#but she KNOWS she glitters like a jewelry box

[thebestpartofwakingup]

@diminuel been desperately waiting these past couple weeks to finally get the free time to sketch the grumiest, brattiest, sassiest girl of any RA (and eventually, Navy) recruit's nightmares

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 4

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Rhysand calls for a meeting so you and the rest of the Inner Circle can decide what to do next. Azriel stands by your side every step of the way.

Warnings: Angst (not that bad)

Word Count: 6680

Notes: This chapter was actually trying to fight me. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Hope you enjoy!

Part 3 ○ Part 5

The days were blurring together the longer you stayed in this room. You've long since memorized the golden stripes and swirls beautifully decorating the navy walls, counted the teardrop-like glittering stones hanging from the small chandelier. You've gone through every closet and box in this room as well. Unsurprisingly, the room was almost empty, but you weren't looking through it to find any information anyway, you'd really done it out of boredom, and admittedly some curiosity.

You knew you couldn't complain about your treatment in this house, you'd never heard of a prisoner being treated to home cooked meals and expensive clothes. The House had even brought you books and journals in case you wanted to read or write, and Azriel brought you little treats from the bakeries in town - things you suspect he already knew you liked. He also kept you company every chance he got, even if it meant simply sitting together in silence. You didn't go a day without seeing him. But it was hard to focus on romance novels, chocolate cupcakes or even the captivating hazel eyed male when your entire reality was shattering around you.

The day after you met the High Lord and Lady, Azriel had found you snooping through the few clothes left behind by Feyre, and that same night he dropped off what he called some of your old belongings - some clothes and jewelry so you didn't have to borrow anything else from the High Lady. Everything was neatly folded and carefully arranged, it seems Azriel was extremely meticulous about how to store his late wife's belongings. He told you he's barely allowed himself to touch them in fear of ruining anything.

The clothes had since lost your scent, even if put away in a closed box it would be impossible for it to linger after a century. Still, you knew these were your things, somehow you could feel it deep inside you. You hadn't told Azriel about this, scared of getting his hopes up.

There was nothing personal in the box, Azriel was probably reluctant in letting you see them in case it overwhelmed you and triggered any more painful reactions, but there was enough for you to get a sense of who you were before.

It was clear she lived a happier and much more fulfilled life than yours. The clothes were all beautiful, if a little outdated. They came in all sorts of colors and fabrics, but even if you still liked them now, you know you'd never buy something like this for yourself.

Working at the guild, you had to prioritize functionality. You didn't have many personal belongings, you traveled a lot for missions and had to keep hidden, never staying in the same place for longer than a couple of months at a time. Your clothes reflected this, you prefered to wear pants or even your armor since you never knew when you'd be called for a mission or attacked.

You always had to be ready to drop everything at any moment so there was no use getting attached to anything or anyone. Even your favorite dagger was simply the model you've found works best for you, and you can get it anytime from different blacksmiths. The small hoops currently in your ears are the only jewelry you actually own and it's more of a way to keep the holes open for when you have to do undercover missions in which you might need to dress up.

There was no time or place for getting pretty clothes that made you feel good or buying a nice pair of earrings for the sake of it. Even less for making friends. You were living an empty life, something you always had a hard time coming to terms with, but that seems impossible to accept now that you know what you could have had, what you used to have and was taken from you.

Not being able to even trust your own memories affected you more than you'd ever admit, knowing things you considered unquestionable facts before that night were all made up. You've had to rely on what Azriel tells you and your own intuition to try and fill in the gaps. Your body seemed to be giving you clues, nudging you in the right directions but it only left you beyond frustrated that you could feel like all the answers were on the tip of your tongue but not being able to put your finger on it.

From what you've gathered, the night you disappeared from the Night Court corresponds with the mission in which you almost died, meaning someone in the guild - your handler, if your suspicions are correct - must have found you and brought you in. It's safe to say that, aside from a few lies and omissions here and there, your memories since that night can be trusted. But everything before that was all a lie, over a century of your life was nothing more than a made up story.

A burning feeling behind your eyelids has you forcefully shaking out your thoughts. You can't let yourself get consumed before you even find out what exactly happened, before you can get your revenge. And you refuse to cry in this room where anyone, especially Azriel, could walk in at any moment and see you in such a state. If you had to pick one helpful thing the guild taught you, it was how to handle your emotions.

You knew the High Lord was making good on his promise, knew that Azriel was working to help you as well. He'd only ever left your side to look into any information you could give him about the guild, though your knowledge was limited. You weren't a high ranking member and they were more than careful. You didn't know anything about the other members, as much as they didn't know anything about you.

Still, you weren't used to waiting around while everyone else did all the work and it took them over a week to schedule a new meeting with you, where you hopefully will learn more about this whole situation and what they intend to do with you. It feels like they're keeping you in the dark, something you knew you'd also do in their place, but that has left you feeling nothing but frustrated and worthless.

That meeting was happening in less than an hour and anticipation was eating away at you. Azriel promised he was going to take you to the office, letting you use him as a safety line as you've done so often these days.

Aside from the welcome information and decisions you hope would be talked through, you were also just excited to leave this room for a few hours at least. Only being able to feel the wind through an open window was getting old, and the city below this house felt like it was almost calling to you at this point, but you were too scared of seeming too interested since you didn't know if they'd find it suspicious. Just because the High Lord left the room on a friendlier note doesn't mean he'll trust you completely after what you've done.

You were technically allowed out of the room, free to walk around the House, with Azriel's supervision of course, but after your first attempt you decided it wasn't worth the trouble.

It had been mostly a miscalculation on your part. You were so consumed with your problems and with finding some sort of distraction that you almost forgot Azriel wasn't the only one you knew before, didn't stop to think what reaction they all would have to you.

Azriel asked you to join him for breakfast downstairs as he usually did, trying to get you to move around and talk with the other residents of the House. You accepted, tired of being in the stuffy room and curious to meet the General and his mate, who you've sometimes felt around the House and heard so much about from Azriel.

The atmosphere turned painfully awkward as soon as you entered the dining room with the shadowsinger at your side, making the other residents of the house look up to meet your eyes, surprised you had left the room. It wasn't long before Cassian stormed out, barely making an excuse on his way out after getting a good look at you, his mate following right behind him.

You ended up eating breakfast alone with Azriel, the same way you would have if you'd stayed in your room like you always did instead. Except now you couldn't take the general's haunted expression out of your mind. It truly had looked like he'd seen a ghost. Maybe he did.

Azriel apologized to you on his behalf, even though it wasn't his or Cassian's fault, and you're almost positive there was some sort of fight between them, though you hope not too severe. You'd hate for Azriel to get into arguments with his family over you. He didn't invite you downstairs again after that, simply joining you in your room whenever he could. The reminder of how caring the shadowsinger has been with you almost brings a smile to your lips.

“I'll make you fall for me again.”

Those words haven't left your mind since that night. You've never had anyone look at you with so much love in their eyes, and tell you something so bold with such conviction.

You're not sure you deserve it, and you're terrified you'll never remember him because you know this version of you can't ever be compared to the one in his memories. Even if you end up regaining your memories, it's impossible for things to truly go back to how they were. It's been too long and you've changed too much. The both of you know this.

You haven't actually talked about his or your feelings since that night, but it's clear that he still loves you, well he loves the female he once knew anyway, you're not so sure you're even that similar to her aside from your appearance. It doesn't feel fair to let him dote on you, knowing he's in love with a version of you that will never come back, knowing that, even with the fluttering of your heart, your feelings for him don't come close to his.

It makes you feel like you're taking advantage of him, how he's so dedicated to taking care of you and to restoring your memories, even trying to find the people who hurt you, while to you he's a stranger. Even if an extremely handsome stranger whose company you enjoy a lot, who makes you smile and even laugh despite the precarious circumstances you've found yourself in, who makes you believe you can get through this.

You can't deny you have a reaction to him either, every soft touch feels like lightning running through your veins, and every whisper of your name has goosebumps spreading all over your skin. Your body obviously still remembers how it feels to love him and to be loved by him in return, but the butterflies in your stomach don't even come close to the depth of his feelings for you. It's glaringly obvious that Azriel would do anything for you, even going as far as letting you stab him the very first night you met and brushing it off when you tried to apologize during this week.

Truthfully, falling for Azriel sounds like the easiest thing in the world, but you don't think you'd ever feel like you deserve him.

The shadows in the room start shifting ever so slightly as if reading your thoughts - something Azriel has assured you they can't do - a sign that their singer is approaching.

You put down the book you never even started and hop down from the window sill you had been sitting on for most of the afternoon, waiting for him to knock softly at the door like he always did, letting you prepare for his arrival or deny his company if you so wished. Anticipation was buzzing at your skin the longer you waited so you opened the door for him as soon as his knuckles met the dark wood, catching him off guard with his hand raised.

You can't help but smile at his wide eyes. Surprising the feared Spymaster of the Night Court has to be a hard feat to accomplish and the fact that you just did it so effortlessly makes you revel in his expression for a moment. He offers you a small smile of his own but you can immediately tell something is holding him back.

He hasn't really given you any information about their research or the guild, simply letting you know that they were working as hard as they could on it. You knew the High Lord still had his reservations about your presence in his court so it only made sense for them to keep their cards close to their chest until they knew more about the situation. You suppose he also wanted to see if any of the leads you gave Azriel on the guild actually turned out to be helpful, a last test to see if you were being truthful.

So you wouldn't be surprised that the Inner Circle had a meeting among themselves before bringing you in, one it seems like Azriel just came from, but his expression is making your anticipation steadily turn into nerves.

“Are you ready?”

Even with the lump that has lodged itself in your throat, you nod and try to give him a pleasant smile. You've been waiting for answers and you're finally going to get them, even if it feels like your heart is threatening to give out.

You quickly turn back into the room to slip on your shoes, before looping your arm around the one he offers, ever the gentlemale. He guides you through the painting covered hallways, most of which you haven't walked through before.

As you approach the room your nerves get the best of you. There are a lot more people in the office than you thought there'd be, you can hear their mismatched heartbeats from here, feel their suffocating presences. One you can distinctively recognize is the General's, it reminds you of his reaction in the dining room, how it seemed to hurt him just looking at you.

You didn't think the entire Inner Circle would be in attendance, figured that it would only be the ancient one, the High Lord and Lady aside from you and Azriel. You'll likely have to reveal more about yourself than you'd be comfortable with in any other situation, including things you're not proud of, things you know they'll judge you for, they'll judge the female they once knew for.

Azriel noticed your body tensing, your steps getting slower and the apprehension rolling off you in waves as your thoughts soured. He stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder, meeting your unfocused eyes.

Seeing the worried look on his face makes you take a deeper breath, willing your mind to focus on what's important right now and let your fears stay locked inside you. Thinking of it as another mission the guild sent you on, you've put your life on the line numerous times, you can get through a simple meeting.

You feel a familiar mask of indifference fall onto your face, the mask of a killer the guild made sure you wore almost every day of your life, but before you can rid your mind of emotion, Azriel grabs onto your hand, intertwining your fingers together, and bringing it up to his lips. He leaves a soft kiss on your skin, one that sends chills down your spine, though it's the look in his eyes that makes you stop.

You're not alone. For the first time in your life, at least in the life you remember, you're not alone. He's going to be next to you for every step of the way. You don't need to resort to assassin tactics. The blank mask was something you didn't have a choice but to use, to protect yourself from the things you'd seen, from the things you feel. But here you're allowed to delve into your emotions, to stay true to them.

Azriel gives you a small smile and lowers your hand away from his lips, proud of whatever determination showed on your face. He lets go of you, making you feel the absence of his warmth immediately, fingers twitching as if trying to reach out to his comfort on their own.

As soon as you walk into the room all eyes turn to you. You had been right to assume everyone was here. You let your eyes wander around the room briefly, noting the familiar and new faces, before settling back on Rhysand's, the reminder of the excruciating pain you've felt the last time you saw him an obvious weight on your mind.

You'd seen them all before except for the blonde sitting on the sofa by the window, her brown eyes were wide, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. You know that was Morrigan, the High Lord's cousin, and from what Azriel has told you, one of your once closest friends. Apparently she'd tried to come talk to you but it so happened to be on the day after you went down for breakfast and you denied it without a second thought when Azriel brough the option up. You wonder if that had been too harsh but you weren't sure you could handle a repeat of the Cassian situation.

Feyre and Morrigan are the only ones who attempt to throw a greeting smile your way but you can't bring yourself to respond, acutely aware of the tension in the air, eyes never straying from the High Lord's. Choosing to focus on the elephant in the room.

“I trust your stay has been enjoyable,” Rhysand muses as he points to the chair across from his desk, urging you to sit as if this were a simple business meeting. As ridiculous as the idea sounds, it does something to loosen your muscles and the snort that escapes Cassian lifts some of the tension.

“Yes, the House has been making sure of it,” you sit on the chair across from his desk, not daring to look away from him and the High Lady. He releases a simple hum at the answer, but you're too anxious for small talk. “Have you found a way to get my memories back?”

“In a way,” he offers, leaving you with more questions.

Thankfully, Amren fills up the silence in his place. “The spell suppressing your memories is the work of witches. Daemati can enter anyone's mind and make them forget certain memories but if someone had simply rewritten your memories then Rhys would have been able to fix them.”

“Witches?” The thought was enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Witches use tools to strengthen their powers, to access magic they aren't privy to,” she continues, “It seems someone used a witch's tool to feign daemati powers and rewrite your memories, effectively warding them as well.”

“That's why you had such a strong reaction when I entered your mind.”

You were positive this had to be the work of a daemati. It had never crossed your mind that there could be something else at play.

“You can't undo the spell,” you conclude for them.

Witches have a completely different approach to magic than faeries. While your kind was gifted their magic by the Mother, witches have to resort to the kind of tools Amren mentioned. The resulting magic isn't organic and as such it comes with rules and drawbacks you don't experience as fae.

“We'll need to find the person responsible for it. They're the only one who can tell us exactly how to undo it,” Feyre says.

You bite your lip, your mind reeling with the information. You only have one suspect and the thought of not only finding him but also making him talk sounds beyond ridiculous. He also hasn't shown any hint that he could use witch magic. As far as you know he's as much high fae as you are, but you can never be too certain when it comes to one the best assassins in the world.

“Azriel says you can only identify one member of the guild,” the High Lord continues, barely giving you any time to process.

You nod. “I had direct contact with a few other assassins when I was called for backup but never knew their names or even what some of them look like without disguises.”

“Our only option is finding your handler, but Azriel hasn't been able to find any tracks even with the information you've given him,” Feyre stands closer to the desk now, her hand leaning on the dark wood.

“I'm not surprised. Norris is one of the most prominent members of the guild, I'm not sure how old he is exactly but I suspect he's been working there for close to a millenia.”

“Azriel is extremely good at his job,” Rhysand tilts his head slightly, as if offended for his Spymaster.

“I know.” From the briefings he's given you, he has spies all over the world aside from his shadows, who can listen and see things fae could never begin to imagine. Even with your hints, he's come closer to the guild in a week than entire countries have in decades, perhaps even centuries. “But we've been trained to kill and hide from people like him, like you. And Norris has been doing that successfully for a very long time.”

“We…” He taps his nails on the table, the sound echoing across the room. “So you're an assassin then,” the distaste clear on the High Lord's face.

You hadn't said the words out loud but everyone had probably guessed it the moment you walked back into their lives. The guild has made a name for themselves, and as much as some of your work consisted of spying or retrieving objects, most people came to the guild for mercenary jobs.

“Yes,” you confirm, forcing yourself to keep up the eye contact.

“An interesting career choice,” he muses, as if you had the pleasure of just choosing to become this monster.

The several pairs of eyes watching you intently were making you feel defensive, your temper rising up with it. It's easy to judge someone looking in from the outside. You'd been an assassin or training to become one ever since you could remember, which in reality wasn't your whole life like you thought before. Still, whether it was because you'd been taken in by the guild as a child or had your memories rewritten, you were thrown into it against your will and had since been stuck with no chance of an escape. Everyone has done things they're not proud of and you know fae in such important positions as these and as old as they are can definitely relate to this sentiment.

You weren't proud of it, far from it, but you didn't have a choice. And it's not your fault the female they knew before wouldn't do these things. It's not your fault that innocence and chance at being better she had were ripped away from you.

“Not everyone has the luxury of getting a court handed to them,” the venom drips out of your tongue, every word meant as a weapon.

You know this is a low blow, being aware of the circumstances in which Rhysand became High Lord, how he lost his whole family in one night. But if he wants cruelty, the assassin he keeps judging, you can certainly give it to them. Your bravado lessens when you feel the sharp intake of breaths around the room, most notably from the Illyrian by your side, where he still stands despite how tense his posture has become.

Rhysand's wings tighten against his body and his eyes narrow, finally letting go of the faux relaxed look he's presented you with. He takes a moment to answer you, likely leveling his temper or receiving soothing words from his mate.

“There was a time you wouldn't even dare to hurt an innocent.” This statement lacks the same bite as before, it gives way to disappointment, and it feels like a bucket of ice poured over molting lava. It cuts deeper than any amount of judgment he could have presented you with.

You straighten yourself in the chair, trying to not let it show how much this whole conversation is affecting you. “Well,” you lick your lip, now realizing how dry your mouth felt, “The only thing left from before is my body.”

His violet gaze finally becomes too much for you to bear, allowing yourself the respite of looking down at your hands. There are too many emotions swirling in his alluring eyes, even more felt around the room, the tension has become so thick you could barely breathe, couldn't even risk a look at Azriel in fear of what you'd find written on his face, terrified that the same disappointment lingered there as well.

“It's not,” the change in tone has you looking back up at him, meeting his gaze once more to find understanding reflected on it. And I can only imagine how you've been surviving through it all.

His echoing words make you pause, not being able to look away from him. It's only when wetness gathers in your eyes that you look back down, praying the room of perceptive fae don't notice how close you are to tears. You don't even remember the last time you cried, the last time someone extended you the kindness Rhysand just did, even after all the judgment.

Shadows start crawling up your legs, tentatively moving towards you as if asking permission to comfort you. You bite back a smile, keeping your tears at bay as you wonder if they moved of their own accord or if Azriel sent them to you. You relax your body, allowing them to twist and turn over your legs, mildly surprised that you can actually feel a ghost of a touch. You didn't think you could feel shadows.

You risk a glance at the shadowsinger in question, almost regretting it as you see the fondness reflected in his beautiful eyes as he watches his own shadows move across your skin. This must have been a regular occurrence before. You look away as soon as your gazes meet, not being able to bear the intensity in them in this room full of onlookers.

Unfortunately, your escape brings you back to facing the High Lord and Lady, who seem more than amused at your interaction with Azriel. The change in atmosphere from just a few moments ago almost gives you whiplash.

“You haven't told me what you plan on doing about the guild,” you try to keep your tone leveled, but looking at their reactions you're failing miserably.

“Finding your handler seems to be our best bet,” the smile on Feyre's face only falters a bit, the tension from before has almost dissipated. “Since he's the one who sent you here he might know who hired the guild and their motives for wanting the book.”

“You said he was the one who introduced you into the guild.” You nod at Rhysand. “It's possible he's the one responsible for your… accident.”

“I think so too,” you agreed, your hand moving up to touch the scar on your neck, “I've always been told this scar was the result of a failed mission, and that Norris had been the one to find me and take me to a healer.”

“We found the attackers not long after your death,” the general finally speaks up, cringing softly at the choice of word. His mate was quick to narrow her eyes at him, as if reprimanding him for mentioning it.

“He might not have actually cut my throat,” you shrug, trying not to linger in unpleasant thoughts. “He likely saw me after the attack and decided I'd make a good addition to the guild if I survived. I'm basically a ghost, that's perfect for an agent. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd done similar things before.”

“Either way, we need to find him.”

“Even if we do, I'm not sure he'll actually tell you anything.” Norris was one of the most respected members of the guild. His abilities far surpassed yours, he'd been the one to teach you most things after all. You've never been able to even sneak up on him so finding and capturing him alive already seemed hard enough, but making him cooperate and answer any of your questions was next to impossible. The Mother only knows how many fae have tried it and failed.

“He will,” Azriel stated. When you look into his eyes you can only see pure fury and determination written in them, leaving no space for any doubts. He stares into your eyes before adding, promising, “l'll make sure of it.”

Some of that confidence rubs off on you it seems, because your hesitation starts evaporating the longer you stare into his eyes. You've always been on your own, and as such you've only ever considered how you'd fare against your handler without backup. Between the famed Shadowsinger, the strongest High Lord in history, the Made Sisters, and everyone else in this room, your chances were exponentially higher. Escaping the guild doesn't feel like a pipe dream anymore.

“How do you want to find him?”

The High Lord rewards your determination with a smirk. “The only way to find someone like him is by making him search for us instead.”

“You want to use me as bait,”

“You can refuse,” Azriel assured. This explains his sour mood. You didn't think he'd agreed with this solution with the way he's been treating you so carefully, almost as if you're made of glass. You can't exactly fault him for it either, but the truth is you can't refuse. You don't know if you could ever find Norris with traditional tactics, or if the guild wouldn't send more assassins to the city, if they hadn't already.

“And keep living like this? Hiding without even knowing who I am?”

He searches your eyes, fear and vulnerability swimming in the hazel, but nods all the same. He told you he's dreamed of getting you back for a century, and thought it was something that would never come true, so it makes sense that he'd be hesitant on letting you put yourself in such a risky position. You know he understands why you need this though.

The meeting runs for a while longer, and by the time Rhysand was calling it a day the sun was already setting on the horizon, making way for the night to take over in all its glory, one that could only be fully appreciated in the Night Court.

As much as everyone seems to be warming up to you, letting go of the conflicted feelings towards having you back in these circumstances, you were extremely overwhelmed by the end. Talking to someone who knows you so intimately even though you don't have any recollection of it is a confusing experience. You could almost hear your mind screaming at you, begging for some peace and quiet.

The contrast between the Inner Circle and Azriel becomes clear in your mind. Your relationships were very different before but it's interesting to see that even when you don't have your memories, you feel so much calmer with him. That nagging feeling of being faced with something you've lost keeps rising up when they speak to you, but it doesn't come anywhere close to the myriad of emotions Azriel evokes simply by looking at you. And even if those emotions are more intense, you have a much bigger tolerance for them, as if your body would gladly accept any turmoil as long as you stayed in his company.

Just as you were about to leave the room, Rhysand invites you to join them for dinner. Everyone turns to you with expectant eyes before the words fully leave his mouth. They clearly planned it out together. This habit they have of speaking through each other's minds is one it might take a while getting used to.

You bite your lip, as you think of what to say. Cassian and Morrigan look particularly keen on the idea, it makes you feel a little relieved that the general isn't looking at you like a nightmare came true anymore, but you really don't think you can handle any more questions today, or to have them reminisce about your former relationships. You're not used to spending time with a lot of people in general, you'd go months without any sort of fae contact sometimes. You just want to go somewhere quiet, and you can only think of one person whose company would allow you to relax.

Making up your mind, you decline the invitation politely, trying to ignore the disappointment in their eyes as they bid you goodnight. This still feels like a huge improvement from where you stood with them just at the beginning of the meeting, that they'd want to keep you company when it felt like they were avoiding you this whole week. You might have gained some of their trust, and, to your immense shock, you trust them as well. It feels like a breath of fresh air after a century of not even trusting your shadow.

Maybe it's that feeling, or the immediate quiet that settles over you as soon as you walk into the empty hallway, maybe even the fact that you finally got some answers and even a plan, a chance at leaving the guild, something you never even dared to dream about, but it has you feeling a little indulgent. Your steps are noticeably lighter, and all the tension from before is now only a faint ache in your muscles.

“Azriel?” You look up at him with a smile, feeling it widen when he looks at you in answer. “Since I'm out of the room, can we go somewhere to watch the stars?”

The smile that takes over his face is blinding, it feels like it could rival the moon. It's fascinating how his beauty can still catch you off guard like this, even if you've been spending most of your time with him for an entire week.

“Of course,” he moves closer to you and takes your hand, pulling you into him, his eyes never straying from yours. It takes you longer than it should have to realize he was covering you both in shadows, too lost in his eyes to pay attention to your surroundings, how they've turned to black. He told you before that's how he winnows, though it can't be called that since he moves through shadows instead.

The light almost blinds you as his shadows disperse, giving way to a view you can't believe is real. The sky wasn't completely dark yet, stuck in the brief moments of twilight where you could still see the last rays of the sun illuminating the dark blue sky. And yet the stars were already twinkling in the sky, surrounding the full moon.

You can't help but gasp, forgetting about Azriel and moving to the edge of the roof, admiring the unforgettable view. Your eyes don't stray from it as you lean against the railing, long enough that the sun completely sets, and the streets become illuminated by faelights.

You had thought there was some sort of celebration when you first came here, but have since learned that every night is enjoyed to its fullest in the city of dreamers.

As some of your awe settles, you turn to look at Azriel as he too admires the city. His shadows had left him uncovered, choosing to scatter around what you now recognize as a training ground. You almost regret staring up at the sky for so long when you could have been reveling in his beauty this whole time.

His tan skin was glowing with the pale moonlight, eyes as bright as the stars when he looks down at you. You move closer to him almost unconsciously, as if you've been bewitched.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you sound breathless even to your ears. “The view is a lot more beautiful from up here.” Your bedroom window could never do this justice. If you looked up, it almost felt like you were walking on air, among the stars.

He turns to you fully, ignoring the captivating sight in favor of watching you. His face relaxes further as he takes you in, the smile on his lips growing and the air around you changing. He raises his scarred palm up to cup your face, whispering softly, “It can't ever compare to you.”

“That's cheesy,” you stutter, clearly taken aback by the sudden flirtatious tone.

He grins down at you, a mischievous look in his eyes, rubbing his thumb over the increasingly warmer skin of your cheek. “You're blushing.”

Azriel has been open with his feelings for you all week, making it clear that they haven't changed over the years, even with your absence from his life, but he has never been this brazen. None of the interactions you've had can be considered anything else than platonic, and even with sweet compliments and bashful admissions, he has never looked at you like this, like he truly believed just one second of looking at you was worth more than this unbelievable view.

“You know,” you start hesitantly, “We haven't actually tried everything.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to catch up to your train of thought. You can feel when he does because he tenses against you, and would have let go of your face if you hadn't placed your hand around his wrist, keeping him there.

“I think I've read it in a story before,” you lick your lips, feeling like lava is pumping through your veins when his eyes follow the movement, “Sometimes a kiss can be stronger than any magic spell.”

He leans closer to you slowly, looking into your eyes to search for any sign of discomfort. You can't be entirely sure what he finds in them, you can't feel much else but desire in this moment, but it has him clearing the rest of the way, both of your eyes closing as his lips finally touch yours softly.

A sigh escapes him when you press into him harder, needing to find out what he tastes like, what he feels like. His other hand comes up to cup your other cheek, holding you against him. You can feel him losing his restraint bit by bit, hands moving from your face to hold your neck, your waist, grip getting tighter with every stroke of his tongue against yours, a century of longing and raw passion melting into the kiss. Your own arms find their way around his neck, pulling him down, finally feeling the softness of his hair around your fingers. His chest is pressed against yours, close enough that you can feel his heart beating.

When you finally pull away from each other, you're both breathless. He leans his forehead against yours, eyes closed. You wonder how many times he's dreamed of this moment, of being able to taste you again after so long.

“Any memories resurfacing?” His voice is rough, deeper than you've ever heard it. It almost makes you hold back a moan.

“No,” you lick your lips, reveling in his taste, “but we can give it another try.”

His lips find yours as soon as the last words leave your mouth, more than happy to deliver. You might chastise yourself for giving in to temptation tomorrow, but in this moment nothing else matters. Not the guild, not your lost memories, not your mistakes. Right now there's only him, you and the stars as your witnesses.

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[fraugwinska]

Dude, i had an idea out of nowhere, and in my head it's so funny for no reason ☠️☠️ So, you know that theres like, that canon drawing that Alastor made for Angel's birthday?

((https://twitter.com/HazbinHotel/status/1642135435085217793?t=U6Kzncfye-QAjtJYy8R23A&s=19) This one)

So like, imagine that is Alastor's S/o birthday, and he decided to make her a drawing like that ☠️ idk it's weirdly funny in my head

So - a few things need to be said.

1. I know that Alastor canonically likes to doodle, and ever since episode 1 we really know just how awfully funny these doodles are.

2. what I didn't know was what the hell you were talking about, so I looked it up and... my god. The snorts I snaughted, the wheezes I whoze, the cackles I cuckled. He may be a 'gentleman', he may try to behave cordial and appear classy, but Doodle-Artist-Alastor is a fucking menace, no filter and so snappy, holy shit.

3. Now, for my highly professional opinion (*cough cough*) of what would happen if you, Alastor's s/o, would get a picture like this as a birthday gift. In front of everyone.

❤️ You agreed on celebrating your birthday, as redundant as you thought it was, only under the condition that no one would buy you a gift. If they wanted to hand you a present, you wanted it to be a small, handmade thing, valuing their time and thought behind it much more than the actual thing.

❤️ Everyone would hold true to this request, and the gifts you get match the giver perfectly.

❤️ Charlie and Vaggie crafted together, handing you a bejeweled jewelry box covered in glitter glue and snippets of photos they had taken of you and the gang over the time you were guest in the hotel.

❤️ Niffty, being both skilled in sewing and the chaos gremlin she is, presents you with a abysmal looking pile of different, sewn-together fabrics. You turn and twist it in your hands, thanking her without knowing what it is, until you find a golden snap lock hidden in the masses of layers. It's a very inconvenient coin purse.

❤️ Opening Angels gift has everyone holding their breath - preparing for something phallic, kinky or lewd. instead, you squeal as you pack a crochet version of Fat Nuggets, including his stubby little horns. Angels smug expression at the sheer surprise at his very unusual (and unexpected) talent of the gang quickly turns to a sweet smile as you crush him with your hug, telling him how much you love it.

❤️ Husk's gift for you is nothing corporeal. Instead, he announces he'd teach you one of his many magic tricks he often did for your sheer delight at your many evenings at the bar. He blushes a bit when you thank him with a kiss on his cheek.

❤️ Alastor would wait to be the last one to present his gift - it's known the best is always saved for last. He hands you a large envelope. Curiously you open it, careful not to tear it, and pull out a thick sheet of paper

❤️ Five heads hang over your shoulder, five pairs of eyes widen at the sight: The paper is full of scribbled doodles, a crude, macabre looking version of yourself in the middle, around it splatters of what looks like blood, grinning faces, and scribbled words: cutie pie - talks in her sleep - MINE MINE MINE - I love Alastor (in a speech bubble over your head)

❤️ Reactions would be mixed, Charlie would find it weirdly adorable, Niffty would point out anything she likes with bashful giggles, Vaggie would be as disturbed as Husk, while Angel would make fun of it, laughing while mocking the quality of the drawing.

❤️ you however, would be torn between genuine laughter and earnest emotionality you've never received something handmade from Alastor. He'd often shower you in little tokens of care, a bouquet of flowers, a new necklace, a dress or a scarf he's seen at Rosie's. You found it not only endearing, the thought of him, dressed in his pompous attire sitting at his bureau, drawing this made your heart ache with affection.

❤️ Quietly staring at the picture, Alastor would interpret your silence as veiled ridicule, and vanish into shadows, retreating. He had failed, his gift shown to be juvenile and lacking. Sulking, he would avoid you for the rest of the evening, only returning to your shared room when night already fell and everyone was fast asleep

❤️ He would find you in deep slumber, cheeks a bit puffy and shimmering from trails of dried tears. He'd tilt his head in curiosity, wondering what would've possibly made you cry, then he sees it - his painting, clutched in your hands and pressed to your heart.

❤️ He'd hurry to change for the night, scolding himself for drawing hast conclusions - he should know you better. When he gently pulls the paper from you to set it aside, youd awake, reaching out to him, starting to apologize for not giving him an appropriate reaction.

❤️ alastor would shush you, slipping into bed with you, and give you your other, much more intimate present.

[skyeslittlecorner]

Oh no, everyone has great ideas and you turn them into such amazing stories 🥹 Love family stuffs ahhhhh 😩

How about the kings and their kids prepare for Mother's day? 👀 The kids ask for advices and join their dads in prepare them (...and the king's gifts too... if you know what I mean 👀👌👈)

I love bringing your ideas to life! And I'm glad that you entrust them to me, you don't even know what an inspiration it is, that I can write for you, and you like it. Stay amazing as always 🙏

Family time, let's go!

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

Satan and the twins had some trouble with their gift for you. They said they wanted to do it themselves, without dad, because it would be a surprise for both of you. Of course, he agreed, but he still ordered the nobles to keep an eye on them. First they went to Sitri and wanted to paint the cups, but they broke them. Then they approached Paimon to make you your own stickers, but after half an hour, glitter was everywhere. Before they accosted anyone else, Astaroth intervened. He took them to the meadow (so they could run around and shake off some glitter) and only when they got tired did he start telling them about how their father was a child, when they were picking wild flowers for bouquets for you.

Satan himself will give you a box of mint-blueberry chocolates, which you regularly carved at 3 a.m. during your pregnancy, and a smirk with the words "I'm ready for round two." Of course, he pissed you off with that. And since he also brought good wine, get ready for the next five rounds.

Mammon and your little gang will present you with a whole collection of jewelry. You expected them to be pasta necklaces and modeling clay earrings, but of course you underestimated them. Pearl necklace, ruby bracelets, cufflinks with gold beads. Of course, they are made a bit crooked and clumsy, the younger the child the more so, but you and Mammon look like the proudest parents in the world. This is the only jewelry you want to wear.

From the king you will receive a beautiful silk set (actually five sets, each matching one piece of jewelry you received), underwear and a long dressing gown, (and a matching dress, shoes and even a handbag), which you will have to try out together.

Beelzebub loves scribbles, and so does his little girl! The card you will receive will be the messiest, most colorful conglomeration of colored tissue paper, photos and ribbons you could ever imagine. Beel made sure that there was no shortage of materials, so in one place you have shells from the Caribbean, a heart made of Chinese silk and amber with a fossil (where did they get it from? Did he really take your daughter for a walk around the world? You don't ask, you don't want to know the answer).

Beel will give you markers with edible icing. He had a great time with the little one, but now it's time for mommy to show off her artistic talent. Preferably on his body. You can trace his tattoos with a marker, or maybe write something new. He's ready to be your canvas all night long.

Your daughter has Leviathan’s perfectionism, but in a specific version that when daddy likes something, it means it's already perfect. Usually. Sometimes she says daddy has no taste, and that's the sassy part she inherited from you. She would spend a good week sitting in her father's office and embroidering a pillow as a gift for you, with small flowers, because she doesn't know anything else yet. Levi makes sure she doesn't gouge out her eye with the needle, and every time the needle almost pierces her finger, the thread pulls it back. He usually doesn't worry about it, let the child learn. This time he would prefer there was no blood on the embroidery because the gift for you has to be more perfect than anything else.

Leviathan will give you a choker, also embroidered, but with black thread on black material. You can read it only by touch. What does it say? Only you two know. It's so adjustable that it's perfect for both wearing and choking.

[onmyyan]

A/N: Lil something sweet for ya Happy Valentine's!! Yandere Gotham Sirens X reader

TW'S: YANDERE, DRUGGING

Coming home to a cold, nearly empty apartment on Valentine's day was the last thing you wanted to do, but alas, your previous plans of getting baked and watching all five Twilight movies had to be postponed as sweet, kindhearted you agreed to cover your married coworkers shift so she could spend the love filled day with her wife.

Eight grueling hours later, here you were, shuffling in your house with a well earned yawn, when your eyes registered the hue of pink coming from the heart shaped lights on the wall, lights that you definitely didn't leave there earlier, all at once any tiredness you had left your body.

You definitely needed new locks. This was the first thought you had after taking in your fully decorated apartment.

Pink, red, and black streamers were pinned to your walls, a giant teddy bear with X's for eyes sat dead center on your couch besides him was your typical heart shaped box of chocolates but the front of the package had been doodled on, stick figures of a woman with pigtails and what looked like you littered the front, each in an adorable display of affection.

In the bear's fuzzy arms sat a red and black card tucked snug, when you picked it up a rainfall of gold glitter hit the floor, but before you could read said card your Tabby cat Socks sauntered his way into the living room, he rubbed against your legs in his familiar greeting, it was only then you noticed the new diamond encrusted collar wrapped around his neck, the gems twinkling in the pink light and before you could question that, he lead you back towards your bedroom, where an entire collection of shimmering gems and jewelry were laid out like a feast, the no doubt expensive items seemed so out of place against your cheap sheets, each item was placed with a care you couldn't help but notice, the small note beside it simply read, ' A gem like yourself needs to be locked away so no one can steal you, as such, you should also only have the finest jewels kiss your skin, this is just a taste.'- S. K.

A red lipstick stain sealed the small message.

Mind still reeling, your socked feet rushed back into your small living room, it was here you took note of what appeared to be your last gift.

The Venus flytrap sitting idly in your windowsill looked beautiful in the warm light, when you approached the carnivorous plant, it seemed to brighten up, actually reaching out to curl against your hand, sort of like a cat. Planted in the soil beside it was a note written in cursive. 'A beautiful flora for you my little rosebud, when and if I am not around to protect you, our small friend here eats more than flies.'-P. I.

You gaped at the scene, it felt as if you were dreaming, you tried in vain to wrap your head around it all when finally, you remembered the card in your hand and haistly opened it, glitter be damned.

'Happy Valentine's day Honey! Did we surprise ya? I know we did, hope we didn't scare you baby, you just looked so sad earlier! :( not okay for my Darlin' to be upset on this capitalistic holiday we all know and love! I personally could not let that slide, so me and the girls did a little somethin' small to show ya how much we care! Selena said I shouldn't bother with a long note because by now the drugs will be kicking in, but don't worry a single hair on that pretty little head, Ivy's a pro, bet your brains gettin' all fuzzy huh? Gotta be careful touching suspicious letters left in your place babes! Best part is, when ya wake up, you'll be home, your real home, and we're never lettin' go. Xoxo- your soon to be favorite. -H. Q.

[terresdebrume]

Outlook no so good, says the magic eight ball again. Niko has excellent reading comprehension skills and with life, as with literature, denial only gets you so far. Niko breathes. She doesn't cry. It's a surprise. She thinks most people would.

"Aaaaw," says Litty in a mocking tone, "you don't like what the ball has to tell you?"

"Awe you gonna cwy?" Kingham adds, pretending to wipe his eyes.

Niko looks at them. She doesn't think they ever seemed so small before. She thinks she feels sad for them.

"I don't think I'm going to do that," Niko tells them.

She puts them under the sweater. Walks to her closet. Outlook not so good. Well. The message was clear, and Niko has excellent reading comprehension skills.

She didn't bring any full kimono, when she came here, but she has a silvery ensemble that will do the job nicely. She changes into the pants first. Then the top, left panel over right. She puts on the belt that looks like an obi.

She thinks: at least my hair is ready. She goes through her jewelry box like it's something sacred, and pulls on all her white rings and her white pearls. She finds the white nail polish she wore for her father's funeral, and brought to America because she felt bad about throwing the mostly full bottle away.

She paints her nails with more care than she's needed in years. She breathes. She prepares. She does not cry. The bright pink glitter on her eyes fails to make her smile. When she lifts the sweater from the jar again, Litty and Kingham stare at her, open mouthed.

"What the fuck?" Says Kingham first.

"Is that supposed to be a sexy snowman cosplay?" Says Litty. "You gonna go out there and seduce the bigfoot?"

Niko crouches to put her eyes level with them. She does not shiver. She does not cry. When she speaks, there is no tremor in her voice.

"You know, if you had been nicer to me, I'd let you out now."

"What?"

"What?"

She goes to the roof. When Edwin joins her, he says:

"Niko. You do not want to catch your death."

"I won't," Niko says.

After all, Niko has excellent reading comprehension skills.

She knows who'll catch up first.

(Reblogs make the world go round! Consider reblogging this if you enjoyed the snippet^^)

[zaksdolls]

The Skelita Howliday doll has been on sale on Amazon (at fluctuating prices) so I gave in and bought her as a birthday gift for myself. As I scrolled through the reviews I was concerned that she would arrive in a mangled box and damaged. Thankfully, she turned up pristine!

The packaging is quite nice. I very much like the skull winged butterflies. It's a shame that they are not really used anywhere else besides the fabric print of the dress.

Anywho, I've already complained enough about the doll's design and I'm sure there are plenty of reviews out there so I'll go quickly!

STAND:

Yes, very nice details on stand base. Good. I was surprised when I realized it's a saddle stand. I've had to stick a wad of putty on the saddle to keep Skelita in place lest she falls out.

Now she topples over stand and all! X'D

HEADPIECE:

I was happy to see the skullettes in the flowers have all this sculpted detail! Unfortunately, the painted detailed are a bit off.

The headpiece is made of a harder plastic and is hollow with an open back.

At first, I thought, "Oh, nice. It's much lighter than the first adult collector Skelita's headpiece!"

But then I remembered that I actually really dislike when companies cut corners by neglecting the backside of their toys and products. All angles should be taken into consideration.

Especially on a collector doll.

SHOES:

Shoes are nice. I like the detail of the sole and flowers.

JEWELRY:

Itty bitty skullette beads.

And another skullette with sculpted details. A nice touch.

I'm honestly surprised to see a total of six bracelets and a necklace on this doll. They don't have much in the way of painted details, but I'll take what I can get.

DRESS:

Skelitas used to come with a plastic piece in the shape of the standard Monster High torso to help clothes fit on her boney frame. Now she comes with this. Undergarments I guess? ;P

The ruffle and sleeves are made of the same stretchy fabric and covered with some gold glitter. The sleeves' edges are secured with an overlock stitch while the ruffle is left raw.

Beginning to fray.

The dress's skirt fabric is that thick plasticy fabric that kind of feels like paper. I do not care for this fabric in the least.

(I was trying to capture the stiffness of the fabric by scrunching it in the photo.)

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

After disassembly, I washed her and her clothes. The purple stretchy fabric began to stick onto itself during the washing process. Perhaps the glitter adhesive reactivated with the water and/or the heat. Thankfully, I was able to separate it all again. The top portion of the skirt ruffle folded over during washing and I actually prefer it this way.

Happy accident.

I was able to bring down and relax the sleeves with some added (light) heat. Thank goodness because I did not like how those sleeves looked from factory.

I also took it upon myself to straighten and quickly style her hair with a half ponytail.

For a collector doll, I expect some styling from the company but she came with nothing.

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

Here she is:

The more I look at her, the more I appreciate her. The colors are nice and are pretty cohesive. There are some nice details and she's a "pretty" doll.

However, for this being a collector doll priced at almost 50USD and knowing that Mattel can and has done so much better in terms of design and materials, I'm very disappointed.

But for what I actually paid?

She's okay.

Either way, I'm very happy to have her.

In truth, I would like to buy another one. Either for fodder, or to keep one as factory and another customized. Will only do that if she drops considerably in price.

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 18)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (17) | Next (19)

Content Warning: Vore/ sexual themes

Word Count: 2.7k

------ Chapter 18: The Glutton ------

Chester couldn’t get Jackie out of his head. She was the best human he’d ever tasted, and he was obsessed with her. He fantasized incessantly about savoring her in his mouth, swallowing her down, and feeling her move around inside his belly. He wouldn’t be able to rest otherwise: He’d stayed up all last night thinking about her, rotating her around in his brain like he was roasting her on a rotisserie. She had such a unique, unidentifiable flavor that tantalized his taste buds as he remembered her sublime taste on his tongue. Any meals he ate paled in comparison, seemed bland and tasteless, when she hovered in his every waking thought as well as his dreams. 

His mouth watered as he wandered over to the royal kitchen. The chefs were all focused on food prep, chopping and yelling and banging pots and pans around as they worked tirelessly to feed the royal family and their army of servants. Chester sidled along the wall, hoping he could escape notice. He padded over to the human tanks, wiping his salivating maw on his sleeve and finding it harder and harder to restrain himself. He loomed over the enclosures, searching for his prey. 

Jackie’s breath hitched in her throat as the specter of her worst nightmares overshadowed her. She knew the giant desired her, was seeking her out to eat her, and she was deathly afraid. With nowhere to hide, on display in the transparent case, she remained perfectly still, hoping by some miracle to evade his sight. Her blood froze in her veins when his predatory gaze landed on her, and his mouthful of slick teeth displayed across his face in a ravenous grin. She let out a high-pitched shriek and cringed away as his enormous hand blocked out the light above. 

“Chester!” Bucky snapped, whacking his knuckles hard with a wooden ladle. “Get away from there!” 

“Ouch!” Chester cried, retracting his hand. “Aw, c’mon, I was just looking…” 

“Bullshit! I know you too well, you drooling glutton. There’s no way I’d let you prowl around unsupervised in MY kitchen.” He planted his hands on his mile-wide hips with a shake of his head. 

Chester turned up the corner of his mouth in a smirk. “Alright, fine. You caught me.”  He kneaded his hand, which was turning red and beginning to bruise from being struck. “Can I just-” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“I just want to borrow one for a few hours. Is that too much to ask? Nobody will even notice she’s missing. If the king requests her, you can just claim she’s sick or something.” 

Bucky squinted his eyes in thought, stroking his triple chins. He grinned mischievously. “What will you give me in return? Will you let me piss in Ronny’s food?” 

Chester retched. “You know whatever you put in his food, I have to eat too. Hard pass.” 

“What about spit?” 

“Ugh, gross. No! You’ll get me in trouble if I sanction something like that.” Chester brushed his fingers against his neck. “That’s not worth losing my head over.” 

“Either way, the spoiled brat deserves it,” Bucky grumbled. He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “No deal then.” 

Chester frowned and dug his hand in his pocket. “What about this?” He revealed a handful of fine jewelry, glittering with gold and precious gems.  

Bucky’s eyes gleamed. “Where did you get those?” 

Chester glanced around conspiratorially before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Princess Bianca’s jewelry box. She’s got so many trinkets, she’ll never notice a few missing. I snagged them recently when I was in her private quarters to check her breakfast. She doesn’t pay attention to the servants whom she considers beneath her.” 

Bucky sniggered. “Nice.” He gestured with his thick fingers greedily. “Alright. You win. Pick one, and she’s yours for a few hours.” Chester slapped an ornate garnet ring in the head chef’s pudgy palm and returned the rest to his pocket. Bucky frowned. 

“That’s worth a fortune all in itself,” Chester clarified, noting his dissatisfaction. “That’s more than enough for the privilege.” 

Bucky grunted, but he knew Chester was right. Besides, he was only loaning her out for a few hours: He wasn’t actually sacrificing anything himself. As far as he was concerned, it was free cash. “Fine. Just hang out in the food storage closet over there. If the king requests her for a snack, I expect you to spit her up. And clean her off when you’re done, for God’s sake.” 

“Fair enough,” Chester agreed. He didn’t care—whatever he had to say to get that tasty woman in his belly. His stomach rumbled, clamoring for fresh living meat. Jackie’s heart stopped with horror as she watched him remove the lid from her tank and reach his enormous hand inside. She had no defense, nowhere to run as his open hand approached, fingers far taller and thicker than her entire body curving around her. She screamed, but her exclamation was muffled as she was fully engulfed in the giant’s gargantuan fist. 

He raised her out triumphantly and rushed over to the food closet, shutting the door behind him for privacy. The closet was dark, cramped, and musty, with nowhere to rest his hindquarters comfortably, but Chester didn’t care. He sat down on the dusty floor, against a shelf loaded with onions, potatoes, carrots, and turnips, heedless of the inevitable accumulation of dirt on his clothes. The pungent odor of root vegetables and dust motes made him sneeze as he disrupted the layers of sediment. 

He peeked into his hand to see Jackie cowering down in the hollow of his fist, shivering uncontrollably. She wasn’t fighting him too much, since she comprehended how weak and powerless she was compared to a giant, so he opened his fingers like the blossoming of a flower to reveal the tasty nude maiden in all her glory. He drank in her intoxicating scent, ignoring the other smells pervading the air. He quivered with delight and anticipation, sighing with how overcome he was to finally get the chance to fully indulge himself. 

Jackie wanted to bolt so badly, but she feared a fall from this height would severely injure her, if not kill her. Plus, she doubted she could get away without the brute catching her, even if she scurried down his arm and tumbled into his soft lap to break her fall. “P-p-please... don’t hurt me...” she whimpered. 

“Shhhh, no, no, it’s okay,” Chester assured her. “I’m not going to harm you. I’m just going to swallow you whole. You’ll be tucked away, all nice and safe in my belly.” A flood of spit dribbled down his chin with anticipation. As he spoke, he admired her naked form. She would taste even better without any clothes to impede access to her skin. 

As his bright emerald eyes dined on her flesh, he was suddenly struck with an unexpected bout of shyness. She had a full figure, identical to a giantess but on a much smaller scale. Her voluptuous thighs and breasts looked delicious in more ways than one. Her form was very aesthetically pleasing, perhaps even... titillating? A blush crept over his cheeks. He’d seen plenty of human women naked before, but he didn’t normally see them through a sexual lens. None had ever captured his interest like she did. He was mortified to find blood flowing to his groin, awakening his member.  

He was lightheaded, and his heart was pounding almost as hard as Jackie’s, albeit for a very different reason. What was wrong with him? No human should make him feel this way. They were supposed to be food, not romantic interests. Yet, he’d known from the very beginning that she was special. He’d presumed it was because of her exquisite aroma and taste, but as he gazed upon her a different sentiment, one very powerful and overwhelming, invaded his heart. He felt an urge to hold her against him—or inside him—to protect her and keep her safe. Her face, which initially appeared plain to him when he was judging her by the king’s standards, now drew him in like a magical enchantment. 

Chester blinked, trying to snap out of his trance. For some reason, all at once, the whole situation felt very wrong—not just his inappropriate emotions, but his obsessive desire to consume her at any cost. He had single-mindedly pursued his goal to eat her, but now that he was here, he wanted more from her than merely satiation of his physical appetites. He didn’t know what to do, and he wasn’t in the habit of treating humans like people, so he sat there stupefied like an idiot. Jackie was crumbling under the strain as she waited for him to mercilessly devour her. After her dreadful encounter with King Richard, she knew what to expect: She knew struggling would be futile. 

“Um... so... what’s your name?” the hungry giant asked stupidly, not sure what else to say or do. He was stalling. He’d gotten this far, only to be paralyzed with indecision. He wanted to eat her so badly, yet the more benevolent yearning in his heart clashed with his ravenous stomach. 

Jackie’s face contorted with bafflement on top of her fright. “Huh?” 

“Your name,” Chester repeated, swallowing and licking the excess moisture off his lips. The subtle movements of his gigantic tongue and throat caused Jackie to recoil. She couldn’t help but imagine, with the graphic clarity of prior experience, the horror of being forced over the threshold of the teeth into the slavering maw, to be swallowed and squeezed into the churning, boiling organ deep inside. She was too afraid to answer him, too focused on her impending torture. 

Chester lowered his hand away from his mouth, resting it in his lap with a soft exhale. Jackie squeaked with surprise, reflexively clinging to one of his fingers for support. She shook in his palm, unsure what was happening. Yet again, with her new position closer to the ground, she weighed the option of sprinting for her life. She glanced up at the giant towering above her, his face scrunched with a complicated expression she was unable to distinguish. He was just so incomprehensively massive. His arm far exceeded the length she’d be able to run before he reacted. He’d effortlessly catch her, and the last thing she wanted to do was anger the giant man.  

“W-what difference does it make?” Jackie stammered, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “If you’re just going to treat me like food anyway?” 

Chester hesitated. “I don’t know.” He curled his huge fingers gently around Jackie, making her cringe. She didn’t know why he was asking her personal questions, but she figured it might be better to keep him talking, to delay and perhaps shorten her tour through his digestive tract. 

“M-my name’s Jaclyn,” she answered timidly. “Although everyone calls me Jackie.” 

“That’s a nice name,” Chester replied. He didn’t know what else to say, so he lapsed into a tense silence. His new desire, a strangely tender sentiment, battled his primal predatory urges. His cravings to ingest her were killing him, waxing stronger than ever. He wanted to lick her, to envelop her in his jaws, to roll her around in his cheeks like a jawbreaker, to feel her small body sliding down his throat. His stomach rumbled like an earthquake, and Jackie whimpered with raw terror. She didn’t want to be inside his body, not at all.  

He struggled to hold himself back, but he feared his stomach would take over if he deprived himself any longer. “Can I eat you?” he blurted out loudly. A drop of spittle dripped off his lip and splashed on his palm next to Jackie. 

“Are you kidding me? NO!” Jackie cried, hopping away from the fresh puddle of filthy warm slobber. 

“Please?” Chester implored. He subconsciously leaned over the tiny human, holding her closer to his mouth. “Good lord, you smell so good...” 

“S-stay back!” Jackie cried, holding out her hand stiffly in a fruitless gesture of self-defense. Chester was sorely tempted to wrap his lips around her cute, tasty little hand, or run his tongue up the length of her arm, but he restrained himself. He backed off with a sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized softly. He wasn’t sure why he uttered those words. He was a giant, an apex predator; she was a lowly human. He had every right to devour her, and he didn’t require her permission to do so. Yet, he felt so wrong. Everything felt so wrong. His world was falling apart, all because of this little human he was obsessing over. He winced as his stomach growled again, more insistently this time. 

Keeping Jackie ensconced securely in his hand, he fumbled his other hand over the shelf loaded with vegetables and blindly snagged a carrot. He shoved the entire thing in his mouth, all the way up to the stalk, and crunched down on it with his teeth. He chewed it up and swallowed with a hearty gulp. He reached back again, grabbing an onion this time, and bit into it like an apple, without even peeling it. He chomped it down and continued to forage, demolishing a few potatoes and polishing off another onion with gusto. 

Jackie watched the gluttonous display with confusion and dread. She didn’t understand why the giant was dining on random vegetables. Was he just eating appetizers to prepare his stomach for her, the main course? His prodigal appetite was disquieting to behold as a menagerie of giant vegetables were grinded into mush by his fearsome teeth and disappeared raw down his gullet. Jackie could hear with gross detail the chewing of his teeth, the gulping of his throat, and the gurgling of his stomach as it received the offerings. She imagined swimming around in a cauldron of bubbling gastric juices, surrounded by fibrous pulp digesting all around her, and shuddered violently. She hated that mental image with a visceral passion. 

For his part, Chester failed to realize his vegetable binge was frightening the tiny human in his grasp. He was hungry and deeply conflicted. He yearned to eat Jackie with an intensity that burned as bright as the sun, but at the same time he didn’t want to force her into his belly. With tender new feelings embroiling his heart, he didn’t wish for her to hate him, by forcing her into his stomach. The correct course of action would be to return her to her tank uneaten, before he lost control of himself, but at the same time he didn’t want to let her go. He still strongly desired to eat her, to taste her, and a part of him wanted to keep her inside him forever.  

So he sat in the closet, wallowing in indecision and his own carnivorous urges, and gorged himself with vegetables. They were filler, and sadly not meat, but they were edible nonetheless, and superior to an empty belly. He was padding out his time with her as he tried to resist, yet still contemplated devouring her, leaving the option open. He didn’t want Bucky to know he failed to eat her either. Bucky would judge him for his odd choice, and find his behavior exceedingly strange and suspicious. Chester didn’t want to cause trouble or jeopardize his highly coveted position at court. 

Fortunately, his more civilized and compassionate side won against his predatory instincts. He did not eat Jackie, and returned her to her tank later without a single drop of saliva or acid on her skin. As miserable as he felt, to walk away without indulgence despite paying for the privilege, he was proud of himself for overcoming his hunger. His heart was beating fast, and his cheeks flushed as he glanced back at Jackie before exiting the kitchen. 

Jackie was perplexed. She had expected the worst, but nothing had happened. She wasn’t eaten against her will, even though the giant clearly coveted her succulent meat more than anything, with all his salivating and stomach gurgles. He stuffed himself full of vegetables instead. She didn’t know what to make of this puzzle. The rush of blood to his face before he left was even more bewildering to her. Why would he be blushing? Nothing made any sense. 

Chapter 19

[whumpsoda]

You're evil LMAO

Genevieve finding a ring in Nevan's stuff a while later and just thinking 'well damn'. Obviously a bit more distraught than that but yknow

WOHEO Masterlist

YES I AM >:)

cw: implied/referenced kidnapping

———————————————————————

A box.

A box with a ring, one that glimmered and glittered in sunlight, one coated with the sugary, honeydew warmth of his love. Sure, it was cheap and gaudy, but he bought it. He bought it for her, pouring his heart into a purchase he knew she would cherish no matter the look of it. A gift she would wear every day, 24/7, until the day she died. 

A gift he never got to give.

Genevieve slumped onto their- her- bed, one hand over the leather box and the other twirling the ring between nimble fingers. She studied it intensely, thinking and thinking and thinking.

When did he plan on doing it? Kneeling down in front of her, widening the box open and showing it off until she instantly gushed and burst into flowing tears, hollering yes, yes, yes! 

Obviously it was going to happen. Maybe it was soon, maybe it was a long way away. It didn’t really matter anymore, though, considering a missing man couldn’t propose. 

Not a dead man.

What would it have felt like to plan a wedding, she wondered. To buy a dress Nevan couldn’t see until the long awaited date, to buy and shop for decorations, shoes, get all done up and have her very own bachelorette party. 

What would it have felt like to walk down the aisle? Arms intertwined with Nevan’s father, the seats reserved for her own parents barren and devoid of them, their invitations never sent. 

How would it have felt to read her vows? To recite the ones she’d written for him all the way back in high school, just knowing such a day would eventually come? To see him grin, toothy and wide as he giggled, holding back his silly teases as tears pricked his deep, brown eyes?

She chuckled, sorrowful and strained. He’d hidden it in such an obvious place, too. Right behind her shoe rack. Hers! How she’d never found it before then was beyond her, and why he’d ever thought to put it there was as well. Maybe it was because he just knew she rarely wore more than one pair of sneakers, and would never notice it. 

Nevan just knew her.

He knew that as a kid she doodled little monsters in the margins of her papers when bored, he knew she only ever ate anchovies and bacon on her pizza, and he knew she still slept with a night light because she was still afraid of the dark. Among so much more, he knew her.

And he knew that she would say yes.

Would have said yes.

Genevieve gently slipped the jewelry over her ring finger, and it gleamed with little reflections of rainbows as it moved. Just right.

Just right.

But it couldn’t be just right, because he hadn’t given it to her. Because he wasn’t even there to laugh about how she’d found it and just propose anyways. He wasn’t there.

She stared at it, just before slipping it off once again. She wiped her eyes, rubbing the tears out of them before she would break. She could cry later. Amara needed her then. Placing the ring back to its intended box she smiled, lightly, content with herself.

She would wait. She would put it back where she discovered it, and when he came back he would propose and everything would be just as perfect as when he left. She could wait. She would wait, as long as she needed to till she found him. And then she would never let go of that ring unless it was pried from her cold, dead hands. Everything would be just fine. She could feel it.

Nevan was out there, and Genevieve would find him. 

No matter…

No matter who he was when she did.

———————————————————————

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @mylifeisonthebookshelf

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[rom-e-o]

"New Beginnings and Second Chances" (Ebenezer/Constance)

It's proposal time, all.

I've been tweaking and writing this as an epilogue to "Begin Again", and I think we're ready to share.

Thank you to everyone who has come along on this amazing journey! (Oh, it's not over. We're STILL trucking along strong, but man ... you can't deny that we've come far.)

Enjoy!

Ebenezer Scrooge, on most days, was an exponentially composed man.

He had tackled business negotiations, fortified good clients (while tastefully dismantling the smarmy ones) and cemented deals with estimated costs comprised of more numbers than most phone numbers, plus extensions.

However, on this very morning, the man was practically carving a path into the walnut floors of his home as a result of his pacing. He was in his study, and had been for the better half of the morning, waking and readying himself even before the arrival of his maid, Magda.

The day had come. He was going to do it. It was the second time he’d taken on the upcoming task, and yet this time, he felt more nervous than he had the first time.

He was going to propose to Constance DoGoode – the woman he’d been privileged enough to meet, fall in love with, and even receive her love in return.

He was going to ask her to marry him. To be his … wife.

Gods, the words gave him chills.

“Be steadfast, man,” he mouthed aloud, hand flying to his chest as his heart threatened to burst from his ribcage. It was soaring beneath his fingertips. “Don’t kick the bloody bucket before you even ask her!”

His treacherous heart continued to race, and he resigned himself to stepping close to the window for some fresh air. That actually helped, and he filled his lungs with the green-tinted, early morning haze of the early spring morning.

He’d acquired the ring a few days ago after sneaking one of her other bands to a jeweler to get the correct sizing. Now, every time he glimpsed the glittering stone, it took everything in him to not sod all his proposal plans and fall on one knee at the next sight of her. The ring had been burning a hole in both his pocket and mind since he’d purchased it; the stone seemingly just as excited to sparkle upon her finger as he was to place it upon it.

The ring had been an easy choice. A solitaire, square-cut diamond on a polished gold band. Simple. Elegant. Classy.

He’d known it was the ring from the moment he’d spotted it glittering in the case at the jeweler’s shop. One resize later (using one of her everyday rings that he’d silently apologized for taking from her jewelry box) and it was ready. He fitted it into a blue velvet ring box, and kept it in the very back of the only drawer in his work desk that required a lock to open. Just in case.

The ring, all things considered, had been a straightforward acquisition.

The proposal itself? That was a slightly more complicated matter.

Ebenezer had spent the better part of the last month seriously envisioning different scenarios for how he could pop the question. While the gesture itself had dominated his thoughts for the better half of a year, he’d seriously started noodling around ideas and putting pieces together in recent weeks.

It had to be as perfect as possible, he reasoned. Not so perfect that he put it off forever, of course, but it had to be worthy of her.

It had to be completely different than the experience that rat bastard of an ex-husband had given for her. That meant not proposing in a public place (quite fine with him) and not proposing while stumbling over himself drunk (exceptionally fine with him).

So …

Suddenly, like the first call of a meadowlark ending the silence of night, a knock sounded at the door.

“Mr. Scrooge, sir?”

Without waiting for an answer, another giddy knock came from the other side of his study’s door, the sound practically dancing across the lacquered. He bid the guest entry, knowing it was Magda just from her voice.

When the Hungarian woman slipped inside, an excited grin decorated her face. She practically glided through the door’s crevice, careful to latch the door noiselessly behind her before she spoke. “My stars, sir! Today is the day, is it not?”

He nodded, taking a deep breath as Magda bounced on her heels. After an energetic clap, she reached out to take the man’s hands and give them a reassuring squeeze. “Oh, don’t fret! She’ll say yes!”

He hoped. Gods, he hoped so. He hoped she said yes, and he hoped she said yes out of desire and not obligation, like she had with Orin. Although she loved him, it had been too soon, she’d said.

…Gods, was it too soon for them, too?

No, his mind raced to think, there was no going back. He didn’t want to wait, like he had with Isabel.

No, he had to ask. To make his love known and open. The rest was in her hands.

“I sent for the carriage this morning,” he said, breathy with nervousness, “By the time she awakens and dresses, they should arrive.”

Reaching into his pocket, he procured his silver pocket watch and glimpsed the time. The hands sat at 6:48 a.m. It wouldn’t be long before his love began to stir.

“Shall I prepare any breakfast? Or are you lovebirds going to eat in the coach?”

“Much obliged, Magda, but I went ahead and prepared something.”

She waggled her brow in intrigue. “You.”

He waggled his brow somewhat defensively. “Yes, me, as a matter of fact. Thank you for that sign of confidence.”

“I didn’t know you could cook, sir!”

“Magda, may I remind you that I survived many, many years – decades, actually – without a maid helping me cook? While I am infinitely grateful for all the help you’ve provided me, I assure you I am quite capable of…”

“…”

“…Ethel assisted me. Happy?”

Magda let out an amicable laugh. “Happy, and less worried for the poor lady’s stomach, as well.”

Scrooge hmph!-ed at her playful teasing. He knew her jabs were all in good faith, and presented a welcome distraction from his nervous pacing and racing thoughts. Whether it was intentional or not, he appreciated her company in that moment, just like had every single day he’d had the pleasure of employing her.

“Magda, I—”

Then, the faint sound of creaking stairs from outside the study door caught their attention. Both ceased talking just in time to hear a gentle knock on the study door.

“Come in, love,” Ebenezer called, knowing exactly who was on the other side.

Sure enough, Constance peered in, blue eyes wide and her smile bright, but still a touch sleepy. “Ah, there you both are,” she said, chuckling as she slipped inside, shutting it behind her just as Magda had.

Even fresh from bed, Costance was a sight to behold. Her red hair was pulled back in a loose chignon and fastened with large, satin ribbon. She herself was donned in a blue velvet peignoir with golden trim and matching sash that highlighted the hourglass curve of her waist.

“I must confess, I was a little worried,” she said in an adorable, sleep-bitten rasp. She was still waking up, bless her. The woman had awoken to see that her partner was missing from his side of the bed, and had taken little time to wait before investigating fully. “The house is never so quiet in the morning.”

She’s made the comment as a light joke, but upon seeing the main master and maid of the house gathered together so close in the study, she suddenly lowered her voice in concern. “Is everything alright?”

Before Scrooge could think of an excuse, Magda was quick to the rescue.

“I was just asking Mr. Scrooge if he wouldn’t mind if a took a bit of a last minute day off,” she said, “I have some personal errands and appointments, and thought it might be easier to take a full day than mince apart various other working days.”

She glanced at Ebenezer, giving him a coy smirk that matched the mischievous slant of her eyes. She looked like a tabby that had just filled its cheeks at the nearest birdcage, and gotten away with it, too.

“Why, I believe that sounds like a capital idea,” Scrooge agreed, clapping an agreeable hand over her puff-sleeved shoulder. “After all, the house will be vacant all day today.”

“It will?” Constance asked, her surprise palpable but pleasant.

“Indeed so,” he said, turning to her, hands reaching out to take one of hers. “I’ve arranged a bit of a … surprise for us today. A surprise outing.”

“Oh, really?” A flush of joy made her freckles pop across her sun-kissed cheeks.

He laughed softly, pleased by her excitement. “I’ve prepared breakfast, and a coach should be here on the hour for us. I-If you’d be so kind as to join me, I would be most honored.”

Magda tried hard to not roll her eyes as Constance enthusiastically agreed, both leaning into a embrace and chaste kiss that Magda had the decency to avert her eyes from.

Of course Constance had agreed to the outing, the maid thought secretly. She had no work that day, and when the happy couple wasn’t at work, they were spending time together in some capacity. Reading in the sitting room together, taking a stroll together, sometimes even rowing out on the Serpentine in Hype Park to bask in the sun and watch the swans skate across the waters.

Today was no different, but he had still kindly asked her if she was free to spend time with him.

Silly man, she thought kindly, though the maternal side of her longed to pull them both into a hug and wish them luck. Especially him.

“I’ll get dressed this instant,” Constance said with a nod. “I won’t be long, promise.”

“I’ll help.”

“Oh, Magda, I thought…”

“I’ve got a moment to spare,” she said lovingly, fluttering to the young woman’s side and giving her a nudge. “Come now, let’s make you look like an absolute vision! I have the perfect dress in mind, as well.”

“But…”

“Please, love. It would be my honor.”

As the carriage pulled up to the house and Scrooge loaded the basket and blanket they needed, he called up the stairs for Magda and Constance to come down.

While they waited, he made small talk with the driver, paid him in advance, and offered him a vague outline of the day’s itinerary. As for the directions, he’d scribed those carefully as well, and even provided a map, though the driver gave him a reassuring look.

“Been doin’ this ‘ob for many a year, Mr. Scrooge,” he said, taking a long drag of his pipe at the end. “I’ve got many maps, compasses, and back-ups of all me back-ups. You and yer lady are safe wit’ me.”

Well, he had hired the best, he reasoned. It seemed the sterling reputation of the driver and business was true, even if the man himself was a little rough around the edges. “Good man. Thank you again. Oh, um…here’s some breakfast for the road.”

Scrooge handed him a slab of cheese and an entire loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth. This excited the driver more than the directions. “Cheers, mate! I’ll take th’ smoothest paths for you and yer lady!”

“Much obliged.”

“Oh, and betw’n you and me, feel free to close those curtains if you lot would pr’fer some alone time, yeah? I can’t hear a peep fro’ where I’m sittin’.”

“…I’ll remember that.”

He would not act on that, but he supposed the gesture was … kind? Thoughtful? It was something, he ultimately decided.

While the conversation with the driver had been interesting in and of itself, all memory of the conversation seemed to fly out of his head as Magda rushed out with Constance on her arm.

As always, Magda met and exceeded expectations by leaps and bounds.

Dressed in a gown of chocolate brown satin with golden-white petticoats shimmering beneath the skirts, Constance stepped carefully down the stone steps of the house, her heels a matching shade of deep coffee. A matching shawl, trimmed with pearly fringe, concealed her shoulders from the morning chill. Her hair was adorned with a white ribbon nestled in a perfect bow in the back, the curls falling in loose spirals around her shoulders.

He noted that she also wore the freshwater pearl earrings and choker that he’d gotten her for her birthday a few months ago. Also, on her right ring finger, a fire opal ring she had inherited from her father blazed brilliantly. She rarely wore the piece, treasuring the item too much to risk losing it.

Magda really had worked her magic.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” Constance asked as she plucked at the skirt of her dress. Magda distracted her tentative movements by helping her into a pair of satin gloves, occupying her fingers for a moment. “This dress is beautiful, but is it too much for…um …”

She laughed and glanced at him somewhat bashfully. “Oh … I just realized I never even asked you where we were going.”

Gods, she was lovely, he thought.

“A picnic,” he supplied vaguely, almost breathless as he took in the sight of her. “And no. P-Please don’t change. You look absolutely beautiful…and you’re comfortable, yes?”

“Oh, very comfortable.”

“Then that’s what matters.”

Prudence bounded down the stairs, barking excitedly at the sight of the sleek, cherrywood carriage.

Of course, she would be invited along for the proposal. Why, it was largely because of Prudence that he and Constance had bumped into each other in the first place on that fateful December day, as he’d been in the butcher buying bones for her. As sch, it seemed only right for her to be present on the day that he asked Constance to be a part of his life for the remainder of his days.

Seeming to sense the importance of the occasion, she trotted up to her master and pawed at his leg.

Scrooge chuckled, then opened the door so she could hop in. “Go on, Prudence.”

After an excited spin, she leapt up and instantly made herself comfortable on one of the long, leather-clad benches, just beside the picnic basket and rolled up blanket. The mastiff flopped down and let out a satisfied huff.

Thank goodness he’d sprang for the larger cab, he thought as he surveyed the remaining space.

“We may need to cozy up just a tad for the trip,” Ebenezer warned Constance playfully. She returned an amused look, her smile only broadening when she peeked into the carriage and saw Prudence curled up on the opposite bench.  

After bringing Constance her purse (which contained only her pillbox, a book of poetry she’d been reading, a money clip, and some rouge), Magda then turned her attention to him. She helped Ebenezer slip into his black overcoat, smoothing the fabric as she did so. She also produced his top hat and cane, which she’d pulled from the entryway closet ahead of time.

As she skimmed the lapels of his coat with her fingers to make sure they laid flat and symmetrically, she gave him one last, reassuring stare, the burning resolve in her eyes all the more magnified by the thick lenses on her spectacles.

He took one last deep breath …and nodded.

“Right. T-Time to go.”

Assuming his post at the carriage’s open door, he extended a hand to Constance. Slowly, he helped her mount the step to the cab.

Once she was seated, he slotted himself into the space beside her.

“We’ll be back before sunset!” he called before shutting the door. He gave her one last wave.

“Have fun, you two!” Magda called innocently, stealing a handkerchief from her apron pocket to wave as the driver snapped the reins and the carriage rolled forth across the cobbled roadway. “Be good! I won’t wait up!”

Prudence let out another bark, and Constance leaned out the carriage window to wave excitedly. The maid also saw the woman lose her balance, and Ebenezer’s arms frantically circle her to pull her back to safety.

As soon as the cart was out of sight, Magda was off like a shot back inside. She raced to grab her coat and hat, practically flinging them on her body. The maid didn’t even bother to check her reflection as she shimmied down the strop steps of the house and made her way down Lime Street and into the churning streets of Cornhill. The woman had a few key destinations in mind.

First, she’d traverse Lime Street to a residential neighborhood a few blocks over, where Harry and Hela lived.

Then, she’d wind her way through the alleyways and cobbled roadways until she reached Camden Town.

 The carriage ride out of town lasted all but two hours, but inside the cab, the minutes all but flew by.

The couple shared bites of breakfast (orange peel-flecked scones that he’d practiced in secret for days) and read passages from the small book of poetry Constance had tucked into her purse.

« Mon bras pressait ta taille frêle Et souple comme le roseau; Ton sein palpitait comme l’aile D’un jeune oiseau. »

« Longtemps muets, nous contemplâmes Le ciel où s’éteignait le jour. Que se passait-il dans nos âmes ? Amour! Amour! »

« Comme un ange qui se dévoile, Tu me regardais, dans ma nuit, Avec ton beau regard d’étoile, Qui m’éblouit. »

Ebenezer pronounced the words graciously are carefully, Constance using her French lessons from long past to speak alongside him.

“It has been quite a while since I’ve spoken French,” he admitted, “Not since I was a boy, reading some of the classics for my studies. I fear I’m rusty in the romance languages.”

“You are doing well,” Constance enthused.

Ebenezer knew Constance was fluent In English and Dutch, but Frensh was a … more recreational language for her. A nifty party trick, although it was a vast help in situations just as this, where they crowded over a small book and took great care to read the delicate writing accurately.

“My arm clasped your fragile waist that’s supple as a reed; Your breast beat like the wing Of a young bird.

“In a long silence we contemplated The sky where the day was fading away. What was happening in our souls? Love! Love!

“Like an angel who reveals herself, You looked at me, in my night, With your beautiful star’s gaze, Blinding me with … light.”

A comfortable silence settled over them as the words lingered a beat.

“I do so love that one,” she said with a dreamy, wavering sigh. “Especially the ending.”

“Very beautiful indeed,” Ebenezer husked, deepening his voice to a burr to attract her attention. When she glanced up and saw the smirk upon his visage, seeing only her own reflection in his icy eyes, her cheeks bloomed with pleasant color.

All the while, the sun continued to climb in the sky outside. By the time they near the spot that Ebenezer had directed the driver to, it was nearly midday.

Another turn of the page, and Ebenezer spotted a familiar piece of literature. “Venus and Adonis, by Shakespeare.”

“Oh, that one is wonderful, but quite long,” Constance chuckled.

“Certainly longer than his most famous sonnets,” he said, “Sonnet 29 comes to mind. Shorter … and easier for a man to memorize and recite to his lovely lady.”

His last remark harbored just enough cheekiness for her to wonder how many men he’d witnessed recite the same sonnet over and over across the city during romantic, spring days. Probably dozens, she thought in intrigue and amusement.

“I saw it performed a few summers ago in New York. By a theater troupe in Central Park. They memorized the entire thing – amazingly impressive for such green performers! A duo, in fact.”

It was a tragic poem, of course. It was also an erotic epic. Not necessarily appropriate for the occasion. Still, right as she was about to close the book, he reached out and paused her. With the tap of his finger, he urged her eyes to fall upon a specific passage.

She read:

“Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:  

“A summer’s day will seem an hour but short…”

As the words finished leaving her painted lips, he leaned down and placed the gentlest of kisses upon her mouth. In that moment, the sentiment on the parchment manifested into warm, breathing reality.

“Now that,” he said, reaching up and thumbing the curls about her cheeks, “Reminds me of today.”

She blinked slowly. Again, dreamily. “Does it, my Adonis?”

An airy chuckle left him, but his fingers tightened their grip just slightly. He did grip her tight, he held her tight. “With you, the hours blend into beautiful, fleeting moments. Evey second with you feels…healing.”

He thought of yet another line from the poem: “Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.”

A perfect summary, he thought as he leaned in again, kissing the tip of her nose. “My Venus.”

A few precious moments later, the couple heard the driver gently urge his horses to a gentle stop. They obeyed with a few clicks of the man’s tongue, and once they were fully stopped on a well-trodden side path, the driver alerted them of their arrival.

“Splendid,” Ebenezer said, praying his voice didn’t convey the nervousness he felt. “Shall we?”

He opened the door to allow Prudence to jump out (which she eagerly did). As the mastiff busied herself biting at butterflies and rolling in the dust like a chipmunk, Ebenezer stepped out and instantly felt the heat of the sun above them. It was considerably warmer than it had been the morning before.

He shed his hat and coat, leaving them in the carriage with his cane.

Constance followed suit by shedding her shawl, then tilted her head back in bliss as she stepped into the sun. “Mm. Warm.”

Sun was a rarity in England, he noted. It was rare to see the sun or moon in their true glory.

In that moment, she appeared to be drinking in the light, her tanned skin and vibrant hair giving the blazing a star a run for its money in radiance.

“Here we are, lovebirds,” the driver said, giving his horses a pat as they dipped their heads to graze. “Spot to ya likin’, Mr. Scrooge?”

“Very much so. Much obliged.”

Just like before, he reached into the basket and produced some food and drink to help bide the time while they made merry, so to speak.

Surprised and pleased by the next round of gifts, the man took a large bite of a mincemeat pastry from his share before waving the couple off and telling them to “have a bit o’ nanty narking, ya hear! I won’t ‘ell, haha!”

Constance gave Ebenezer a playful grin while he blushed red as a beet.

“T-Thank you, sir,” he mumbled, ushering Constance away with one arm while carrying their picnic basket with the other.

 The air was scented with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, and the distant melody of birdsong accompanied their amicable conversation as Ebenezer led her up an ambling stone path to the spot he’d picked. Their destination was atop an overlook with a perfect view of the swaying fields for miles around, different patches dotted with clouds of fresh blossoms.

The couple set up their spot, then sat on a blanket spread across the lush grass, surrounded by the serenity of nature. The smog and incessant chatter of the city was long forgotten as they basked in the aroma of sun-warmed wildflowers and relaxed to the melody of the babbling brook nearby.

As they enjoyed a picnic of sandwiches, fruits, and a bottle of sparkling cider, Ebenezer couldn't shake the anticipation bubbling within him. For the entire duration of their outing, he stole glances at Constance. In fact, he would have been hard pressed to remove his gaze from her on any occasion, and especially in this moment and setting. It was a scene he knew he didn’t want to forget for the rest of his days alive, and as he drank in the details of her, he knew he never would.

By the time they’d finished eating, they lounged for a while against the shade of the oak, even making a trip to a nearby stream to dance in the ankle-deep water and splash around a bit. Prudence even followed, running circles in the riverbank under her entire belly and paws were dripping with river water and mud.

When they returned from that, lazily strolling up the hill hand-in-hand, it was the golden hour of sunset.

In the halo of warm light that radiated from the horizon’s dark edge, it was a treat marveling at the way the sunlight played in her hair, making it glow like strands of molten bronze. The way her cornflower eyes glittered like the sea captivated him further.

A moment of silene stretched between them … and with the sun slowly vanishing, he knew the seconds of his opportunity were literally ticking away.

Constance, catching the anxious way Ebenezer fumbled for his coat, glanced over. “Are you alright, love? Are you cold?"

Love. The endearment bolstered his resolve.

“Quite alright,” he said. “In fact, I’ve never been happier.”

Ebenezer took a deep breath, steadying his nerves.

Something touched her expression as she realized when was happening. She didn’t say a word, but her eyes widened almost knowingly, the blue color shining like the isles of Neptune.

Now or never, he thought.

“Constance. The Christmas of my 50th birthday, I…became a changed man. I realized the error of my ways, and became transformed. I realized that I’d wasted much of my life in misery, content to be alone and deprive others, and myself, of happiness. I remember thinking that I would never go back.

“Then, the moment we met, you did the impossible … you transformed my life again. Since then, you've brought … warmth to the coldest corners of my heart, and every day with you feels like a gift. A gift that was almost stolen away by circumstance …”

Stolen away by a past of abuse, falsified medical records, a razor blade, and a man with eyes like the coldest fog.

“As turbulent as the start of our time together was, facing those trials, it made me realize that parting ways from you was never even a consideration. Even if we only remained friends or coworkers, you were always in my future in some capacity. As we continued to court, I stopped imagining you as just a coworker or friend, or even as just a lover. I-I know some might roll their eyes at the ide of a man of my age wanting such pomp and circumstance, but…I do.

“I’ve thought of little else in the past few weeks … hell, honestly, the past few months. What would life without you be like? I … can’t fathom it. Or if I could, I can’t bear the thought of it.”

Sensing the weight of his words, she nodded with a nervous swallow. “A-And I can't imagine mine without you, Ebenezer.”

With a tender smile, Ebenezer reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. The sight of it made Constance's breath catch.

He opened the box to reveal a delicate ring, the sunlight catching on the glimmering diamond in the middle.

“Constance, my angel,” Ebenezer began, his voice filled with emotion, “I-I never thought I’d ask this question of another, but I have to know. I must. W-Would you do me the honor of remaining by my side, in spirit and name? Will you marry me?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. His emotions were suspended in stasis as well.

Then, a wave of joy swept over her face, and she nodded, tears of happiness glistening in her eyes.

“I-I will.”

He blinked, huffing out a laugh. “You will.”

“Yes! Ebenezer, a thousand times yes!”

A delighted smile broke across Ebenezer's face as he took the ring from the box. Laughing in equal parts disbelief and bliss, he leaned forward to meet her as she rushed to kiss him.

Prudence, who had been watching from the edge of the blanket, barked in excitement as the two kissed, arms wrapping around each other and holding on tight.

“Oh, thank you,” he praised, lips moving against hers. “I’ll be good to you, my angel. I promise with all my heart.”

“I know you will.” Her tears, warm and fresh, fell upon their laps. “I-I know. Oh, I’ve dreamed of this.”

“You have?”

In tandem, sharing a desire, their raised their hand in tandem to entwine their fingers.

“Y-Yes, and today…it’s been even more perfect than I ever imagined,” she confessed, bumping their noses together as another joyful sob threatened to clench her.

A pause. Then, her fingers gripped his arm firmly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “It’s just … m-me? Are you certain?”

A redheaded New Yorker of questionable pedigree, former socialite and divorcee, married to a wealthy Englishman and philanthropist. It was certainly an eye-catching combination, he supposed, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Absolutely yes,” he replied, voice breaking at the sight of her tears. He brandished a handkerchief and dabbed them away, pepping her forehead with more kisses all the while. “I’m beyond certain. You have my heart, Connie.”

Gently, he slid the ring onto Constance's finger, sealing their promise beneath the setting sun.

“And you have mine.”

With another kiss, their commitment was sealed.

From afar, the Scrooge manor looked quite vacant. No lights shined from inside, no smoke plumed from the chimney, and no shadows busied themselves beyond the windows. It was almost an uncanny sight.

“Goodness, it looks so ominous from here,” Constance joked, arm-in-arm with her fiancé as the carriage approached the estate. As the sun had dipped below the horizon, and they reentered the scrutinizing eyes of the city limits, they donned all their proper layers.

“It used to always look this dour, I’m shamed to admit,” he said, giving her hand an affectionate pat “We’ll fix that straightaway once we’re indoors. Get a good fire going – well, maybe just some candles. It’s a little warm.”

“Too warm for celebratory glass of wine?”

“Oh, never too warm for that! Especially on such an occasion.”

“I think you’re quite right,” she agreed, eyeing a very muddy Prudence from across the car. She lifted her heeled shoe and gave the mastiff a light tap. “And you need a bath, miss. I don’t think it would be very comfortable to sleep in muddy fur, yes?”

Averting her eyes (as if that made her invisible), she pretended to not hear the woman’s theory. In turn, the couple chuckled at the sight.

The carriage pulled up to the house, right under the light of a gas lamp to provide better visibility. Ebenezer, having redonned his coat and top hat, stepped out with his cane in hand. Then, he helped Constance out. In the process, he glimpsed the sight of the dazzling ring upon her still ungloved hand, and his heart started up again.

The ring also caught the attention of the driver, who let out a whistle. “Oi, hearty congratulations ar’ in or’da to ye both!”

After a few last goodbyes, the driver tipped his hat one last time and wheeled himself away into the foggy night.

There, they stood before his home, arm-in-arm again. He carried the dirty, rolled-up blanket and while carried their now empty basket.

After a glimpse to make sure they were truly alone on the quiet street, they shared a lingering, public kiss. It was the kind that always sent Beryl and her boys reeling when they did it outside the privacy of their bedroom.

As they parted, he offered her a grin and squeeze of the arm.

“Welcome home, Mrs. DoGoode-Scrooge.”

She returned his affection with a gleaming smile of her own. She noted that he’d included her maiden name, her father’s name, in the title. If possible, that sentiment was the final, stone-enforced in the proud, tall tower of certainty.

“It is my honor to bear the name, and have the heart of the man who gave it to me,” she replied.

Giggling like excited teenagers, they shimmied up the stone stairs leading to the massive front door. He fished out the substantial key from his coat pocket and slipped it in, the tumblers of the lock giving way with the same, comforting melody they always had.

They opened the door, expecting the same darkness within that they’d glimpsed from the outside.

Yet, once the door opened, the room lit up as the gas-burning chandelier roared to life. The rest of the wide foyer was decorated with glittering, gold crepe paper and vases bursting with fresh lilies, daisies and sunny daffodils from the flower market.

Friends and family stood shoulder to shoulder around the circumference of the room, clapping and cheering as they came through the door.

The Cratchit children jumped up in greeting from behind one of the chamber’s marble-top tables, and Beryl’s gang of boys cheers from the railed hallway overhead, clapping and cheering as if they’d just watched an amazing stuntman at one of the London fairs.

“Surprise!”

Magda, looking pleased as punch, uncorked a bottle of icy prosecco from the cellar with a swift yank of the corkscrew. “There you are, the two turtledoves!”

Tim, who saw Scrooge as a second father, ran to the man and hugged him. “Congratulations, Mr. Scrooge! You’re gonna be a good husband, I know it!”

He was too overjoyed to be stunned for long, the man’s heart melted as he returned the boy’s hug with a tight embrace of his own. “Thank you, my boy.”

“Congrats, Miss Connie,” the blond boy turned and said sweetly. “You’re going to be a mighty pretty bride.”

She dabbed at the corner of her eyes with her fingertips. “Thank you, Tim.”

“C-Can we see your ring?” Kathy asked timidly, fiddling with the end of one of her braid as she approached.

“Yes, the ring!” Martha echoed excitedly, her chignon bouncing as she danced closer.

Constance nodded and held her hand aloft. Immediately, an audience gathered around her.

“Blimey, girl, that’s a stunner,” Tom Jenkins noted, appraising the gem with a keen eye. “Good job, mate.”

“Oh, it’s positively beautiful, uncle!” Harry agreed, before breaking away to pull the former curmudgeon of a man into a teary bear hug. “I-I never thought I’d see the day! My uncle getting married to a woman he loves! Oh, the way my mother must be smiling now!”

“H-Harry, ow.”

Meanwhile, Bob and Ethel embraced Constance tightly, Ethel pecking her cheek joyfully. “Oh, a wedding! I hope you know that Hela and I would be absolutely enthralled to help, my pet.”

“Indeed,” said woman agreed, her earrings jingling in agreement as she nodded her head. “I know you’ve done this before in New York – getting married I mean, but it’s intimidating to do in a new country! I would be honored to provide the names of those Harry and I worked with and found pleasant. I’m also happy to share a list of those I did not enjoy working with, haha.”

“Oh, that would be very helpful! Thank you both, truly.”

Constance then turned her attention to Magda, smirking and giving out crystal flutes of prosecco to guests.

She paused at Constance, their eyes meeting in a moment of understanding. The redhead flew to embrace her tightly, skirts swinging around her ankles. “This morning. You knew.”

Magda patted the redhead’s back affectionately. “I did, love. I’ve known for a while, in fact.”

“Have you?”

“I knew it the day you came to live with us,” she said, “The day your former husband’s boat left that dock, I knew you’d never leave. I know I’m always right, but I’m extra pleased about it this time.”

She laughed airily, but the way her grip tightened was sincere in the deepness of her gratitude. “Thank you.”

Nodding between happy tears, Ebenezer came behind Constance to lay a delicate hand upon her shoulder. She stepped away at that moment, now wanting to detain Magda for uncomfortably long, and accepted a flute of celebratory bubbly eagerly. She also passed one to Ebenezer, who kissed the top of her hand in thanks.

Errol, Magda’s ballet dancer husband, passed out cider to the young children in small, purple-tinted glasses. He’d also had the good sense to wrap Prudence in a thick pestemal to protect the guests. It would take only one shake for the guests, and wallpaper, to become polka-dotted in pattern.

Once all the glasses were passed out, Ebenezer hoisted his high. Everyone followed, anxious for the former miser’s toast.

“Everyone, to each other,” he said, wrapping an arm around Constance’s waist and glancing down to meet her gaze. “To second chances and new beginnings.”

She then glanced around the room, taking care to make eye contact with each smiling face. Each person who had helped her. Each soul that had believed in her, and her redemption.

“To second chances and new beginnings,” Constance agreed proudly, tapping her glass against his. “And all those who help us find them.”

Thank you to everyone for your support, likes, comments and more: @quill-pen, @crimson-phantom-designs, @thedivinelights, @alolaamii, @bluestarliight, @vixx-ari, @ray-painter, @shipshroom, @akitauma, @blueapplesiren,

I see you and appreciate you! <3

[charyou-tree]

Another rock show, another great find!

My wife and I drove to the other side of town for another rock and mineral club’s show, and I feel like I stole the stuff I came home with. First, while my wife and I were browsing a display of jewelry with cut stones, the woman running the stand commented on my opal necklace. She looked more than a little surprised when I told her I cut the stone myself, using a diamond-grit knife sharpening block of all things. I could only say "I know that's the wrong way to do that, but I wasn't going to buy a $500 cutting wheel to do one stone!" (it was a lockdown project)

Chatted for a while with another dealer about his small display of unusual faceted stones. He had this one enormous almost 40 carat faceted peridot bigger than my thumbnail. I didn't know they came that big! I don't even want to know what he'd ask for that... But he was so nice and spent so long talking to us, I felt like I should buy something. He had this cute little pink tourmaline crystal for only $14 so I grabbed that to say thanks.

But the real show was still to come.

I had my eye on a bright mint green dioptase specimen another dealer had, but it was a couple hundred bucks, and I didn't really want to spend that much on a rock. While I was mulling that over, I saw a dealer I’ve seen before at a couple other local mineral shows was back with his amazing stock of Ethiopian opals. He had a couple giant pieces of amazingly clear crystal opal the size of my fist sitting in a bowl of water. I turned them over to get a look at the play of color, but I was afraid to pick them up and maybe drop a multi-thousand dollar rock.

However, he also had trays of smaller pieces sorted by price per carat. It was like a box of bifrost shrapnel, glittering in overlapping rainbow colors under the bright lights in his booth (very important when you're selling opal!). One particular piece caught my eye, but I was afraid to ask what he wanted for it, last time I tried that with one of his pieces it was >$300 and I had to put it back :( . When he told me that this beautiful crystal opal was only $62 I had to have it.

Like, sure, it has a couple cracks in it and its a funny shape, but I'm not going to cut it so who cares? LOOK AT THOSE OVERLAPPING LAYERS OF RAINBOW IRIDESCENCE! I turn it around at the end of the video because that same side of the stone is blue, green, yellow, or even red depending how you look at it and how the light is oriented. Sometimes you can see multiple colors through each other. Its doing what I associate with good opals, and completely saturating the red/green/blue pixels of my phone camera when the play of color is lined up right.

This is the opal specimen I've been looking for. This is why I love going to rock shows, some of this stuff has to be seen in person to be appreciated. Photos are nice, videos are better, but opals need to be seen to be believed. Those colors are unreal bright.

[wardenparker]

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex - ch 8

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Marcus unexpectedly runs into his ex-wife he is plunged into a world of complications where rekindled attraction and deep-seated insecurities reign. Unfortunately for him, it is also a world where his ex-wife is not the only ‘ex’ around, as a new case crosses his desk that will require all hands on deck. ✨💖Inspired by and based upon absurdthirst’s Tequila. 💖✨  

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always18+ Word Count: 9.7k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this series include: divorce, break ups, collegiate Greek life, underage drinking, food/alcohol consumption.** Some graphic flirting. Mentions of cannibalism and pregnancy. I promise it’s not in the same paragraph. Summary: An important shopping trip, a break in the case, a dinner with the Janes, and plans interrupted make for a very eventful day. Notes: All I’m saying, is that if I were Angie, I would have so much trouble keeping my mouth shut.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

You’re starting to go cross-eyed with Marcus’s case. And probably also from being a little tired, if you’re honest. Every night after work the two of you go to the apartment to pack boxes and then pick up dinner on your way back to the house to crash in each other’s arms after dinner. You wake up in the morning to espressos and shower sex like you’ve been doing it every day for years. Everything in your relationship is going well, and you’ve been communicating clearly and honestly about everything as you go. Except for one thing. Today you begged off of your normal lunch in the office with Marcus under the claim that Angie asked you for some girl time. In reality, Angie is meeting you downtown to do some shopping. It’s time to start looking for Marcus’s engagement ring.

For days Marcus has poured over websites to try to find the perfect ring for you. Except, it’s not the same as looking at it in person, holding it. When you beg off of lunch, he finds himself looking forward to the time alone so he can browse some jewelry stores. Knowing that he wants to get you a new ring when he proposes, he grabs his keys about ten minutes after you call him and heads out.

Angie promised to meet you on New York Avenue at noon sharp and she’s as good as her word. When you park your little car and hop out to find your best friend waiting for you, it gives you an extra boost of confidence that you didn’t know you needed. “Okay.” You Throw your arms around her and hug her tight. “I’ve got an hour before I have to get back to the lab and I don’t care about actually eating lunch. This is way more important.”

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Her hug back to you is equally as fierce and she looks at you over the rim of her Gucci sunglasses. “Lingerie?” She wiggles her brows playfully. “Toys?”

“Not quite.” Glancing behind her, you bite your lip and point to the elegantly simple storefront windows with glittering jewelry and signature blue logos on display. “We’re jewelry shopping.”

“Jewelry shopping?” Angie’s eyes narrow slightly. “I know that man is not making you get your own ring.” It’s very off brand for Marcus but she would ring his neck if he was trying to pull a stunt like this with you.

“Oh god no.” You shake your head vehemently and nudge her toward the store. “I decided…I’m going to propose to him this time. Ring and all.” Since first having the thought, it had stuck to you like glue. There is nothing in the world that could convince you otherwise at this point, short of Marcus himself beating you to the punch. “When we were in college…do you remember me telling you about the night around a month after he proposed when he kept drunkenly apologizing for not being able to get me the best ring and me not having any clue what he was talking about?” It had been a whole confusing night and few days afterward, especially since you had loved the engagement ring that he did give you. “He meant he wished he could have afforded a Tiffany ring. Like his Dad got for his Mom. That’s what he considered the best. So…this time he’s going to get the best.”

“So you’re going to buy him a ring from Tiffany’s?” Angie could melt right here on the street. There has always been something so fucking loving and adorable about your relationship with Marcus and she’s glad to see that it’s back to that state again. “Moving in, proposing, next you’re going to be popping out babies.”

“Fastest pregnancy in human history.” Is the joke you make, knowing that to anyone on the outside the pace of your relationship seemed insane the first time and it does all over again. “I’ve been sneaking looks at their website and they just released a line of men’s engagement rings. So I need you to help me stay on track and not just get him something insane because it’s pretty.”

“I mean— it’s a man’s engagement ring.” She grins, looping her arm through yours to eagerly move towards the double doors. “They are all going to be insane.”

The gentleman who offers to help you once you’re inside the store is probably twice your age and extremely kind, probably assuming you’ve come in to choose a gift or to spoil yourself somehow. When you tell him that you want to pick out a ring for your boyfriend he nearly melts. You and Angie are ushered to a case across the store and given chairs to sit in so you can talk through your ideas with the salesman. Up front, all you really know is that you want Marcus to feel spectacularly spoiled. You want to make a fuss.

******

Marcus starts with some other jewelry stores, just to give them a chance. He's picked out other jewelry from the chains and it's been wonderful. He's just always dreamed of getting you a ring from Tiffany's like his father had with his mother. Her ring was probably her most prized possession, not in an unhealthy or greedy way, but the sentimental 'I'll wear it always' kind of way. Still, the practical side of him makes him stop into the other stores along the way and browse.

Tucked away in your corner with Angie and the kind salesman, you never even notice the front door of the store open again and you definitely don’t see Marcus step inside. You’re politely chattering away, beginning to look at the new collection of engagement rings just for men, and deeply in your own little world.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A young woman standing behind one of the front cases offers him a smile. “What can we help you with today?”

“Yes, I—” His eyes widen when he spots you across the showroom floor. “Uh, yes—” he quickly points to a case on the opposite side of the room where he will have to have his back to you. “Show me whatever’s in that case.”

“Certainly.” It’s an odd way to make a request, but she wears a professional smile and ushers him over to a collection of ladies’ rings. “Were you looking for a gift for someone special today?” She asks, trying to get a read on him.

“I am, but I also just realized the woman I am shopping for is in your store.” He knows he came off as odd when he insisted on coming over to this case. Turning his head, he sneaks a look at you over his shoulder. Wondering if you are dream shopping with Angie. The thought makes him smile.

“I see.” She smiles, a little bemused. “Would you like to proceed anyway? Or come back another time?” It is definitely the first time she’s been in this position, but she’s not afraid of a challenge in the least. “Perhaps I can go and have a subtle look at what she is browsing to give you ideas if you need them?”

“I—” he bites his lip, almost tempted to have the associate look, but he doesn’t want to do that. “No.” He decides. “I want her to dream and hope that I get something she will love.”

“Alright.” She smiles, seeing the clear determination and softness in this man’s face. He’s unmistakably in love, and proud. It’s an encouraging combination. “We won’t spy.” She asks the usual questions about ring size and metal preference, please when he knows both pieces of information. “And have you ever shopped with us before?”

“Window shopped.” Marcus admits. “My father shopped here a lot for my mother, but I’ve never purchased anything.”

“Well maybe we can change that today.” It’s not hard to be nice to this man, and her sunny smile for once isn’t forced. “What do you think she would like?”

“Something classic.” Marcus smiles. “Asscher or Emerald cut. Maybe a solitaire, or just a few stones on the band. Nothing too overwhelming. Something she can wear with jeans or for a formal night.”

“We can customize anything you like, of course.” He knows what he’s looking for, and that speaks to care. “Both cuts stack beautifully, as well, so you would have plenty of options for wedding and anniversary bands down the line.”

******

“I want it to be special,” you explain to the man helping you and Angie. “I know that sounds silly since it will be special just for existing, but…something a little out of the ordinary? His first wedding band was so simple because it’s all we could afford then.”

“It’s not silly, it’s charming.” Angie insists, smiling at how excited you are for this. She glances around and freezes when she sees a very familiar back across the store. The only reason it’s familiar is because she had just had dinner with him two days ago. “Marcus.” She murmurs, catching herself when you turn towards her. “Will love it.” She gushes.

“You think so?” You know that this is something that you want to do but it is unconventional, so encouragement helps.

“Yes.” She nods eagerly and glances back over at Marcus, just in time to catch his eye as he glances over his shoulder. Grinning, she winks at him and gives a small nod, promising to keep his secret.

“Okay.” Blowing out a steadying breath and reaching for your best friend’s hand, you rally your confidence and give your salesman a smile. “There was one I saw on your website which I’m curious to see in person.”

******

Back at the office, Marcus bites his lip as he looks down at the file. Of course he would nearly run into you and Angie. Curiosity has him wondering what had you so excited but he will try to get some answers out of your friend. See if it aligns with the ring he has fallen in love with.

Trying to keep from smiling too hard while you look at evidence for a murder case is not something you ever thought you would have to deal with, but here you are. Through a vast series of lucky accidents, the salesman at Tiffany had been able to help you find the perfect ring for Marcus and found it in stock in the store at that very moment. Angie and her infinite good taste had agreed it was perfect, so it is now burning a hole at the bottom of your purse in its signature blue box inside the matching blue shopping bag. Marcus would never guess in a thousand years what you had done and that made it all the better. You only needed to figure out where and when to ask.

“Hey.” He couldn’t stay away for the day, knocking on your doorframe and smiling when you look up from your work. “Brought you an afternoon pick me up.” He holds up the coffee tray with two drinks on it.

“Hey.” He is an absolute sight for sore eyes after staring at prints and lists for hours after getting back from your lunch break. “How’s your day been, love?”

“It’s been good.” Marcus comes into your office and plucks a cup out of the tray to hand to you. “How was your lunch with Angie?”

“It was good!” For a split second you almost sound too excited and you have to reel yourself back in. “There was a new place she wanted to try out.” Yep. Certainly not any place you’ve been before. “What did you end up having?”

“I stopped and grabbed a sandwich.” He shrugs his shoulders as if he hadn’t been picking out a life changing thing for you today, all while you were giggling in the corner.

“How about Indian take out tonight? Something kind of different? Special?” The cup he brought for you is your regular coffee order with just a little something different added to it and you hum happily when you take your first sip. “Ooo, that’s tasty!” Alright, maybe you’re not doing too great at playing it cool…

Marcus nods, knowing that he can’t just propose over some fancy dinner. It would ruin the surprise. Plus, he does want to wait until the case is over. Get the Jane’s out of D.C. “That sounds good to me. I could go for a curry.”

“Perfect.” The hall bordering your office is deserted so you lean over to give him a kiss, savoring the short show of affection. “Any progress on your end of the case?”

“A couple of leads that I actually wanted to follow up with you on.” Bringing you coffee hadn’t been completely selfless. He sets the tray down and digs out his notebook. “Does this make any sense to you?” He asks, handing it to you.

“Let’s see.” His notes are lists of names organized by family, with numbers beside each one – 1, 2, 3, 4, or an X. Beside each X is what appears to be a date, all in 1846 or 1847. All in the winter months between 1846 and 1847. “Where did these names come from?” You ask him, starting to pull file after file containing every printed image of the daguerreotypes you have out and laying them out in the top of your desk. It covers the entire surface but it’s worth it. “Was it a journal? A travel manifest?” It’s a thorough listing of a very large group of people.

Eighty-seven in total.

“I—I might…I recognize some of these names from a book I read…” And if you’re right, this isn’t just important to the case, it’s important to American history.

“It came from a family journal? Didn’t know those were a thing.” Marcus hadn’t fed it into the system yet, he couldn’t quite place it but it felt like important times in history.

“They weren’t always a thing.” You clear off your keyboard and start typing frantically, then pull up one of the images that was most clearly marked with numbers that Teresa - because you were now on a first name basis - considered likely to be location coordinates. Plugging the coordinates into your computer pulls up the Google Maps page for Donner Lake in California, and you sink back into your desk chair with awe on your face. “It’s the Donner Party.” You tell Marcus, wondering if that name even registers with him. He likes history, but not always the macabre stuff. And this is definitely macabre.

“The Donner Party….” He frowns, unable to place it but he’s heard of it. “It’s— I know that it was taught in history class on high school. But, I’m drawing a blank.”

“My brother-in-law gave me a bunch of nonfiction books for my birthday last year,” you explain, as if Marcus isn’t used to you pulling random facts out of thin air. He used to call it your X-Man power. “One of them was this book called The Indifferent Stars Above which was all about this particular journey west.” Rambling is a side effect of getting excited, but he’ll understand why you’re getting so worked up in a second. “In 1846, eighty-seven people including sixteen members of a family called Donner set out for California from Missouri. It’s one of the most disastrous, tragic tales in American history because…” All of a sudden you’re not thinking about dinner anymore. “The survivors had to turn to cannibalism to survive the brutal weather and traveling conditions they got stuck in.”

“Shit.” Marcus winces and shuffles uncomfortably. He’s never liked thinking about choices like that. The sheer desperation it would take to resort to cannibalism.

“Yeah.” That’s putting it mildly, and you nod your head. “The thing is…the settlement they were heading toward? I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it right away.” If you had, this might have been days of investigating instead of weeks, but there’s no use in dwelling on that right now. “Was Johnson’s Ranch, California. It doesn’t exist anymore, but it was right at the foot of the Sierra Nevadas back then. These coordinates…these pictures…whoever took the daguerreotypes and wrote that journal? They must have been on the journey.”

“So why would this be worth killing over?” Marcus frowns as he looks down at the information again. “There’s, what? Buried treasure?”

“Kind of? Maybe?” You look down at all the images and list of names again and can feel your head swimming. “The book said that families brought everything they had with them on the journey. That included assets, and in those days assets would have been not just paper money but actual silver and gold. Like bars of it. I think one of the families had it built into their wagon so it couldn’t be stolen. It was everything these people had. And there were multiple rescue missions. The last rescue mission was going out there for the last survivors, yes, but also for everybody’s stuff. It’s not impossible that this survivor, whoever they were, was hoarding or hiding or burying the wealth of some of the dead and made themself a map in photographs.”

“Now that might be worth killing to some.” Marcus’s eyes light up. “Do you think now that we have a location, we can pinpoint the area?” He asks you.

“I mean I’m no cartographer but the search area is a hell of a lot smaller now. We just need to remember that the terrain has changed in the last almost two hundred years.” He looks so excited and relieved, and you grab his hand to squeeze instead of giving him a hug because people are outside your door again. “Do you think people are going to have to go out there and dig? To see if they can find something?”

“It might be a possibility.” Marcus admits. “But that’s not up to me.” He grins. “That would be up to Agent Jane, back in Texas.”

“Let it never be said that the Smithsonian was not a friend of the FBI.” The way he lights up at your - and his - special involvement in the case so suddenly coming to a close has you grinning. “Do you think this is enough help that they can continue the case from Austin?”

“I can’t imagine why they would need to stay.” It’s been nearly three weeks of Patrick and Teresa being camped out in his office and conference room and he cannot wait for them to get on a plane. No hard feelings, but space is needed. Plus, it felt like Teresa was going to pop any day now.

“The sooner she’s back in Austin, the better for the baby,” you nearly read his mind as you sit back in your desk chair.

“Exactly.” Marcus sighs. “The last thing I want is for my ex to deliver her baby in my office.”

"She's not that far along." Even so, you can't help but laugh. "But they've been here for a while already, and I have to imagine she'll be more comfortable at home. A hotel bed is never as good as your own." It's a lot to process, the idea that this case will hopefully be out of his hands again soon, and you push back from your desk. "Do you want me to come with you to deliver the news? I'm still the FBI's official consultant until the case leaves Washington, so it's your call."

“Of course you can come with me.” Marcus knows that you and Teresa are on fairly good terms. “We can tell them, pick up food and then lock ourselves in our house in our comfortable bed.”

“Oo, are we skipping packing tonight? What a splurge.” There isn’t that much left to do at the apartment, but it’s at least an entire weekend’s worth of dedicated work. “How positively indulgent of us.”

“If you want to give up a long, luxurious soak in the bath with a large glass of wine to celebrate the end of our assistance on this case and instead go pack boxes, I won’t stop you.” Marcus teases.

Sticking your tongue out at your boyfriend is exactly the kind of mature behavior he expects, and Marcus laughs as you turn off your computer and tidy your desk. Last thing is having purse and coffee in hand to follow him out of your office as you wonder if popping the question tonight would be a little too eager.

“Maybe we can be done with this before the traffic gets bad.” He offers eagerly. Completely unconcerned with ducking out a little early today, considering how many man hours he had put into a case that wasn’t his.

“Look who’s got so much pep in his step now that we have a good lead.” He’s positively giddy, a fact that makes you grin.

“I’m imagining my office empty.” He moans. “Void of one particular person. Of course I’m happy.” Things had been better since he had left Patrick with the bill at the club, but the man still sets his teeth on edge at times.

“You’re going to sit in silence the whole first day after they leave, aren’t you?” The sight of Marcus Pike is familiar in your office now and a few people wave or say hello as you pass through the halls and head for the stairwell. “Beautiful, glorious silence. I don’t know how Teresa does it. He’s always talking.”

“Blissful silence.” Marcus agrees, hand on your back even though you know the office better than he does. He still likes to touch you as you’re walking. “If I start talking that much, stuff something in my mouth.”

There are a half dozen dirty comebacks on your lips but you just chuckle under your breath and promise him that you will. “My usual paperwork and grant work will feel positively boring compared to helping in an FBI case.”

“Well now that I know what good work you do, I’m sure I will come up with other ways for you to help us out.” He teases.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur under your breath, making sure to flutter your eyelashes at him for good measure.

“You are such a brat.” He huffs, knowing that you know what that does to him. You’re doing it on purpose.

“Maybe a little.” With your tongue firmly planted in your cheek, you head out the front door of your office building with Marcus and pop through the parking lot to find his car parked beside yours. “I’ll follow you to your office so we don’t have to come back for my car later.” Normally you drive together, but lunch with Angie had meant needing your own car today.

“That works.” He can’t help but kiss you again, leaning against the car as he presses his lips to yours. “I love you baby.” He murmurs softly.

"I love you, too." The butterflies in your stomach are giddy, screaming for you to whip out the ring right now just so you can see him wearing it, but you tamp the feeling down and just enjoy kissing him back. Soon enough, you tell yourself. Soon enough.

Marcus opens your door for you, smirking when you roll your eyes at him playfully before he climbs behind the wheel of his own car. Pulling out of the spot and starting towards his offices to kick Patrick Jane out of his life for the foreseeable future.

******

"Ah! Our leader has returned!" Patrick Jane sits up from his reclining position in one of the rolling chairs in the conference room with his signature lazy smirk scrolled across his face. He's toned down his behaviour at his wife's request, but only slightly. "And with his lady. How lucky we are."

“How lucky indeed.” Not even that smug smirk can dampen Marcus’s buoyed mood. “Especially considering my lady has discovered the lead to send you on your way to solve the case.” It’s also a point of pride that you discovered things that the amazing Patrick Jane couldn’t. Call him petty, but it was exceedingly poignant for him.

"You found something?" Teresa looks up from her pages upon pages of notes with her eyebrows nearly hitting her hairline.

"That list of names." You nod, shutting the conference room door behind you and coming up to the table to look at the scans of the actual pages that had been sent from the Austin office. "I think if we fact check it, we'll find that the dates are death dates and the numbers one through four correspond to the four rescue teams that brought the stranded members of the Donner Party out across the mountains in the winter of 1847." Moving one of the pages in front of the Janes, you point to the list of names written out. "Look. Donner, and then the names of every member of the family that was on the journey to California."

Marcus is just petty enough to enjoy the astonishment on Patrick Jane’s face as he digests the information. Possibly wallowing in the fact that he hadn’t thought of it. “Huh.” He all he manages, sitting back and looking like the wind has been blown out of his sails.

"The first settlement on the California side of the Sierra Nevadas at the time was called Johnson's Ranch." The name that had been stumping you for weeks finally makes sense, and Teresa nearly facepalms when you say it. "I think the daguerreotypes might be clues that one of the members of the party took for himself to remember the location of hidden valuables. So many people died on the journey, it would have been easy to take and hideaway some of their belongings."

"And didn't go back for it." Teresa reasons. "So the wealth stayed buried and became a family legend."

“It does seem to lead that way.” It’s a completely extraordinary situation of that is what happened, but that will be what the Jane’s are left to figure out over the course of the rest of the case. Your part - helping to decipher the secrets in those daguerreotypes - has turned up much more than just some analyzed images.

“Huh.” Patrick leans back in his chair and sends you a look that is both shocked and intrigued that you wrapped it up so neatly into history.

“Of course,” you smile demurely, not even looking at Marcus so that you won’t laugh. “I’m no investigator. I’m sure there will be more of the mystery for you to unravel.”

“So I guess that means we should go home.” Patrick smirks knowingly, his eyes floating between you and Marcus, knowing you want him gone.

“Austin office will be thrilled to hear it.” Teresa has been the only one fielding phone calls from their superiors in Texas wondering what the holdup is, not Patrick. “Thank you for everything you’ve done to help. I know that this has been an…unconventional situation.”

Marcus shoves his hands into his pockets and nods. “Happy to be able to assist.” He offers, wondering if they will update him on the outcome but not wanting to ask.

“I imagine they’ll have us on the first flight home in the morning.” Living in a perpetual state of one-hand-on-belly, Teresa unconsciously soothes that hand over where the baby is currently sitting and leans back. “I don’t suppose you two would be up for a victory dinner tonight? Our treat.” The last is said definitely, giving her husband no room to make noise about the offer.

There’s no good way to politely decline the invitation and both of them know it. The plans for the night twirl down the drain as Marcus turns towards you, eyes on yours in silent communication.

Marcus’s expression would be unreadable to anyone else, but you can see the disappointment in the tightness of his smile. One more night with the Janes seems to be the sacrifice you’ll make together. Oh well – at least there’s no danger of you becoming overwhelmed with emotion and proposing at dinner now. “That would be nice,” you put on a smile. Teresa really isn’t so bad. You’ll just talk to her and block out her husband.

“Great!” Patrick leaps up out of his seat and moves over to where Teresa is rubbing her belly. “One last evening with ‘frenemies’.” He jokes, grinning at Marcus even though his hands on Teresa’s shoulders are soothing and supportive.

“I’ll find someplace nice.” Teresa decides, looking at the three of you before moving her eyes back to the table again. “It will take us a while to pack everything up and be ready to go. We’ll file the paperwork we need to before we leave DC, and I’ll make us a reservation.”

“Okay.” Marcus will have to make this up to you, but at least it’s only dinner and then they will be on their way back to Texas tomorrow. “Let us know. We’ve got some things to wrap up so I’ll give you my office to take care of things.”

You and Marcus beat a hasty retreat, leaving the conference room before Patrick can make a smart remark about whatever you may or may not be wrapping. “We’ll do Indian this weekend,” you murmur, reaching to briefly squeeze his hand.

“What’s one more night?” Marcus reassures you with a small smile. It will be ever better giving you what he bought when there’s no Patrick Jane to immediately needle you about it.

“Nothing we can’t handle.” After all, if you’ve survived nearly three weeks of it, one more night will be a cinch. “We’ll eat, we’ll suffer through one more awkward conversation, and we’ll come home to a relaxing hot bath. How does that sound?”

“A bottle of wine too?” Marcus asks with a grin. “Or tequila? Either one is good with me.”

“We’ve got that bottle of Prosecco that Angie’s husband recommended.” Marcus has been so excited about the recommendation that he’d popped out the next day and gotten a bottle to try. “Two days in the fridge is enough time to chill, right? We can have bubbly and a bath.”

“That sounds like the perfect way to end our adventure on this case.” Marcus smirks, imagining proposing to you in a bubble bath with bubbly.

"That is what we'll do, then." It sounds perfectly romantic, and if it just so happens to be a celebration of more than just your involvement in the case ending, then so be it.

“We can go to the apartment and grab a load to take over to the house if you want?” Marcus offers. “Or we can go home a little early and have sex so we are in a good mood at dinner.”

“I really don’t think you understand how to give choices,” you tease, knowing that it’s completely obvious which one you’ll choose. “There’s no contest there. At all.”

“I don’t know.” Marcus rolls his eyes playfully. “You might be all sexed out.” You’ve rarely had a night where sex didn’t happen. Only when one of you had put in long hours and where exhausted. He doesn’t want you to think sex is all he thinks about.

“Maybe someday.” A little shake of your head and a grin tucked up in the corner of your mouth tell him that it’s not likely, though. “Definitely not today.”

“At least we’ll be mellowed out for dinner.” He chuckles, looking forward to getting it over with.

“Let’s go home for a little bit.” You nod toward the elevators and offer him your hand. “Relax. Mentally stay ourselves for dinner.”

******

“Well, at least it’s not McDonald’s.” Marcus jokes as the two of you pull up to the valet station. “I didn’t expect anything this nice when they said dinner, but I’m sure Teresa is proving a point to her husband.”

"Either that or she's got a craving." The steakhouse has an exceptional reputation and you're not upset for one second about having a very nice dinner before what you're going to do when you go home. You had excused yourself to the bathroom right before leaving the house and used the time to choose a bath bomb with dried rose petals and a gorgeous rose-jasmine scent for when you get home again. Two of your big, fluffy luxury towels sit on the edge of the counter with the bath bomb on top. It sits right beside a little box of chocolate covered strawberries that you also picked up on the way back to the office from your lunch break - and the little Tiffany box all tied up in silver ribbon. When you follow Marcus into the bathroom for your wine soaked bath, the ring will be right in front of him. And hopefully you'll have timed it right, so that you'll be standing in front of him with the bottle of prosecco in hand when he turns around. You've never been so nervous in your entire fucking life.

“A craving, huh?” Marcus smirks as he slides his hand around your body to rest on your lower back after handing the keys over. “I guess that’s acceptable. It’s pretty much whatever you want when you’re growing a human.”

"Do you think there's a way you can preprogram your cravings?" You muse, scrunching up your nose as you grin at him and let him lead you into the restaurant. "Spending nine months craving steak or chocolate or fresh fruit sounds great."

“Whatever you crave, you’ll get it.” Marcus promises indulgently, smirking as he imagines you whining for something specific and he’s running to the store. “Has to be local though. I can’t fly to France for pastries every week.”

"If the craving turns out to be French pastries, I know a bakery on Wisconsin Avenue." And it is definitely a place you visit at least once a month like clockwork, so you can see your cravings tending that way easily. "I promise I won't make you get on an airplane for a snack."

“I would.” He admits that easily, grinning as he walks up to the host stand and gives the name. Not rolling his eyes when giving the name ‘Jane’.

“Oh yes, the other two members of your party arrived just a few minutes ago.” The well-put-together young woman smiles dreamily, either entirely taken in by Patrick Jane’s false charm or mooning over the pregnant Agent Jane as you had seen others do over the last few weeks. “Right this way.”

Marcus lets you walk in front of him, making sure that he does watch where he’s going in addition to staring at your ass. Taken to a table that is off to the side, the overall atmosphere screams intimate and if the menu is good, he might have to bring you back here.

“How lovely.” Patrick Jane lays it on thick when he sees the hostess walking you toward the table. He stands and pulls out your chair as though he were actually a gentleman and you can see the tick of displeasure in Marcus’s jaw but say nothing. “You both look divine. Find the place okay?”

“Perfectly.” Marcus nods towards Patrick and flashes a slightly warmer look towards Teresa before he is sitting down beside you. “This is very kind of you. And unnecessary.” He adds.

“A little something to show our appreciation.” Teresa contends. “You cracked the case today. That deserves celebrating.”

“Hopefully the rest of the case will be easy.” Marcus offers. “Might be your last one before the baby comes.”

“The last big one, I think.” Teresa has that otherworldly glow always associated with pregnant women and she sighs happily as she settles back in her seat. “Although we all know I’ll be playing armchair detective on maternity leave. No rest for the wicked.”

“Well, if I remember correctly, you had a hell of a team behind you.” Marcus’s Austin team had been good, although they were a little green on the field ops side. But Teresa’s department was much more hands on.

“She just can’t stand to be idle.” Patrick smiles at her like it’s the biggest compliment in the world and flags the nearest passing waiter to ask for a wine list.

Marcus raises his brows slightly and glances over at you. He wouldn’t order wine while you were pregnant, but that was just him.

“Just because I can’t, doesn’t mean you all shouldn’t.” Teresa shrugs, as if reading the silence at the table were that easy.

“How about a spritzer?” Marcus suggests. “Wine can be added on, but you can have the spritzer with us to celebrate?”

“Perfect.” It shouldn’t have been down to Marcus to be thoughtful of the situation, but you squeeze his leg under the table in quiet pride. He is always going to be the person to think of others’ comfort in any situation. It’s one of the things you love about him.

Patrick grins, obviously about to say something but the waiter comes to the table to take the drink orders.

Drink service is quick here, apparently, and it's apparent fairly quickly that the choice of restaurant was due to Teresa's cravings. Seafood appetizers are her top mouthwatering options and Patrick sits back, encouraging her to order as much as will please her for the whole table to share in the offerings. It's nice to see them actually be a little playful together, you can't deny that at all.

It’s amazing that Marcus doesn’t feel the sting of loss like he might have before. He doesn’t wish that it was him with her when Patrick rubs her belly or leans over to kiss her. Instead, he finds himself tangling his fingers with yours under the table and bringing them up to kiss your hand, thinking about the day when that’s you heavy with his child.

"So how is the moving going?" Teresa asks, deciding on a topic that should be solely happy.

Marcus looks over at you with a grin. “Surprisingly quick.” He admits. “I honestly was a little skeptical, considering she had lived in her apartment for so long, but we are blending things together very nicely.”

"The house is perfect." And even though some people might think it should bother you that he had bought it with Teresa in mind, it was never her home so the thought barely ever enters your mind. "I think we'll be ready to hire a truck for the furniture and the end of the boxes very soon." Fitting your lives together has been as easy as breathing, and you're just praying that the next step goes just as well.

“It’s a lovely home.” Teresa offers, having seen it when Patrick insisting on showing up one night to talk about the case. Of course he had snooped and a tour had been given. “We are looking for bigger than my apartment. The cabin isn’t practical for every day.”

"I'm sure you'll find something fantastic. Austin is a beautiful city." The one time you had been there was a flight layover, but you'd left the airport to meet a colleague for lunch and what you saw of the area was vibrant and lively.

Marcus nods in agreement. “It is, plus the school system is actually pretty good, so there’s that.” He might have looked into it before he was offered the position in D.C. He had never been shy about wanting a family, but he’s happy that it’s now going to be with the first woman he ever imagined having kids with.

“Already planning for it?” Patrick smirks as though he hasn’t eavesdropped on every morsel of information he could get from the two of you. It’s like catnip to him.

Marcus just glances over at you and squeezes your hand. “One day. If she wants.” He wants kids, never made that a secret, but it was and will always be your decision to have them. Or to decide how many you wanted to have.

“So one day soon, then.” It eases Teresa’s guilt in a way that she’s not terribly proud of, to know that Marcus has found someone - or found someone back again - who wants a family as badly as he does. When Marcus looks at you curiously, you shrug a little with feigned innocence. “I may have been picking Teresa’s brain about pregnancy,” you admit with a grin.

“You always did get giggly around pregnant women.” Marcus hums, remembering all the times you would coo over ladies out in public. It had helped feed that perfect image of how life would go, and made it devastating when it was ripped away.

“Well, I figured it would be nice to get a more comprehensive image of pregnancy.” Gathering information is an essential step in decision making, as you’ve discussed with your therapist, and it’s helped you not jump to conclusions as much in your adult life. “Teresa’s had a slightly different experience than my sister and it’s been really fun to talk about.” Under the table, you gently squeeze Marcus’s leg again to tell him everything is okay.

“I’m sure every woman has a slightly different experience.” Marcus flashes you a smile. “At least it’s not us carrying the babies, as much as we whine when we’re sick? The species would be doomed.”

“Nah, you’d be a champ.” Even though Marcus hates to be sick and would pitifully beg you to make him tea with too much honey whenever he has so much as a sniffle, you know he would be so proud to carry his children if that were the case. “I do have to wonder what men’s maternity suits would look like though. Do wide lapels compliment a baby bump?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll gain those sympathy pounds with you.” He jokes, patting his stomach. “Wouldn’t take much to convince me to stop running.”

“Actually,” Teresa chuckles, finding the whole calmness of this dinner very therapeutic. “We talked a little about exercise routines and low impact workouts. So you might switch from running to walking once you’re expecting.”

You tilt your head at Marcus and send him a smirk as you reach for your drink. “Exercise is important for fertility, too.”

“I think I’m getting plenty of exercise.” Marcus smirks back at you and sends you a subtle wink. “But if working out more is what is needed, then….” He shrugs playfully.

That has you almost choking on a sip of your drink, and Teresa nearly snorts as Patrick snickers under his breath. Yes, you are four very mature adults. “It’s good to know you’re enthusiastic, baby,” you laugh, shaking your head slightly at everyone’s reactions.

Marcus grins and picks up his own glass. “So is this one the only baby? Or have you talked about more?” He asks the other couple, showing an interest in the workings of their relationship now that the awkwardness of it all had firmly been buried.

“We’re thinking so.” The habitually soothing hand that Teresa has on her stomach is nice, but some other aspects of the pregnancy have been less than ideal.

“Just our little prince.” Patrick boasts, puffing up like he somehow consciously influenced the fact that the baby is a boy.

Marcus understands, and he nods towards Patrick seriously. Having a daughter would probably terrify the man after losing his first in such a shockingly violent way. “Well, I hope everything goes smoothly.”

******

Without the tension of the case and with the promise of soon being separated, dinner isn’t the arduous task that you had feared it might be. Patrick only got on Marcus’s nerves lightly and Teresa’s good mood seemed to buoy her husband, so by the time you’re standing from the table to go leave with bellies full of steak and seafood, everyone is still smiling. Of anyone you’re probably the most off kilter, but that is only because the ticking clock on one of the most important moments of your life has hit the eleventh hour. As soon as you get home, you’ll hopefully have a whole new reason to celebrate.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Marcus can feel the tension dripping off of you as the four of you start to wind your way through the restaurant to say your final goodbyes. The two of you trail behind Patrick and Teresa slightly and Marcus keeps his voice down to not alert Patrick to any potential issues.

“I’m okay.” As much as you hate technically fibbing to him, you flash Marcus a sideways smile as you walk. “I think I’m just sleepy from having a full belly. Maybe…when we get home, do you want to have that bath?”

"That sounds perfect." He relaxes slightly, just on edge for any sign of unhappiness now that a second ring for you is waiting in drawer in the bathroom. He hadn't been able to open the small safe without you noticing and he didn't want to draw attention to himself before leaving for dinner.

You say your last goodbyes at the valet stand, giving Teresa a careful hug and shaking Patrick’s hand out of an abundance of manners, and watching as they pull away in their rental car. “That’s it,” you laugh as the next car to pull up to the curb is Marcus’s. “We’re free.”

“We are free.” Marcus can share your relief and chuckles. “Is it safe to admit now that I’m so fucking happy I didn’t end up with Teresa?” He confesses as he opens the door for you. “I’d much rather be with you and not put up with Patrick Jane intruding on my life every opportunity he gets.”

“I don’t think you would have to deal with him for that long, honey.” The expression on your face is cheeky as you get into the car and you’re still smirking when he gets in beside you and buckles his seatbelt. “You’d either be in prison or a mental health facility for going crazy and killing him.”

Marcus barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “You’re right.” He laughs, looking over at you. “I’d be howling at the moon.”

“I’m glad you didn’t end up with Teresa, too.” You lean over the center console to kiss him before he can turn the engine over. “But that’s purely selfish.”

“Selfish on my part too.” Marcus admits, grinning at you. “You like liquor licked off your body. And I like that.”

“Teresa wasn’t into body shots?” Helpfully, your mind conjures the idea of him drinking bubbly off you in the bath.

“No.” It’s not badmouthing his ex, but he doesn’t elaborate beyond that. “You are though. You love me licking anything off your body.”

"Your love of whipped cream had nothing to do with the actual cream." You giggle, sitting back and tangling your hand in his as he pulls out into traffic. The drive home won't take long at your heart is pounding just a little bit harder with every passing minute.

“Of course.” Marcus smirks and looks over at you with a lecherous grin. “But would you have it any other way?”

"Never." After just a second of deliberation, you pick up his hand in yours and bring it to your lips, grinning evilly as you press a kiss to his palm before slipping his middle finger into your mouth to swirl your tongue around the digit in perfect imitation of the way he likes his cock licked. It's too good to not tease him.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” Marcus groans, cock twitching and he wishes he could just snap his fingers and have the two of you home and naked. “That’s mean.”

"It's not mean," you're giggling again as you kiss the back of his hand again. "It's a preview."

“It is mean.” Marcus pouts. “Because we aren’t home.”

"Don't be sad, baby." The dramatic frown on his face and the big, puppy eyes he aims your way at the stop light make you pout right back at him. "I'd offer to give you road head but I don't think we could escape DC traffic without getting noticed or even pulled over."

“I have a badge.” Marcus argues, although he would never let you do that. The word would get out and he won’t risk your reputation.

"We'll take a long drive through the Virginia countryside some weekend and find a nice place to fuck on a picnic blanket, how about that?" A favourite date of yours back in the early days could enjoy a very nice revival now, as long as you find the right place to do it. "Road head, too." You promise with a giggle. "It'll be very romantic."

“Road head is romantic, huh?” Marcus laughs and shakes his head. “We should find a little place to park. More room in the back of the SUV than my old college car.”

"Sounds like fun. I guess we know what we're doing next weekend, huh?" Sitting back, you watch the streets go by as it starts to drizzle rain and allow yourself a soft, contented sigh. "I love you, baby."

“I love you too.” He promises with a full heart. Your relationship, while not glossing over the past, was even better than it had been back then. Both of you knowing where you stand and what you want out of life.

******

By the time he pulls into the garage beside your little Mini Cooper, your heart is pounding. Optimistically you have maybe five minutes until he walks into that bathroom upstairs and you ask the most important question of your life. Not that you aren't ninety-nine percent sure that you know what his answer will be, but the anticipation is still nerve-wracking.

As soon as Marcus hits the button for the garage door to close, his phone starts to ring. “God, I hope this isn’t my parents.” He groans, although he’s fairly certain it isn’t. It’s too late for his parents.

Whoever he thought it might be, he definitely didn't expect to see the caller ID for the INTERPOL Paris office splashed across his phone, and Marcus shoots you an apologetic look when he answers the phone. "Director Pike?" The man on the other end of the line has a thick Parisian accent but speaks perfect English, thought his voice is very obviously agitated. "René Ducasse, INTERPOL cultural heritage unit. I apologize for the hour, monsieur, but things are moving quickly here."

“Monsieur Ducasse, how may I help you?” Marcus’s tone takes on a professional edge, polite yet brimming with authority. He frowns, calculating the time in Paris and blanching when he realizes it would be four-thirty in the morning.

"There has been a break in the case concerning the pair of missing Cassatt paintings that your Federal Bureau of Investigation has been searching for." Ducasse is a gum chewer as a form of nervous habit, and Marcus can hear him unwrap a piece on the other end of the phone. "We have less than forty-eight hours to prepare the sting, and hoped you might be interested in having the operation be a collaboration between our offices. We would send you in undercover to participate in the auction, as your face is far less well known here." He chuckles under his breath, knowing the cover is an easy one. "A wealthy American throwing their money around, you know?"

Marcus’s brain is rapidly processing this situation and he nods, shaking his wrist to look at his watch. “We should be able to catch a flight tonight.” He knows it might be tight, but he grins. “I will call you back with my itinerary.”

"Merci, Director Pike, I will watch for your call." The relief in Ducasse's voice is audible, along with the first smack of bubble gum being chewed. "And I will brief you myself when you arrive."

“Thank you.” Marcus ends the call and looks at you with both apology and excitement in his eyes. “So, um…I have to go to Paris. For a case. Do you want to come with me?”

"Seriously?" You're starting to not believe what he had told you about his job being less exciting than other FBI offices, especially if impromptu trips to France are a real-life possibility. "Yeah. Absolutely. I'll use a vacation day for tomorrow. Unless..." The nearly giddy look on his face makes you laugh. "Am I being asked to consult on this case as well, sir?"

Marcus opens his mouth and then closes it. “Actually…” he tilts his head thoughtfully. “This is about a pair of missing Cassatt paintings. A Smithsonian director would be useful on the team.” It might be a slight misappropriation of your title, but it would work.

"I suddenly feel very fancy and very lucky." And very much like you want to sprint up to the bathroom immediately to grab his ring and stash it away before he can see it - if you have a chance to propose to Marcus in Paris? Oh yeah, you're absolutely going to take it. "Why don't you tell me what you can of the case while we're packing and I'll send an e-mail to my boss with an update before we take off." Sometimes the convenience of a cell phone for things like big last-minute events is very helpful. "But first." You lean over the center console in the car and peck a kiss on his cheek. "I really need to pee, so I'm going to run upstairs."

“Okay. I’m going to book us some flights.” He’ll also make a call to his boss, getting the go ahead to bring you so there aren’t any issues with that later on, but he doubts there will be.

"Okay." One more quick kiss and you bolt into the house and straight upstairs. The stack of towels and bath things you had set up on the counter are still sitting there proudly along with the candles that you had pulled out, and you snatch up the little Tiffany box with a relieved sigh - like a part of you was something worried that it wouldn't be there when you got home. Without knowing what to expect, the first things you can do are wipe off your make up from dinner and pack up your toiletries. Luckily you had used your two suitcases to bring over clothing from the apartment last week and now you use the smaller one to start packing up some professional yet fashionable clothing and one really beautiful cocktail dress for a nice dinner out. Even if you're going there for work, you will take time for at least one dinner with Marcus in the city. You want to show him your old neighborhood in Montmartre and have drinks at Harry's. Sort of a greatest hits tour of your years there as a graduate student.

It takes about twenty minutes to get everything settled and flights booked before Marcus is bounding up the stairs. “Sorry. I know we had plans tonight but I upgraded our tickets to first class.” He offers, shooting you a grin. “Didn’t cost an arm and a leg when I just have to pay the difference between what the bureau would have booked.”

"We had plans for a bath." You're carefully folding the dress you selected from your shared closet when he comes upstairs, and you shake your head at him for the little extra of upgrading your tickets. It's good thinking, you'll both sleep much better on the flight. "We can have a bath in the hotel in Paris tomorrow and it will be just as romantic."

“I don’t know if I could ever get more romantic than a bath in Paris.” Marcus snorts. “That’s prime romance. Especially since we are going to be posing as a wealthy couple so our room is the Versailles Suite at Le Meurice.”

"It is not." The way your jaw nearly unhinges in surprise makes your voice drop and you gasp. "What the hell kind of cover are we supposed to have, royalty?" He's told you what he can of other undercover jobs he's done before, but nothing had sounded as opulent as this. "I better rethink what I'm packing if you want us to pass for ultra wealthy. Office clothes don't scream opulence."

“We can buy what we need and expense it out.” Marcus informs you with a grin, sending you a small wink. “So leave room to bring clothes home.”

"Do you have any idea how long we'll be there?" Not that you have any objection to staying just as long as the FBI could possibly need. It's a welcome working vacation. To go to France right after the Janes leave is like a gift from the universe.

“According to Monsieur Ducasse, it will be at least forty-eight hours, possibly a week to wrap up.” Marcus theorizes. “We are to pose as wealthy Americans attending a black-market art auction.”

"Living out my caper movie dreams." You flash him a grin as you scoop up all the responsible workwear trousers and blouses that you had chosen and plop them back in the dresser to replace with dresses. "Do we get to come up with our own cover?" Okay, you might be a little excited about this...

“We will have some guidelines to work inside, but details of the background are normally created by the people going undercover based on what they can keep straight.” Marcus explains, pulling out his own clothes to pack.

"That makes sense." The two of you talk through things while you pack, with Marcus outlining the standard way that operations like this are normally run and giving you a little background on his INTERPOL colleague that has called him in. By the time you're toting your suitcases downstairs to get back in the car, you have enough information to fire off an e-mail to your boss and to start thinking about places you might want to be when you bring out that ring again. This won't be pure vacation - you're not naive enough to believe that - but you're determined to find a moment to make special.

“Shit.” Marcus realizes that he’s almost fucked up. “Let me run back inside.” He tells you after closing the trunk. “Just stay here.” He bolts for the door, cursing himself for almost forgetting to grab your ring.

What better time to propose than in Paris?

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101

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My Masterlist!

[six-white-venus]

“all i want you to be is better than me”

my father went to Germany once. 

His tongue slithered and hissed at the food of the land the whole time he was there, for it had learnt to always fear new things. He ate boiled eggs and french fries and ice cream the entire time he was there.

I will never know how it would feel to be a foreigner so far from home, but this is how I see it: my father, clumsy german and english tinted so heavily with the words his mother first spoke to him, standing in a jewelry store aisle. I will never know, but his image haunts me all the same: my father, browsing through everything gold and glittering. His eyes scintillate brighter than any stone displayed. I would never understand it, but this is what he does: he looks at a ring of jade and thinks- mother would love this. He looks at the store clerk packing it up and thinks- mother would be proud of me.

(When he returns, his mother throws the ring back at his face. It seems to win her love, he needed 24 karats and he was lacking 6, the name of his elder brother and a degree from IIT.)

2. my father lost his job when he was 35

The man who read Mahabharata to me when I was in the womb now looks at amma with empty eyes when she says she can feel the baby kicking. The man who cradled my mother in the palm of his callused hands (carefully, carefully. For her, he was willing to learn not to break all that he loved) now misses all her appointments to the gynaecologist, sleeping in some random park bench with his resume tucked under his head.

My father is 35 and he wants to surrender himself to the sea but knows that just like all the others, it will chew and spit him out of its cruel jaws. My father is 35 and my sister is born. He holds her, but not for too long. When he turns to me, he tells me he’ll buy me all the biryani I want. He clutches my hand tightly as we walk out. 

He tells me he’ll stay.

3. i was 13 when I first remember hugging my father.

I am 13 and all baby fat is melting away with the unwanted emotions as I walk up to him one day and put my arms around him randomly. 

Broken shards and bandages, a heart that thinks and a brain that sings. I held him for the first time that day and discovered all over again: he has always been warm, my father. My hearth, my sun, my appa. And when he strokes my hair, my head almost fits the palm of his hand. The pressure is grounding and there is a father and a child, a boy and his mirror, a lonely god and his creation, in each other’s arms. Broken shards and bandages, a heart that thinks and a brain that sings.

I learn love from him all over again.

4. my father, he has always been hungry.

Hungry for the sweetest delicacies and the most scrumptious of meals (“More, more, more,” he asks. He is eight, twelve, forty-nine. father mine, I weep, do you think your plate can ever remain full?). Hungry for achievements and praises and glory (“I’m proud of you,” I tell him as he wakes up another day with me, “What for?” “I just am”). Hungry for love and money and the world (this globe has always been too small for his hands and yet, and yet, he can’t bear to hold it for even a second. It’s too heavy, he says, it has always been heavy.) Hungry for fulfilment, for peace and rest (more, more, more).

My father, he has never known what it means not to starve and so he says, ”all i want you to be is better than me.” He has never known to be enough, so he says, ”all i want you to be is better than me.”

But father, don’t you see? I am your daughter, your son, your child, and and and- see? I can’t even say who I am because I don’t know. I’ve never belonged and all boxes tear at the edges when they try to contain me. I’ve never known to smile without lying and to let my wounds heal without picking on them over and over again till they’re bloody. I hold my head high and wear the stilettos you gifted me even though my heels are cracked and my gait is faltering. My mouth always tastes like anger and it’s so tiring to hold all this bitterness in me.

Everything I do, it screams your name. Every poem I write, every tear I shed,screams and cries appa, appa look, are you proud of me?

Father, I’ve learnt to claw through scrapes to fill my belly and even though you’re giving and giving and giving me everything I yearn for my stomach still rumbles (more, more, more) and my claws are still unsheathed. Maybe some of us will never be sated, will never know peace. 

But I look at you, and I think: that’s okay. Father, you’ve taught me love and held me through my sleepless nights and brushed away all my tears. I am always filled to the brim with love, I think. Everything I create always comes down to those three words: I love you. Every word I utter sounds like I’ll stay, I promise I’ll stay.

“All I want you to be is better than me.”

But father, don’t you see? I am you. 

[thebluestbluewords]

five golden rings

poly ot4 because I know what I’m about. A little holiday repost.

+

Evie owns a lot of jewelry. 

What she doesn’t own, however, is the golden ring that’s sitting on the top of her jewelry box. It’s a nice ring, small and gold and with a little round blue stone set into it. 

There’s no note, but it’s a nice ring, and it goes perfectly with the glittery skirt that Evie’s had on the top of her to-be-worn pile for ages, so she slips it on her right hand. Her starstone droplet earrings match as well, and the soft sweater with the embroidery on the collar is the perfect blend of cute and cozy that she needs for the last week of school before the holidays. 

Outfit selected, Evie throws a slipper at Mal on her way to the bathroom. 

“Fuck’ff,” the blanket lump on Mal’s bed mumbles. “Too cold.” 

“Too bad!” Evie calls back. “Get your dragon butt moving or I’m going to open all the windows and let it snow on you!” 

“Mmrgh,” Mal groans, instead of answering. “Mgreeb.” 

Glitter eyeshadow is so outdated, even for the holidays. “Did you leave me a ring, babe?” Evie asks as she’s putting on her liner, and Mal is stumbling her way out of bed. “It’s cute.” 

Mal presses her face into Evie’s shoulder and mumbles something inaudible. Her hair is sticking up into two little cowlick spikes like her mother’s horns, and it’s kind of adorable. 

“Do you think I should wear the cherry red or the mahogany today?” Evie wonders, holding up the two lipsticks. “Babe?” 

“Cherry,” Mal mumbles, and leans around for a kiss. “Tastes better.” 

“Of course.” 

“And I didn’t leave the ring,” Mal adds. “It’s from Jay.” 

“It’s cute, I’ll have to tell him he has good taste for once.” Evie says, lifting up her hand to admire it. “I almost want to layer more, but it shines so well alone too.” 

Mal bonks her head into Evie’s cheek. “I would wait on layering any more,” she says, and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You never know what else might show up.” 

“Oh?” 

Another kiss. Distracting. “I just think,” Mal says, between pecks that are getting deeper each time. “That there might be,” Another kiss. “More to the present than,” a deeper kiss, lingering. “Just this one.” 

Evie puts down her lipstick and returns the favor. “You think so?” she says, almost teasing. “Sure nobody put him up to it?” 

“Gifting is about bringing joy to others,” Mal says loftily. “And if I find joy in giving other people gift ideas then it’s none of your business how that happens.” 

Evie laughs, and keeps laughing all the way through her morning routine. 

*

There’s another ring in her pencil case. Still gold, but this time with a little red stone. Square cut, and matching the blue one. Evie slips it on her finger just before she picks up her pencil for the final history lecture of the semester. 

*

A third ring, this time clipped around the ring of her chemistry binder. A diamond shaped stone, black as the night and glittering with internal crystals. 

*

The fourth ring has a pale purple stone, cut into an oval. It stacks on with the others, a little progression of bright shapes and shining gold bands up the pale skin of her finger. It comes slipped into the top of her bag just after lunch, as she’s rushing to her next class and worrying about the end-of-year quiz she’s going to have to finish out the day. 

It makes her smile, which is worth a lot more than the little piece of metal and stone’s monetary value. Worth more than a castle, the love that she has for her little family. 

Auradon has made her soft for affection, and it’s not a bad feeling. 

*

“Hey princess,” Jay says later. Evie is washed up for bed now, soft and wearing her cozy dressing gown that she made herself before they came over to the land of fairy-tale endings. “I have something for you.” 

Evie looks up at him, this wonderful boy who finds things just for her, even when they lived on an island with nothing of real value except for the people it contained. “Jaybird,” she says softly. Just for the two of them. Mal and Carlos don’t need to know that they’re being emotionally vulnerable over here. “Thank you.” 

Jay doesn't really blush, but he ducks his head.“It’s just a little thing,” he says, like an apology. “This one isn’t as nice as the others.” 

Evie stops her restless fingers from playing with the other four, which she’s still wearing, stacked up on her right ring finger like the treasure that they are. “And I’m not as nice as the other princesses,” she says. “Since when has that ever stopped us?” 

“True,” Jay says, and opens his hand for her. “Here it is. Five golden rings, delivered just for you, Princess.” 

Evie scoops up the fifth ring. It’s a plain gold band, much like the others. The stone set in this one is clear, shaped like a heart, and with a crack running through it. She slips it onto her finger, settling it right where it belongs at the top of the stack. 

She holds out her hand, and Jay scoops it up to press a kiss to her knuckles. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the stones. “Fairest girl I’ve ever seen.” 

“Charmer.” Evie shoots back. “Flattery will get you– oh!” 

Jay pulls back. “Do you want me to stop?” 

It’s so easy to pull him back in for one more kiss. “Never,” Evie whispers against his lips. “Never-ever-ever.” 

[garugakiller262]

Metal Clouds (Yorozu x Takako)

.Yorozu loves making random things for Takako using her technique they can range from small inexpensive jewelry to things like glass blown dolls or full blown artifacts that she can remember, it’s also something that Yorozu does to see Takako smile.

.Takako worries about Yorozu ALOT especially her mental state ever since the two reincarnated into the modern era Takako hasn’t been far from Yorozu while her lover’s been more concerned with keeping both of them safe. Yorozu often throws herself into dangerous situations during fights: ensuring that they get the most points, changing the rules to benefit only them; and keeping their score up. Takako knows that the culling games won’t end but she no longer wants to see Yorozu in pain and stressing herself out, Takako just wants to escape…but not without Yorozu

.Both of them drink each other’s blood in a weird and intimate way only unique to them; and it also serves as a…motivator. Takako thought it was weird (it still is) but Yorozu sees it as normal (it’s FUCKING not) but these two still taste each other’s blood-as to have a part of each other inside them.

whenever Yorozu sees Takako’s blood she gets worried-but also excited because the taste of Takako’s blood often drives her to make more things! More complicated inventions! Yorozu often tells Takako that she is her biggest muse and Takako more often than not gets flustered, but doesn’t fight the smile

(Modern AU)

.Yorozu works as a inventor and an entomologist considering that she loves making things go BOOM! And that as a kid she used to try and eat the bugs, which led her onto the path of studying insects and other animals. But Yorozu’s love for creating is her biggest source of happiness.

.Takako is a spy for the Japanese government serving under a secret sect and is the leader of her own unit that followed the orders of any official they were given; every task from assassination to blending into a country to steal data there wasn’t anything that Takako’s unit wouldn’t take on. But the unit functions almost like a secret police.

.Takako has never introduced Yorozu to her family all in fear that they would get along TOO well and she would have to deal with both Yorozu and her family basically being in the same hyper energy, one Yorozu is enough!

.Only time Yorozu is ever quiet is when she’s in their bedroom on her orkbench making a new invention or playing in Takako’s jewelry box, usually their apartment is filled with noise; provided by Yorozu making something or playing a video game…or just being…Yorozu

.They both watch movies and hold bets to see who can get the ending right

.Takao does not trust Yorozu in the kitchen with anything! EVER! But she does let Yorozu watch her cook and taste test the food before she serves it

.Yorozu SNORES and Takako makes no effort to stop her as she had gotten used to her lover snoring directly in her face/ears

.One of Takako’s hobbies is playing tennis and Yorozu makes posters for Takako whenever she goes out to play in order to show support, the poster includes the following:

MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF GLITTER

A RISQUE PICTURE OF TAKAKO

GO! TAKA GO! IN BIG BOLD LETTERS

YOROZU WEARING A “I LOVE MY GF” SHIRT

.Takako takes being there for Yorozu in all aspects very seriously, whenever Yorozu forgets to eat, bathe or is in a depressive slump; Takako takes it upon herself to help Yorozu in any way that she can.

.Yorozu in return helps Takako by trying to do the same things that Takako would do whenever she was depressed when Takako becomes sullen, although it isn’t perfect Yorozu still enjoys doing it.

.They hate arguing with one another but things do often come to a head with both of then having fiery tempers, but Yorozu does have a rule Takako cannot break: you can be mad but still sleep next to me

.Both of them love animals

[adelemadouce]

Anne

He did it only once. He was cautious, controlled, almost fearful. It was a form of taking possession for which he felt privileged. He had to do it, since he had been denied the original way to 'own me as the first man', therefore he had to be the first man who took my 'other' virginity. It hurt a little, but I'm not a squeamish person and didn't let it show. The Emperor was extremely tender after this act of love that we both longed for. He said that he had known this kind of lovemaking in Egypt, in a Harem, with a beautiful Circassian woman. He said, it gave him the idea of an even deeper intimacy with a woman, but he had never dared to ask for it, which is why he had never done it with Joséphine. I was the first and only one since Egypt. I wondered if he knew what I had seen at the Hôtel Roquelaure when Mereen had 'loved'him like that? Did he know what I knew...? And the desire arose in me again to make him happy in this way! I wanted to give him this inexpressible, all-surpassing measure of bliss! I alone wanted to be this incomparable woman for him. That, and only that was my ambition! "Now you are my wife," he said. I thought he was joking and wanted to tease him about it, but his face was serious. Then he asked me to reach into the pocket of his coat. I found a small box and gave it to him. He opened it, took out a ring and put it on my finger. The ring was made of gold, with tiny diamonds. There was something engraved: "...U vostru per sempre...". I read it out loud. The Emperor explained to me what it meant. "...Forever Yours." I slid the ring onto my finger, then my arms around his neck. I really wasn't sure how serious he was about it and so I told myself: it's a friendship ring, nothing more. The fear of being disappointed was greater than the hope of believing in it. "A beautiful gift, thank you so much, Sire! I will wear the ring with pride!" He looked at me doubtfully. "You thank me so formally? Don't you believe my feelings for you?" I looked at the ring on my finger. "Adèle...I have to thank you for these incomparable moments that you give me! I don't understand why this makes you doubt my feelings? You are my sweet Adèle...forever!" What stabbed me in the heart at that moment was my conviction that he himself did not believe what he was saying. Napoléon could not be faithful! He knew it, I knew it, the whole world knew it! Nevertheless, I smiled and kissed his lips in apparent agreement. He lay on his back next to me, leaning on his elbows, looking down at his hot naked body. His member stuck up in the air, hard as a pipe. "Now be a good wife, Adèle...and take care of it!"

From then on I wore the ring constantly. Duchâtel noticed it, because I wasn't wearing my wedding ring. "Are you wearing a new ring, Madame?" he asked mockingly. And it was precisely this tone of voice that prompted me to respond to his curiosity: "Yes, I am. And it's none of your business!" Of course he suspected a lover, but he could hardly feel jealous about it. After all we were living in a marriage that wasn't one! I proudly showed Camille the beautiful piece of jewelry on my finger. "...the Godemiché wasn't necessary...the Emperor was so tender...it worked without it! I brought the Emperor into the sweetest ecstasy...ha..ha!" Yes, I was proud of myself! I wore the ring at court too. When I sat in my antechamber and did embroidery, the diamonds glittered in the winter sun that shone through the windows. The Empress greeted me again, I was very happy about it. Joséphine admired my embroidery, it was the trim for a Levantine stand-up collar. "Permit me to give you the collar when it is finished, Madame?" She looked at the lace enthusiastically. "That is kind of you, Adèle!" I saw the other ladies-in-waiting smile too. Apparently I was doing quite well in my anteroom exile. Églée, Félicité and the others, however, regretted my absence from the Empress's salon and at Cercle. It was boring without me, they said. Églée thought she had observed that the Emperor showed a certain disappointment every evening when he did not see a certain face in the Empress's salon. "He misses watching you, Adèle! Please do everything you can so that you can attend the evenings in the Empress's salon again soon! There is nothing more exciting than seeing the Emperor flirting..." Églée said, giggling mischievously.

But I didn't want to give up my new position as Dame d'annonce! It was really exciting when the double doors opened and elegantly dressed ladies came in. I greeted the guests, took their invitations, offered them a seat and informed Lily Longrois of their arrival. Lily announced the guests to Madame d'Arberg and she eventually reported the visit to the Empress. We ladies felt a little like a Semaphore, an optical telegraph. On one of these mornings two ladies entered my antichambre. The older of the two had white powdered hair and an old-fashioned broad-brimmed hat, decorated on one side with a brooch and white ostrich feathers, just like in the days of the Ancien Régime. The young woman, she was my age, was dressed in modern clothes, in a darkblue-beige striped velvet robe, with a darkblue canezou, a darkblue muff and a large beige bonnet. Her clothes looked a bit shabby. She had white-blonde hair, was slenderly built, but with ample breasts. She was very pretty! "Madame Blanche de Montbazon, together with her niece Mademoiselle Anne Roche de La Coste," was written on her invitation card. I gave Lily the card, then invited the ladies to sit down. "The weather is too awful," said Madame de Montbazon. "... the cold humidity spoils any curl, doesn't it." The older lady looked around. "Mon Dieu...how everything has changed here. The Tuileries are unrecognizable! You must know...I was already a welcome guest of the Queen here before you were born, Madame!" It sounded a little sharp, not to say arrogant. Madame de Montbazon matched the Empress's powder puffs wonderfully! The young woman said nothing. She admired the golden interior she was in. Her light green eyes sparkled, her delicate pink complexion glowed, she seemed to feel like she was in a fairy tale. Then the double doors opened and Lily asked the two ladies to come to the Empress. But it wasn't long before Lily appeared again and this time asked me to come to the Empress. I put my embroidery aside, fixed my hair (I wore a pink silk camellia blossom that morning), smoothed my velvet grey dress and walked lightly past Lily into the small salon. Joséphine's pugs came straight away with their little curly tails. I stroked them quickly, went to the Empress's armchair and sank into a graceful court curtsy. Joséphine said with the utmost politeness: "Madame Duchâtel,...you have already met Mademoiselle de La Coste. Well, my dear Adèle, I have chosen Mademoiselle de La Coste as my lectrice. It would be an advantage for the young lady if you, dear Adèle, would take care of her and explain her duties to her. Would it be possible, dear Adèle!"

I rose from my curtsy, but was too surprised to answer immediately, because, first of all, I didn't know the duties of a lectrice. She had to read aloud, and what else? And secondly, why did the Empress need a lectrice? Apart from the fact that she had no interest in books, she also couldn't pay attention when books were read to her! I finally smiled. "Your Majesty, it would be a great pleasure for me to assist Mademoiselle de La Coste in her task!" Joséphine nodded. "That's good. You should show the young lady the bookcases right away. Our good Abbé Halna is indisposed. Madame d'Arberg will give you the keys." With a graceful gesture, the Empress pointed to the lady-in-waiting, indicating that we should immediately follow Madame d'Arberg. Anne and I curtsied to the Empress and followed Madame. In the small office of the librarian Abbé Halna, there was a part of Joséphine's library. Actually only geographical books, the court almanac, history of the European royal houses, ancient Rome and Greece. Madame d'Arberg opened the bookcase and gave me the key. "You must first listen to Mademoiselle. If she cannot read fluently you must practice with her, Adèle. Also the pronunciation of foreign words. Can you do that, Adèle?" My eyes wandered over the spines of these consistently boring works. "But yes, Madame!" She put a book from the shelf, it was Vergil's "Aeneas".

"It could well be," Madame d'Arberg then said,"...that the Empress wants a book from the Emperor's library. Then you two will be tasked with fetching it from Monsieur Ripault, the Emperor's librarian." Anne, who was standing next to me, gasped audibly. "Will I see the Emperor?" But the lady-in-waiting looked at Anne in shock. "Of course not!" Then she gave the book to Anne. "Take it! Read it! Practice it! Your remuneration will be agreed upon with your aunt! You are now Her Majesty's lectrice, prove yourself worthy of this task, Mademoiselle de La Coste!" Intimidated by this warning demand, Anne curtsied and whispered: "Yes, Madame!" The lady-in-waiting turned to me, smiling and amiable, as I knew her to be. "The Empress is very fond of you again, Adèle!" She gave me a little kiss on the cheek. Of all the ladies-in-waiting, Madame d'Arberg is one of the sweetest and most distinguished!

Now I had also become a kind of governess! When Anne came to see me the next morning in my apartment in the palace, we talked over petit déjeuner. She lived with her aunt Blanche in a small apartment on the Grande Rue Verte. Anne was an orphan. Her father, an aristocrat, had died in the revolution, her mother had died in childbirth shortly afterwards, and her child, Anne's brother, had not survived either. She was now nineteen years old, having come to Paris at the age of fourteen. She had no formal education and had learned to read and write from her aunt. That meant that she could do practically nothing! So I had to find out what her talents were, what skills she had. Anne was a very beautiful girl. She was taller than me, had a slim, supple body and large, firm, round breasts (which I was jealous of!). She loved to laugh and had beautiful teeth. However, I asked Camille to immediately explain and demonstrate to her the importance of daily teeth cleaning and how it should be performed. After this first hygiene lesson, she opened her chignon and showed me her long, silky, white-blonde hair. It was magnificent! "Aunt Blanche says that the Empress will definitely find a husband for me. Is that true?" she asked me. "The Empress knows a lot of influential people, it could well be that she will arrange a good match for you! Someday, when you become a lady at court...but until then, Anne..." I sighed and smiled at her, "...until then a lot of water will flow down the Seine! And we need to polish you up a bit first, dear Anne!" She seemed happy about it. "It's so nice to be with a woman my age. Can I call you 'Adèle'?" I nodded, but immediately added a lesson. "You can! But only when we're alone. Otherwise I'm Madame Duchâtel for you!"

She was like a calf, without any grace, but with a natural charm that was downright disarming. I took Anne into my heart, I liked her from the beginning. Camille also found her charming. "The young lady needs our help," she said quietly to me. I was ready to take this little aristocrat under my wing, but I had to be careful that Anne did not find out what a "special" position I enjoyed at the imperial court. I told her not to arrive at my apartment in the Tuileries before ten o'clock in the morning. "Not a minute earlier!" My morning rendezvous with the Emperor had to be protected! I was extremely sensitive about this and did not want to take the slightest risk! We agreed that before starting court service we would first examine Anne's wardrobe and her hairstyle. She had hardly any money and didn't own much. A new wardrobe was out of reach for Anne at the moment. So I thought about giving her some of my clothes, although Camille had to open the seams at the hem and bust to adjust the dresses to Anne's figure. She looked pretty in my clothes. I showed her how to move in them, how to do the court curtsy, how to wear the little train. Anne was and remained the clumsy little calf; she would never be a graceful lady, but she beamed and seemed happy about her change. That made up for everything! We also practiced reading diligently. She had a talent for it, and articulated everything she read clearly and understandably. However, we moved on from Vergil to the fables of LaFontaine, a reading genre that I knew the Empress also liked. While I was training my little élève, the Emperor made sure that our love life was not neglected. He was very busy with his government work, but he always found time and ways to see me. And he wanted me every day! We often did it in my apartment in the palace, not only in the mornings, but also in the afternoons when the opportunity arose. When he had more time he wanted to meet me at the Allée des Veuves, where we could "do it loudly" as he said. Once the Emperor sent Duchâtel to inspect the bookkeeping of a garrison somewhere for two days. Duchâtel had not yet completely disappeared our home through the front door when the black fiacre drove onto the gravel path and the Emperor appeared incognito in our house. Napoléon took two steps at a time as he came up the stairs to my rooms. He wanted me in my sweet-smelling bed! It was one of the hottest nights of love I've ever had with him... When Roustam came early the next morning to pick up the Emperor, I didn't want to let him go. "Stay with me, darling! Please, don't go!" I held him in my arms. "How I would like to stay, Adèle...but you know that I do not belong to myself!" He kissed me. Then he added quietly: "...I would prefer never to leave your sweet bed again,...but I have to, ma petite...I have to!" I let him go. Although I knew that I would see him again in a short time, the world ended for me at that moment. I cried. Camille later said, not very comfortingly: "You can cry, Madame...now and then it's good for us women to cry!" But my misfortune did not end there; after breakfast my bleedeng started! I cried even more and had Camille put the coral jewelry on me, thereby making clear to the Emperor what condition I was in. It meant I couldn't be intimate with him, but it also meant I wasn't pregnant! And that weighed more heavily on my heart than anything else.

The next morning, Madame d'Arberg came to me in my antechambre with a small list. Anne was wearing one of my reseda green dresses, my maid had done her hair beautifully and put some rouge on her lips. I was wearing sky-blue velvet, with white lace on the neckline and red corals on my neck and earlobes. Madame d'Arberg gave me the list. "The Empress wants you to ask the Emperor for these books! Please contact the Emperor's chamberlain, Monsieur de Thiard, he is informed! It will take a while, Monsieur de Thiard will pass the order on to Monsieur Ripault, the Emperor's librarian. Monsieur Ripault is of advanced age and of frail constitution, it will take him some time to find the books. So it would be better if you wear a coat and hat, the hallways of the Tuileries are cold...and the wait could be long!" Anne and I put on our coats. I wore no bonnet, but the fur-trimmed hood of my coat. I took Anne's hand and pulled her behind me through the high, cold hallways of the palace. "I would get helplessly lost here," Anne said, admiring the high ceilings. "If you don't know your way around here, that can actually happen." I said, but completely different thoughts were going through my head. Our mission seemed strange to me. When Joséphine wanted something from the Emperor, she went to him herself, through the secret staircase of the dark corridor that led from her boudoir to his salon. Why did she send Anne and me to him now? When we reached the first floor with the Emperor's chambers over the large marble staircase, we encountered the dragoons of the imperial guard. There were groups of officers, ministers, and clerks. Several domestics looked after those waiting. I smiled at the gentlemen, bowed my head, greeted them quietly and enjoyed the male admiration. Anne seemed rather intimidated by this attention. "So many men!" she whispered to me. I was convinced that she was still a virgin. The many dashing officers in their tight riding trousers must be confusing Anne! Finally I turned to a servant and asked for Monsieur de Thiard. The young man led us to one of the many doors, knocked, entered and immediately came back again. "His Majesty's chamberlain requests your presence, Madame!"

Auxonne Théodore de Thiard - the 'handsome Théo'. I had seen him a few times, but we had not introduced to each other. A tall, slim, blond man in a silver-white livery came towards us. He had beautiful blond curls and sparkling blue eyes. An Adonis! I offered him my gloved hand, which he took and bowed slightly. "Madame Duchâtel, I am delighted to be of assistance to the Empress!" Then his gaze fell on Anne, who was making a far too deep court curtsy to him. I suddenly noticed a change in his expression; his gaze became very soft, his beautiful mouth began to smile. "Mademoiselle Anne Roche de La Coste, Her Majesty's lectrice," I introduced my companion. Anne stood up, looked at him and held out her hand, which he gallantly kissed! They both looked at each other in silence for I don't know how many moments, because I was sure that they fell in love at first sight. I had never seen anything like that before, it was magical! But then I was distracted by what was happening between the two of them, my gaze fell through an open double door, I saw Monsieur Méneval, the Emperor's secretary. And shortly after I heard his voice. "His" voice! My heart leapt! I lowered my eyes. I had not expected to meet him.

The Emperor came out of his study, which was further back and was easily visible because all the doors were open. I gave Monsieur de Thiard the list of books. He took a look at it, then the Emperor appeared in the doorway. "Well, a ladies visit in the morning...that's quite unusual!" Anne and I immediately curtsied. A very deep one! "Your Majesty!" I murmured. The chamberlain also bowed. The Emperor asked Monsieur de Thiard: "...what is it about?" The chamberlain bowed again. "Sire, the Empress requests the loan of some of Your books." Monsieur de Thiard handed the Emperor the list, but he ignored the paper, however, and instead asked me: "And who is this young person?" I stood up. "Sire, this is Mademoiselle Anne Roche de La Coste, Her Majesty's new lectrice." The Emperor glanced briefly at Anne, who was trembling slightly in her curtsy. "Ah yes, I heard about it," said Napoléon. "Monsieur de Thiard...take care of it!...Madame Duchâtel, you come with me! I have found the book you were looking for...about the childhood diseases...you know! Come...come!" He waved me behind him, I exchanged a helpless look with Anne, then followed the Emperor. I followed him through several corridors, past doormen...into the Cabinett Arrière, which I knew very well. But I had always entered through the secret door, never through the corridor. As the door closed behind us, he took me in his arms. "What is the Empress up to...what does this mean?" Before I could answer, he kissed me. He had eaten licorice, I tasted sweet anise. "Sire, she wants some of your books...that's all!" He held me in his arms, shaking his head a little as he said: "No, there's something else behind it! You just don't know her! With this book request she wants to keep me away from her salon for a few hours...I bet! The good Monsieur Ripault needs hours to find titles, he can't do it without my help, and the Empress knows that!" His look became bold. "Adèle, tell me who the Empress is receiving...is it that Tallien woman?" Oh, of course, how could I, how could Joséphine have assumed that the Emperor would not find out! I was left standing there, feeling stupid because she hadn't told me anything. I didn't know who Joséphine was secretly receiving this morning! So I quickly said: "No, not Madame Tallien. It's the...fortune teller!" The Emperor paused, then laughed. "That stupid LeNormand!...I should go downstairs, kick the doors and throw out that old chimera myself!"

I placed my hands on his chest and tried to calm him down with a sweet voice. "But what's the harm, Sire? A little bit of card-reading, a little bit of dreaming and hoping for the future...it makes the Empress happy...please let her do it!" He looked at my mouth, grabbed my chin as he always did. "Oh you sweet thing, you're still protecting her!" Then he kissed me passionately like he always did! Finally he gave me the book I had asked him for. A German doctor had written it, in French! It covered all known infant and child diseases. "Thank you so much, Sire! That's wonderful!" I started to leaf through it while he caressed my neck, kissing me, he said softly: "Now the Empress has a lectrice...and what about me? When will I get my lectrice? A cute little lectrice...I know who would be suitable!" I had to laugh and gave myself over completely to his tender attack. We kissed for half an hour, my face was wet and red when he left me, humming falsely, as always: "...oui, c'est 'n fait...je me marie..."

Anne looked at me questioningly when I returned to her. "Did you fall, Madame?" I tried to remove the traces of Napoléon's kiss attack. "No, I'm fine. Monsieur de Thiard will bring us the books...yes?" The chamberlain's name brought Anne's smile back. "...yes! Monsieur de Thiard!" she said enthusiastically.