#Diable's pov

[nyxlaufeyson]

Mad Happiness

Loki Oneshot Masterlist - Main Masterlist

POV: Second

Ship: Loki x Reader

Type: Fluff + Angst

Wordcount: 1,290

Synopsis: Your parents are dead set on having you marry Thor, and forbid you from seeing Loki until they realize you and Thor won't work out.

A/N: This is for @little-diables 15k celebration contest! This fic uses a Hamlet quote which will be in bold and italics.

You paced the room, counting every step and taking calculated breaths. Isabelle, your handmaid, had gone to check the mail. You and Loki were banished from seeing each other, but that wouldn’t stop your communication. 

Isabelle walked in, and you rushed over to her. In her hands lay a golden envelope with the royal stamp. You kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, thank you Isabelle!” 

She simply nodded. While Isabelle was not keen on your insistence to remain in touch with Loki, she could tell that the two of you were madly in love. She loved you like a mother, and wanted to see you happy.

You sat down at your desk, carefully opening the envelope with a letter opener so as not to rip it. The paper inside smelled of tea leaves and your prince. You unfolded it, holding your breath as you began to read.

My Dearest Flower,  It shall not be long until I hear your laugh again. Thor has managed to bring his mortal to Asgard, and Frigga is convincing Odin that they should give the couple their blessing. Once that is done, your parents will be forced to give up on the prospect of you and Thor. His love, Jane, is an interesting individual. I believe you will like her. Remind Isabelle that I am deeply indebted to her for delivering these letters. I feel mad enough as it is without seeing you, if I had no communication at all I would surely die.  Yours forever, Loki

You made your way to your bed with the letter still in hand, laying down on your back. Isabelle watched you blush and smile at the ceiling as she moved to get you ready for bed. 

His love was something you could hold onto, even after your parents forbid you from meeting with him. Isabelle stood at the foot of your bed, trying to get your attention away from the sparkling daydreams that filled your head. 

With a wave of her hand, you came back to the room and gave her a soft smile. “Oh! Loki sends his thanks. He says he is ‘deeply indebted’ to you.” 

Isabelle chuckled. “Smooth talker, that one is. You better keep an eye out for lies.” She talked like she believed Loki to be the dark prince of lies. However, she sensed that he would never lie to you.

You let her help you up, still dazing. “I love him.” You whispered, and she sighed, taking your hand and walking you over to the bath. 

“I know.” She said simply, undoing the strings on your clothes and helping you step into the warm bathwater. 

As she scrubbed you, your mind wandered to the first time you told your parents about your love for Loki. They had looked at you indecorously, calling you mad.

“You're young, you don’t know what you want. You don’t know what’s best for you.” Your mother said.

“We are the only ones looking out for your future, and you repay us with these childish feelings?” Your father asked, shaking his head. “Absolute madness.”

They had already been quite upset, but you made it worse with your reply. “Aren’t we all a little mad? What is love if not madness?”

Your father slammed his fist on the table, dismissing your words. “That’s enough. Go to your room.” You began to protest, but it fell on deaf ears and you were forced to retire for the night into your room.

Even now, with Thor clearly in love with another, they did not give up on trying to get you in wedlock with the crowned prince. No matter how many times you declared that you loved Loki. It didn’t matter that he was still a prince, it wasn’t good enough for them.

They called your love for each other immature. They said that you weren’t thinking clearly, and had tried several times to snap you out of your ‘trance.’They declared your love to be out of a delirious high of happiness that made you throw all of your common sense out the window. 

You couldn’t care less what your parents thought about you and Loki. You had never wanted to marry Thor anyway. Although he was a total sweetheart, he didn’t have your heart. And you didn’t have his. Thor fell for a Midguardian girl that he met during his brief banishment to Midgard.

It wouldn’t be long until your parents would be forced to accept reality. Once Thor and Jane were married, it would all be okay. You just had to hold on a little bit longer.

~~~~~

A sob burst out from downstairs. It was your mother. You rushed downstairs, finding your mother crying on your father’s shoulder. In his hand was a letter, an envelope with the royal stamp laying open beside him. 

A grin spread across your face, despite your better judgment. You quickly smothered it, not wanting to further upset your parents.

“What’s all the fuss about?” You asked, walking over to them. Of course, you could easily tell that the letter they just opened announced Thor’s wedding with another.

Your mother barely could stop her cries to talk to you. “We-” She managed to choke out. “We have received a royal wedding invitation.”

You let yourself genuinely smile. “That’s wonderful.” You said. Your father scowled at you, although he was not surprised in the least. 

“Now what are we going to do! Our daughter will never become royalty!” You refrained from rolling your eyes.

Walking over to your mother, you took her hand in yours. “Mother, I believe you are mistaken. Remember how there are two princes?” You asked, and she glared at you.

She shook her head, frowning. “Loki does not have the reputation that Thor does, and he will tarnish your-and our-reputation.” 

“Mother, please. Reputation or not, I still love him, and he loves me. Why can’t you see that? Shouldn’t you want nothing but joy for your daughter? He brings me happiness! A happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. Deprive me of this mad happiness and I will not be able to function. I may be mad now, but you have not seen the least of just how mad I could be without my beloved.”

Your parents stood silent, stunned by your words. The clearing of Isabelle’s throat made you turn around to find her standing with a gaping Loki. You curtsied, and facing you, Loki recollected himself and regarded your parents. 

They ignored him, much to your dismay, so you turned around to scowl at them. They seemed to recollect their senses and bowed.

Loki gave them a tight smile. “I have come to ask of you to join me as my date to the royal wedding. If that is alright with your parents.” He knew they wouldn’t say no. They couldn’t.

Your father sighed, having weighed his options. Although Loki wasn’t the perfect individual for you, he would have to work now that Thor was off the table. Plus, you were right, he was still a prince. Second in line to the throne, which wasn’t completely undesirable. “Of course, your highness, we approve. Isabelle, how about you fetch some tea for our guest?” 

Isabelle rushed off to get some tea, and your parents left you alone. Loki slowly walked up to you, looking you in the eyes. It took every ounce of self control that you had to not immediately run into his arms and kiss him. “My love.” 

“My prince.” You breathed, and he took your hand and kissed it. You dropped your self control, removed your hand from his lips, and smashed your lips onto his.

TAGS: (Comment or inbox me to be added/removed; along with what to be tagged for): @michief-dream @iceeericeee

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

pov: Sihtric secretly releasing you so he can take you with him and make you his 😌

taglist: @foxyanon @alexagirlie @sihtricsafin @neonhairspray @gemini-mama

@lexwolfhale @sigtryggrswifey @skyofficialxx @djarinsgirl27 @m-a-s-h-k-a

@verenahx @mrsarnasdelicious @diiickbrainn @little-diable @maii777

@urmomsgirlfriend1 @dixie-elocin @elle4404 @bubblyabs @ylvie50

@hb8301 @willowbrookesblog @apolloanddaphnis @jennifer0305

@carnationworld @justanother-sihtricgirlie @stark-head @reidsbookstore @thenameswinter99

@deathbluestar113 @ladyinred2248 @zaldritzosrose @maryelle-cats @penumbrie

@solinarimoon @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @yungpoetfics @legitalicat @stupiddarkkside

if you want to be added to/deleted from the taglist, message me 🖤

[band--psycho]

Jax Teller x Reader-Safe With You

I have been spending wayyy too much time on TikTok lately; and this trend has been all over my FYP, so I thought I'd post a story based on this quote with Jax Teller!💛

I'm contemplating doing more trends like this so keep your eyes peeled, and if you have any trends you like feel free to recommend them!

I hope you all enjoy this!💛

Y/ns POV

“You came?” I asked; the shock evident in my voice and I were pretty sure my eyes as I glanced up at the person standing in front of me.

Even after all these, he was still one of the only people that I trusted wholeheartedly.

He was also one of the only people that I feel safe around. 

That’s why I called him, though I didn't actually expect him to come here.

And certainly not as quickly as he did. 

Not after all these years 

Ten years, to be exact. 

Ten long years.

Ten years since I left Charming behind me. 

And yet here stood the one and only Prince of Charming himself, Jackson Teller.

He hadn’t changed much at all. 

He still had those piercing blue eyes, that I’m sure could stare into my very soul.

Yet, they seemed older, much older than Jax; a clear sign that things with the club hadn’t been easy.

Jaxs POV

“You called,” I answered simply; with a small comforting smile before I sat down next to Y/n. I rested my hand on hers before intertwining our fingers together.

Her eyes were bloodshot; she’d been crying. 

I didn’t know why. 

I didn’t need to.

Not really. 

It was Y/n. 

That was all that mattered. 

And I knew that she wouldn’t call me unless something bad had happened. 

I also knew that I’d be paying a little visit to whoever it was that had made her cry… once I found out who it was and what they had done to make my Y/n cry.

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @withmyteeth @rebelwrites @little-diable @beeroses @i-just-read-stuff @05supernatural20 @xbreezymeadowsx @poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @sassymox @munsinner @skyofficialxx @jitterbugs927 @samanthaofanarchy @the-mayan-queen @stillbreathin @lady-writes20 @lady-writes-flanagan @thexhostess @tempt-ress @beth-gallagher22 @oskea93 @lexondeck @bl3333h @choochoo284 @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @elliewigginton20 @thekaelicobain @rosieposie0624 @book-dragon03 @bookworm1767 @bestbitchsstuff @missbee1095 @xxemberlights @igotmajordaddyissues @thaliastregona @livingdeadblondequeen

[dodger-chan]

Le mystérieux voyageur (part 1)

Again an unnamed narrator begins the story. This time, I assumed it was Lupin from the start. And it was confirmed in the text. I would not be shocked if part 2 had a different narrator, however, and without any indication of the change.

I wonder if I were better at French the shifts in narrative style would be obvious. Or, at least, more obvious. Would I be able to tell who the pov character was?

The mysterious traveler wears "une cravate de bon goût, des gants propres." Nice clothes doesn't make a man a good person, Lupin

"Mais, au fait, où diable avais-je vu ce visage?" For a moment I considered this traveller being Lupin. Leblanc is tricky like that.

"Tout cela, je le prévoyais, et je ne m’en étais pas trop ému, certain que la police de Rouen ne serait pas plus perspicace que celle de Paris." Bit arrogant, eh, Lupin?

pieds et poings liés - tied feet and fists.

indicateur - I think, in context, railway guide?

Le rapide - the express train? Makes sense in context, with Lupin noting only one stop ahead.

[christophe76460]

Nous sommes des enfants de Dieu, et un enfant parle à son Père en toute liberté et sans crainte.

Et pour bien comprendre l'avantage qu'il y a d'être devenu un enfant de Dieu, il faut lire dans l'évangile de Matthieu, au chapitre 6 et dans le verset 13 le conseil qui concerne la prière, et qui nous a été donné par Jésus-Christ.

Ne nous expose pas à la tentation, et surtout, délivre-nous du diable. Car à toi appartiennent le règne et la puissance et la gloire à jamais. Matthieu 6: 13 BDS

.

Je vais vous dire quelque chose que nous devons absolument comprendre.

Si nous sommes devenues des enfants de Dieu, et que nous remplissons bien les clauses qui nous a unis à Jésus-Christ après être passé par le baptême, Dieu remplira aussi ces promesses.

En effet, étant donné que nous sommes devenues des enfants de Dieu après avoir accepté de nous identifier à Jésus en tant que Christ venu en chair.

Le Père interviendra en notre faveur pour que nous ne soyons pas tentées au-delà de nos forces.

Car ne l'oublions pas, le Diable est le tentateur, il pousse l'homme à commettre le mal.

Et nous étions tous sous son emprise, et cela se voyait au travers des fruits que nous portions.

Mais lorsque nous avons pris la décision de nous engager à faire de Jésus-Christ le Seigneur de notre vie, le pouvoir qu'avait le Diable sur notre vie a été brisé.

Et nous savons que celui qui est né de Dieu ne commet pas le péché qui mène à la mort, car le Fils né de Dieu le protège. Aussi, le diable ne peut pas le dominer. 1 Jean 5: 18 BDS

Parce que Dieu le Père a donné tout pouvoir à Jésus-Christ, jusqu'à ce qu'il ait mis tous ces ennemis sous ses pieds, et ces ennemis sont aussi les nôtres.

Et en tant que des enfants de Dieu, ceux bien sûr qui se laissent conduire par le Saint-Esprit, nous pouvons demander avec foi à notre Père au nom de Jésus-Christ de ne plus permettre au Diable de dominer sur notre chair.

Et pour bien comprendre cela, je vous encourage à lire l'exhortation de l'apôtre Paul dans la lettre qu'il a adressée aux Corinthiens, au chapitre 10 et dans le verset 13.

Toutes les tentations que vous avez rencontrées étaient normales pour des hommes et des femmes.

Dieu est fidèle, et il ne permettra pas que vous soyez tentés au-dessus de vos forces.

Quand vous serez tentés, Dieu vous donnera la force de le supporter et le moyen d’en sortir.1 Corinthiens 10: 13 PDV

Par contre, nous devons faire attention de ne pas faire marche arrière, et cela arrive lorsque nous devenons tièdes.

C'est ce que nous exhorte l'apôtre Pierre dans sa première épître, au chapitre 5 et dans le verset 8.

Ne vous laissez pas distraire, soyez vigilants. Votre adversaire, le diable, rôde autour de vous comme un lion rugissant. Il cherche quelqu’un qui se laissera dévorer. 1 Pierre 5: 8 POV

En effet, Dieu lui-même met une condition pour être gardé des attaques du tentateur, et pour connaître qu'elle est cette condition, il faut lire dans le livre de l'apocalypse, au chapitre 3 le verset 10.

Tu as gardé ma parole, tu as pris à cœur mon appel et tu m’as attendu avec patience et persévérance.

C’est pourquoi, à mon tour, je te garderai à l’heure de l’épreuve qui doit venir sur le monde entier pour éprouver tous les habitants de la terre. Apocalypse 3: 10 POV

Et c'est pour cette raison que Jésus-Christ a exigé à ces disciples de manger de sa chair et de boire de son sang, autrement nous nous trompons nous-mêmes même par de faux résonnements.

En effet, l'Évangile nous montre clairement que la véritable foi et accompagné d'actes.

Ma conclusion : en tant que des enfants de Dieu, nous pouvons demander à notre Père avec foi et au nom de Jésus-Christ, de ne pas permettre au Diable de nous tenter au-delà de ce que nous pouvons supporter.

Si vous le souhaitez, vous avez la possibilité d'écouter cette publication sur Youtube.

https://youtu.be/_bBUmQMrx-w?si=PtZ309vmaKJHNTak

#chrétien #foi #conversion #répantance #baptême #identification @everyone @followers @Tout le monde

[sivenusavaitsu]

MERCREDI 28 FÉVRIER 2024 - Résidence Autonome Paul et Noémie Froment (Dana & Laurent)

[pov Dana ] Aujourd’hui, j’ai découvert la différence entre une maison de retraite, et une résidence autonome.

Ici, des personnes retraités louent des petits studios, sont libre d’aller et venir dans la street (l’autonomie du coup) et bénéficient d’une socialisation intense avec plein d’activités, dont des spectacles. En plus ils ont un service de chauffeur qui coûte 1,50 € le trajet! Euhhhh ça m’a donné envie de vivre là-bas, mais tout de suite, et pas attendre les 64 ans pour m’installer! C’est quel gouvernement qui a voté le recul de l’âge de la retraite déjà ?? Les fils de chiens!!

Le théâtre Jean Vilar de Vitry propose une partie de sa programmation dans cette résidence autonome dirigée par Sandrine, une directrice autoritaire et joviale (on a tout de suite obtempéré quand elle nous a incité à aller déjeuner, alors qu’on avait pas fini notre montage… ça l’a fait rire quand je lui ai dit qu’elle faisait un peu peur… hihi.)

La représentation de 15 heures était molle au début et a pris en puissance sur la fin. J’étais énervé parce que j’avais l’impression d’avoir tout oublié. Surtout les tops lumière.

Avec ce projet, notre taux de cholestérol est destiné à atteindre des sommets: les temps de convivialité d’après-spectacles sont toujours ponctués d’un goûter plus ou moins copieux.

Aujourd’hui, après m’être goinfrée de petits gâteaux, une deuxième représentation m’attendait à 19h… fort heureusement, l’énergie de Laurent mon camarade de jeu fût contagieuse et je réussis à revenir d’entre les morts une demie heure avant la représentation.

J’ai l’impression qu’on s’est démenés comme des diables, pour contrer le processus impitoyable de digestion des sucres rapides flottant dans nos veines. La tombée de la nuit noire m’a j’en suis sûre aidée à me mettre dans l’ambiance. Il a fallut parler particulièrement fort pour les personnes très âgés à la mauvaise audition.

Une dame piquait du nez au premier rang tout le long du spectacle, en ronflottant plus ou moins bruyamment. Je pensais sincèrement qu’elle se faisait chier. Elle nous a dit au moment du débat qu’elle avait un cancer (d’où la fatigue) et que l’histoire du spectacle l’avait pas mal émue car elle vivait son état dans une grande solitude. On a pleuré. Je lui ai fait un câlin. Et après on a mangé des chips avec des Apericubes en discutant.

Particulièrement aujourd’hui, lors de ce deuxième temps de convivialité d’après-spectacle, pas mal de gens sont venus nous raconter leur rapport à la maladie, que ce soit en tant qu’accompagnants ou en tant en tant que malades. Des tunnels de parole hyper émouvants, où on sent qu’après avoir reçu le spectacle, il y a le besoin d’expulser aussi pas mal de choses. Et nous avec notre assiette de chips. On écoute patiemment, le cœur bien lourd. De notre vue périphérique, il y a Tiphaine qui commence à remballer le décor et on se dit qu’il faudrai l’aider, mais on pourrai aussi parler des heures avec des gens qui vivent de vraies histoires hardcore quand même. Le cancer est une maladie tellement répandue, et on en parle tellement peu au quotidien - c’est fou.

Vers 21 heures, on a compris que Sandrine nous attendait pour fermer l’établissement. Alors on s’est dépêché de démonter et remballer la scène dans notre véhicule de type berlingo.

Les représentations reprennent lundi prochain, avec cette fois-ci Chloé et Laurent. J’y retourne le 11 mars. Dommage, je commençais presque à faire la paix avec cette impression d’avoir tout oublié !



[divine--tragedy]

(Crewel-Intentions) Crewel: Hey, big guy :) I didn't know you knew how to draw! M-Maybe you could draw me...?

"Oh, Crewel, hi! No need to sit, I actually have a little bit of you in a page, I'm sure. Uhh-"

"Oh, hah, well umh-"

"I didn't remember, all of these-? Hah, that's so silly isn't it, ha- ha..."

"...YOU KNOW WHAT. THIS IS EXTREMELY EMBARRASSING."

"JUST!!! JUST TAKE THE WHOLE PAPER!! HERE!!"

Somewhere, on a table.

And so ends Diable's sketching session, than all of you for joining!!! :D

Have the closeups of some of the sketches under the read more :)

@crewel-intentions

[lunart]

ons is picking up the religious lore and perhaps my decreasing interest in it too

[knittastically]

A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 28

POSS/PROB NSFW, Depends on your POV. THE DECISION IS YOURS

This is a looooong  Chapter be warned.

Thank you all for your patience this chapter has been a long time coming but serious Family issues took precedence, as indeed  they should. It is likely that this will be the last chapter for a little while. However I am not abandoning the idiots just yet and have several ideas for future chapters. By way of a change I might have a dalliance with the rather lovely John Porter.

Raymond de Merville did not die on a beach in Ireland, of course he didn’t. He made it back to Rouen and has decided to marry a feisty little baggage called Isabé.

A fiction, based hardly at all on a fiction, with the addition of some other fictional characters and one or two real ones

Part 1  Part 2   Part 3  Part 4  Part 5   Part 6 Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10

Part 11   Part 12   Part 13  Part 14  Part 15 Part 16   Part 17  Part 18

Part 19    Part 20   Part 21  Part 22  Part 23  Part 24  Part 25   Part 26       

Part 27

You can also find all chapters here on AO3

If you want in or out of the Tag List (at the bottom of the page) just let me know via message and it’ll be done in a flash.

Squinting against the first vicious rays of sunlight, my head pounds. Not for a moment did I think I would spend my wedding night sleeping in a hard chair. My back and neck are stiff. Ribs and chest ache from the effort of screaming, yelling and crying, and each time I swallow my throat burns. Raymond was right, I did not close my eyes that night but not in the way he insinuated. I need something to drink, to slake my thirst and ease my throat but there’s nothing to hand, more fool me! The water ewer and basin are in pieces on the floor, the cups are God knows where; as for wine all that’s left is a dark stain on the wall ending in a sticky puddle glueing potsherds to the floor.

The bedchamber looks like a battlefield and most things that could be used as a missile have been. The footstool is upended in the corner, food is scattered on the floor, and along with my shift, my wedding gown is a crumpled, wine stained, rag flung under the table. Turning stiffly, I look across to where Raymond is sprawled face down across the mattress, his head is turned away from me and one of my shoes lies next to him on the pillow. It was the last thing I threw at him but I missed; it bounced off the wall, and all night it has laid where it fell, bastard I hate him! Raymond mumbles in his sleep but barely moves, and the distance between chair and bed might as well be a chasm between us.

My eyes prick with tears as I remember him speaking the words that bound us together. His beautiful eyes sparkling as starting with my thumb, he placed the ring over it and then each finger as he declared. “In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” Finally, he placed it over my ring finger with the words; *Lo te esposy, Molher* and slid it gently down over the knuckles. Then drawing me towards him he whispered. “Mon amour, Mon coeur, Ma Vie." "The words are inscribed inside the ring Isabé, never forget them.” Despite his large, calloused, soldiers’ hands, his touch was gentle as he cupped my face, his lips soft and warm as he brushed them against mine, but his eyes, oh God, his eye sparkled and flashed, speaking silently of things to come.”

I pull my cloak tightly round me; not for warmth, just the comfort of it. My eyes are gritty, and with a sigh I lean back in the chair praying for sleep. I am in that drowsy half world between sleeping and waking, and I feel as if I am floating.

“Mon Amour, Mon Coeur, Ma Vie:” The soothing words slide into my ears as I feel the gentle brush of lips and beard against my forehead. “Raymond?” “Shhh my love, hush. He settles me down into softness and slides in beside me.

“Fuck” I feel him jolt, then something hits the floor...the shoe 

Earlier

Raymonds fingers snag a little on the delicate fabric of my gown as he slides his hand oh so slowly up the inside of my leg and as he presses a kiss to my knee, I feel the heat of his mouth through the silk of my wedding gown. A slow, easy, confident smile settles on his lips as he hesitates for a moment before brushing the tips of his long fingers up along the crease of my hip and hidden from view cups his hand gently over the mound of soft flesh between my thighs. It was the lightest touch, but my breath catches, and my eyes widen as I hold his look hoping to stare him down and conceal the fact that I burn for him. He is so sure of himself I swat his hand away and hiss at him  “You are too forward My Lord, are you trying to claim a husbands rights before you are my husband, be I careful I don’t say no to you and leave you on the Cathedral steps.”

“Mon Coeur, we both know that I have already claimed a husbands rights in part, and I don’t recall any complaints from you.” The slight breeze ruffles his unfashionably short hair, Raymond is ever the soldier and doesn’t subscribe to the longer, sleek styles favoured by the courtiers. His broad smile reaches his eyes and settles into creases around them; eyes full of mischief. “Chérie, be careful��� He warns me with a low growl that it’s a mistake to dare him, because where I am concerned, he will always take up the challenge.

“I said nothing.” “Perhaps not in words my darling, but your eyes, they say a great deal” He smirks at me. “Now we should go, it would not do to keep His Grace waiting.” And as he mounts up on Diable, Mattieu barks out the order to the escort and we make our way into the city and towards the Cathedral.

“Raymond why couldn’t we have married in the family Chapel?”

“I should have preferred that Chérie, all this overblown nonsense just for show but protocol demands that the Baron de Merville marries in the Cathedral, in full view of everyone. Perhaps I should have eloped with you that would have been easier still.”

“Pfft, eloping is a young man’s game, I wouldn’t have wished to put such a strain on an old soldier” His eyebrows fly almost to his fringe, then he raises just the left one. “Most considerate of you.” He drawls, “I shall ask you in the morning whether you still believe me to be an old man or not.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a lazy smile, and heat rising in my cheeks isn’t entirely due to the sun beating down. It is only as we are being greeted by His Grace that I realise Raymond has called himself Baron.

Archbishop Robert III Poulain waits before the great West Doorway of what is no more than a glorified building site. A raging fire 9 years ago saw to that and not much remains of the once magnificent Cathedral; a few stones here and there, some of the columns and the Tour Saint Romain. I catch sight of Henri and he blows me a kiss it’s the sign we agreed and I heave a sigh of relief.

We stand before His Grace as he blesses us with Holy water and begins the ceremony. **“Raymond Christophe de Merville vis accipere Isabé Aaliz Pelletier hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?”**

Now is my moment, and taking a deep breath, I draw myself to my full height, which is to say the top of my head is somewhere near Raymonds shoulder and I speak out in as firm a voice as I can manage. “Your Grace, Pelletier is not my name.” Surprise registers on his face and he gapes a little as he looks from me, to Raymond, to The King and back again to me. I hear the gasps and muttering of the congregation nearest to us.

“Isabé, what are you up to.?”  Raymond hisses. “Don’t worry.” I slip my hand into his, gently squeezing his fingers, it gives me courage and I continue.

“My name was created to protect me.” Archbishop Poulain regards me through narrowed eyes, I hesitate and wonder if I am doing right but it is too late now, and I plough on. “The name I wish to have recorded is Isabé Aaliz Fournier – Bouvier” Those nearest to us gasp, the significance of birth and ancestry is not lost on them, and both men are well known. Blanche, Henri and of course Sebastien are the focus of everyone’s attention; Sebastien Fournier smiles at me whith such a look of pride and joy on his face. Henri nods, Blanche presses her fingers to her lips and blows me a kiss, she is the one who will have to bear the gossip and tittle-tattle, yet she has agreed to this.

“I love you, my beautiful, fearless Lioness.” Raymond raises my hand to his lips.

The sun beats down hot and unrelenting and my heart is pounding so much I can hear it.

“What are you waiting for Poulain?”  The King’s words ring out above the commotion. “Record the name and continue with the ceremony.” and with his voice only a little shaky the Archbishop begins again.

“Raymond Christophe de Merville, vis accipere Isabé Aaliz Fournier - Bouvier hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?” It’s credit to Raymond than when he answers his voice carries only the faintest hint of a laugh

“Volo”

His Grace still glowering asks in a sharp voice. Isabé Aaliz Fournier - Bouvier, vis accípere Raymond Christophe de Merville hic præséntern in tuum legítimum marítum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?

“Volo”

I smile up at Raymond as he removes the small gold ring from the little finger of his right hand, it is blessed by the Archbishop, returned, and Raymond speaks the words which make me his wife.

We are married in law and all I want is for us to leave now, to escape from the clamour of the guests and the heat of the day but the Nuptial Mass must be endured, and it is interminable. At last we kneel as the canopy is lowered over us, a pristine white veil the size of a bed sheet; sheilding us from everyone but God, and as we prostrate ourselves on the cool newly swept  floor, it is held only inches above us. We are now one body, one flesh and protected by the Almighty. I’d rather be protected by Raymond; he is a far more ruthless bodyguard. As we wait for the final blessing, he shuffles closer to me and not caring whether anyone sees him strokes his hand down over my back, though the whole congregation must surely have heard my squeak of surprise as he squeezes my arse. I glare across at him, his face is a picture of innocence as he whispers. “Soon, Mon Coeur, Soon.” “You are shameless My Lord” I hiss back at him, but my feigned annoyance doesn’t stop the heat I feel.

The moment we stand to make our way to the great door, a blur of dark hair and blue gown speeds towards Raymond. “Papa,” With a squeal, Nicolette launches herself at her father and  he sweeps her straight up into his arms, beaming at her. “Papa, can I ride home with you on Diable?” he kisses her cheek. “Oh, little sparrow I don’t think that is a good idea.” The corners of her mouth turn down as she frowns at him, then wheedles. “Please Papa, please.” “Sweetheart, you know he is an ill-tempered brute and with these crowds he might not behave.”

From the corner of my eye I see Eleanor pushing her way towards us, ignoring the contemptuous, disapproving looks of her “Betters”. “Nicolette, that is not the way to behave in church child.” Her boisterous daughter flashes her a mutinous look then settles herself against Raymond, then twines her arms around his neck as she nuzzles her nose into his beard and kisses him “But he likes me Papa and I’m not scared of him, I feed him apples.” I hear the slightly strangled noise in his throat as he croaks. “Eleanor?”

“Don’t look to me on this Raymond.”

“What have you been up to you little imp, the truth now hein.” She drops her head and pouts; Raymond catches my eye and I press my lips together in an effort not to laugh. “I just go to the stables and hide until the boys go away, then give them to him, it’s alright I do it just the way you showed me with my pony, and he doesn’t hurt me, it tickles my hand when he takes them.” She giggles. “He puts his head down and lets me stroke him.”

“Christ and all his saints, I’ll have the hides of those idiot stable lads.”

“No Papa, I go in and hide until they’ve gone away.”

“Oh, she is definitely her father’s daughter Raymond.” I grin at him he gives me “That” look, rolling his eyes at me

“Sweetheart, he’s dangerous.” He kisses the tip of Nicolette’s nose. “Not with me.” Nicolette sets her mouth in a tight little line and juts her chin out.

“Nor me.” I remind him quietly as I rest my hand lightly on his arm. “Now stop trying to frighten her and let her ride with you.” I wink at Eleanor; her smile is warm and genuine.

“Before you go Madame.” Eleanor steps towards me. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

“For God’s sake then ask me Eleanor, there is no need of formality, it is Isabé to you” I drop a sisterly kiss to her cheek. The wife acknowledges the "Sometime Mistress," she and Nicolette have my friendship and protection.” let the hypocrites think what they like.

“Isabé, when his Majesty leaves here, I am ordered travel with him to Paris and then I go South. I have no idea how long my commission will take me away from home and from Nicolette; would you be willing to care for her whilst I’m away?” “Of course Eleanor, don’t worry on that score. Besides, I think she would run rings around her Grandfather in a very short time” “Between you and me, Isabé she already does.” I lay a hand on her arm. “We shall take great care of her;" Raymond is standing beside me and I smile up at him in time to catch the look that passes between them and it unsettles me.

By the time we reach the Chateau, I fell hot, sticky and more than a little crabby; people have been crowding around us pressing and shoving and I am glad the Hall is cooler, sweet with the scent of herbs and decked out in as much finery as could be gathered together. The colourful banners sway in what little breeze comes through the doors. Every table is covered with a linen cloth, cleaned and bleached until it is pristine white and the best of the household table ware is set on it, heaven knows where it was dug it out from, but I suspect most of it hasn’t been used in years.

Fournier strides over, and I move to embrace him, I know that all eyes are on us, but he catches hold of my right hand and bows to me. His voice is solemn but his eyes twinkle. “Welcome, Madame de Merville.” Quietly he adds, “Daughter” Protocol has been preserved,

“Forgive me for yesterday…. Father, I…” He cuts me off quietly, “Daughter, there is nothing to forgive.” And with a broad smile he steps back, turns to face the high table and slams the point of his staff to the floor to bring everyone to order as Philip Augustus King of France takes his place as guest of honour.

Du Four has surpassed himself, and my Father has likely bankrupted the household. A wedding feast is a costly business but when The King is guest of honour, then you had best be ready to ignore the expense and simply raid the coffers. Imported wines and the best Ales flow freely, attentive pages make sure that cups are never drained. Dish after dish of food is served all bathed in rich sauces thickened with almonds or cream and flavoured with herbs or expensive spices, dried fruits, lemons and bitter oranges. When you feed a king, then there is no budget.

But I have little appetite, excitement and nerves have seen to that and so I only manage to pick at one or two mouthfuls. A stream of guests keeps me occupied as they offer gifts and congratulations and my face aches from smiling politely. Raymond coaxes me to eat, offering me choice morsels speared from his own platter. “Isabé” he strokes my leg “I wish you would eat something, because I can promise that you will need your strength, you won’t close your eyes before daybreak.” His voice is husky and seductive as he offers me another titbit, this time from his fingers, brushing them gently against my lips, coaxing me to part them.

I see the wolfish glint in his eyes, he is playing me the bastard. Too little food and a little too much wine, makes me reckless and two can play at those games. I keep my own eyes firmly fixed on his as he pops the morsel into my mouth. Closing my lips around the tips of his fingers, I gently suck the rich sauce from them. Does anyone notice? I don’t care if they do. Even bolder now, I slide my hand up the inside of his leg, barely ghosting over the fabric, but he feels it.  Up and up to the join of hip and thigh until I can go no further, still our gaze is locked, still he is daring me, and I take the challenge, rippling my fingers over his groin. There it is, that soft rumble in the back of his throat, as his eyes widen, then flutter closed for a moment: suddenly he slaps his large hand over mine. From beneath his heavy-lidded eyes he watches me for a moment and catches his lower lip between his teeth biting hard. Then he leans across to me. “Mon Coeur, you had best be careful what games you choose to play, because if you keep teasing I’ll not wait to get you into bed, I’ll haul you behind the screens passage and fuck you where we stand no matter who sees.”

Oh, and he would do it, I know he wood and though his voice is no more than a whisper, it is as hot as hellfire, I turn away and reach for my wine, the cup shakes in my hand as I take a mouthful. I am served right; I should know better than to dare him. There are times when I can barely withstand Raymond’s powerful heat, it makes me wary and wanton in equal measure, as I glance back at him, he is grinning, I still can’t hold his look so I bury my face in my wine cup once more, and thank God I am rescued by His Majesty.

“You know Madame, not once did I imagine I should ever see Raymond married, except of course to his chosen profession”

“Not even when the redoubtable Eleanor Forrestier crossed his path Sire?

“Not even then, nor even after the birth of their daughter, despite scandalising everyone by living as man and wife. Somehow the thought of marriage didn’t seem to appeal to either of them.” He smiles reassuringly at me; does he sense, I wonder, that deep down I still have fears and misgivings concerning them?

“Well Sire I can see how a life  in your service that is dedicated to diplomacy, espionage, and assassination wouldn’t easily lend itself to marriage, particularly if both husband and wife are employed in the same profession.” My voice is sharper than I’d intended, but Philip choses to ignore it, other than to raise a brow. He steeples his fingers, pressing them against his lips as he watches me closely. His smile broadens.

“But then, he came across you Isabé, and…” A string of foul oaths to my right interrupts the conversation, and I turn in time to see Raymond trying to get out of his seat. I hadn’t realised he was so drunk, though no doubt he’s had years of practice hiding the effects when it was necessary to do so; but tonight he has failed and has managed not only to entangle himself in his cloak but has somehow caught the hem of it firmly around chair.                                                  I snigger as he tries to free himself; glowering at me, he wobbles, trips and lands flat on his arse with chair on top of him. I try not to laugh, but it’s impossible, the shock on his face is comical. I hold my breath waiting for the tirade, but he just blinks, clearly confused as to how he ended up on the floor. Then starts to giggle like an idiot, whilst an unfortunate page tries to haul him back onto his feet. No easy task as the lad is slight, no taller than I am, and Raymond is flailing around like a cat on ice. Finally, he is upright.

Swaying, he points at me, leers and pokes me on the breast. “Soft” he slurs, then adds in a whisper, which is anything but. “Need to piss, will come back and we’ll dance.” He turns away too quickly, sweeps around in a full circle and looks mightily confused when he sees me still in front of him, rather than the exit to the kitchen. With careful, over deliberate steps he shuffles himself about then lurches through into the screens passage, presumably heading for the courtyard. I shudder, God help him trying to negotiate his layers of clothing.

“Your husband seems to have a liking for the wine tonight Madame de Merville.” I hesitate for a moment; the sound of my new name is still very strange to my ears.

“Indeed, sire too much of a liking it seems,  and forgive me, but I think what you really mean is that he’s as drunk as a fiddlers bitch, if he drinks any more I should think he will have difficulty in raising a smile let alone much else this night; though at the moment Majesty I am more concerned that he will stamp my feet to a bloody pulp whilst we are dancing. I look away, oh God my tongue has run away with me and I will no doubt be disgraced by my over familiarity.

Even over the racket, anyone close by, hears me. Conversation tails away, Gaultier presses his lips into a tight thin line fighting a laugh. His Grace the Archbishop splutters into his wine cup, then frowns at me clearly shocked by my impertinence. “Isabé Aaliz”, Maman gives me my full name; a clear sign she is displeased, and Philip Augustus just stares at me. Then I see the twinkle in his eyes: his lips twitch, curl, then widen into a smile as he throws his head back, and he slaps both hands down flat on the table as he roars with laughter. “God and all his saints, but Raymond will have his work cut out with you Madame.” Then he whispers, “Now I know why the hard-bitten bastard fell for you Isabé; you are definitely the woman for him.”

He takes my left hand and raises it to his lips; then plucks the exquisite brooch from his own cloak and pins it to mine; the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed it marks me out as being in the King’s favour. Philip’s smile is broad and genuine, it’s clear that he has a real affection for Raymond. “Oh, and what a wife, quick, clever and beautiful: He is my Wolf Isabé, my eyes and ears, the guardian of my peace and dispenser of my justice. I appoint you "Keeper of my Wolf," keep him well, I wish you both long life, great happiness and God willing an heir.”

Before I can reply a page sidles up to me.” Madame, a message for you from the Seneschal, he regrets the intrusion, but he requests your assistance with an urgent matter” Frowning I scan his face. “Urgent?” “Yes Madame, it something he insists only you can resolve.”

Raymond, it can only be Raymond, blind drunk, and belligerent or slumped in a heap somewhere, sleeping it off and snoring like a hog, well he can damned well wait.

“You may tell the Seneschal I shall be there as soon as I can.” The lad is flustered. “Madame I am to say the Seneschal begs your pardon, but it is something that must be done straight away.” With shrug I turn to Philip.

“Majesty, I beg you to excuse me, it seems….”

Go, Isabé and when you return, then honour me with a dance.” He waves me away with a broad grin. I drop him an untidy curtesy, I have never really mastered that art, then follow the page towards the kitchens. The heat, smell and noise is enough to almost knock me flat and I stand in the doorway, peering through the smoke and steam, Fournier is not in the kitchen, nor is he in his makeshift office, I can’t see him amongst swearing, sweating pot boys and kitchen maids. Du Four is bellowing at the top of his voice, but he catches sight of me and jerks his head towards the door, yelling “Outside Madame.” I push my way over to the door, but Fournier is nowhere to be seen.

A strong arm snakes firmly around my waist, as a large hand is clamped firmly over my mouth, stifling my strangled scream, and in a panic I thrash and squirm to free myself “Hush my love, hush, be still.” The voice, the familiar chuckle, it’s Raymond, my first thought had been Théo. He presses his lips to my temple and as he sets me set down wrapping his arms more gently around me, I am conscious of the hard-muscled chest rising and falling against my back. It dawns on me that he isn’t slurring his words and relief gives way to anger as I twist around. “You aren’t drunk at all you bastard” I confront him punctuating the words with smacks to his chest. Raymond laughs “Forgive me my darling, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just needed to get you out from the hall and this seemed the best way.”

He lowers his voice, to a seductive growl and it washes over me. “This is our wedding night Chérie and I’m not fool enough to render myself drunk and incapable; you see I intend to give you my absolute attention and nothing is going to hinder me in that.” His mouth is a feather touch on mine, he flicks his tongue against my lips, and I can’t help the mewl that escapes me. I know well    what that tongue can do and can already feel heat flaring in my belly. “As for the other question, there is no way on this earth that we will spend our first night together to the accompaniment of a drunken rabble, prancing around outside our chamber, singing filthy songs and yelling even filthier jokes to encourage us.” Another kiss, his tongue flickers against mine. “Nor do we have need of the Archbishop, sprinkling Holy water and muttering incantations over the bed.” The third kiss and he scrapes his teeth over my lower lip and whispers against my mouth. “Because I am sure we can devise a suitable benediction of our own.” There is no mistaking the desire I his voice, but we have been missed, and the rowdy guests are already spilling out into the courtyard, and are dammed if they are going to be denied the traditional wedding night revels. “To bed, to bed, to bed.” The chanting grows louder, and the cry goes up. We have been seen Raymond is ready to fly.

“Chérie, hold tight to my hand, stay close by and when I say run, then run like hell.”

I catch sight of His Grace, walking towards us Philip is beside him, the guests are getting closer yelling and singing, Raymond grips my hand and growls, “Now, Isabé, move, now!” turning quickly he drags me along with him. I gather my skirts up out of the way and even though he shortens his stride, I struggle to keep pace with him as we dash across the courtyard; Raymond slows, dips and lifts me up slinging me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Before I even have chance to settle, he quickens his pace and with his arms wrapped around my thighs to keep me steady, runs towards the exercise yard as I bounce up and down on his shoulder. My veil and hair hang down and as I grip his belt with my right hand, I wriggle to get more comfortable’ “You have a very nice arse Raymond.” I yell up at him “very nice not an old man’s arse at all nice and firm.” I can’t help but giggle as I stroke my other hand over his backside then squeeze, hard. He missteps slightly and growls. “Behave woman, else I shall wallop yours and you’ll not sit down for a week.”

The laugh bubbles up in me. “Pfft I doubt I shall be doing much sitting My Lord.” Without answering he sets me down beside the massive gates leading to the exercise yard, shoves open the wicket and pushes me inside. I hear the door being slammed and barred shut behind us as we head for the tower in the far corner and I wonder what the hell we are doing going into a storeroom; when my eyes become accustomed to the dim light, I realise it’s not a storeroom, it’s a sally port. Guillaume is waiting inside for us with his own horse and Diable, who is snickering and pawing at the ground. The floor slopes downwards to another doorway directly opposite; it’s as high and wide as the one we have just entered, large enough for a mounted horse to pass straight through from one side to the other without the rider even lowering his head.

“All is ready as you ordered Monseigneur, Matthieu is out there and waiting.

“Thank you, Guillaume” Raymond heads through the second door to speak to Matthieu and has soon as he is gone, Guillaume whispers to me.

“Isabé I beg you if you can’t love him, then for my sake be kind to him, he deserves that at least, but I hope you can love him and love him well.” Before I can answer Raymond has returned and without a word lifts me up onto the stallions back and springs up behind me, as soon as he has gathered the reins up in his right hand, he clamps his left arm around me and with the slightest kick to the horse we are off. “Are you happy Mon Coeur?” His lips are soft against my temple and I purr a “Hmmm” in reply, as I lean back against him and close my eyes, lulled by the rhythm of the horse’s gait and the sway of our bodies. But as we pass through the city and finally through Western gate, I realise that this must have been well planned, we are not challenged by any of the watch or the guard despite it being long past curfew. And I know that for protection we are being followed by Guillaume and Matthieu, because occasionally, I hear other horses behind us, not too far distant.

It seems Blanche and Henri have given over the Manor to us and in turn they will occupy our chamber at the Chateau. The guest chamber is newly decorated, the bed is piled with pillows and draped with the best of the household linens and coverlets, the walls have been freshly lime washed. Lanterns with beeswax candles are placed around the room casting patches of soft light on the walls and floor; trays of food and wine have been set out and the well-wishers from the household have left, all that is except for Jehanne. She busies herself pouring scented water for me to wash, then sets too detaching the necklace she has used as a jewelled fillet to secure my veil. Raymond lounges against the far wall and glances out of the window, not that there is much to see in the dusk.

“Jehanne you may leave that; my wife has no need of you now.” There is a tenderness in his voice as he says, “my wife”, but Jehanne only looks up sharply and stares at him, from her expression, you’d think Raymond had asked her to strip naked and juggle candle spikes.

“M’amselle Mercier I am asking you to leave, I am perfectly capable and more than willing to help Madame disrobe, I’m sure you understand.” He winks at her; she sets her jaw and squares up to him feet planted slightly apart, hands on hips

“Raymond forgive me, but Jehanne is not your servant to dismiss, even though she is now part of your household.” “My love.” He smiles indulgently. “We have no need of Jehanne, these rough hands will do just as well. He strokes his fingers down my cheek.

“Monseigneur, tonight most of all, it is right and proper that I am here to help Madame.” Jehanne is on her high horse, her tone is cool, polite, and completely lacking in any respect whatsoever.

“Jehanne.” Raymond steps towards her. “Tonight, of all nights I have no mind to allow anyone other than myself to help my Bride disrobe. The choice is yours, go now, else I shall sling you over my shoulder and dump you on your backside out in the corridor.” Raymond growls at her, but it is not very. The time for curfew has passed, but no one stops us as we make our way through the city threatening, and she will not give.

“I have my duties. Monseigneur” and as she steps towards me again, Raymond hefts her up off her feet and shrieks like a doused cat; he strides towards the door and as promised carries her out: her face is purple with fury. “Descoteaux, to me now!” he bellows and immediately I hear the Captain thudding up the stairs, just in time to see his Lord setting Jehanne down on her backside. “Take this baggage away man, and tell whoever is to bring our food in the morning to knock then leave it outside the door.” Stifling his laughter, Mathieu helps Jehanne to her feet, and before he can answer Raymond, the chamber door is slammed shut.

He sees me struggling to unpin the necklace Jehanne used as a fillet, it is fixed so securely to my veil and the band beneath, that if I continue to worry at it, I’ll likely tear the delicate fabric. “Isabé let me.” He is careful, deft and practiced, of course he is; I wonder how many times he has done the same for Eleanor, he lays the necklace on the table, then unpins the veil from the band. “Chérie,” He draws me towards him, and threads his fingers through my hair, his lips are warm and soft against mine. “Mon Coeur,” he whispers. “I have some news that you should hear, though I doubt you will like it; I had planned to tell you this tomorrow but there is no easy way and I suppose sooner is better than later.” He smiles at the anxious look on my face. “Sweetheart, I have an assignment from His Majesty, a week from tomorrow I must leave Rouen and travel to Paris, where I shall take command of the Kings forces and then travel South.” He flashes me a rueful smile as he pours two cups of wine handing one to me.

I can only stare at him and feel a knot forming in my stomach. “Be calm Isabé.” I tell myself, “Be calm you are not a silly girl you are the bride, if not yet the wife of Raymond De Merville.” But it seems my heart is hell bent on ignoring my head.

“You must think I’m an idiot Raymond. Now I understand the look that passed between you and Eleanor, when she asked me to take care of Nicolette.” I had meant my words to be cool and calm, but I sound like a petulant child.

“What?” Cocking his head on one side his face smooths and slides into a benign mask.

“There.” I poke him in the chest and step back. “There, is the, inoffensive, calm expression of the King’s Ambassador, I see what the two of you are about now, conniving and scheming. You promised, me, the pair of you that you would not fuck each other in your bed Raymond, but I grant there was no mention made of any other.” As I raise my hand to wallop his face, he grabs my wrist stalling the blow; his fingers digging hard into my flesh. When he speaks, he is considered and careful, as if he is trying to make Nicolette understand something. “No, Isabé, you do not see; you do not see at all.”

“Then forgive me for being stupid and help me to grasp what you mean, My Lord; what stamp of man waits until his wedding night to tell his Bride that he is leaving in a week to travel South, and with his bloody Mistress.” I wrench my arm free and as I step back, he steps forward, his eyes burning like blue fire, we are almost toe to toe, he towers over me, but he lets go a breathy grunt as I slam my balled fists into his chest.

“Don’t you dare tell me that you hadn’t planned all along to keep her as your Mistress you scheming bastard. No, you have taken great pains pretending to put her aside, just to mollify little Isabé.” I aim my fists at his chest again, but this time he grabs at both my wrists.

“Shut up Isabé, I made a promise and so did Eleanor, as I stand by mine, so she will stand by hers.”

“You can’t tell me that your paths won’t cross Raymond, if you do, I shan’t believe you.”

“Mother of God, listen to yourself woman!”

“Let go of me you arse.” Twisting and turning, I try to wrench myself free of him, but he tightens his grip on my wrists. “I said let go, if you think I’m spending my wedding night with you, then you had best think again, you are lying, conniving shit.”

I’m in no mood to play the Lady, I scream and curse him with every barrack room oath I have ever heard Hénri use. He loosens his grip slightly and as I yank my arm away, I aim a kick at his shins for good measure; he shifts smartly to one side  so I miss, of course.

His eyes are even darker now, I know that look, he is fiercely angry, and though his voice is low it sends a shiver down my spine; calm, angry Raymond is enough to chill my blood, and I step back quickly.

“There is no plan between us Madame. “I have my assignment, Eleanor will have hers, our paths may cross but it is unlikely and that is an end to it, she will be well on her way before I even leave Rouen.

“So, you say. His Majesty says jump and you ask, “How High” then run off South to fuck Eleanor up, down and sideways. Well do it and get a bastard son on her and name him heir into the bargain. It will save me the trouble of it all. You should have married her she would make you a far better wife than I will.” I will not let the tears fall no matter how much they sting and burn; I refuse to let him see me weep because of her. Suddenly he lunges at me and grabs at my shoulders hauling me forward until I slam into his chest. Pressing his forehead to mine, he is so close that I can’t see his features only the furrows and frown lines on his brow. His eyes glitter, but not with anger, with sadness and I feel the heat of him through my gown.

“I have no need to get a son on Eleanor, nor even on you Isabé, I already have a son.” He breathes out the words like the last whisper of a dying man, nonetheless, they are as solid as a punch to my stomach. I can’t speak, my heart is pounding and as he steps away the words slowly seep into my brain. Raymond’s face is so pale in the soft light, that his scar seems even more livid against his ashen skin, and realise from his shocked expression that he had not intended to tell me about his son; at least not yet.

The keening starts deep in my chest, rises and when it escapes, the howl of a wounded animal echoes around the room. I lurch towards the table, grab anything within easy reach and launch it at him, apples, chunks of bread, platters. Few of them connect as I hurl them, but I need to smash, break and destroy something, anything to help release the anger and pain. “My God you bastard, you conniving, scheming, lying bastard.” The words drop from my mouth like venom.

“I did not lie to you Isabé”

“Bollocks!” I step toe to toe with him. I swear I see the slightest grin ghosting across his lips, but when I blink it’s gone. “So you did not lie, but were you ever going to tell me I wonder?” I have to tilt my head back a little to stare him in the eyes. Or were you just going to keep quiet, until the day a strapping young man strides into the Chateau, demanding his right of inheritance. Strutting around while I smile graciously, forced accept that any son, I may bear you is disinherited.  Am I to sit there like some silly, obedient little fool as the bastard is made heir while the household looks on in pity?” There is no answer from him.

“Where is he Raymond” I growl at him. “Is he in Rouen with his whore of a mother or have you hidden the bastard elsewhere, Paris perhaps? “Answer me Raymond. You miserable prick, damn you ANSWER ME!” I snatch up the ewer then send it crashing to the floor, sprays of water and shards of pot spatter over Raymond’s boots. The wine jug is next  and as I grab for it, Raymond lunges across, but I snatch it out of his reach, slopping some of the contents down my wedding gown. An arc of wine shimmers in the candlelight as the pot sails past him and smashes to pieces against the wall, staining the new plaster.

In a flash, he has me whirled around and pinned against the table, knocking the breath from me. “A warning Isabé, I beg of you, for your own sake, never, never  speak of them in that way again, you know nothing of it”  His voice is breathy and cracked, his eyes full of such pain, and sadness as he blinks furiously, and I realise he is blinking back tears, but my heart won’t soften “They have names, they are Theodora and Christophe and I have neither seen, nor heard of them for over five years.” With a deep shuddering sigh, he scrubs the palms of his hands up and down over his face and back up through his hair making it stick out at wild angles, and he looks every one of his forty-eight battered, hard fought, years.

“I am going to bed Isabé.” His voice is barely a whisper, he seems broken as he stretches out his hand to me. I answer him so quietly I doubt he hears, “If you think I’m going to lie with you, wedding night or no, then you had best think again Raymond; you would have no joy of it, and you would be as well to shove your pizzle into a knot hole than force me.” Oh, he hears me, and grabs arms digging into the flesh above my elbows. “You are my wife Isabé, mine in body and soul; my property to do with as I wish, and no one would condemn me if took you against your will. But think on this; whether drunk, sober or crazed, I have never, in my life forced a woman against her will and never shall.

He is hurting, I can see it in his eyes, but for a second, there is such tenderness there as he strokes his fingers down my cheek, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before he turns away. I watch him for a moment as he starts to undress, then turn my back. The bed creaks as he slides beneath the covers and I sneak a glance and he is laying on his side with his back to me. In a last act of pettiness, I fling my shoe at him, it bounces off the wall and lands beside him; he doesn’t even flinch. Arsehole.

 NOW                                                   

The sun has moved, and a soft light filters into the room. With a loud, unladylike yawn, I stretch to ease my aches, my headache has gone, and I feel better than I had expected to. As I lay back against the pillows, I remember strong arms, soft kisses and gentle words. Raymond! at least he cared enough to rescue me from the chair. I catch sight of him, arms folded legs crossed at the ankle, he is leaning against the wall by the window; and my breath stalls in my throat as I stare wide eyed. Except for his bandage, he is naked and I can’t stop myself looking him over from head to foot and back again, then down once more following that narrow line of hair that tracks a path down his belly, to the dark thatch below. Though I am still furious with him, it doesn’t keep me from staring with more than a little lust. Oh, there is no mistake, he is impressive even at rest. I catch him as he watches me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, a gentle smile lifting one corner of his mouth; Soft light plays on the curves and planes of his broad shoulders and chest, and the lean, hard muscled limbs of a fit, fighting man. Gods saints, he is much more than handsome, he is beautiful.  

Shifting his stance, Raymond holds his arms a little away from his body, palms towards me. The gesture of a supplicant seeking absolution for his sin of omission, and I am the only one who can grant him forgiveness. We need to settle this or live in a bitter sham of a marriage without love or respect, and barely enough politeness for appearances sake. Flinging the covers aside, I slip from the bed and start to cross the room to him. 

“No, let me speak Isabé.” He holds his hands up as a barrier. “Can you forgive this stupid old fool, I had not meant to hurt you, but I have lived too long using secrets as my protection.” He inhales a deep breath, and I wait.

“I will not lie, there is a place in my heart which is held secure for Theodora and Christophe, it is locked to everyone else, even to you Mon Coeur, and, I will never give up trying to discover what became of them. This time when I step forward, he doesn’t stop me. 

“Raymond, I should know better, you are not some idiot youth still wet behind the ears, you have had a hard, dangerous life, you have a past. It was naïve of me to think otherwise. There is room in everyone’s heart for any number of people Raymond, but you must promise that whatever space is left in yours, belongs to me.”I settle my right hand gently against his chest twisting my fingers gently amongst the hairs.

Stretching up on tiptoe, I slide my hands over his cheeks up into the longer hair on his head. Threading my fingers through it I draw his face towards me. My kiss is not tender, it’s fierce and needy as I push myself hard against him and as he groans into my mouth I unlace one hand from his hair and I slide it between us a, laying it almost along the length of him. It would take a hand much larger than mine to cover “La Bite.”

“Have I married a shameless baggage?”

“It will be your good fortune if you have, My Lord” With a deep, rumbling laugh he lifts me up, bracing his arms beneath my backside as I wrap my legs around him, I am greedy for him; Raymond knows it and picks his way carefully through the potsherds and missiles of the battlefield that is our chamber to carry me to bed; or so I think. The bed may be close, the table is closer, and he sets me down on the very edge, and shoving aside those things I didn’t hurl at him, he sends them clattering to the floor as I wrap my legs even more tightly around him. “Raymond!” Laughing and wriggling against him, I pretend to push him away in indignation, but he holds me firm. “You could at least have carried me to the bed.”

“Well it’s a step up from a stable my darling, and at least you won’t get straw stuck in your hair.” he kisses the soft skin beneath my ear then nips it for good measure. I smack his head. “No, but I’ll likely get splinters in my arse.”

His voice is a low murmur, washing over me. “Then my penance shall be to pick them out for you and kiss each wound to soothe it” “Oh that voice, I'm certain he could simply talk me to ecstasy.” I shiver as he skims his hands down over the curve of my hips, over my thighs and he frowns a little as his fingers gently track the long scar.

“Does it still give you pain Chéri?” he clips at my lips with soft kisses.

“Not so much, just sometimes when I have walked too far, or have stood for too long.”

Head on one side, he grins like a naughty little boy as he strokes his hands back up the insides of my thighs, barely touching the skin as he eases them apart slightly; and when he brushes his fingers oh so gently against those dark curls, I shudder and his name bubbles out of my mouth in a curious little squeak.  “Christ Jesus, but you are beautiful, Isabé”

I’m sure he means it; I hear the desire in his growl; but still I must fight down my fears and uncertainties about Theodora and Eleanor. Those fears fade a little when he kisses me, and I realise from his feral look that he is hungry for me. But he is a master of control, and in his own sweet time, he tracks a path down my body, searching out those sweet. sensitive places as he peppers my skin with gentle kisses, nips and sweeps of his tongue. Chuckling with the simple joy of hearing me mewl, sigh and purr out his name. My nipples are tight and aching before he even sets his mouth to one, tracing lazy circles with his tongue raking it with his teeth, caressing and nipping the other with his fingers, lavishing attention on both and as I thread my fingers into his hair, he bites harder, strong teeth leaving marks of love and possession, I can barely think straight, the ache and heat between my thighs is raging and I feel the wetness there.

“Raymond” Whimpering his name, I unhitch my legs completely from around his waist parting them, inviting him. I know where I want that clever mouth and talented tongue to be, I know what it can do, and that thought alone sends that sweet ache searing through me again.

“Tell me what you need my beautiful isabé.” His hands flutter over my body, his touch sends fire through me.

“Your mouth, I need your mouth” I stutter and sob out the words. Eyes sparkling he shoots me a wicked grin. He understands, though he pretends not to. Stroking back my hair he drawls into my ear. “My Mouth, then tell me hein; where is the ache you need me to ease?” he kisses the soft skin between ear and jaw, “Is it here, my sweet?” He slides his lips down my neck. “ Or here?” A nip to my collarbone, “Perhaps this is the place.” Lowering his head further he licks at my left breast and sucks the nipple into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. I am wriggling against the table keening in desperation as he laces the fingers of one hand into my hair, twisting it tight as he pulls my face towards him. I open my mouth to his and then a sweet shock almost lifts me from the table as he gently trails one finger down between my thighs and slowly slides it inside me. I can hear how wet I am, and he sets a slow, easy, rhythm that matches the dance of his tongue against mine.  A second finger follows, then a third stretching, stroking, coaxing.

“Is this what you need Isabé, is this what you want my sweet wife, does it please you my love, or do you need more from me?” he whispers against my lips. Incapable of speech, I dig my fingers into his shoulders, then rake them hard down his chest, over his nipples, stroking down to his cock, trailing my fingers over the velvety skin. Sweet retalliation as swears, shudders and groans his head lolling back a little. But he snatches my hand away.

“No Isabé, there will be time enough for you to discover my needs and desires but for now.” He drops to knees and looks up at me his eyes burning. “For now, you are everything.” I see the smile on his lips before he dips his head and at that first soft breath, that first teasing kiss my, back arches and my hips snap forwards, but nothing stalls him. Delicate teasing kisses, his beard rasping against tender flesh, as he sucks, laps and scrapes with his teeth; growling out his pleasure. He holds me steady and I whine his name, as again he slides one finger then another inside me setting up that sweet aching rhythm matching the teasing of his tongue. I am burning, but not in hell, though the heat of me is enough to set fire to the air, I am certain of that.

As the tightness settles deep in me, I clench myself; Raymond is relentless with his tongue and fingers. I claw at his scalp, grabbing at his hair as if doing so will stop me flying away, my thighs tense and begin to shake, I am gasping as if there is no air in the room.

“Come for me my darling, break your chains, fly, show me passion, show me your soul.”

I scream oaths, words of love of love and Raymonds name, they bounce from the walls, as I fracture and fall, but not just once. He shatters me again and again before he puts me back together with soothing words. I cling to him as he gentles me with soft caresses, if he leaves go of me I know I shall float away. My shoulders heave as I gasp for breath, sweat trickles between my breasts and long strands of hair stick to my damp skin. Wrapping his arms more tightly around me Raymond holds me steady and whispers; “I am not finished with you yet.” I taste myself on his lips as he kisses me; I barely have strength to wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me and carries me to bed. For certain my own legs would not hold me, they tremble too much.

“We are in no way finished my sweetheart” he settles me among the pillows, Languor has settled in my bones and I watch him from beneath half closed lids, as he slips his arms beneath my thighs, lifting them over his own, and as he settles himself, I catch him licking his lips. Raymond is so tender, and with gentle movements he presses  little by little, pause by pause until he is deep within me. I push my hips upwards wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper still. A long rough sigh of pleasure swirls around and he stills for a moment searching my face. “What’s wrong old man have you tired so quickly?” His eyes fly wide open “You, my darling wife may come to regret those words.” I stop his mouth with my fingers, and wiggle my hips. “Oh, I do hope so, Raymond I do hope so.”

He hovers over me, his forearms either side of my head as a broad smile lights his face. The lines of sorrow and pain have disappeared, replaced by love in the deep, blue fire of his eyes. He is giving me time; my husband is in no way lacking and I remember overhearing a kitchen maid whispering to her friends, she had it on good authority that. “Sieur Raymond is hung better than his stallion.” and I bite my lip trying not to snort. Raymond frowns a little mistaking the sound for one of pain. “Isabé, Mon Coeur, for God’s sake, say if I am hurting you”   I reach a hand up to his face, laying my palm against his cheek. “Raymond, my love I won’t break, though I might bend a little.” There, I’ve said it. “ My Love." I have said it, and meant it.

I hear a clatter and thud somewhere in the distance as our breakfast is set down in the passage and  Raymond bellows towards the door.  “Take it away, it will be long past breakfast before we are done.” I hear a girlish giggle as the housemaid picks up the tray and scuttles off, no doubt to give a lurid account that “Monseigneur and his Lady are “Putting the devil into hell.”

In the shadows of the Chateau stables two figures stand close together, for all the world they look like lovers embracing, but one mistake, one unwary move and the embrace will prove fatal for one of them.

“Be still Fontaine, the knife is exceedingly sharp, a sudden move and it will easily pierce your skin, and should you try to harm me, you would get no further than the courtyard; there are bows trained on you. Her words ghost against his cheek as low and soft as a lover’s. He holds his breath, shifts slightly and feels the point of the dagger press hard against him, it has pierced his clothes, now it pricks against the skin of his groin and he winces. “This is a warning to you Théo, when you travel South, I shall be there watching you every step of the way though you will be hard pressed to see me.

“Do you think I'm frightened by threats from de Merville’s Whore, I am not travelling South bitch.” The point of the double-edged dagger is pushed a little farther and he hisses in his breath.

“Oh’ but you are Fontaine, less chance for you to conspire against the King, with that bastard John Lackland and if you even look sidewise at Monseigner Raymond or Isabé beefore we leave I will slice you into ribbons and feed you to the pigs. Now be a good boy and run back to your Maman” Eleanor stands aside to let him pass and as he walks by she adds. “You might want to tell her, His Majesty knows her trade and recommends she retires, she'll understand. I suggest she takes his advice for if she persists, then one day they'll be fishing her body out of the Seine.” As he turns to look back at her, Eleanor has the pleasure of seeing his face grow pale. 

“I’ll see you dead before I’m done, Fontaine you bastard!”

When I wake, Raymond is sprawled on his back still sleeping, the fingers of his left hand are tangled in my hair; I am curled against him, my left arm is draped over him and my left thigh pins his legs to the bed. Taut and firm beneath my cheek his stomach rises and falls with the steady rhythm of his breathing. If Raymond is asleep then a certain part of him most certainly is not. I giggle to myself as I shift a little and trail a finger down the thick vein along the back of his cock and press my lips together to hide a snort as it twitches upwards. Very gently I curl my hand around him, caressing the velvety softness to set up a gentle rhythm, pulling the skin a little further back each time I stroke my hand up and down him. “You witch Isabé.” His voice is a sleepy, guttural, whisper, and as I brush my lips against the tip of him, his hips snap upwards and he curls his fingers even more tightly in my hair.

Now, it is my turn; and my revenge will be so very sweet.

*I marry you wife* this is later medieval French from the region of Bordeaux, taken from a record held in the cathedral there. It is from a much later date, but I just wanted to create the sense of a service which would have been conducted in a mixture of Latin and Old French

**Do you take (bride's name), here present, for your legal wife according to the rite of our holy mother, the Church?**

[fierce-little-miana]

Règle : Donnez le titre de vos dix romans préférés ( pas nécessairement dans l’ordre.) Vous pouvez expliquer pourquoi vous les aimez, même si ce n’est pas obligatoire.

Taggée par @queenfredegund, merci et désolée pour le délai.

La trilogie de L’Empire Brisé de Mark Lawrence et plus particulièrement Le Roi Écorché

L’Empire Brisé est la série de fantasy grimdark qui a marché du feu de dieu avec moi et c’est principalement grâce à son protagoniste Jorg Ancrath. Soyons bien clair, Jorg est une ordure, surtout dans le tome 1. Il a fait ou a fait faire toute les horreurs possibles et imaginables (âmes sensibles s’abstenir). Ceci étant dit l’auteur ne l’excuse pas et Jorg devient de plus en plus conscient qu’il y a des choses qui ne vont vraiment pas avec lui. C’est surtout une plutôt bonne analyse de combien des années de trauma ne rendent pas badass mais violent et malheureux. Le monde est aussi original pour un monde de fantasy. Pourquoi Le Roi Écorché ? Parce que c’est un roman de siège et j’adore ça. C’est aussi le tome d’introduction de Miana et celui où Jorg apporte un pistolet à un duel à l’épée…

La Fileuse d’Argent de Naomi Novik (lu en VO)

J’avais déjà beaucoup aimé Déracinée mais La Fileuse d’Argent est pour moi trois tons au-dessus. J’ai beaucoup aimé le mixe d’un setting aux enjeux réalistes mais où le registre du conte n’est pas délaissé pour autant. La focalisation sur les personnages féminins est aussi toujours bienvenue en fantasy. Tous les POV sont bien écrits et bien distincts. J’adore Miryem et son arc de progression m’a beaucoup plus.

Voilà une petite citation pour donner envie : “I wasn't sorry they didn't like me, I wasn't sorry I had been hard on them. I was glad, fiercely glad. They had wanted me to bury my mother and leave my father behind to die alone. They had wanted me to be a beggar in my grandfather's house, and live the rest of my days a quiet mouse in the kitchen. They would have devoured my family and picked their teeth with bones, and never been sorry at all. Better to be turned to ice by the Staryk [...].”

American Gods de Neil Gaiman

Un classique de la fantasy contemporaine. Ce livre a une ambiance particulière entre splendeur et misère qui arrive à la fois à humaniser les dieux et mythes et à les ramener à hauteur d’homme. C’est ingénieux et fascinant. C’est un vrai mythe moderne et Ombre suit un chemin initiatique qui l’amène dans un monde plus grand que l’humanité. À lire.  

La trilogie de La Reine Oubliée de Françoise Chandernagor

Une trilogie (le tome trois sort cette année) sur la fille de Cléopâtre. Je ne suis pas forcément d’accord avec tous les choix de l’auteur mais ça se laisse super bien lire et c’est à mon avis 80% plus respectueux de l’Histoire que l’immense majorité des romans historiques. Ce sont aussi les livres qui m’ont vraiment fait connaitre cette période historique et qui m’ont fait comprendre à quel point toutes ces figures historiques sont fascinantes.

Le Maître et Marguerite de Mikhaïl Boulgakov

Satan débarque dans l’URSS stalinien et met un boxon de tous les diables (oh le beau jeu de mot). Le livre est contemporain à l’époque où il a été écrit et c’est un véritable ovni. Terriblement drôle et traitant de thèmes profondément intéressant sur la création et la liberté des artistes. Au milieu de l’absurde du système stalinien un chat démoniaque engage une fusillade avec la police politique et le diable déclare “les manuscrits ne brûlent pas”.      

Nous avons toujours vécu au château de Shirley Jackson et Pique-nique à Hanging Rock de Joan Lindsay

Je les mets ensemble parce que je les aime pour des raisons très semblables. Bien que différents les deux livres ont des ambiances particulières qui sont liés à l’époque où les romans se déroulent et à l’hypocrisie des classes sociales représentées. Les deux romans sont aussi construits autour de mystères obsédants liés à des jeunes filles étranges. Ces mystères sont centraux mais ne sont pas le seul but des deux histoires. En bref il s’agit de deux lectures courtes et obsédantes qui valent le coup d’être lues.  

Autant en Emporte le Vent de Margaret Mitchell

Problématique fave quand tu nous tiens. Autant en Emporte le Vent est un livre bourré de problèmes dans son propos mais dont l’étude de ses persos (blancs) principaux et de la condition féminine (blanche) reste résolument moderne. Scarlett est un personnage principal fascinant et non-fiable et le duo qu’elle forme avec Mélanie et aujourd’hui encore trop rare.  

La maison où je suis mort autrefois de Keigo Higashino

J’aime mes histoires résolument sombres et tordues. C’est le cas de La maison où je suis mort autrefois. Il marche terriblement bien dans les deux catégories. Je ne suis généralement pas fan de policier mais celui-ci avec son pseudo huit-clos et ses secrets de famille est littéralement hanté. En plus l’intrigue est bougrement intelligente avec de très bons rebondissements qu’on ne voit pas venir.

De Bons Présages de Neil Gaiman et Terry Pratchett (lu en vo)

Faut-il encore le présenter ? Je me souviens m’être sérieusement marrée en le lisant tout en étant charmé par l’amour de la vie et du monde qui se dégage de l’histoire et des personnages. En plus se servir de l’apocalypse et de tout son bestiaire pour servir ce genre de propos est exactement mon genre de délire (voir Le Maître et Marguerite).

Battle Royal de Koushun Takami

Alors celui-ci mérite une relecture parce que je l’ai lu il y a plus de 10 ans quand j’étais encore une toute jeune adolescente. Cependant je l’avais adoré à cette époque et je l’avais trouvé beaucoup plus puissant que Hunger Games par exemple. Je pense que c’est grâce à ses très nombreux points de vue qui nous permettent de suivre l’histoire à travers les angoisses, les lâchetés, les instants de bravoure, l’honneur de toute une galerie d’adolescents et pas juste d’un héros qui va forcément gagner ou être un martyr. Le monde est aussi beaucoup plus proche du notre ce qui facilite l’horreur à travers l’identification. Bref un de ces quatre je le relirais et peut être que je me briserais le cœur.

Vu que c’est en Français je ne tagg personne mais si quelqu’un à envie de le faire il ne faut pas hésiter.

[ao3feed-deckerstar]

Observing Lucifer

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/38l3ODx

by GlitchedMindy

Lucifer est un mystère que Chloé veut résoudre. Ou du moins c’est ce qu’elle croyait, jusqu’à ce que les pièces du puzzle commencent à former un tableau impossible.

Elle a dit à Lucifer qu’elle acceptait son assertion d’être le Diable parce qu’elle “avait besoin des oeufs”. Elle commence à se demander pour combien de temps encore elle pourra s’accrocher à cette excuse.

Traduction de Observing Lucifer par Liannabob.

Words: 6861, Chapters: 1/1, Language: Français

Fandoms: Lucifer (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Chloe Decker, Trixie Decker

Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar

Additional Tags: Season/Series 02, POV Chloe Decker, Chloe finit par deviner, french translation

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/38l3ODx

[magierpg]

DAFNE ANGELIQUE D’ORLEANS TRAVERS PICQUES descobriu representar o Arcano O DIABO! Depois de 19 anos, isso foi uma surpresa para ela, não que isso vá afetar seu 7º ano na FRATERNITÉ, correto ANGEL? Seu status sanquíneo é PURO, mas dizem por ai que ele se parece muito com o trouxa DOVE CAMERON.

♔ Ramo de magia escolhido: mentalista ♔ Extracurriculares e esportes: Duelos, Teoria Musical, Literatura Bruxa. Cursos avançados de Aritmancia, Mitologia, Políticas de Sangue e Primeiros Socorros. Ballet, esgrima e hipismo. ♔ Varinha: Acácia, núcleo fluído de veneno de vampiro, 32cm e rígida. ♔ Patrono: Escorpião ♔ Animal de estimação: tem um pégaso de estimação chamado Jean-Paul Sartre em casa, mas por motivos óbvios não pode trazê-lo para a escola.

♔ Dafne é descendente de uma família tão longa e influente que daria para escrever livros inteiros apenas sobre a família D’Orleans Picques. O que importa para a história de Dafne Angelique é seu núcleo familiar: seus pais, seus irmãos e seus avós. Sua avó, Elvire Picques sempre foi uma mulher a frente de seu tempo e Dafne Angelique cresceu a admirando mais do que todo mundo por, no meio de uma família tradicional, ter se recusado a ser nada menos que ela mesma e teve o pai de Dafne, Etienne Picques, por inseminação artificial já que nunca se relacionou com um homem em toda sua vida -já não se pode dizer o mesmo de seu pai. Com Etienne, porém, Dafne nunca teve uma boa relação. Sempre sentiu que o pai deixava ela e seus irmãos de lado, focado demais em si mesmo -e com seu irmão mais velho como favorito de sua mãe e o mais novo de seu avô, Angelique realmente sentiu falta da atenção do pai ao crescer- e não perde uma oportunidade de brigar com ele, ainda que ele seja hoje seu professor, principalmente depois de descobrir que ele tivera um caso com um garoto pouco mais velho que ela. Ainda assim, as pessoas costumam dizer que Dafne é a criança D’Orleans-Picques que mais se parece com Etienne -coisa que ela odeia.

♔ Pelo lado D’Orleans-Travers da família, apesar de amar muito sua mãe, Dafne acaba parecendo um pouco fria com Adèle se comparada com seus irmãos que são naturalmente mais carinhosos e afetivos. Ainda assim, sua relação com a mãe é uma das melhores que Angelique tem em sua vida. Sendo uma das poucas pessoas que a garota permite que a conforte e nutrindo uma relação surpreendentemente saudável, Adèle é uma das pessoas que Dafne sempre vai admirar e proteger custe o que custar. Por outro lado, seu avô paterno, Jean-Baptiste D’Orleans, pai de Adèle, é outra pedra no sapato de Angelique. Dono de uma mente retrógrada e uma perfeita imagem do patriarca machista, Dafne e Jean-Baptiste estão discordando um do outro desde que a garota aprendeu a pensar por si mesma. Ele representa tudo que ela é contra e o único motivo pelo qual Dafne ainda o atura é porque não quer magoar sua família, em especial sua mãe e seu irmão mais novo que sempre foi super apegado ao avô.

♔ Dafne é a irmã do meio de dois irmãos. Já nascera em uma posição natural de ‘esquecimento’, como é comum para o filho do meio ter que aprender a se virar sozinho mais rápido, somado ao fato de ser a única neta mulher de um patriarca machista, era de se esperar que ela criasse algum rancor de seus irmãos. Entretanto, Hércule e Icarus sempre foram seus melhores amigos. Hércule, o mais velho, às vezes era inteligente demais para Dafne acompanhar, entretanto é com ele que ela até hoje tem a maioria de suas conversas mais interessantes -e absurdas. Icarus, o mais novo, definitivamente podia ser elétrico demais par ela, mas as brincadeiras e aventuras dos dois nunca faltavam em diversão e risadas. A seu próprio modo -que pode ser um pouco rude e brutal- Dafne os ama mais que tudo e não hesitaria em fazer o que precisasse para protegê-los.

♔ Apesar de ter um histórico escolar terrível, Dafne é muito inteligente. Ela apenas não tem costume de se esforçar nas matérias de que não gosta e, por não possuir muita paciência, tem mais detenções em seu currículo do que roupas no armário (e isso é muito, acredite). Repetiu o 5º ano por faltas, já que ela voluntariamente não compareceu a nenhuma aula de Filosofia durante o ano inteiro porque estava brigada com seu pai e repetiu o 7º ano por esfaquear um colega de classe que estava falando mal de sua família. Como ele não se machucou muito, a diretora optou por não expulsa-la, mas ela foi suspensa por um tempo considerável e precisou repetir o 7º ano.

♔ Tem um vasto ramo de interesses. Desde pequena, faz ballet porque queria ser uma bailarina como sua mãe e, apesar de não ter nem de longe a graciosidade que uma bailarina supostamente deveria ter, é um esporte que pratica com toda sua alma até hoje. Pratica esgrima unicamente porque queria “aprender a lutar de espadas para partir alguém ao meio com uma katana que nem a moça de kill bill” e hipismo porque é um esporte amplamente praticado em sua família e quando disseram que ela não podia montar um pégaso, ela comprou um pégaso de estimação e aprendeu a cavalgar um. Além dos esportes, tem uma vasta coleção de facas simplesmente porque gosta delas e está sempre com pelo menos uma escondida nas vestes, o que contrasta muito com seu interesse de leitura casual por livros clássicos de literatura antiga e filosofia.

♔ POV

Ela sabia que eventualmente ia ter que levantar, mas depois de uma noite mal dormida e com a dor de cabeça que a assolava, estava mais do que satisfeita em continuar na cama por mais alguns minutos. Saber que o atraso a faria perder a aula de Filosofia só fazia sua cama parecer ainda mais confortável. Bem, ninguém esperava que ela, Dafne Angelique D’Orleans-Travers Picques, em uma manhã de ressaca monstruosa, realmente assistisse a aula de seu pai, não é mesmo? Ponderou sobre voltar a dormir, mas seu corpo já estava pedindo por nicotina e a luz do dia entrando pelas malditas cortinas tornavam a já difícil tarefa de voltar a dormir ainda pior.

O silêncio do seu dormitório àquela hora da manhã, com suas colegas de quarto na aula, era tão calma que, enquanto fumava seu cigarro e ponderava se ia matar aula para tomar um banho de banheira, esqueceu por alguns minutos que sua permanência em Beauxbatons ainda estava por um fio.

Por conta do seu acidente no ano passado, a Picques estava sobre vigia, como se fosse uma maldita criança outra vez. Cada falta sua tinha que ser justificada, suas notas não podiam ser menos do que E e fora obrigada a prometer que tentaria se manter na linha durante aquele ano. Esse último, como a boa mentirosa que ela é, Dafne distorceu as palavras o suficiente para que, quando pegasse sua primeira e inevitável detenção do ano, não terminasse com sua expulsão. Ainda assim, acabaram suas manhãs pacíficas -pelo menos até a diretora e a direção acadêmica esquecer que ela atacou um estudante.

–”Se ele soubesse manter as mãos para si mesmo não teria sido esfaqueado…”– praguejou amassando a ponta do cigarro para apaga-lo e apressou-se de volta para o dormitório, a caminho do banheiro quando algo estranho lhe prendeu a atenção. Sua reação inicial foi amaldiçoar qualquer que seja a colega de quarto que tivera a audácia de mexer em sua coleção de facas. Ao se aproximar, entretanto, da parede onde a faca estava fincada, Dafne viu a carta na ponta da lâmina.

Quando estudou advinhação, apesar de ser terrível na matéria, aprendeu o suficiente de tarô para saber que carta era aquela e o que significava. –”Le Diable. Apropriado.”–comentou com um sorriso malicioso nos lábios e sua vingança contra quem quer que tenha mexido em suas coisas foi esquecida quando ela leu a mensagem na parte de trás. “A Ordem do Renascimento Draconiano tem seus olhos em você. Isso significa que você tem um potencial maior do que o Ministério Francês quer que você acredite. Estamos fartos de sermos limitados por esse sistema contraproducente. Abra seus olhos e nos aguarde.”

Soa exatamente como o tipo de coisa que termina, eventualmente, em caos. Mesmo não tendo ninguém no quarto com ela para provar, os olhos de Dafne brilharam naquele momento. –”Ou foi alguém muito louco, ou alguém muito genial… Já tem meu interesse de qualquer jeito.”–

E tentando descobrir mais do que aquilo significava, mesmo só tendo a carta como pista, Dafne se atrasou para as aulas, só não pelo motivo que ela imaginara ao acordar.

[band--psycho]

Moodboard Monday!!!

Negan x Reader- Her Saviour

A huge thanks to @little-diable who took the time to create this beautiful moodboard for my new challenge!

I hope you all love this story as much as I loved writing it! 💛

Negans POV

I knew this was a risky plan, a potentially terrible one, especially given the fact that this stormy weather was showing no signs of letting up any time soon and it was getting darker with every second that passed.

But I had to do it, despite the risks.

I couldn’t leave another person I cared about…I loved to turn into a Walker. 

I knew Y/n was probably dead, given the wreck that was left of her community and the Walkers that surrounded it, and that broke what small remainder was left of my heart, but I had to see it for myself….I had to know for sure. 

The only thing that gave me the smallest amount of hope that she was alive was that I knew she was a badass fighter, I’ve seen her fight more than once and she was entirely capable of taking on multiple Walkers at once. 

That was where it started for us, I saw her fighting and knew instantly I wanted her to join my growing community. We had a handful of good fighters left after a flu wiped out practically half of our community. 

We needed her. 

And her people. 

I’d tried so many times to persuade her and her people to come and join us; they didn’t have much in the way of supplies but she and her community could join mine…obviously, our communities joining together was no longer possible, but Y/n joining us wasn’t completely impossible…not yet. 

~~~~~

Third Person POV 

Negan wasn’t even sure what he saw was real.

He wasn’t sure that she was real. 

It was Y/n. 

His Y/n. 

Her legs were tucked up to chest, her arms wrapped around her legs as though shielding herself from the world.

He did not waste a second on rushing over to her, kneeling infront of her with fear and worry in his eyes.

He had no idea how long she’d been out here in this storm but she was freezing and her clothes were soaked.

“Y/n?” He whispered, his eyes quickly analysed her skin for any type of bite mark. 

Thankfully there were none.

Now he just needed to get her someone safe and dry, that was his priority. 

“Y/n?” He repeated, shaking her shoulder lightly, desperate for any type of acknowledgment from her. 

But she didn’t move. Not even slightly.

She didn’t acknowledge him at all.

Negan was going to say something before he heard multiple growls from behind him. 

They were running out of time. 

Negan didn’t beg, not for anything, not anymore, but he couldn’t stop the plea that fell from his lips, “Sweetheart, come on you’ve gotta get up.”

Still nothing. 

It was as though Y/n was in a completely different universe, unaware of what was happening around her. 

He couldn’t help but wonder about what would have happened if he wasn’t here right now, if he’d arrived five minutes later, would she have fought against the walker’s approaching, or would she have just stayed sat where she was and let them tear her apart. 

But one thing was for sure, the latter option wasn’t happening. 

Not when he was here. 

He wasn’t leaving her. 

“Dammit, sweetheart,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against hers as he grabbed his bat that he’d placed next to her, before turning his attention to the walkers behind him. 

There were about half a dozen of them; all of which he dealt with quite quickly but still just when he turned around all he saw was Y/n sat still, frozen to the spot.

They were running out of time, the sky was getting darker, the rain was getting heavier and every second they stayed out here in this forest put them in danger.

He needed to get her out of here. 

“Baby…baby, please, come on,” he begged, hooking his finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. 

“What’s the point?”

That one sentence was enough to make his heart ache. 

He saw her lips say the words he just heard, but her voice was so broken, filled with nothing but pain and grief. 

“You can’t stay here,” Negan stated softly; he didn’t want to pick her up and carry her out of this forest, it was risky, if they stumbled across a group of walkers they’d be done for. 

But he’d do it, if it meant that there was even the smallest of  possibilities that she would survive. 

“Why?” 

Her words caught Negan off guard. 

He knew the pain she was going through; the people at her community were her family, her friends, the people she’d grown to care for. The people she wanted to protect. The community she fought so hard to protect so many times. 

“There’s nothing here for me now, everyone I cared about….they..they’re gone,” she whimpered, feeling the tears she’d been holding in, fall from her eyes. 

She was broken.

Her heart was broken. 

He could see that. 

And he wished that he could give her the time she needed to grieve, but he couldn’t, not right now. 

“I’m still here,” he whispered, placing his hand on top of hers. 

He knew his words probably didn’t mean much to her right now, but it was the only thing that he could think of saying.

But his words must’ve resonated with  Y/n somehow,  because for the first time since he’d found her, she moved; she flipped her hand over and intertwined their fingers together.

That was all Negan needed. 

And with that, he rose to his feet, gently pulling her up with him. 

~~~~~

Y/ns POV

I don’t remember falling asleep; if anything sleep was what I was trying to avoid, for this exact reason. 

Nightmares.

Memories.

Memories that turned into nightmares.

It took me a while to remember where I was and everything that happened yesterday.

My home. My people. My community. Gone. 

Negan found me; saved me from a group of walkers and myself. 

He got me here. Wherever here is. It looked like an abandoned factory; from the room I was sitting in. 

 “Mornin’, darlin’,” my savior greeted me as he walked into the room, the light shining on him as he walked past one of the broken windows at the other side of the room. 

“Negan?” I asked,  the surprise clear in my voice as I sat up on the cold, damp floor.

“The one and only, sweetheart,” he smiled, walking over to me before sitting down infront of me, 

His damn smile.

It made my numb heart feel. Feel something that I thought would be impossible for it to feel especially during the apocalypse. 

“You’re still here?” 

I still couldn’t quite believe that he was still here, after last night, I thought he would have left by now, to get back to his community. 

“Where else would I be?” 

It was such a simple question and I had a just as simple answer, not here. He should have been with his community. 

He obviously knew what I was going to say before the words left my mouth; their leader had just died and Negan was the one who was now looking out for his people. 

He should have been with them. 

Not here with me.

“They’ll be fine for a day or two,” Negan assured me before sitting down opposite me, placing his bat down next to him, “I’m more worried about you,”

I knew he was. And I hated it. I hated having people worry about me. 

“What happened out there, sweetheart?” 

There it was. 

The question I was waiting for. 

The truth was, I didn’t want to die, but yesterday, I didn’t really want to be alive either. 

I’d just seen everyone I cared about, besides Negan, get torn apart or bit; my home was all but destroyed and I was left how I started the apocalypse, alone. 

“You could have died,” 

“I know,” 

it was all I could say. All I could think to say. I knew he was mad; mad that I had put myself in danger like that but I also knew him well enough to know that he understood what I was feeling. 

And that’s why despite his anger, the main emotion I saw in his eyes was worry. 

“Y/n-“

I didn’t give him a chance to finish what he was going to say; all I needed right now was an answer to a question that had been playing on my mind since I left the forest yesterday, “Why did you save me?”

We’d never spoken about what we were; it all started when he tried to recruit me and my community, then it changed. Slightly. 

I’d lie to my people, only a small lie, I’d say I was out on a run which wasn’t untrue, they were just with him  l, he told me he did the same.

And it continued from there.

We were something more than ‘just friends’, but I’d never asked what we were; at the time it didn’t matter, but now I wanted to know. I needed to know why he risked his life like that to save me, why he didn’t just leave me there, like most people would’ve. 

I hadn’t realised how close he was until I felt his hands on my cheek. 

“Isn’t it obvious by now, baby?” He whispered, leaning in close until his lips ghosted over mine. 

“I love you,” he confessed; I thought I’d heard him wrong at first until he repeated those three words.

I love you.

He loved me?

Negan could obviously see the questions forming in my mind and answered the question I hadn’t yet asked.

How? Why? When did he start getting these feelings?

“It was instinctive, the way I fell for you, like an effortless intake of breath from the first moment I saw you, I fell,” 

My heart swelled at his admission as my mind tried to work out what I could say to him. 

I didn’t know what to say; I knew he cared about me but love? 

I never thought that he…that he would feel the same way I did. 

That he would love me.

My thoughts froze when I heard a small chuckle fall from his lips, his breath mingling with my own before he closed the small distance between our lips. 

We’d kissed before. 

So many times.

Small pecks, teasing kisses, rough make out sessions, there were so many ways we’d kissed before and I can’t explain how or why,  but this kiss was different.

It felt different than any of the others we’d shared. 

And even though this kiss was soft it was just as passionate and felt better than all of our other kisses put together. 

I didn’t want the moment to end.

I wanted to freeze time, here, with just me and him, in our own perfect sanctuary. 

“What happens now?” I breathed, as our lips parted, despite the fact I was already pretty certain of his answer. 

Another chuckle slipped past his lips before he hooked his finger under my chin, “I could be all poetic and shit and say we’ll watch the death of the sun together..”

As if in cue the sunlight that had been flooding through the window slowly began to disappear as a dark cloud crossed in front of it.

“But I could also just say, I want you to be with me, for as long as I possibly can be ,”

I couldn’t stop a small smile from forming on my face nor could I stop the way my heart slipped at his words. 

“I want that too,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around the back of my neck, terrified that somehow I may have fooled myself into believing this was real when in reality it was just a dream, terrified that if I let go he would vanish. But as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close I realised that this was reality, and I noticed how safe I felt in his arms, he felt like home. 

Tagging:

@impala1967dwinchester @xacatalepsyx @thaliastregona @book-dragon03 @bookworm1767 @munsinner @mrsnegan @jdmsgal @howlingmadlady @https-lorna @wheelerdixon @bestbitchsstuff @cherryheartssblog @darkdevasofdestruction

[christophe76460]

Nous sommes des enfants de Dieu, et un enfant parle à son Père en toute liberté et sans crainte.

Et pour bien comprendre l'avantage qu'il y a d'être devenu un enfant de Dieu, il faut lire dans l'évangile de Matthieu, au chapitre 6 et dans le verset 13 le conseil qui concerne la prière, et qui nous a été donné par Jésus-Christ.

Ne nous expose pas à la tentation, et surtout, délivre-nous du diable. Car à toi appartiennent le règne et la puissance et la gloire à jamais. Matthieu 6: 13 BDS

.

Je vais vous dire quelque chose que nous devons absolument comprendre.

Si nous sommes devenues des enfants de Dieu, et que nous remplissons bien les clauses qui nous a unis à Jésus-Christ après être passé par le baptême, Dieu remplira aussi ces promesses.

En effet, étant donné que nous sommes devenues des enfants de Dieu après avoir accepté de nous identifier à Jésus en tant que Christ venu en chair.

Le Père interviendra en notre faveur pour que nous ne soyons pas tentées au-delà de nos forces.

Car ne l'oublions pas, le Diable est le tentateur, il pousse l'homme à commettre le mal.

Et nous étions tous sous son emprise, et cela se voyait au travers des fruits que nous portions.

Mais lorsque nous avons pris la décision de nous engager à faire de Jésus-Christ le Seigneur de notre vie, le pouvoir qu'avait le Diable sur notre vie a été brisé.

Et nous savons que celui qui est né de Dieu ne commet pas le péché qui mène à la mort, car le Fils né de Dieu le protège. Aussi, le diable ne peut pas le dominer. 1 Jean 5: 18 BDS

Parce que Dieu le Père a donné tout pouvoir à Jésus-Christ, jusqu'à ce qu'il ait mis tous ces ennemis sous ses pieds, et ces ennemis sont aussi les nôtres.

Et en tant que des enfants de Dieu, ceux bien sûr qui se laissent conduire par le Saint-Esprit, nous pouvons demander avec foi à notre Père au nom de Jésus-Christ de ne plus permettre au Diable de dominer sur notre chair.

Et pour bien comprendre cela, je vous encourage à lire l'exhortation de l'apôtre Paul dans la lettre qu'il a adressée aux Corinthiens, au chapitre 10 et dans le verset 13.

Toutes les tentations que vous avez rencontrées étaient normales pour des hommes et des femmes.

Dieu est fidèle, et il ne permettra pas que vous soyez tentés au-dessus de vos forces.

Quand vous serez tentés, Dieu vous donnera la force de le supporter et le moyen d’en sortir.1 Corinthiens 10: 13 PDV

Par contre, nous devons faire attention de ne pas faire marche arrière, et cela arrive lorsque nous devenons tièdes.

C'est ce que nous exhorte l'apôtre Pierre dans sa première épître, au chapitre 5 et dans le verset 8.

Ne vous laissez pas distraire, soyez vigilants. Votre adversaire, le diable, rôde autour de vous comme un lion rugissant. Il cherche quelqu’un qui se laissera dévorer. 1 Pierre 5: 8 POV

En effet, Dieu lui-même met une condition pour être gardé des attaques du tentateur, et pour connaître qu'elle est cette condition, il faut lire dans le livre de l'apocalypse, au chapitre 3 le verset 10.

Tu as gardé ma parole, tu as pris à cœur mon appel et tu m’as attendu avec patience et persévérance.

C’est pourquoi, à mon tour, je te garderai à l’heure de l’épreuve qui doit venir sur le monde entier pour éprouver tous les habitants de la terre. Apocalypse 3: 10 POV

Et c'est pour cette raison que Jésus-Christ a exigé à ces disciples de manger de sa chair et de boire de son sang, autrement nous nous trompons nous-mêmes même par de faux résonnements.

En effet, l'Évangile nous montre clairement que la véritable foi et accompagné d'actes.

Ma conclusion : en tant que des enfants de Dieu, nous pouvons demander à notre Père avec foi et au nom de Jésus-Christ, de ne pas permettre au Diable de nous tenter au-delà de ce que nous pouvons supporter.

[margueritegibson]

Roseblood REVIEW (A.G Howard)

4.5 Stars!!!!! Wow. Wow. And yes, wow! I went into Roseblood with incredibly high expectations, the sort that are inevitably shattered with disappointment. I've adored Anita's writing since first reading Splintered, and then each subsequent book has only impressed me more, each becoming a favourite on my bookshelf. Still, how could Roseblood live up to how amazing I thought it was going to be? Further, after reading the absolutely gorgeous gothic novel The Architect of Song by Anita late last year, I didn't know how she was going to wow me again. She succeeded. Ever since hearing about this retelling, I was excited, yet once I got started on this book, everything I expected, I surmised, I dreamed about beforehand was blown away with the amazing that was this book. Once again, Anita's stunningly beautiful prose draws the reader into an enchanting, dangerous, romantic, gothic and yes, slightly mad world of passion, drama and adventure. The inspiration of The Phantom of the Opera is woven throughout masterfully, plus some other myths which I hadn't anticipated (I'm not going to spoil it for you by telling you what other supernatural beings pop up). The characters were delightful - Rune was particularly enchanting, and her struggles felt real. Thorn's POV was a nice surprise (I had expected only Rune to narrate, for some reason) and the other characters really filled the story with love and friendship. Though, I won't deny that the cat, Diable, had to be one of my favourites! The plot unfurled gracefully, slowly, teasingly, and ended well. I won't deny, a little more to the ending would have been nice, but overall, I have no complaints with how it concluded. I'm glad that the ending is still a little open to revisit the world of Roseblood in the future. The romance was sweet and endearing (though, I do still have a lot of questions about the 'twin flames' explored in the novel between Rune and Thorn. I still adored the romance between Thorn and Rune, but, yeah, some questions). As usual, the settings were gorgeously described and lavish. Gothic personified (if you haven't guessed, I'm not impartial to gothic tales). Really, I had a wonderful reading experience and it gave me so many feels! Just a little disclaimer - I would say that if you didn't like Splintered, you probably won't be as keen on Roseblood. Splintered was a little more adventure and action coupled with emotions and feelings, whilst Roseblood is all emotions and feelings, so if you weren't a fan of Anita's writing, then the extra helpings of gothic angst and turmoil won't be for you. Also, I know that some people have complained about the start being slow, but actually I've noticed that the first 100 pages of all of Anita's books are slower (look back on my review of Splintered, I specifically mention it there from my first reading). I know that the first 100 pages are really emotional, atmospheric and characterization set-up before the plot really starts rolling, so I don't mind it, but just another warning. If you didn't like her writing style before, it only becomes even more lyrical in Roseblood (which I like!), but once again, just a warning. A little like The Star-Touched Queen - you either like the writing style or you don't. So, all in all, if you love gorgeous lyrical prose, adored Splintered, been searching for a gothic, Phantom of the Opera inspired novel of romance, angst, feeeeeeeelings and a little danger thrown in, then I couldn't recommend Roseblood enough. Certainly an early contender for one of my favourite reads of 2017! Roseblood is really a book enjoyed over multiple re-readings, with new little details emerging each time.

 Roseblood hit #1 on the NYT Bestseller list, and it couldn't deserve it more. I also want to take the time to mention how amazing The Architect of Song is (yes, again, haha!) and that the release for The Hummingbird Heart can't come soon enough. The cover reveal for THH is February 1st and you can bet I'll be posting and gushing about it here then.

I got an amazing signed bookplate from Anita to stick into my copy of Roseblood, so if you want one, follow the instructions HERE.  I'll post a picture of how it looks here soon, so keep an eye out! :)

[divine--tragedy]

I love seeing your artwork come through my dash. It always puts a smile on my face. And this new style is so soft and warm. I don’t suppose I could get Fenris?

"This face... not very familiar. I feel an odd energy off you, you're not from around here, huh?"