this day. Ty was the one who knew his way around the kitchen, but Kit wanted to make him happy so much, to help him forget, even if it’s just for a day.

It was something Jem told him he used to do for Will when they were young that gave him the idea, and it was Tessa who told him how one should peel an avocado without peeling one’s hand. It was a solid advice, Kit thought sadly while applying another Iratze to his injured hand.

He looked at the almost ready dinner in front of him and checked the recipes once more. One dish should enter the oven, one should be kept cold and the last.. well, it wasn’t specified. So he put everything in its place, praying as he shoved the lasagna in the oven that he put enough mozzarella.

Kit showered in top speed and wore the softest shirt he owned, the one Ty liked to snuggle in when it was especially cold, and his favourite black jeans.

He never had many clothes when he was a child, and though Jem and Tessa made sure he’d never miss a thing, he always kept his belonging neat and clean. Kit had learned long ago to never take anything for granted, and Ty was at the top of that list. There was nothing more precious to him, no one, with the possible exception of his little sister, that made him laugh until his stomach ached and his heart felt so full he might vomit cupid shaped candy.

He was just about to put on his shoes, wondering how come the apartment wasn’t filled with the delicious smell of tomatoes and rosemary and, eh, a small amount of cheese, when a slightly burnt scent made its way into the bedroom. Kit froze in horror for one endless second before he bolted straight to the kitchen.

A quick glance told him nothing was on fire, but a second look revealed that the lasagna was probably not supposed to look so.. overly crusted.

Crap crap crap.

He yanked the freezer’s door and looked at the Vietnamese salad that took him two hours to make. It was frozen. Was it supposed to be frozen?

Kit scanned the recipe and his heart sank. It was supposed to be kept cold. Not ice cold.

His phone buzzed while he was trying to see if at least the mashed potatoes were edible.  “The package is on its way.”  God damn it. The lasagna was ruined, the salad was frozen, and the mashed potatoes looked like lumpy goo that even he didn’t want to try.

With a last, desperate attempt to make something out of this dinner, he opened the wooden pantry’s door and took out what he hoped would be enough to make Ty smile, at least a small smile.

Kit heard the front door of the apartment open right when he covered the small tray of his possible salvation with a silver cloche.

He looked up at Ty who stood in front of him, a study of contrasts under the candle light, and forgot all about the mess he made.

They closed the gap between them in two short strides, and were in each other’s arms.

Ty whispered in Kit’s ear with his low voice, making him shiver.

“I assume Julian doesn’t really want the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, right?”

Kit smiled and pressed a soft kiss in the hollow under his neck.

“Nah, I think he can manage without it for tonight.”

They untangled themselves from each other, and Ty gave Kit a quizzical look.

“Do you want to explain or am I supposed to deduce from observation?”

“It’s way below your pay grade, Sherlock..” Kit teased, smiling at the spark in Ty’s eyes that never failed to appear whenever he called him by his old nickname.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Watson.” Ty grinned.

“Let’s see, you made dinner, or rather tried to make dinner..” He added at the guilty look on Kit’s face.

“There are candles and music that you rarely listen to. And I know for a fact that there is a copy of the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum in the institute’s library. I should know, I put it there myself when I was fourteen. Do you want me to continue?”

“You know you want to..” Kit raised his eyebrows and led Ty to the table.

“The only interest Dru had ever showed in the scholomance was after I told her the castle looked like it was taken from one of her horror movies, and the skunk-“

“Aline brought a skunk? She punched me when I suggested it!” Kit called in indignation.

“No, that was Tavvy. She gave me a baby turtle. So that was you? All of it?”

“I-“

All of a sudden, Kit didn’t know what to say. Was it too much? Did he over step his place? Maybe Ty needed this day, needed his time alone, and Kit took that away from him.

“So what’s for dinner?”

“W-what?”

“I can see there’s a tray with a cloche on it. So there is something for dinner. What is it?”

Kit felt his cheeks burn. Your last chance.

He lifted the cloche, and saw Ty’s eyes widen in surprise.

Two bags of chips rested neatly on a silver tray. A weird breakfast, Kit remembered, was also a weird dinner.

Ty was on his feet in a flash, took Kit into his arms and held him so tight he could hardly breath. Not that he needed to breath. Ty’s scent wafted into his memory.. two boys and the sound of the ocean.

“I love you, Kit. I love you.”

Kit let himself saver the words he never got tired to hear, and swallowed hard before he replied.

“There’s a burnt lasagna in the oven, and a possibly still frozen salad in the fridge.”

“But are there cookies?” Ty whispered in between their lips.

“Always”.