#seigneur. AND I’LL DO IT AGAIN

[jules-and-company]

bon. alors. j’ai donc vu ce spectacle en vrai. ci-dessous les notes prises en live qui n’auront sûrement aucun sens pour vous mais nique sa mère comme on dit

- quel homme ! 🙌🏻☝️👆🏻

- alceste est moins gueulard mais plus fragile et violent dans ses éclats

- philinte est plus triste et prompt à la colère mais plus doux

- philinte s’est vraiment retenu de le gifler là

- « et que cette maladie !…. » la pause était, je sais pas trop comment dire, plus naturelle, plus réelle que l’autre version

- le petit geste pour poser sa main sur sa jambe était aussi plus court mais plus naturel

- ils sont beaucoup plus tactiles

- ils sont très très proches l’un de l’autre

- le doucement alceste calme toi de philinte lors du « monsieur ! l’amitié demande un peu plus de mystère »

- « nous verrons bien ! » et la petite mimique signée corbery

- l’eye contact avec serge bagdassarian. juste au moment où « on espère ! alors qu’on désespère ! » et au désespère il regarde directement dans mon âme, pile au moment où je me moque gentiment de ce moment comique. envie de m’enfoncer dans un trou

- leurs petits commentaires lors de la lecture. définitivement potes core

- « je ne dis pas cela » progressively more annoyed

- le petit « 3, 4 ! » donné par un claquement de doigts en rythme lors de la chanson. peak comedy

- « VOILÀ CE QUE PEUT DIRE UN COEUR VRAIMENT ÉPRIS » oh my god j’ai vraiment entendu ça en live

- les petits « non mais ne l’écoutez pas » ou « alors moi je ne connais que très peu ce mec » j’en sais rien je sais pas lire sur les lèvres, quand oronte se retourne vers philinte genre « is he for real ? »

- « il est bon à mettre au cabinet » et philinte qui sautille sur place en se facepalmant fort tellement il doit se retenir de gifler son pote dans l’instant

- le fou rire de génovèse. my mental illness has been cured

- d’ailleurs le capital comique de serge bagdassarian tout au long de la pièce

- c’est alain langlet qui joue le majordome

- alceste qui tente d’être romantique avec célimène (la choper par la taille et lui embrasser le cou) mais elle se dérobe mais LUI il a voulu la rattraper trop vite trop fort et il s’est à moitié pété la gueule contre une chaise et a fait tomber un petit fauteuil

- seigneur dieu quel boule (génovèse)

- seigneur dieu quelle femme (adeline d’hermy)

- quand ils se précipitent sur eux, philinte garde alceste dans un coin les mains levées et quand hervieu-léger revient, petit mouvement de tête sur le côté de philinte souriant genre « vas-y viens et je te démonte la colonne vertébrale façon lego »

- hervieu-léger pétasse queen qui se tient bien

- ils jouent aux petits chevaux

- ils sont tous beau

- les MAINS de tous ces gens

- ptn le piano c’est beau

- globalement cet homme, son rire et son sourire (génovèse)

- l’amour de philinte encore et toujours

- le baiser entre eux était looong

- j’ai cru qu’ils allaient se taper over éliante

- la violence vraiment relevée d’alceste

- wow ok donc il a vraiment l’air hyper perdu après avoir agressé célimène. mais pas comme la dernière fois. là il a pleinement réalisé ce qu’il venait de faire et il se DÉTESTE

- ptn il est vraiment chat mouillé core hein

- alors. voir corbery tomber à genoux devant des femmes quand c’est filmé c’est bien. voir corbery tomber à genoux devant adeline d’hermy en live c’est MIEUX

- ARGHRGRHGR il la fait tournoyer je veux être ELLE BORDEL

- le cri de on sait pas s’il chiale ou s’il rit en live c’est tellement plus drôle

- c’est christian gonon qui joue dubois

- le beef de dubois avec le grouillot

- je pensais pas pouvoir dire ça un jour. mais j’ai entendu loïc corbery gémir dans un baiser comme une salope devant les 900 personnes de la salle richelieu

- j’attendais le moment du câlin. je n’ai pas été déçue mais en plus j’ai envie de me défenestrer. pourquoi ? parce que bon déjà la sincérité, la force avec laquelle ils s’agrippent, la douceur venue d’une réelle inquiétude pour alceste mal cachée quand il le relève. mais surtout. alceste qui marmonne un truc. et ce truc. c’est quand philinte commence à remonter les escaliers, un premier « adieu. ». et quand il tombe, vraiment moins fainting que l’autre fois, là c’était vraiment un manque de force total, et que philinte se dépêche de redescendre, pendant les secondes où il le rejoint, « philinte ». quand il l’atteint, « adieu ». on a donc un « adieu. philinte, adieu » dit d’une voix qui évoque le suicide et moi aussi j’ai envie là alceste. CORBERY WHY

- monsieur génovèse je sais que vous pouvez chialer sur commande. mais je pensais pas être capable de voir les yeux brillants de larmes depuis mon petit strapontin. et la voix en vibrato constant et véritablement au bord des larmes. la douceur du tout petit moment où ils se rapprochent l’un de l’autre, philinte est vraiment à deux centimètres de poser sa tête sur l’épaule d’alceste. damn. un énorme talent et un joli petit cul.

- définitivement hervieu-léger la plus pétasse to have ever pétassed

- birane ba vous ne giflez pas adeline d’hermy svp

- j’ai pu voir presque au premier plan les mains tremblantes et le visage dévasté d’alceste quand célimène refuse de le suivre

- philinte qui a l’air beaucoup plus inquiet pour son pote (à raison) que l’autre fois

- NAAAAANN LE CHOIX ENTRE ALCESTE ET ÉLIANTE QUI EST MILLE FOIS PLUS VISIBLE STOOOP CLÉMENT HERVIEU-LÉGER ✊✊✊

- LA BEAUTÉ DE CET HOMME (génovèse)

- lui et serge bagdassarian qui se bousculent comme des gosses à l’une des sorties

[mcx7demonbros]

First Time

Ft. Klein (my MC), Lucifer

Pairing. Lucifer x Klein

C/W. Sexual and suggestive but nothing explicit. Klein pretends to be ignorant of sexual things.

Summary. Lesson 20-14. I believe that’s enough.

“Klein, we’re going straight to my room.” Lucifer told the young man after their lips parted. “You are going to spend your last night in Devildom with me.” Klein showed no sign of resistance or rejection, and the Avatar of Pride pulled him to his bedroom.

“Mm.” The two immersed themselves in unending kisses when they arrived at the eldest’s bedroom. Lucifer pushed Klein down to his bed.

“Wait, Lucifer…”

“What is it?” Lucifer asked while he feared that Klein might have second thought in his head.

“It’s just…this my first time.”

Klein took a glance at Lucifer’s chest and he was sure it swelled up in Pride. Klein did his best to hide the smirk. These demons thought he was a small innocent lamb, but in fact, he was a ravenous wolf pretending to be one. However, Klein didn’t lie to the Avatar of Pride, he had never shared the bed with anyone.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. Just follow my lead. Is that it?”

“Erm…well, I don’t know how it supposed to work between two males.” Klein admitted with a reddened face.

“Let me tell you.” The demon began to whisper in Klein’s ear. “[CENSORED] enters [CENSORED].”

“Wait, what!?” Klein became flustered from Lucifer’s words. “It’s…it’s gonna hurt, right? When I was small, a doctor put some medicine into my bottom, and it was extremely hurt. I don’t think I can stand something much bigger.”

“I admit,” Lucifer nodded his head, “it’s going to be hurt, but you will also experience gratification.”

“Really?”

“I already said it. The real question is ‘do you trust me?’. But if you do feel not prepared, I’m not going to force you, we can try something less hardcore tonight.”

“Alright, I trust you.”

“I’m going to make you satisfied.” The Avatar of Pride’s chest swelled up again as he kissed the little human. The kiss soon evolved to things more passionate and all clothes were thrown to the floor.

Epilogue

“Ah…ugh!” Klein groaned the moment he sat on his Evil Overlord’s throne, after he had returned to the human world, or rather his Invincible Fortress.

“Mon Seigneur, do you feel unwell?” His butler, Cedric, asked with a concerned voice.

“Cedric, I’m going to lie on bed working for the next week. If there is any paperwork, bring them straight to my bedroom.” Klein left as he stroked his hip, his legs shaking a little like he couldn’t even stand too long.

“Yes, Mon Seigneur.”

French words

Mon: my (masculine). Its other forms are ma (feminine), mes (plural). Which form is used depends on the gender or number of the noun goes after it. Ex: mon père (my father), ma mère (my mother), mes frère (my brothers).

Seigneur: lord. Masculine noun.

[tarithenurse]

If I succeed - 11

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Content: Nothing bad, actually. A/N: I may have to slow my postings down the coming weeks as I’m picking up extra shifts at the ER to assist on the COVID-19 diagnosis and care. I’ll do my best to update on the WiP/master list as well as posting. Want a tag? Send an ask or reblog! I’d love comments and feedback – even if it’s corrections on language or whatever. I’m not picky as long as I know my work brings joy too.

11 – Between you and me

...   Years ago, in Beauclair   ...

As the right hand of the vassal, the young seigneur and his lady lacked nothing. Enjoying the easy life at the vassal’s court in Beauclair kept them away from the intrigues (including the harm thereof) while still granting influence and luxury. As such, it seemed their happiness was guaranteed when the lady became with child.

Though the laws required the monarch of Nilfheim to be of the male sex, there were no such restrictions for the heirs of the lesser lords, meaning that the birth of a healthy girl was as much cause for celebration as a boy would have been. Yes, the seigneur and his wife were truly blessed by the Prophet.

Or so it seemed.

As the little girl grew, so did the numbers of strange incidents in the household. Lamps flickered and flared, the hearths would roar as by a sudden gust of wind. For a while, the parents would amuse themselves by imagining the flames danced according to their precious daughter’s mood...but the laughter was lessened when a servant got severely burned after angering the child and later there were no smiles left as a wave of her hand caused the fire to leap towards a guest.

Money and favours owed bought the silence of the witnesses, but everyone knew it would only be a matter of time: the sorceresses of Aretuza would come for the child if she survived past the first ten years – a prospect that scared the parents. The mother was distraught, remembering the loss of a childhood friend who was taken to train with magic yet never seen again; the father became grim and silent, growing more secluded as time passed. Neither, however, stopped loving the girl or were willing to give up on her.

When the child was six years of age, a Witcher happened to visit the court of Beauclair and though his quest was another, he agreed to listen to the seigneur after promising not to tell a soul. Curious, he went to see the child. Vesemir, the Witcher, witnessed how the girl played with the flames effortlessly.

“Yes,” he confided to the parents, “Aretuza will come for the girl...but not to train her. To kill her.” He explained of the balance of nature and how the use of magic had a cost to maintain that order. “[Y/N] does not appear to pay the due. Magic without a price’s unthinkable and the very existence’s the greatest threat to the world of the sorceresses and mages.”

“But what can we do?”

Vesemir took pity on the little family, quietly thinking to himself that he had been going soft ever since he took in his charge. Working ardently, the Witcher found a way to cloak the girl, obscure the mark of magic with a sign from those who would seek it, before helping the family leave the city under disguise.

...   Present day, Reader   ...

“You saw him again?”

A short nod. “Yeah. He...visited the summer after they passed.” Pointing to the knife, you add: “Wanted t’make sure I knew ‘bout that.”

It is tangible, the path of Geralt’s gaze as it reevaluates everything he has learned about your body to remember seeing a mark. You lift and part your hair after turning the back to him because there, at the base of the skull, is a finely lined symbol. You do not recall ever seeing it with your own eyes though the memory of getting it done is clear.

“Hm.” The Witcher sounds surprised. “Here I thought he only cared ‘bout swords.”

Jaskier has also been leaning in to get a good look at the small tattoo, clearly less impressed despite undoubtedly having understood the implications. “I once new this fellow who OUCH!”

The scowl you send the silver-haired man is only enough to make him shrug. Clearly, remorse is still not one of his traits – at least not when it comes to slapping the bard in the back of the head. Witchers. He is the second one you have met and while he is the only you have gotten to know this well, it seems there may be a pattern in their personalities: few of words, practical, confident. Consuming. Passionate. The memories of both night and day mingle, interchanging what the bright sun had shown you with the shadows of the past night. Still a bit sore, your core reawakens, stirred by echoes from the lovemaking Geralt had worshipped you by.

“Fire...” you sigh, “I can’t create it out of nothing.”

“No one can do anything unless they’ve been taught,” he challenges with an arched brow.

Of course, you take the bait. Maybe to ensure some things remain unchanged? “S’pose you’re gonna teach me, huh?”

“Hmm.” His smile broadens to reveal teeth and his eyes gleam like gold in the sun. “I’ll teach you a lot more...but not that.”

Shy a response, you are saved by Jaskier finally losing his patience and demanding to know the relevance and how any attempts to kill the vampires are going to result in anything but certain death...especially if the wyverns have indeed been domesticated. Truth be told, the bard is being reasonable. We only need evidence, a desperate thought shouts in your mind, enough to convince the villagers to flee and the vassal to send the soldiers.

Beauclair is hundreds of miles from the last village at the foot of the mountains and the vassal and his court will be safe for a long time while the rest of Toussaint suffers – it has always been that way whether through harsh winters or violent attacks. Those with power do not lower themselves to bother with the problems of the common folk. Your parents had always known this and tried to help in what ways they could without catching the suspicions of their fellows in the court because Toussaint, well, all of Nilfheim, follows a simple rule: kill or be killed. If someone shows signs of weakness, they are certain to be ousted. If lucky. No, the only reason for any ruler, local or not, to lift a finger would be if they were the targets.

“Domesticated wyverns...” you ponder, unknowingly out loud, “domest-...dom-...vampires are intelligent?”

Under your fixed stare, Geralt nods. “Some.”

“Then maybe...no...” Intelligent or not, they’re still monsters.

“What? What is it?” There is desperation in Jaskier’s voice. “Any idea’s gotta be better than hack ‘n slash.”

Suddenly, your throat is dry and the hem of the tunic is fascinating, captivating your attention and preventing a good argument from rolling off your tongue. “Well...if they’re smart enough to get t’gether and tame the wyvers...they’ve got some sorta plan. Right? Would they be willing to listen to logic?” A dark eyebrow rises, underlining the contrast against the silvered hair of the owner. “I mean...can they be...argued with or-or swayed to...y’know...”

Stammering and hesitant, you explain a fool’s hope of convincing the enemy to head directly for the king and his many advisors and admirals rather than preying on the innocents.

“Your idea was to walk up there, waltz into their midst and beg them not to kill the common folk?”

“Well...yeah?”

[elfboyeros]

Pink Tulips and Green Chrysanthemums

I just wanted to write a wedding episode and Rowan and Liam came to mind, please enjoy See this page for the original Shelter story and Information!

@jj-pines @kara-is-so-ninja

Rustic wedding venue, nicely decorated with green chrysanthemums, carnation, and bells of Ireland, as well as, light pink tulips, rocktrumpets, and roses. As the sunlight shined into the building,  from the large window, making the whole building have a fairyland atmosphere. "Calvin, I don't know if I can do this," Liam sighed, within the confines of his dressing room. Our baby boy, Liam-Elias, dressed in a warm gray dress-coat, warm gray pants, and a pink button-up dress short, as he stood in front of the mirror. "What do you mean," Calvin laughed, grabbing onto Liam's shoulders, "kid, you going to marry Rowan." "I know, but I worried," Liam sighed. "That's natural," Calvin chuckled. "What were you like when you married Indigo," Liam asked. Calvin chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, "That was a little different, Elias..." "It was like we had been for years, I mean, yes, my heart was beating ten times fast when she was walking down the to the alter, but I never felt that nervous." Liam chuckled, "Of course," he sighed, rubbing his face. "You are going to be fine, Elias, don't worry," Calvin replied, fixing Liam's collar. "Rowan, bon putain de seigneur, tu as dit que tu voulais me maquiller, reviens ici pour que je puisse peindre ton joli visage!" "Mom, please!" Rowan, at that moment, ran into the room that Liam and Calvin wherein. "Save me, Rowan giggled. Such a gorgeous babe, dawning a black dress shirt with green accents, rolled up sleeves, black pants, green suspenders, a green skirt/train attached to their hips, and a pink tulip pined in their hair. "Fuck," Liam sighed, quietly blushing, "you're alluring." "So, she is trying to put you in make-up," Calvin asked. "Yes, but I told her no," Rowan remarked. Calvin laughed, "You can't ju-" "Let them stay," Liam replied. "Thank you," Rowan sighed, "You look ravishing." "I'll go hold of the French bombshell," Calvin laughed, before leaving the room. Liam blushed more as Rowan walked up to him and cupped his face, "what's wrong?" "I'm a bit nervous," Liam sighed. "Then the world is upsidedown," Rowan chuckled, "because I am not nervous." "How," Liam whined. "Because I am marrying you." "God, I sound like a jackass," Liam sighed, kissing the inside of Rowan's wrist, "I'm marrying you and I over here like: uhm am I little nervous bitch!" Rowan giggled, taking a green chrysanthemum from a nearby vase and pining it to Liam's coat, "everything is going to be alright." "Hearing that from you makes me feel better," Liam sighed, finally looking them in the eyes, "baby." Rowan let out a small giggled as they blushed. "ROWAN," Indigo yelled, busting into the room. Rowan yelped and hid behind Liam, "I AM NOT WEARING MAKE-UP!" "Indigo, your not getting ahold of them," Liam chuckled. "Give me my child," Indigo laughed. "Never," Rowan laughed, moving from behind Liam to beside, "My face will stay clear like Liam like it!" "Alright," Calvin chuckled, taking his stance beside Indigo, "you both want to get married, right?" "Come on, dad, it's just a little fun," Rowan remarked, smiling. "Let's let Elias finish getting ready, lavender sprig," Indigo stated, heading for the room, with Calvin following, undoubtedly to kiss her goodbye, even though they would be each other again in under 15 minutes. "I will be there in just a second," Rowan sighed, standing back in front of Liam. Silence filled the room as the door shut, leaving Rowan and Liam to stare at each other. Liam could take in all of Rowan's features and Rowan the same. Their freckles, his magenta eyes, the scar on their left eye, the scar on his nose,  and the soft smiles they both held. The room now smelled of both lemons and lavender, their scents that always mixed well. "I need to leave," Rowan sighed, breaking the silence. Liam sighed, he felt calm with them beside him, like he could take over the world with them just by his side. "Alright." Rowan could see the frown appearing on his face, "you'll see me soon," they said, cupping his face, "now smile." Liam smiled, good lord he wanted to kiss them so severely, "go, because I want to kiss you," he said, trying not to laugh. "Why can't you kiss me now," Rowan replied with a smirk. "because it's-it's part of the-uhm- like... unspoken rules of marrying someone," Liam answered, struggling to find the right words. "I think we are already breaking one of the rules," Rowan remarked, "because I have already seen my bride." Liam fought himself inside he wanted to grab their face and kiss them, "Rowan, please, I can't take it," he sighed, caressing their cheek. "Fine," Rowan sighed, stilling holding their smirk. Rowan turned to leave, so Liam turned back to the mirror. Although Rowan turned back around and kissed Liam cheek, leaving Liam shocked, "you know I hate stupid rules," they sighed with a smirk, "I love you, see you soon, my dove!" Liam touched his cheek, still feeling Rowan's chapstick, "I want to taste their chapstick, more than ever, right now,"  he sighed, to himself. As Liam thought of kissing Rowan for a few moments, the door opened, his mother, Sophie, stood in the doorframe, smiling on the verge of tears. "My handsome boy," the 61-year-old woman sighed, opening arms to hug him. "Mom," he exclaimed, hugging his mother tightly. "My baby boy is getting married," she sighed. Liam chuckled as his mother hugged him, "I'm so proud of you, Elias," Sophie sighed, tears forming in her eyes. "Come on," Liam sighed, "don't cry." "I'm not crying," Sophie chuckled as she wiped stray tears from her face, "I am just so happy for you." Sophie cupped her son's face, "I love you, I'm glad that you're relaxed, for what seems like the first time in a long time," she sighed. "I love you too, mom," Liam replied. "Now, come on, let's get you married," Sophie remarked, with a smile. Sophie grabbed her son's hand, leading him to the closed doors of the wedding hall, "are you ready?" Liam sighed, "yes." The doors opened, showing a large room full of friends and family. Rowan stood at the end of the wedding aisle with their twin 10-year-old brothers, Roland and Ramiro, standing beside them. "Christ," Rowan muttered, blushing, as Liam walked to them. Liam flashed Rowan his signature bright smile as he stepped on the platform, "Fuck," Rowan muttered, trying to hide their face. "What was that," Liam chuckled, with a smirk and narrowed eyes, taking ahold of their chin and making them look at him. "Nothing, I said nothing," Rowan muttered. Sloan cleared his throat, "would you like to like to began." "Yes," Liam said, shaking his head with a smile. "Welcome everyone to the union of Liam-Elias Braxton Sallow and Rowan Alex Royal," Sloan began, "now, this is the time where I am supposed to say, 'does anyone object to this union,' although I doubt that the lovely couple would allow that." "These rings please, dear," Sloan remarked, as Casper, handed both Rowan and Liam the rings, "Rowan if you would state your vows." Rowan exhaled, "I don't know where to begin, but I need to expel my heart to you in front of almost everyone we know," Rowan took a breath as they rubbed Liam's hand in their own, "I love you, I have loved you for the past four years. I have always felt safe when I am by your side, I have always felt at home when you are near, your bright smile makes my heart leap, and your face," Rowan chuckled, blushing, making Liam do the same, "your damn face. I have never wanted anything more than to be by your side, and call you my husband." Rowan slipped the silver ring onto Liam's left-hand ring finger. "I guess it's my turn now," Liam sighed, with a smile, "I don't know what to say, I love you more than anything, and I would do anything for you. I also think I have proven that more than once. You want to be by my side, and that where I want you to be. I  never want to let you go," Liam brushed Rowan's hair out of their eye, "All I want is you, all of you, Rowan." They stared at each other, as Liam placed the ring on Rowan's right-hand ring finger. "By the power at be I pronounce you married," Sloan exclaimed, "you may now kiss." Liam had been waiting for this part all day!  He grabbed Rowan's face, kissed them deeply, causing them to yelp, in surprise, before melting into his arms, wrapping their arms around his neck. Liam finally got to taste Rowan's chapstick, pink lemonade chapstick, fulled his taste buds. Whereas chapstick doesn't have a savory flavor, Liam loved the taste do possibly to the fact that he was also tasting Rowan's lips, or maybe, he was a weird dude that like the taste of pink lemonade chapstick. Nevertheless: they pulled apart, holding each other close. "I present Liam-Elias Braxton & Rowan Alex Royal-Sallow," Sloan remarked, with a smile. Liam and Rowan walked about the aisle together, and went off the reception, at a more luxurious location. A location that held a massive banquet room with a chandelier in the middle ceiling, fairy lights strung from the chandelier to the columns, a moderately sized dance floor, along with the balcony. Liam was on the balcony, looking out into the field of fireflies, catching a bit of fresh air. "I'm surprised you are not out here with a guitar," Rowan remarked, with a giggle, behind him. "I can't steal one, "He joked, as Rowan made their way beside him. "You could," Rowan muttered, placing their hand on their chin, as they leaned the railing. "I'll play guitar for you when we get home," Liam chuckled. "I never said I wanted you to," Rowan stated, cocking an eyebrow. "Oh-really," Liam chuckled. "All I said is that you could steal the guitar," they replied, turning to him. "Is this going to be our first married fight," Liam remarked, with a smirk, pulling Rowan close to him, placing his hands on their hips. "We are not fighting," Rowan sighed, returning his smirk and wrapping their arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, "I just commented." "And I remarked that I would play for you," Liam replied, "which I will." "Liam." "Yes," he sighed, praying that he would be asked to kiss them. "Did you like the taste on my chapstick," Rowan joked. Liam's face became flushed, "how did yo-" "Running your tongue across my bottom lip and sucking my face in front of everyone we know," Rowan expelled, holding their smirk. Liam let out an awkward chuckle, "Sorry, I couldn't help it." Rowan smiled, "You couldn't help it, mhm." Rowan moved their hands to Liam's cheeks pulling his face closer to their level and kissing him with passion, licking his bottom lip in the process. "Fuck," Liam sighed Rowan just giggled, showing Liam their trademark soft smile, "You are going to kill me with that smile, baby," Liam sighed, his voice deep and soft. "your voice is going to do the same to me, dove," Rowan sighed back.

[themummersfolly]

Ami du Roi - Ave, pt 1

@nuingiliath @skeleton-richard @ardenrosegarden @princess-of-france @shredsandpatches @harry-leroy @stripedroseandsketchpads

Well this wound up being a lot longer than I had anticipated. You guys are not going to like the ending.

-------

24 October, A.D. 1415

The words fell from his lips in soft, familiar cadence as he rolled each bead of the paternoster between his fingers:

Ave Maria, gratia plena

Dominus tecum.

He had said these prayers every day since childhood, seeking sometimes insight, sometimes solace in the rote words. Even now, they brought him some peace.

Benedicta tu in mulieribus

Et benedictus fructus ventris tui

Candlelight glowed on the gold beads: a New Year’s gift from his cousin, long, long ago in a happier time. As he reached the Amen, he bowed his head once more and whispered a final plea:

Pray for me, Marie.

She had been gone five years now, dead in childbed, giving him his youngest son. He still had not found it within himself to replace her, despite the turmoil, the need for alliances and heirs. If his cousin had been well, he would have urged him to remarry.

If his cousin had been well…

“Mon seigneur.” The tent flap moved and Thierry, his body servant, poked his face through. “Maréchal Boucicaut approaches.”

“Very good, I’ll receive him.” Charles D’Albret folded the paternoster carefully and returned it to its pouch.

If my cousin were well, none of this would be happening.

He stood and stretched – the damp chill brought out an ache in one leg that never really went away. Thierry held the tent flap as he ducked out, buckling on his sword as he went.

Jean Le Maingre, known to most as Boucicaut, stood outside, mud-spattered to the knee. He looked annoyed.

“My Lord Constable.”

“God keep you, good Marshal. How now?”

“The Duke d’Alençon keeps sending me runners.”

D’Albret willed his jaw to unclench. “I’m not moving him. There’s no more room in the vanguard.”

“He’s afraid that by the time his division is brought into play, he’ll have missed his share of the glory. He told me he’s not a carrion bird, to be tasked with picking off the dead.”

“Alençon is a valiant knight, but he can be a fool. I’d have sent him home by now if I thought I could.”

Boucicaut’s mouth tightened in a straight line: agreement. “At least Orleans seems content with his placement, now.”

“I’m keeping him by me on the morrow. This will be his first real battle; I don’t want him getting more ‘glory’ than he knows what to do with.” An image came to mind, unbidden: Louis d’Orleans lying on the cobblestones, his blood and brains mixing with the filth from the street. Young Charles looked so much like him, it was easy to picture him in his father’s place… D’Albret forced the vision down. “The king would never forgive me if something happened to him.” The Marshal nodded. “What else?”

“You’re going to have to have a word with my brother.”

“Geffroi? Again?”

“I caught him and some of his men heading toward the sieur de Graville’s contingent. You know he has a score to settle –”

“Mon Dieu, are the English not foes enough?”

“I’m sorry to make you deal with this. I’ve tried talking to him – you know he won’t listen to me.”

“Well, he’ll listen to me or he’ll sit this one out.”

“Fair enough.” Boucicaut glanced over the Constable’s shoulder. “Pity.”

“Hm?” D’Albret turned, following his gaze into the darkness beyond the pickets.

“The English. They don’t seem to be having so many problems with discipline. We could use an ounce or two of their mettle.”

“I suppose it’s easier to order a smaller host.” Christ, there weren’t even watchfires over there. He realized his hand was clenched on the hilt of his sword; he made himself relax his grip. “The last group of scouts came in half an hour ago. They said the English are still there.”

“Maybe they mean to slip away in the night.”

“We can only hope to be so lucky.”

Boucicaut rubbed his jaw. A scar ran just in front of one ear; a grim souvenir of the Battle of Nicopolis, it had cost him the feeling in the lower side of his face and frozen one corner of his mouth in a permanent, lopsided scowl. “Their Henri doesn’t seem the type.”

“He isn’t. But if enough of his army has the wisdom, morning may find him with just one or two hundreds. Then we can force a capitulation.”

Boucicaut opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment splattering footsteps sounded behind them. The two commanders turned to see a page stumble to a halt.

“My lords – Clignet de Brabant sends word – the comte de Vendôme is telling the crossbowmen to go home – he’s telling them they’re not needed on the morrow –”

“WHAT – Dieu des batailles, I told him earlier to stop.” Boucicaut ran a hand through his hair. “I’m going to kill him.”

“No, you’re not.” D’Albret pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go find the sieur de Rambures, round up the crossbowmen before they get too far, and tell them to stay put. I’ll deal with Vendôme., it’s part of my office.”

Through the camp, past cookfires and armorers and lines of fretful horses, to the tent with the arms of the duc de Bourbon…

“Ah, cousin, welcome!” The duke smiled. He had a cup of wine in his hand; from the glazed look in his eyes, it wasn’t his first.

“Bourbon, where is your brother?”

“My…”

“Louis, comte de Vendôme. Where is he?”

“Uhhh…”

“Go find him and tell him to stop interfering with my crossbowmen. He’s this close to losing his command.”

Bourbon gestured with his cup, spilling wine onto his sleeve, then spilled more trying to brush it off. “Now see here, my lord Constable, they’re not really –”

“JEAN. Go. Find. Him.”

Bourbon froze, D’Albret’s tone snapping him back to the nine-year-old boy caught poking his older cousin’s horse with a stick.

“Ah…em, yes. I’ll go see to it, then.”

D’Albret glared after him as he shuffled off, shouting for the nearest page. His hand strayed unconsciously to the pouch at his belt, fingering the golden beads again.

If the king were well, none of them would dare step out of line.

“My lord Constable?” He turned at the sound of the voice. “Is something wrong?”

Charles, duc d’Orleans stood at the entrance to his own tent, a faint crease between his eyes. D’Albret sighed internally. Yes, of course, everything’s wrong. We shouldn’t even be here, half the camp is as ready to kill each other as the English, and every lordling with a feather to stick in his cap thinks he needs to challenge my command!

“It’s being taken care of,” he said instead.

Orleans watched him for a moment. Young as he was, he was remarkably good at reading people.

“I heard it said that the men from St. Omer thought they’d missed the battle, when they arrived.” He was trying to be light-hearted. D’Albret felt his jaw tightening again.

“Likely they wished they had.”

“Surely it won’t be even a half-day’s work tomorrow, there are so few English. They’re as timid as mice, they know we have them surrounded.”

D’Albret felt as if someone had squeezed his heart. Despite the young man’s looks, he reminded him less of Louis and more of Charles the king, Orlean’s uncle and godfather. Bright-eyed and smiling in spite of nerves, long ago, just outside Roosebeke… “Don’t worry, cousin, think of the glory to be won!”

“That’s not timidity,” he said quietly. “Never mistake it.” Then more harshly: “And I thought you spent time in conversation with the dame de Pizan. She could have told you as well as any that you never fight a cornered army. Men who know they’re doomed will fight all the harder. I’d as lief have her here than all the Princes of the Blood. The woman’s got more sense in her little finger than the rest of us put together.” He began to stalk away.

“My lord, wait.”

D’Albret turned, wondering what new nonsense was about to be thrown at him. The duc stepped forward, so as not to have to shout.

“I… I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier, in the council. I was out of line. I should have shown more respect for your authority.”

“You’re the king’s nephew,” D’Albret replied. “Your authority is at least equal to mine.” Hardly absolution; that was the greatest source of their problems at the moment, and Orleans knew it.

“Nonetheless, I am grateful that you gave me a place in the vanguard. I won’t let you down, I swear it.”

“I may give you orders, orders that you don’t like. Orders that may sound like they’ll cost you some feat of arms.

“I’ll follow them. Whatever you say, I’ll do.”

That squeezing feeling was back in his heart. “There’s something I need you to understand. This isn’t a joust; men will die tomorrow, and not just the English. You’re putting yourself in more danger than you know, and if you falter, whether in body or spirit, you as good as kill the man beside you. I need you to understand how serious this is.”

Orleans blinked. “I understand.”

And truly, D’Albret mused, he thinks he does.

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Going Down the List #4: ‘Les Huguenots’, Montpellier, 1990

As any of you who have been following me for a long time know, this is one of my favorite operas and I am on a quest to find and watch every available filmed production of this opera. As such, this is my eighth production of Huguenots, and I think the best one I've seen. Here goes:

First things first, any review of a production of this opera has to include some commentary about cuts. I’m happy to say that there are very few of them, the most notable of which is the entire Act III ballet, which still isn’t a huge loss. There are minor cuts elsewhere, such as a section of the Raoul/Marguerite duet that I frequently forget exists (the section, not the whole duet), a small cut in the Act I window scene, a couple tiny cuts in ‘O beau pays de la Touraine’, and some of the Act III finale. Urbain’s Act II aria was omitted as well, but since it was an insert aria in the first place, I don’t see it as that huge of a loss even though I do love it and prefer when it is included.

Also, a warning: the video quality is not great. It’s not horrible, but it’s definitely not ideal. It’s still decent, though, especially for what I’m assuming is an upload of a video ripped from a 1990s TV broadcast of an official in-house recording. There are no subtitles either, which really stinks.

With that out of the way, the production: I’d overall describe it as ‘traditional minimalist with really wonderful direction’.

The sets are where the ‘minimalist’ part comes from: there are only really two sets, one of which is almost entirely white and the other of which is almost entirely black. The sets are slightly modified for each scene, but the first set is essentially ‘huge staircase (most of the time also featuring a couple long tables and a ridiculous number of chairs)’ and the second is essentially a huge open space with black walls, a lot of graffiti that is mostly illegible, and some cut-out door openings. Although personally, I’d prefer a little more detail and variety, I do overall like the sets and I think they work well.

The costumes are beautiful period fashion; the problem with them, however, is that apparently the costume designer thought it would be a good idea to dress large groups of people exactly the same. This is especially a problem with the various Catholic noblemen, to the point where it took me a few minutes to figure out who was playing Nevers because all the Catholic noblemen in Act I wore the exact same outfit. (Perhaps this would have been less of a problem if the video quality were better.) Still, they are gorgeous costumes.

If I had to describe the direction in five words, they’d be, “nuanced, vivacious, and emotionally intense”. I especially love how much the chorus actually moves! That may sound silly, but it’s nice to have an actual street riot in Act III or a frenzied, whipped-up mass of Catholic nobles declaring anathema on the Huguenots in Act IV instead of having the chorus just stand there and sing prettily. The chorus also does an excellent job of reacting in general: they laugh at Nevers’ witty comments, they enthusiastically respond to the calls for a massacre, they recoil in horror when Raoul details the scenes of death and destruction. And the way the ending was staged─ you just had to rip out my heart, didn’t you? That’s all I’ll say about that.

There are some togetherness issues between the onstage forces and the pit; however, these are relatively minor. The orchestra (and its soloists) are very good; the chorus is amazing. Whether it’s a particularly fortuitous sound balance or just a really present chorus, they are always a force to be reckoned with on a scale I don’t think I’ve even heard on any other recording. And as I mentioned earlier, they’re not just great singers, but also great actors. Same goes for the various small roles, with a special shoutout to the six supporting Catholic nobles, who all sound good, look good, and work together very well.

Now for the seven leads:

Danielle Borst was a very adorable Urbain who happened to be dressed like she was from The Addams Family or something (including what appeared to be a very unfortunate black bobbed wig). Regardless, she was all cheer and enthusiasm in the classic trouser-role mold (along with the obligatory flirting with everyone) with a really, really fantastic voice, and she lit up the stage whenever she was on it, whether she was standing on a table or chugging a bottle of wine (during ‘O beau pays’) or spying on the ladies-in-waiting from under a sheet. Her ‘Nobles seigneurs, salut’ in particular was one of the best I’ve ever heard, and I think it’s really a shame she didn’t get a shot at ‘Non, vous n’avais jamais, je gage’.

Marc Barrard was a fantastic Nevers. His voice is really nice and lyrical and beautiful, although owing to the fact that the role is a) relatively short and b) doesn’t have any big solos or even small ensembles, he didn’t get much of a chance to show it off. As a result, as with all baritones playing this role, whether his performance succeeded or not depended on his dramatic skill. He delivered. Depending on what was happening, he was extremely flamboyant, official, gentle, and/or morally outraged— and he managed to do that without overacting, which I appreciate.

Jean-Pierre Courtis absolutely nailed it as the Comte de Saint-Bris. His voice is not particularly subtle, but then again, the character isn’t either. What his voice is is commanding and surprisingly beautiful. Seriously. It’s gorgeous. As he should, he absolutely dominated the Conspiracy Scene and came across as very cold, no-nonsense, but still intensely devoted to his country, his faith, and his own ideas about how they should be─ in short, absolutely fanatical. And I said earlier I wouldn’t give away any details about the staging of the ending, but I will here: after discovering his dying daughter, he did something I haven’t seen any other Saint-Bris do that just wrenched my heart: he walked (or to be more precise, backed) offstage. It was pretty ambiguous, but I think it’s the only portrayal I’ve seen that suggested he didn’t really regret anything he did.

Anyway, they were both awesome.

Ghyslaine Raphanel definitely did right by Marguerite de Valois. Her voice is very light and may take some getting used to (it did for me), but overall it’s a beautiful sound that I think works well for this part. In particular, she has some serious coloratura chops, which she took every opportunity to display (including by far the longest ‘O beau pays’ cadenza I have ever heard). She’s also very good at playing the young, charismatic, beautiful royal who wants peace and love but is completely detached from reality, to the point where she still can’t believe what’s happening even when Raoul tells her about the massacre in Act V, scene 1 (the scene ends with her climbing the staircase, turning around, and looking at all the Huguenot noblewomen as if to say ‘…I have no clue what the hell just happened’).

I really loved John Macurdy’s performance as Marcel. His basic voice isn’t my favorite by any means, but I can absolutely say it’s a good voice, with particularly strong low notes. And he’s a great actor! I especially loved his ‘Piff, paff’, for this exact reason: you can hear the hatred Marcel has for Catholicism and women in the way he sings every word. And he has amazing stage presence: even just a little thing, like a gesture at Raoul or the way he put an arm around Valentine and walked her back into the church in Act III, said so much. In other words, he may not be my favorite bass, but he’s a good singer and a virtually perfect dramatic match for the part.

Nelly Miricioiu was a wonderful Valentine de Saint-Bris. Personally, I love her voice although there are some things about it I could see people not liking. Nevertheless, it’s a gorgeous voice that fits the role well, and she’s amazing at everything she does, especially in her two big duets and the final scene. She’s also a very, very good actress who does one of the best acting jobs I’ve seen in this role, and that is no shabby feat, especially in the eyes of yours truly (who once wrote several pages about her character development and posted it on this very blog, although almost no one read it lol). That development I talked about, from very anxious, fragile, and shy to boldly defiant? She absolutely got it.

Gregory Kunde was absolutely phenomenal as Raoul de Nangis. His voice is pretty much perfection in this role, which is especially an achievement considering how many ways the part is demanding─ he has lyric moments and huge dramatic ones alike, and let’s not forget all the insanely high notes! But he nailed it, especially the two arias, which are both very hard in very different ways. Also, his acting was on point: I got all the little bits of his personality─ the romantic dreaminess, the idealism, the moral outrage, the impulsiveness, the stubbornness, all of it. There are so many good little details, from his frequent hesitations at drinking to the fact that even though there’s a massacre going on and he’s trying to rescue the Huguenot nobles, he still takes a few seconds at the end of his Act V aria to bow to Marguerite (and be like, ‘uh, sorry for ruining your big party’) before rushing out. Bravo!

Overall Verdict: Definite recommend; this would be a great first production for anyone wanting to watch this opera, albeit with two caveats: one, there are no subtitles (but I’d be more than happy to send anyone the French-English libretto I have on Google Drive), and two, this production may ruin you for others that are…not of the same quality. 😉

Up next: Due to ongoing difficulties with the Internet at my house, I am going to have to suspend this series until further notice, but as soon as I can, I’ll be doing the 2019 Il trovatore from Beijing!

[eighteaseven]

Title: Mont-Tremblant

word count: ~3.7k

tags: valet!Sid, gentleman!Geno, 1920s au, PWP

rating: E

warnings: explicit sex, implicit cultural homophobia

My submission to the @sidgenophotochallenge

The most beautiful man Zhenya’s ever seen opens the door and smiles kindly at him.

“Bienvenue à Chateau d’ Mont-Tremblant, Monsieur Malkin.”

Zhenya stares, starstruck, but only for a moment until the wind blows snow against the back of his neck and he steps into the warmth of the mansion.

He smiles back at the footman and rummages through his limited repertoire of French phrases.

“Merci beaucoup. Parlez-vous russe ou anglais?”

“I can speak English, sir,” he says as he shuts the door firmly.

“I’m relieved! My French, it’s very bad. English is little bit better.”

“Glad to be of service, sir. I’m Crosby, the first footman.”

“Nice to meet. They will bring my things inside?” he asks gesturing vaguely to the door.

“Yes, sir. And they’ll take your horses to the stables.”

“Good. Tell them take extra care of my horses, yes?”

“Of course, sir,” Crosby says as he leads Zhenya through the entry hall.

“They very good ponies. I rent them in Montréal. Stableman says they called Valeur and Victoire, but I say is too serious. They funny ponies. Call them Iceberg and Penguin. Like to play in the snow. Give them lots of carrots!”

The footman tries to stay professional, but he can’t help the laugh that escapes.

“Iceberg and Penguin? I’ll make sure the stable-hands are informed.”

“Thank you. Is very important,” he says with a grin.

Crosby smiles back and asks, “Would you like to see Seigneur Lemieux before dinner or should I take you to your rooms?”

“Like to see Lemieux first, if he’s not busy,” Zhenya replies.

“Very well, sir.”

Crosby stops in front of a large, ornate door and knocks.

“Seigneur Lemieux?” he asks.

“Entrez!”

“Mon Seigneur, Monsieur Malkin est arrivé. Allez-vous le recevoir?”

“Oui!”

Crosby opens the door wider and steps back, gesturing Zhenya forward.

“Seigneur Lemieux, Monsieur Malkin. Mister Malkin, Lord Lemieux.”

Lemieux stands up from behind his desk and walks toward Zhenya.

“Malkin, you scoundrel! It’s been ages!” he says and gathers him in a friendly embrace.

“Not long enough, Lemieux!” Malkin jokes, returning the hug.

“How have you been?”

“Good. Your footman very nice, put up with my English!”

Lemieux smiles.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’d forgotten your deficiency in French. I suppose we’re both lucky Crosby’s the most competent footman in Québec, no?”

“Yes, very lucky,” Zhenya says as he smiles at Crosby.

Crosby’s cheeks flush just a hint, and he demurs, “You’re too kind.”

He steps back and turns to Lemieux, “Is there anything else I can do for you, mon Seigneur?”

“There is. I planned to have Letang valet Malkin, but he only speaks French. Would you be willing to valet through the winter?”

“Of course, mon Seigneur.”

“I have some business to finish up here. Would you take Malkin to his rooms, prepare him for dinner?”

“Oui, mon Seigneur.”

“I’ll see you at dinner, Malkin,” Lemieux dismisses kindly.

Malkin nods, “Lemieux,” and follows Crosby out of the study.

Crosby leads him down a corridor, then up a flight of stairs, and down another hall.

“So you my valet for winter here?” Zhenya asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m very happy for this,” he says sincerely.

“It’s my pleasure, sir,” Crosby responds.

“I’m never have valet before, so you have to teach me, yes?”

“Never?”

Zhenya shakes his head.

Crosby stares at him for a moment, then says, “Well, it’s quite simple, sir. Whatever you need, I provide.”

“Anything?” Zhenya asks teasingly.

Crosby smiles, “Yes, sir.”

“What if I’m need very big elephant? You find for me?”

Crosby laughs, “The work of a minute, sir.”

“If I’m need piece of the moon, you get for me?”

“Easily, sir,” he teases back with a crooked smile.

“If I need sweets from the kitchen, you bring to me?”

“Well, now you’ve gone too far, sir,” he jokes.

Zhenya laughs.

As they turn the corner, a servant passes by. Crosby’s smile is replaced with a professional reserve. He straightens his back and clears his throat.

“Your bags and suitcases should have been brought to your rooms. Is there a particular suit you would like to wear to dinner?”

“You pick which one you like best.”

“Yes, sir.”

At the end of the hall, Crosby stops and opens the door and gestures Zhenya in. The rooms are beautifully decorated and a fire is crackling in the sitting room. Zhenya’s suitcases and bags sit next to a chaise lounge. Several large, arched windows provide a beautiful view of the snow blanketing the estate.

“Very beautiful,” Zhenya observes.

“I’ll pass the complements on to Dame Lemieux.”

Zhenya starts to unbutton his outercoat.

“Allow me, sir,” Crosby says as he steps forward and begins to open Zhenya’s heavy coat.

Zhenya’s arms fall to his sides and he stares at Crosby’s face, focused on the buttons of his coat. His hands move efficiently down Zhenya’s front. When he’s finished he walks around to Zhenya’s back and gently pulls the coat off him.

“This what valets do?” Zhenya asks with a rough voice.

“Yes, sir,” he responds with a gentle smile as he walks across the room toward the fireplace.

Zhenya clears his throat, then walks to the chaise lounge and lays down on it. He watches as Crosby hangs his coat by the fire to dry the melted snow, then begins to unpack Zhenya’s belongings.

He’s beautiful in the way he moves, Zhenya thinks. Graceful. He tries not to stare too much, but it’s so hard to look away.

He unpacks Zhenya’s clothes first, opening garment bags, pulling the suits from them and hanging them in the closet, neatly organized by level of formality. His travelling suits on the left of the closet to his black tails on the right. He pulls a suit from the center right of the closet and turns to Zhenya.

“Will this suffice for dinner?”

Zhenya nods.

Crosby sets it aside and continues unpacking Zhenya’s belongings while Zhenya continues watching him.

“Would you like to dress for dinner now?” Crosby asks after he has finished with Zhenya’s luggage.

Zhenya stands up as an answer. Crosby walks up behind him and deftly pulls his already unbuttoned suit jacket from his shoulders then lays it on the chaise lounge. He turns back and gently pushes on one of Zhenya’s shoulders to turn him around.

He smiles at Crosby once they’re face to face and Crosby smiles back. He holds his hand out and Zhenya stares at it.

Crosby’s lips twitch, and he kindly says, “Cufflinks next.”

Zhenya lifts his right arm and places his hand in Crosby’s. Zhenya absentmindedly rubs his thumb across the delicate bones of Crosby’s wrist.

Crosby glances up at Zhenya’s face. He looks just for a moment then back down. When Crosby switches to his left cuff, Zhenya again drags his thumb along Crosby’s wrist, this time deliberately. Crosby clears his throat and turns to put the cufflinks in the jewelry box sitting on the table near the chaise.

Maybe, Zhenya thinks.

Crosby returns and lifts his hands to Zhenya’s neck, gently pulling at the knotted tie. With his hands against his neck, Zhenya knows Crosby can feel his blood racing.

He lifts his chin and Crosby pulls the knot loose, then pulls the end through the knot and lets the tie drape over Zhenya's shoulders.

His fingers slide beneath Zhenya’s shirt collar. When he flips it up, his thumb brushes across the apple of Zhenya’s throat and he swallows reflexively.

He can hear Crosby’s breath catch.

Their eyes meet as he pulls the silk tie off Zhenya’s shoulders and drops it to the floor.

Though Zhenya’s never had a valet before, he knows that jackets, cuffs, and ties are all the undressing a valet usually does. When Crosby places both hands on his shoulders, Zhenya's breath catches.

Maybe this flirtation hasn't been imagined. Not just him longing for a beautiful man, but something real, something returned, Zhenya hopes.

Crosby drags both his thumbs across Zhenya’s collarbones and Zhenya tenses. After a couple of passes, back and forth, he pushes Zhenya’s suspenders off his shoulders and they fall to his sides.

He reaches back up to Zhenya’s neck and unbuttons the two buttons near his collar, then rubs his thumb against the base of Zhenya’s throat. Zhenya releases a long-held breath.

Crosby drags his palm down the crisp white shirt covering Zhenya’s chest and his fingers dance down Zhenya’s body, easily pulling the buttons from their openings. When he reaches the bottom he firmly grips the shirt and pulls it up, untucking it from Zhenya’s trousers.

He slides his hands beneath Zhenya’s unbuttoned shirt, against his stomach and slowly ghosts them up his body until they sit under his shirt on top of his shoulders. Crosby steps forward and Zhenya can feel his breath against his throat as he pushes the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. Crosby looks back up at him and drops to his knees.

Zhenya can’t help but moan.

Kneeling like he is, Zhenya knows it’s impossible for him to miss the way Zhenya wants him.

He reaches for Zhenya’s left foot and unties his boot while rubbing his thumb up and down the back of Zhenya’s calf. He runs his hand up Zhenya’s leg, stopping at the back of his knee, bending it to help pull off his boot and sock, then switches to Zhenya’s right leg to repeat the process.

He kneels up, and his nose brushes against the cloth drawn taut at the front of Zhenya’s trousers. He slides his hands up the outside of Zhenya’s legs, up to his hips.

Zhenya curls his toes against the floor, doing everything he can not to spend in his trousers.

The long minutes of teasing from this beautiful man and the absolute relief of this dangerous desire reciprocated have brought him so close to the edge. He’s right there and Zhenya knows it won’t take much to push him over.

He brings his hand to rest against the front of Zhenya’s trousers, palm flat against Zhenya’s cock. Zhenya groans and his hips instinctively jump forward. A small smile graces Crosby’s face as he moves his fingers to the buttons of Zhenya’s trousers.

He holds his hands still, staring up at Zhenya until Zhenya finally begs, “Please.”

Crosby acquiesces and easily unfastens both buttons. Zhenya’s trousers fall to the floor. They pool around his ankles. Crosby lifts each of Zhenya’s feet, pulling the fabric off and away, leaving Zhenya in nothing but his boxer shorts.

Crosby sits back on his heels and stares his fill. He runs his palms over the pale skin of Zhenya’s legs before resting them behind Zhenya’s knees. He looks up in silent askance and Zhenya tightly nods.

Crosby pulls his hand from behind Zhenya’s left knee and hesitantly lays it on his kneecap. He softly runs his fingers across the mottled scars that adorn his knee.

“The war?”

Zhenya nods again. Crosby leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the inside of his knee. Zhenya almost sobs at the sweetness, at how innocent it is.

He drags his lips a few inches up and lays another reverent kiss on his inner thigh. He moves his mouth to Zhenya’s other leg, pressing another kiss, switching sides back and forth up his thighs until he meets the hem of Zhenya’s shorts.

He kneels back up and drags his nose along Zhenya’s cock, teasing him through his shorts. He pulls back just a bit and lays wet, open-mouthed kisses from base to tip, leaving his lips resting against the damp fabric at the head. He stares up at Zhenya with an ardent gaze, devout and deep. Zhenya stares right back, completely awestruck.

Crosby pulls back just the slightest and licks his lips. He reaches up and unfastens the two buttons of Zhenya’s shorts and they fall to the floor.

He grabs Zhenya’s cock, wraps his hand around the base, and takes the tip into his mouth.

Zhenya throws his head back and bites his lip.

Crosby bobs his head a little, taking a bit more into his mouth

“ну ты даешь,” Zhenya admires.

He wants this to last, wants it more than anything. Beautiful men like this, men of this persuasion are so rare, so scarce and it’s precarious, so risky to seek them out. Zhenya knows he’ll never find another man like this, a man this beautiful and sweet.

He wants this moment to last- God, does he want it to last- but he knows it can’t. He’s so close to the edge, right there on the precipice. And this beautiful man is sucking his cock, his plush lips wrapped tight around him, his tongue striking timid glances against the tip, and, God, it’s the most gorgeous thing Zhenya’s ever seen.

Crosby looks up at him from his knees and meets his gaze. Zhenya reaches down and runs his hand through Crosby’s lush, dark hair and Crosby moans around his cock.

That’s all it takes.

He spends in Crosby’s mouth and it’s perfect. His hips jump and he comes. Crosby hums and swallows it down. Zhenya still can’t catch his breath. His chest heaves and he wants to fall over but instead he just keeps running his fingers through Crosby’s hair, petting him.

Eventually, Zhenya’s hand falls to his side, and Crosby sits back on his heels, letting Zhenya’s cock withdraw from his mouth.

Zhenya stares down at him in wonderment.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes.

Crosby’s cheeks flush and he looks away.

Zhenya offers Crosby his hand and helps him to his feet. Crosby self-consciously dusts off his knees, and refuses to meet Zhenya’s gaze. His cheeks are still flushed, his hair is mussed, and his lips are red and swollen.

He looks absolutely sinful.

Zhenya raises his hand and lays it against Crosby’s cheek. His breathing stutters. Zhenya drags his thumb along his red bottom lip, pulling gently at it. All Zhenya can think about is the fact that he's the one who debauched this beautiful man. His lips are so raw and flushed because he sucked Zhenya’s cock.

It’s hard for Zhenya to look away from those perfect lips, so soft against his finger, but when his eyes meet Crosby’s, he’s glad he did. His pupils are blown wide. Beautiful brown eyes, once with a warm gaze, now stare hotly back.

The grandfather clock tolls, marking the hour, and Crosby jumps back and clears his throat.

“I’ll go get your suit, Monsieur. I’ve laid it out jus-,” Crosby rasps.

Zhenya pulls him forward and cuts him off with a kiss. Crosby moans into Zhenya’s mouth. He places his hand on Crosby’s abdomen and drags it down, grasping him through his trousers. Crosby moans again and bucks into his hand, then pulls back.

“Dinner will be served soon. I need to get you dressed,” he gasps as Zhenya kisses down his jaw.

“Won’t take long, I think,” Zhenya replies into his ear, before he gently grazes it with his teeth.

“This, or dressing you?” he asks breathlessly.

“Both,” Zhenya retorts as he moves his hand up to unfasten the buttons of Crosby’s jacket.

Once he has it open, he brings his hand to the waist of Crosby’s trousers and unfastens one of his suspenders. He yanks Crosby’s white shirt upward, untucking it from his trousers and slides his hand beneath it. He can feel Crosby shudder under his hand.

“Oh… that’s so… oh, God, please keep going. Don’t stop,” he moans.

Zhenya slides his hands into his trousers and inside his underwear. It’s tight against his wrist and the angle is awkward but the way Crosby moans in response more than makes up for the discomfort.

He wraps his hand around Crosby’s cock, and the way Crosby whimpers, the way his eyes flutter, makes Zhenya wish he were young enough to go another round. Crosby’s face contorts in pleasure with every stroke, and Zhenya would happily do this for the rest of his life just to watch Crosby respond. It’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

Zhenya keeps stroking him, and Crosby is getting closer and closer to the edge. Zhenya can hear it, in the way his whimpers move to higher and higher pitches, and in the way his hips jump roughly toward Zhenya, seeking more contact, more touch.

He goes back to kissing Crosby’s neck, and Crosby gasps and tilts his head, giving Zhenya more room to kiss and taste.

Zhenya knows he shouldn’t, knows it might leave a risky mark, but he can’t deny the opportunity, can’t resist the impulse to lightly bite at the delicate skin, just a gentle graze of his teeth.

The little bite to his neck is enough to push Crosby over the edge. He releases a quiet little moan and his cock jumps in Zhenya’s grip. Zhenya feels Crosby’s release stripe his arm and wrist. His hips stutter a bit and Zhenya presses soft kisses to the side of his neck and strokes him until he’s finished.

Crosby falls forward, and rests his forehead against Zhenya’s shoulder, his warm breath drifting across Zhenya’s collarbone. Zhenya’s wraps his free arm around Crosby’s shoulder and rests his hand against the back of his neck, soothing him with gentle strokes of his thumb.

The two of them stand there, catching their breath, Zhenya entirely undressed and Crosby completely disheveled.

Eventually, after his breathing has evened out, Crosby steps back, huffs out a laugh, and bashfully smiles up at Zhenya. Zhenya beams back.

Zhenya awkwardly pulls his hand out of Crosby’s trousers, trying his best not to stain Crosby’s trousers with the wetness on his hand.

After he manages to extricate it, he looks around for something to wipe his hand on, but finds nothing. Crosby reaches down and grabs Zhenya’s old shirt from the floor and cleans Zhenya’s hand with it. Zhenya raises his eyebrows.

Crosby quirks his lips and offers, “I was going to have it cleaned anyway.”

Zhenya huffs a laugh in response and pulls him in for an indulgent kiss.

Crosby pulls away breathless and says, “I really do need to dress you for dinner.”

“Yes, okay. You right. But we get you dressed first, yes?”

Crosby looks down at himself, and for the first time, notices his state of disarray.

“Oh! I hadn’t realized!” he says, a little embarrassed.

He straightens his trousers and neatly tucks his shirt back into them. He finds the stray suspender strap and twists it the right way around and attaches it to the waist of his trousers. Then he rebuttons his jacket and smooths his hands down his front.

“Am I all straightened up?” he asks, turning to Zhenya.

Zhenya laughs. Crosby’s lips are still raw, and his cheeks are still a little pink, and his hair is an absolute mess.

“Not quite,” Zhenya says and steps forward.

He raises his hand and begins to comb Crosby’s hair back. He does the best he can, but it still looks a wreck.

“Wait right here,” Zhenya says, and he goes to his case to pull out a tin of pomade.

He walks back to Crosby, twists open the tin, and reaches up to slick Crosby’s hair back.

When he’s finished he steps back, checks Crosby once over, and says, “Now, you’re perfect.”

Crosby dips his chin and murmurs, “Thank you. Your turn.”

He walks over to the closet and grabs the suit the he’d set aside earlier. He returns to stand in front of Zhenya. He lays the suit on the chaise and gathers the pieces of Zhenya’s travel-worn suit. His jacket, shirt, trousers, and tie are all laid on the chaise.

Crosby helps him step into his boxers and socks, and then his trousers. He pulls Zhenya’s arms through his crisp new shirt and buttons him up. He ties a beautiful Windsor knot with a new silk tie and pins the new cufflinks to Zhenya’s sleeves. Lastly, he steps behind Zhenya and helps him into his suit jacket.

Crosby turns Zhenya around. He straightens knot of the tie, brushes some imagined lint from Zhenya’s shoulder, and steps back.

Zhenya can see the professional reserve settle back over him, in the set of his shoulders and the countenance of his face.

Zhenya can’t stand the coolness, not from this man, not after the heat they’ve just shared.

“Call me ‘Zhenya’,” he urges.

“Pardon?”

“You say today you do whatever I need. I need you call me ‘Zhenya’, not ‘sir’.”

“Sir, Seigneur Lemieux has strict-,”

“In my rooms, you call me ‘Zhenya’, outside you call me ‘sir’, yes?”

Crosby bites his lip and pauses before nodding.

“All right, Zhenya,” he says.

He’s quiet for a moment before he says, “In here, you can call me ‘Sidney.’ If you want. You don’t have to.”

“I want, Sidney.”

He dips his chin and shyly smiles, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Zhenya?”

“You show me to the dining room, Sidney?”

“Of course.”

Sidney takes him back down the hall and down the stairs, and just as he makes to turn the last corner, Zhenya reaches out and gently grabs his wrist.

Sidney raises an eyebrow.

Zhenya pauses for a moment, making certain he has the words he needs in English before he speaks.

“Sidney, if you are not wanting to be my valet, is okay. Understand? If you are not wanting this, Letang can be my valet. I tell Lemieux I want to practice my French. I’m not make problem for you if you are not wanting this, yes?”

Sidney stares at him for a moment.

“I’ll see you after dinner, Monsieur Malkin.”

Zhenya smiles at Sidney and says, “After dinner, Crosby.”

Sidney gracefully bows his head and steps back and Zhenya watches him walk down the hall. Just as he turns the corner, Sidney looks back and softly smiles at him. Zhenya’s heart jumps.

[lafayeetsgunsandships1757-blog]

High Seas and Southern Dreams {Jefferson x reader}

The afternoon sun shone high in the sky, warming the dark blue water above me. I soak the distorted light in, enjoying the little time I spend near the surface of the water each day. I open my eyes as a shadow casted over me, I look up to see a large brown ship. Oh no… not pirates… I shouldn’t have been out when the sun was high, I should have known. I quickly start for the deep, hoping that I still haven’t been spotted. I continue to swim quickly as as I hear an incredibly muffled yell from above me. Shit. I swim faster than I’ve ever swam before. All of a sudden there was a loud splash and something wrapped around me slightly, I’ve been captured… My life as I know it is over.

I hear more muffled yelling from above as I feel myself get dragged to the surface. I start to try to fight and struggle against the net, hoping that this last attempt of getting away will work. They start to slow down as they hoist me up, almost as if they were having a hard time. I smile a bit thinking I actually have a chance, I start to thrash around more violently. I start to make the rope attached to the net actually sway back and forth. I feel myself drop a little bit back into the water, as I hear more clamor from above. I continue flailing and writhing around. I feel myself sinker ever deeper into the watery depth. It’s actually working, I’ll be free in no time! All of a sudden I just feel a strong force suddenly yank me towards the surface. Whoever joined in to pulling me up did seem to care there was a living thing on the other side. Another strong swift pull, I’ll be at the surface in no time at this rate. I start to panic and flail more, trying my hardest to get free. I feel them hesitate then yank harder, I feel the strong force of the pull, the weight of the water against me. I look up and see I’m just a few feet from being imprisoned by pirates. This is it, I’ll be stuck in an aquarium for the rest of my life. I feel another yank, I’m just barely out of the water, I can feel the warm rays of sunshine on my face. I hear hollering, most of it being incomprehensible. I maneuver myself to face the boat, so I can see who has just ruined my life. I look at the crew, now a little confused about how many people were actually on the boat. There was only one person holding the rope hoisting me up.

“THOMAS! This isn't right!” The man shouted looking away from me and still holding the rope that’s keeping me just barely above sea level, just barely away from my home.

“I KNOW it's not! But it's captains orders to capture and detain any threat while traveling to the Monticelian islands.” (WHAT'D I MISSSS XD) A smooth southern voice quipped in reply.

“BUT (FOR THIS TO SUCCEED THERE IS SOMEONE ELSE WE NEED) SHE ISN'T A THREAT!” The rope man replied.

“WELL I DON'T CA-wait. Did you say she?” hear the southern voice again. I hear the other voice sigh then explain.

“Yes Thomas I said she. Keep your dick in your pants. Jeez.” I would laugh if I wasn't getting kidnaped. With hesitation, the rope man finally pulled me up and completely out of the water.

“Well I can for this, you can't for Lafaye-woah she-she she…” I could almost hear his blood rushing from one head to the other as he began to stutter. As I get hoisted higher into the air I saw the two men. The man that was holding the rope was obviously a centaur. His short hair, which you could see little of, was tucked under a dark grey beanie and a bow and pack of arrows were draped around his chest(icles). The man that was probably the one talking to the centaur, was looking at me with wide eyes and um….something in his pants….His hair was dangling in his face and, well, everywhere. The floof was made of perfect curls that bounced in every direction. He had chestnut brown eyes and caramel colored skin. (no really?) His magenta coat was rolled up his arms and his his waistcoat was the same color, just a darker shade. His pants were a deep dark brown, which complimented his boots.

“What are you stari-oh.my.god.” The other man said facing you. “Hoyshitballssheisamermaidwhatthefuckweshouldn’thavedonethiswhatiswrongwithus.” He stammered.

“Yea no shit, what do you think I was? A fucking fairy? Connards.” I sassed while hanging in the net.

“Um no? But why in Gods putain de nom avez-vous appelé nous connards?” (fucking name did you call us assholes?) The floof said back.

“Regardez la situation de Goddamn dans laquelle je suis.”(look at THE GODDAMN SITUATION I AM IN.) I yelled back crossing my arms. (somehow).

“Ok désolé jeez.” (ok sorry jeez). He put his hands up.

“Can you two speak a language I can fuckin’ understand?” Horsie said to us. The man with the hair of the gods (aka floof hair) looks over to him and chuckles.

“Maybe you should just learn french…. it’ll make it easier on you were your boyfriend talks dirty to you.” He teased. Horsie looked over at him a little aghast.

“He’s not my boyfriend you southern twat…. anyways, back to the we caught a mermaid bit. I think we should just let her go and not tell the captain about this. I mean I don’t think one little mermaid could be a threat to us.” Horsie said looking back at me, away from floof. I suddenly heard a shout.

“HEY”

“Oh here come the assbag.” Floof mumbled.

“YO what is this? Why is a mermaid here? Is she evil or some shit?” He walked, more like stormed, to us. His green waistshirt was buttoned neatly. Which was weird to me, considering they were a pirates. His dark hair was slicked back with a headband(?).

“Hey can you shut the fuck up because I'm literally going to DIE if I stay up here.” I said, sass slipping in my tone.

“Why the hell would we care if that happened?” Greenie sassed back.

“Because if I died, one, you would get no info from me to get to the Monticelian islands. Two, I AM the princess of N.Y.SEA. so that would be bad.” I said back, a smile on my face and happiness in my voice to make myself intimidating with this prick.

“Well shit” Floof laughed. Greenie was flabbergasted. Horsie was snickering.

“W-well i-o cou-ld sen-d y-you t-” Floof cut off Greenie.

“Don't even try dude.” With that Floof walked off into a room for a minute. He emerged back with a large (BAGUETTE) tank,as well as someone that looked like him but with a black cloak on carried it with Floof. He filled it with water and helped Cloak twin put me into the tank.

“TANK you.” I laughed putting some water on my face.

“No problemo. You don’t seem so FISHy now” Floof boy said back.

“Ok lovebirds, you just met don't get kinky in front of us.” Horsie crossed his arms.

“Go fuck your baguette. Besides, we can’t, she doesn't even have LEGS. Dumbass.” Floof replied. That's when Cloaky baguette boy spoke up.

“YO MON AMI. SHUT THE FUCK UP.” He said.

“Oh s'il vous plait Lafayette, we all know that you and Herc like to SMASH.” Floof sassed back.

“BOI, THE ONLY NAMES I KNOW IS LAFAYETTE AND HERC. and it sounds gay. AND ALSO I LITERALLY AM CALLING YOU GUYS FLOOF, HORSIE, GREENIE, AND CLOAKY BAGUETTE BOY.” I snazzily said.

“Grennie?” Floof snickered.

“Shut up FLOOF” Greenie replied.

“WILL YOU ‘ORSE FUCKERZ SHUT UP FOR ONE GOD DAMN MINUTE, JEEZ seigneur s'il vous plaît….”(lord please) Lafayette said back.

“SAYS YOU LAF.” Floof smacked his head in his hand.

“ALL OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP! I AM ASKING YOUR NAMES GODDAMN. WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE FUCKING CHILDREN WHO CURSE?”(haha my other bookkkkkk. Read it XD) I slammed my head against the thick glass in frustration. We heard a door slam, which made my head jerk up and out of the water.

“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ACTING LIKE CHILDREN?!” A six foot man yelled in an authoritative tone while coming onto the dock.

“That’s what I just asked…” I mumbled.

“YOU’RE NICE AND CHILL FOR A MINUTE WHEN I LEAVE TO MY OFFICE AND THEN SOME MERMAID COMES ALONG AND YOU LOSE YOUR SHIT! THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T GO PLACES GODDAMNIT!” He yelled then sighs as he kneels beside my tank. “Sorry about them. Well, this is Thomas.” He points to Floof. “Lafayette,” He points to cloaky baguette boy. “Alexander,” Grennie. “And Hercules.” Horsie. “The rest of the crew is inside doing their fucking jobs, unlike these 4. James is up there doi-oh wait no he's not. FUCK we’re lost.”

“I can help. I know N.Y.Sea. like the back of my hand and I can show you where the Monticelian islands are.” I piped up once more.

“Ah thank you. By the way, I'm George Washington. The captain of The Revolution.”

[cadavre-et-le-coeur-doux]

nightwalk

When he had left her, the last traces of snow had been melting away; his boots had squelched in the mud as he walked out into the moonlight, and she had felt a warm breeze on her cheeks as she watched his back slowly shrink and disappear into the distance. She could not count the tears that had fallen on those cheeks since then.

She could, however, be reasonably sure of the number of weeks that had passed, for as she stared out the window and prayed for the castle's servants to leave her to her loneliness, she saw the first flakes of the new winter's snow begin to float slowly down. And all it did was bring more tears; more tears to wipe on the sleeves of the nightgown she had not changed in days, more tears to redden those already rosy cheeks, more tears that she would not count, because it pained her all too much.

Her hair, messy and tangled for want of care, fell about her face as she turned herself over to despair. The sadness had become a company of its own, and at times she began to feel guilty if she had gone too long without mourning his absence. She had once made herself laugh hysterically at the thought of presenting Le Seigneur with all of the tears she had cried for him when he finally returned. 

She hid her face in her folded arms and wailed as loudly as she could, and then wailed again at the thought of the servants hearing her cries and tutting to each other with pity. How dare they pity her? Their lady, their mistress? Their Madamoiselle la Princesse? When their master returned, she would have him to behead them all, and they would eat well that night, indeed. But the thought of him returning turned all her anger to sadness again, and fresh sobs racked her chest as she shot up out of her seat by the window and ran to her bed, throwing herself into the pile of silks and cotton that had absorbed her lamentations so many times before.

If he were here with her, she thought, indulging in her sadness, she would have run to him, and pointed out the new-falling snow. He would wonder at it with her, and promise to go out riding with her the next night, or else command the servants to build a great, roaring fire, where they could sit and pretend to warm their cold bodies.

She had ceased her heaving, heavy sobs, but tears continued to run down her face as she rolled over to gaze up at the canopy of violet silk above her bed. She thought of the hours they had spent reading books of poetry to one another, picking out their favourite verses, and seeing if the other knew how to end lines they began. Though he never said, she had noticed which stories were his favourites: stories of usurpation, revenge, and plots of murder delighted him. She was not so innocent as to believe him perfect, or as gentle in all things as he was with her. Raphael Sorel was a violent, cruel, vengeful man, tortured by betrayal and rotted away by malfestation; but to her he was sweet, kind, and most of all, faithful, and so she loved him as dearly and as fiercely as she had ever loved a person. 

She had barely left her room since he had left, but she rose, gossamer in her white gown, and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Cold, stockinged feet made muffled patting noises on the flagstones as she floated down the spiral staircase that lead to her tower. Reaching the bottom, she lowered a candle from a sconce, and made her way through the castle, careful to remain undetected. The problem, she thought, with having all one's servants this terrified of their master, was that they were, indeed, too terrified to make idle chatter among themselves, so it was hard to tell if one was near you or not. It was this thought that preoccupied her as she rushed around a corner and slammed full-force into Carmen, one of the many servingmaids she had exiled from her chambers.

As Amy fell backwards, her backside landing hard on the stone floor and her candle sputtering out, the servant gave a cry of surprise, and then a gasp of horror.

"Mademoiselle! Oh, no, let me- are you-"

"Don't touch me," Amy hissed, throwing off the helping hand Carmen had placed on her shoulder. Wincing, she dusted off her nightgown and lifted herself and her candlestick from the floor. 

"I'm so very sorry, maîtresse, um... I did not expect to see you outside your chambers, or so late, is there something-"

"Nothing," she said, trying to hide her red, splotchy face from the girl. 

"Nothing? I- we haven't seen you in days, are you hungry? There's food in the kitchens I c-can get you, or I can wash your sheets, I'm sure they need them-"

By this time, Amy had resumed her walking, and Carmen was following, chattering all the way. 

Amy had long learned how to tune out the chatter, but was forced to listen when she felt a presumptive hand on her shoulder.

"Or, Mademoiselle, is it... that?"

When Carmen neither continued speaking not clarified, Amy stopped, turning to the girl. "What are you talking about?"

"Well mademoiselle, if you need to-..." Carmen began wringing her hands, looking anywhere but at her mistress. "That is, if you're, um... thirsty," she said, seeming to whisper the word, "I can go down to the village a-and bring someone up, I know there's a rather old woman, n-not long for this world, I'm sure no one would notice..."

Realizing what she meant, Amy gave the girl an innocent smile. It had been so long since she'd had any fun- if the situation presented itself, who could blame her for a little indulgence? And Carmen squirmed so peasantly.

"Oh, Carmen, of course, but why on earth would a trip to the village be necessary?" She said it as sweetly as possible, and tried to flash her elongated fangs as much as she could. "Why, my dear, you're right here!"

At these words, all the colour seemed to drain from the servingmaid's face. Her voice raised an octave as she spoke. "M-M-Mademoiselle, it's r-really no trouble, I could b-be back so quick, you- you wouldn't even know I'd left!" She let out a nervous giggle.

"My dear, sweet Carmen!" Amy took a step closer to the girl, who backed up into a wall. Amy had never been as good at this as her father was. She had tried to imitate his masterful technique, but she supposed she was simply not as physically intimidating. Working from memory, she extended her arms and wrapped them around the maid's neck. "Who would want some shriveled-up old hag when you're right here? So sweet, so young..." Amy leaned into the crook of Carmen's neck, and took a long, luxurious sniff. "So fresh."

Carmen, who had not breathed since Amy had laid hands on her, took a shivering gasp. "P-please, mademoiselle, I've been g-good, I've done a good job, I'm s-so sorry for b-b-bothering you, I'll j-just go back to my chambers-"

"Ah, non, non, non, ma cherie!" As Carmen made a move to withdraw, Amy took the girl's chin in a forceful grip, tilting it up and away; she sighed on the exposed length of the girl's neck, eliciting a small sob. "N'aie pas peur! It doesn't hurt that terribly, I assure you! Well, that's not entirely true, but..." Amy began stroking her neck with a single finger. "I'm sure you'll be strong, won't you?"

"Mademoiselle, p-please don't, please! I’ll be good, I swear, I promise!" Carmen was crying now; a stream of tears had flowed down into the path of Amy's finger. "Oh, Istenem kérlek, please, miss, I beg you, please d-don't-"

"Don't what?" Amy whispered against the girl's neck. "What are you so scared of?"

"Don't-... please, I don't want to be a-" She realized what was happening, all too late. "Don't make me a..."

"Make you a what?" Amy's grip tightened. This had started as a bit of fun; she hadn't expected it to strike a nerve. "What do you think you'll be?"

The girl was too terrified to speak; the silence of the empty hallway was palpable. Around the gentle sound of Carmen's sobs as she mouthed a silent prayer, Amy could almost hear the moonlight.

Far too calm, for just hot her cold blood boiled.

"Say it," Amy whispered, her lips almost touching Carmen's ear. When the girl remained silent, Amy dug her nails into her neck, making her wince. "Say it."

"A m-... m-monster-"

The moment the final syllable of the word had left her mouth, Carmen was slammed does to the stone floor. She moved to crawl away, but Amy stepped over her, reaching down and grabbing a handful of Carmen's mousy blonde hair. With a screech and a sob, the girl reached up to attempt to extricate herself. It was a futile gesture.

"Is that what you think of me?" Amy was screaming now, her little pale face covered in sweat.

 "Is that what you think of him?" Carmen still struggled to free herself, but was too terrified to make her legs support her weight. Amy’s mouth was right next to Carmen's ear, and the girl continued to sob in terror. Flecks of saliva flew onto her cheeks. 

"Is that what you think of us?" Amy shook the girl by her hair, and she cried out; surely the other servants could hear the commotion, but they knew better than to involve themselves.

"You insufferable little idiot, how dare you insult your master in his own halls!" She jerked Carmen around by her hair and held her so that they were face-to-face. “He has generosity enough to allow you to keep your wretched, insipid little life, and this is how you repay him?!”

Carmen could not even speak now; the wet, terrified babble flowing from her mouth only further displeased her little mistress. With a shriek of malice, she threw the hysterical servingmaid to the floor, at first intending to leave her lay there; but the sound of her apopleptic sobs seemed to bounce around inside Amy’s head, so loud, so maddening that she squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn’t realized, but she was screaming, too.

With the gentle sound of bare flesh on stone, Amy threw herself to the ground, right on top of Carmen. The terrified girl raised her arms to protect her face as a flurry of frantic, disorganized strikes descended on her. Sharp, untrimmed nails drew tiny cuts on Carmen’s defending arms, like a kitten learning to hunt.

Amy was beside herself. As she threw slap after pound after scratch, she found herself overwhelmed by her many grievances. She hated that she hadn’t ridden her horse all summer. She hated how the servants looked on her with pity. She hated how they lit fires in every hearth, every day, as if there weren’t only one tired, sad little girl to tend to. She hated how her fingers slipped when she tied her hair ribbons. She hated him, for leaving her. She hated how her pillow was too stuffed on one side. She hated how her nightgown tangled up her arms. She hated that wretched girl with the birds, and the nice man with the scar. She hated how she’d tripped and fallen during their last fencing lesson. She hated how the laces on her riding boots weren’t the right colour to match her favorite saddle.She hated being sad, and she hated being lonely, and she hated being so very, very tired.

Oh, she was so very, very, very tired.

Suddenly, it seemed her arms were as heavy as the castle beneath her, and she let them fall to the ground. She realized she couldn’t see anything but clouds of floating, flashing colour, and in an instant the sweat covering her seemed to turn as cold as ice. When her vision began to clear, she wiped her face with the sleeve of her nightgown; remembering vaguely what she had been doing, her eyes drifted lazily down to the girl before her.

Carmen’s eye was blue, and swollen shut. A bit of her right ear hung on by a few scant sinews. Her tears made streaks in the blood covering her face, and a gurgling sort of sobbing was coming from her mouth, which was missing several teeth, and full of blood. Wondering idly where the indentation on her temple had come from, Amy looked down and saw that she was still holding her silver candlestick. As she set it down, she felt sticky, dried blood between her fingers.

She did not feel any better.

She slowly dismounted the girl, her knees wobbly as she stood, and turned from the pitiful creature splayed on the floor. It took her a few moments to remember where she was, and where she had been going.

As she opened the door, she first noticed the snowflakes slowly drifting down outside through an open window. Huge and wet, they had been blown inside and left a cold puddle on the floor.

Absently, she crossed the room to close the window, and threw some extra linen from the chest at the end of the bed on the puddle. With her knees pulled up to her chin, she crouched and stared at the cloth as it absorbed the water; when she was startled awake by losing her balance, she rose again and made her way to the huge, cold bed.

From where she lay, she stared directly at the empty place of honor above the mantle. Lined in plush red velvet and embroidered with golden thread in the shapes of rearing horses, for the Sorel coat of arms, the mount was fit only for a distinguished and battle-tested blade.  But Flambert was far, far away from here.

She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Before her, in the dark, she saw the mount for her own Albion; all purple velvet, with silver hooks made to look like rose vines.

Just as she fell asleep, she decided: come nightfall the next day, Albion’s place would be empty as well.

[maritimemac-blog]

Map of Points of Interest for Saint John

If I had been the young man from the cruise ship in my story Your Travel Wish List Should Include…, what points of interest would make me want to say, “I can’t wait to get to Saint John?” This was my three day list:

Find the breakwater to Partridge island – done

See the Hula mural on the pier – done

Climb up to the Saint John sign

Find hanging place of James Cane (murderer of Maggie Vale) behind old courthouse – done

Locate remnants of the 1877 great fire in King’s Square – done

Go to Miller Brittain art studio AKA Brits Pub – done

See Deanna Musgrave’s murals – done

Get photos of the harbour lighthouse and Coast Guard lighthouse – done

Walk the alleys in the city of stone, especially the building along Prince William Street – done

Get photo of Trinity Anglican Church, a national historic site – done

Locate Fort Charnisay national historic site

Go to Barbour’s General Store. and sit with John Hooper’s People Waiting sculpture – done

Find the Three Sisters Gas Light – done

Have lunch at the Reversing Falls restaurant

Hike to the caves in Rockwood park

Go to Netherwood School, where the movie Children of a Lesser God was filmed.

I squint at my scribbled list of must-see places. I still have 3,  11, 14, 15, and 16 to complete. It snowed overnight, and I am going to start the day with a hike through the fresh powder.

#3 — Saint John has a famous landmark sign on a hill above the city, just like Hollywood. It was my feature image My Quest for the Forbidden in Saint John. Approximately a five-kilometre drive from downtown, it is visible to all the cruise ships in the harbour. I park in a snowbank just off Osborne Street and hike upward. I’m laying down the first tracks in the snow and I feel like a kid. I’m half tempted to plunk down and do a snow angel. Fort Howe national historic site is also at the top of the hill.  I pass the blockhouse and stone cairns of the historic plaque. I have taken pictures of both in warmer weather. Today they are covered in snow.

    Fort Howe Plaque, Indian treaty Plaque, Majour Gilford Studholm honoured plaque

Fort How Block House

When the path divides, I take the southern branch. I am excited to see the sign up ahead. It is very big — I wouldn’t be able to get a selfie alongside it.  The fence is very close to the edge of the cliff and the snow is hiding the footing so I stand safely back a few feet and admire the view of the city. The cloud cover has a silvery tint and the sun is trying to make an appearance. I have arrived at a good time.

Saint John sign

City view from the Saint John sign.

#4 — I  didn’t tell you in my last post, The Art of Saint John, that I looked behind the old courthouse to see if there was a dedication or plaque marking the spot where James Cane was hanged for murdering Maggie Vale.  The area is fenced off and under construction so finding #4 is a scratch. Here is the courthouse in pictures I took on a previous visit; the photo on the left is the front of the building, right is the back of the building

    The Old Court House a National Historic site the rear of the building is fenced off and Inaccessible, just a bit pile of dirt.

read of The Old Court House a National Historic site the rear of the building is fenced off and Inaccessible, just a bit pile of dirt now

#5 — In King’s Square there is a blob of melted metal that is said to be all that remains of a machine of some sort found in a hardware store.  You can see gears, nuts and bolts within the mass. History buffs like myself will find the blob underwhelming, but imagine that so little proof remains of a fire so catastrophic that it levelled the town.

Plaque reads: This mass of metal was found in a hardware store following the Great Fire of 1877

#6 — I told you about this one in The Art of Saint John. Miller Brittan was a famous Canadian artist from New Brunswick, and his former studio is now Britts Pub and Eatery.

    Britt’s Pub

#13 — After my pint at Britts pub  I headed down  Prince William Street to walk off the beer buzz and to check off #13, The Three Sisters Gas Light. The light was placed to help sea captains safely find their way into the harbour. The light aligned with the steeple of Trinity Church. If all three globes were visible, the approach into the harbour was correct; if only one or two were visible, captains knew they needed to adjust their course for safe passage.

Three Sisters Gas Light at the end of Prince William Street.

#9 and #10 — I strolled around the alleys and streets looking at the stone buildings of the Prince William cityscape, and I also got a look at the Trinity Anglican Church, which was mentioned in my story On The Trail of Loyalists.  

After the great fire 140 years ago, all new buildings were required to be built of stone, brick and mortar. The regulations were meant to prevent such a catastrophe from happening again, but it makes for a lovely old-world appearance.

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#7 — Back to the pedway at Market Square to see Deanna Musgrave’s newest mural, Nest. The pedway passes over Chipman Hill Road which is very helpful when strong winds blow onshore and it gets really cold downtown. Deanna’s second mural, Clouds, is located in the Hans W. Klohn commons at the University of New Brunswick-Saint John Campus, which is where I finish my first day.

  Deanna Musgrave’s Mural Nest inside the pedway from Market Square.

Clouds by Deanna Musgraves In the Hans W. Klohn Commons at the University of New Brunswick Saint

Day 2: Just four places left

#11 — Old Fort Charnisay is widely unknown to the general public, but it too is a national historic site and the last one I need in order to have seen all those in the Saint John area.  Last night I asked my hostesses at my Air BNB if they knew where it was located. I brought up a picture of the plaque on my tablet, and showed them. One of the women promptly told me the gazebo is in front of the Carleton Community Center. That is where I am headed next.  I have passed it many times but it is sitting at the end of the road — not where I expected.  I sweep off the snow and read the plaque, which states:

In 1645 D’Aulay de Charnisay built a small wooden fort near here before seizing and destroying Fort La Tour…

Old Fort Charnisay, a national historic site located in the front garden area of Carleton Community Center

It is not on my list today but just down the street in Queen Square is the celebration monument of Pierre Dugua Sieur de Mons (1558-1628). He was founder the first permanent French — or Acadian — settlement in Canada.  He was the first governor of Acadia in 1604 along with cartographer Samuel de Champlain. I am sure I came across a similar plaque with Michel LeNeuf  De La Valliere, Seigneur of Chignecto, also claiming to be first governor of Acadia at Tonge Island (see my post Searching Around Sackville Part 2).

Celebration of Pierre Dugua Sieur de Mons, first governor of Acadia, 1604 monument located in Queens Square, west Saint John.

Carleton Martello Tower National Historic Site is also nearby. It is currently under restoration and you can’t go into the tower,  but you can still walk the grounds and get some great photos.  I love the historic stone architecture and it has great views in all directions. This photo is from 2016.

Carleton Martello Tower national historic site.

#14 — It is nearing noon, so I’ll scratch lunch at the Reversing Falls Restaurant off my list.

Reversing Falls is a beautiful place. It is at the confluence of the Saint John River and the Bay of Fundy, so when the tide is low the river runs out to the ocean, but when the tide comes in it is higher than the river’s discharge, so rapids, whirlpools and eddies form.  I walked into the restaurant and, since the place was empty, I asked the server if I could look around.  She says, “For sure, take your time!”

The view to the river and bridge is excellent. I take the best seat in the house, table number 106.  I order a bowl of squash soup and a veggie wrap.  I say, “Isn’t this view amazing?”  My waitress nods in agreement and says, “Sometimes we stand here and watch the harbour seals.” She says she never gets tired of the view. Who could? This video is from my seat looking at the transition from slack tide to high tide.

Reversing Falls 

With my appetite satisfied,  I head to Rockwood Park. I mentioned the sculpture Sunshine and Moon Light Over Saint John by sculpture Hiroyuki Asano of Japan located in the park  in my story It All Started With Love. The park has seasonal camping,  canoeing on the lake, and is park of the UNESCO GEOPARKs of New Brunswick. There is a sculpture for unions outside the Frank Hathaway Center, year-round hiking and mountain bike trails. and wildlife viewing.

Ducks resting in the snow on side of the partially frozen pond

Board walk along the lake of the UNESCO GEO PARK location

Deer on the trail in Rockwood Park

The lady at the interpretive center tells me if I follow the Fresh Air trail, when I cross the bridge over the brook I should be able to see a series of small openings into a crevasse that is an underground cave system.  “It was the last place to find resident bats up till two years ago, the white nose fungus has killed them off.” She mentioned they don’t tell people about the caves, they don’t want people spelunking in them. I promise I am not a cave dweller, but having something to look for while snowshoeing will make for an interesting adventure.

I park in the busy lot and strap on my snowshoes.  There are lots of ducks at the feeder and several people feeding them.  Deer had been here with in the last fifteen minutes.   A skier has broken a trail, so I start a snowshoe trail off to the side.  Half a kilometre in I start to see the openings,  where the snow has collapsed down inward..

Cave opening through the snow cover

Cave openings

Now that I know where there are, I may return in the summer to have a better look.

#16 — After snowshoeing, I set off for the Netherwood School in Rothesay, the set location of the 1986 movie Children of a Lessor God starring William Hurt and Marlee Matlin.  The snow in the trees looks very pretty. I drive up the curved road and see an enormous mansion. The building are posh and I feel out of place. I snap a quick picture of the school sign and leave.

Rothesay Netherwood School

On the way, I pass a park by the water, it looks beautiful and I have to stop.

East Riverside Kingshurst Park, Rothesay

East River side Kings Hurst Park

All in all, it was another great day of searching around Saint John.  I am sure next trip I will have another full list of points of interest to see. This time I was lucky to find everything but the gallows location behind the courthouse. Cheers to the rest of the story of Saint John and happy travels from Maritime Mac.

  Saint John: The Rest of the Story Map of Points of Interest for Saint John If I had been the young man from the cruise ship in my story…

[juliette-garo-blog]

8 mars 2017 - A la recherche d’Ancêtres... pas si lointain !

Et bien, et bien… Comment dire… Ce n’est toujours pas le pied point de vue météo… J’ai vérifié hier soir, il prévoit quelque chose de moins pire pour jeudi, mais aujourd’hui, l’orage doit donner… Je décide donc de me lever tôt, mais pas trop quand même, il ne faut pas exagérer ! Je vais enfin me mettre au tri de mes photos et à la rédaction de mon blog… Ou pas ! Après mon petit-déjeuner et mes ablutions, je décide de m’installer dans la salle commune, pour bosser sur mon ordinateur « tranquille » (comme on peut l’être dans la salle commune d’une auberge de jeunesse…). Quand soudain, qu’est-ce que je vois ?! Une éclaircie et du ciel bleu !! C’est surprenant ! Je vais donc voir le gérant de l’auberge pour lui demander des informations sur le temps de la journée, sait-on jamais, c’est peut-être plus sûr que mon portable ?! Il me dit que des éclaircies et des averses sont prévues en alternance pour toute la journée. Je me dis donc : pourquoi ne pas partir maintenant pour aller visiter la côte ouest, plutôt que d’attendre demain ?! Pour une fois, mon intuition ne s’est pas trompée, et le temps de jeudi me donnera raison dans mon choix !

Me voilà donc partie pour le Grand Ouest local ! Ça va encore m’en faire, des kilomètres, tout ça ! Merci l’AA Traveller Guide pour me donner envie de tout voir !! Grrr…

Premier arrêt : le Wairere Boulders. Il s’agit ni plus ni moins que du chaos du Huelgoat du coin ! J’ai de la chance, je suis toute seule pour le visiter, il n’y a pas d’autres touristes, et le soleil s’est vraiment levé, donc il fait bon pendant toute ma promenade ! ^^ Seul hic : pour y arriver, il faut emprunter une « route » comme les locaux ont l’air de les apprécier pour faire la jonction entre deux grands axes, c’est-à-dire un chemin de terre recouvert de caillasse !!!! Une horreur ! Ma pauvre Titine, elle est résistante, mais quand même ! Il faut que j’aille en-dessous des 30km/h pour ne pas trop la malmener, ce qui rallonge les temps de trajet... Pour tous ceux qui détestent prendre le volant, ne venez surtout pas en Nouvelle-Zélande, les routes sont vraiment très spéciales, et pas facile à gérer ! ^^ Revenons à notre chaos : il est très beau, très « vert », où les palmiers et les fougères se mêlent aux blocs de roches, ce qui est très « exotique » ! J’adore, c’est vraiment un détour que je conseille vivement ! ^^

Ensuite, direction Omapere, l’embouchure de LA ria de la côte ouest ! C’est, encore une fois, un site fascinant, avec du côté d’Omapere (le sud), des collines verdoyantes plus ou moins sablonneuses, donnant sur des plages, et au nord, une nouvelle dune du Pilat, comme à Te Paki ! Le contraste est frappant, et les plages qui se trouvent dans l’embouchure me font de l’œil, avec leur eau turquoise ! Mais bon, j’ai oublié ma serviette, donc pour le moment, je ne prends que des photos ! (et, accessoirement, mon repas, devant la Mer de Tasman ! ^^) C’est beau, comme pays, ma foi !

Après, je continue ma route vers le sud, jusqu’à la forêt de Waipu, un des plus beaux exemples de forêt primitive de Nouvelle-Zélande, avec une forte présence de Kauri, l’arbre représentatif du pays ! Il s’agit de l’Agathis australis, un cousin de l’araucaria, qui fait partie des espèces les plus grandes au monde, pouvant facilement atteindre les 50 mètres de haut pour 10 mètres de circonférence, dans la nature ! Les plus vieux spécimens, comme Tane Mahuta (Le Seigneur de la Forêt) ou Te Matua Ngahere (Le Père de la Forêt), ont plus de 2000 !!! Ils sont tout bonnement magnifiques ! J’ai failli rester scotcher à cette forêt, tant elle était belle, vivante et verte ! Mon paradis à moi ! ^^ Quelque part, par « bonheur » (petite boutade), la pluie a recommencé à tomber au sein de cette Rain Forest… Certes, le gérant de l’auberge m’avait dit que c’était le meilleur moment pour la découvrir, mais quand même ! Avec mon K-way, je ne craignais rien, mais bon… J’ai continué mon chemin au sein de la forêt, sur la route en lacets qui n’a rien à envier à l’arrière-pays toulonnais (grosses pensées pour les sudistes Françaises qui se reconnaîtront ! ^_-) jusqu’à arriver à Dargaville. C’est une des premières cités coloniales, avec un petit port donnant sur un fleuve allant jusqu’à Kaipara Harbour, la plus grande baie de la côte ouest avant Auckland (qui ressemble un peu au Golfe du Morbihan). S’il reste quelques souvenirs architecturaux, ce n’est pas non plus grandiose, malheureusement…

Je décide de reprendre la route à travers la partie « rurale » du Northland, afin d’atteindre la côte est de la manière la plus rapide ! C’est déconcertant, entre deux averses, je me retrouve entre les élevages de vaches et de moutons, qui ont dessiné les paysages pastoraux locaux, et les exploitations forestières de pins, qui forment des plaies béantes sur les collines, qui se trouvent dénudées jusqu’à la prochaine plantation, le tout avec toujours ces lacets routiers fort énervants…

Après deux heures de route, je suis enfin à Paihia, de nouveau sous la flotte… J’avais envie d’aller à Russell ce soir, et bien non, ça ne sera pas faisable… C’est pas grave, je vais aller me coucher, ça ira peut-être mieux demain…

 Well, well ... well ... How to say ... This is still not the weather point of view ... I checked last night, it provides something less worse for Thursday but today the storm has to give ... So I decide to get up early, but not too much anyway, do not exaggerate! I will finally sort myself out of my pictures and writing my blog ... Or not! After my breakfast and my ablutions, I decided to settle in the common room, to work on my computer "quiet" (as can be in the common room of a youth hostel ...). When suddenly, what do I see ?! A thinning and blue sky !! It is surprising ! So I'll see the manager of the hostel to ask him about the time of the day, do we ever know, maybe it's safer than my laptop ?! He tells me that lightning and showers are scheduled alternately for the whole day. So I say to myself: why do not we go now to visit the West Coast, rather than wait until tomorrow ?! For once, my intuition was not deceived, and Thursday time will give me right in my choice!

So here I go for the Great West! It's still going to make me miles, all that! Thank you AA Traveler Guide for making me want to see everything !! Grrr ...

First stop: Wairere Boulders. It is neither more nor less than the chaos of the Huelgoat of the corner! I am lucky, I am all alone to visit it, there are no other tourists, and the sun has really risen, so it is good during all my walk! ^^ Only hic: to get there, you have to take a "road" as the locals seem to appreciate them to make the junction between two major roads, that is to say a dirt road covered with pebbles! !!! A horror ! My poor Titine, she is resistant, but still! I have to go under 30km / h so as not to overdo it, which extends the travel time ... For all those who hate to drive, do not come to New Zealand, the roads Are really very special, and not easy to manage! ^^ Let us return to our chaos: it is very beautiful, very "green", where the palms and the ferns mingle with the blocks of rocks, which is very "exotic"! I love it, it is really a detour that I strongly advise! ^^

Then, direction Omapere, the mouth of LA ria of the west coast! It is, once again, a fascinating site, with on the side of Omapere (the south), verdant hills more or less sandy, overlooking beaches, and to the north, a new dune of the Pilat, as Te Paki ! The contrast is striking, and the beaches in the mouth make my eye, with their turquoise water! Well, I forgot my towel, so for now, I only take pictures! (And, incidentally, my meal, in front of the Sea of ​​Tasman! ^^) It is beautiful, as a country, my faith!

Afterwards, I continue on my way south, to the forest of Waipu, one of the most beautiful examples of New Zealand's primeval forest, with a strong presence of Kauri, the representative tree of the country! This is Agathis australis, a cousin of the araucaria, which is one of the largest species in the world, easily reaching 50 meters in height for 10 meters in circumference, in the wild! The oldest specimens, such as Tane Mahuta (The Lord of the Forest) or Te Matua Ngahere (The Forest Father), have more than 2000 !!! They are simply magnificent! I almost stayed in this forest, so beautiful, lively and green! My paradise to me! ^^ Somewhere, by "happiness" (little joke), the rain began falling again within this Rain Forest ... Admittedly, the manager of the inn had told me that it was the best time to discover it, but still ! With my K-way, I feared nothing, but good ...

 I continued my way in the forest, on the road laces that has nothing to envy the hinterland of Toulon (big thoughts for the French Southerners who will recognize each other until reaching Dargaville. It is one of the first colonial cities, with a small port overlooking a river reaching Kaipara Harbor, the largest bay on the west coast before Auckland (which looks a bit like the Gulf of Morbihan). If there are some architectural memories, it is not grandiose, unfortunately ...

I decide to take the road through the "rural" part of Northland, in order to reach the east coast in the fastest way! It is disconcerting, between two showers, I find myself between the breeding of cows and sheep, which have drawn the local pastoral landscapes, and the pine forest exploitations, which form gaping wounds on the hills, 'At the next plantation, all with always these energizing road laces ...

After two hours of driving, I finally reached Paihia, again under the fleet ... I wanted to go to Russell tonight, and well no, it will not be feasible ... It's okay, I will go Sleeping, maybe better tomorrow ...

[thearcanachronicles]

Ever After

Prologue

“Now then, what is that phrase you use? Once upon a time, there lived a young girl, who loved her father very much…”

There hasn’t been a morning that beautiful in a long time. The sun was still low in the sky, drowning the air in a soft golden light, low clouds blocking some rays, these so white, so different from the ones that had been over the land on the couple months before. Flowers were finally starting to blossom, the grass and trees greener than ever. The smell surrounding the country was heavy and rich, as if Earth itself was awakening after a long and profound sleep. April Kepner felt, while sneaking glances at the open window, that God had created that perfect day specially for her, as there was no other way to explain what was happening in her heart than with a soft sunrise after an infinite lifetime of storms.

Her mother had passed away five years ago and not for a single day she hasn’t missed her twinkling eyes and perky smile. Because of her father’s job depended of traveling, most of April’s time was spent on following her mother in and out of the large manor. She was too young to remember the details, but still recalls her laugh, louder when her father returned home, feeding the animals, or reading till she fell asleep. Her father always said that April was the joy of his life, but she knew that wasn’t entirely true. Anyone that had spared a quick glance at Joseph and Karen Kepner knew their love could survive anything, so when her mother died quickly after what began as an innocent flu, the only reason stopping the man to go after her was the fact that he couldn’t abandon his three-year-old innocent daughter more broken than she already was. The light inside of him, though, was lost, and for many years the only thing that seemed to bring back a little of it was to witness his child grow into a small copy of the love of his life. He could see that the girl had not only inherited the red color of her mother’s hair, but her kindness, wit, faith, strong mind and fists.

But, one day, by the time she had just turned seven, he returned and she sensed something had changed. She observed him during dinner and his shoulders seemed relaxed, his walk more free, and he even drank two glasses of wine instead of only one. When he went to her room that night in order to continue reading La Chanson de Roland, as he opened the book she interrogated what could’ve caused the change. That night was the first time she heard about her future step-mother.

“Oh Arizona, it feels just like Christmas! I get a mother and sisters all in one day”

She kept standing on her toes to get a better look at the outside, expecting the second she would finally hear the horses and the carriage down the road and not only the birds chirping. The blond woman knelled behind her was struggling to finish tying the pompous white dress and in order to keep the young lady quiet she had to, more than once, push her back by the ribbons around her waist. Calliope kept coming and going inside the room, setting up the last arrangements for the arrival.

Arizona, Calliope and Owen were already Joseph’s servants years before she was born and held the uttermost respect for their lord. He and his wife were always kind and fair, treating them equally even with their different social standings. When Karen passed away, all of them suffered along and in order to never let April endure the kind of pain that comes with losing a parent more than she had to, they promised to be there for her for whatever she needed. They took care of her while Joseph was away, working harder to provide to his daughter anything she might ever want. She already was being denied a mother, that was enough. Still, being the less strict of the parents, April was treated more freely than most girls her age, and even though she was aware of her position in society and the demands that came with it, she couldn’t care less about them.

“Yes, it’s going to be very exciting here, with the Baroness and all…Oh, hold still!”

The moment the lord announced he was getting married again, to a proper lady no less, they couldn’t be anything but relieved. The man had been so recluse after his grief that in time all gave up the hope that he’d ever fall in love again. As much as they loved April as their own daughter, a lady role-model inside the manor would only benefit the young girl’s education.

“The master deserves some happiness after all this time… bringing up the child on his own” Calliope said as reentering the room, folding towels. “She must be lovely.”

“I hope she likes me.”

“She’ll love you. Just be the little angel I know is in there somewhere.” Arizona smiled, pinching the girl’s cheek.

“And don’t chew on the bones at dinner and give yourself away…”

They were all smiles, standing in front of the long mirror, looking at the small girl as she was finished getting ready. They were so proud of her and only expected the best from this new beginning. They were also aware of how anxious April was, even though she tried to hide it behind all the excitement. The girl confided in them that she missed having a mother sometimes, and her father, having said the most wonderful things about the Baroness, only raised her expectations about the new woman. She would even have sisters to play in the garden with and share secrets beside the fireplace, since Alex never flattered her with this endearment or could visit her at night. She was dreaming about the day her family would be complete.

That moment of quietude was broken by a small rock that came inside the room, making a loud noise against the wooden floor, being followed by a second only a moment after.

“Child, your father arrives any moment!” Arizona sighed as April ran to the parapet, picking at her dress’ sides to not trip over it, and looked down to see her best friend. Young Alexander Karev was standing right down her room’s window with another few rocks in his dirty hands.

“Alex, I told you! Not today!” Many and many times in the weeks before the arrival date, she explained to him how after her father’s new marriage some parts of her routine would change, exactly as Arizona had told her. She argued back when heard that the time with them all would be cut and how the step-mother probably had more strict opinions about her clothes, her schedule, and the kind of games she could join in, especially the ones involving her inside the pigsty or bathing in mud, but ended up granting after understanding that her sisters and other ladies her age didn’t usually behaved like that.

“You look like a girl!”

She rolled her eyes, putting both hands on her hips while giving him an annoyed expression. He would have to accept soon that wearing a dress didn’t forbid her to have clay in her hair, it would only be limited to certain days and times. That shouldn’t change their relationship.

“That’s what I am, halfwit!”

“Yeah, but today you look it!” April Kepner was not going to accept that attitude from him. Her new mother was soon arriving and he should already understand the situation. She could be wearing the most heavy dress she had, but it would not stop her from dipping his head in something if it meant he would learn to respect her no matter what clothes she was in.

“Boy or girl, I can still whip you.”

“Hah!”

She disappeared inside the room in a hurry to avoid to be held back, running down the stairs, ignoring the claims from both Arizona and Calliope. At the same time, the sound of the horses alarmed them as the cortege could finally be seem on the road by the horizon, quickly approaching the manor. They all ran down to stand in proper position by the main entrance as the horses and carriage stopped, pulling her dresses and aprons to place, being joined by the other servants, Owen supervising if they were all in proper attire.

“Look lively, it’s the master.”

“Welcome home, Monsieur le seigneur.” Owen exclaimed, approaching his lord with a smile, shaking hands with him. “I see you have brought us a baroness”

The light-brown haired man dismounted his mane in a swift motion, patting his fancy clothes from all the dust acquired in the trip. He had a proud expression while taking in the entire crew.

“I have brought you an entire household, Owen… But I seem to be missing a daughter”

He kept looking around in the direction of the porch as if his daughter would come to surface in an instant, but had to turn his back against it as his new family started to descend the carriage. The first one was a blonde thin girl, dressed in a red velvet attire, looking up at the manor disappointed. Following her, a bit younger, was a brunette, apparently more pleased by the view, with similar clothes, but green. Helped by a coachmen, the baroness came to view. She was stunning, head high, wearing an expensive silver velvet dress, with a large matching headpiece and jewelry, staring up at the building and the people surrounding her. As she came to full view, while curtsying, the realization that now they would be dealing with a lady with a much higher upbringing fell upon the servants’ heads.

“Oh… Joseph… It’s absolutely charming, really.”

The fact that the lady sounded ironic and the smile didn’t reach her eyes was subtle but evident. Her expression only hardened after April came around the corner running, her white dress covered in what they hoped to be only mud even if the strong smell said otherwise, hair once tied in a charming bun now disheveled, her face could have not been washed in a week.

“Papa!” She jumped in his arms, both father and daughter not bothered by her filthiness, trying to express in a single hug how much they missed each other.

“Oh, look at you, just as I left…. I’ll wager your friend Alexander is around here.”

“No, sir! I slaughtered him.” She smirked as he kneeled and looked deep in her eyes, taking all her assets with pride and joy.

“Well, so you did… I had hoped to present a little lady. I suppose you’ll have to do.” He shrugged, laughing at the servants, not a hint of malice in his voice, and stood up, stepping by his daughter’ side to let her take in the women who was now their family. “April, darling… may I present the Baroness Ellis the Grey and her daughters, Meredith and Alexandra.”

“Hello, April. At last we meet. Your father speaks of nothing else.” The woman came slightly forward, her daughters following each on one side. April instantly regretted having fought with Alex, as she couldn’t feel more out of place. Their first impression of her would be of an ugly, disgusting girl instead of a lady like them. While the brunette indulged her with a kind smile, the blond stood starring down unimpressed at her clothes. “Ladies, say hello to your new stepsister.”

“Mademoiselle” Both girls bowed and April repeated the motion, at least showing that what she lacked at the moment in appearance, she could compensate with education. While staring at their feet, she couldn’t but dream that the trio already loved her as much as she loved them.

“Utopia.”

“It means paradise. This may be a bit thick for an eight-year-old, but we could add it to our library.”

Her father was in her room by sleep time that night for the first time since he arrived one week before, what was unusual, but he had warned her before the wedding that he’d have others responsibilities. But April was happier than in a long time and he couldn’t avoid being proud of how she was behaving. She fell naturally into a routine with the new family. The fact that she woke up earlier than the other women in the house to help in the kitchen or the gardens didn’t bother the Baroness as long as she was cleaned up by the time she descended the stairs with the two other girls for the morning lessons. Ellis was extremely strict with the girl’s education, more than expect, as with their beauty routine and manners. She was decided in creating the most perfect ladies in the entire kingdom, and if sacrifices were supposed to be made, they would be done with a smile in their faces. Trying to get on their good side, April paid deep attention to the way they walked, talked and eat, the utensils dancing between their hands; how they dressed up, bathed, and while making tea parties trained to drink tea with the Queen. It was so different from the life she ever had that most times she kept thinking if she wasn’t playing princess. She was proud, though, when she looked up from the music sheet and saw the impressed face of the Baroness, aware that her hands were more trained with the piano than the others, the same happening with reading and writing. She never got a proper compliment, but Ellis was a woman of few and hard words.

“Will you read some?” She was touching softly the first page of the small book in her hands, tracing the words with love. The reading before sleep was her favorite part of the day when Joseph was home, and even though she was delighted by their new life, she couldn’t help but miss it. Maybe her new mother could join them one day too.

“It’s been a very long day.” He looked tired from setting up the new household, dark bags under his eyes, so she made an effort to ignore the tightening in her heart.

“And you’re a husband now.”

“Yes, I’m a husband, but a father first and forever. We’ve been two peas in a pod, you and I, for a long time… I suppose this will take some time getting used to.” He got closer to her, holding her hands between his much larger ones, his devotion for her in his eyes. Her smile grew as she understood that not for a single moment he didn’t want to read to her, he was only getting on his feet with the new family. He would make time, eventually. Trying to express how she didn’t held it against him, she changed the subject quickly, remembering something she wanted to share.

“Did you see the way they eat their supper? It is perfect, like a dance! And walk!”

“Do you like them?” He shared the girl’s smile, happy that she was not bothered with the new arrangement. If she didn’t like the Baroness, he wouldn’t be able to keep a life with her.

“Very much.”

“Good, good. Because I have to go to Avignon in a fortnight…” He knew that leaving that soon wouldn’t be easy, but he still had to finish some business he had postponed because of the wedding.

“But you just got back!” April sat straight, almost jumping in the bed, as if holding tighter could keep him in place. Her teared up eyes almost made Joseph give up the entire trip.

“I know…”

“For how long?”

“Only… three weeks.”

“One”

“Two.”

“One!”

“T…two… all right, one.” He conceded, rolling his eyes and pushing her shoulders to rest comfortable in bed to sleep again. He kissed her forehead and pulled the blanked, wrapping her in it, the new book besides her bedside table. “Come on, go to sleep. Sleep tight, my darling.”

“I’ve never seen so many gloomy faces around here. I shall be back in a week”

The ladies and the servants were all once more positioned in the front porch for the farewell. His ride was ready to depart, Owen holding it in place while Joseph came out of the door to say goodbye.

“Then go. The sooner you leave, the sooner we can celebrate your return.” Joseph kissed his new wife lovingly on the lips, caressing her face while she made a small pout. “Perhaps by then, the three of you will know each other better.” He patted the two step-daughters in their cheeks and finally knelled in front of April, the girl looking down afraid that her tears might fall.

He gave her a sweet smile while putting a lose strand of hair behind her ear, lifting her chin to make her stare in his eyes. “Huh? I’m counting on you to teach them the ropes around here. The Baroness isn’t used to getting her hands dirty.”

He kissed her in the cheek, April wrapping her arms around his neck to hold onto her father for a bit more. She would miss him, but was content that this time she would have her new mother and sisters to take care of her while he was gone. He let go of her and hopped on his mane, an uncomfortable expression on his face after holding the reins up to turn around, his left arm apparently in pain.

“Come along, ladies. Back to your lessons.”

The Baroness clapped twice to indicate the three of them to hurry inside, Meredith and Alexandra quickly moving, heading to the door with their mother following.

“Wait, It’s tradition. He always waves at the gate.” April exclaimed to them, the servants looking at her with proud smiles, still standing in their places. Ellis simply gave her a disgusted smile, surprising the redhead, and disappeared behind the door. Frowning, confused about the rude attitude, something she had never witnessed in the house, she turned her attention back to her father. Her worries about how she might have gotten into the Baroness dark side after disobeying her were forgotten when Joseph, half way towards the gate fell from the horse and never got back up.

“PAPA!” April was the first to react, running towards him. She couldn’t hear anything but her breathing, the wind against her body, her legs already hurting from the pace, heart hammering against her chest, but not daring to stop for a second to catch a breath. He had fell before, but was quick to get back on his feet again, never letting her worry about he being hurt. The fact that few seconds had passed and he has not yet moved only increased the dreadful feeling in her heart. Was he paralyzed? Was he… He couldn’t be. Dead was not a new conceit to her but her father was a strong healthy man. He could not be working in a second and the next one be dead. God wouldn’t let her have a family for the first time just to tear it apart… Would he?

By the time she reached him and got on the floor by his side, she could finally hear the commotion she had left down the road. The Baroness was also running for her life, followed closed by Owen, the other servants behind them all. She put her hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat and irregular breaths, his chest apparently making much effort to keep moving, pulling his clothes to make him look at her. His eyes were open, and he blinked a couple times till he finally could focus on her face.

“My darling…” He slowly reached for her face at the same time Ellis felt on his side, touching his chest the same way April had done a few seconds before.

“Joseph… ” She was desperate, pulling him towards her even though he did not move or diverted his attention from April.

“I love you…” The dying man said, once more picking a lose strand of red hair and holding it with love, putting it behind the girl’s ear, stroking her teared cheeks while she sobbed. He and his daughter could not see the hurt in Ellis eyes from the fact that the man she had married never spared her a glance on his dying moments “ I love you…”

“Papa…”

“Joseph, you cannot leave me here…”

His hand fell on the floor and both women over him screamed, holding him to each other. April laid on his chest, holding to his skin and clothes, the Baroness desperate, getting up and throwing herself at Owen to be able to stand.

“You cannot leave me here!”

Arizona and Calliope both picked at one of April’s arm, trying to release her from her father’s dead body, only making the girl to hold him tighter.

“Leave me here!”

“Papa, please come back!”

“It would be ten years before another man would enter her life… A man who was still a boy… in many, many ways.”

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my new ff heavily based on my favorite movie ever (Ever After). Jackson will make his charming entrance next chapter ;) And be ready for many many characters to show up xD I hope you enjoy it! Lots of love 3