#haule cuisine

[kjupchurch-xx]

12 Years In The Making - Tumblr Request

"Love, remember, we're having dinner tonight, don't make plans." Hugh yelled from the bathroom as he was shaving his face. 

I smiled, "I know, babe. I haven't forgotten. I'll make sure I'm free and finished up with my interview before 7." I said as I re-checked my dress. 

Tonight, was Hugh and I's tenth wedding anniversary. Normally, we'd be on a trip like we did every year for our anniversary, but I had just celebrated the premiere of a movie I'd been filming for the last year, so that halted our anniversary vacation plans. Our kids were visiting with Hugh's mother, Grace while she was in town, so we had the house to ourselves for the night. Hugh's older kids, Oscar and Ava were going to be joining us for dinner tonight. 

In 2012, Hugh and I met whilst working on a movie set together and immediately began dating. I was 22 and he was going on 44 years old. He'd been divorced from his ex-wife for about 9 months at that time. His kids were around 7 and 12 at the time. We married in 2014 with a quiet beachfront ceremony in Australia, surrounded by our immediate families, his children and a few of our closest friends. Our ceremony was more intimate than anything, with Hugh tearing up seeing me accompanied down the beach by my father. 

In 2015, we found out we were expecting our first child, Hugh's first biological child. Our daughter was born in early 2016. Our second daughter was born in 2019, with our son being born in 2022, just two years ago. Our kids were now 8, 5 and 2. Despite being a huge blended family, he knows I would never be caught dead driving a mini van or a "mom car". While he drives the luxury SUVs, mom still drives the Audi RX8 and occasionally a Dodge Charger if I have the babies in the backseat. 

I was shaken from my thoughts by a kiss on the cheek, "You look beautiful, baby." He said softly in my ear as he smiled at me. 

I blushed, "Thank you. Where are we going tonight?" I asked, knowing he would never tell me, but always hopeful that he'd slip up one day and spoil a surprise. 

He smirked at me as he shook his head, "Now Darling, you know if I told you where we were going, it would spoil the surprise." 

I playfully rolled my eyes, "How am I supposed to know where to meet you after my interview if I don't know where you're taking me to dinner?" I asked, trying to catch him up once more. 

He chuckled as he pressed a kiss on the top of my head, "You're meeting me at the first place I took you when you moved to New York. That is the only hint I'm giving you." 

Stefanos. Stefanos was the first place Hugh took me for dinner once I'd officially moved in with him, in 2013. It was a beautiful, high-end Italian restaurant. He'd picked it because he knew Italian was my favorite type of cuisine. 

I smiled as I pulled him in for a kiss, "I've gotta go or else I'm gonna be late." I mumbled against his lips.

He smirked against my lips, mumbling back, "You can be fashionably late, love. I would love to ravage you right here." 

I giggled, "As much as I want to, and you know I have a hard time turning you down, I have to go... but, later tonight, I promise I'll make it up to you." I said seductively while slowly grazing my hand over the crotch of his pants. 

He laughed, almost shivering at my touch, "This is why we have three kids." He said nonchalantly. 

I laughed as I grabbed my keys to head towards the door of our home, "Alright, I'll see you at 7." I said, smiling as I walked out of the house. 

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I quickly finished up my interview, noticing it was now 6:30, which meant I had to haul literal ass to Stefano's to get there by 7 to meet Hugh for our anniversary dinner. I grabbed my keys and wallet and began sprinting towards the elevator, then towards the parking garage where my car was parked. 

I managed to make it to Stefano's right at 6:59 on the dot to see Hugh standing outside of his SUV, looking at me. I quickly shut the engine off and jumped out, "I am so sorry I'm almost late. The interview finished at 6:30, traffic downtown was a nightmare." I said almost anxiety ridden from the traffic. 

He giggled, "It's okay, love... But I lied to you. We're not eating at Stefano's." He smirked, trying to keep a straight face. 

I looked at him almost wide eyed, "Why did you make me rush to Stefano's then?" I asked, getting a bit annoyed. 

Traffic and anxiety were not my friend, clearly. Luckily, my husband knew this and never took it personally. 

He chuckled at me as he walked up to me and kissed me, "Because you kept insisting that I tell you where I was taking you." He said cockily. 

I sighed, chuckling as I rolled my eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck, "Okay, I learned my lesson. Now seriously, what are we doing?" 

He pulled away from me and walked towards his SUV, "Get in and I'll take you to the actual place we're going." 

I shrugged my shoulders, "Okay." I said as I grabbed my wallet out of my Audi, locking the car and getting into his SUV. 

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Hugh drove for another 10 minutes, while his free hand interlocked its fingers with mine. The ride was filled with him happily singing along to songs on the radio. I noticed we were pulling up at an event venue and looked over at him. 

He knew I was going to, considering he was smiling at me as he parked the car. "What are we doing, Jackman?" I asked, almost suspiciously, raising one brow at him. 

He chuckled cheekily, "We're doing another press interview." He said casually. 

I squinted my eyes, "This is not a very good surprise." I said sarcastically. 

He rolled his eyes, shutting the car off and getting out, "Just come on." He said, mocking annoyance. 

I got out of the SUV as he came over and linked his arm with mine as we began walking towards the entrance of the venue. 

"Is this seriously a press interview?" I asked, noticing all of the cars in the parking lot. 

He nodded, "Okay, it's not a press interview. We're going to Ryan and Blake's wrap party, but I promise, I am taking you to dinner afterwards." He said as we continued walking. 

I sighed. It was our tenth wedding anniversary. As much as I loved and adored Ryan and Blake, I wanted to celebrate my anniversary. I didn't care to be celebrating everyone else tonight. This was out of the ordinary for Hugh, but with how busy he'd been with the press for Deadpool & Wolverine, I'm not too surprised our anniversary had slipped to the back burner. 

As we approached the entrance, his grip on my arm tightened as he pulled me closer, wrapping one arm around my waist. As we entered the venue, I immediately spotted Blake and Ryan, and a group of people I hadn't yet recognized or paid much attention to. There were pictures of Blake's new film, It Ends With Us plastered near the stage area. 

Blake and Ryan approached us, "About time you two made it. We were getting ready to post your numbers on a billboard." Ryan joked. 

Hugh and I laughed, "Thanks for coming, you too. I know it's your anniversary, you can blame him for the poor planning." Blake said sympathetically as she shot Ryan a glare. 

I smiled as I hugged her, "It's okay. Thank you for having us." I said, hiding my disappointment. 

"Mommy!" I heard yell as I felt two small arms wrap around my waist. 

I chuckled as I looked down to see our middle daughter hugging my waist, "Hey boo, where's grandma Grace?" I asked her as I rubbed her hair. 

She shrugged, "She's talking to uncle Shawn." Our daughter said as she pointed over to Shawn Levy, who was in fact chatting it up with my mother-in-law, as she held our two year old son on her hip. 

I giggled, as Hugh asked her, "What about daddy? You didn't miss me?" He playfully pouted. 

She giggled as she playfully shook her head no, still holding onto my waist. 

Our 5-year-old was a bit...scared of daddy after seeing him on the set for Deadpool and Wolverine. She truly believed daddy had claws that come out of his hands when he's upset, which has been hilarious and a bit aggravating convincing her that Daddy indeed does not have claws that come out of his knuckles. 

I stooped down to look at her, "You better give daddy a hug." I said playfully, trying to sound firm. 

She shook her head no, "Mommy, daddy has claws that come out of him hands." She said as matter of factly. 

Hugh tried hard to not show his laughter as he watched our interaction. 

I shrugged, "I know he does." I nodded, "If you don't hug him, I think they might come out. Quick, hurry!" I said dramatically to her, lightly pushing her towards Hugh. 

Ryan was having a hard time holding his laughter back as he watched me interact with my daughter, while Hugh shot me a glare, trying also to not laugh as our daughter nervously walked over and hugged her dad. 

Hugh shook his head at me as he picked her up, "Baby, daddy does not have claws. Your mommy just says that because she's got them and doesn't want you to know the truth." He said sarcastically as he stuck his tongue out at me. 

As we walked further into the venue, I began noticing the people in the crowd. I saw my family, Hugh's siblings, his mother of course, a bunch of our friends, my step children, etc. 

I looked towards Hugh, "Did you fly my family here for Ryan and Blake's wrap party?" I asked almost in disbelief. 

He smirked, "I flew your family here for your gift, baby." 

I looked at him, puzzled. "I'm so confused right now." 

He chuckled as he sat our daughter down, "I've got to go give a speech for Blake. I'll be back." He said quickly as he walked over towards the stage, grabbing a microphone, tapping it to make sure it's on.

Our daughter ran to play with the other kids as my family approached me, showering me in hugs. My family did not live in New York, they lived further down south. Hugh always made sure to fly them up for any special occasion. He knew it meant the world to me whenever he'd include them in anything we did. 

Hugh began speaking into the microphone, "Hello everyone. " He said with a smile, "Tonight, we're here to celebrate the premiere of Blake's new film." He continued as he smiled towards Blake and Ryan. "I just want to say, I appreciate each and every one of you for coming tonight. Planning this event has been stressful because I did not want to risk my wife finding out." He smirked towards me, laughing nervously. 

I looked up at him, shooting him a glare. So he couldn't plan something for our anniversary, but he could take the time to plan something for our friend's movie release. I noticed Ryan and Blake looking over at me, snickering. Hugh noticed my glare as he continued giggling nervously. 

"My wife thinks she's here to celebrate Blake's movie." He said as he smiled cheekily at me, "But actually baby, we're here to celebrate our anniversary." He said sweetly as my glare faded into an over-emotional expression. "Ten years ago, I married this beautiful, sexy, gorgeous woman. I met her twelve years ago to this very day, and I fell madly in love with her." He paused as I began to tear up. Our oldest daughter, who was 8 walked over and held my hand. 

I shook my head in disbelief that I'd actually thought he'd forgotten to plan something special. "Baby, this party is for you. You are an incredible mother to our children. You are an incredible wife. I am so blessed to be married to you and to share this life with you, even if you are difficult to deal with sometimes." He joked, causing me to chuckle while everyone began laughing. 

He smiled at me, "Come here, baby." He said as he motioned his hand for me to come up on the stage. 

I blushed shyly as I walked up towards the stage, taking his hand. "I love you. Happy 10 years, baby." he said sweetly as he pulled me into his arms, smiling at me. 

I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I love you too. Happy 10 years...and to many, many more..." I said as I pulled him in for a kiss.

[calabria-mediterranea]

Calabria, the toe of southern Italy is one of the country’s least-known regions and probably the most underrated one.

Calabria is best known for its beautiful sandy beaches along the Tyrrhenian and the Ionian Sea, and its dramatic cliffs, coves, and rock formations: 800 km of coastline, stunning turquoise waters and green hills adorned with olive, orange, and lemon trees.

The heart of the region offers a pure and unspoiled scenery, comprised of thick forests, dotted with canyons, streams, and waterfalls and three national parks: Aspromonte, Pollino (UNESCO heritage site), and Sila.

The warm weather, the wild and mysterious nature, the strong and genuine flavors of local food and the vestiges of its ancient origins, when it was a colony of Greece, make Calabria an ideal destination all year around, without the long-haul flights of more exotic destinations.

Art lovers cannot miss the famous Riace bronzes, that were found in the Ionian Sea near Riace in 1972 and exhibited in the National Museum of Reggio Calabria. These beautiful statues, probably two warrior heroes larger than life-size, are a fine example of classical Greek sculpture.

Reggio's ancient history predates the Greeks, who settled this strategic location at the exact center of the Mediterranean in the 8th century BC. They called their colony Rhegion, which was subsequently Latinized by the Romans and transformed through the ages under the area’s various rulers.

In Reggio Calabria, the lungomare or waterfront is a great place for a stroll, either down at beach level or along the upper promenade, which flanks what is commonly referred to as Via Marina, a pair of north-south coastal roads laid out in boulevard style. The approximate two-kilometer strip of land between serves as a lovely city park the length of the downtown area.

Stately mansions face this public garden and the strait beyond.

The seafront elegant, panoramic promenade lined with palm trees, with its views across the Messina Strait, which divides the Italian peninsula from the island of Sicily, to Mt Etna is one of the most atmospheric places for a walk.

Capo Vaticano is considered one of the 100 most beautiful beaches in the world: a long beach of fine sand with crystal clear waters, surrounded by ancient trees.

Tropea, a puzzle of lanes and piazzas, is one of Calabria’s most attractive towns. It is set in a dramatic spot on a cliff where the houses seem to blend into the rock. Tropea is famed for the spectacular sunsets, between the cliff and the rocky promontory with the church of Santa Maria dell’Isola.

Stacked high up on a sea cliff, there is Pizzo with its unique Church of Piedigrotta, entirely carved out of tuff stone.

Chili pepper, ‘nduja and Tropea onions are the first ingredients that come to mind when talking about Calabrese cuisine.

Calabrians love chilli peppers and they add it in everything, from pasta to ice-cream! Every September, the “peperoncino” festival takes place in Diamante to celebrate its locally produced food.

‘Nduja is the Calabrian version of salami. A spicy, spreadable cold cut with chilli peppers (of course) and spices.

Tropea’s red onion is known for its mild, sweet flavour. In fact, these onions are so famous that cipolla di Tropea has become a Calabrian symbol.

Follow us on Instagram, @calabria_mediterranea

[marymcdivan]

Tiktok creators!AU

Poirot

has his true crime blog

tells the most horrifying stories while doing his skincare/moustache routine

always splits the video into two or more parts to keep the intrigue as long as possible

reposts every william hanson video

"today we're going to range births food from the most disgusting to... eatable..?"

big fan of clean core/coquette aesthetic, obviously

sometimes he starts a live stream while he's cooking

Hastings

"hi everyone, and today I'll start a brand new hobby!"

most of his videos are travel vlogs

takes "what kind of [random shit] aesthetic is you " videos way to serious and really gets upset when Poirot ignores all the 83 tiktoks he sent him

kinda addicted to gacha video games

Miss Lemon

"this vid has no tags, amd it means that the universe has a secret message for you...get a job!"

she makes tutorials on vintage hairstyles and makeup

"vintage store haul unpacking!"

sometimes she not ironically makes tarot reading streams

secretly reposts lots of silly cat vids

Ariadne Oliver

the queen of booktok

makes a lot of writing tips content

" I've spent £1000 on books. again"

reports "chemistry for beginners" videos because writes about poisons

"how to get away with the dead body and 10 more things you should NOT google even though it is for your book"

"how to work with publishing agent if you can't stand him"

James Japp

created tiktok account just to watch poirot's blog

"my trench coat collection rewiew"

tell stories from his work while making some of the british cuisine dishes

likes silly cat videos from miss lemon reports

[punkeropercyjackson]

Son of Poseidon Hobie is so real to me.He grew up in England and had your usual bullied outcast and random supernatural shit happening you don't understand just yet but both 10x worse just like Percy but when he was 12 his mom started hauling him out of bed and saying they were moving to America 'before it's too late' and he was so confused until he had his first monster encounter while getting food at the airport after they landed and she was sobbing by the time they arrived at Camp Half Blood because she knew about The Great Prophecy and he hugged her so tight without even knowing the reason.He got confused for a son of Apollo or a son of Aphrodite obviously and he takes care of the strawberry fields with the Demeter kids because he's been obsessed with strawberries since he was little and he learned swordfighting on his own because nobody wanted to train with him at first after the supreme lord of bathroom incident but now he's considered the greatest demigod swordsmen ever so he's the instructor and the only reason the only reason CHB isn't scared of him after all the shit he's pulled is that they've seen how goofy and silly and kind bonderlineing on fatherly he is before he was even actually an adult.He's a surfer and collects seashells and his favorite kind of jamaican cuisine is the seafood specifically and instead of that fuckass swagless version of movie!Gwen's hair,he's got that multicolor mermaid hair dye that's pink,green and blue but with the natural color still very much there,including the white streak he got from holding up the sky.He sung the Campfire Song to the little campers on his first summer as symbolism for him giving them better lives as they got older and his version of canon event cop death was him killing Zeus to get at the head of the greco-roman myths world problem."I hate the system,i hate the gods,i hate restrainment."Hobie to friends,Hobart to enemies,'My Sea Star' only to his Mama or else you're getting the guitar that turns into a celestial bronze sword.I'm obsessed with him

[visage-of-hell]

(Continued from here: It had been a slow night at the club, and so Visage had taken off for a short while to run a few errands at a twenty-four hour quickie mart around the block. Seeing as how her private office doubled as her own miniature apartment, this was the closest thing to doing a 'grocery run' the Overlord ever did. It was ... far from a glamorous haul--cans of hound chow, a few boxes of hound biscuits and a small-sized bag of hound kibble. The poorest of poor cuisine that served as the main source of nutrition for only the most destitute of the hellhound population, and yet ... for Visage, this amounted to comfort food. Not that she was proud of that fact. A shameful little secret she kept, in truth. But she didn't cook and she wasn't in any mood to go out to eat, so ... it would suffice. She was then on her way back in the general direction of the club when an alarming scent prickled at her nose--fresh demon blood. Already the fur along the nape of her neck began to bristle slightly, unsure just who or what was bleeding nearby. A victim in need or a predator lying in wait? Difficult to say... And so, clutching her bags close, she cautiously followed the scent trail, until--much to her surprise--she glimpsed a familiar silhouette just slightly off in the distance, a small puddle of dark crimson forming beneath them. Though perhaps it shouldn't have, her tension eased as she moved to approach. "Smiles...? That you...?" @radioiaci

[withlovefromsimtown]

Lifa's Life Update (+Sims Progress)

Well it's been a minute, but We're still here & I don't mind.

Things roughly in order:

I fully remapped onto a custom SC4 terrain & rebuilt an entire Sims 2 BG neighborhood to update it to UC (any guesses?), started working on clothing defaults for the aforementioned neighborhood.

Started 2 huge TS2 projects that I may someday finish, completely unrelated to all of that, because I was in Milkshape & I can't control myself.

Had my partner's friends over A LOT, like it seemed like every couple weeks for awhile someone would be crashing in the guest room. (They're my friends too they just... started off as partner's friends lol.)

Barbecued & grilled a lot, because friends & food.

Went to a VNV Nation show with my friend (things that are on the Elder Goth Bucket List lol), made a whole Yeet Weekend outta it & also went to Ikea, Fivebelow, Spirit Halloween, a local outdoor market, & a snowcone stand.

The fucking holidays.

Got sick, part 1.

Surprise, my cat has diabetes & needs 2x daily insulin shots!

More of the fucking holidays.

Got sick, part 2.

2x/month cat checkups to check blood sugar & adjust the dose, for like 3 months.

TX freezes, local friend doesn't have sufficient insulation or central heating in their home to deal with the temps, because TX, & comes to stay with me (with their cat) for a week because I have central heating.

During that week that my friend was here, Mr Diabetes Cat decided to a) eat all the dry kibble out of every bowl, b) refuse wet food at shots time because he was full of dry kibble, & then c) throw up kibble & turn around & pee all over my carpet right after throwing up, which resulted in him not getting his shots that night--they have to be given with food---& getting scheduled an urgent vet visit in the morning. (He's fine, just expensive.)

On the day it actually warmed up outside before it went back to 20 degrees, friend & I did a mini-hike together. We also had food from the Generic Asian Cuisine place (yeah I know, it's Texas though) where we got Pho, Lumpia, & a tofu stir-fry.

I regret having to work during the freezy times, unfortunately.

Partner obtained me a uhh... knockoff Steamdeck handheld? Rog Ally? so I can keep Win7 on my monster computer & also play my dumb ancient murder-aliens 4x RTS game on Steam that I like, but I haven't fixed my mods for it to play it, because I...

Got sick, part 3.

While sick, took Mr Diabetes Cat to his very last 2-week checkup; we're on 3-month checkup schedules now! Because he's stable! Yay!

The entire house is a disaster & I'm still not 100% but I'm back to cooking/cleaning a bit between work at least.

Working on more of the necessary clothing defaults for the TS2 neighborhood I redid.

Planning for March when the entire zoo needs to be vetted again for vaxxing, just gonna wrap the diabetes checkup into that & do everyone's bloodwork at that time also unless something drastic happens. (We do like 2-3 cats at a time over the course of 2 weeks, & then the dog on her own, we're not like... hauling a van of animals to the vet all at once...)

Need to get some of the soft mesh transportation prisons for the cats before then, because the big crate with the lid is about to disintegrate.

[magnetictapedatastorage]

LIBRARY HAUL

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚

LIBRARY HAUL

A Revolution In Taste: the rise of French cuisine

Field guide to neighborhood birds of New York City

Retro: The culture of revival

200 Healthy Chinese Recipes

The Flavor Thesaurus: pairings, recipes, and ideas for the creative cook

Uniforms: why we are what we wear

Simple Chinese Recipes from a Chinese home kitchen

Fashions of a Decade: The 1980s

Fashions of a Decade: The 1940s

joy of cooking (fucking heavy ass book)

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚

Honorable mention: free newspaper The New York City Jazz Record, issue 267 (july 2024) (this is why there are newsprint smudges all over the joy of cooking)

Dishonorable mention: the temperature of the subway rn 😭

[wingedblooms]

Herbs she planted

This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series. Proceed with caution.

“The point is that this is all gardening. The garden runs through our lives like a river through a field, like air in our lungs. The garden does not end in space any more than it does in time. The flowers grow as much in our minds as in the soil. There are very few nights when I do not lie in the dark, everyone else sleeping inside this dark, creaking, bony house, and go through the garden, seeing it with the clarity of a dreamer, taking it to pieces and putting it together again, mending everything in my head.” (Montagu Don, My Roots: A Decade in the Garden) 

Like the threads of an intricate tapestry, Elain weaves a variety of plants together in her gardens. She creates living art, even at the worst of times:

I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” (acowar)

Feyre casually mentions that Elain is planting herbs in the town house garden after she drops some unsettling information on Cassian (which, as an aside, is one of my favorite scenes; I love it when Elain, the gentle gardener, unnerves 500-year-old fae). @offtorivendell posted a headcanon that Elain has a garden full of useful plants, which makes sense for a practical forest witch, and this quote suggests she is on the right track. We don’t hear about her herbs specifically again, but we do see glimpses of her work on the town house garden where she started planting them: 

…peering out the kitchen window at the garden beyond…Elain had already readied the garden for winter, veiling the more delicate bushes and beds with burlap. (acofas) 

-

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. (acofas) 

Herbs are used by witches and healers in the Maasverse for a variety of purposes, such as flavoring cuisine, enhancing divination, and healing the body. All things many of us naturally associate with Elain.

Cuisine

Manon gives us a glimpse of Crochan witches going about their domestic tasks, including cooking with dried herbs at their cauldrons:

At least two dozen other witches tended to the several fire pits scattered amongst the white tents, all of them halting their various work as Manon passed. She’d never seen Crochans going about their domestic tasks, but here they were: some tending to fires, some hauling buckets of water, some monitoring heavy cauldrons of what smelled like mountain-goat stew seasoned with dried herbs. (koa)

This image makes me think of other witches (and suspected witches) who have engaged in similar domestic tasks, such as Hypaxia offering tea to Ruhn in the medwitch clinic, or Elain carrying herbed potatoes that she helped the twins prepare near the winter solstice. In our world, traditional witchcraft is founded on a deep bond with the land; many of the holidays on the Wheel of the Year align with the agricultural year. It is no surprise then that witches in the Maasverse are also deeply connected to the bounty of the land. And even though it does not involve witches exclusively, the Great Rite in Prythian honors this bond and is performed to ensure balance between the the land and those who benefit from it. It’s very witchy.

This also helps put into perspective the gravity of Queen Rhiannon's curse on the land:

But the last Crochan queen had cast a spell to ensure that as long as Ironteeth banners flew, no bit of soil would yield life to them. (com) “Rhiannon swore on her last breath that we would win the war, but not the land. That for what we had done, we would inherit the land only to see it wilt and die in our hands. Our beasts would shrivel and keel over dead; our witchlings would be stillborn, poisoned by the streams and rivers. Fish would rot in lakes before we could catch them. Rabbits and deer would flee across the mountains. And the once-verdant Witch Kingdom would become a wasteland. […] Every few decades, they would send groups to try to work the land, to see if the curse still held. Those groups never returned. We have been wanderers for five hundred years—the wound made worse by the fact that humans eventually took it for themselves. And the land responded to them.” (eos)

Manon’s half-sister, who is named for the last Crochan queen, has earthy eyes that are described exactly like Thesan’s, which are rich and warm like Elain’s (who I have long associated with healing light and Dawn).

The Crochan witch, her eyes the solid color of freshly tilled earth, looked up at Manon. How those eyes were so bright despite the horrors written on her body, how she didn’t collapse right there or start begging, Manon didn’t know. (hof)

Every Crochan witch also has an hearth that travels with them, and they can use it to communicate when they are scattered across the world:

Glennis jerked her chin toward the tent flaps, to the fire pit beyond. “Every Crochan family has a hearth that moves with them to each camp or home we make; the fires never extinguish. The flame in my hearth dates back to the Crochan city itself, when Brannon Galathynius gave Rhiannon a spark of eternally burning fire. My mother carried it with her in a glass globe, hidden in her cloak, when she smuggled out your ancestor, and it has continued to burn at every royal Crochan hearth since then.” 

“What about when magic disappeared for ten years?” 

“Our seers had a vision that it would vanish, and the flame would die. So we ignited several ordinary fires from that magic flame, and kept them burning. When magic disappeared, the flame indeed winked out. And when magic returned this spring, the flame again kindled, right in the hearth where we had last seen it.” Her great-grandmother turned toward her. “When a Crochan Queen summons her people to war, a flame is taken from the royal hearth, and passed to each hearth, one camp and village to the other. The arrival of the flame is a summons that only a true Crochan Queen may make.” (koa)

The Crochans carry hearths—the heart of family and domestic life—with them as they travel, which reminded me of Elain’s rose:

It was a fire. Not her father’s neck. Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d place on the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. 

Another log cracked, and Nesta flinched. But she remained sitting there. Staring at that carved rose. (acosf)

Nesta found Elain’s dark rose on the mantel in their old cottage, and then felt the need to place it on a mantel in the House of Wind, just above the hearth and next to a figurine of a primal goddess, likely the Mother. It moves from mantel to mantel and hearth to hearth until she places it on her father’s gravestone in the final scene of her book. This rose may be yet another hint of Elain's connection to witches, divinity, and roses, as well as the gift of healing, which I’ll get to later. Roses are associated with love and death (among many other things), and have a rich history in folklore; they are a common ingredient used in herbal magic. I could see Elain possessing her own portable hearth to accompany dried herbs from her town house garden as she sets out on various adventures. That way, no matter how far she travels, she'll always have her home with her like a lovely Crochan witch.

Divination

Some herbs are used to amplify divination or dream magic. As @offtorivendell mentioned in her post on Elain’s Sight, seers in Erilea use bloodbane (which, as a drug, may contain herbs) to see spirits from other realms, and mystics use bloodsalt to focus their search across worlds. In Midgard, the Oracle's Temple is full of incense and the sphinx breathes in the fumes that are smoldering in her chamber.

...the domed onyx building of the Oracle's Temple veiled in the mists that had rolled in over the river.

Even at midday, the Oracle's Park was near-empty, save for the hunched, slumbering forms of the desperate Vanir and humans who wandered the paths and gardens, waiting for their turn to enter the incense-filled hallways. (hoeab)

-

She blinked, wings rustling as if in surprise, but settled herself. Breathed in the fumes rising from the hole. Minutes passed, and Hunt’s head began to throb with the various scents—especially the reeking sulfur. 

Smoke swirled, masking the sphinx from sight even though she sat only ten feet away. [...] A rasping voice slithered out of the smoke. “To open the doorway between worlds.” A chill seized Hunt. (hoeab)

@offtorivendell theorized that, like others gifted with Sight, Elain could use substances to amplify her powers if needed. It's possible she might be able to use herbs from her garden to pierce the veil and see clearly. She even smells like jasmine, a plant that—among many other things—induces prophetic dreams.

Healing

What can cure can also kill. (Rebecca Beyer, Wild Witchcraft)

In Midgard, we're told witches are seers, warriors, potion-makers, and healers. Healers, also known as medwitches, are the most visible and they have their own herb gardens. Their healing magic is even more powerful than the fae.

They were a strange, unique group, the witches. Though they looked like humans, their considerable magic and long lives marked them as Vanir, their power mostly passed through the female line. All of them deemed civitas. The power was inherited, from some ancient source that the witches claimed was a three-faced goddess, but witches did pop up in non-magical families every now and then. Their gifts were varied, from seers to warriors to potion-makers, but healers were the most visible in Crescent City. Their schooling was thorough and long enough that the young witch before him was unusual. She had to be skilled to be already working in a clinic when she couldn’t have been a day over thirty.

[…]

She gestured to the hall behind her, where sunlight leaked in through a glass door at its other end. “We have a courtyard garden. The day is fine enough that you could wait out there.”

[…]

Ruhn followed her down the hall, trying not to breathe in her eucalyptus-and-lavender scent too deeply. 

Don’t be a fucking creep. 

The sunlight tangled in her thick night-dark hair as she reached the courtyard door and shouldered it open, revealing a slate-covered patio surrounded by terraced herb gardens. The day was indeed lovely, the river breeze making the plants rustle and sway, spreading their soothing fragrances. (hoeab)

We now know this graceful healer is the Witch Queen, Hypaxia. Elain seems to share parallels with Hypaxia and her half-sister, the Hind (and her story about the forest witch). Hypaxia smells like plants that are used for healing and shows Ruhn out to their courtyard herb garden. Like the witches, Elain is gifted magic from an ancient source (the Cauldron, which is also part of a magical trio: Mother, Cauldron, Fate) and plants her own herbs in a courtyard garden. She smells of jasmine and honey, which have medicinal properties: one is used to improve sleep and the other is used to treat burns. 

The wise and peaceful medwitches in Midgard remind me of Crochan witches in Erilea, who were scattered to the winds and used healing to hide their heritage:

They were still out there, the self-righteous, insufferable Crochans, hiding as healers and wise-women. (hof)

We also witness extensive healing magic from humans blessed by Silba in Antica, and as I mentioned in forbidden secrets, they seem to share some pointed parallels with Elain as well.

It was broad, more of a keep than anything, but still rounded. Buildings flanked its sides, connected on lower levels. All enclosed by towering white walls, the iron gates—fashioned to look like an owl spreading its wings—thrown wide to reveal lavender bushes and flower beds lining the sand-colored gravel walkways. Not flower beds. Herb beds. (tod)

We learn that Maeve surrounded herself with healers because of the threat they pose to the Valg, and in the scene below, a Valg princess calls the healers Maeve's secret army:

“Why do you think Maeve has hoarded her healers, never allowing them to leave her patrolled borders? She knew we would return. She wanted to be ready—to protect herself. Her prized favorites, those Doranelle healers. Her secret army.” Duva hummed, motioning with the dagger to the necropolis. “How clever those Fae were, who escaped her clutches after the last war. They ran all the way here—the healers who knew their queen would keep them penned up like animals. And then they bred the magic into the land, into its people. Encouraged the right powers to rise up, to ensure this land would always be strong, defended. And then they vanished, taking their treasures and histories beneath the earth. Ensuring they were forgotten below, while their little garden was planted above.” (tod)

The fae healers bred magic into the land, into its people…then they vanished beneath the earth…forgotten…while their little garden was planted above. THEIR LITTLE GARDEN?! I've wondered elsewhere if Elain might heal the land, but what if, like Doranelle healers, Elain is weaving magic into the ground because of something she has Seen? What if she is endlessly toiling in her little gardens not just to restore life, but to cultivate the right magic to rise up and bloom, in defense of her family and the realm?

@offtorivendell has theorized that Elain might weaponize plants, like Ents, which would be so much fun to read. I would love to see her use (or sing to) living things around her, as @silverlinedeyes theorized, to uncover secrets and protect others (like a forest witch would). There are so many possibilities for how gardening will come into play in her story. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see her little gardens become secret weapons that are critical for the future. At the very least, we know that it has a symbolic purpose, as the quote I started this post with suggests: it is the lens through which we see Elain's evolution and role. Feyre starts the series believing this about her sister:

It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty. (acotar)

Then she sees her sister come alive in her garden, where she is able to exert control and create beautiful art with blooms. Her joy is infectious.

The little garden beneath the window was hers: every bloom and shrub had been picked and planted by her hand; she would allow no one else to care for it. Even the weeding and watering she did on her own. (acotar)

And we also see the moment when Feyre’s perspective shifts, and she begins to wonder if Elain prefers to get her hands dirty; if it's proof of her work.  

“Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy. (acofas)

We’re then reminded of this evolution in the Feysand bonus chapter:

I glowered at Rhys. “You think Elain’s boring?” 

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” 

“And torn up by thorns,” I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free. (feysand bonus)

It’s interesting that Feysand discuss Elain’s hands in their bonus chapter: gardeners often get their hands dirty for a pretty result (living art). And then, in Azriel's bonus, he thinks about how Elain couldn't possibly know how his hands have been sullied far beyond their scars (by his deadly art). Sully is a synonym for soil, which means to make dirty. Soil is often used to describe the upper layer of the earth where plants grow, bringing us full circle.

Sarah could run with this hand imagery in a few different ways, but it reminds me of someone else in another world who also bloodies their hand on a rosebush…

Dorian held up his bloodied hand. “Thornbush.” Rosebush made his cuts seem that much more pathetic.

“The hand is—very complex,” she murmured at last, studying the cuts. “I just wanted to make sure that nothing was damaged and that there weren’t any thorns lodged in there.” She swiftly added, “Your Highness.” (com)

Why do I keep coming back to Dorian? Although he is heavily involved with the witches in tog, he is not a witch. So what is he doing here? It will lead back to healers and witches so stay with me. Dorian evolves over the series and becomes a force to be reckoned with; his raw magic allows him to learn other types of magic, including how to shift and wield magical hands.

His hands trembled—and not just with fear. No, there was some force still running through him, begging him to unleash it again, to open himself up … Dorian crammed the last book back onto the shelf and took off at a run. He could tell no one. Trust no one. (com)

-

Chaol stared at Dorian in mute horror as his friend’s eyes glowed a deep, raging blue, and the prince snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch him.” The ice spread across the room, up the legs of the shocked guards, freezing over Sorscha’s blood, and Dorian got to his feet. He raised both hands, and light shimmered along his fingers, a cold breeze whipping through his hair. (com)

Anyone else think Dorian’s snarl sounds a lot like Elain’s snarled don’t touch my sister? Yeah, me too. In Seed of power, I wondered if Elain possessed raw magic like Dorian, and before I’m accused of giving her excessive powers, I think this might be the case for all three witchy sisters. They are blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match Rhysand whose power is described as raw. When Rhysand uses Feyre as a conduit in acowar, her magic comes out as raw, brutal power to weld the Cauldron back together. It reminds me of this:

"Once, the High Fae were more elemental, more given to reading the stars and crafting masterpieces of art and jewelry and weaponry. Their gifts were rawer, more connected to nature, and they could imbue objects with that power." (acosf)

Feyre welded the Cauldron and Nesta hammered swords, creating her own trove of nightmares. Elain will likely craft something with her magic as well, and it may be the other side of the coin to Nesta's nightmares: a trove of dreams. It could be witch mirrors hidden in ordinary jewelry, or even herbs with the power to heal and kill, if she can weaponize plants.

Now back to Dorian and the reason I mentioned him in the first place. He uses phantom hands, as @ladynightcourt3 has pointed out before:

Then those claws were pinned in the wood beneath phantom hands as Dorian sauntered over, face so unyieldingly unmoved. The Bloodhound thrashed, those claws trying to wrench free— The creature screamed as those invisible hands crunched down on bone. Then through it. […] It was not flame or wind that snapped the Bloodhound’s neck. But invisible hands. (eos) 

Interesting. This reminds me of another phantom hand, albeit a bit gentler:

And as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta’s back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore. A bargain. With the Cauldron itself. Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether. (acosf) 

This gentle, glowing hand intervenes on Nesta’s behalf, and it seems to be connected to the wise, soft voice.

A soft, familiar voice whispered the words. As they had been whispered to her long ago. As it had warned her in Oorid’s darkness. A lovely, kind female voice, sage and warm, which had been waiting for her all this time. (acosf)

This gentle hand and voice also seem like the Other Yrene bargains with in an important healing. The Other is most likely Silba, the goddess of healers and bringer of peace and gentle deaths, in Erilea. The one who is associated with owls and purple and healing magic. 

A woman’s voice that was both familiar and foreign. A voice that was both Hafiza’s and … another. Someone who was not human, never had been. Speaking through Hafiza herself, their voices blending into the blackness.

[…]

A daughter of Fenharrow will pay the debt of a son of Adarlan? 

Yes. 

She could have sworn a gentle, warm hand brushed her face.

[…]

The Other said, You offer this of your own free will? 

Yes. With my entire heart. 

It had been his from the start, anyway. Those loving, phantom hands brushed her cheek again and faded away.

[…]

The Other said, I chose well. You shall pay the debt, Yrene Towers. And I hope you shall see it for what it truly is. 

Yrene tried to speak. But light flared, soft and soothing. (tod)

The Other is not named, but it says it chose well and we know that Yrene was blessed with powers by Silba, so it seems likely that this is Silba’s voice. Interestingly, one of the healers also mentions Death:

Before Yrene could answer, Chaol demanded, “What cost?” 

A stillness crept over them, and even Yrene looked to Hafiza as the woman extracted herself from Eretia’s care. The Healer on High said quietly, “The damage was too great. Even with all of us…Death held you by the hand.” (tod)

This scene shares so many parallels with the Feysand rescue; it is a powerful healing with a high cost. We learn through Yrene that healers can sense when death is near, which is one of their less savory abilities. Death lurks near Feyre before Nesta uses the Trove, and that is when an otherworldly being looks out from her eyes. The Feysand healing would have taken place after the gods were banished from Erilea, and we did not actually witness their deaths. Is it possible the Mother is connected to Silba?

There is also a place beneath the Torre called Silba’s Womb where healers soak in natural spring waters in the form of dozens of tubs. The darkness Yrene senses in this underground cavern is connected to creation, rest and unformed thought, reminding me of Elain’s iron mental gates that are covered with sleeping buds, leaves, and thorns. This sleeping garden could be a hint for a dormant power like Dorian’s; when his sleeping power is awoken, it is described as something ancient and slumbering deep inside of him, and it opens an eye.

And the darkness above her … it was different from what she had spied in Lord Westfall’s body. The opposite of that blackness. The darkness above her was that of creation, of rest, of unformed thought. Yrene stared into it, into the womb of Silba herself. And could have sworn she felt something staring back. Listening, while she thought through all Lord Westfall had told her. (tod) 

Silba’s dark womb of creation is also eerily similar to the dark womb that Nesta senses in the depths of the library:

There was night, and there was the darkness of extinguishing a candle, and then there was this. Not only the true absence of light, but … a womb. The womb from which all life had come and would return, neither good nor evil, only dark, dark, dark. […] Her name drifted to her as if rising from the depths of some black ocean. […] The darkness pulsed, beckoning. (acosf)

The healing magic we see in tog reminds me quite a bit of the Cauldron, which is that dark womb Nesta mentioned. Healing light not only weaves things together, but devours darkness:

More of the world faded away. I am not afraid of you, Yrene said into the dark. And you have nowhere to run. Duva thrashed, trying to unseat Yrene's grip. Yrene pressed down harder on her chest. Time slowed and bent. She was dimly aware of the ache in her knees, the cramp in her back. Dimly aware of Sartaq and Kashin refusing to offer their position to someone else. Still Irene sent her magic flowing into Diva. Filling her with that devouring light. [...] "Utterly pathetic," Yrene repeated, her magic rallying behind her in a mighty, cresting white wave. "For a prince to prey on a helpless woman." The demon scrambled back against the wave, clawing at the dark as if it would tunnel through Duva. Yrene pushed forward. Let her wave fall.

Yrene's tidal wave of light devours the dark of the Valg like the thread of Hope piercing the Void. The language is similar to the wave imagery of the Cauldron and Elain’s white void when she is overcome by despair and strange new powers. If her void is not the typical dark nothingness but white, could her healing power be opalescent light that devours the darkness? As bright as the sunstone palace of Dawn that holds the light of a thousand suns, piercing the shadows of night each morning?

If Silba and the Mother are connected (one and the same, or part of the same consciousness of formless, higher beings), could Elain—a seer with theoretical raw magic that can heal and destroy and everything in between—act as their watchful guardian, an otherworldly bird of prey?

Even though it perched atop a gnarled branch of iron that flowed across the door itself, wings flared wide as it prepared to leap into the skies, it seemed … alert. Aware of all who passed that door, who perhaps gazed too long in the direction of the workshop. (tod)

Perhaps time and space also work differently for her, as they do for the Ancients.

Next: The Ancients, or Elain’s connection to ancient witches.

Series: seer. wise woman. witch.

[soap-lady]

Here you go

@fantasiame, @g-arya, @lavenderjunes, @charlietheepic7, @ahenix, @delectablycoolscientist, @kaseykay17, @vio-march-0327, @mewwitch, @vixen-uchiha, @coolspidermanmusicflower, @lady-bee-fechin, @raeuberprinzessin, @symwinter, @frieddonutsweets, @seraphkitty, @friendsofthefairies, @nickristus-dreamer, @khneltea, @jumpingjoy82, @fan-written,  @woe-is-me0,@corporeal-terrestrial, @queenmjean, @theymakeupfairies, @dorkus-minimus, @idk-j-go-with-it, @aespades, @swiftie-miraculer13

Worthy Opponent Chapter 24

Felicity looked over at Barry’s plate, doing nothing to hide her disgust. “I can’t believe you’re going to eat such disgusting garbage. How can you even move after that? British cuisine was clearly based on a dare.”

“Nonsense, my dear Flick,” he responded as he sliced up his black pudding while looking her straight in the eye, “a brain such as mine needs fuel for the long haul, not some carbohydrate nightmare that wouldn’t leave a bird alive. And you have no right to criticize my country’s food when you’ve been known to eat snails. ” He smirked at her “continental breakfast” and she scowled at him.

“Jokes on you, Barrington. The average bird can eat twice its own weight.” She looked at Elinor for support but she was too busy feeding bits of baguette covered in Nutella to Seabert. She muttered under her breath, “If Jayden were here he’d back me up.”

“Nah, Jayden is still carrying on a torrid love affair with his laptop,” Jack plunked down his plate beside Felicity’s and across from Barry. “They’ll make beautiful apps together.”

Felicity paused her argument with Holmes to look at Watson’s plate. What she saw shocked her. “Jack, darling…what the hell is that?”

“This?” Jack pointed proudly at the jumble of eggs, bacon, potatoes and cheese on his plate. “In America, we call this a ‘breakfast skillet’. It has all the protein and carbs I need. Plus cheese.”

“So…Americans disguise their horrible food with cheese?” Felicity asked. She could almost imagine poor Jack’s arteries hardening. She made a mental note to offer a cup of fruit and perhaps some Scottish oats the next day.

Barry just shook his head. His poor Watson, forced to eat something so revolting for eight years. He’d teach his partner about good hearty English food once he had the chance.

What they were thinking must have shown on their face because Jack glared at both of them. “Hey. Eat my ass.”

“Buy me dinner first!” Felicity retorted before Barry could open his mouth.

Anything Watson might have said in reply was interrupted by the intercom system.

The Headmaster’s voice was heard. Holmes noted he sounded tired and stressed. His words were clipped and his delivery was wooden. “Attention, faculty and students. At this time I would like for all of you to make your way to the assembly hall. No dawdling. Anyone caught skiving off will be disciplined, no exceptions. That is all.”

The speaker cut off and the trio stared at each other then around the room. All of the other students were dutifully putting down their utensils and making their way to the assembly hall. Felicity all but dragged Jack to his feet and hauled him away towards the exit. All Barry could do was follow silently as he contemplated the changes in their group dynamic.

He decided he didn’t like it.

                                               *****

The Headmaster stood on stage and waited until all the Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds and Spades grouped themselves according to their class (Spades near the front, naturally) and took their seats. They whispered among themselves until he approached the podium and gently tapped the microphone.

Everyone quieted down and once there was silence he spoke.

“It seems as if both a year and a mere moment has passed since I last stood here and told you all of the sad death of our beloved Professor Akunin.”

He allowed everyone to murmur “Rest In Peace” or something similar before continuing.

“And as you may remember, in a few weeks we were slated to have our annual Founders’ Ball, where we celebrate the coming together of the greatest detectives the world has ever known.”

There was more murmuring a bit of applause. He waited again.

“Thus, it is my sorrowful duty to announce that I am recommending to the Board that the Ball be canceled this year.”

The Headmaster was no doubt expecting applause and polite agreement. He would be disappointed.

There were some relieved sighs and some surprised gasps but most of the crowd seemed displeased.

“That’s not fair!”

“I already bought my dress!”

“The professor would want us to carry on.”

“Oui!”

The students were very quickly turning against the Headmaster and a few professors approached the podium, intent on speaking with him.

Judging by their body language the Headmaster had neglected to discuss his decision with the rest of the staff. Dissent among the professors would spread to the students and then they’d have a riot to quell. Or worse, mass detentions. This wouldn’t do.

Well, Barry was a Spade. More than that, he was a direct descendant of Sherlock Holmes and if their student body had a leader, surely it was him. He opened his mouth to speak up.

Felicity beat him to it. She left her seat and made her way to the stage.

The Headmaster seemed too surprised to chastise her. “Have you something to say on the matter, Miss Dupin?”

She nodded. “Forgive the interruption, but I do. Is it alright if I approach the podium?”

Jack’s eyebrows rose and he looked at Barry. He knew “Filly” had a high class education and probably an etiquette tutor but he’d never heard her sound so formal and posh.  It made him feel a little unpolished and grubby in comparison.

Holmes stared right back then up at Dupin. Felicity looked…he believed the Americans used the term “badass”. Her posture was ladylike and respectful, yet not to be ignored. It was…rather attractive if he were being honest.

The Headmaster  nodded and she walked up to him. She had her hands clasped together, the only sign Barry could find that she was nervous at all. Felicity began to speak into the mic.

“With all due respect to you, sir, and with the greatest respect to Professor Akunin, I, as a Legacy student, refuse to be scared off by some nameless faceless…criminal,” Barry could tell she had wanted to use a stronger word, “I want the ball to be held as scheduled. I’m not about to allow my ancestor to be dishonored either.”

There was a buzz of approval among the students and maybe even a professor or two. Barry couldn’t help a small grin of endorsement. The ball had to go on for their plan to lure out the murderer or murderers to work. He was sure they wouldn’t be able to resist sneaking on campus; the school always hired additional help to prepare for the ball and he and his friends were laying a trap. Jayden would no doubt have his extra surveillance prepared to catch them or just gather evidence. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being bait but neither could he ask one of his friends to do it.

There was some applause and cheers of support before the Headmaster broke in. “I can’t allow my students to expose themselves to danger!” he protested. He looked at Felicity, who was doing her best to look brave and stoic. “Miss Dupin, it would grieve me if anything were to happen to one of our Legacy students such as yourself of course, but I feel the same way about all the students who attend here.” He indicated the entire student body with a sweep of his arm. “All of them are important and precious to me and it is my duty to protect you. How could I look any of your parents in the face and tell them that one of you was harmed?”

The man looked genuinely worried and sad, no doubt thinking about his failure to protect one of his staff. Barry felt a stab of pity for the man, even though his caution, even for the best of reasons, was screwing up their plan. He opened his mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted for the second time in ten minutes.

A young girl with waist-length chestnut hair glided her way up the stage and near the podium. She pointed at the microphone and Felicity looked at her, shrugged, then stepped back. Holmes blinked once or twice, then focused on the new speaker.

Irene Adler.

“I think Felicity has a good point, Headmaster,” the girl smiled at Dupin, who tried not to look shocked at her surprise ally. Adler also smiled at the headmaster. “But you also make a good point about protecting the students and how parents would react. So, what about a vote?”

The room buzzed again as everyone began whispering, asking each other what Irene could possibly mean by a “vote”. Barry felt his esteem for the girl rise slightly.

Irene went on to explain. “Everyone here has a school email address, right? Even if they prefer to use their own personal one.” She turned to the Headmaster, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. “There are all sorts of websites that make polls. You could set up a poll where everyone could vote whether or not they wanted a ball or not. Then you could send a link to everyone’s school email address and everyone could vote anonymously. No hard feelings.”

There were some mutterings of agreement and excitement but Barry could tell not everyone was convinced. He was sure he could do something to rally the undecided and racked his brains for an idea.

“That’s…rather brilliant, Miss Adler,” The Headmaster praised Irene. “Better yet, it’s completely fair. Attendance will not be mandatory for anyone!” He addressed the crowd and there were a few cheers.

“Say, Watson,” Holmes began but the other boy was up on his feet and dashing up to the stage.

Jack grabbed the microphone before anyone could stop him. “Hey, I’m Jack Watson if you haven’t met me yet. How’s it going? Anyway, maybe the school could arrange a field trip to a concert or a theme park for any and all students who don’t want to go to the big ball.” The stage lights were bright but Jack could see a few heads nodding along with his idea. “That way, everyone gets to do some fun sh…stuff,” he amended and there was a louder round of applause for Watson.

The Headmaster looked a bit ruffled that the problem was getting solved without his approval or input but most of the student body seemed to agree with the ideas the teenagers had put forward and he really didn’t want to offend three Legacy students, two of which were children of the founding families. He sighed and gave up.

“Very well. We shall do as you three have suggested.” He addressed the crowd with all the authority of a man trying to pretend they were all his ideas. “We shall continue with the ball if a majority of the students vote for it and anyone who does not can sign up anonymously for a field trip to be determined later.” He accepted the mic back from Watson and placed it back in its stand. “Due to all this excitement and the disruption to the usual schedule, morning classes are canceled. You may all go back to the cafeteria where the staff will be pleased to serve fresh meals to anyone who hasn't had a chance to eat. After that, you may consider the rest of your morning as a free study period. Afternoon classes will continue as scheduled after lunch. Dismissed.”

He and the professors left the stage, no doubt to tell the cafeteria staff they were now pulling double duty. The students milled about as they talked excitedly among themselves and slowly made their way to the cafeteria or their dorms.

Barry sat in his seat and watched Jack and Felicity walking together, hopefully towards him.  He caught Irene staring at them and then back at him. He swore the look on her face was pity. “Well, I suppose no one needs me around, do they?” he muttered to himself. He sighed and pulled himself to his feet. No more sulking for him. He had a plan to put together.

                                               *****

“Cut!” Amelie called out. The crew clapped around her. “All in one take! My darlings, you’re brilliant. Victor, you’re a star!”

“Well I do my best,” Victor bowed and made his way to his dressing room.

“Well done, Lila,” Amelie smiled at her and the girl found herself blushing involuntarily. She loved praise, almost more than she loved attention. Especially sincere praise. Plus, there was something about the way Amelie smiled at her that made her want to do a good job, not just climb the social ladder.

“Thank you so much, Amelie,” Lila smiled and for once since she’d known the girl, it wasn’t artificial and self-serving, but surprised and pleased. “I’m starting to really get inside Irene’s head. She’s so much more complex than I realized.”

Amelie smiled again, feeling ever so slightly guilty for the first time. Lila had done something to Allen the other children refused to discuss fully and thus they’d insisted she keep making Lila’s part smaller. Now she wondered if she should give the young woman another chance. Perhaps if she continued to do well they could find a larger part for her on the next Graham Films production.

Ah, there was nothing more thrilling to Amelie than developing new talent.

Gio came up behind Lila and ran a hand over her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Didn’t I tell you?” he whispered, “all you have to do is show everyone what you’re truly capable of. Now everyone can see how talented you are.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I should always listen to you. You give the best advice.”

For a moment she allowed herself to dream of fame and fortune again. Accolades she’d earned honestly. Recognition that didn’t depend on claiming to know celebrities and snagging a trophy boyfriend. Her fame as a model depended on staying in Gabriel Agreste’s good graces and he could take everything back any time he wished. If she’d earned her way with hard work and talent, no one could take that from her. Not unless she well and truly screwed up.  Once she was rich and famous enough she’d hire a financial advisor to help her invest in funds and then she could live off the interest if she were careful.

Amelie clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention and Lila pulled herself out of her daydreams. “Exciting news, everyone! Mrs. Jennings and our own little Marinette have completed the costumes for the ball and are ready for fittings. I’m going to ask the ladies of the principal cast to follow either Mrs. Jennings or Marinette to the Wardrobe Department. Adults with Mrs. Jennings and younger ladies with Marinette. Chloe will be there to take pictures so keep your makeup camera ready.”

“No nudes,” Chloe assured everyone. Yeah, she could be a bitch but not when someone was at their most vulnerable physically. Well, not anymore.

“Boo!” yelled one of the male extras.

“Boo!” chorused one of the female extras.

Amelie gave them both a look of disappointment, somehow picking them both out of the crowd. “Really, this isn’t that kind of production. Dignity and consent at all times.”

She waited until the room was calm again and continued. “Step lively, ladies. Gentlemen, we’ll be dividing into two groups. Group A will shoot a scene with most of the Spades and the Headmaster about their findings on the case so far. Group B will be secondary characters like Marlowe and Charles IV discussing what the ball could mean for the investigation and whether it will draw out the killer or just get everyone in one place to be slaughtered. Off you pop.”

The men and boys grumbled good naturedly but none the less went off to prepare the next scene. Lila was about to follow them when she was stopped by Amelie.

“Aren’t you going to attend your fitting, dear?” the woman asked.

“But I thought I was just…” Lila stopped and Amelie watched as comprehension settled over the girl’s face. “Oh!” She reacted with genuine surprise. She was being included with the main cast? Not some rented gown or something from stores but a dress designed specifically for her?

She danced a little in place before remembering Marinette had designed her gown. Someone who saw through her and hated her. Someone who could do anything she wanted and not have to face the consequences. She had power over her and Lila hated it. It was quite the role reversal than their old college dynamic.

She forced herself to relax and smile at Amelie. “On my way! Thank you!” She turned away and practically raced after the other girls on her way to the Wardrobe Department. Marinette wouldn’t do anything to her. She was a coward and would never risk looking bad to Amelie. She had nothing to worry about.

Amelie chuckled to herself once everyone was out of earshot. Yes, Miss Rossi was worth watching.

                                                  *****

“Marinette! I love it!” Mylene twirled around the room in her ball dress. “I was afraid it would be too formal and hard to dance  in but it’s so flowy and easy to move in. It’s just my style!” She rubbed the material between her fingers. ���It feels like silk.”

Marinette smiled and nodded at her friend. “I didn’t think Victorian fashion would suit you but bohemian chic would.” She laughed. “Well, boho chic with hints of haute couture. I was inspired by your braids and went with a rainbow dip-dyed material. Sustainable cotton sateen, which is vegan of course. It’s a great alternative to synthetics. ”

Mylene nearly cried and hugged her friend for her thoughtfulness. “It’s perfect,” she let her go and stepped away. “I should probably take it off before I ruin it.”

“Not quite yet. I want to adjust the hemline. It’s a little too long and I don’t want you to have to wear heels if you don’t want to.”

Mylene looked thoughtfully at her reflection. “I was thinking this dress would look cute in matching low-heeled sandals.”

Marinette blinked and adjusted her thinking. “That could work. Do you mind standing on the platform, please?”

Her friend did as asked and Marinette marked the hemline accordingly and began to pin it up. “Is this too high, do you think?”

Mylene looked at her reflection. “A little. Would a centimeter lower be alright?”

The designer made the adjustment. “Right here?”

“I think so.”

She readjusted her pins and together they looked at Mylene’s reflection. “You know what, Mademoiselle Actress? I think it’s perfect.”

“I think so too.”

Mylene let Marinette help her off the dressmaker’s platform and looked over to where Chloe was quietly taking pictures.

The blonde lowered her camera and looked at them. “I got all the shots I needed. Mylene can change now.”

“Thank you, Chloe,” Marinette had decided she’d be professional as long as Chloe was and so far it was proving to be the right decision. “I can’t wait to see the finished book.”

Mylene straightened her back and surprised everyone by giving her former bully a small but confident smile. “Marinette’s designs are so good. You should probably commission her to make you a dress for the premiere while she’s still available.”

Chloe didn’t say anything at first but managed half a toothless smile. “Maybe.” She pretended not to see the other girls staring at her wide-eyed. “I need a new memory card. I’m going to go grab one real quick before you let Rossi in here.”

                                                        *****

Lila approached the Wardrobe Department with more than a little nervousness. She tried to tell herself it was just Marinette but that thought didn’t reassure her like it used to.  Despite her best efforts at manipulating the situation (or straight-up attempted second degree murder), Lila was still a nobody. It galled her that everyone thought Marinette was so wonderful and sweet. But unlike school, Lila’s usual tricks didn’t work on actual rich and famous teens with connections of their own. They didn’t even work on Adrien now that he was dating The Ice Queen.

They’d never worked on Felix. Even if she hadn’t alienated his friends, he was smarter and more perceptive than his cousin. Damn him. Now she had to be very careful because she was sure he suspected her involvement in Marinette’s near deaths. Oh, and his but he was just collateral damage. Her main target had been Marinette.

She carefully assumed a tranquil demeanor, took a deep breath, and opened the door to the Wardrobe Department with a wide smile.

Inside she found organized chaos as interns rushed from dressing room to dressing room with heaps of garment bags, tape measures, and various sewing tools she didn’t recognize. She felt horribly lost and out of place, a feeling she hated, until a young woman who introduced herself as Sophie led her to a room.

Sophie opened the door for her and ushered her inside. Lila smiled in thanks and Sophie gave her a weird half-smile before leaving and closing the door behind her. Great. Now the crew didn’t like or trust  her either. She didn’t actually care about them but she made a mental note to be even more careful what she said or did on set. She wasn’t famous yet and couldn’t risk rumors of bad behavior. Only stars got to act like divas without reproach.

To her surprise the person waiting for her wasn’t some intern or even one of Sra. Jennings’ assistants but Marinette herself. She forced herself not to smirk but having the girl who had somehow stolen everything she wanted waiting on her was hilarious.

“Marinette!” she chirped. “It’s so good to see you! I’m so happy you designed a dress for me! I can’t wait to see it!”

The other smiled and Lila was surprised to see she didn’t look upset to see her like she expected. It could be because of Marinette’s newly acquired acting skills or she was just more comfortable when designing. Lila couldn’t wait to see the gown so she could make Marinette look mean and petty by complaining about how unflattering the dress was. She wouldn't put it past the little wannabe to design something hideous and expect Lila to wear it.

Marinette just continued to smile, looking calm and professional. “I hope you like it, Lila. I designed it not just for your character , but with you in mind as well.”

Lila blinked, temporarily at a loss for words. She had expected Marinette would have designed something for her character. It was, quite literally, her job. But to hear that she’d also taken Lila herself into account when designing? It made her feel…almost warm.

Someone cleared their throat and Lila turned her head away from Marinette and towards the sound.

Sitting with her legs crossed and a camera on her lap was Chloe Bourgeois. Joy. Another person with too much influence and far too much money. Someone who also hated her guts and would cheerfully have her shot into the sun. Or just…deported.

“Oh, Chloe!” She pretended to be surprised. “Still taking pictures for the making -of book? How wonderful for you!”

The blonde looked at her from under her lashes with a “duh” look on her face. Lila continued to smile, because she was sure it would piss the other girl off.

“Um…anyway…” Marinette walked over to a rack containing a single garment bag. (She had insisted that every dress for the Founders’ Ball scene be stored separately and under lock and key. She told Mme. Jennings it was to prevent leaks to the press but it was really to prevent sabotage.) “It’s time to have your dress fitted.”

She unzipped the bag and gently pulled out the dress. Lila clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping. She was all ready to act offended and Marinette had unknowingly thwarted her.

The dress was a beautiful dark green that shimmered under the fluorescent lights. It was long with a full skirt and cinched waist. It had a high winged collar, long sleeves,  and a v-neck that would show off her collar bone without being too revealing. She studied her reflection in the full length 360 degree mirror.  It was absolutely gorgeous, but…

Lila pouted and tried to make herself look pitiful. “It’s…not orange.”

Chloe huffed and muttered something about someone being ungrateful under her breath.

Marinette just smiled. “The dress is made from Georgette silk from a cruelty-free company. I know your favorite color is orange but I thought the color would enhance your hair and skin tone. Not to mention making your eyes pop.” Her smile seemed genuinely encouraging and not mocking at all.

She held out the dress to Lila. “Just try it on first before you decide. Some clothes look different on the hanger than they will on a person.”

Lila dearly wanted to say no but something made her nod. It did look like a pretty dress and she’d never worn Georgette silk before. The material alone must have cost a fortune and that by itself made her want to try it on.

She gingerly took the dress from Marinette, who hadn’t lost her smile as she pointed towards another door. “There’s a private changing room right there. Don’t worry, no one will watch you change.”

“Not even Chloe?” Lila asked and tried to sound timid.

“Don’t insult me,” Chloe’s reply was lazy, like she didn’t care. Marinette gave Lila a thumbs up and Lila turned on her heel to get changed.

It was time to see if Marinette was even one-quarter of the designer she made herself out to be.

                                                      *****

She had once prided herself on her ability to read people. It was important to know how to manipulate them once she knew what they wanted, feared, or loved. Marinette had been mostly easy to figure out. She had a strong sense of justice bordering on self-righteousness, was in love with Adrien Agreste and wanted to be a designer like Gabriel Agreste.

Well, she was still self-righteous, had given up on Adrien and Gabriel was a fool for not offering this girl an internship.

Marinette had been right, the dress was perfect for her.

The color made her skin glow and brought out the auburn highlights in her hair. Her olive eyes did indeed pop. The sleeves were too long and the waist didn’t suit her but damn if she wouldn’t ask to take this dress home with her once production was over.

Damn, she couldn’t believe that Marinette Dupain-Cheng of all people was going to humble her into saying the other girl was right.

“Lila? Are you alright? Come on out. I want to check the fit.”

She looked into the mirror one more time and did a twirl for herself. The skirt swirled around her legs nicely. “Coming!”

Lila knew she must look good by the way Chloe’s eyes widened and Marinette clasped her hands together with glee. “You look great!”

Chloe remembered why she was there and began to take pictures. “The dark color really suits a mysterious character like Adler is supposed to be.”

“And the design is sophisticated, like Adler, but still age appropriate. I also chose a material shot with gold thread. It’ll catch the light as you dance.” Marinette noted, even if she seemed surprised Chloe had said anything positive.

Marinette turned her back to Chloe and began asking Lila questions. “How does the fabric feel? Too heavy? Is the hem too long? I adjusted it because your character would probably wear at least low heels to the ball. Is there anything else you’d like to alter?”

Lila was taken aback, not just by the rapid fire questions but the fact she was receiving any positive attention from people she knew hated her. “Um…” she thought for a moment and surprised herself by being honest. “The sleeves are too long. Could I have them cut back to my elbows?”

“Three-quarters instead of full sleeves. Got it.” Marinette made a note on her phone and looked back at Lila expectantly.

Lila pulled at the waist. “Could you take-in the waist? It seems a little loose. I’d really like the dress to enhance my figure a little more. If you don’t mind!” She added hastily. She looked down and tried to appear pitiful to needle the girl. Old habits die hard.

Marinette didn’t take the bait and Chloe didn’t comment. The designer grabbed a few pins from something on her wrist and made adjustments. “How is it now?”

“Yes. It’s a better fit without being too tight.” Lila was impressed; Marinette hadn’t even tried to poke her. “But…it needs something.”

Chloe frowned as she continued to snap photos but Marinette’s brow furrowed in thought. Suddenly she brightened. “A belt! A belt made from cork and then covered with the same material the dress is made from!” The designer’s eyes almost glowed as she thought up ideas. She shook her head and focused on Lila. “Maybe the belt buckle could be covered in crystals…and a matching necklace, maybe some earrings.” She looked at Lila. “Is all that okay with you? I was thinking you could wear your hair up and we could put in some crystal hair accessories. I’m thinking of stars or flowers.”

“Um…flowers,” Lila decided. Requesting stars might make her look egotistical and she didn’t think that was a good idea.

Marinette just made another note in her phone. “That’s it for now. Just take the dress off carefully and hang it up. I’ll get started on the changes in the next few days.”

Lila didn’t go anywhere at first. Instead, she continued to stare at Marinette. Even Chloe stopped taking pictures for a few minutes.

Marinette blinked at the other girl. “Is something wrong? Was there something else you wanted to change?”

“Um,” Lila stammered, and not for effect, “I…I thought you didn’t like me.”

The designer blinked, looking surprised. “Why should that matter right now?” Lila reared back in surprise and waited for the girl to continue.

Chloe put the camera in her lap and flexed her fingers. This could be interesting.

Marinette sighed then took a deep breath to steady herself. “Look, Lila. We’ll probably never be friends.” Because I think you’ve tried to kill me twice. Oh, and there was all that crap you did to me last year. “But I’m a professional. I would never do less than my best for anyone, no matter what our personal relationship might be.”

“Aunt Amelie says a true professional never mixes personal vendettas with work,” Chloe put in.

The other two girls ignored her and Marinette continued.

“Besides, I think acting is a good career path for you,” she almost smiled at Lila, shocking her. “You have some natural charisma, something every actor needs, and to be honest, your acting has improved as production’s gone on.”

Lila blushed despite herself at the praise. Victor and Gio had been giving her acting lessons with some occasional input by Anna. Even Felix would nod in approval after one of her scenes. Now to have the girl she hated praising her? It was amazing and warmed her more than she ever thought it could. It must have killed Marinette to admit Lila was actually good at something, so her good opinion meant more to Lila than anyone else’s.

Lila fiddled with one of her hair ties, an old habit from when she was nervous as a little girl. “Well…I mean, a model’s career can be measured in months, whereas a good actress can work for decades. Like Meryl Streep.”

Chloe snorted. “Uh, please. Don’t compare yourself to her. Slow your roll, Rossi.”

Marinette didn’t comment on what the blonde said but smiled at Lila. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with having a goal or someone you want to emulate.” She chuckled. “And you could definitely do worse than an actress who’s won multiple awards.”

Lila herself would rather compare herself to Catherine Deneuve or Ornella Muti. But the American Actress would do. She refused to admit to herself that she panicked when trying to think of an actress with a long and respected career.

She allowed herself to dream of a better life, one she’d earned and deserved. Something she’d built on her own and couldn’t be taken away from her on Gabriel Agreste’s whim. She didn’t want any of these people’s friendship (except maybe Gio) but she would gladly accept their respect.

It was kind of funny,  she thought later as she was changing, all I had to do was use my natural skills for good and even Marinette Dupain-Cheng would praise me.

Yes…with time and a little work, not to mention a future designer to make her look good, she could finally have it all.

                                                              *****

“Claude? Aren’t you going to come out and show us?”

“Give me a minute, Mari-dear. I’ve never tied a cravat before. This is why men used to have valets to help them dress.”

Claude slid the curtain open and walked out. Only Marinette and Chloe were there as promised. Ostensibly this was to keep the costumes from being leaked online but also Claude was surprisingly shy when it came to trying new things.

“Okay, Claude, so how does it…fit?”

Marinette broke off and stared at Claude. Chloe nearly fumbled her camera but was able to regain her composure before her friend or…Marinette saw that she’d lost it. She started snapping photos as Claude stared at his reflection in the full-length 360 degree mirror.

Claude looked amazing, much better than she could have ever imagined when she dreamed up his design. The dark gray tailcoat had a swallowtail cut and was decorated with three diagonally placed gold buttons that went from the bottom of the lapels to the bottom of the waist. The waistcoat underneath was eggplant purple in a subtle diamond Harlequin pattern with a matching cravat tied in a bow. She had kept the buff colored  trousers simple and plain so they wouldn’t detract from the rest of the outfit. The shirt was simple and white for the same reason.

Marinette couldn’t handle the suspense. “Well?!”

“This…this isn’t anything I’d choose for myself. Not in a million years.” The designer’s shoulders began to droop before Claude hastily added, “But it looks great on me!” He twisted from one side to the other. “I look so…” He lifted his chin. “Elegant and classy. Kind of formal but with style and flare. Purple is Allegra’s color. Did you know that?” He looked at Marinette over his shoulder and smiled before going back to admiring his image in the mirror.

“Yeah. I knew that.” Marinette was relieved to know he liked what he saw. “She told me and I wanted to coordinate your outfits but I also thought the darker purple would bring out your eyes.”

“And you were right!” He approached Marinette as if about to hug her then stopped. “It’s probably not a good idea to hug you while wearing this fancy outfit.”

“I’ll mark you down for a hug later.” She told him and then asked, “how is the fit? Too tight”? Is there anything you don’t like or want adjusted?”

He looked down. “The pants are a little long. I don’t want to trip while wearing them. Could you raise the hem? Maybe a centimeter or so?”

She made a note on her phone. “No problem.”

Chloe gave him a nod of approval. “Looking good, Claude.”

He bowed to her and then straightened. “Wow, this is really easy to move in! I thought it would be all…” He made a vague hand gesture. “Stiff and itchy, and completely black and white.”

Marinette laughed. “We have better fabric than they did back then. Plus, we’re just going for the aesthetic of the time period, not total accuracy.  And the black and white evening wear was more Victorian while your outfit was inspired by Regency fashion. Besides,” she smiled up at him. “You have way too much personality for black and white.”

“That’s more Felix’s style than mine anyway.” Chloe raised a brow at the insult to their friend but didn’t comment.

“Oh! One more thing,” Claude looked nervous  “Could I have a hat? A top hat? That would be cool.”

Marinette pretended to make a note but she was already working on one. “As long as you don’t wear it while dancing.”

He pouted at her but she wouldn’t fall for his big blue eyes. “All right, you’re done. Go change.”

Claude hopped down from the platform but added, “Okay, but don’t forget my hat.”

“Don’t be an ass, Claude,” Chloe told him and then recoiled as she glanced over and realized he hadn’t shut the curtain.

“Gah! I didn’t mean I wanted to see your ass, you exhibitionist!”

                                                  *****

“Wait, you did what?” Allegra paused while dressing. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Marinette glared over at a smug, unrepentant Chloe. The photographer had texted Allegra a sneak peek of Lila’s dress.

Allegra couldn’t believe it. The Italian girl had tried to kill Marinette twice. Both times Felix had nearly been collateral damage. Rossi should be forced to wear the scratchiest dress Marinette could make. Instead the little psycho was being rewarded for her shitty behavior by wearing a damn fine dress for the ball scene.

“Oh wow, Allegra, it’s like I’m a professional designer or something.” Marinette rolled her eyes.

“You’re an intern,” Chloe reminded her.

“An intern creating original costumes for a major motion picture,” Marinette shot back, “so I must be doing something right.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. Damn, Dupain-Cheng had really found her spine between moving on from Adrien and getting out from under Bustier’s thumb.

“Yeah, but-” Allegra began.

“The point is,” Marinette cut her off and pointed to the door. Chloe nodded. Anyone could be eavesdropping and they couldn’t afford to tip off their prey or cause an akuma if an angry crewmember went after Lila. Again. “I never do less than my best for anyone. I don’t want anyone I design for to look bad, no matter what our personal relationship is.”

Chloe texted Allegra and the other girl dropped the subject. Time to finish dressing anyway.

Allegra wished the dressing room had a mirror but oh well. She slid back the curtain and stepped out. She caught a glimpse of herself in the 360 degree mirror and her jaw dropped.

“Holy shit.”

She wasn’t sure if it were she, Marinette or Chloe who said that. She looked from her reflection to the designer and back again. “You know what? Forget anything I said about you making a nice dress for Lila. Mine is at least four times better.”

“Hell yeah it is,” Chloe picked up her camera and began taking pictures of Allegra from as many angles as she could.

The dress was a strapless lilac organza dress with a tulle overlay. The tulle was artfully draped over the skirt in gentle folds that gave the dress an almost Grecian look. There were also silver dove appliques on the skirt and bodice and gathered at the waist to look like a belt.

Goddammit she was gonna slay. She found herself wishing Alii could see her right now but the kwami was in her locker for safekeeping. She would not risk her being stolen by someone like Lila…or freaking Marinette out with a mini unicorn.

Allegra patted the material of the skirt. “No offense, but…is this supposed to be so stiff and heavy?” She hoped she wasn’t offending Marinette. They were just starting to become some sort of friends and she didn’t want to be the one to screw that up.

Instead of being offended Marinette just grinned. “Look under the flowers around your waist.”

Allegra did and to her surprise, she found a bunch of snaps. She undid each one and the skirt of the dress fell away,  making Allegra glad Marinette had insisted she wear workout shorts under the dress. The underside was full of pockets, some large, some small. One was long and skinny, just the perfect size to hide a sword.

“Elinor is the group’s weapons expert and since you’re expected to fight near the end of the ball scene I thought it would be a good idea for your character to have some built-in weapons pockets. That’s why the dress is as long as it is. She can wear a pair of trousers and some athletic shoes or maybe what the Americans call ‘cargo pants’ so she can carry all her weapons while running or something.”

It was on the tip of Chloe’s tongue to tell Marinette she was brilliant but she wasn’t in the habit of giving compliments to people. Especially someone she used to bully. Fortunately Allegra beat her to it.

“That is completely freaking brilliant!” Allegra praised and Marinette just smiled and shrugged.

“Thanks. The hardest part was making sure the material was sturdy enough to support the weight of anything we put in the pockets and to hide the trousers.” Marinette laughed, pleased to see Allegra appreciated her skills. “At the same time, it had to be light enough so you could move and dance in it.”

Allegra did a twirl and then a few moves she’d seen in a Bik Bok video. “It looks like you succeeded.” She reattached the skirt with Marinette’s and then looked at the other girl as a thought occurred to her. “You know, I think you might consider a degree in architecture or engineering instead of fashion.”

Marinette smiled but also looked thoughtful. “You know, I’ve considered both of those fields. But fashion is what I love right now. I can always change my mind in the future.”

“No, don’t, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe spoke up with a touch of her old snottiness, “become a designer. Save us from the mediocre crap Gabriel has become.”

Marinette burst out laughing. It made Allegra smile to see the other girls bonding, even if she didn’t understand the reference. She knew Felix’s uncle was Gabriel Agreste and he was an asshole but she never really liked his designs. Well, it wasn’t like the Quantic Kids didn’t have their little secrets and in-jokes as well.

Chloe also laughed, a small little chuckle but Allegra still counted it as a laugh. She was glad to see her new friend was trying to overcome her past and be nicer to Marinette. There was also a possibility Marinette could learn to forgive her bully and they could all be friends.

Marinette shook her head. “I used to look up to that man until I got to know him a little better. Besides, why does a world-famous designer…”

“Dress like a giant peppermint stick?” Chloe finished for her and the two girls looked at each other before laughing their asses off.

Allegra grinned and headed back to the dressing room. It was a shame the Heraldry Box was missing so many kwami. She was sure Marinette would have made a great Knight.

                                                      *****

Ivan looked in the 360-degree mirror one more time and did a double bicep pose, admiring his reflection. The leather frock coat with silver thread embroidery made his muscular frame look even more intimidating. Marinette thought the dark silver vest and black shirt looked good on him. She thought adding scrollwork to the hems of the sleeves really made them pop. Ivan would make a beautiful contrast when he danced with Mylene.

Ivan seemed to agree. “I look like a Goth pirate!” He looked down at the vest. “I really like how the buttons are little metal skulls. How did you get Madame Jennings to agree to let you do that?”

She laughed. “Are you kidding? They were her idea.” She grinned at the amazed look on her friend’s face. “She’s a closet death metal fan. I lent her your Vyson CD and she loved it.”

“Wow!” Ivan looked impressed.

She held out a hand. “You look a little stiff.”

He carefully lifted his arms. “It’s a little tight on the shoulders.”

She nodded. “I thought so. It looks like you had another growth spurt. Let me adjust the jacket.”

Marinette re-measured her friend then let him go back into the dressing room. After changing into his street clothes he gave her a smile and the silent Chloe a semi-civil nod before leaving.

She looked over at Chloe. “Do you need a bathroom break? Maybe some water or a snack?”

Chloe just blinked. She knew they were allies against Lila and Felix had started to like Marinette but having her former target be nice to her made her feel awkward, not to mention guilty.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” she told Marinette. It makes me feel bad.

“I know,” Marinette stuck pins and marked up Ivan’s jacket with dressmaker’s chalk. “But being angry with you all the time wears me out. Besides,” she almost smiled, “I’m on the clock.”

Chloe wasn’t sure how to take what Marinette was saying to her. Was she trying to start a fight or keep the peace? A strong Dupain-Cheng who stood up for herself was still hard to understand. “I’ll take you up on that bathroom break. Don’t get started without me.”

“I won’t,” Marinette promised but the blonde was already out the door.

                                                        *****

Don’t be nervous. It’s a professional fitting, just like Marinette taking your measurements was. Don’t get turned on when she’s just doing her job.

Luka would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit how much he liked having Marinette’s hands on his body, even if it were completely innocent. He thought she might have enjoyed it too, judging by her melody. Still, it wouldn’t be right to make a move without her say-so.

Then again, there was Felix. He could tell the other boy was starting to become close to Marinette and he admitted he liked Felix too. He could see them becoming friends, all of them. But the problem was Felix was starting to harmonize with Marinette and if she chose Felix, Luka would have no choice but to step aside.

Dammit.

He was tired of being the bigger person and just not pursuing what or who he wanted. He’d been understanding when Marinette had a crush on Adrien. He knew she couldn’t help how she felt any more than Luka could. Adrien might have been happy with Kagami but his obliviousness was not only a pain in the ass but wasted a year of Marinette’s life.

He loved her and he wanted her to be happy but he was also tired of waiting around to pursue his own happiness. He didn’t want Marinette to fall for Felix just because he looked like his cousin. Luka wanted to be just a little bit selfish for once in his life.

His feet had taken him to Marinette’s workroom without him realizing he was already there. He didn’t want to knock yet! Not when his own melody was all jumbled and discordant!

Then he had an idea. He’d recorded a new song on his phone earlier that day before even coming to work. He’d play it for Marinette to get her opinion before his fitting. That way he could calm himself. Music always had that power for him.

[valiart]

Fluffvember 1 - Cooking

I'm on Bluesky a lot more now (https://bsky.app/profile/valiantly.bsky.social) and there's an event called Fluffvember for fluffy fics. I don't do much fanfic, so i thought I'd do fanfic of my OCs, because fuck it. So please have a small vignette about cooking some mammoth meat and feeling bad about capitalism (below the break)

Sook stared up at her elven lover dragging a steak as wide as she was tall through the balcony door on a sled. Her jetbike hummed to itself outside. The cityscape behind her was lost in the morning fog. Her ears were long and floppy from exertion. Her black hair was pinned back with a single shard of grey bone. She wore naught but a battered white tank-top and a pair of black joggers with WITCH ASS written on the, well, ass.

Sook suppressed the primal emotions that surged through her at the sight of her magical partner and looked down at the handwritten recipe in a language she didn’t speak.

“Are you sure this calls for mammoth meat?” Sook asked.

“Oh yeah, this is my grandma’s recipe.” Nil said. Her ears perked right up, twitching at the tips from excitement. “My mom wrote it down centuries ago, but I’ve never made it myself.”

“I thought mammoths were extinct…” Sook said, staring down at the table-sized slab of red meat, dripping through the layers of parchment paper it lay upon.

Nil brushed her bloody hands together. “Hm? Maybe on your world. We had plenty. God, they used to chase them into canyons to kill dozens at a time. We stopped doing that, obviously. But a few herds came over in the Pulse, and I have some friends who still hunt them. Burned a favor to get this, but it���s worth it.”

“Are you sure?” Sook said. She had been raised on the hautest of cuisine, the fare only billionaire heirs could afford. There was always talk of cloning mammoth meat, but it’d never been done to anyone’s satisfaction. Besides, she didn’t eat elephant—why would hair make any difference?

“Aren’t mammoths intelligent?”

“All animals are smart.” Nil said with a shrug. “It’s just different scales of smartness. I feel just as bad for digging up an anthill, or having chicken wings. We don’t actually value a life on intelligence. If we did, we wouldn’t eat mushrooms or cut down trees. And don’t talk to me about how the mushroom is just the fruiting body,” she said, apparently reading Sook’s mind. “The point is that fungi are smart.”

“Alright, alright!” Sook said. She looked to Nil’s less-than-spotless kitchen for the next step. Besides cleaning it, which she had spent the better part of the morning doing. The lack of any cleaning materials had made it more difficult than she’d expected, but it was good enough for government work, as her father had always said.

“I’ll just tidy up the kitch a bit here.” Nil said.

“Oh, I already—”

Nil strode forward, uttered a few intangible phrases and whispered the scent of a spring breeze across the flat. The kitchen jiggled for a moment, then popped into cleanliness, as though it had never been dirty in its life.

Sook stared at the literally sparkling kitchen with daggers figuratively shooting from her eyes. “Could you have done that the whole time?” She asked.

“Hm?” Nil hauled the steak inside, evidently not noticing Sook’s increasing rage.

“I just spent two hours cleaning that kitchen and you sparked it to pristine in a second.”

“Ohhh, sorry!” Nil said, scrounging through the cupboards. She disappeared inside one for some time, then re-emerged carrying the largest dutch oven  Sook had ever seen. She set it on top of the stove and turned every single burner on.

“That’s my bad,” Nil said. “I should have told you not to worry about it. It takes energy to cast that spell so I just don’t bother most of the time. For you I wanted it to be clean.”

“Then why didn’t y ou clean it last night?” Sook asked, arms crossed.

“Well, we weren’t using the kitchen…” Nil said, with the most infuriating smirk twisting across her face.

“You are insufferable.” Sook said, but the taste of Nil was still on her lips. She still felt Nil’s skin pressed against her own. The way she’d taken control, the way she’d made Sook beg and plead and moan…

She could forgive a little mess.

Nil rattled off a list of ingredients and where to find them. Sook found herself travelling across the flat back and forth in a haphazard trot. Salt was next to the sacrificial altar. Flour was in the pantry, next to the box of grenades. The spices were all growing in what had been the master bedroom but was now a makeshift greenhouse, lit with a combination of modern SAD lamps and luminous sprites.

“Oh, fuck, we need tomatoes.” Nil said.

“You had those on Khesper?” Sook asked, dumping an armful of herbs on the marble kitchen counter.

“Oh sure, the ancestors brought a lot of cuttings through the gates. Stupid not to. Can you run down to the store and grab a few cans?”

“What, you can’t magic some up?” Sook said, mostly joking.

Nil shook her head. “Not without paying in blood. Food is expensive, moreso than moving stone or changing temperature. Food is life. Not only is it calorie-rich, but the concept of sustenance is a powerful one, a basis of the most elder spirits. Eating it staves off death. Growing it makes new life. Stealing it can either sustain or destroy, sometimes both.” She opened a drawer and began digging through onions. “I don’t fuck around with food.”

Sook threw up her hands in defeat. “Alright! Food is more dangerous magic than fireballs. Got it. I’ll go buy tomatoes.”

Nil’s apartment, much like the rest of the Entertainment District, was abandoned to the point that the elevator no longer worked. Like everywhere else around here, the basement and first floor were flooded. She had to go out and ask the bike for help. Fuse, Nil had called him.

“Um, can you take me to the store?” She asked. Fuse whirred his thrust vector flaps in assent, displaying a bunch of dollar sign and pixellated store emojis on his handlebar screen. She somewhat hesitantly climbed aboard—she’d never ridden him without Nil and her magical safety precautions. But Fuse did not screech to Mach 5 or flip her upside-down. He gently took off from the balcony and drifted down the building like a hot-dog shaped balloon. At about five-storey height he angled his thrusters down and back and puttered to a corner store on a pier whose name was an incomprehensible combination of sputtering chinese neon lights, orkish graffiti, and the word MART.

The storekeep, some kind of moss-colored halfling or gnome or goblin, Sook wasn’t really sure which, didn’t look up from their tablet until she came to the till with every can of crushed tomatoes they had.

“You’re not Miss Shadow.” The storekeep said.

“No…” Sook said.

“But Fuse dropped you off. Hm.” They nodded at the door. “Off with you then.”

“I haven’t paid.”

“Miss Shadow don’t pay. And you’re runnin’ her errands.” They said. They looked back down at their tablet with a finality she understood well.

Sook climbed back aboard Fuse with a bag full of cans and pondered just who she’d fallen in with on her way back. She was a billionaire. She could’ve paid. Should’ve, considering the state of the shop and the neighborhood. But that storekeep didn’t want the money. They didn’t care about a few cans of tomatoes. They cared about whatever it was Nil did for them.

Sook rode back through the dilapidated towers of the district, over little water busses and kayaks, over piers bustling with flea markets and people looking to trade trash for trash. She wondered what these people would eat for dinner. Probably not braised mammoth. Maybe not even real food at all.

Fuse dropped her off on the balcony. Sook opened the door, and steam rushed past her, carrying the scent of spices, fried meat, and hot oil. She promptly began salivating.

“Okay it smells delicious in here.” Sook said. She dumped the bag of tomatoes down next to a pile of skulls with runes burned black into their bleached bones. One tumbled down onto a separate pile of old phones, some of which were growing a strange orange fungus that gave off an aura of disquiet and craving. She tried not to think about that.

Nil screamed and grunted. Sook almost asked what was wrong, then saw that Nil was simply trying to heave the mammoth steak over to brown the other side, and failing.

“Sweetie, let me.” Sook said. She reached into the pot, ignoring the steam, and manually flipped the steak over with a single fluid motion. The steak sizzled in the pot. She held her hands out to Nil.

“Cleaning, please.”

Nil waved her hands. “Of course, my gallant knight.” Then, instead of casting a spell, she leaned forward and sucked on Sook’s fingers, gently teasing the spices, blood, and oil from Sook’s fingers with her tongue, warm and moist and strong.

Sook gasped for more than one reason, and pulled her hands back.

“That’s unsanitary!” Sook said.

“Mm, darling, but you aren’t cooked either, and I ate you last night.”

“THAT IS VERY DIFFERENT!”

Nil laughed, a high, haughty thing, and grinned at her evilly. “My love, you have no idea what elves do for food, do you? It’s either the blood of the hunt or something that’s stewed for three days. This is a quick lunch I’m making here.”

“I’d hate to see what’s a family meal for you.”

Nil’s black-painted lips curled up in a smirk.

“You’ll see.” She said. It sounded more like a promise than a wisecrack.

 Sook went to the sink, found a long-abandoned bar of soap, and washed her hands with a jug of water. She grabbed a can of tomatoes and plunked it down next to the pot.

“Hey, so. I was thinking. This meal is huge, right? We can’t possibly eat it all. This district is poor as shit, right? Shouldn’t we share it? I mean, you’re a fucking wizard, and I’m rich. It feels wrong to keep this to ourselves. I just feel guilty. I feel like I’m not even part of this world. We got the tomatoes for free from the shopkeep because apparently they owe you. I just… I’m tired of taking all the time. I want to give.”

Nil cocked her head quizzically, like a dog that had just heard the letters W A L K. Her expression softened as she saw Sook’s sincerity. She reached up and tenderly cupped Sook’s cheek.

“Darling, what do you think we were gonna do with all this meat?”

[interdimensionalburnout]

Some farmers from further down the coast, a ways closer to the shore, drove up to see if "that gray feller" was back.

Turns out, Phynn's idea of a vacation is to trophy hunt the biggest fish she can find, and then go through the lengthy process to carve em up and process the meat. Then she hands out thousands of pounds of meat up and down the coast! Explains where everyone's getting all their armor, too; Wayouddans figured out centuries ago that the hides and bones of the local beasties can be used just as effectively as iron and steel, and around here, they've been making use of the scales from all of Phynn's catches just as much as they do from the usual fishermen hauls!

I told 'em I'm not quite the same sorta angler, just a friend of said "gray feller," and somehow I've been invited to the nearest settlement once they saw I was tech-savvy enough to fix a ship!

I've been arguing with a computer for the last two hours in an effort to get a water purifier fixed, but I did it, and now I'm being fed the single most decadent thing you can put in front of me: local cuisine.

I love Wayouddan food.

[heart-of-gold-outlaw]

Ace High (Ineffable Husbands Yeehawgust)

Playing matchmaker to two outlaws wasn't how Aziraphale had imagined spending his time in America. Pretending to court Crowley hadn't really crossed his mind, either.

Falling in love with him? That definitely wasn't part of the plan.

June, 1889

As a general rule, Aziraphale tended to avoid America. It was a very young country, and as such, had a lot of growing up to do. The people, especially out here in the "Wild West" as they called it, weren't the nicest bunch. Aziraphale had dealt with his fair share of ruffians and vagabonds and other undesirables—God knows the French had plenty of those. But there was something... different about America's breed of troublemaker. Quite a few of them had a penchant for murder, and while Aziraphale could excuse the occasional white lie or stolen loaf of bread, he drew the line at murder. 

But Head Office said there was a minor miracle to perform in America—something about a total solar eclipse. Aziraphale didn't particularly see why that mattered, but he'd done it... Well, rather, Crowley had done it, having lost the coin toss. They'd gone for a lovely lunch afterward: a remarkable little Spanish cafe in San Luis Obispo. Aziraphale quite liked Hispanic cuisine. The spices were absolutely to die for. It never ceased to amaze him, the creative things humans did with food, and he supposed that the Americas could have bragging rights for that. 

Crowley had returned to Soho, as far as Aziraphale knew, with the intent of sleeping for at least a year. Aziraphale, though, wanted to see some of what this young little country had to offer. The murder and crime, he could ignore in exchange for the amazing landscape paintings and wonderful natural scenery. As such, he found himself in Colorado, in a small mountain town called Telluride. The Rockies were beautiful this time of year. Colorado in general, Aziraphale was quickly learning, was just a beautiful state, and he was quite fortunate to be able to see it.

He'd just had lunch at a tavern (rather, a saloon, as they were called here), and was enjoying a stroll down the main drag, when he accidentally bumped shoulders with a man walking in a hurry in the opposite direction. Aziraphale stumbled, threw out his arms to catch himself, and probably would have face-planted into the dirt had the stranger not reached out and hauled him upright. 

"Good heavens, my dear fellow!" Aziraphale exclaimed as he petulantly straightened his coat. "That was quite a catch!"

The stranger looked at him apologetically. He was a tall man, at least a head taller than Aziraphale, with broad shoulders and a strong frame. He wore a buckskin jacket and a gambler hat, underneath which flaxen blond hair stuck to his forehead in the summer humidity. 

"Sorry about that," he said. "Didn't mean to mow you over there." He leaned back and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You okay?"

Aziraphale brushed away some dust on his arm. That was the thing about the West: it was absolutely filthy.  

"Nothing a miracle won't fix," he said, then, catching himself, changed the subject: "What on earth has got you in such a hurry?" 

The stranger looked relieved to see Aziraphale wasn't hurt. He shook his head, blinked, and glanced across the street. Aziraphale looked too, but aside from the saloon and the bank, didn't see anything. 

"I'm s'posed to be meetin' someone here pretty soon," the stranger said, sounding relieved. "Thought I was gonna be late."

"Oh?" Aziraphale couldn't help but be intrigued. "Friend of yours?"

The stranger, who Aziraphale realized was really quite young, maybe in his early twenties, looked down with a smile. The tips of his ears were red.

"Something like that," he said. "We ain't seen each other for a while, so I ain't sure he's even gonna show."

Aziraphale thought of Crowley, then, how the demon always managed to show up whenever Aziraphale was in need of some company—or some rescuing. Although the solar eclipse hadn't exactly been dangerous, it had been nice to share the experience with someone else. He remembered the look of concentration on Crowley's face as he snapped his fingers and pointed at the sun, calling the moon to pass in front of it. He remembered how their shadows had danced together, how beautiful the sky looked in between day and night. There was quite a bit of beauty in darkness, he'd realized. Quite a bit indeed. 

"Oh don't worry," Aziraphale assured. "Friends have a funny way of showing up at just the opportune time." 

The young man smiled, seeming relieved. He held out a hand for Aziraphale to shake.

"The name's Roy," he said, "but I go by Butch." 

"Well, that's rather unusual," Aziraphale said, but shook his hand anyway. "Then again, what's in a name? I'm... Ezra." He tried not to look too guilty at the pause. "Ezra Fell. I run a bookshop in London."

Butch laughed, loud and friendly, and leaned against a hitching post for support. Aziraphale watched him for a moment, confused, before the young man straightened with a few residual chuckles.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, still grinning from ear to ear. "It's just... you look like you run a bookshop. No offense." 

Aziraphale brightened at the compliment. "None taken, my dear fellow."

Before he could say anything else, Butch looked over Aziraphale's shoulder and promptly seemed to forget he was there. There was a look on his face, now, like he'd just watched the world's grandest play, or, perhaps, seen a solar eclipse. Aziraphale turned around to follow his gaze. Across the street, a rather sullen-looking young man leaned against the wall of the saloon. He had dark, straight hair that had clearly been flattened by his hat, which he gripped with both of his hands. He was slender and wore a black jacket that did little to keep the dust at bay. And despite the looks from a couple of the saloon girls, he seemed to be waiting for someone. 

"Now see, I told you he would show," Aziraphale said to Butch. He turned back to face him, only to find that he was walking away... in the opposite direction of his friend. "Hey—wait!"

Aziraphale hurriedly chased after him, having to half-jog to keep up with his long strides. Butch kept his hands firmly shoved in his pockets and didn't look at Aziraphale once.

"Now just where do you think you're going?" Aziraphale demanded, already slightly out of breath.

Butch shook his head, eyes intently focused on the ground in front of him. "This weren't a good idea." 

"Not a good idea?" Aziraphale was thoroughly confused. "But... you were the one who wanted to see him in the first place! And now you're just going to... let him stand there?"

Stopping so abruptly that Aziraphale nearly ran into him again, Butch whirled around and threw his hands up in exasperation. 

"Look pardner," he said. "I ain't gonna get into this right now with you. Just trust me when I say that this weren't a good idea, okay?" He ran a hand through is hair, tugged at it, then let out a deflated sigh. "Now I'm goin' home."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but Butch was already walking away, and at a much faster pace this time. A few seconds later, he'd disappeared down the street. Aziraphale knew he had no hope of catching up to him, not without running, and he didn't particularly feel like doing that at the moment. 

He got himself out of the middle of the street and sat heavily on a bench outside the bank. It didn't make sense in his head, Butch's behavior, and it most certainly didn't sit right with him to let his friend stand by the saloon all by himself. Butch had seemed so excited—and so nervous. Why in Heaven's name had he seemed so nervous? It was almost the way teenagers behaved when they were in—

Oh.

Oh dear. That made quite a bit more sense. 

Aziraphale wasn't stupid. He knew the world's current, rather barbaric stance on such things. He also knew, though, how precious of a thing love was, how people who weren't supposed to fall for each other tended to do so anyways, in spite of the danger. It was humanity's greatest gift. Perhaps Heaven and Hell could learn a thing or two...

Best not to think about that, he quickly decided. Even still, he knew what he needed to do. Heaven would probably think he was wasting his time, helping out humans when there were no orders from his superiors, but the way Aziraphale saw it, he was fulfilling his most basic duties as an angel: doing good.

He rose from the bench and walked quickly to the saloon. Butch's friend was still waiting, looking more sullen than before, and he eyed Aziraphale with the same distrustful look he gave everyone who walked by. Aziraphale smiled at him and gave a little wave.

"Ah yes, hello," he said. "You appear to be waiting for someone."

The young man frowned. "What's it to you?"

Aziraphale smiled again. Gotcha.  

"If you're waiting for Butch," he said, watching with delight the way the young man's face brightened ever-so-slightly, "he sends his most sincere apologies, but he can't make it today. Something about..." Aziraphale looked around quickly, and his eyes fell on a mail courier delivering packages across the street. "Something about delivering medicine to a sick family in need. You know how he loves to help people."

It was a gamble, but Aziraphale considered himself a decent judge of character, and Butch had seemed nice enough. The young man looked like he was considering this, then rolled his eyes. 

"That sounds like him alright." Then, hiding his disappointment well: "... Did he say anything else?"

"Oh yes!" Aziraphale said, nodding enthusiastically. "He said that since he can't make it today, he'd love to reschedule for tomorrow night. He'll let you know the time and place vis a vis letter. Now, where exactly are you staying?"

The young man blinked, caught off guard. "Um," he looked decidedly confused. "Golden Creek Hotel. It's..." He gestured around the block. "Right over that way."

"Marvelous!" Aziraphale smiled his most winning smile. "Well, he'll be in touch. Might I know your name, dear fellow, just in case anything pops up?"

"It's..." The young man bit his chapped lips. "Well, just call me Sundance."

Aziraphale held out his hand as if that wasn't a strange name. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Ezra Fell. I run a bookshop in London."

The young man let out a brief chuckle and shook his head. Then, shaking Aziraphale's hand: "You look like you run a bookshop."

Lighting up at the second round of the compliment, Aziraphale sent him on his way. It was only then that he realized just how in over his head he was. For Heaven's sake! He wasn't a matchmaker. He didn't know the first thing about courting someone, let alone getting two people to court each other. And now he had two hopelessly in-love young men who needed him for guidance. Him!  

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said to himself. "I do believe this is a bit of a mess."

But there was one person he trusted to always help him out of a mess, no matter the stakes. After all, getting Aziraphale out of trouble was sort of a favorite pastime of Crowley's. It hadn't even been a week since Aziraphale had seen him, but somehow, he knew the demon would be up to the challenge. 

As it turned out, Crowley hadn't gone back to Soho. He was in Denver, in fact, when Aziraphale found him, having a drink at a local brewery. Aziraphale didn't much care for beer. He preferred wine or sherry, something that was a little less... gross. Not that all beer was terrible, but he supposed it would be years before the Americans caught up with the Belgians in terms of brewing. 

Crowley didn't look surprised to see him. Then again, he rarely did. He wore a long black duster tonight that nearly reached the floor, and it would have looked ridiculous if it wasn't currently in style. He was sitting at the bar, swirling his beer rather than drinking it, and he glanced over at Aziraphale when he took a seat next to him.

"Right," Crowley said, setting his glass aside. "What have you done now?"

Aziraphale tried not to look guilty. "Why on earth would you assume I've done something?"

"Because I know the faces you make." Crowley reached for his beer and drained half the glass in one go. "This is your I've Done Something face."

"But that's preposterous!" Aziraphale said indignantly. "I'll have you know that I haven't done a single thing."

Crowley raised his eyebrows, the first hint of a smile on his lips. He watched Aziraphale for a few seconds, leaning back on the bar stool, waiting for the angel to crack. 

"Oh," Azirphale said as his shoulders slumped. "Fine! I did something. Happy now?"

"Extraordinarily." Crowley signaled the bartender, an older gentleman who looked like he hated his job, and ordered a round for the two of them. Then, noticing the way Aziraphale wrinkled his nose: "Oh come on. It's not that bad."

"For you, maybe." Aziraphale hesitated when the bartender handed him his glass. He took a small sip and tried not to make a face until the bartender's back was turned. 

Crowley, whose glass was already half empty, inclined his head to one side. "So what is it that you've done?"

Aziraphale sighed and dropped his face into his hands. How in Heaven's name was he supposed to explain himself? It wasn't his job to play matchmaker among humans. There was nothing in the Almighty's plan about that. And yet, he couldn't just sit by and watch two perfectly good men squander what could be their only chance at love in a harsh, harsh world. No, he had people counting on him now, and he couldn't let them down. He wouldn't.

"I might have..." He began, trailed off, then continued a little stronger: "I might have told a young man that the... object of his affection, as far as I can tell, is going to meet him for dinner tomorrow night. The problem is, said object of affection has no intention of doing so."

Crowley groaned. "Unrequited love. Sounds like a him problem."

"No no," Aziraphale corrected. "They're absolutely head over heels for each other. Butch is just very, very nervous. I don't think he's ever, well, courted someone before. I don't think either of them have."

Crowley rolled his eyes and reached for his drink. He didn't look particularly excited about the situation.

"So what are you suggesting, Angel?" He asked. "Because if you're going to ask me to help you play matchmaker, the answer is—"

"Oh come on!" Aziraphale interrupted. "You love meddling with humans! These two are practically begging for it, for goodness sake!"

He gave the demon his best pleading look, the one he knew, for whatever reason, always made Crowley cave. Crowley considered him for a moment, expression unreadable behind his dark glasses, before he finally turned away with a scowl.

"Fine!" He hissed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "What do you suggest we do?"

Aziraphale smiled gratefully. That had been rather easy. 

"Well," he admitted, "that's actually where I'm a bit stuck..."

Crowley threw his head back and groaned, then turned to face Aziraphale, who shrugged sheepishly.

"You mean to tell me," Crowley said, "that you don't even have a plan?" 

"Well..." Aziraphale, remembering what usually happened whenever he had a spur of the moment idea, bit his lip. "Maybe not as such. But I did get Sundance to agree to dinner! Butch just... doesn't know he's going yet."

Sighing heavily, Crowley swirled the last of the beer in his glass. He looked thoughtful. Then, when Aziraphale was about to offer a penny, said: "Why don't we each take one and, I don't know, shadow them or something? Act as their wingman. That way when the time comes for the dinner, we can be there to make sure nothing goes wrong." 

Aziraphale considered this. While it wasn't the most complicated idea in the world, it was pretty foolproof. He would take one, Crowley would take the other, and together, they'd make sure the two men realized just how much they meant to one another. 

"That could work," Aziraphale said, "but what if they see us conspiring? We need some sort of excuse, just in case we're seen together."

"The two of you could pretend to court one another," the bartender said as he polished a glass behind the counter. "I did that with my friend, once, to make my partner jealous. Worked like a charm."

Crowley glared at him. "How long have you been listening?"

"No no!" Aziraphale exclaimed and excitedly gripped Crowley's arm. "That's perfect! That way, they won't get suspicious if they see us being, well, us."

"Angel..." Crowley sounded uncertain. "I don't know if this is—"

Aziraphale was hardly listening to him. "Right. Which one do you want to shadow?"

For a long while, Crowley didn't say anything. He just stared first at Aziraphale, then at his glass of beer, which now held only the dregs. Eventually, though, he heaved a deep, heavy sigh, and tilted his head back.

"What are they like?" He asked, resigned. 

Aziraphale beamed at him. "Butch is really quite friendly. And Sundance is... well, rather moody." 

"That one." Crowley said immediately. "I'll take the moody one." 

Trying not to look too relieved, Aziraphale smiled at him and got up from the bar. Dropping some money, plus a decent chunk of change for a tip on the counter, he gently grabbed Crowley by the arm and pulled him toward the door. They had quite a bit of planning to do if they were going to make this work. 

"We're gathering together a right posse!" He exclaimed on their way out the door. "I never thought I'd be excited about something like that."

Crowley gave him a look. "You do know that posses hunt people down, right? Not play matchmaker."

"Well, I suppose we can take some liberties with the word." Aziraphale turned to face him with a wide grin. "I'll see you in Telluride, my dear fellow."

[cordelium]

THICC COREY THOUGHTS: NSFW EDITION

afab!reader x corey cunningham

cw: nsfw, sex, tiny mention of weight at the end

masterlist

you make him like the way he looks a little more. he loves the way your eyes linger on his shoulders, his solid waist, his big hands, his thighs.

corey is completely unused to tenderness. he cannot cope with you holding him by his big square jaw and calling him a pretty boy. he will cry. don't threaten him with a good time! he will cry!

because corey unconsciously hunches his shoulders -- to make himself seem smaller and less intimidating -- he needs gentle reminders to adjust his posture.

"Shoulders back, lovey," you say, one hand between his huge shoulders and and one hand at the small of his wide back.

he blushes furiously whenever this happens, and he's so so pretty when he goes pink behind his glasses.

fucking loves your pet names for him. lovey is his favourite, but baby is a close second.

you definitely use his enormous strength to your advantage. anything that requires hauling or carrying, and he's there.

he has big, solid hairy arms and a farmer's tan, by the way. just fyi. just in case you needed to know.

we all love his huge broad paws hands and his ridiculously thick fingers, obviously. he has one of the biggest ring sizes around, even just on his pinky.

this fucker will eat anything. he is the world's least bothered, least fussy eater. the cuisine at chez cunningham is dogshit, so everything else is great in comparison. he will eat anything you put in front of him.

you lowkey love knowing that you're contributing to all that ASS

NSFW below the cut!

corey’s neck is too thick and too muscular for you to be able to join your hands around it. he's also extremely ticklish there, and will beg you not to tickle it, but will also totally let you because it absolutely turns him on.

being kissed on his neck or under his jaw will kill corey stone dead. he cannot cope. hickeys are the death of him. he has such a sensitive throat that all the sucking and licking will legitimately make him cum if he's feeling particularly vulnerable. noted.

you love sitting in his lap. he has big, solid thighs and there's so much space to shift and squirm. it's often the preamble to sex in your relationship; you sitting in his lap and playing with his hair, while his face is buried in your chest. it's easy to roll your hips and grind on him like this, and super easy to make him cum in his pants if, as stated above, he's feeling vulnerable (which he often is)

you definitely took corey's virginity. duh.

he came so hard and so quick that he cried, out of humiliation and sheer shock both. more on that below

corey likes to have his hair pulled, but that's about as far as he is comfortable going with pain. he is far too gentle to enjoy receiving or doling out pain in the bedroom (for now).

two words: pussy. drunk

corey will eat whatever you put in front of him, and this includes you. he is never happier than when he is on his knees at the edge of the bed with his face buried between your thighs. corey goes all out; nose, tongue, fingers, everything. he's so pretty grunting and moaning with his brow furrowed in concentration, and 9 times out of 10 he absolutely will be stroking his cock at the same time.

speaking of which: he is a sturdy, heavy boy, and so it stands to reason that his cock matches.

6 inches, (uncut??????) and that thing is like a coke can

he is very, very gentle. he knows he is hard and heavy, and no matter how much you insist that you love him on top of you when you fuck, he's so careful still.

despite this, corey is the master of the real, proper fuck. he's so big and so sturdy that it's probably hardwired into him. he has to work up to it, needs encouragement and riling-up, but once he gets going, corey fucks like a beast.

he doesn't hurt you, but you definitely feel it the next day. there's a lot of weight behind each thrust, and corey is so strong and so heavy that it's almost unavoidable; especially if he has you from behind. your hips are tender for days with how firmly he grips you.

corey worries and fusses at the red marks on your sides with gentle fingers, and cries if they bloom into bruises.

corey cunningham has the loudest orgasms in the state of illinois.

this boy cums loudly, period. you coaxed it out of him in the early days, delighted to discover how noisy he naturally was. before you, corey had trained himself to be totally silent, alone in his room. workout scene WHEN

if you're fucking and he's inside you, he is panting and grunting and it is the best thing ever to hear just how much you've made him come undone.

this 200lb midwestern bane of your vagina's life needs to be snuggled and petted after sex. no exceptions. hair stroked, forehead kissed, shoulders rubbed. he's baby.

[ugh-leigh-nb]

May 10th 2024 Library Haul

Listed Alphabetically:

Non-Fiction:

"Canada Rocks: the Geologic Journey" (2nd ed) by Nick Eyles and Andrew Miall[This book would make a fun blunt weapon]

"Cooking Vegetarian: Healthy, Delicious, and Easy Vegetarian Cuisine" (2nd ed) by Joseph Forest and Vesanto Melina

"Cultish: the Language of Fanaticism" by Amanda Montell

"Gory Details: Adventures from the Dark Side of Science" by Erika Engelhaupt [THE COVER GLOWS IN THE DARK!!!!]

"In Search of Mycotopia: Citizen Science, Fungi Fanatics, and the Untapped Potential of Mushrooms" by Doug Bierend

"Making Bags, a Field Guide: Supplies, Skills, Tips,& Techniques to Sew Professional-Looking Bags; 5 Projects to Get You Started" by Jessica Barrerea & Sallie Tomato

"No Apologies: Ditch Diet Culture and Rebuild Your Relationship with Food" by Niamh Orbinski

"Pie is Messy: Recipes from the Pie Hole" by Rebecca Grasley w/Willy Blackmore

"Pretend Play Workshop for Kids: a Year of DIY Craft Projects and Open-Ended Screen-Free Learning for Kids Ages 3-7" by Caitlin Kruse & Mandy Roberson w/Emma Johnson, M.S.

"Rare Air: Endangered Birds, Bats, Butterflies, & Bees" by Sarah Kaizar w/A. Scott Meiser

"Strong, Sweet, and Bitter: Your Guide to All Things Cocktails, Bartending, and Booze from Behind the Bar" by Cara Devine

"Traditional Jewish Baking: Retro Recipes Your Grandma Would Make… If She Had a Mixer" by Carine Goren

Manga:

"Alice in the Country of the Joker: Circus and Liar's Game" vol 1 by QuinRose

"The Ancient Magus' Bride Supplement 1" by Kore Yamazaki [I didn't realize this was a supplement, so I'll return it until I can find the og manga to read. I LOVE the idea of supplements though!!!]

"Black Rose Alice" vol 1 by Setona Mizushiro

"A Devil and Her Love Song" vol 1 bt Miyoshi Tomori

"Himouto! Umaru-Chan" vol 2 by Sankakuhead [accidentally got vol 2 instead of one]

"Interviews with Monster Girls" vol 1 by Petos

"Juana and the Dragonewts' Seven Kingdoms" vol 1 by Kiyohisa Tanaka

"Mandalorian: the Manga" vol 1 adapted by Yusuke Osawa

“Monster Musume: Everyday Life with Monster Girls” vol 2 & 3 by Okayado

"Ms. Koizumi Loves Ramen Noodles." by Naru Narumi

"My Brain is Different: Stories of ADHD and Other Developmental Disorders"

"New Game!" vol 1 by Shotaro Tokuno

"Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest" adapted by Mikio Tachibana

"Unmagical Girl" vol 1 by Ryouichi Yokoyama

"Witch Hat Atelier" vol 1 by Kamome Shirahama

Excited to read a lot of these!

[lady-lazagna]

(Hands you my one and only beyblade oc)

Silly little wbba scientist Kazuo <:]

God he's so silly I wanna hit him with my 2002 Toyota Tacoma-

So Birrung... other than severely judging his taste in men, they'd like him! He's a nice change of pace from the rest of the WBBA adults they've met, in that he. actually cares about the children and values human life. Someone that gives Madina hope that her boyfriend won't die on the job! Though this mindset might lead her to blame him specifically any time Tsubasa does get hurt- because if the most reasonable person here can't stop that from happening, then why are you here in the first place? (The WBBA is literally the Tsubasa Corporation to her she doesn't gaf about anything else they do)

Kazuo's thoughts on them would likely depend on how much stress they cause: Kylie's a sensible kid in terms of not getting into life-threatening situations, so no grey hairs gained with her. Ashanti may be a bit too responsible for Kazuo's liking; he might try to convince her to relax and not take on so much responsibility (also she is the most polite and appreciative of his work :]). And Madina. Well. I think the first time I drew Kaz was him hauling her drunk ass home so. Y'know. And luckily for him, she's the one he sees the most since she's dating a fellow employee, so STRESS ABOUND! :D

As for my other most important oc... idk if Coach Steel and Ryo are really aware of each other, or if they'd be friends if they were, but maybe Kazuo knows who Steel is and wants to try to get Ryo to hang out with him, just to expand his social circle a bit outside of just the kids. And when he learns Steel has a husband, it opens up all sorts of opportunities for socialising with them in a way that lets Kaz subtly monitor Ryo to make sure he doesn't say or do anything idiotic: couples activities!

They could host dinner, and Trucker Dave would bring a subpar casserole while his husband brings excellent Italian cuisine! They could have a games night and play scrabble and charades like real normal human adults! They could go to a drag brunch because they're all GAAAYYY! Dave would think Kaz is a sweet fella, nice and easy to talk to and seems to not mind his rambling. Maybe he'd try to give him some wisened advice despite Kaz likely being older than him lol.