#sizzling summer styles

[kids-worldfun]

Sizzling Summer Styles: Baby Clothes for Sunny Days

Summer is here, and it’s time to dress our little ones in the cutest and comfiest outfits! Whether you’re heading to the beach, the park, or just enjoying a sunny day at home, having the right baby summer clothes is essential. Let’s talk about the best baby clothes for sunny days, ensuring your baby stays cool, comfortable, and oh-so-stylish! Why Baby Summer Clothes Are Important When the sun…

[westeal-photo]

[rabbitcruiser]

Excellent Food and Drinks on My Vacations (No. 10)

I travelled a lot; and still do. I love to eat and have a nice drink. Here are some of the best foods, drinks and wines I had to pleasure to enjoy. It starts with this year and goes back in time. I hope you like the pics as much as I loved this food.

Please contact me, if you want some further information about the food and/or restaurants. 

I had a lot of steaks from different restaurants: some better than others. But you simply can’t beat the porterhouse steak from Keens Steakhouse in Midtown Manhattan. I can’t even begin to describe the taste. And it melts in the mouth. We always order the medium rare porterhouse for three (we are only two!). 

[nataliasquote]

Sun-kissed by an angel | n romanoff

summary: the perfect lazy morning in the Romanoff summer beach house

wc: 1.5k

notes: I know I’ve been MIA for a while, but I’m back with a short but soft and fluffy oneshot. I wish this was my life tbh, I feel like a beach holiday and a cozy morning with a hot girl would make my life so much better

-⧗-

The gentle tickle of the ocean breeze brushed across the sleeping woman’s exposed skin, stirring her from her heavy slumber with the promise of sun. It dappled through the open curtains of the balcony doors, but the light wasn’t harsh like it usually was. Many days had started just like this, crumpled sheets and exposed limbs being warmed by the dazzling sun. Y/n blinked to adjust to the brightness, stretching her limbs out across the expanse of soft white blankets, frowning as her palms landed upon nothing but fabric. The bed was larger, far bigger than any she’d slept in before, but it felt even bigger without her person by her side.

Waking up with the sea view directly in front of her was a dream but even the gentle rolling waves didn’t quite tug the smile back to her lips as she swung her legs out of bed and let her feet land upon the sanded hardwood floor. Without pulling on anything to cover her blue pyjama shorts set, she wandered down the hallway of the country style house, passing the photo covered walls and airy windows, until she reached the kitchen.

The radio on the windowsill crackled out nostalgic tunes and Y/n paused in the doorway, taking in the sight before her. The redheaded woman she adored with her whole heart was swaying softly to the music, the oversized white button down that adorned her body hanging loosely from her shoulders and stopping mid thigh. The large window above the sink was wide open, letting in a deliciousness to drift from the beach below and mix with the combination of freshly brewed coffee and the new bouquet sitting in prize position on the grand windowsill.

Natasha’s back was turned as she hummed to herself, allowing her wife a moment of admiration before she crossed the tiled floor and slipped her arms around the redhead’s waist. Natasha wasn’t startled, she was an ex spy after all, but her body immediately relaxed into the touch of her wife. They stayed embraced for a few moments, Natasha’s head tilting backwards to rest on Y/n’s shoulder behind her. She smiled lazily and brought her own hands up to grasp onto her lover’s, holding her tightly.

“Did you sleep well?” She muttered softly, goosebumps littering her skin as Y/n’s hands grazed her stomach.

Y/n hummed, turning her wife around so they were finally face to face. “I would have slept better if you didn’t leave before I woke up.” Her mouth pouted slightly but Natasha quickly kissed her lips, her remedy for unhappiness.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she apologised, “I just wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed at the mention of food. Her wife was a lot of things, but a cook she was not. She followed Natasha’s gaze to a pan on the stove where a sorry looking egg was cooking - or at least trying to.

“Tasha, honey… you haven’t turned the stove on.”

Natasha went to protest but Y/n pressed the button and turned the dial, the pair of them watching as the oil in the pan began to sizzle. Y/n smiled, trying to hide her laughter but Natasha caught her and huffed, sliding away from the stove and dragging Y/n over to the other counter, trapping her body in between the granite countertop and her strong body.

“How long have you been trying to cook that egg?” Y/n asked with fake seriousness, one which Natasha saw straight through. She rolled her eyes and pressed her hips forward, grabbing her wife’s face in her scarred palms.

“You’re lucky that I love you and will put up with this teasing after everything I do for you,” she grumbled, even though she wasn’t at all offended. Her wife was the light of her life and a far better cook, despite Natasha’s best efforts. She gazed into her love’s eyes, watching them sparkle in the sunlight and she couldn’t hold herself back anymore. Natasha pressed their lips together in a loving but firm kiss, almost like she was trying to kiss the smirk off her wife’s face. Her hands cupped Y/n’s cheeks with such tenderness that the other woman melted slightly, her body falling forwards into the comfort of her wife.

“You’re too good at that, my love, but that egg will burn if we continue like this,” Y/n started, trying to push Natasha away, much to the redhead’s disdain. The promise of breakfast was far in the back of her mind and she ignored Y/n’s help of protest when she grabbed the backs of her thighs and lifted her up onto the counter, spreading her thighs to stand between them with a smirk.

“You were saying?”

Y/n shook her head, a playful smile dancing across her lips. Her wife really was unbelievable. “At least turn the stove off, Nat. We just had this kitchen redone.”

“It’s barely warmed up.”

“And I know you. You’ll forget all about it and then complain when it’s black.” Natasha opened her mouth. “Don’t protest, you know I’m right.”

The redhead rolled her eyes but stepped away for two seconds, keeping her eyes locked on her wife on the counter as she fiddled around for the knob, turning it with a click. She raised an eyebrow, almost asking ‘happy?’ and Y/n nodded whilst beckoning her back over.

“That wasn’t hard now, was it?”

Natasha stayed quiet. Her fingertips slowly danced up Y/n’s bare thighs, tracing invisible patterns on her freshly tanned skin until they reached the hem of her shorts. Natasha laid her palms flat, suddenly looking up at her wife again through her lashes, giving her a look that melted the world away.

“Stop…” yet she wasn’t at all convincing. Y/n’s own hands absentmindedly drifted to the open collar of Natasha’s shirt, her collarbones just showing under the soft linen. “I love this shirt on you, my god.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Y/n hummed softly. She followed her fingers with her eyes, connecting the freckles on her wife’s pale skin across her chest. Regardless of her hours spent in the sun, Natasha was never tanned, but it only made her look more ethereal in Y/n’s eyes. Like an angel with a glowing halo of hair about her head.

They didn’t need to talk, not in moments like this. Their eyes spoke a thousand words, and the soft call of seabirds in the distance reminded them both of the life they now lived, the craziness of the Avengers a thing of the past. A slow life was their new normal, and Natasha had moulded into her new role surprisingly well.

“Why don’t we go to the farmer’s market today?” Natasha suggested, her hands still resting on her wife’s thighs, her favourite place to be.

Y/n narrowed her eyes, seeing through that innocent facade. “You want me to make my salad don’t you?”

Natasha grinned, moving her hands up to Y/n’s waist, pulling her closer until her legs wrapped around Nat’s waist and they were as close as they could be. Natasha was an utter simp for her wife, and she wasn’t ashamed of that. Not at all. She would get it tattooed on her forehead if she could.

“I do, but I also want to see you in a pretty summer dress in our town today.” Another weakness, Natasha was feeling extra soft today, and Y/n would never complain. Natasha’s possessiveness came out extra strong when Y/n wore one of her favourite dresses. They always attracted extra attention and there was nothing more that the redhead loved more than to slide an arm around her waist or stop her in the street and kiss her fiercely. Just to shut down the wandering eyes of the other men and women in their small coastal town.

“What my wife wants, she gets,” Y/n leaned down and kissed Natasha’s forehead before signalling to get down. “What about breakfast?”

They both peered over at the half cooked mess of an egg on the stove before bursting into laughter. Straight into the trash it went, that was clear.

“I’m going to take my gorgeous wife out for breakfast,” the redhead announced, twirling Y/n under her arm in time to the music still playing from the radio. “With the promise of properly cooked eggs and a beautiful view.”

“I already have a beautiful view.” Cheesy.

“Get out of here,” Natasha joked, administering a slap to her wife’s ass as she ran out of the kitchen and down the hallway, a redhead hot on her heels.

But their urgency to leave was short lived as Natasha tackled Y/n onto the bed, peppering her face with kisses as they rolled around on the crumpled sheets, acting more like teenagers than thirty year old women. But they were allowed to, Natasha had been robbed of a childhood after all.

Breakfast could wait, this morning was much more important.

[hxltic]

“YOU’VE NEVER SQUIRTED?” KENMA

part 1 | part 2

It was actually a really awkward conversation in the kitchen of his apartment. The fresh toast sizzled against your fingers as you removed it from the toaster, the sun shined bright through his black curtains without quit, and because it was in his disposition to be up ungodly hours, you incorrectly assumed he’d hibernate in his room so you planned to head to your friend’s house for breakfast in a full face and clothes you never wore. Or technically, a full face and clothes you only wore out to places you cared about. Otherwise, you didn’t really dress to impress.

500 FOLLOWERS?!

Footsteps sounded from afar and you retrieved the jelly from the fridge mindlessly.

“Where we going?”

Kenma taunted from his seat found on the island stool. You assumed he’d just woken up, accompanied with doing his daily hygiene because his soft voice still had the slightest rasp to it.

“We?” You jokingly snapped back. Kenma scoffed lightheartedly at you. The refrigerator door closed with a slight push, and Kenma sighed to where he could ask again. Some almost fully black stands came to fall in front of his face as he leaned forward on the cold, stone counter and his hair was pulled into a small ponytail, nothing left of the noticeable blonde but disproportional ends that fall into his large hoodie.

“Where are you going?”

You grab the plate but forget the juice for the morning. Back you go to the fridge almost in a rush.

“I’m going to a friend’s for breakfast, it’s this party thing she hosts every year,” you explain. “Almost like a friendsgiving. She takes it suuuuper serious.”

The juice is in one hand, a random cup in another. You twist around to pour the liquid on the island instead of the main countertop so you could engage in quick conversation with Kenma. As he got older he’s become more expressive and outgoing, just willingly reserved. He has, however, become a handful; and having lived with him, you’ve seen him take shots like a champ. You see his aloofness dissolve, his eyebrow coming up the slightest bit.

“And you’re eating breakfast before going to eat breakfast?” He slowed the pace of his words around the end of the sentence like he was judging you.

“I have to eat in the morning still, or I’ll pass out before I even get there Kenma! I’m kinda a little late though so you can heckle me when I get back.”

“Uhuh…”

Kenma hummed in response with an inconspicuous smirk on his face. You wouldn’t have even seen it if it weren’t for you waiting to see his reaction of your flawless vocabulary. He was however, changing his position to leaning back in the chair, already staring you incredulously. It was somewhat close to a manspread, his hands were tucked into the hoodie pockets, and the sight was way too much for you to handle this early in the morning.

So, you turned around to tend to your idle plate with jelly-less toast on it. You didn’t like Kenma specifically, persay, you would’ve liked it if any boy looked at you like that. Yeah. Don’t think too much about it.

Anyway, with the slide of a drawer you withdrew the knife and got to work. Unbeknownst to you, Kenma had not taken his eyes off your body. Your hair was still slightly wet but it made it easier for you to style. It was up. The backless halter top you wore was connected only by a string at your nape, and it left skin between that and your skinny jeans that fell down to your open toe, clear strap heels. You were dressed perfect for the summer occasion of a girls day out. And he was absolutely sulking in it.

“You look good.”

You hate the slight pause in your actions. You hate the way you had to question if he was talking to you or not, even if you were the only one in the house. You hate that you refuse to turn around to him. You hate the giddy smile that decorated your face. You hate that you had to cover up how everything you hated affected you, so you say “Thank you; flatter me more.”

He just outwardly chuckled, and ended with a “Maybe.” He starts again, “Hey is this who you were on the phone with last night? Who’s at the party I mean.”

“Hm?” Your chin did lead over your shoulder at this. “Yes actually, I’m surprised I’m up as early as I am considering she kept me up all night.” You resume.

“Tell her I said she should break up with him.”

You agree, “I will; she definitely needs to hear it.”

…

Suddenly, you snap your head back around quick enough to give you whiplash. You don’t get embarrassed easily, but you had to be blushing like a bitch.

This time Kenma’s smirk was very noticeable. You blink warily at him.

“Ken… how much did you hear?” Your voice was soft with curiosity mixed and thrown into fear. He just shrugged casually and quickly switched to an innocent façade. One thing you learned about him over the years: he has a badass poker face. And he’s a dick.

Such a dick, in fact, that after reassuring “I wasn’t eavesdropping so I didn’t hear much,” he let you take deep breaths of relief and turn back around to lather your second piece of toast. You felt the golden, low, cat-like eyes burning through the back of your head—so with indecision and obscurity—you looked over your shoulder again. He wore a shit eating grin.

You pointed the butterknife at him accusingly.

“You fucking liar! You heard all of it!!”

Kenma just smiled menacingly.

“I did hear all of it actually; but pushing that aside, why do I feel like I’ve never heard you say some of the words you said?” He tilts his head to the side, completely dismissing you.

“Kenma!?”

“Say pussy.”

This made you stop. You found him unbelievable, and you’d never admit what hearing him say pussy does to your mind, but his head was sideways in pure amusement like he was waiting on you to do it.

“Kenma. What.”

“Say it.”

You just stared at each other.

“Pussy,” you finally repeated. After lingering in the air a bit Kenma’s eyes went wide and he threw his head back to diminish into laughter.

“Kenmaaa.” You groaned loudly. He only laughed harder. “What all did you hear? Seriously!”

He calmed down to just a grin and ushered you to be as well with the palm of his hand.

“Okay okay—mainly the part where she explains how she hates the guy because she feels like he ignores her and has never made her cum—plus some other stuff, blah blah, that’s basically it,” He rambles.

It was your turn for your eyes to run wide, so in astonishment that your body couldn’t even address the other words that rolled out his mouth so easy. “I don’t want basically, I want all of it,” you declare.

“There’s not much more unless you’re including all the other dumb shit he did? Like how he told his friends she did something even if she didn’t, and she felt invalidated about it. I have amazing input on these types of situations by the way.”

Kenma was saying all this without any negative emotion, relaying it to you with normalcy. “The only thing after that was about yourself.”

You roll your eyes, but bingo. So he did hear it. He heard what you didn’t want him to. Your face may have dropped a tiny bit.

“…What was it? About how…I have—“

“—never squirted?” He finishes. Your chest tightened a little, and your face was red with what was anger transforming into something else. His ordinary apathetic gaze was locked on yours for a tiny moment, so you made it your responsibility to look away and grab your food.

“Gotta go now, I’m already late.” You swiftly unhooked the keys from the wall and opened the door. It wasn’t his fault he heard (because to be honest you two weren’t the quietest last night during your girl talk), but just now the fact that he knew upset you. Your best friend made it seem so easy, like she does it all the time, and it just made you seem like you were missing out how she explained it.

However, on your way out, Kenma did call for you from the kitchen. “Not everyone can do it,” He said. It was reassurance, you assume, but it didn’t really come off as such. He then says (more to himself you also assume), “Not everyone can make you do it either.”

This sat with you the whole breakfast/brunch party, champagne being passed around like candy but nothing could stop you from thinking about it. Of course it being a whole room of the closest friends, she re-explained last night’s gossip, the effects hitting you again as your friends chimed in on the situation. Was it really as good as they say?

——•——

You unlocked the house door, the apartment dim and quiet. It was around four now, you weren’t completely sober, and your heels clacked along the tile.

Dropping your arm to sit your purse on the counter and hang the keys, you undo a single strap and slip the shoes off. You carry them in your hand for the journey to your room.

Of course before you can reach your door, there’s Kenma’s slightly cracked open one to remind you of what he said. Not everyone can make you do it either.

What does that even mean; can’t you do it alone? Do you need someone else for it?

You weren’t dumb and at least knew what he was implying. It was an offer. Or maybe it wasn’t, and you’re just horny. Either way you find yourself stopped in front of the entrance to his room. You don’t bother to knock, it falls open with a slight push of your free hand.

Kenma resides at his setup, on his phone, the mic wrapped around his neck. The few moving lights in his room softly radiated from his pc, making him appear to be different strong shades of red and orange depending on when you looked. He didn’t seem to be streaming. Or he could be—he isn’t the nicest to his viewers.

He casts you a glance past his hair but dismisses your presence. You don’t really ever come into his room except to just grab something and go, usually a hair product.

You take a few steps inside. Then, you leisurely drop the heels at his bedside so he finally acknowledges your company.

“Ken?” Your delicate voice breaks the silence of the outside, completely unsure if there was music running through his headphones.

He clicks his phone off so you have his full attention.

“What’s up? How was it?”

You continued taking slow steps forward, with only one thing on your mind. And it wasn’t the party. “It was okay.”

Kenma surveys how you have yet to halt, inching closer and closer to him. It only took a slight examination of your face to see the solemnity. Blankness. He stands up from his seat and removes the headset from himself in concern before you can get any closer.

“You sure? You don’t look—”

“—Kenma. What did you say earlier?” You whisper. He was now directly in front of you.

He pauses for a second and his face converts to disbelief. “Are we still talking about the squirt thing?” He smiles mischievously, “I was just letting you know not to worry about it so much.”

You hate that word. It’s so gross sounding, so vulgar. But you can’t bring yourself to get him to stop saying it.

“Well I have been, so what happens now?” You peer strangely at each other, both acutely aware of where this was going.

“And you’re coming to me for this, why?” The ravenette taunts. He knew exactly why you were in his room right now, the curiosity having ate away at you all day. Like an itch that won’t go. You’ve gotta give in if this’ll go anywhere.

“Well you seem to know a lot about it…” you fumble with your bracelet nervously. You’ve gotten this far. “Could you…maybe help me?”

Kenma makes no sudden movements. He scans you suspiciously. A slight flush of red may have spread across your cheeks, but the darkness around you was protective. Hearing it actually come out of your mouth was a whole different story than imagining it.

“You want me to make you squirt?” He confirmed.

You may have physically cringed at that sentence because his hands find his sweat pockets in a ‘you said it not me’ manner.

“Yes.”

He scanned you again for good measure.

“Alright.”

With this he turned on his heel, stepped away, and sat in his gaming chair again. You stood there blankly, unaware of what to do. “Come here.”

You follow him to his setup. He sighs because he could see how uncomfortable you were.

“What usually do you do to get off?” He questions. He twists you around by your hips, your back facing him.

“Uh…It’s just kinda alone in my room I guess. I use my fingers usually.” You tried to keep your voice low enough to cure your embarrassment. Kenma, however, seemed to be doing this with ease. In fact, as he was asking you questions, he massaged your hips and waist soothingly.

“Is that it? You don’t watch or think about anything?”

You turn your head, “No. Am I supposed to?”

“I mean it’s not mandatory but you gotta think about something.”

“Whatever. Jeez, Kenma just say you think about me already.” You quip. Whatever he was doing was working, you were loosening up.

“Only when I’m about to cum. How do you like to be talked to?”

What?

You weren’t even going to ask about it. It was probably a joke anyway.

A moment of processing silence passed. “I don’t really know how I like to be talked to. Guys have tried to praise or degrade me but it never worked, so I just assumed I didn’t like the talk at all.”

He tugs on the shirt string at your neck. He watches you tense up at the action, so he rubs your trap in slow, circular motions instead. “If I say I like to be praised, all they do is say ‘good girl’ over and over. Gets kinda boring you know?” Is this you venting to Kenma about your boring sex life? Of course. You mess with your nails as you face away from him. Not for long though, because he turns you around.

“This is what I meant by not everyone can make you do it. Only you can guarantee yourself the highest pleasure 100% of the time,” Kenma drags you by your belt loops so you fall into the chair against him, “and me.”

He was so close now, your knees sliding under the chair arm. His breath could be felt on your skin and his hands were still pawing at your waist to glide up your back. You couldn’t bring yourself to put your full weight on him. However, he pulls you down anyway, and manually places your hands along his clothed chest so you could calm down. That was all he wanted from you right now. To relax and to take deep breaths.

“Warnings would be great Ken.”

“Yeah, but you said you don’t like to talk.”

“I don’t.”

“So should I warn you about how hard you make me dressed up like that?”

You moderately gasped at the comment placed right into your collarbone. You pressed down a tiny bit farther to see if you could feel it. You could. His breath fanned against your body and airy kisses lead.

You wonder where all of Kenma’s shyness over the years went because now you would never have guessed him to be like this. The friction fuels him to push you more.

Kenma could go on and on about these random intrusive thoughts he only gets at night—the only time where you seem to engulf his brain. Living with you over the years has been fine with zero temptation, but recently, it’s been like a hormone specifically for you snapped in his body. He feels the way you roll your hips the smallest bit for yourself. You liked the talk, just not the guys.

Soft fingers pull on a single string near your hair, releasing your breasts from the top as the fabric folded downwards between the two of you.

©️ hxltic

[monster-disaster]

Big fan of your work.Can I please 🥺🙏 request you do a fix about introducing your male naga boyfriend to your family.His big and intimidating but the family are shocked S/O is dating a monster.

naga!boyfriend x human!Reader Good to know: no warnings

The bright summer sun blazes on the top of the cloudless sky as you and your boyfriend approach your parents' house. The cheerful sounds of laughter, sizzling barbecue, and clinking glasses drift over from behind the familiar building towering behind the white fence you helped to paint down several years ago.

You take a deep breath, feeling the flutter of anxiety in your stomach as you get closer and closer to the open entrance. The scent of grilled meats and vegetables fills the air, mingling with the floral notes from the garden. The family barbecue is always a big event, but this year, instead of excitement, you feel nervous and overwhelmed. There is too big of a chance for everything to go wrong.

"Remember," your boyfriend is the one who breaks the silence, "no matter what they think of me, you and I are a sure thing. We've got this."

You look up at him, meeting his steady gaze and gentle smile. His confidence is contagious, and you feel a bit of the tension in your chest ease. He is right. Maybe your family will have their opinion about the fact that you fell in love with a naga, but it doesn't have to do anything with your relationship.

"I know," you tell him with a deep breath. "It’s just… I don’t want them to make you feel uncomfortable."

The male chuckles softly, slipping his long fingers through yours to squeeze your hand comfortingly. "I appreciate that, but you’ve seen me handle tougher situations. Your family will come around. And if not, well, it’s their loss."

He is right, you remind yourself, yet, for a moment, you hesitate at the front door, taking in the familiar picket fence and the well-tended, colorful flower beds.

“Ready?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady. The question is unnecessary and more about you than the male waiting beside you patiently.

“Absolutely,” he replies with a confident smile. His eyes sparkle with an easygoing warmth, and his fingers around yours tighten, trying to ease the stress stretching across your chest and belly.

With a deep inhale, you push the front door open, leading him inside. The hallway is lined with family photos, and the faint sound of music mixed with the hum of conversations reaches your ears from the garden in the back. You guide him through the living room, giving him enough time to look around the wooden furniture, dark green couch, and tall bookshelf next to the TV.

"I see where your style comes from," he says, amused. The house is dominated by warm colors and earthy tones. It's comfortable and inviting, and you can't help but relax in the familiar environment.

Finally, you reach the glass door leading to the backyard. The garden is bustling and loud with your family: children run around, laughter rings out from the adults, and the grill crackles with sizzling food. The familiar mix of your father's spices is heavy and mouthwatering in the warm summer air.

Your dad is at the grill, flipping burgers and hot dogs with your uncles surrounding him while your mom is busy with others from your family. Nearby, your grandparents sat in lawn chairs, enjoying the warmth of the day with cool drinks in their hands and keeping one eye on the kids playing around them.

As you and your boyfriend step onto the patio, the lively chatter and laughter of the garden party fall abruptly into silence. The vibrant hum of conversations quiets down, leaving an almost tangible pause in the air. Every head turns toward you and your boyfriend, with expressions shifting from curiosity to surprise. You try to maintain a confident smile, but it feels more like a grimace. The silence stretches, growing heavier with each passing second you stand under their gaze. You can feel the weight of a hundred unspoken questions and unvoiced opinions pressing down on you.

Your boyfriend's squeeze on your hand shakes you up from your stalling.

Clearing your throat, you break the silence finally. “Hey everyone, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend." Your voice wavers slightly as you introduce him.

The male next to you offers a polite smile, his tail shifting slightly behind him. He is nervous too, even though he tries to be calm for you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

The garden remains eerily quiet, and you can feel the muscles of your face twitch as you try to keep smiling.

No one speaks. The awkwardness grows, making the seconds feel like minutes. Long, long minutes.

The garden’s tense silence hangs in the air as you and your boyfriend still stand at the edge of the patio. The sizzling of the barbecue and the distant noises of the neighborhood seem far off in the background. Someone just arrives a few houses away, their car rumbles through the street. Someone else is busy mowing the grass. You bet all of them have a better time than you.

Just as you begin to worry that the awkwardness might never lift, a sudden burst of squeals pierces through the quiet.

With a small jump at the sudden sound, you look down to see your youngest cousin with tousled hair and chubby cheeks waddling closer and closer to your pair. Her face is flushed from playing and laughing around. Her eyes are wide and shine with wonder as she stares intently at the naga beside you.

The sunlight catches your boyfriend's scales again when he shifts, curling his long tail around himself, casting a dazzling array of colors that shimmered like a living prism. The toddler’s eyes widen even further, and she lets out an enthusiastic squeal. “Oh, pweddy!” She exclaims. Her tiny hands reach out as if to touch the light dancing on the otherwise bluish scales.

Your boyfriend, noticing her delight, crouches down to her level with a gentle smile. His scales shift and sparkle in the sunlight, reflecting a spectrum of vibrant hues. “Hello there,” he says softly, his voice warm and friendly. You can see his expression and posture relax now that he can busy himself with a curious little girl instead of your family's shocked silence. “Do you like the colors?”

Your cousin nods vigorously, her face breaking into a wide grin. She claps her hands and giggles, clearly entranced by the play of light on the long tail. “Magic!” She shouts with glee. Her ponytail bounces on the top of her head and the decor on the tie glitters as she moves.

The sound of her laughter is like a breath of fresh air, breaking the lingering tension. Your family watches with a mix of amusement and relief as the toddler continues to marvel at the spectacle with excited 'ohs' and "ahs' every few seconds. Her chubby fingers slide up and down on your boyfriend's scales while he explains a few things about nagas that may interest the small girl.

"Pretty, huh?" You ask her with a relieved smile on your face.

Your cousin nods, still grinning. "Pink," she points out a few colors that catch her eyes as the rays of the sun dance on the smooth scales.

"Yes," your love nods. "And what is this?" He points at another color.

"Gween."

"That's right!"

"Oh," your mom gasps, adjusting her shirt as if she is just waking up. "Don't just stand there! Come! The food is almost ready!"

And with that, something melts around your family. The silent awkwardness eases until it entirely disappears, and your family starts talking and moving again. A few of them continue their previous conversation while the other come closer to introduce themselves.

"Wanna play?" Your cousin asks, not caring about the adults gathering around her and her new friend. Her small hand is already gripping your boyfriend's finger to pull him with herself.

"I think he will be busy for a while," you tell your mom, smiling at the sight of your male and the little girl as they make their way to the blanket spread out on the grass with toys all over it.

"That's fine," your aunt replies with a wave of her hand. "She ate not long ago. I don't give ten minutes, and she will fall asleep."

She is right. The next time you see your boyfriend, he is next to your father, talking about something with your cousin soundly asleep in his arms.

[simsterslife]

Sizzling Style: Choosing the Perfect Summer Dress for Your Wardrobe 🤍

✼ one | two | three

✼ four | five* | six

✼ seven | eight | nine

Credit goes to amazing CC creators @arethabee @sentate @busra-tr @rustys-cc @rimings @serenity-cc

*early access

[twinkx-official]

The wait is over! Introducing the MIDNIGHT HOT🍉SUMMER EDITION – your ultimate summer style. Ready to turn up the heat? Our sizzling new collection features the debut of our short versions of the iconic MIDNIGHT products!

[selineram3421]

I'm turning some pain into a oneshot. Also I like this art on the merch.

In The Morning, part 3🌹

Alastor X Sweet Reader Oneshot

Warnings? ⚠

⚠ fluff, kisses, hugs, soft Alastor, food mention, hint at cannibalism, domestic ⚠

One of the rare moments in your afterlife, you woke up at the same time as Alastor.

"Good morning.", you mumble, slowly blinking your eyes to try having them adjust to the light coming in from the window.

"Good morning my dear.", he said, moving closer to you and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Shall we make breakfast?"

"Hm..", you hummed, still comfortable where you were, limbs tangled and all.

But breakfast didn't sound too bad.

"Yes.", you decide and give him a quick peck before sitting up. "What do you want to make today?", you ask.

"French toast?", he suggests, taking a hold of your hand and pressing kisses on your knuckles. "Or perhaps an American styled breakfast? Eggs, toast, and sausages or bacon on the side."

"What about you love?", you say and pull on his hand holding yours, kissing it before getting out of bed. "Huevos con chorriso? Or grits?"

"Let's see what we have in the kitchen.", he says before getting up as well.

After tossing on some robes and slippers, both of you make your way downstairs and head over to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to glance at your options.

"We can prepare..", he mumbles, picking up the eggs. "Egg sandwiches, omelets, boiled egg, egg.. What are the flat things called again?"

"Tortillas.", you say.

"Yes, we can also make those egg burritos.", he nods. "Then there's the option of pancakes, waffles, crepes, french toast.."

With a smile and a shake of your head, you make your way over to the coffee machine, getting the pot and filling it with water.

"I'll start the coffee.", you say.

After putting the water in and setting the pot back in place, Alastor brings ingredients over to the counter.

"I'm making beans and sunny side up eggs with sausage. Is that fine?", he asks.

"Mhm.", you nod and get the mugs from the cupboard. "Are you going to cook your meat separately?", you ask.

"Don't worry, I won't eat that kind until later.", he says and puts a large pan on the stove. "For dinner."

You put in the filter before putting in scoops of ground coffee, making sure to count them as you go.

Then there's music.

Darlin', if I sat down and I wrote a song

I would know where every word belongs

'Cuz I'd write my song about you

Looking over, you find the microphone just a bit away from the fridge, playing an oldie. The mic looks happy after you give it a wave.

When the coffee starts after a push of a button, you head over to your man in red, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your forehead against his back.

"Want help?", you question, tightening your hold just a bit before going back to holding him regularly.

"I'd be grateful but I like you hugging me from behind. Stay?", he glances back, only seeing the top of your head.

You nod and stay, listening to the music and the sizzling of beans. Without letting go completely, you get the bean masher and place it on his waiting hand.

"Thank you dear.", the deer demon says and mashes the beans a bit.

When he's done with the beans, he places a lid on it before putting the flame on low. Getting out another pan, smaller for the sausages and eggs.

You let go and pat his back lightly.

"I'm going to make toast and get some avocado.", you tell him before making your way to get the bread.

Another song plays from the mic.

La la la la la la

La la la la la la

My Cherie amour, lovely as a summer day

My Cherie amour, distant as the Milky Way

You can hear him hum along to the song, a smile forms on your lips.

Cutting the bread, you make sure its not too thin before cutting out four more. You clean the bread crumbs off the knife before putting it away.

Putting the bread in the toaster, you push down the little lever and turn the knob to three minutes. On your way to get the coffee, you pocket a knife and avocado to bring to the table.

Alastor is almost done cooking, already on the eggs.

You pour the coffee into the mugs and put the pot back before going to the table, setting everything down. And making sure to get the items out of your pocket too.

Hearing the clinking of plates, you go to help, taking one from his hand.

"I've got mine love.", you say and peck his cheek. "Thank you."

Both of you serve your plates and get ready to head to the table.

Then the toast pops up.

"I'll get it, go sit down.", he says, stealing a kiss and the plates of food.

You blink and blush, turning to the table before he could see that he's made you flush so easily.

Sitting down, you make sure there's napkins for both of you.

Alastor comes with the plates full of food, placing them down and giving you your utensils.

The song on the mic changes again when you begin to eat, and as you go to drink your coffee, you remember about the cream and sugar.

"I forgot-", you start.

With a snap of his fingers, the Radio Demon makes the cream and sugar appear on the table, along with a small vase with a red rose.

"Enjoy darling.", he says cutting the avocado.

'Cause we've got a life of love that won't ever change and

Everyday love me your own special way

Melt all my heart away with a smile

Adding the cream and sugar the way you like it, you can't help but keep a smile on.

You really liked these kinds of mornings with Alastor, even if they were somewhat rare.

I'm fine now, so don't worry. ❤ Song names in the tags.

~Seline, the person.

🌹In The Morning, part 1 , part 2.

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @willowaudreykeyes @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @scary-noodlesblog @naelys-the-aster @bisexualboba @kiraisastay @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[talkingpiffle]

"Either as Captain O'Shea or the vengeful Earl, John Emery was a fine young romantic actor. He had style and eloquence and was completely at ease in costume drama. In July of the same year [1937] I was to see him as Lord Peter Wimsey in Busman's Honeymoon at the Westport County Playhouse in Connecticut. As is the custom in summer theaters, his engagement was for only a week. He'd had but a week of rehearsal, yet he gave a deft and amusing performance. At the time I was living in a rented house on Long Island Sound, ten miles from Westport. It boasted a swimming pool and free liquor. There I held open house for the likes of Anna May Wong, Clifton Webb, Estelle Winwood, Vincent Price, Louisa Carpenter and a lot of other friends, overloaded with leisure.

"I got a sizzling crush on John on seeing his Wimsey. After the performance I went back to see him. Would he care to spend the week end with me? John readily agreed. I found him intelligent, amusing and exceptionally good-looking. He had good manners and seemed a good listener. This last marked him a rare bird in the set in which I traveled.

"But when John asked me to marry him, I looked upon his offer as an impertinence. Wasn't he getting presumptuous on short acquaintance?"

--Tallulah Bankhead on meeting her husband John Emery, from Tallulah: My Autobiography (Ch. 10)

Newlyweds John Emery and Tallulah Bankhead, September 1937 (x)

[unknownfr1]

141+konig reaction to when you get hurt:)

Requests are open!:)

yall really like hcs and rn im bored in a hotel room so this is what you get.

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

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Price -

You both went for a walk after dinner. It had rained not long ago so you were wearing a long raincoat with a hood and he wore a simple jacket, with one hand holding yours, one holding a cigarette. The two of you were chatting, holding hands and strolling down the gloomy, grey-sky covered streets, it all felt calm and so relaxing with your lover. All until you walked into a puddle, a slippery one and came tumbling down on your ass. He stood for around 3 seconds, kind of shocked on what the fuck just happened "Y'alright!?" he asked before picking you up "No!" you shrieked, your whole bottom half was drenched in mucky water and you began to shiver. "Im cold" you said between shivers, your teeth chattering also, "Alright thats enough of that" he mumbled before taking off his jacket, then picking you up bridal style and covering you with his over-sized coat. "T-t-thank youu" you murmured while nestling your head into his neck "No problem darling."

When he carried you home he ran you a bath and got in with you and started to help you. Your whole lower half in pain but of course you boyfriend has it all under control. After your bath, he helped you change into some sleepwear and got in bed with you, cuddling and holding you tightly.

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Soap-

It was a thursday and johnny just got back from a mission. You were hungry, he was hungry so why not make some food. "Want me to make bacon and eggs?" you asked "No no dear! ill do it." he basically ran to the kitchen to stop you from getting there first. Johnny knew your skills in the kitchen were..limited ever since you set a pan on fire while making a grilled cheese sandwich, he has suggested he'd be the one cooking from now on. So after he sprinted to the kitchen you followed after him and sat at one of the barstools, watching him prep the bacon. As he started to put the bacon on the sizzling pan, he said he needed the bathroom and asked you to WATCH it and most clear NOT to go near it. As he walked away you sat in boredom watching it sizzle, that was until it started to bubble in a concerning way so you went to go check it out, what bad could happen? well you certainly got an answer to that when a whole gollop of hot, burning oil leaped to the exposed flesh of your arm. You screamed in pain then heard the heavy footsteps of your worried boyfriend, you showed him your arm and he even gasped, nothing he hadnt seen on the field but to see it on you in the kitchen shocked him. The smell of your burning skin started to spread so he quickly grasped your arm and ran it under the cold watered tap "Fuckin' hell bonnie, what happened?" you tried explaining but the pain of your arm made you feel physically sick so you couldnt.

After one hospital visit and many pharmacy stop-by's you both returned home. "Im sorry joh-" "Sorry 'bout what? Its alright darling im not mad". He parked the car and helped you out. The sun set and so he helped you bathe and change clothes. You both snuggled into bed and started to doze off. "Next time, wait till im there bonnie" he mumbled half awake half asleep, his arms tightly wrapped around you. You nod in a sleepish manner and both of you drifted off to sleep.

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Gaz-

It was a hot summers day, you and Kyle were sitting in the back garden of his house. The weather was quite hot so you were wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt. Kyle was inside the kitchen making some cold drinks for the two of you, leaving you outside, reading and extremely invested in the book he had bought you. As you were reading peacefully, you felt something fuzzy on your arm and leg, you glanced over to see not one but four wasps on your exposed limbs, two chilling on your leg and two leisuring at your arm. You froze in fear. Everyone knew you had a deep hatred for these deathly little shits. You couldnt speak nor scream, just watch as the 4 bastards dug their vicious stingers into you. Well that surely woke you up. You started to cry and ran to the kitchen in attempts to find Kyle, his attention quickly drawn to your pouting, flushed face "Sweetheart..? What happened?" he asked. He watched as you flung your arm up, then your leg to see 4 nasty, swollen bumps "Wasps?!" he then asked again "Yes.." you murmured "Oh dear...your alright its okay." he cooed before pulling you into a hug.

He placed you on the counter and started searching for his 'Anti-wasp sting cream'. Once he equipped the cream he walked back over to you and started applying it on your as you called them "battle wounds." He decided that staying inside for the rest of the day and having a lazy day would fix things and cheer you up, so he set up a movie on the tv upstairs in your shared bedroom, also made you a cup of tea and along with giving you one of his hoodies he sat with you in bed and held you close, your head on his chest and one arm around your waist. You began to drift off and he couldnt help but smile at your peacefulness.

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Ghost-

Simon had gotten home from a training deployment yesterday and you were so excited to have him back. You wanted to stay home with him for a while and soak up all the company you missed from him but he insisted to take you out and buy you things. He absolutely loved spoiling you and taking you out to fancy restaurants, and as a girl, who cant say no to shopping. You wrapped your arm around his forearm and the both of you walked and browsed the different shops, you were wearing a pair of heels Simon bought you, the first ever pair he gave you actually (your favorite ones). You were paying absolute no attention to where you were walking so as the tip of your stilleto caught on the line of the bricks, you went tumbling forwards, landing on your hands but that quickly ended once you heard a concerning 'snapping' noise, causing you to scream in pain. Simons fast instincts kicked in and he immediately attempted to catch you but that failed miserably. He helped you up off the ground and sat you down on a bench "Jesus!" you exclaimed as the pain in your wrist throbbed "Let me see love" he said while gently grabbing your wrist, holding it up and scanning it. "Ehm lets go to the hospital darling" he spoke in concern "Just dont look at it yeah?" and at that your eyebrows raised and that got you curious and of course you looked. Your wrist was completely deformed, you gasped and felt faint.

After your eventful trip at the hospital you got your cast. "Bloody hell love, some accomplishment ya got there" he joked You playfully hit him with your working arm along with groaning in response. "Yeah well your my caretaker now" you said with a grin "When was i not?" he smirked and chuckled. You gave him a complete death stare and he raised his hands like he surrendered, still laughing a bit. You both got home and showered together, he helped you eat since the hand you always use was not able to be put at use. You both went to bed, cuddling as usual "Night night darling" he mumbled while kissing you softly "Night night si." you murmured with a smile. The next morning you woke up, he wasnt there obviously meaning he woke up before you but you noticed some writing on your cast. 'Out of order'. "You bastard..." you grumbled with a smirk.

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Konig-

It was a rainy night and Konig had to wake up early for work the next day. You really didn't want him to go since it was your anniversary but you understood it was work things so you shook it off. You both were laying in bed, cuddling and he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear, helping you fall asleep better. You eventually drifted off to sleep in his big arms that engulfed you. He also went to bed after a while of admiring you and the way you slept so peacefully, he set an alarm for 5am and closed his eyes. The amount of guilt he felt for leaving you on your four years was eating his heart but he knew with the piles among piles of paperwork ahead of him, he couldn't get distracted. His alarm went off and he sat up and stretched his arms up, trying not to wake you up.

As he was getting dressed in some decent enough work clothes, a black t-shirt and some tan cargos he heard you mumble in your sleep and glanced at you through the mirror of the dresser, you were moving in your sleep and he couldnt help but laugh a little then shake his head. But just as he looked away he heard a loud THUD that startled him, then your groans and mumbles, he looked over to see you on the floor and then saw you sit up in confusion "Geht es dir gut, Schatz?" he asked with a raised eyebrow while turning around to look at you. "I think i fell off the bed" you mumbled, rubbing your side. He walked over to you and helped you up back onto the bed and kissed your aching hip. "That better?" he then asked "Yep..thank you baby" you murmured while getting back into bed. He tucked you in and left a kiss on your forehead then waved you goodbye, reminding you how much he loves you. Then left. The whole time at work he couldnt help but laugh a little at your silliness.

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finally finished it over the course of 3 days bro. Ignore the broken german and another reminder requests are open so please i beg.

Translation: are you alright honey?

broken german from a crap translator dont mention it...

Its elliots bday tmr!!(voice actor of gaz)

[cosmica-galaxy]

an idea just came across my mind. so what if the alliance and the mimics found out the human is an Extremely good weaponsmith due to they came across their hidden stack of hand-made weapon by the human? - Orphic

Camron would be intrigued by the human's pile of weapons and craftsmanship. Each one is lovely cared for and tended to with a master's discipline. It makes him "ooh" and "aah" at just how SHINY these weapons are! He even uses them to cut clear through paper and a drinking cup! These are awesome, human!! Why didn't you tell everyone earlier!? . DJ would probably find all of the various weapons awesome! Some have unique patterns mixed into the design and others are even GILDED. How cool would it be to kill some skibidis with drip like THIS! He pretty much begs to keep a knife or a gun from your collection, to which the human will let out a slow sigh before offering him one of their best knives. It makes his whole year! . Vee is enthralled by the human's hidden talent for crafting weapons of various backgrounds, degrees, and grades. From knives, to revolvers, to automatic fire arms...this human was pretty skilled for making these weapons IN BASE. Usually they come from a manufacturing factory elsewhere and are shipped with new units to get them armed and ready to fight. Knowing that you make your own weapons with your own two hands...it's overall impressive. He may even slip a fancy-looking pair of knives out of your collection to add to his own personal armory. . Buddy only discovered your talent when he becomes the guinea pig for your own "mimic armor enhancement" project. He finds himself wearing multiple designs, prototypes, and styles of armor to help protect his body from attackers. While he appreciates the concern, he feels that he can handle assaulters well without any needed aid. Still, he endures and even finds some of the armor worthwhile. Like the sabatons to keep his "shoes" off the sizzling asphalt in the hot summer or protector claw casings for the icy winters. . Pal was intrigued by his human friend's talent in working with metal and such, but he would have never guessed that he was going to be getting some new outfits as well! The human fitted him out with some sharp metal on his clawed hands and gripping feet, and when asked to change the arms into their wing form, the metal changed with the arm! Forming large blades on the bony parts of the wings! They were also pretty light, since they were made with something the human called "obsidian", which was really sharp! He can't thank the human enough for giving him such a cool protective outfit! . Fiend was a bit more resistant to the proposed changes from the human weapon smith. What? He doesn't need an upgrade! He's fine the way he is! But he still goes along with it regardless, because he can't help but be close to the human at this point in time...in what other scenario would the human be so close to him and touching him?? But then, the human starts to slip on armor and he gets a little finicky. Until the fasteners were in place and the human stepped back did Fiend finally relax. Looking at himself, he surprising finds himself admiring the large scythes that were in place on his arms. The human seemed proud of their accomplishment. Fiend also seemed to like them too, as he rotates the blade around to get a good look at the red-tinted edges that go into a black reflective blade. Not gonna lie...that is pretty damn cool.

[whipple-effect]

And here we have the cover!! Splats Illustrated: Swimsuit Edit. 2024!! 

🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉

And you read right, to allow people more time for more participants — The deadline has been pushed to July 31st!

Splats Illustrated 2024 • A Sizzling Selection of Swimsuit Squids

This is it! The Splats Illustrated Swimsuit Edition: A SFW (and potentially NSFW) Splatoon fanzine themed around fun in the Summer sun!

Want to be a part of it? Here’s how to apply:

Send me a direct message to me on twitter ( @WhipEffect_Art ) or e-mail ( splatsillustrated@gmail.com ) with your intent to create an illustration, and some samples of your work

If you agree to the terms and conditions, and can produce your art in the allotted time, you’re in!

YOU MUST BE 18+ IF YOU WANT TO CONTRIBUTE TO THE NSFW EDITION! FULL STOP.

FAQ (UPDATED!):

What is the deadline?

JULY 31st — Provide me with your finished artwork, so I may assemble the PDF.

Can I post my finished illustration early?

I would prefer it if you didn’t. If you’d like to share WIPs or previews of your piece, you may provide me with images, and I can post them — Tagging your blog(s) and promoting the zine.

Does my art NEED to be Summer themed?

Yes, but how your squids enjoy the Summertime is wholly unique to them — If they like to stay inside and play video games as the sun shines outside, that’s just as valid as hitting the beach or lounging poolside. In the case of the NSFW edition, maybe sunbathing in the nude is more their speed.

Will my contribution be guaranteed to appear in the book?

If you want your artwork featured in the book, it needs to be completed and submitted by the deadline. If you feel you cannot meet the deadline, seriously consider if you want to be a part of this project.

Can I draw official characters instead of OCs?

Yes! While the initial idea was to showcase OCs, you’re welcome to draw original characters as well.

Can I commission someone to provide art for the book?

Yes! If the artist can submit it by the deadline.

Can I collaborate with another artist?

Yes! If you can submit it by the deadline.

Is this SFW?

Yes, the fanzine is predominantly SFW. If there are enough submissions, there will be a NSFW edition as well.

Can my contribution be NSFW?

Yes it may, and it will be compiled and in an additional PDF ft. other NSFW material. YOU MUST BE 18 OR OLDER TO CONTRIBUTE NSFW ARTWORK OR RECEIVE THE COMPLETED NSFW BOOK!

IMAGES SPECS: 8.5 x 11 inches @ 200 DPI (3400 x 4400 px)

Last Year’s Zine: https://whippleeffect.gumroad.com/l/splatsillustrated23

SUBMISSION:

Submit a PNG of your finished illustration

Include a short paragraph explaining your illustration

Include a short paragraph about yourself, and your history/relationship with Splatoon — Introduce yourself!

REMEMBER! The deadline is JULY 31st! So let’s have some fun in the sun, Splatoon style!

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

The real reason Eddie came back as Kas was to see Steve shirtless again (like the whole Vecna thing was a second reason).

It took a while, but in the summer, they had a pool party and Eddie got his wish. All that work, just to see his crush again...

And lil vampire Eddie is just sitting under an umbrella so he doesn't turn to ashes as he watches Steve cannonball into the pool. And then he forgets he's Kas and starts to go out from underneath the umbrella. He starts sizzling and Steve jumps out of the pool and carries him, and the umbrella, bridal style into the house, where he tends to his sizzled foot. Eddie nearly dies...again

[thewhiteytightieboys]

Summer ain't ready for you... YET! Get ready to make a splash with WhiteyTighties.com's sizzling hot swimwear!

Who says comfort can't be provocative? Our men's swimwear collection is designed with both STYLE and SUPPORT in mind. Made with soft, functional fabrics and featuring roomy pouches for all-day comfort, you'll be the envy of the beach (or pool!).

Shop WhiteyTighties.com today and find the perfect suit to make Summer 2024 unforgettable! ➡️

[vulpes-fennec]

Love on Water Lilies 🪷 (Ch 1)

Summary: Prince Lucien Vanserra of the Autumn Kingdom is all play, no work. Elain Archeron, a waitress and aspiring restaurant owner in the city of Colibri, is all work, no play. Caught in a larger scheme of politics and war, Lucien and Elain are turned into frogs. Will Elain get her restaurant back? Will Lucien ever become Fae again?

Read on AO3

An Princess and the Frog inspired story for @elucienweekofficial Day 5: Nature 🍃

“Fried plantains and fresh fruit salad! Two vanilla golden toasts with honey syrup! Banana pudding!” The line cooks’ voices rang out from the sizzling kitchen.

“Coming right on up!” Elain Archeron plastered on a bright smile and cheerful voice as she dished out plate after plate of breakfast at Roy’s Cafe. The heavenly smell of fresh coffee was barely enough to keep Elain awake—she was exhausted. Elain glanced at the clock. Five more minutes…

Her shift at the Purple Flamingo Cabaret last night had certainly taken its toll, for the Summer Kingdom’s Mardi Gras festivities had begun. The swamp city of Colibri, known for good food and even better music, drew thousands of visitors every Mardi Gras. And this year, a special celebrity was in their midst: Prince Lucien Vanserra of the Autumn Kingdom, who had arrived just yesterday.

Although Elain hadn’t seen this prince yet, she heard plenty about him last night at the Purple Flamingo. The fourth and youngest son of King Beron Vanserra, Lucien was young, rich, handsome…and most importantly, single. He would probably remain that way, too, for word on the street was that Lucien was a total flirt. Gallivanting his way across Prythian’s kingdoms, taking on new lovers each week, partying all night long…

Elain grabbed a beignet to-go when she finally clocked out. Gulls squawked in the distance, green-painted trolleys clanged as they rolled by. Mardi Gras revelers walked by, decked out in chic outfits of green, purple, and yellow. With her food-stained yellow apron, worn ballet flats, and frazzled honey-brown hair, Elain felt a pinch of resentment.

Must be nice to never have to work a day in your life. Every year, the promise of generous tips during Mardi Gras dangled before food service workers like a carrot, tricking them into taking extra shifts.

It wasn’t always this way. Elain remembered the Mardi Gras celebrations of her childhood, the way she and her sisters danced to lively jazz and ate their way through delicacies all night long. The Archeron home used to be in the Marigold District, where all the wealthy Fae lived. But then Elain’s mother passed away, leaving her father depressed. Reginald Archeron rallied himself enough to fight in the Hybern War seven years ago, but lost his leg during one of the early battles.

Elain loved her father dearly, but it was plain fact that he had practically given up on life after becoming handicapped. The familial roles had reversed: instead of their father ensuring his daughters’ needs were met, Elain, Feyre, and Nesta were forced to take odd jobs in order to survive. Nesta delivered and occasionally edited for The Colibri Tribune. Feyre cleaned the art studios and landed the occasional art commission. Elain juggled multiple shifts between Roy’s Cafe, the Purple Flamingo Cabaret, and Emile’s Seafood Bar.

Though her shifts were grueling, Elain tried to view them in a positive light. It was career training of sorts: she paid attention to different management styles, brushed up her conversational skills with all sorts of Fae as a waitress, and improved her culinary skills as a cook. Ever since she was a little girl, a riverfront cafe to call her own had been Elain’s dream. When her family fell from wealth seven years ago, that dream was almost lost.

But now, Elain was closer to achieving that dream than ever. She was fairly confident in her capabilities as a cook and waitress. She had strong accounting skills, enough to ensure her restaurant wouldn’t go bankrupt. And more importantly, she had been in serious talks with realtors for a decrepit riverfront pavilion. The pavilion was a little run-down, but it was perfect in Elain’s heart. She juussttt needed a little more money…which was where the Mardi Gras cooking contest would come into play.

Because in addition to the multiple parades, balls, concerts, and parties, Mardi Gras featured local cuisines in a series of cooking concerts.

Today was the jambalaya cooking contest, which was taking place at Firefly Square. Tomorrow, Elain was slated for the baking contest, where she planned to wow the judges with her peach cobbler. The day after, she would participate in the fry contest, having perfected her fried chicken spice rub.

Elain stopped home to briefly freshen up. It was a tiny, cramped space—an utter downgrade from their old home. She and her sisters had squeezed three narrow beds into a room, the sole closet overflowing with clothes. The living room wasn’t much better: Feyre’s art supplies were strewn across every available surface, and Nesta’s second-hand books tilted in precarious stacks. Only the kitchen, Elain’s domain, remained spotlessly clean and organized.

Elain powdered her face, brushed her curls, dabbed a bit of lipstick, and donned a new dress. She needed to look fresh and proper, and a cute face never hurt.

She then hurried to Firefly Square, wheeling a little wagon full of ingredients and her trusty steel pot. Savory dishes were not her specialty, so Elain needed all the luck she could get. However, she was fairly confident that her jambalaya would at least place in the top three. Her best friend, Vassa La Bouff, and her sisters had helped refine the recipe over the last year, and the ladies could be trusted to give their honest opinion.

“Name?” The event attendant held a clipboard at the check-in table.

“Elain Archeron,” Elain replied cheerfully. The event attendant wrote her name on a wooden placard and placed it on the scoring rack. The five judges, a mix of renowned cooks and locals, were seated under a rich purple tent. Onlookers had gathered on the sidelines of Firefly Square to watch the judges sample each entry and announce their points.

Several other participants were already present, busying away at their own cooking stations. While there was no set “start” time due to the participants’ varying culinary skills and recipes, the judges would begin tasting at one o’clock in the afternoon. So Elain got to work.

First, she braided up her honey-brown hair and donned a flowery pink apron. Then, she began expertly mincing: peppers, celery, onion, garlic, and tomatoes. The heated oil sizzled the chicken and sausage, bringing fragrant notes of paprika, bay leaf, and thyme into the air. The meat was taken out, the vegetables added in. Elain cleaned the rice, poured in homemade chicken stock, and added more salt, pepper, and herbs.

Elain stirred the bubbling mixture, using the time to observe the other participants. There were ten competitors total. Some appeared to be seasoned chefs, others looked like novices. Regardless, everybody was making good progress on their jambalaya. And more importantly, everyone looked like they were having fun.

Elain’s mouth watered from the scents wafting from her pot alone. The consistency of her jambalaya was thick, but not mushy—it was all coming together nicely. Elain did a final taste test and smiled. Spicy, savory, and tangy…it was her best pot of jambalaya yet.

The judges seemed to think so, too, when they sampled her dish.

“Wonderful aromas.”

“The chicken is the right amount of tender, Miss Archeron.”

“Tastes just like my grandmother’s home-style jambalaya!”

This—this was exactly why Elain loved to cook: seeing people enjoy her food made her happiest. She was the last contestant up for tasting, which meant the score the judges awarded would be her final placement for the contest. Elain’s breath caught when she tallied up the judges’ marks. Third place…third place! Oh, she was going to walk away with prize money! Elain ducked her head and tried to squash her victorious beam. One step closer to—

“Excuse me! Excuse me!”

The most beautiful male Elain had ever seen strode into the courtyard, lugging a steaming pot with bare hands. His skin was a burnished brown, his long red hair tied up in a haphazard bun. She found herself eyeing his corded forearms, exposed thanks to the rolled-up sleeves of his white linen shirt. The male’s straight-legged olive green pants accented his muscled thighs, and his shiny black shoes with their gold details indicated expensive taste.

An entire entourage of Fae, mostly female, had followed the male into Ironwood Square, inevitably shoving Elain to the back.

“It’s Prince Lucien,” the crowd murmured to each other. “What is he doing here?”

Prince Lucien? Well…that explained how he could hold such a hot pot without any oven mitts. The Autumn Kingdom’s royal family possessed fire magic, which meant they could manipulate flame and were essentially immune to burns. Elain even overheard at The Purple Flamingo last night that Autumn males—especially the royal princes—fucked with an intensity that matched the fire in their veins.

Elain had practically snorted upon hearing such words last night, though looking at Prince Lucien now, it was certainly believable. But the delighted giggling of several females when the prince stepped up to the podium snapped Elain out of her reverie. Ugh! Prince Lucien was a playboy at best, a heartbreaker at worst, she reminded herself. No, she would not encourage the fantasies that had been surely planted in her mind thanks to his impromptu appearance, lest she turn into a tittering female over a male like him.

“Good afternoon, honorable judges.” Prince Lucien’s voice was rich and buttery, with a slight accent. For some reason, it reminded Elain of sunlight. He turned towards the crowd, and Elain stifled a gasp upon seeing the scar that ran down his face and cut through his left eye, which had been replaced by a mechanical gold eye. Such a brutal injury, yet the prince was made more handsome even with the scar.

“Welcome, Prince Lucien!” The lead judge leapt to her feet, a wide smile on her face. The crowd cheered again. Some females even screamed hysterically.

Prince Lucien gestured grandly to the entourage that followed him, gold earrings twinkling off the tips of his pointed ears. “I am here to enter the jambalaya competition. As there was no kitchen in my hotel suite, I had to borrow the kitchen at Restaurante Genevieve. Chef Michel and these citizens can attest that I made the jambalaya all on my own.”

The prince peered intently at the scoreboard, already stacked with ten other names and numbers. Elain could have sworn his brows raised in subtle surprise.

“Though I see now that I was tardy…” Prince Lucien trailed off as his eyes swept the crowd, as if he were looking for someone.

“The entry period closed thirty minutes ago but ah…we can make an exception, can we not?” The lead judge said quickly, and the audience clapped in agreement. The other judges nodded eagerly, clearly delighted at the presence of royalty. “Well, Your Highness, we would be honored to sample your jambalaya!”

Elain’s jaw slackened. A prince, participating in a jambalaya contest? She had never heard of such a thing. Royals had their own chefs. They probably wouldn’t even know how to boil an egg.

The prince’s russet and gold eyes were still scanning the square with unusual interest. Elain eyed him skeptically from the back, observing the confident smile on Lucien’s face and the swaggering cut of his broad shoulders. There was the off chance that Prince Lucien possessed culinary skills…but he was from the Autumn Kingdom. He wouldn’t know a thing about authentic jambalaya, Elain told herself. Elain relaxed, knowing she was safe and secure in third place as the judges sampled Lucien’s entree.

“Cauldron, this is absolutely divine!”

“Look at the colors on the spoon! So vibrant, so fresh!”

“I could eat this for the rest of my life and die happy.”

“Last call to score…and…first place! We have a winner!” The crowd cheered raucously.

Elain’s mouth completely fell open when the score attendant placed Prince Lucien Vanserra’s name placard on the top of the board, shifting everybody else down. Which meant…which meant she had been knocked off third place.

Elain was in shock. She wasn’t going to make it to the podium, and she wasn’t going to earn any prize money. Prince Lucien bowed, and then turned to the crowd that had gathered.

“Good food is meant to be shared! Please, feel free to finish the pot!” he announced, voice dripping with pride. More cheers and claps rang out as Elain was jostled out of the way in the mad stampede for the winning jambalaya.

This was not possible. This could not be happening.

Elain’s face grew hot with embarrassment, as she hurriedly packed up her wagon. It was time to go; she could not bear to spend another minute in the square with knowledge of her loss. Elain half-wondered if she should join the crowd and really try Prince Lucien’s jambalaya for herself. It couldn’t be that good. But the notion of a rich, playboy prince edging her off the podium in a cooking contest he had no stakes in was too shameful to consider. She could’ve done better. Should’ve done better.

Elain didn’t look back as she wheeled her wagon home, the rusty wheels click-clacking over the cobblestoned streets. Her half-full pot of jambalaya would become leftovers for her sister and father. At least they didn’t have to spend more money on groceries this week.

Some humility would do her good, Elain knew, as she was not a “professional” chef yet, but gods…would she ever be? If a prince could beat her in a cooking contest? If she couldn’t even win a couple judges’ favor, how was she going to draw the Colibri Fae to her restaurant?

—Later that evening—

After a fitful afternoon nap, Elain decided to stop by her cafe before heading to Vassa’s house. Well, it wasn’t hers yet, but Elain had recently begun treating it as such. She sat on a bench, listening to the lapping of the Mayhaven River, watching the steamboats chugging by.

“I’m almost there,” she whispered to herself. “People are going to come here from everywhere, I’m almost there.” The riverfront pavilion was a shabby brick building that had been a mess hall for dock workers in its previous life. The interior’s open layout would be the perfect place to install a stage for local musicians. Each table would have fresh flowers, the walls would be painted a creamy tan, the big windows would offer river views and plenty of natural light… oh, it was all coming together.

The door swung open. Hudson Jennings, Elain’s realtor, walked out with a folder tucked under his arm. Elain leapt up from her bench, ready to bid him hello. But she froze when a head of red hair ducked through the doorway. No…it couldn’t be…

“Pleasure doing business with you, Your Highness,” Hudson said, shaking Lucien Vanserra’s hand firmly. Even without his entourage of fans, Lucien held himself with a regal grace and winning smile.

“Of course,” Elain could hear the prince respond smoothly. “I look forward to establishing a second residence in Colibri.” Elain could only watch in horror as the realtor handed Lucien a set of keys before parting ways. Keys to her riverfront cafe!

“Mr. Jennings!” Elain ran as fast as her little feet could carry her as soon as Lucien had walked away. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. This must be a bad dream.

“Oh! Miss Archeron!” Hudson blinked his cat-like eyes in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

“Mr. Jennings, did you just sell the property to Lucien?” Elain was breathless. Please say no, please say no, she begged silently.

“Ah, yes I’m afraid I just did.” Hudson patted the folder of papers. “I know, I know…you have been eyeing that property for some time, Miss Archeron, but the prince showed up with ample cash! We have several other properties available in town for your cafe, though. Let us talk more next week.”

“But—” Elain tried to say, then deflated. Her realtor was already walking away. There was no use. Unless she somehow managed to alter Hudson’s memory, rip up the sale papers, and steal the keys from Lucien, the property was gone. And so were her dreams of owning a riverfront cafe.

It seemed the prince was hell-bent on ruining her life. Lucien had fame and fortune, and got everything Elain wanted because of his name. Perhaps Elain had angered the Mother, somehow. For how else could so much go wrong in less than 24 hours?

Elain tried very hard not to cry as she rode the trolley to Vassa’s house. One, she was in public, and ladies did not cry in public. Two, the La Bouff Mardi Gras ball was starting in a few hours. Elain had been looking forward to the event all month, and crying right now would make her eyes puffy.

The La Bouffs resided in the Dorado District, the richest district in all of Colibri. Vassa’s “house” was actually a grand, three-story mansion of pale white marble, elegant columns, iron lace accents, and sweeping gabled roofs. When Elain arrived, the bustle of the musicians tuning their instruments and the servants, the gurgling fountain, and the beautiful lanterns of green, yellow, and purple faelight made her smile. A good party always made her feel more alive, even though she attended very few of them in recent years.

Vassa’s parents were one of the Mardi Gras royalty this year, and had invited Elain to the La Bouff Mardi Gras ball. Vassa was a true friend: she didn’t shun Elain after the Archerons fell into poverty, and for that Elain was eternally grateful. The footmen, used to her comings and goings, offered Elain warm greetings when she entered the mansion via the servants’ gate.

While Elain spent her days working, Vassa spent her days studying. The young La Bouff was finishing her last year at the prestigious Colibri Academy for Witchcraft, and was determined to be the top of her class. The only thing in Vassa’s way? Briallyn, a rival witch from the Continent. During the unfortunate occasions Elain had to interact with Briallyn, Elain felt the witch resembled a beady-eyed lizard.

Elain made her way down the spacious hallway and knocked on Vassa’s bedroom door.

“Elain! I’m so glad you’re here!” Vassa threw her arms around Elain. Her best friend’s orange hair was styled into loose waves, her bright blue eyes already lined with gold shadow. “Come, let us get ready together!”

“Vassa, it’s so good to see you,” Elain sighed, her voice still thick with emotion from earlier.

“What’s wrong?” Vassa asked, her brow creasing with concern. “Was it the jambalaya contest? Did you not get first place? I mean, second place is also fine, and so is third.”

Elain sat down on Vassa’s bed, hugging her knees to her chest. “The jambalaya concert was fine, until Prince Lucien Vanserra showed up at the last minute,” she said bitterly. “I had placed third, but that was before the judges awarded him first place. I got bumped down and I didn’t get any prize money.”

“Oh no,” Vassa rubbed Elain’s back sympathetically. “I’m so sorry, Elain.”

“It’s just not fair!” Elain complained, her face heated with anger. “The judges gave him special treatment, letting him enter the contest even though the judging window had closed! Lucien was cooking off-site, how could anybody truly tell he was the primary chef? And perhaps they didn’t want to upset a prince, so they put him first even though he didn’t deserve it!”

“I see what you mean,” Vassa hummed. “Did you end up tasting his jambalaya? Surely it couldn’t be as good as yours. Those judges must not have working tastebuds.”

“No, but that’s not even the end of it. I found out he bought the riverfront property from Hudson Jennings this afternoon. Vassa, you know how long I’ve been saving up for my cafe! To think the perfect location would be gone, just like that…”

“Cauldron boil and fry him,” Vassa muttered darkly, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, Vassa. I know you’ve been looking forward to meeting Prince Lucien, that you want him to court you.” Elain sighed. “I shouldn’t be bad-mouthing him.”

“No, no, no,” Vassa shook her head. “Of course, I want Prince Lucien to court me, have you seen how handsome he is? But, your restaurant is something that I’ve been waiting for ever since we were little girls, Elain…when I see him tonight I will convince him to rescind the purchase.”

“Thanks, Vassa,” Elain smiled, feeling better. What Vassa set her mind to, Vassa achieved. She had no doubt her friend’s beauty and persistence would get the prince to change his mind. “He did say he wanted the property as a second residence.”

“Well! It wouldn’t be too hard to convince him to buy property in other Colibri districts!” Vassa raised her brows excitedly. “He could move in with me.” Vassa jumped to her feet, trying to inject some more life into Elain’s forlorn posture. “Now I know today hasn’t been the best day, Elain. But this ball will turn it all around! I have just the perfect dress for you, and I know you’ll have plenty of males to dance the night away with. It’s in the closet, come see!”

***Lucien***

“Just look at all of this, Jurian,” Lucien said to his best friend when they regrouped after the dance ended. “One of the best parties I’ve been to in a while.”

He had left his entourage of pretty females at the La Bouff mansion gate. Not that it really mattered, since there were even more females inside the ball. The musicians played lively tunes, inviting attendees to kick up their feet and whirl across the marbled outdoor dance floor. The La Bouff Mardi Gras decorations were simply exquisite, from the soft faelight lanterns hanging off trees to the flower arrangements on tables. Fae wine and cocktails flowed freely, wait staff walked around with platters of delicious food.

“Don’t tell Tarquin, but I’m enjoying myself far more here than the Mardi Gras balls in Adriata,” Jurian slurred slightly. The male lifted a pair of deviled eggs off a waiter’s tray and handed one to Lucien. “Though it is positively boiling in Colibri.”

“Of course, we’re near the Bog of Oorid,” Lucien remarked. He had donned an emerald green jacket with embroidered gold leaves at the cuffs, a freshly pressed white shirt, and black pants. The layers made him sweat profusely, though Lucien wicked away the excess moisture with a slight release on the damper of his magic. He looked good, and that was what mattered at the end of the night.

“Gods, I’m so hungry,” Jurian muttered as he inhaled a fried catfish filet within seconds. “They ate all your jambalaya before I could eat some.”

Lucien laughed. “Better clean up those crumbs and drink some mint julep before the next dance, Jurian. The females won’t appreciate fish breath.” Jurian only rolled his eyes as he turned his attention to a slice of Mardi Gras king cake.

Lucien scanned the rows of vendors, looking for the baked goods. But none of the vendors’ name tags read “Elain Archeron”. He sighed inwardly. He had no idea what Elain Archeron looked like, but had been hoping to try some of her famed treats. Tarquin, Prince of Adriata, could not stop talking about the hummingbird cake, peach cobblers, and powdered sugar beignets Elain made when she catered his Mardi Gras event in Adriata last year.

“If you’re visiting Colibri, you must try Elain Archeron’s food,” Tarquin had told him. “Elain’s cafe should be open by now. She is a very kind female as well, and please tell her I said hello.”

Elain Archeron had been one of the jambalaya contestants earlier in the afternoon, but the female did not bother introducing herself to him. Odd.

“Looking for Vassa?” Jurian inquired. Lucien was supposed to meet the Mardi Gras princess and ask her for the first dance, but her parents claimed Vassa was running late for the ball.

“I suppose,” Lucien murmured, even though that was not the case. Jurian knocked back another glass of Fae wine beside him. “Cauldron, Jurian. Save some space for the mint juleps before you get too drunk.”

“Aha! That reminds me…I’ll find those mint juleps while you’re looking for your princess. All this heat has me parched. Be right back.” Jurian clapped Lucien on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Lucien lingered on the side, trying to assess which pretty female he would dance with next, when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. A pale-faced female, with onyx black hair and equally dark eyes, was standing behind him. There was something cunning in her face, something odd Lucien could not quite place. Nevertheless, the female was dressed as one of the wait staff and innocuously offered him a platter of powdered beignets.

“Beignet, Your Highness?” she asked, her voice peppy. “I heard the prince has a sweet tooth.”

“Thank you.” Lucien picked one up with a napkin and absentmindedly brought it to his mouth. It was only when Lucien swallowed his first bite that he realized something was wrong. The beignet was slightly bitter, the powdered sugar chalky on his tongue. Suddenly, everything seemed bigger. Everything was bigger.

Lucien blinked, feeling like his eyes had doubled in size based on how long it took for him to fully blink. The grass…it was eye-level, the blades of green sharp and extra vibrant. His body was hunched over on all fours. He was…a frog?

Oh gods. What the hell just happened?

A looming shadow darkened the space around him. Lucien looked up just in time to see the waitress, monstrously tall with a wicked glint in her eyes, poised to slam a bowl over his head.

Act first, think later.

Booiingg! Lucien moved on instinct, his frog legs launching him into the air like a spring. He dove straight into the crowd of Fae party-goers, stalling the waitress from pursuing him any further.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. That was new. Fear seized Lucien like a vise, the adrenaline sending him into flight mode. Where the hell did Jurian go? Everything was so damn big…the distance he normally crossed in three quick strides now required multiple leaps.

There! Jurian was near the tree line, mint juleps in hand. Lucien hopped towards his friend, gaining more mastery over his new limbs with each leap.

“Jurian!” Lucien blinked, surprised that he still retained the ability to speak. “Jurian! Down here!” he called out, louder this time.

The Fae male above him glanced down and promptly dropped the drinks in shock. Lucien flinched reflexively when minty sweet alcohol rained down, but it didn’t matter any more. As a frog, he had no clothes to protect from spilled drinks.

“Fuck, I must be more drunk than I thought.” Jurian blinked twice and chuckled. “I could have sworn that a frog with Lucien’s voice just spoke to me.”

“That’s because it is me!” Lucien hissed, hopping up and down insistently. “Jurian!”

“Holy shit.” Jurian knelt on the ground, scooping him up in his hands. “Lucien, is that you?”

“How many times do I have to say it’s me?” Lucien grumbled. Jurian’s green-brown eyes peered down.

“Cauldron, you still have your scar and your gold eye. Well, it’s not made of metal anymore, but…fuck.” Jurian lifted Lucien up to perch on his shoulder. Lucien brought a webbed hand to his face, feeling at his left eye. Sure enough, he could see out of both eyes—truly see, without relying on a metal contraption. “Fuck, I probably look like I’ve gone mad, talking to a frog.”

The male took some deep breaths, pacing back and forth. Lucien clung onto Jurian’s purple jacket for dear life. “Jurian, can you stop moving?”

“Sorry. We need another drink.” Jurian swiped two goblets of wine off a passing tray and ducked behind a drooping willow tree. Lucien hopped down, sitting on all fours on top of Jurian’s thigh. “Okay, Lucien. What the fuck happened?”

“I ate a beignet from this waitress, and then I turn into a frog and she’s trying to trap me under a bowl!” Lucien glanced furtively at their surroundings, but did not see the wretched female’s face.

“What did the waitress look like?”

“High Fae. Pale, with black hair and black eyes. She was wearing the La Bouff servant’s uniform.” Jurian’s gaze darkened with protective instinct.

“Why would she put a curse on you?”

Lucien shrugged. “Not sure. She knew who I was, though, so that’s strange. I’m Beron’s youngest son, with a slim path to the throne. What good would come out of cursing me?”

“Perhaps she wanted money. Ransom a prince, you know.”

“As if Beron would pay more than a couple coppers to get me back,” Lucien said bitterly.

“You’re right, your father is a bastard.” Jurian frowned. “Could you undo the curse yourself?”

“I can try.” Now that he had Jurian to keep watch, Lucien closed his eyes and tried to tunnel deep down into his well of magic. He had always had a knack for spells and curses. It wasn’t like that of witches, who required specific ingredients, tools, and conditions to generate any effect. Rather, it was pure magic—power that stemmed from being the son of a High Lord.

He found the dark stain of the curse, but despite all his efforts to extract it, the stain remained stubbornly present. It was as if it was interwoven into his very essence. Lucien yanked and prodded and threw wave after wave of magic against it, but to no avail.

“It’s not working,” he announced glumly.

“We should find the La Bouffs…tell them that one of their staff, or the food they served, turned the visiting Autumn Prince into a frog,” Jurian proposed, his fists clenching with concern. “If they cannot resolve this, then they should be held liable.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Lucien replied dryly. “Lord and Lady La Bouff can only do so much. But Vassa…she’s studying to be a witch. I heard she’s the top of her class…perhaps she could assist with undoing the curse.”

“Perhaps,” Jurian mused doubtfully.

Lucien hopped onto the rim of the wine goblet and stuck his tongue into the chilled liquor. The sweet and tangy notes were far more sensational thanks to his new taste buds. Unfortunately, his added weight was an imbalance to the delicate stem, and Lucien promptly tipped backwards. Red wine poured over his entire underside, drenching him.

Jurian began to laugh.

“You know frogs absorb liquid from their underbelly skin, right? You’ll be drunk in no time.” Lucien stuck his tongue out at Jurian and rolled around the grass for a bit, trying to clean himself off. “I suppose Vassa would be glad to help a prince for fame, or fortune.”

“Also, we have the old tale of princesses kissing frog princes,” Lucien reminded Jurian. “With the laws governing witch magic, it’s very likely that this curse follows the same path of resolution.”

Jurian snorted. “Good luck trying to convince a princess—even if it’s a Mardi Gras princess—to kiss a frog. We are better off pleading directly.”

Lucien tried to grin, but it felt strange with a new mouth and new facial muscles. “You seem to underestimate me, Jurian.”

“Let’s bet on it: if you can get the princess to kiss you, I’ll walk Eris’s dogs for the next month.”

“I do enjoy a challenge. I offer you this, just for fun. If the princess kisses you, Jurian, then I’ll buy you a new sword. Out of Illyrian steel.” Lucien stood on his hind legs, straightening his back and tilting his chin up with the regal air of a prince. Jurian rolled his eyes.

“As if a princess would want to kiss a lowly Autumn Kingdom foot soldier over its prince.”

“I beg to differ, Jurian. I’m a frog this time…I think that evens the playing field.” Lucien winked. “Besides, stop discrediting yourself. You’re one of our most skilled warriors. Anyways…best of luck, I’m off to find the princess!”

“You bastard,” Jurian muttered darkly, shaking his head with amusement. He finished his wine in two large gulps, holding the empty glass up in a mock toast. “I would say I hope you lose, but life would also be boring if you were stuck in frog form.”

With that, Lucien hopped off towards the La Bouff mansion. There was a slim chance Vassa was still getting ready for the party—truly, females needed all the time possible plus more for these elaborate events.

Most of the ball’s festivities were taking place in the garden and first floor, and Lucien could hear Lord and Lady La Bouff—the Dorado Mardi Gras King and Queen—chatting with guests. That meant the light emanating from the window on the second floor was none other than Vassa La Bouff’s.

Clinging to small nooks in the marble, scaling up vine to vine—which was made harder thanks to his slippery frog mucus, Lucien made his way to the golden window.

Princess Vassa was standing on the balcony, and simply put, she was the most beautiful female Lucien had ever seen.

The female’s wide eyes were cast towards the heavens, her expression a mixture of hope and despair. Honey-brown hair was swept up into an artful bun studded with luminous pearls. A tiara of rose gold rested on her brow, glittering in the moonlight. Her soft curves and elegant shoulders were accented by a strapless lavender gown with a heart-shaped neckline.

“Please, please, please,” the ethereal princess whispered, clasping her gloved hands to her chest. “Please.”

Lucien hopped closer, the world spinning out of view. Ah, damn it. The alcohol was kicking in faster than he’d anticipated. Princely charm now had to be mobilized in full force if he wanted to receive a kiss.

He cleared his throat, but only a ribbet came out. The princess glanced down, spotting him. Gods, she was beautiful. Those doe brown eyes, that golden skin still warm under the silver moon, and those pretty rosebud lips that hooked Lucien in like a moth to a flame.

“If you wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask.”