#anyways. i just think they're neat

[videoeater]

Engie and Medic..

(btw tumblr might've killed the quality. so click for higher resolution)

[annasofthe11thdimension]

-----

Odile doesn't get Loop's fascination with star gazing, but she can at least appreciate the chance to sit down and do nothing for a bit.

[notbecauseofvictories]

completely and entirely forgot that Vetinari and Carrot get together to gleefully "reward" Samuel Vimes and also ruin his blood pressure forever.

[essektheylyss]

Fearne had, in true Fearne fashion, wrapped herself like a personal pashmina around Dorian, which left Orym to curl into his chest.

They had slept this way dozens of times before. Fearne’s blackened fingers wrapped tightly around his forearm as she snored loudly into Dorian’s ear. Orym’s head rested on Dorian’s bicep, his arms folded together between them, and his bare feet were gingerly resting upon Dorian’s thighs just above the knees, as Dorian had coiled enough to let Fearne’s fuzzy leg stretch over his hip. They were exhausted, and this was familiar, and he should’ve been fast asleep.

But Orym’s mind buzzed.

Fearne had always been a strong source of heat, but now she was a furnace, and even without covers it was too warm. But Fearne was not the reason why Orym’s skin burned where it met Dorian’s.

He was a fucking grown man. He was fully capable of admitting that.

Admitting it didn’t change it.

Neither did it change his awareness that Dorian had been too still for the past hour, his breath too precise and measured to be natural as it fell upon Orym’s hair. Orym was not going to presume that the cause of this was the same thing afflicting him; there were plenty of other reasons Dorian would be lying awake tonight.

“My family will find your brother,” he murmured finally, and Dorian’s breath wavered for just an instant before he regained his composure and returned to his measured, singer’s breathing. It was so slight that no one else could’ve noticed it, but Orym noticed. “You said there’s a body— the Tempest can bring him back, or Fearne, honestly—“

“I know,” Dorian answered, and this too was so faint that no one but Orym could’ve heard. “I know,” he said again, as though this one was only to appease himself.

“Do you think… do you think any of Opal is still in there?”

“I don’t know. I could barely tell what was in there—“ he cut himself off. “I couldn’t even help my brother. I think Fy’ra Rai might’ve… she must’ve seen something. I hope so,” he added, inhaling, trying to capture an airy tone that he didn’t fully manage. “The Spider Queen doesn’t deserve her. She doesn’t deserve anything.”

Orym had nothing to say to this. He hadn’t cared what the gods did or didn’t deserve in weeks, but now he could see the vein of fury that sharpened Dorian’s edges. It didn’t frighten him the way it had frightened him months ago, when things had been simpler, when there was not a war to be fought. It simply saddened him. “I’m so sorry about Opal,” he said, after the silence had lingered. “But I’m,” he breathed out a single dark laugh at himself, his selfishness, “I’m real glad it wasn’t you.”

Dorian’s laugh matched his own. “I suppose that is a silver lining.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Orym admitted. It was easier to keep his voice from cracking at a whisper. “I’ve thought about seeing you again so many times— I wish the circumstances were better—“

“I’m here,” Dorian said, for the second time today. “The circumstances tried very hard to make even that impossible, but— I’m here.”

Orym pulled his arm gently out of Fearne’s grasp and raised his hand to Dorian’s cheek. It was too dark to see the tinge of lavender against his skin, but Orym could feel the warmth bloom beneath his fingers. He still couldn’t bring himself to attribute his friend’s insomnia to anything so self-serving as his own, but perhaps it was one factor.

He pulled his hand back. Was there a flash of disappointment in Dorian’s eyes? He couldn’t tell in the dark. But he brushed his fingers together, drawing upon the wellspring of life within the ground beneath this hastily-erected encampment. The Hellcatch looked like a barren wasteland to most, but that life was still present even here.

Perhaps not now, but after a rainy season, the valley would bloom with wildflowers. The seeds waited in the earth for their time to sprout. Life went on, even in the darkest of places.

He produced a small stalk of life from his hands, and held out the tiny bundle of forget-me-nots to Dorian.

He should’ve said that they were for Cyrus, to remember him by. He wanted to say that they were for Dorian himself, that a day hadn’t gone by that he hadn’t thought of him. He didn’t speak at all as Dorian’s hand wrapped around Orym’s, pinching the stem beneath his fingers but not letting go.

“Orym,” Dorian breathed, looking from the flowers to his face. Then a strange expression came over his face, a wrinkle of consternation as he stared into the middle distance. “Fearne, are you braiding my hair?”

Orym lifted his head an inch to peer past Dorian’s ear. He had noticed that the snoring had stopped, but he’d been too caught up in the conversation to process it. Fearne’s wide eyes stared back with perfect innocence, her hands indeed weaving Dorian’s hair into a loose braid.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” she whispered quickly. “I’m totally not here.”

When Orym dropped his head back to Dorian’s arm, he was met with a crooked smile. It was not meant to be disarming, but it disarmed him anyway.

“Just like old times, eh?” he said, but his hand was still around Orym’s.

Carefully, Orym moved to tuck the flower behind Dorian’s ear, bringing both of their hands with him, and then laced their fingers together instead. “No,” he said, and tucked his head so that his brow rested against Dorian’s chin, and pressed their entwined hands to his lips. “But I think that’s okay.”

[eliashirsch]

a few sketches of my favorite characters<3

i've been trying to capture their likeness with various degrees of success:) and i just realized how much rooster really looks like goose

[plutonious]

waving eagerly!!! I saw @egglands-worst's post about @gouda-nough's ingo chandelure swap thing and I've been thinking about it on and off for a little while. thus, became these doodles. frolicks away

[pmpwbrrs]

–

I made another loser their/his/her name is Influence of Silence and they stink and they're meat

Hheh 😏 smacks ghem with cheese

[starry-bi-sky]

finally giving fem danyal her own au and fulfilling my 'danny is an animal whisperer' agenda at the same time: mother of monsters danyal 2.0

i say "2.0" because TECHNICALLY 'mother of monsters danyal' is an au I made back in June for Dark fem!Danyal (who I promptly named Layal). However, I haven't posted much for her yet, and I like the "mother of monsters" premise too much to leave it only to Layal. Plus Danyal in that au was going to become the mother of monsters anyway, just with significantly less world domination and mass extinction.

'Animal whisperer' Danny has been something I've been thinking about since my latest DP 'wolfpack au' post and it's! So fun to think about, and who no better to assign the idea to than Danyal Al Ghul? Who comes from a family infamously known for their love of animals and nature?

Fem Danyal is just purely self-indulgent. *gestures wildly at her* i just lomvb,,, her,,,, I've only really mentioned her in context of the 'Things in Threes' au/my first Danyal al Ghul au with the facial scar, but she's!!! I love her. She deserves her own au <33

So kill three birds with one stone! Make a post about it.

Anyways, Danny has a large lair. Similar to cult leader danyal, her lair is a giant mountain region resembling nanda parbat with a big temple/palace-like area built into the mountain. It's large, it's overflowing with natural flora, with its own mini-floating islands hovering over some areas, and it's also completely empty.

Danny takes one look at her lair upon first meeting, -- noting that it looked relatively smaller from the outside -- and promptly, with the elegance of an Al Ghul, goes "What the hell??" Because yes, while she does enjoy her own solitude and privacy, this is a bit ridiculous.

For heaven's sake, there's even a massive lake in there! What's she going to do with all this space? Can she make it any smaller? Why is it so big in the first place? This looks borderline like one of the mega-islands!

She finds out later that apparently, the amount of ectoplasm a ghost has can have an effect on the size of their lair. And since she has such a large core, her lair reflects that. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff, it's bigger on the inside so it doesn't take up "too much space" on the outside. Don't worry about it too much.

Danyal isn't totally opposed to having such a large lair, she's just... a bit baffled by it. It feels like so much wasted space is all. All this flora and no fauna to enjoy it with. It's practically eerie.

She decorates her temple-palace area, transforming rooms to match her needs as she sees fit. In the center of the inner gardens is a massive tree that she likes to climb, with twisting, winding branches. Sam and Tucker have honorary rooms, even if they can't safely leave the specter speeder for long periods of time, even with proper safety equipment. So does Jazz. Ali (Dani) has one too, but he can actually use that one, and Danny brought him to her lair so he could decorate it himself.

She has a personal garden, but for the most part she lets the flora exist as it is. Too much space to cultivate it en masse anyways.

Skip to a few weeks later, on her next visit to Clockwork. She developed a habit of going to see him semi-regularly just because. She enjoys his wisdom, and he has a lot of stories to tell, and when he's not being the cryptic and esoteric timekeeper, he's a bit goofy.

(pushing my dadwork agenda here,,, i think Danny deserves to go 'hey, Lord Clockwork, do you want me to buy you something' while she's at walmart, only to receive a singular glowing sticky note that says 'cucumber gatorade'.)

(She insists on referring to him with his proper titles even for the most mundane of things because it's proper, but Clockwork sees a future where she eventually calls him "Cee" and by all things in existence is he determined to get there. Anyways,,,)

On her next visit to Clockwork, just as she is about to leave, Clockwork stops her and goes; "Ah, I have something for you. Hold out your hands."

Danny does as such, and Clockwork doesn't give out things often, so her curiosity has spiked to the highest levels. He turns away from her for a moment, using his staff to summon whatever it is he needs, and when he turns around.

He drops a fish into her hands. Granted, a fish in a small glass tank. But a fish nonetheless. A small one, roughly about the size of her finger, with a blue-black, eel-shaped body and four sets of glowing eyes. She can see thin, almost translucent, but spiny fins down its back and the start of bioluminescent markings. It's swimming around in circles in its small container.

"Lord Clockwork." Danyal says all too calmly.

"Yes, Danyal?"

"What is this?"

"That is an adolescent leviathan, Danyal." She’s transfixed onto the tank, but she doesn’t need to see Clockwork’s face to hear the smile he’s stifling.

The myriad of emotions that runs through her all at once threatens to overwhelm her, and she can’t tell if the feelings are negative or positive. So she carefully closes her eyes to breathe in through her nose.

“Clockwork.”

“Ah, I see you’ve dropped formalities.”

She ignores that.

“Why have you given me an adolescent leviathan?”

She's expecting the trickster to look amused when she opens her eyes. Instead, he just looks endeared. "I know you're fond of animals," he says, "and you always look amazed when you come across an animal of the realms. So I thought you might enjoy taking care of the young beast, it's mother is dead so it has no one to care for it."

Oh.

"But, if you don't like it," Clockwork's hands reach out for the tank, "I can simply take it back--"

Danyal shifts the tank out from his reach and hugs it possessively. "I never said that. How do I care for it?"

And so clockwork gives her a list, and when Danyal returns to her lair, she sets up a large tank in her room for the leviathan to swim in -- it's much too small for the lake right now, she thinks. She'll feel better if it's somewhere she can find it. She names him Suhā.

Suhā grows quickly, and by the end of the mortal month she transforms one of the rooms into a large pond for him to swim around in. He's a very loyal beast, recognizing her as it's mother of some kind. Danyal takes great care ensuring that her beastie gets quality care, and Suhā swims to the surface to see her when he senses her in the room.

It spirals from there. Somehow, Pandora catches wind that Clockwork gave her a leviathan, and so the next time Danyal visits the Greater Athens, she gives her a baby chimera. It's eyes are still sealed shut, Danyal can't bring herself to say no. She names the little beastie Firas.

Frostbite hears about it too, and not to be outdone, gives her an animal she's never even heard of. Infinite-realms born, apparently. A fox-like creature with two small horns like an impala, four eyes, and tall legs. The name isn't something she's quite sure how to write down, and she's positive that her friends won't be able to comprehend it. She names her Eira.

Getting the three of them used to each other was... interesting. Suhā tried to eat Firas when Danyal first introduced the two, and they've hated each other ever since. Firas and Eira are seemingly getting along. Her island already feels full enough with the three of them on it.

Of course, that's not the end of it. With her luck, she begins stumbling across other monsters. Realms-borne or otherwise. An injured hydra in the Grecian islands that, through lots of trial and error, Danyal is able to rehabilitate and heal. It routinely comes to visit her afterwards.

A griffin with a broken wing that she moves permanently to the island that likes to keep to itself, but tends to come down when she's near. It gets along best with Firas.

A panther-like monster from the Shades Woods that had six legs and three tails, with ends that reminded her of a venus flytrap. It stuck around the heavy foliage and she can only make out where it was when she saw its golden eyes reflect.

She befriends a young indrik with its leg injured, and much like the hydra it follows her back to her island, and stays there in the mountains. It comes out when she's alone, much like her other beasts.

She receives two more leviathan -- one from clockwork, and one she finds herself while exploring the deeper and darker recesses of the Ghost Zone. It was huddled against the carcass of its mother, and she managed to befriend and get close enough to it to bring it back to her island. Suhā is fully grown by then, with a head bigger than Danyal herself and he still likes to stick her head out of the water for nuzzles when she's near.

He's not very happy with his new siblings, but he's not trying to eat them when she's not looking. So she calls it a win in her book.

And it's not just large beasts either; smaller animals begin popping up when she's not looking. Bird-like creatures and small mammals, and she swears she saw a doe (or something resembling a doe) grazing in the forest while she was walking by.

She takes back with her a lone snake egg once, and it grows so big it wraps around her island and sleeps with its massive head on the mountain beside the temple, like some smaller breed of Jörmungandr.

And on and on it goes. Some of the beasts she comes across never step foot onto her island, some of them follow her back, while others she has to carry back. Not all of the ones that follow her stay, and Danny rehabilitates the injured and releases them when they're fully healed.

It's hectic, and busy, and frankly she loves it. Some of her rehabilitated beasts return to visit her, or to have their children somewhere on the island, or whatever it is they need to do.

She becomes a bit infamous for it. She goes to visit Dorathea once, and as she's walking through the streets she can hear some of the denizens whispering while she walks past.

"Is that her?"

"Her highness' friend? Yes--"

"--that's the one--"

"--Mother of monsters--"

Danny's not sure how to feel about that.

Although, she can't say she's opposed.

Danyal Al Ghul, Mother of monsters, raiser of beasts. It has a nice ring to it.

[makiswirl]

can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest

like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!

[planetvries]

Been thinking about them lately…

[remorner]

i just think they're neat

[buckevantommy]

i love the trope of buck leaving tommy voicemails and texts when he's angry or drunk or when the pain is too much and he just wants tommy to know this isn't some passing thing that this is a lasting love and he's never getting over him..

and one of the messages at some point in the months after their breakup goes along the lines of:

..i dunno why you didn't believe the way i cared about you was serious.. i wish you'd stuck around long enough to tell me why you were so scared, why you didn't believe in us, who hurt you.. i still love you, and i still hate you for running away, but i forgive you.. i hope you can find a way to forgive yourself.. because you deserve to have a happy ending, tommy.. you deserve to believe that it's possible for you, because it is.. i wanted to give that to you.. i wanted that for both of us..

[allastoredeer]

Just had a hilarious thought.

Yes, Alastor is attracted to power. But his coming to that realization was not prompted by Lucifer or even Vox.

It was seeing Zestial!

Imagine: He first arrives in Hell, and he's still building up for his big reveal, and then sees Zestial putting on some impressive power display and was like: Oh.

Z was his first aesthetic crush. Thankfully a passing one, but it explains why he respects him so much.

It puts a whole new spin on his reaction to Zestial appearing in front of him on the street in Episode 3. Then his immediate order for the EggBois to shush, despite barely tolerating them before. "Shut up, he needs to think I'm cool."

Okay, okay, okay, I got, like, 3 messages side by side the other day (including this one), that involves Vox as well, and I've been super sick the last few days, so I read this in my migraine, dehydrated addled state and cooked up an entire backstory with Alastor and Vox, which includes Alastor's attraction to power (and his previous attraction to Zestial), and his falling out with Vox, and why they are what they are, and Velvette was in there somewhere, but now that I'm not longer sick I only have fragments of that glorious, complex, multi-faceted, super emotionally charged relationship, and I'm pretty sure most of it spawned from this.

That's all to say, I am so so SO fucking on board with Alastor's first crush being Zestial because when I watched episode three when it aired, and saw them interact, my first thought was "I ship it."

Literally, I shipped Alastor/Zestial before StaticRadio or AppleRadio. Alestial was my first Hazbin ship 😂 So this is just dasdfjlnsaklfjna YESSSSSSSSSS

"Shut up, he needs to think I'm cool." It's okay, Alastor. Zestial thinks your the coolest. Your the most entertaining Overlord on the block. He told me himself.

[baenakinskywalker]

hungry like the wolf

chapter one: straddle the line

"That was Prime Minister Thatcher. Personally.” “What could she possibly need?” If the rude interruption during his bath wasn’t enough to ruin his night, what Gerald shares with him next certainly is: “She wants to dine at Penscombe. In a week’s time.” or, Rupert hires Taggie to cater a very important dinner for the PM. She'll need plenty of time to prepare — so how does a week at his estate sound?

rating: t (eventual E)

words: 2,749

a/n: a HUGE thank-you to @popjunkie42 and @berd-nerd for beta reading, and to everyone in the @rutagdiscord for hyping me up. you all rock. <3

read under the cut or on ao3!

Rupert-Campbell Black is in the bathtub when he gets the call from the PM’s office. Or rather, when Gerald, who had been finishing up paperwork for tomorrow’s morning in London, gets the call. He barges into the bathroom, and Rupert greets him with narrow eyes and a deep frown.

“You can tell I’m in the middle of something,” he says, gesturing to himself with the one hand not coated in bubbles. Unlike some men in Rutshire, Rupert is serious about his baths. He doesn’t just stew in hot water — he lazes in bubbles, salts, and potions. Of course for the benefits to his skin and hair — and to soothe the aching muscles his career in show jumping so blessed him with. 

Gerald has never been part of this particular ritual. 

“I’m so sorry, sir, but it’s urgent.”

Rupert stands immediately. “What? Is someone hurt? The kids?” He reaches for a towel, but Gerald’s eyes are already wide as saucers. “Is it Taggie?”

“Erm, no, sir, it’s not that sort of urgent.” His eyes find a spot on the floor as Rupert steps over the lip of the clawfoot tub, bringing suds with him onto the checkered marble floor. “But it’s important. That was Prime Minister Thatcher. Personally.”

“What could she possibly need?”

If the rude interruption during his bath wasn’t enough to ruin his night, what Gerald shares with him next certainly is: “She wants to dine at Penscombe. In a week’s time.”

The groan Rupert lets out will surely be heard all the way in Yorkshire. “Why in God’s name does she want to come all the way to Rutshire?” He’s already hunting for the reason she would have to fire him. It would have to be bad for her to do it in person, to embarrass him on his own turf. But Venturer has kept him largely out of mischief as of late — so what could it be?

“Apparently the bid is a concern. So she wants the local MPs and lords to convene — here, obviously — and assure her that everybody will be on their best behavior during the parliamentary session, whether they’re with Corinium or Venturer.”

“Right. And that has to be here because…?”

“She said she was interested in the grounds,” Gerald answers, the lilt to his voice turning it into a question.

“No,” Rupert says slowly, “she just wants to make my life a living hell.” He scrubs a hand down his face, stubble rough against his fingers. Definitely time for a shave.  “Fine,” he concedes. “We’ll play her game  — but I’m inviting people, too, if I’m hosting”

“Venturer people, sir?” 

Rupert nods. “And if this is going to put a thorn in my side, I’d at least like the food to be good.”

“Which caterer shall I call?”

“Nobody,” Rupert says. “I’ll handle it.”

—

Since Tony’s accident — which is what the papers have been calling it at the behest of the Baddingham estate, no doubt to attempt to keep his affair out of the news — things have been…different. There’s Tony’s renewed lease on life, and his narrow escape from divorce, though word around town is that Monica still wants to leave (and the gossip mill of Rutshire would certainly support her if she did). Neither of these developments have encouraged him to let the franchise go, though. If anything, his contempt for Venturer is at an all-time high. 

So it’s a wonder that the papers have left them out of it. The story simply goes: Thank God Cameron Cook happened to be in the office that late and had the good sense to check on her former boss before heading home for the night.

The whole thing has Cameron spooked, which is why she’s currently wooing investors and producers in New York City. It’s a cowardly thing to do, but Rupert’s been using the situation — and the Atlantic Ocean — to let things fizzle. They haven’t seen each other in a month, and while phone calls used to happen a few times a week, it’s been a fortnight since they last spoke. Declan is her main point of contact for all things Venturer now. 

And then there’s Taggie. With the accident, and Cameron, and the franchise, they haven’t had the time to talk about…well, anything non-Venturer related. He thinks she might still be seeing Seb. He thinks she thinks he’s still seeing Cameron. 

That doesn’t mean she’s not the first thing he thinks about in the morning (waking up hard, remembering that kiss, and that dance on New Year’s Eve, and all of the moments in between that haven’t quite been platonic) and last thing he thinks about at night (looking out across the Bluebell Wood, hoping to catch a glimpse of her light on in the Priory, thinking about how she looks tucked into bed). 

They gravitate toward each other during Venturer meetings. Through the yelling, the late nights crowded around the O’Hara dining table, the moments when they’re celebrating a win, Rupert’s eyes and body are drawn to her. When dinners with Freddie and team end, it’s Rupert in the kitchen helping with the washing up. He can only hope the rest of the team doesn’t notice, that they don’t pick up on the something between them like Lizzie and Bas have.

Remarkably, he hasn’t kissed her since the night they got the green light for the franchise bid. 

With that in mind, Rupert has no idea if Taggie will accept. It’s a fantastic opportunity, and he’ll see to it that it’s a well-paying one at that. If nothing else, she deserves the acclaim and networking that will surely come from catering for the PM. This could be a step toward getting out of her family’s shadow. Toward living life for herself, instead of waiting on Declan and the Venturer crew hand and foot.

But it’s a huge ask, especially when he couples it with the infinitely more selfish piece, the piece that came to him in the middle of the night when one of the snoring dogs woke him up: He wants her at Penscombe for the week. The whole week. Just the two of them, just this once.

He wants her, and, like they say, opportunity never knocks twice.

—

Despite Taggie and Declan being the only O’Haras in residence at the Priory, it’s almost foreign to see the estate empty these days. Sure, Caitlin’s back at school, Patrick’s off trying his hand at being a not-quite-starving artist, and Maud is — for better or worse — still in London; but the Venturer crew is always around. Whether it’s Declan, Rupert, and Freddie debating about the purpose and importance of television, Bas and Wesley working out which sporting events get prime-time slots, or Dame Enid toiling away at the piano with ideas for the station’s musical package, there’s always a lot going on. So it’s still shocking to walk through the doors and be met with nobody. Not even Gertrude.

It’s not until he rounds the corner into the living room that he sees why. Taggie’s curled up with Gertrude on the couch while reruns of Four Men Went to Mow play low on the telly. 

This is a rare treat and his favorite way to start the day: catching Taggie before she’s had a chance to jump into the kitchen, before she’s so much as put on a pot of tea. She’s in a white terry cloth bathrobe and slouchy, fuzzy socks — the picture of comfort. “Good morning, angel. Daddy lets you watch that rubbish?” 

“Oh, shit!” Her head whips around, and Gertrude stands at attention, ready to sound the alarm. “You scared me,” Taggie says. Her cheeks turn a beautiful flushed pink, and while frightening her is the last thing he’d ever do on purpose, he can’t deny the effects are a vision. “Gertrude might have taken your head off.”

He comes around the couch and gives the little beast a scratch behind the ears. “No, this one loves me.” 

Taggie stands, and where her robe parts, he sees the same red nightie that’s haunted his dreams for months now. She pulls him into a hug and says a quiet, “Good morning,” that has Rupert thinking about this same scenario happening in an estate across the wood, with a few more dogs in the room. “Can I get you some tea?”

He clears his throat, stepping back. The backs of his knees bump the couch. “No, actually, I just came here to ask a favor.”

She cocks her head to this side and tightens the sash on her robe. “From me?” “How would you like,” Rupert starts, “to cook for the Prime Minister?”

It’s silent for a beat. And then: “Margaret Thatcher?”

“Only PM I know of at the moment,” Rupert answers. He shifts from one foot to the other and adds, “It’s a week from tomorrow, and I thought — if you’re up for it — that you could stay at Penscombe — which is where dinner will be — until then to get your bearings and have uninterrupted time to prepare. And Gertrude, too, of course,” he adds, giving the pup a quick smile.

She stares at him like he’s grown another head. “For the Prime Minister.” Rupert nods.

“To eat my cooking.” 

“And Paul Stratton, and Tony, and some of ours, too — Freddie, Lord and Lady Hampshire, and your father.”

It’s then that Declan makes an appearance from his study. Hair going in every direction. Yesterday’s button-down stained. Eyes bloodshot. Another late night working through his book draft and franchise work. “What the fuck is this?” he asks, looking between the two of them. 

Before Declan has the chance to raise his voice, Taggie shocks him. She nods. “Yes, of course I’ll go.” Wringing her hands, she smiles slowly. “It would be my p-p—p…privilege.”

Rupert’s shit-eating grin is enough to make Declan drag him into the study, the sound of the door thudding behind him all that knocks him out of his Taggie-induced stupor. 

—

“I’m just offering her a job,” Rupert says, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Declan scoffs. “What, to warm your bed? I don’t fucking think so.”

“You really think that little of Taggie?” It’s clear that Declan’s mind is made up about him, no matter how closely they’ve been working together over the past months, nor how well Venturer’s bid is going. Rupert would call them friends, though not close enough to keep a woman — daughter — from coming between them. He expects his business partner to have qualms about his interest in Taggie. But to assume that Taggie would allow herself to be bought? 

Even if there’s a kernel of truth to Rupert’s motives, even if he does want to steal her away from the Priory forever and keep her in every sort of comfort a man can offer, this isn’t how he’d do it. This is temporary.

(There would be roses. There would be candles. A family heirloom ring that he never offered Helen. Perhaps a violin player. A four-course meal cooked by a complete stranger, dishes and kitchen scrubbed clean completely out of sight. An announcement in The Times.)

“I thought we agreed that you were going to stay the hell away from her,” Declan says. His voice cuts through the heavy air in his office, stale from days of taking meals at his desk to keep up with deadlines. Taggie says she hardly sees her father on days when there are no meetings, unless she catches him sneaking into the kitchen for a top-up of his whiskey glass.

“And I thought we were fucking past this.” Rupert exhales. He’d love to open the windows and tidy the papers littered across every horizontal surface. “I only need her for a week.”

They both know he’s lying.

“A week for one bloody dinner party?”

“Maggie making the trip makes it a special occasion, wouldn’t you say? Everything has to be perfect, which means Taggie needs time to plan the menu, do the prep, coordinate with the staff — not to mention getting acquainted with the kitchen.”

“And you couldn’t host here?” 

Rupert shoots him a sympathetic look. “Frankly, a week wouldn’t be nearly enough time to get the Priory in shape for the PM.”

“Why don’t you hire a real caterer?” Declan prods. “One with a full team, one that can handle this sort of event.” 

There’s now a throbbing in Rupert’s temple. If only he could find paracetamol in this mess of an office. Certainly, Declan has some in here. “Taggie’s the best cook in Rutshire. Cotchester, too. And,” he adds, feeling his headache grow, “she’s the only person I trust to handle such a sensitive event.” 

For a long moment, the two men stare at each other. This is how arguments about Venturer go, too. Shouting, debating, and, finally, silence — until the loser concedes, and they both move on. But Rupert is short on time and patience. 

“I didn’t come here asking for your permission, Declan. Tag’s already agreed, and I shouldn’t have to remind you that she’s grown enough to make her own decisions.” 

Declan’s face settles into a deep frown. 

“Well,” Rupert says, “I’m off, then.”

Before the heavy door shuts completely behind him, Declan’s voice booms. “Imagine it were your daughter — what would you do?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Through the living room and into the kitchen, Rupert spies his angel sitting at the table, changed from her robe into her typical jeans and jumper, methodically writing on a legal pad. “I didn’t hear him throw you through a wall,” she says, putting the pencil down and looking up through her lashes. “So that must have gone okay.” “Your father’s a reasonable man.” But he says it with a laugh that has Taggie rolling her eyes and smiling up at him. 

Imagine it were your daughter. 

All but impossible, given the glow of her smile, the way her eyes sparkle. The memory of kissing her mere meters from where they are right now. 

Though they haven’t had time for a repeat performance, there’s an encore in his mind most nights before he falls asleep: The curtain rises, and there’s Taggie in that fucking milkmaid dress, pressed so close to him he can feel her tits against his chest. If he’d had the time, he would have slid a knee between her legs, would’ve let her ride him right there until she —

“Did you hear me?” Taggie asks. The memory of that night evaporates, and Rupert clears his throat.

“Sorry, angel. I was just — erm — thinking about something your father said.”

“Oh,” she says, mouth forming a perfect circle. It makes him want to reach down and trace the outline of her lips with his thumb. “Well, I was mentioning that maybe a smoked salmon mousse after the prawn cocktail would be good? Unless that’s too cliche.” Her brow furrows, and she erases something on the pad. 

To tell the truth, he doesn’t give a damn if it’s cliche. As long as it’s Taggie cooking, it’ll be a smash hit. “Working out the menu already?” 

“I thought getting a head start would be a–a–” — she pauses, takes a breath — “appropriate.” 

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Smart girl.” Already, Rupert feels his headache receding. He thinks of her writing out a menu at Penscombe, working through each word on the page slowly and methodically. How easily he’d be able to slip behind her and press a kiss to her cheek. Or neck. Or lower. 

She would be a vision at Penscombe. Will be. 

“I have a little work to do in London today,” Rupert says. “Some things for our dear friend Maggie, and a few Venturer items. But I’ll be back to pick you up around 8 o’clock. Sounds good?”

Taggie nods. “I’ll pack my bag. And Gertrude’s,” she adds with a smile. “She won’t know what to do with herself when she meets your brood.”

“I’ll tell the chaps to be on their best behavior.” Then, without thinking about his daughter or Declan, he kisses the crown of her head. She sighs in a satisfied answer, and Rupert imagines how a simple kiss could become a habit so ingrained in their day-to-day life that it’d become like breathing. 

She’s already like breathing.

From the office, there’s a rustle of paper and a shout. “Tag! D’you know where my Yeats draft went?” More than enough of a cue to leave. So, with a wink and wave, Rupert’s gone. 

Just until tonight.

[essektheylyss]

Honestly I am still experiencing emotions over Artifice stepping in front of Everett unwaveringly and Dot doing the same thing for Cleo moments later. The Fold wizard crewmates might be inscrutably cryptic and speak at utterly bizarre volumes but they will put themselves between the people they care for and a tearror without a second thought, regardless of the danger, and I love them.

[setevulpo]

yknow what i find interesting? the cat king's cat body language. like the way it changes until he shapeshifts back to human in that first meeting? pure gold actually, kudos for the kitty playing the part

the first shot we get of him has our darling king in a pretty calm posture. he's lying down on his side, his ears are forward, he's looking straight at the group, but his pupils are still pretty big. his tail is extended but relaxed. all of that points to him being, at most, interested in the wonder trio, but still showing he's dominating the situation (that's the looking right at them part mostly)

that changes when they actually get closer. we see him lower his head a bit, and the tip of his tail starts flicking. those are both things cat do when focused, and it's a stance closer to the one they use when hunting, but the fact that only the tip of tail is moving also means a little bit of playfulness is involved.

and then! it actually changes again!! when crystal says that "it's just a bunch of cats" and it pans out to the dude's corpse on the floor, the king starts pretty much wagging his whole tail! he is not happy that someone (who may or may not be the one who trapped his cat) decided to underestimate his subjects. a wagging tail in cats differs from the one in dogs cause it's often used to convey frustration or annoyance instead of excitement.

and it isn't a slow wag either (that would mean some form of relaxation still)! that tail is full-on irritation that someone insulted his people!

i am losing my mind over this so it had to be set out there for everyone else to be exposed but! it's so cool!