#mr longus

[themadzarka]

Are the children allowed to interact with each other? any of them friends or rivals?

this is for the 7 souls 9 children ask game. I think I might be a little (fashionbly) late to the party

MASTERPOST

Prev | 18 | Next

They sure can interact.

[stjohnstarling]

MAD SCIENTIST WRAPPED 🧪

You made 9630 monsters this year.

You laughed in an unhinged and frightening manner for 569 hours.

Your most used chemical was Evil HRT and you used it 1836 times this year.

Your favourite monster to make was Erotic Frankenstein, which you made 145 times.

Your favourite piece of lab equipment this year was “Mr. Pinchy.”

You kidnapped 96 hot young journalists who were snooping where they shouldn’t be - that’s in the top 2% of mad scientists!

You killed 420 busybody detectives and miscellaneous policemen. (Nice!)

You spent 8760 hours dangling people over a vat of bubbling green acid.

You made one person into a chaise-longue.

You lost control of your creations and had them rampage through the village 56 times!

[blainvillemitsubishi]

[d-dalladalla]

Detective Shin

warnings : Smut idk what else u expect from me?

So this was requested by anon but for the life of me i can't find it in my requests or my drafts so if ur the one who requested a 1900s detective ryujin x fem fatale you have my heart <3

"Shin, this isn't a good idea." Yuna mumbled from under her hand. She stood infront of her desk, papers tossed onto the messy pile already covering it.

"This family…two murders in a year, unsolved. You're walking into a death trap." Yuna sighed, running her hands through her hair as Ryujin's eyes scanned over the paperwork. Police report after police report from nosy neighbours reporting another domestic between a young married couple. This family, rich assholes marry off their children to more rich assholes to keep the class division strong.

Their youngest daughter now married off to some asshole, living in their parents home and fighting like hell every night. Until they didn't and silence fell over the estate. Two weeks and neighbours started to talk, and now a mountain of missing person reports sat on Ryujin's desk and you were her number one suspect.

"I'm just asking a couple questions kid, don't worry. I can handle myself." Ryujin stood, pushing her desk chair out, reaching back to lift her coat off the chair's back and throwing it to drape over her shoulders.

"Plus, she's some rich doll too far up her own ass. I think I can handle my own."

Yuna turned around as Ryujin circled the desk and started towards the door, "Jus-just be careful please." Yuna retaliated.

"Trust me, I can handle her." Ryujin scoffed and went out the door.

House wasn't the right word. More like mansion in the realest way ever imagined. Large and gothic walls that gated the house, doors that stretched up to the ceiling and large stained glass windows.

So when you opened the door the juxtaposition of your small frame against the overwhelming house took Ryujin by suprise.

Surely this wasn't the right woman, Ryujin thought. Maybe this was a younger sister.

"Good evening ma'am, I'm detective Shin, I've been here to ask some questions regarding Mr Kim's dissapearance, are you the lady of the house?" Ryujing flashed her badge for moment letting her eyes follow your movement as you leant against the large door frame.

"That would be me yes," You mumbled out, "may I know who requested this little house call?" You sent a wink her way, trying your best to appear small.

"Some locals, not able to tell you details I'm afraid. May I come in?" Ryujing spoke shortly, not waiting for an answer as she stepped forward trapping you against the doorframe as she herdered you back into the house, closing the door behind her with a kick.

You tilted your head towards the longue, letting her follow behind and gesture for her to sit on the large couch, the room lit by the fire's dying embers.

"I'm afraid I dont have many help on tonight, your friends down at the station have taken them in for questioning…" You glared at her, words gritted out between your teeth.

Ryujin let her eyes flick up from her notebook, fiddling with the ink pen between her fore finger and thumb. She paused for a moment before speaking, letting her eyes trail down your figure. She didn't see you as a threat.

"That wasn't my decision ma'am, I am just a detective not a chief. Just routine questioning ma'am. Now do you mind if I ask some questions?" Ryujin let her eyes meet yours.

"Of course, detective."

"When was the last time you saw or heard from your husband?" Ryujin started scribbling down on her notepad.

"Two weeks ago, he said he had business in town, be two days and that was that." You spoke curtly, sitting opposite Ryujin in one of the large chairs.

"And you haven't had any contact with him since?"

"No."

"You're neighbours had reported fighting between yourself and your husband, had their been issues in your marriage for a while?" Ryujin looked up from her notepad once again. Her gaze was unreadable, but her eyes didn't leave yours.

"I don't see how that's your business detective." You bit back, your weren't one to be accused of such things. Who did she think she was, storming into your home and accusing you of murder.

"It's just routine questions miss, can I continue?" She spoke softly. You nodded.

"Did you ever suspect your husband of adultary?"

"…Yes." You grumbled out, letting your eyes fall away from Ryujin's and to the floor. You knew he was cheating on you. He knew you were too. There was no love in this marriage, simple arragments to keep both lineages happy.

"You could say detective, we both prefered other romantic ventures." You stood, letting yourself circle around the back of her chair. Pouring her a scotch before letting your arm drop to thee side of her and the drink resting above her hand before she shakily took it from yours and let it rest on her thigh.

"I'm afraid I don't follow miss." Ryujin trailed off, letting her coat jacket fall down her shoulders and pool around her hips on the couch.

"You're a smart one detective, I'm sure you could figure it out hmm?" You let your hands fall down to her shoulders giving them a soft squeeze and letting out a sigh before releasig them and sitting down on the edge of the couch.

"Anymore questions detective?"

"a-ah yes, is-is there any where he would frequent, men's clubs? certain pubs?" She began to scribble in her notepad again.

"Oh he visisted the men's clubs alright." You laughed out, shuffling further up the couch, inches from where Ryujin's legs where. Letting your thigh brush against her own.

"Shall we cut the pleasentries detective?" you murmered out. "We both know I didn't kill him, a little thing like me? even you could over power me." You smirked under your breathe, standing and circling her once again before letting your hands falls back to her shoulders once again, squeezing once and then again and again. Breaking into a massage and smiling as she let out a soft moan.

"My my detective, so tense…you that worked up over me?" you hushed out, dropping your head down to be level with her ear.

"Miss…I-I don't know if this is appropriate-" She stammered out but stopped suddenly as your hand clamped down on her chin and quickly jutted it to turn to meet your eyes.

"Hush now detective. You think I did it huh?" You leaned in closer.

"I-I…"

"You're questions about my sex life don't seem appropriate." You whispered letting your lips graze against hers.

"I didn't mean anything offense miss."

"Oh I doubt that detective." you pushed forward the last teasing inches between the two of you. Letting your right hand stay stationary on her chin as her hands discarded the notebook in her lap and flung it out of sight. She clambered up onto her knees before letting her hands fall to your waist, the barrier of the couch now becoming obvious as she hoisted you over it and let your back hit the cushioned bottom.

Ryujin hovered above, her arms bracketing either side of your head and letting her lips devour your own. Not letting up for a sinlge breathe as you yanked your head away as your lungs started to burn.

Ryujin's lips started their attack down your neck, tongue slobbering and teeth nipping and sucking. She was relentless and unspeaking as her hands started to work their way down your body. Tracing down your sides before they stopped at your hips.

"Can I miss?" she mummered out, lips coming back to yours for the briefest of kisses.

A nod was all you could muster out, your mind fried and Ryujin gave a devilish grin before pushing your nightgown up to your midriff. Letting it bunch and letting her hands drop down to your panties. Smirking when her fingers found the soaked patch waiting for her.

"You been wanting this ma'am? thinking about me fucking you on your husband's couch?" she gritted out, voice gruff and filled with want. Her fingers quickly disregarding the fabric protecting the skin there and forcing two digits through your enterance.

"Jesus," You cried out before biting down on your bottom slip, the help would be back at some point tonight and the last thing they need to see is the lady of the house being fucked by the college of the detetive who just interrogated them for multiple hours on end.

"Be quiet," Ryujing murmered out, her finger beginning to pump at a relentless pace, it wouldn't take long for you to hit you peak, not with her.

Ryujin let her head fall down to the crook of your neck once more, fingers started to slam in and out of you as her tongue gave your neck a broad stripe, and her teeth pulled at the skin. She manouvered her hand, the palm beginning to press down harshly on your clit, not letting the pressure up as her fingers kept fucking in and out of you with a rapid pace.

"Oh God detective," you whined out, you were close, just-just need it harder. "Please, harder- harder fuck me harder." You might as well of yelled out as your hands that were circled around her neck pulled her further into you. The grip starting to burn in your upper arms.

"You want harder?" Ryujin smirked, her pace was unrelenting, her other hand placed on your lower back and forcing you to arch upwards into her body as you reached your climax.

Ryujin was speaking but as you came ono the corner of your lips and down your chin.

"God," you huffed out, your breath still not caught up.

"I think I may need to question you again soon ma'am. I don't think I got enough information this time round." Ryujin spoke. Her hand brushing the loose hair starting to gather around her eyes.

"Well of course, detective. We have to be thorough now don't we."

[germanpostwarmodern]

Chaise Longue „MR 100“ (1931) designed by Mies van der Rohe

[oskea93]

✶ Whiskey (2) ✶ - John “Bucky” Egan x OC - Masters of the Air fandom - Multi-chaptered story.

⚠ Warning: Rating 18+ ⚠ Chapter warning: Sexual content, period sexism, spousal belittling, cursing Words: 4353 A/N: Hello again! First off, I just want to say thank you so much for the love and support y'all have shown this story!! You guys are amazing and you have no idea how much I appreciate you guys! So, with this chapter, we get to meet Dominik and Marigold - the husband and MIL. These two will have major impacts on our OC's life and at times their treatment towards her will not be very nice. We also get to meet the most important person in our OCs life... The bright side, we will see our OC spending time with a certain Major 🥵. This story is just getting started and I promise that Mr. Egan and all the fabulous men of the 100th will come to light in the upcoming chapter. It's gonna be a wild one! If you would like to be added to the tag list, just comment your username ☺︎

“I don’t see why you need to accompany your husband to such a location – full of men waiting for their chance to die.”

Rolling my eyes, I kept my mouth shut as my mother-in-law moved around the room. She had volunteered herself to accompany Dom and I to England – stating that she needed to be here for the sake of her granddaughter.

“What’re you expected to do while he’s working? Just longue around and make eyes with all the soldiers – give them blue balls so they can go back to their barracks and dream about you?”

A smile tugged at my face, “Somebody has to get them a little excited, Marigold.”

Her brows knitting together – unsure if I was being serious of not. “That’s what those pin-up women are for – you’re a married woman, Rachel. Married to one of the top colonels in the army – you don’t need to be strutting around like some old whore.”

Sighing, I pushed myself off the chair, her eyes watching me like the hawk she is. “Are you faithful to my son?” The question causing me to stop in my tracks. “You wouldn’t think about stepping out on him, would you?”

Her dark eyes bore into my soul, their intensity like a piercing gaze from the depths of the night. With each passing moment, I felt a shiver run down my spine, as if her gaze held the power to unravel the very core of my being. In that fleeting instant, the world around me seemed to fade away, leaving only her eyes, dark and mysterious, capturing my every thought and emotion in their enigmatic depths. “No –“My tone defensive. “Why ever would you think that?”

Feeling a mixture of frustration and resignation, she shrugged her shoulders, the weight of the moment causing her lips to press tightly together in a display of silent resolve.

“What gives you the idea that I would be unfaithful to Dominik? Because of what I said – that was a joke – they’re very popular nowadays.” Her back straightening at my bitter return.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my composure despite Mari's biting words. Our relationship had always been strained, but her sharp remarks never failed to sting.

"I understand your concern, Mari," I replied evenly, meeting her gaze. "But I'm not going to England to flirt with soldiers. I'll be there to support Dom and assist in any way I can. It's important for us to be together during his assignment."

Mari huffed, clearly not convinced. "Just be careful, Rachel. Men in uniform can be quite charming, but they're not to be trusted. Don't forget your responsibilities as a wife and a mother."

Her words echoed in my mind, stirring up a mix of frustration and resignation. I knew Mari meant well in her own way, but her traditional views often clashed with my more independent spirit.

"Again, I appreciate your concern, Mari," I said, choosing my words carefully. "I'll always prioritize my family above all else. You can trust me on that."

In that fleeting moment of our interaction, as her captivating eyes locked onto mine, a subtle yet unmistakable expression of doubt crept into her gaze. "I hope so, Rachel. You have a good husband and a beautiful daughter. Don't take that for granted."

In the intricate web of relationships that intertwined our lives, tensions simmered just below the surface, threatening to erupt at any moment. Marigold's disapproval of me seemed to stem from a place of deep-seated insecurity and a need to control the narrative surrounding her son's marriage.

From the very beginning of Dom and I’s relationship, Marigold had made it clear that she held certain expectations for the woman who would become her daughter-in-law. My lack of pedigree, my fiery red hair, and perceived lack of refinement were all points of contention for Marigold. In her eyes, I was an outsider, unworthy of her son's prestigious lineage.

The constant barrage of criticism and belittling remarks from Marigold had taken its toll on me, chipping away at my confidence and sense of self-worth. Despite my best efforts to prove her loyalty and devotion to Dominik, I found herself caught in a never-ending cycle of scrutiny and judgment.

As Marigold insinuated doubts about my fidelity and questioned my motives, I felt a surge of indignation rise within myself. The implication that I would betray Dominik, the man I loved, cut deep, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Yet, I understood that Marigold's insecurities and fears were driving her behavior, fueling her need to assert control over the situation.

The dynamics between myself and Marigold were fraught with unspoken tensions and power struggles, each woman vying for dominance in their own way. My defiance in the face of Marigold's criticisms and barbs hinted at an underlying strength and resilience that belied my outward appearance.

She lightly cleared her throat, the sound echoing in the opulent room. "Darling," she began, her voice smooth but with an underlying tension. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips, not quite reaching her eyes. "I know you would never hurt my son in such a fashion."

With deliberate grace, she slowly rose from her seat, her elegant movements betraying the subtle power she held. Her hand smoothed down the expensive fabric of her dress, erasing any hint of imperfection. "You're a very beautiful girl - woman," she remarked, her words laced with a mixture of compliment and observation.

Turning to face me fully, she continued, her gaze piercing yet enigmatic. "Those men at Thorpe Abbots haven't seen or been around a real woman in who knows how long - only the women that are working or the local townies." Her voice trailed off momentarily, her hands coming to rest gently on my arms. "It's going to be hard for them to resist you."

I regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as she pivoted back towards the chair, as if the weight of her words had dissipated as quickly as they had been spoken. I felt the urge to respond rising within me, but something in her demeanor made me hesitate, my words left unspoken.

As she settled back into her seat, a subtle yet unmistakable smugness crept into her expression, adding a layer of complexity to her otherwise composed facade. Her eyes met mine once more, a silent challenge lingering in their depths.

"Better get packing, darling," she remarked casually, the nonchalance in her tone belying the undercurrent of tension that hung in the air…

We lay in silence, the distant sounds of the bustling streets below providing a gentle background melody that filled the room. His touch, feather-light against the curve of my ribcage, sent a shiver of electricity racing through my body.

"Someone walking over your grave?" he remarked, a playful glint in his eyes as he traced patterns on my skin with his fingertips.

Resting my chin on his chest, our gazes locked in a shared moment of intimacy. "Excuse me?" I replied, a hint of curiosity in my voice.

He chuckled softly, the sound like music in the quiet room, as he brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face. "My pops used to say that when you get a cold chill, it means someone is walking on your grave." His words carried a touch of nostalgia and folklore.

Raising my eyebrows in amusement, I shook my head. "Can't say I've heard that one before."

As my left hand trailed down his chest, I noticed the cross necklace he wore, a simple yet meaningful charm that he kept close for protection. Taking the pendant between my thumb and index finger, I studied it briefly before placing it gently in the center of his chest, my fingers lingering over the cool metal.

"My mom gave it to me before I left," he explained, his voice tinged with emotion. "I'm not really a believer, but you need something to protect you out there."

Moved by his vulnerability, I began to share a piece of my own family history. "My grandmother was a God-fearing woman," I started, the memories of her devout faith flooding back. "She would attend church on Sundays and Wednesdays, unwavering in her devotion even in the face of adversity." A pang of sorrow touched my heart as tears threatened to well up in my eyes. "But when my Grandad fell ill, her faith wavered. She prayed for miracles as he lay dying, his lungs ravaged by years spent in the mines."

The weight of past grief hung heavy in the air between us, the shared stories weaving a bond of understanding and empathy that transcended words.

John's arm tightened around my waist; his unwavering attention focused on every word I spoke.

"After he passed away, she changed," I continued, a wistful smile playing on my lips as I reminisced. "She stopped praying, stopped going to church as often, stopped believing. My grandad was her entire world, her reason for everything. She used to tell my brother and me that God had led Grandad into her life." The warmth of nostalgia colored my voice as I shared the cherished memories.

"She would say that she prayed for God to send her a hard-working farm boy - one with dark hair and skilled hands." John's chest rumbled with laughter; his amusement palpable in the air between us. "And one day, it was as if he appeared out of the heavens, right at Sampson's Feed store across the street from her daddy's farm."

As I slowly rose from the bed, the sheet draped around my waist, I pulled my legs up to my chest, lost in the recollection. "She loved that man more than anything - perhaps even more than she loved God, I think."

The bed shifted as John pressed his chest against my back, his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine.

"Have you ever felt that kind of love?" His whisper tickled my ear, his words laden with a depth of emotion.

Turning my head, our lips met in a soft, tender kiss, an unspoken connection weaving between us in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

"Does right now count?" I murmured between kisses, the warmth of our closeness enveloping us.

A smile played on John's lips as he pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well," he teased, gently guiding me into a lying position on the mattress, "you were certainly calling for him earlier."

We both laughed, the shared moment of levity breaking through any lingering tension. I wrapped my arms around his neck, our gazes meeting with a mix of affection and sincerity.

"You're so beautiful," He whispered, his words carrying a depth of feeling that stirred my heart.

My fingers tangled in his brown locks, finding their place at the nape of his neck. "As are you, John Egan." I replied, the unspoken bond between us growing stronger with each passing moment.

His lips met mine in a gentle manner, each light peck carrying a world of unspoken emotions, his hand tenderly caressing my cheek with a touch that spoke volumes. We lingered in that moment of quiet intimacy, the outside world fading into insignificance as we shared a silent connection that transcended words.

After a moment, he lifted himself up from the bed, leaving the sheet behind as he made his way to the curtained window. I watched as his back muscles moved beneath his skin, a silent display of tension and contemplation as he gazed out at the streets below. The sun had hidden behind the thickening clouds, casting the room into a dim twilight as the impending rain approached.

Quietly, I crawled out of the bed, the sheet slipping off my body as I closed the distance between us.

Instinctively, my arms wrapped around his mid-section, offering a comforting embrace. "Are you okay?" I whispered, pressing my lips against his back, seeking to convey my support through the simple contact of our bodies.

He let out a deep sigh, his body relaxing into my touch as his hands found their place atop mine. "You ever wonder if all of this is really worth it?" His voice held a weight of solemn reflection as he voiced the doubts that lingered in his mind. "All this killing and bombing - innocent lives lost every day, many of them unaware until it's too late." The heaviness of his words echoed the burdens he carried, the moral complexities of his actions weighing heavily on his conscience.

Listening to his inner turmoil, I felt a surge of empathy and understanding for the struggles he faced. "You can't beat yourself up about that, John," I spoke softly, offering reassurance in the face of his inner turmoil. "The choices you've made, the actions you've taken - they may be part of a larger conflict, but you have to remember the good you're fighting for, the lives you're trying to protect."

John and I barely knew one another, but even in the brief moments we shared, it was evident that the weight of war was bearing down heavily on him. His eyes, once bright with youthful vigor, now held a weariness that seemed to go beyond mere physical exhaustion. It was a weariness of the soul, a deep-seated fatigue born from the harrowing experiences he had endured on the battlefield.

"My pal Buck says the same thing," He remarked, a faint smile edging on his face as memories of their conversations flooded back. "He always told me to just worry about getting back home to Wisconsin – making sure our country and those helping us fight those German pricks win the battle – big or small."

As the rain began to drum against the windowpanes, a sense of shared vulnerability enveloped us, binding us together in a moment of shared empathy and support amidst the storm of uncertainty and doubt.

His hands fell from mine as he turned towards me, his eyes falling on my naked frame. The slightest hint of sadness could be seen in his irises. Without hesitation, I closed the gap between us, his callused hands reaching my thighs, bending down slightly as he hoisted me onto his hips. Our lips never separating, a muffled moan purred through my body as my back hit the wall next to the window. The cooling fall air that drifted in from the draft window was no match for the heat that coursed through my body as John’s touch lit a fire in and outside my body.

As our embrace deepened, the weight of the war seemed to momentarily fade away, replaced by a sense of raw connection and passion. In that fleeting moment, there was only the two of us, lost in a dance of desire and longing.

The world outside may have been engulfed in chaos and uncertainty, but within the walls of that room, time seemed to stand still. Each touch, each kiss, spoke volumes of unspoken emotions and desires. It was a moment of respite, a brief escape from the harsh realities of the outside world.

With the leverage from the wall, his hand made quick work as it moved between our bodies, his large fingers finding my clit, my hips responding as they moved against his touch.

“John, please.” My mouth latching onto his neck, an animalistic growl releasing from his body.

His paced quickened, “Tell me what you want.” His breath hot against my ear. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

My teeth biting down harder on his neck as my walls began to clench around his touch. “Goddammit, Rachel –“His words full of lust. “Tell me what you fucking want.”

The pleasure causing tears to form in my eyes, “Fuck me, John.” Out of breath. “Please just fuck me, please!” Without warning, his cock slammed into me. His lips harshly meeting mine, stifling the gasp that fell between our kiss.

The pace was fast – hard as our hips slapped against one another. His fingers digging into my sides as my nails dragged down his back, hard enough to pull away the first layer of skin.

“Harder.” I begged. “Oh God, please go harder!”

I cried out in pain as my back repeatedly hit the wall behind me – his cock swelling inside of me as we started to reach our climax.

The warm sensation soon flooded my core, the liquid rolling down my leg as his cock stayed buried inside of me. His lips peppering kisses along my collarbone as my fingers floated through his hair as we both regained our breath.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make it back to the base.”

“And why’s that?” His hips slowly moving again.

“Because-“The friction between our hips causing us both to groan. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.”

As the soft glow of the vanity lights illuminated the room, casting a warm ambiance over the space, Dominik's footsteps echoed against the wooden floors, the sound a rhythmic accompaniment to the weight of the impending departure. His words lingered in the air, carrying with them a mixture of anticipation and melancholy.

"I spoke with Colonel Huglin over the phone today," His voice tinged with a hint of tension that belied the calm facade he tried to maintain. "It seems like everything is ready for our arrival in the morning."

I turned to face him, meeting his gaze in the reflection of the mirror. His hair, usually meticulously styled, now bore the tousled look of a man consumed by nerves and the weight of responsibility.

"My mother is going to take Charlotte back to the States once we get on the plane," Dominik continued, his words hanging between us with unspoken emotions. "I told her to stay here for a while, but she's insistent on getting out of England."

I couldn't help but inwardly roll my eyes at Marigold's insistence on whisking Charlotte away to New York. The prospect of being separated from my daughter for an unknown stretch of time tugged at my heart, the idea of her absence leaving an ache in its wake. While Dominik and Marigold argued that the military base was no place for a young girl, I couldn't shake the feeling that there were other children in the town who could keep her company.

“What time do we leave?” I asked, my voice tinged with concern.

Dominik checked his watch, furrowing his brow. “Huglin mentioned the plane will be ready at nine sharp. We need to be at the airfield no later than 8:30.”

I bit my lip, a pang of sadness washing over me. “Charlotte will still be sleeping when we leave. I can’t bear not saying goodbye to her. We don’t know how long we’ll be a part. Your mother isn’t gonna let me wake her that early.”

“Maybe it’s best we leave without saying goodbye.” Dominik suggested, his tone matter of fact.

I stood up from the vanity, feeling a surge of frustration. “You can’t be serious, Dom?”

He shrugged, his expression impassive. “You know how my mother is. She doesn’t want Charlotte upset. She’ll have to deal with a crying child when we leave.”

Dominik’s dismissal of my feelings stung. “I’ll have Mother call the base when they land in New York and you can talk to Charlotte then,” he continued, his hands moving down my arms.

Tensions crackled in the air as he towered over me. His words, though well-intentioned, felt like a cage closing in around me. “I know it’s hard to be away from the baby, but I need you with me. You’re my rock, sweetheart,” he murmured, planting a gentle kiss on my neck. “I can’t go anywhere without my special little rock.”

I felt a mix of emotions swirling inside of me – love, frustration, and a hint of resignation. Dominik’s ability to use intimacy to end arguments was both comforting and manipulative. I knew that arguing further would only lead to more tension. So, with a heavy heart, I relented, letting the moment of peace wash over us…

As I stood by Charlotte's bedside, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a warm aura over the room, memories flooded her mind. Remembering the first time I held Charlotte in her arms, the overwhelming rush of love and protectiveness that consumed my heart. It was a feeling unlike any other, a bond that transcended words and explanations.

Gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from Charlotte's face, I whispered, "Sweetheart, it's time for me to go now. But remember, mommy loves you more than anything in this world." My voice cracked with emotion as I fought back tears, hand trembling slightly as I traced the curve of her cheek.

She stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal sleepy, drowsy eyes. "Mama?" she murmured, her voice soft and filled with innocence.

My heart ached at the sight of my precious daughter looking up at me, so small and vulnerable in the dim light. "Hi, baby girl," my voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to say goodbye before I go."

She reached out a tiny hand, her fingers seeking the comfort of her mother's touch. "Don't go, Mama," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

Tears welled up in my eyes, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on Charlotte's forehead. "I have to go, darling, but I'll be back before you know it. Grandmother will take good care of you while I'm away, okay?" I reassured her, my voice filled with love and tenderness.

With a heavy heart, I tucked the covers snugly around Charlotte, tucking her in with care. Lingering for a moment, savoring the quiet peace of the room before I reluctantly turned to leave.

As I stepped out into the hallway, a familiar voice made me jump in surprise. "A little early for tears, Rachel," Mari's voice floated towards her, her figure blending into the shadows of the room.

Startled, I clutched my chest, heart racing from the unexpected encounter. "Marigold, you nearly gave me a heart attack," I gasped, trying to steady my breathing.

Mari's gaze flickered towards Charlotte's room, her expression unreadable. "Dominik told you not to wake her," she reminded in a low tone. "You know how she gets when you leave her. It wasn't a wise choice, Rachel."

Feeling a pang of guilt, I nodded silently, realizing the impact of my actions. With a heavy sigh, I prepared myself for the difficult task ahead, knowing that leaving Charlotte behind was a sacrifice I had to make for now.

I watched as she retreated into Charlotte's room, glaring daggers as she closed the door behind her, the tension between us palpable in the air. I stood there for a moment, the silence of the house buzzing in my ears like a persistent drone, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within me. With a heavy exhale, I gathered my resolve and took a deep breath, steeling myself for what lay ahead. The faint sound of a car engine humming in the distance pulled me back to the present, prompting me to make my way towards the awaiting vehicle, each step feeling heavier than the last as I left the turbulent scene behind me.

The weather once again mimicked the mood, a common occurrence for England, with dark clouds looming overhead and a chilly wind cutting through the air. Despite the dreariness of the day, there was a certain familiarity in the gray skies and mist that enveloped the surroundings, as if nature itself was reflecting the emotional turmoil within.

My eyes met the driver's, a silent exchange of gratitude passing between us as he held the car door open, a small gesture that spoke volumes amidst the unspoken tension that lingered in the air. Dominik's body stiff beside me, his presence a palpable force in the confined space of the car.

"I told you to leave her alone, Rachel. I told you not to wake her, and of course, you never listen." Dominik's voice was low, the words carrying a weight of frustration and disappointment.

He stared out the window, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside, the rigid set of his jaw betraying his inner turmoil.

"After your little emotional moment," Dominik's voice cut through the tense silence in the car, his words laced with a hint of frustration. He paused; the weight of his gaze heavy as he turned to look at me briefly before returning his attention to the road ahead. "You better hope we're not late getting to the airfield."

His words stung, a stark reminder of the consequences of my actions and the impact they had on our plans. Guilt gnawed at me, knowing that my emotional outburst had potentially jeopardized Dominik's mission and the success of the operation ahead. The weight of his disapproval bore down on me, adding to the already heavy atmosphere in the car.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to form a coherent response. The reality of the situation sank in, the urgency of our mission overshadowing any personal grievances or misunderstandings between us. With a deep breath, I nodded silently, understanding the gravity of the situation and the need to focus on the task at hand.

As the car started to move away, my thoughts were consumed by Charlotte. I had envisioned our trip to Thorpe Abbots with Dominik as a special event, a chance for us to bond and create lasting memories together. Dominik, poised to become the 2nd colonel in command, was about to embark on a crucial mission to take down the German forces, and I had hoped to support him in this pivotal moment of his career.

However, as the weight of our unspoken tensions and misunderstandings hung heavy in the air, I couldn't shake the feeling of missed opportunities and shattered expectations. What was meant to be a moment of triumph and unity now seemed clouded by discord and distance.

[morphean42]

Working on my soulmate WIP diligently, it’s 10k words already and it’s sort of all over the place (I have too many ideas and might need to just take some parts out and write another fic with them) but here’s a preview of what’s to come

I wanted to explore a world where soulmates are less of a “true love” sort of thing and more “someone who will be important to you in some way”. Of course, society treats the idea of soulmates as a strictly romantic thing (especially in Edwin’s time) and many people use their apparent soul bond as an excuse to harm others.

I’ve always been interested in soulmate AUs, how they would affect the society and way relationships form, and I thought DBD would be a fun fandom to explore that in. So yeah, Edwin and Charles aren’t soulmates in this, because they aren’t supposed to meet. How wonderfully romantic it is to fall in love anyway?

(Please if you enjoy this at all let me know, as I said my Google doc is a mess right now and I need motivation to edit and finish it)

It is in the summer of his 16th year that Edwin Payne meets his soulmate. It is July and he would quite literally like to be anywhere else, the heat is oppressive even indoors as he sits stiffly on the chaise longue beside his betrothed.

She wears a respectable pale blue dress that flares out at her ankles, her blonde hair is neatly tied up, and she never once smiles with her teeth. In fact, they do not so much as look at one other during their conversation, opting to stare out the bay window across the room.

“You seem like a very lovely young lady,” Edwin says, because he has no clue what else to say. She nods once at the compliment and does not seem offended by the lack of emotion he holds towards her.

“I look forward to our continued courtship.” In the corner of the room Edwin can feel the heavy stare of his soulmate’s governess. He knows this is utterly wrong (they are soulmates, the woman should have to beat them away from each other. Yet, the idea of trying to kiss this girl sends a shudder through him), but he does not know how to fix it.

They met the way offspring of the rich often do; parents having hired a professional soulmate tracker. After a month of worrying (what if she was lower class or, god forbid, not English. If his soulmate was of lesser stock, obviously it meant he was too and his parents would not hesitate to send him away for good) he finally received the notice— Miss Eliza Geralds had been located.

So, here he sits. She is of noble blood, the match will be beneficial for both of their families. Edwin tries, as he looks at her, to imagine all the things he should feel; the overwhelming love, the feeling of two puzzle pieces snapping together. The problem is he doesn’t feel anything of the sort— just vaguely sweaty.

The whole soulmate business was something he never quite got, after all. Here they were, the intangible red string that proclaimed them to be the perfect match for each other laying neatly between them, and he felt nothing. Yes, objectively he could say she was pretty. Yes, objectively he would say she was smart. In fact, as they met and talked and he realized this was the woman he would be married to in just a few years, Edwin could not say he minded her being his soulmate. If it had to be someone, he would take her.

But, and there is always a but where he is concerned, he does not love her. While he is not an enjoyer of romance novels (preferring detective stories in which the mystery overshadowed any relationships) he knew the basics of how this was supposed to go. Man meets woman, they are soulmates, they fall madly in love at first sight. He doesn’t feel anything except slightly uncomfortable as the future Mrs. Payne smiles (tightly, showing no teeth) and says he is ‘not as bad as he could be’ (Sherlock Holmes had a point when he said “the motives of women were inscrutible”, because what the devil could that mean?) as their initial meeting draws to a close.

When he goes to bed that night he runs a finger over the red string that sits upon his wrist. It is more a curse than ever, tying him to a life he wanted to escape. There’s a war on, they say it will be over soon enough (they have been saying that for two years now), and Edwin knows if it lasts much longer he will be sent off with the rest of his class. He will be sent off with his class to drown in mud and bullets and gas, and when he returns (will he ever return?) there will still be no escape, for Eliza will be waiting and he will be responsible for her.

His future is mapped out and crystal clear. Fight for England (try not to die). Go to law school (graduate early, do not be there longer than he has to). Marry the girl (the wedding will be small and he will practice in the mirror until he looks in love enough as to not break her heart). Have children (he will try to love them, better than his parents did for him, but he will mess it up of course. He only hopes they turn out more like their mother). Die (It will be nice to finally rest away from the expectations that weight down his every step. He can only hope it will be quick). He tugs the string that chains him down and felt a distant thrum of unease mingle with his own anxiety. Eliza is just as doubtful as he, it seems.

The thing about a soulmate is that they were truly nothing but a wild guess, a stab in the dark, an attempt at unconditional love. Edwin knew of soulmates who could never imagine life without the other. Edwin knew of soulmates who fought violently and spewed hateful words. Edwin had heard of a man and woman who were soulmates, the man murdering the woman in the middle of a crowded street. So, soulmates. Was your supposed other half your better or your worse?

Fight in the war (don’t die). Go to law school (do it quickly). Marry the girl (learn to fake it well). Have children (they will be the best part of him). Die (quick, in his sleep, no suffering).

Five months later Edwin accomplishes the last one. He was right, the actual dying bit is very quick. There is suffering, though. He suffers more in those last seconds than all his years on earth. He doesn’t notice the string fade to gray and slip from his wrist as his body is disintegrated and dragged to Hell. There is no comfort in Hell, after all, not even from a girl he could only teach himself to love.

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue October 1, 1963

Mrs. Frederick Cushing (Minnie Cushing) wears a soft black crepe dress that falls from a high waist to just above the ankle; a long line that shows off a leggy figure, bright evening slippers. Dress, a Leslie Morris design.

Mme Frederick Cushing (Minnie Cushing) porte une robe en crêpe noir doux qui tombe d'une taille haute jusqu'au point juste au-dessus de la cheville ; une longue ligne qui met en valeur une silhouette aux longues jambes, des pantoufles de soirée éclatantes. Robe, une création de Leslie Morris.

Photo Horst P. Horst vogue archive

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 6, 5 février 1865, Paris. Toilettes de Concert de Mme Castel-Bréant, 58 bis. rue Ste Anne. Coiffures diadême par Mr Croizat, 76 rue de Richelieu. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney  

Description de toilettes:

Robe de dessous en satin mauve de nuance très-claire, recouverte d'une robe en gaze de soie de même nuance, garnie avec deux bouillonnés sur son bord inférieur. Ces bouillonnés sont séparés par une guirlande de feuilles de lierre; au-dessus des bouillonnés, deuxième guirlande semblable, formant des festons. A la hauteur où l'on place ordinairement les poches, guirlande de lierre retombant en deux longues branches et surmontée d'une rose. Corsage décolleté à draperie. Manches très-courtes ornées d'une rose et de branches de lierre; ces mêmes fleurs sont placées au bas de la taille par derrière, et, se divisant en trois parties, forment des sortes de basques. Coiffure assortie.

Robe en poult-de-soie vert, recouverte d'une robe de crêpe vert, garnie avec un gros bouillonné, au-dessus duquel serpente un volant tuyauté en tulle blanc, ayant 8 centimètres de hauteur; ce volant est relevé de distance en distance, ou plutôt retourné de façon à former une coquille, dont le milieu est rempli par un bouquet de plumes blanches. Troisième robe en tulle blanc, plus courte que la précédente et bordée avec une frange de plumes blanches. Cette robe est relevée inégalement (plus haut sur le côté gauche que sur le côté droit) et retenue de chaque côté par un bouquet de plumes blanches et une agrafe d'émeraudes. Corsage décolleté à draperies; bouquets de petites plumes sur les manches; agrafe d'émeraudes sur le devant du corsage; plumes blanches dans la coiffure; épingles de diamants et d'émeraudes.

—

Under dress in mauve satin of a very light shade, covered with a dress in silk gauze of the same shade, trimmed with two bubbles on its lower edge. These bubbles are separated by a garland of ivy leaves; above the bubbles, second similar garland, forming festoons. At the height where the pockets are usually placed, a garland of ivy falling in two long branches and surmounted by a rose. Low-cut bodice with drapery. Very short sleeves adorned with a rose and ivy branches; these same flowers are placed at the bottom of the waist from behind, and, dividing into three parts, form a sort of basque. Matching hairstyle.

Dress in green poult-de-silk, covered with a dress in green crepe, trimmed with a large fringe, above which winds a piped flounce in white tulle, 8 centimeters high; this flounce is raised from distance to distance, or rather turned over so as to form a shell, the middle of which is filled with a bouquet of white feathers. Third dress in white tulle, shorter than the previous one and edged with a fringe of white feathers. This dress is raised unevenly (higher on the left side than on the right side) and held on each side by a bouquet of white feathers and an emerald clasp. Draped low-cut bodice; bouquets of small feathers on the sleeves; clasp of emeralds on the front of the bodice; white feathers in the hairstyle; diamond and emerald pins.

[thecinematicwriter]

Bae-cation

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: What more could you want than a good vacation with your driver boyfriend. The sun is hitting your skin and Charles'. This is perfect.

Sneek peak: "I have an idea Mr. Charles." You announced mockingly formal. "Yes Missus?"

A/N: Happy Valentines Day! I have been so excited to travel lately that my content probably reflects it so far. This is for all of you people who wish they could go on a vacation with a specific bae;)

*I did put some outfits that the reader wore, but I do not refer the reader to be the size of the person wearing it.*

This morning, you were woken up by soft kisses on your naked back and the sun hitting it too. Charles had been smooching you for what seemed to be the past 10 minutes. Yes, you were awake before now, but you decided to stay quiet and enjoy the affection your boyfriend was giving you. It was rare. Moments like these were reduced to none when it was racing season. Of course, Charles found ways to come see you when you nedded to work so you couldn't go to his races. But it wasn't the same. Here, it was like you had infinity to just lay down on the beach and relax. And when you went to sleep or woke up with him by your side, tiredness was not one to disturb you. The both of you could talk for hours at night without one falling suddenly asleep or you could wake up like this, with no rush to be somewhere else. "Breakfast?" Charles murmured on your skin. You nodded making an agreeing sound that your boyfriend found the cutest. "Let's get dressed." He got up and tapped your butt gently to prompt you up. You turned around and sat down on the comfortable bed. After a good stretching, you left the bed and went to get dressed while Charles took his shower. You prefered to take it after the long day beside the sea so your boyfriend could shower without the rush of you needing to take one right after him.

Once you both were dressed, you went down to the breakfast restaurant your resort offered. You took a picture for the man who worked at front of him and your boyfriend after convincing him it was really no trouble at all. After your perfect breakfast. You spent the entire day on the beach relaxing and kissing each other in the sea.

Your night was spent laughing at shows and movies while eating some quesedillas with sweet potato fries. A weird combo, yes. But if Charles was happy so were you. And this was just the beggining of the trip. There was one whole week left and looking beside you, where your boyfriend sat, your happiness couldn't be more high. He was truly the solution to all of your stress. And from his side of the blindingly white bed, he thought that maybe the girl that was sitting next to him was the one.

"Baby?" You called on your stomach, trying to tan. "Yes amour?" Your boyfriend always used that nickname and you loved it. "Could you maybe put some sunscreen on me? I don't want to burn and I can't do my back." You faked whine to emphasize your point, which made your boyfriend laugh at you. "Don't laugh at me. It's a real stuggle honestly." He laughed even more knowing how not serious you were being. Charles got up and put your sunscreen on without a word. He tried to be as quiet as possible so he could hear your cute noises of content when he sneakily slipped a massage to the task. "Was that alright, amour?" He gently got closer to your face and put a light kiss to your cheek. "More than alright, baby. You are truly the best." You turned around so you would face him who was now sitting on your chaise longue, along side you. "I have an idea Mr. Charles." You announced mockingly formal. "Yes Missus?" He reciprocated the goofiness. "We could order room service tonight instead of going to the hotel's restaurant. Then, we could binge watch everything we missed while we didn't have time? We might even have to pull an all nighter." You explained excited."I would love that. There's only one condition on my part though..." Your boyfriend was always one to make up rules. "Of course, my prince. Go on." You bowed and he laughed. "I chose the food and the first thing we watch." You audibly gasped and faked the most dramatic pout face out there. "Never mind, I want to go out tonight." You looked at the sky avoiding your boyfriend's eyes in a playful maner. "You little-" Charles cut himself out by tickling you. "Okay. Okay, Stop! I can't anymore. I surrender. I demand mercy!" You laughed so hard your ribs hurt. "Then, my suggestion it is. Thank you very much." He kissed your lips softly.

[themadzarka]

MASTERPOST

Prev | 13 | Next

We are preparing the next experiments you have suggested. Thank you for your cooperation so far.

[empiredesimparte]

Presenter Julien: A week after the celebrations, it's time to take stock of the festivities for Their Majesties' wedding. Presenter Sophie: This is the third imperial wedding in Francesim history. A rare and grandiose event, which heralds the splendor of the next coronation.

Presenter Sophie: His Majesty the Emperor married Empress Charlotte, a love affair born of a long childhood friendship. The young couple were married by His Holiness Pope Benedictus XIX, the Emperor's godfather. Welcome to Mr. Arthur Thomas, our specialist on crowned heads…

Journalist Arthur: Thank you, Sophie. Presenter Julien: What should we take away from this imperial wedding, Arthur?

Journalist Arthur: A lot! First of all, Empress Charlotte has once again won over the French. She's a charming, well-educated young woman who, above all, knows the Emperor by heart. She has mastered imperial protocol to perfection this day, and I'd go so far as to say, better than the Emperor!

Journalist Arthur: Indeed, the image that amused the entire empire was His Majesty's discreet micro-nap during the mass following the Pope's blessing. If this royal somnolence amused the majority of spectators, some of us hope that the Pope or the Empress didn't take offense at such a lack of control.

Journalist Arthur: Speaking of control, as far as foreign personalities are concerned, Madame Royale de Thornolie has once again distinguished herself by her perfect self-control. The sharpest tongues may regret the usual over-rigor displayed by Her Royal Highness at every public appearance.

Presenter Julien: Isn't she nicknamed the Ice Princess back in Thornolia? I think that at a wedding, Madame Royale could have shown more sympathy for our young Emperor…

Presenter Julien: ...By contrast, the Duke of Rothsey, who had been repeatedly refused attention by the imperial family, was very smiling and exemplary. In fact, he attended the imperial banquet with the Emperor.

Journalist Arthur: Indeed, many fans were delighted to see Oliver and Hortense together again. The two lovebirds gave each other several glances during the ceremony. Is this a sign of things to come? It probably does!

Senator Aimery: I believe so too, Francesim needs to reunite around the Imperial family after these difficult times. What's more, Their Imperial Majesties have Madame Hortense's well-being at heart.

Presenter Sophie: Thank you, Senator. We'll now give the floor to Madame Gérard, president of the opposition Third Party…

Opponent Madame Gérard: Thank you for your invitation. Presenter Sophie: What do you think of His Majesty's marriage? Opponent Madame Gérard: We have great hopes for His Majesty Emperor Napoléon V. We must (…)

Napoléon V: I'm sorry about the nap, I was… Charlotte: I know, you were tired. It's all right, Louis.

⚜ Le Cabinet Noir | Emperor's private jet, 29 Prairial An 230

Beginning ▬ Previous ▬ Next

Napoléon V and his wife Charlotte leave for their honeymoon. During the trip, they watch a live broadcast reviewing the imperial wedding.

(Oliver is from @officalroyalsofpierreland, Eleanor (Madame Royale) from @theroyalthornoliachronicles, we also see Queen Viviane II of Iona from @funkyllama. Thank you! <3)

⚜ Traduction française

Napoléon V et sa femme Charlotte partent en lune de miel. Durant le voyage, ils suivent une émission en direct faisant le bilan du mariage impérial.

Présentateur Julien : Une semaine après les célébrations, il est temps de dresser un bilan des festivités données pour le mariage de Leurs Majestés. Présentatrice Sophie : Il s'agit du troisième mariage impérial célébré dans toute l'histoire de la Francesim. Un événement rare et grandiose, qui annonce le faste prévu lors du prochain couronnement.

Présentatrice Sophie : Sa Majesté l'Empereur a épousé l'Impératrice Charlotte, un amour issu d'une longue amitié d'enfance. Le jeune couple a été marié par Sa Sainteté le pape Benedictus XIX, parrain de l'Empereur. Bienvenue à M. Arthur Thomas, notre spécialiste des têtes couronnées...

Journaliste Arthur : Merci Sophie. Présentateur Julien : Que faut-il retenir de ce mariage impérial, Arthur ?

Journaliste Arthur : Enormément de choses ! D'abord, il faut souligner à quel point l'Impératrice Charlotte a une nouvelle fois conquis les Français. C'est une jeune femme charmante, bien éduquée, et surtout qui connaît l'Empereur par cœur. Elle a maîtrisé le protocole impérial à la perfection cette journée, et je dirais même, mieux que l'Empereur !

Journaliste Arthur : En effet, l'image qui a amusé tout l'empire, c'est la micro-sieste discrète de Sa Majesté durant la messe qui suit la bénédiction du pape. Si cette royale somnolence a amusé les spectateurs en majorité, certains d'entre nous espèrent que le pape ou l'Impératrice ne se sont pas offusqués d'un tel manque de contrôle

Journaliste Arthur : A propos de contrôle, du côté des personnalités étrangères, Madame Royale de Thornolie s'est une fois de plus illustrée par une parfaite maîtrise de soi. Les langues les plus déliées regretteront peut-être la trop grande rigueur habituelle dont fait preuve Son Altesse Royale à chaque apparition publique.

Présentateur Julien : N'est-elle pas surnommée chez elle, en Thornolie, la princesse de glace ? Je trouve qu'à un mariage, Madame Royale aurait pu montrer davantage de sympathie à l'égard de notre jeune Empereur...

Présentateur Julien : A côté, le duc de Rothsey, à qui la famille impériale a pourtant refusé maintes fois de lui prêter attention, a été très souriant et exemplaire. Il a d'ailleurs participé au banquet impérial auprès de l'Empereur.

Journaliste Arthur : En effet, de nombreux fans se sont d'ailleurs réjouis de voir à nouveau réunis Oliver et Hortense. Les deux tourtereaux se sont d'ailleurs lancés plusieurs regards durant la cérémonie. Cela annonce-t-il de prochaines fiançailles? Probablement!

Sénateur Aimery : Je le crois aussi, la Francesim a besoin de se réunir autour de la famille impériale après ces temps difficiles. De plus, Leurs Majestés Impériales ont à cœur le bien-être de Madame Hortense.

Présentatrice Sophie : Merci Sénateur. Nous allons à présent laisser la parole à Madame Gérard, la présidente du parti de l'opposition, le Tiers parti...

Opposante Madame Gérard : Merci pour votre invitation Présentatrice Sophie : Que pensez vous du mariage de Sa Majesté ? Opposante Madame Gérard : Nous avons beaucoup d'espoir avec Sa Majesté l'Empereur Napoléon V, il faut espérer que...

Napoléon V : Je suis désolé pour la sieste, j'étais... Charlotte : Je sais, tu étais fatigué. Ce n'est pas grave Louis

[schroumpsqueendom]

🌸✨ Relaxing in Style! ✨🌸

On the left:

🍡💖 Mini Mochi: Tiny, squishy, and almost totally chillin’! Ready for some sun and snuggles!

On the right:

🥕🌼 Mr. Carotte: Cool and soaking up the rays with all the veggie vibes!

Together on their cute brand new chaise longue from Tiger 🏖️💫

[aneurinallday]

The Tragedy of James Steerforth

Chapter XIII: The End

By morning, Steerforth was lying pale and still in the sunlight that shone through the curtains. But it wasn’t the pallor and stillness of death - his chest was rising and falling steadily. David listened to the sound of his respiration, and heard only a slight wheeze on the exhale, much improved from the painful rattle of yesterday.

The miraculous had happened - Steerforth had fought and won.

As David watched, he opened his green eyes, which after a few moments focused on David.

“Daisy?” he said hoarsely.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“I know.”

“I had a bad dream. It just wouldn’t end.”

“Well, it’s ended now. You’re going to get better. In fact, you’re better already.”

Steerforth blinked in the bright morning.

“I think I need a bath.”

“Maybe later, once you’re strong enough to walk. But for now, let’s get you changed.”

He removed Steerforth’s dirty night-shirt, then the stained dressings from his elbow, glad to see that the doctor’s incision had fully scabbed over. Careful not to disturb the new skin, he gave the area a gentle wash until every trace of dried blood was gone. Then he helped Steerforth into a clean night-shirt, pulling it down over his head. As he was straightening the collar, Steerforth looked at him with concern.

“You look tired,” Steerforth said. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Let me think. Two nights ago?”

“Not on my account?”

“Don’t worry about me,” David chided him, “How do you feel?”

“I’m hungry.”

David laughed in relief, and kissed his hand.

“I’ll go bring you something.”

David gave himself a thorough wash and a change of clothes before heading downstairs. Agnes had fallen asleep on the chaise longue by the fireplace. He woke her gently, shared the good news, and exchanged a long hug before heading to the kitchen.

For Steerforth, breakfast was porridge with a little honey - easy to chew and easier to digest. He ate slowly and carefully, afraid of troubling his stomach after yesterday’s nausea, but managed more than he expected.

While he ate, David sat at a cluttered desk on the other side of the room, scribbling furiously. Steerforth sat listening to the scritch-scratch of David’s quill-pen on the pages. After a while, he enquired:

“What are you writing?”

“A story.”

“Am I in it?”

“No, no.” David shuffled the papers to hide what he’d written. “It’s just some fiction.”

Steerforth put the bowl aside, straining to reach the dresser, then lay back on the pillows. Occasionally he coughed and cleared his throat uncomfortably, but what came out was small and thin. The worst of the infection had passed.

“Do I look a mess?”

“Yes. But that’s alright.”

“Would you brush my hair, please?”

“Why, do you have an engagement?”

“No. I just want to look nice for you.”

David snorted with mirth, fetched a hairbrush from the dresser, and began to tidy Steerforth’s unkempt curls. Steerforth winced as he snagged a knot, and David paused to gently untangle it with his fingers.

“Maybe later you can go and sit in a chair by the window, if you’re feeling up to it,” David proposed.

Steerforth was silent, staring at nothing.

“James, did you hear me?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re preoccupied. Tell me your thoughts.”

“Well I…I suppose I’m worried that…that…”

“That what?”

“That you don’t forgive me. Not really. That you only felt sorry for me because I was ill. And now that I’m on the mend, you’ll…well, you’ll remember everything I did. And you’ll remember why you were angry.”

“James.” David put down the hairbrush, grasped him by the shoulders, and looked him in the eyes. “Do you remember when you sabotaged my publishing contract with Mr Bradbury, and then chased me down to boast about being the architect of my misfortune?”

“...Yes.”

“You asked me if I forgave you for what happened at Yarmouth. I said yes. You were only joking, but I meant what I said. And I still mean it.”

Steerforth sat up.

“Daisy,” he began, and then stopped himself. “Can I still call you ‘Daisy’?”

“Of course.”

“Well, Daisy, I want to say: I’m sorry. I was angry and I just - ”

“There’s no need to apologise.”

“No, no - let me speak. I need to say this. I was angry. At everyone, at everything, at myself. I didn’t know who to blame, or what to blame them for, so I blamed you. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Not really,” David admitted. “But I’ll try to.”

“I understand if you want me to disappear from your life forever. I would too. But I’d like to try and be a good friend, if you’ll let me.”

“I’d like to try that too.”

“I think…I think I may have been a little jealous of you, Daisy. I was admired, but you were loved. That was the difference between us.”

“Plenty of people love you.”

“It didn’t feel that way to me. I thought you all hated me, so I decided to hate you more, because then I would feel better about the whole thing. I suppose being angry hurt less than being lonely.”

“Well, you won’t be lonely again. Not as long as I’m alive.”

“You’re an angel, Daisy.” Steerforth smiled faintly as he said it, but he wasn’t joking. “I would’ve died out there. You came and lifted me out of hell.”

David groped for a reply, but was spared the trouble. Their conversation was interrupted by noise in the street outside: the clattering of horses’ hooves and the rattling of a carriage’s wheels, which stopped outside the house. David went to the window and peered out.

“Ah,” he said.

“What is it?” Steerforth said. “A visitor?”

“It’s your mother. Ham tried to get a message to her last night but it must not have arrived until this morning.”

“Oh. I see.”

They heard a woman’s raised voice, muffled through the floor, and then someone bustling noisily up the stairs. Steerforth nervously straightened his night-shirt and patted his hair, trying to make himself presentable.

“Shall I leave you two alone?” asked David.

“No. Please stay. She’ll make such a fuss - I think I may need your support.”

“Alright,” David chuckled. “Let’s face her together.”

The End

[keyh0use]

Chapter 2

I swear I'll get around to actually writing this soon, but have some parts of the outline for Chapter 2

♡ When Rafe and Barry decide to make things official, and then go public, no one is surprised.

♡ They say I love you to each other right off the bat, because they felt it way before it was okay to admit

♡ Sarah claims she's the reason they came to their senses

♡ Ward was already well acquainted with Barry, but started requesting the two spend time alone like he does with John B.

♡ The Cameron Patriarch brings up marriage a lot, just to see if Barry will squirm

♡ Wheezie claims Barry as her very best friend

♡ Both siblings, though they always loved their brother, find him much more tolerable to be around, not nearly as high strung and angered as easily.

♡ Once Barry had approval from both Ward and Rose as a suitable partner, he was awarded a key to Tanneyhill.

♡ Barry does disgusting, degrading things to Rafe all over the mansion.

♡ Rafe had been living with the dealer for almost a year prior to the relationship, so it seemed silly to not make that official, too.

♡ Only Ward was absolutely against it. He hadn't been able to win over John B. and Sarah, but Barry fucked around with some dangerous people in the past, so he was willing to let the real estate expert find them a home close enough to the south side to make the man's commute to work not suck, while still allowing the kook prince his status.

♡ Rafe never thought of himself as the type to be so particular over interior design, but he and Topper go to the mainland and spend forever picking out the perfect furniture.

♡ And then the kooks make Barry and his friends unload the truck and build everything

♡ Barry lives to take care of Rafe. It's his favorite thing, knowing instinctively what the boy needs and doing it before he even needs to be asked.

♡ Rafe's counter argument everytime Barry brings up having kids is: "Spend some one on one time with Wheezie, you'll change your mind."

♡ But Barry loves Wheezie, and he won't change his mind and secretly Rafe doesn't want him to, starting to feel ready to sit down and really talk about it.

♡ For now, Rafe's baby is his boat, graciously signed over to him from his dad. The boy spends countless hours fixing things before they break and sailing and forcing Barry to join him, which he always does because he likes how pretty Rafe looks in the glow of the sunset while bouncing on his lap, both of them damn near breaking longue chairs by being too rough every single time.

♡ It's mandatory for the couple to attend all sorts of kook events. One night after the two stumble into their cute home after a few too many expensive drinks, Barry admits he loves when Rafe forces them to match outfits.

♡ There's not a single anniversary or engagement party or family dinner or anything else where Rafe hasn't snuck off to get fucked in the bathroom, Barry's hand clasped over the boys mouth to muffle the slutty moans he's not even trying to hold in.

♡ Rafe will try to tame his sweaty hair and use cool water to get rid of the flush to no avail. John B. will fist bump Barry just as Sarah clues in with ew, gross.

♡ Both men are big fans of PDA, jealous and possessive despite having no reason to be.

♡ Rafe likes being told who he belongs to, whether it's while the older man is buried balls deep inside him or sleepily mumbled against his neck before bed.

♡ Some guy comes in to buy a ring for his soon-to-be wife, asking for Barry's advice. Barry has a lot of thoughts regarding jewellery, and when the customer asks if he's married the man says, "Nah, but my boyfriend's into all this stuff."

♡ After the guy has left with a dainty ring, Barry spends the rest of his shift pacing the floor trying to think of how he'll possibly grow the balls to ask Ward fucking Cameron for his only sons hand. Stupid kooks and their traditions.

♡ But then some lady makes a comment about someone like Barry being with someone like young Mr. Rafe Cameron at Midsummer's and Ward is the first to jump to his defense.

♡ "Don't listen to people like that, son. Some of these folks are too stuck in their ways," Ward says reassuringly, arm slung casually around Barry's shoulders.

♡ Topper and Barry fight like brothers, Rafe always having to break them up

♡ They have a "guest room" which Wheezie has made all her own, some of her stuffed animals on the bed and posters of Taylor Swift on the walls

♡ Barry enlists Sarah's help to find a ring, the girl squealing and grabbing onto him in excitement every few minutes for literal hours

[elmaxlys]

Vol 1 "Tango" - Chapter 1 (1/3)

Not gonna comment on typography change if it's not significant + all of 2015 is more zoomed in and therefore loses the details on all borders of the page

2015 goes FirstName LastName and 2020 goes LastName FirstName. (except that one time 2015 says Sugiki Shinya for some reason. We'll see in the rest of the volume how it pans out)

2015 capitalizes "Standard", "Latino-Américaine" and "Danse Sportive" (that last one is only on page 1 tho idk), + capitalizes the beginning of every speech bubble, regardless of whether we were in the middle of a sentence of not.

2015: quick step - 2020: quickstep

The journals' names:

"Danser sa vie" (2015) -> "Dance Life" (2020)

"Danser à deux" (2015) -> "Dance with" (2020)

Honorifics:

Suzuki-san (2020) becomes M. Suzuki (Mr.) (2015) and Tajima-san (2020) becomes Mlle Tajima (Miss) (2015)

^this is making me wonder even more about the honorific use here

-sensei stays sensei in both versions

The "10 Dance" competition name stays as is in 2015 but becomes "10 Danses" in 2020, aka the direct translation of ten dances.

"Latino-américain" is abbreviated as:

Latino (2015)

Latin (2020 - complete with a T/N saying it's the abbreviation and stuff)

"On est tête de série en Latin/Latino, donc on fait:

dix danses par jour (ten dances a day - 2015)

quinze danses par jour (fifteen dances a day - 2020)

10 Dance description

2015: Il s'agit d'un tournoi international en 10 styles dans lequel concourent les danseurs maîtrisant aussi bien le Standard que le Latino-Américain, ayant un mental imperturbable de longues heures durant et un physique pour danser trente morceaux en une journée...

2020: Il s'agit d'un tournoi international en 10 styles dans lequel concourent les danseurs maîtrisant aussi bien le standard que le latino-américain, avec l'endurance pour danser sur quarante morceaux et un mental d'acier pour tenir toute la compétition sans flancher.

Emphasis mine but 2020 Shinya, honey, you just said it was thirty, why are you saying forty, now?