#Gischel Week 2022

[paulimiel]

my contributions to the Gischel Week event in 2022!! I love them so so very much

[connandoods]

@gischelweek Day 7: Domestic Family 🏠

[gischelweek]

⚔️  Annnd that’s it, the poll is now closed! ⚔️

As usual, thanks to all of those who participated! 💕

The 7 prompts that were voted are the following:

Day 1 - Wedding Day

Day 2 - Baking/Cooking together

Day 3 - Roleswap (Servant Michel/Master Giselle)

Day 4 - At the beach

Day 5 - Proposal

Day 6 - Bad End

Day 7 - Domestic Family Michel/Giselle/Morgana

I remind you as well that you’re in no way obligated to follow the prompts if you don’t want to! You can come up with some of your own, uses multiple ones for the same day or simply do as you wish, there’s no rule on this. As a bonus, you can also use the ones who weren’t kept here, which were:

Haircut

Seasons

Personality Swap

Adopting a pet

Giselle drawing Michel

Growing old together

Fashion

Flirting

Family

Uglyspeckles/or cats that comes after

Warm Drinks

Finally, please don’t be shy to participate! I’m looking forward to what you come up with and hope you have fun! ☺️

[connan-l]

More than a millennium - Day 7: Domestic Family

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Michel Bollinger/Giselle, Michel Bollinger & Giselle & Morgana

Summary: So that he could keep on holding her hand for more than a millenium.

Morgana is sick, but she doesn't intend to let that prevent her from going to school. Unfortunately for her, she has a very nosy and annoying couple as neighbor.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @gischelweek prompts:

Day 1: Wedding Day

Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Day 3: Roleswap

Day 4: At the beach

Day 5: Proposal

Day 6: Bad End

Day 7: Domestic Family]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

______________________________________________________________

Notes: I knowww sick fics are clichéd, but I didn’t have much inspiration to do anything else for this prompt… And well, it’s not like we have lots of these in FataMoru fandom anyway, right?

Anyway, this takes place post-True Ending & post-Reincarnation, so beware of spoilers for that.

PS: Do NOT try to watch the movie ‘Martyrs.’ I love it but it’s a terrible, terrible movie lmao.

______________________________________________________________ 

Today is going to be a bad day, Morgana decided when she woke up with her head throbbing, a stuffy nose and her vision blurry.

She felt so bad, in fact, that she didn’t even need to check her burning forehead to know she was sick.

Getting out of her bed, drinking a cup of coffee and braiding her hair felt like insurmountable efforts, and when she finally managed to step outside her apartment and stood in the corridor trying to fit the key in the lock, she honestly felt like she was going to pass out.

For a brief moment, she even contemplated the idea to just go back and stay in bed. But then she remembered her general precarious situation; missing even just a day of school could cost her the pension the association she depended on had granted her, which she couldn’t afford. And even without this, her innate personality just wouldn’t forgive her to take a day off when she could easily get over such a silly illness.

It was fine. She’d known worse; surely it wasn’t a little fever that would get the better of her. She didn’t have a lot of classes either today, so she could get through this.

Just as she’d convinced herself, the lock finally clicked, and she sighed in relief, ready to turn around and get down the stairs—

“—Morgana?”

—until she collided with a soft thing. It took her fuzzy mind quite some time to realize that said soft thing was in fact a whole another body that had been standing behind her, and the impact coupled with her dizziness was almost enough to make her stumble back into the floor.

Thankfully, she was able to keep her balance before looking up with a deep frown, narrowing her eyes for a while until she distinguished a blur of black and red and green staring at her with a concerned expression.

Giselle. Wonderful.

Out of all the people she could’ve run into, of course it had to be her.

“…Morgana, are you okay? I’ve been calling out to you for some time now, but—”

It took a lot of time for the girl’s brain to decipher her words before she could nod.

“…Yeah. I’m good. Thanks. Have to go now.”

Morgana tried to get away — almost run away, really — from the older woman, but at the last moment Giselle grabbed her wrist, stopping her in place.

“Ah, wait, wait! I wanted to talk to you about—”

“I’m going to be late for school.”

“Oh… I understand that, but it’s just about the mailbox—”

God. Why now.

“Look— I really can’t be late, so—”

Morgana tried to slip her hand away from Giselle’s grip, but doing so somehow managed to make her lose balance, and she had to seize and lean on the banister with all her weight as to not fall and trip in the staircase. Obviously, that peculiar uncharacteristic lose of control of her body didn’t went unnoticed by Giselle, whose face instantly darkened.

“Morgana?” She called cautiously. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, I just— Yeah. I’m—”

But Giselle didn’t let her say anything else that she closed up on her and put a hand on her forehead brusquely.

“Oh my god! You’re burning!”

“I’m fine,” Morgana grumbled for the umpteenth time, slapping her hand away. “I need to go to—”

“Are you kidding?! You’re not going anywhere with such a fever! Look at yourself; you can barely stand!”

“I can’t miss school— It’s not a big deal, I’ll just…”

Morgana intended to turn around, but the moment she tried to her vision blurred entirely and her mind blanked.

The last thing she felt was a pair of arms wrapping around her before she fell onto Giselle’s chest and everything turned black.

______________________________________________________________

“—is she?”

“—you. —just sleeping, it’s okay…”

“—call… right?”

When she opened her eyes for the second time today, she was greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling and distorted voices echoing back in her skull painfully.

Well, not completely unfamiliar, she realized after some long minutes of contemplation, as she’d seen it a few times before.

It was the ceiling of a fairly modest, cozy pretty room; a big bed meant for a couple, a desk and wardrobe in the corner, some trinkets and shelves and photographs decorating the place here and there. It was rather dark, with the shutters and curtains shut, and the only source of light was a feeble ray that escaped from the half-open door.

Michel and Giselle’s room.

The cognizance made her straighten up on the bed, even if her head instantly turned and hurt as soon as she did. Her braids had been undone, letting her long red hair fall all around her face and shoulders, and the dress she’d put on for the day had been replaced by a comfy pajamas that was nothing like her own and was too big for her. Certainly a courtesy of Giselle.

She put her face into her hands, shook her head, and let out a sigh.

It’s definitely going to be a terrible day.

With trembling arms and her brain still feeling like it was made of lead, she slowly got out of the bed and tried to stand on her wobbly feet. After what felt like an excruciating time, she finally reached the door while taking the wall for aid — before the light blinded her eyes, accentuating her headache. She was able to distinguish her surroundings properly only a few minutes later, noting the forms of a white-haired man and his black-haired wife some meters away from her; the annoyingly perfect lovey-dovey couple that was as much of a pain in her ass as a blessing.

“—maybe I’ll just go to the pharmacy, then. Just in case.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary. She has a big fever, but it doesn’t seem to be anything more serious.”

“Still, that doesn’t really cost anything to do so, right?”

The dispute was relatively peaceful, but there still was some tension in their voices, which almost made Morgana groan and sigh. If there was one thing she hated more than stumbling in the middle of an argument between Michel and Giselle, it was stumbling in the middle of an argument between Michel and Giselle in which she was the source of.

Just as she was considering slipping out of her friends’ place before either of them could see her, she heard Giselle gasp.

“Ah, you’re awake!”

Morgana winced. Well, it seemed like the escape plan was already doomed. She turned around to find herself almost nose-to-nose with both Giselle and Michel, who’d practically jumped on her as soon as they noticed her.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Giselle said in that admonishing, big sisterly tone. It was amazing how she was actually the younger sibling in her family given how often she took this one. “You have to go back! You’re still burning!”

Michel put a hand on Morgana’s forehead while she was speaking, and nodded as if to confirm his fiancée’s words.

“She’s right. You’ve only been asleep for two hours, you’re still in a bad state.”

Morgana’s eyes widened, a wave of panic washing over her. “T-Two hours? Wait, what time is it right now?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Giselle retorted. “You just need to go back to bed. Now.”

“But school—”

“We already called your school,” Michel replied. “We told them you were sick and wouldn’t be here for at least today and tomorrow.”

Morgana first gaped at him, which quickly morphed into a glare as her anger escalated.

“You did what?” She exclaimed. “Why? I’m not that bad! I can go!”

“Don’t be silly, you wouldn’t even be able to pass the door without collapsing!” Giselle argued back, and for as sweet and patient as she could usually be, some clear frustration was starting to slip through her voice. “Now stop being stubborn!”

“E-Even so, it’s not your place to do this! You’re not my parents!”

At this, it seemed both Michel and Giselle froze. A slight awkward silence spread between all three of them, and then the couple exchanged a look that Morgana couldn’t make sense of.

She wasn’t sure where the uneasiness even came from, as she’d only stated the truth — and, honestly, the attitude the two of them took towards her at times by trying to— to parent her was really something that could get on her nerves.

She wasn’t a child, and there were no reason for them to look after her as if she was their own kid.

It was unnerving at best, and actively uncomfortable at worst.

Finally, Michel ran a hand through his hair and started again.

“That’s true, we are not your parents,” he said in a calm, pragmatic tone. “And we’re not trying to be. However, we are still your friends, are we not?”

Morgana opened her mouth, then hesitated. It was only after a short while that she finally looked away, and vaguely grumbled an ‘I guess.’

“Well, that’s what friends do, looking after each other. And again, there’s no way you’ll be able to go to school in this state. Even if by some miracle you were to go, would you be able to truly study or learn anything?”

“But—”

“Morgana, you’re a very good student, are you not?” Giselle added, her voice softer than earlier. “Just skipping two days wouldn’t put your grades in jeopardy. And you don’t have to worry about your pension either; even in the worst case, Michel and I will help you out.”

She wanted to keep arguing. She hated the idea of not going to school because of a stupid fever, and more than anything she hated the idea of relying on others, even less so on Michel and Giselle.

She’d relied on them enough like that, be it in this life or the former.

Still… logically, she knew they were right. She could barely keep up with the conversation right now; there was no way she’d be able to go through an entire day of school in that state.

And… she did just feel really bad and tired.

“…I can… go back to my own place,” Morgana finally conceded with a big reluctant effort, gritting her teeth.

She was about to turn around when Giselle put her hands on her shoulders and shook her head right before.

“You’re already here, so it’d be better for you to stay. Don’t worry about sleeping in our bed, the sheets are clean.”

That’s not the issue, Morgana was about to say, but suddenly her legs failed her and the next second her knees were on the ground. She felt both Michel and Giselle jump towards her with concerned faces and jumbled words, but she barely could make out what they were saying anymore. The only thing she was able to comprehend was when, shortly thereafter, Michel grabbed her shoulders with one hand and slipped his other arm under her knees, lifting her in his arms with difficulty.

She absentmindedly thought that was a stupid thing to do as Michel had never been the strong type, and even in her dizzy state she could feel him struggle to carry her back to the bed.

Still, the warmth of his body and his heartbeat she could make out against his chest was instantly able to relax her, and all of her previous anger and annoyance slowly faded along with her consciousness.

Michel’s presence always felt soothing and comforting to her, like a safe place. Her mind instinctively went back back in time, in this dream-like world as that dying girl chained down to that tower while God’s angel descended to get her in her last moments.

That had never actually happened — but it was still engraved in her soul and heart in a more powerful way than the events that had truly taken place in real life.

______________________________________________________________

Everything that followed afterwards seemed to happen in a daze. She could tell she was laying down in a bed most of the time, and she could tell that Michel or Giselle were going back and forth inside the room, either putting some towel on her forehead or making her swallow things she felt like spitting back instantly — but everything was such a blur that none of it felt real, like it was all in a weird dream.

Sometimes she felt like she was back in her former house, with her mother looking after her like when she was sick as a child. Sometimes she felt she was back even centuries before then, at the brothel during the rare times where she’d gotten ill and the prostitutes fussed over her well-being.

Those memories still made her feel some sort of ambivalent, nostalgic warmth inside her chest. Having people take care of you and worry about you was a privilege most took for granted, but it wasn’t her case, and she was well-aware how extremely precarious this was.

It couldn’t be even more painfully obvious to her when, in her fever-induced phantasms, she also suddenly ended up being back to her cursed mansion, all alone; or worse, chained up in that tower.

The smell of blood spreading through her nostrils, the throbbing pain in her arm and the overwhelming, merciless cold slowly infesting her body was almost as vivid as when she was still actually there.

It was that coldness that brought her back to reality — her eyelids progressively fluttering open, her mind clearing up.

The first thing that then greeted her were voices, muffled and far away as if they were from another room — so it actually surprised her to realize those were, in fact, right next to her bed.

Both Michel and Giselle were sitting about a meter away from her, talking in hushed voices with stern expressions. Still half-asleep, what first crossed her mind was if they’d truly just spent the entire day tending after her like that.

“—fever doesn’t seem to go down… maybe we should call back the doctor after all,” Giselle muttered.

“…Let’s wait until tomorrow morning. See how she get through the night. Then if she’s not better, we’ll call.”

Giselle sighed, nodded; then let her head rest on Michel’s shoulder, their hands intertwining. In an act of casual tenderness, Michel gently kissed her forehead, and a gentle smile instantly bloomed on her lips, illuminating her face.

A thousands years ago, Morgana would’ve hated seeing this.

Watching them fall in love while she was stuck with them in that mansion — in her mansion — confined as a ghost inside the walls of this cursed tower had driven her insane.

She couldn’t stand seeing this woman slowly taking her Michel away from her. She’d cursed every single one of their lingering gazes, the tender way they’d come to look at each other; had wished for their demise at every contact of their skin, every embrace, every kiss.

It had all been a fiery entanglement of resentment, anger and jealousy burning inside her as she watched them share all the warmth and love she’d been forever denied.

And when their demise did finally come, she’d reveled in it; had taken utter pleasure in seeing Michel writhe in pain over his silly actions and Giselle scream in agony over her stupid optimism. She’d been delighted to break the woman’s identity and take away all of her love little by little — until somehow it stopped being fun and simply began to be pitiful and boring to watch.

Until it’d started become painful for her, too.

But that had all been a thousand years ago.

Now, well… that didn’t bother her as much. She could roll her eyes and grumble and make fun of them, but deep down, none of the actual ugly feelings showed their face.

Now, there was only… an odd complacent feeling. A pleasant warmth that emerged while staring at them from afar get all touchy-feely with each other.

A weird sentiment of contentment and familiarity.

A warm hand suddenly caressed her forehead, running into her moist hair sticking to her face, and she realized Giselle was looking down at her with a soft expression.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” she said gently. “How are you feeling?”

“…Awful.”

Giselle smiled sadly at her. “Well, that was to be expected.”

“Your fever’s still going strong,” Michel added. “We gave you medicine a little while back, so I hope you’ll start feeling better soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Ah, but I was just about to cook dinner!” Giselle exclaimed, with a sudden regain of energy.

Morgana, on the other hand, only felt herself deflate. “I… don’t think I can swallow anything right now…”

“I understand, but you still have to eat. Don’t worry, I intended to make you this pottage my mom always made me when I was ill. It tastes good even to the sickest of people!”

Morgana was about to reply she truly didn’t feel like gulping down anything regardless of if it was the greatest soup for sick people in the world or not, but then Giselle got up before she could say anything, kissed Michel on the cheek and then left the room. Now the two of them alone in the room, Michel only smiled at her with understanding.

“I get you probably don’t want to eat anything, but you won’t get better otherwise.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“You look really bad, you know.”

“You’ve seen me look worse.”

She only intended this as fun retort, but it didn’t seem like Michel took it this way because his face instantly darkened. Well now, if she couldn’t joke around about her own horrible death, what could she joke about?

“Did you two… really spend the day here looking after me?” She finally asked, deciding to change the topic before Michel decided to make the mood even more uncomfortable. “Aren’t you supposed to have jobs or something?”

He blinked at her curiously. “Well, of course we looked after you. We just both took the day off,” he replied simply, as if it was just obvious they would skip work just to take care of some random teen girl who lived next door.

Well, okay, fine, she knew she wasn’t just ‘some random teen girl’ to them, but still, the point was the same.

“Giselle wanted to close off the café, but Maria told her she could handle it by herself for one day. As for me I just said I had an emergency with my family so I couldn’t come.”

With my family.

Morgana tried not to let the words stick to her too much. It was just an excuse as to why he couldn’t come to work. They were not family, and would never be, after all.

“…What, and it worked? You can just skip your job like that? Sure sounds like a nice life.”

“I’ve been working at this company for five years after college and I’ve barely taken any days off since then, so my superiors tend to be lenient on me.”

“Still stupid, though. I have a fever, not cancer. And if Giselle’s already there, there was no need for you to skip work as well.”

“You really just hate it when people care for you, huh?”

There was something in the way he said it that made her a bit uneasy, so she just snorted and turned her head away. She still felt like her brain was about to explode anyway, so arguing with Mr. Goody-two-shoes wasn’t the first priority on her list right now.

But then she suddenly felt fingers gently ran across her forehead, pushing her red locks away from her eyes just like Giselle had done earlier. She looked up at Michel again and he had an odd expression on his face; a mix of tender affection, fond exasperation and… some sort of sadness, maybe.

“People just care about you, Morgana. You should let them sometimes.”

She opened her mouth, a witty retort all ready pushing at the tip of her tongue, but nothing came. Instead she just stared straight at Michel into his red eyes, something odd growing into her chest and her stomach and her throat suddenly feeling tight. Thankfully, Giselle choose this moment to barge into the room with a smile.

“It should be ready in about fifteen minutes!” She declared joyfully. “By the way, I was thinking. If Morgana doesn’t feel too bad, how about we watch a movie together? We could eat here in the bed together and put something on my laptop.”

“…Sounds like a nice idea to me,” Michel said, before the couple looked at Morgana for any agreement.

The girl sighed. “As long as I don’t have to move… it should be fine… but don’t blame me if I just fall asleep midway.”

Giselle’s face beamed again. “Perfect then!”

“Wait, do you know what to watch?”

“Yep! There’s this one movie I rented the other day. I’ve been wanting to see it for a while now, it’s called ‘Martyrs’!”

Morgana had never heard of this movie before — she still wasn’t very well-versed in pop culture things — but then she noticed Michel’s face noticeably paling, and knowing Giselle, she guessed it probably must be either very gore or with a very dark sense of humor or both at the same time — because for some reason Giselle really loved those type of movies, to her poor boyfriend’s dismay.

Morgana didn’t really care either way, but if she could see Michel get all squeamish for more than hour then it could be worth it.

True to her words, Giselle came back with three bowls of vegetables pottage on a tray only a handful of minutes later, and they all bundled up under the sheets with the laptop; Morgana in the middle and Michel and Giselle to her right and left respectively. She actually was surprised they were able to fit all three of them in that bed, but it was a pretty big one.

As expected, the movie was horribly bloody and pretty nauseous, and Morgana even noticed Michel gagging on his bowl a few times, but that didn’t really matter much to her.

What mattered was the way she could feel the warmth of both of her friends’ bodies next to her, the way Michel’s head fell on her head, the way Giselle would sometimes push some burgundy locks behind her ears without even thinking about it all while sharing fun small comments.

It was the way Michel and Giselle casually held hands and exchanged brief caresses and little kisses almost imperceptibly in the dimness of the room.

It was the way Morgana had no need for thousands-years long anger and jealousy anymore, not when she could easily share in the love these two had whenever she wanted.

______________________________________________________________

It took her two full days to recover completely.

However, she still stayed at their place for at least a week afterwards — eating Giselle’s meals with them, watching some other movies (of Michel’s choice, this time), and even sleeping there.

She wasn’t sick; there should technically be no need for her to stay anymore.

They weren’t her parents, weren’t family; just a couple of fools she’d kept torturing for centuries, who had somehow still forgiven her and welcomed her into their home regardless.  

But if they were fine allowing her in, she figured… maybe she could take Michel’s advice and accept to be taken care of sometimes — maybe even when she didn’t truly needed it.

The witch inside her wanted to sneer and scream at her for that; but that had been a while since she’d left that poor lonely creature behind now.

Because, for as much as she would never admit it out loud, she’d come to grow fond of watching these two love each other, and if she could bask in that love from times to times, well, who was there to criticize her anyway?

[connandoods]

@gischelweek  Day 1: Wedding Day 🎉🕯️🌹

[connandoods]

@gischelweek Day 4: At the beach 🏖️📕👙

[connandoods]

“—Farewell, Michel.”

@gischelweek Day 6: Bad End 💔 – Ending 4

[connandoods]

@gischelweek Day 2: Cooking/Baking together 🥣💚❤️ 

[connandoods]

I'm obviously very late but I don't like leaving things unfinished so here's my last batch of @gischelweek!

Day 5: Proposal 💍

[gischelweek]

🌹  Hello! 🕯️

A Michel/Giselle ship week from The House in Fata Morgana will be taking place from April 27 to May 3!

Anyone can participate with any type of media (fanarts, fics, edits, etc.)

You’ll just have to tag your post #GischelWeek or @ this account to make sure I’ll see it and reblog it.

There is no particular rules, except for one thing: NSFW/sexual or related mature content are allowed, but just be sure to warn/tag the post properly and put it under a “read more.”

🦋 Please don’t hesitate to participate! 🦋

[connandoods]

@gischelweek Day 3: Roleswap 🔁💞

[gischelweek]

Alright, the prompts suggestions are now closed!

You can vote for the week’s 7 prompts here: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdKj9GaYTiFCZ59WxXVRaktvR-WHK1A-6M_VWLynTEJ8Gvg8A/viewform 

The 7 most popular ones will be kept. I’ll leave it probably for about a week or so!

And as I’ve said before, you don’t actually need to use the prompts for the week if you don’t want to, or you can use prompts that weren’t chosen here in the end.

Thank you yet again to all of you who participated! I actually genuinely wasn’t expecting this many propositions so it was really nice to see!

[connan-l]

More than a millennium - Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Michel Bollinger/Giselle

Summary: So that he could keep on holding her hand for more than a millenium.

Michel asks Giselle to teach him something, which might or might not end up in disaster.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @gischelweek prompts:

Day 1: Wedding Day

Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Day 3: Roleswap

Day 4: At the beach

Day 5: Proposal

Day 6: Bad End

Day 7: Domestic Family]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: I really struggled to find something for them to cook together that would be appropriate for the 11th century. I wanted them to do a Savoie cake originally, given it's pretty old and still really popular in France nowadays (it’s similar to English/American's 'sponge/angel cake' apparently), but after some research it seems it was only created in the 14th century… So after looking around I only found Hidelgard of Bingen’s recipies (but she’s also a bit too recent for Michel and Giselle’s period) and… 'fairy fingers.' It’s called 'doigts de fées' in French and I’m not sure if it really exists in other countries? But yeah, that seemed to fit. Not that it matters much in the end but hey. It was a fun topic to research.

______________________________________________________________

She had been staring at him with her mouth wide open for at least three whole minutes now.

And three minutes was a long time when spent in silence with just another person gawking at you. She was aware Michel must felt very uncomfortable by now; but honestly, how else was she supposed to reply to this?

“Giselle?” He finally tried again. “Did you… hear me?”

She blinked, although still in a trance, then finally closed her mouth. Frowning, she looked on her right and left.

“I…” She started, then stopped. “What… Can you repeat what you just said to me again?”

“I, uh… I just asked you if you… I mean, if you didn’t mind… teaching me… how to cook.”

Giselle stared at him once more. Then she stood up, approached him, and put her hand on his forehead.

“G-Giselle? What—”

“It doesn’t seem like you have a fever,” she said, very seriously. “What’s going on? You can’t possibly have gotten a heatstroke, it’s winter!”

Michel groaned, pushing her hand away — and that’s funny, because it’s only then that she noticed there was a very discernible blush creeping on his cheeks, and the problem with having an abnormally pale skin is that blushes are very visible.

Still, was he actually blushing because of her? Oh, that was cute.

“I’m not sick! God, is what I asked really that odd?”

“Well, I mean…” Giselle took a step back, crossed her arms, and stared straight at him again. “Yes.”

Truthfully, she actually would be more apt to believe him if he told her he was some sort of supernatural creature or that he’d received a missive telling her she could return to the capital than this.

Michel and cooking just seemed to be stuck in the realm of impossible in her mind — an anomaly that would for sure create some sort of distortion in the universe if brought together.

“I’m not sure how to take that answer.”

“But I mean, why would you ask me that all of a sudden?”

“Well, it’s just…”

Michel looked away, as if not sure how to put his thoughts into words, and appearing… embarrassed?

Oh no. Why is he acting so adorable all of a sudden? What’s going on?

Giselle felt like she was missing a piece of the puzzle here. It had been almost six months now since she came back to the mansion and that they’d started getting along. Things had been going so well, sometimes she almost couldn’t believe it; still waiting for the other shoe to drop at any moment.

But at other times… she felt so at ease in his presence, so content, that it was as if all of her problems and all the pain she’d experienced up until now stopped existing.

During those past months, she felt confident in saying she’d gathered a pretty good grasp of Michel as a person, had been able to slowly nibble away his facades and discover many different sides of him. Yet, it was still the first time she was seeing him like… that — and it certainly was the first time he’d ever dared to ask such a favor out of her.

“I… You’ve been… taking care of all the cooking and… of most of the chores since you’ve arrived,” Michel finally continued.

He was still unable to look at her in the eyes, focusing on the ground instead, and it was very destabilizing to Giselle. He acted as embarrassed as if he was about to confess his love or something, which would be really ridiculous.

“And… uh… well, you know, I’ve been thinking that… it wasn’t very fair to… let you do that on your own. We are two people living here now, after all… So… I want to learn a little and maybe… help you out… I suppose…”

The words took a lot of time to actually reach Giselle’s brain, and so she continued to stare at him in disbelief for a while. And when they ultimately did — she gasped, chuckled, then burst out laughing.

“Don’t laugh!” Michel exclaimed in an uncharacteristic fit of emotion, his cheeks now completely red. “I-I’m being serious here!”

“S-Sorry, sorry! It’s just…” She tried to restrain her giggles as best as she could, without much success. “What? Th-That’s it? Really? Oh god. Master, you’re incredible!”

“That… doesn’t feel much like a compliment.”

She shook her head, wiping away her tears. “No, no, I’m genuinely touched. It makes me happy that you’re concerned about the type of work I have to do and that you want to help! But… well, you know, I’m still your servant. So, it is my job. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”

He sighed. “Well, yes. But still, I’m not the one who employed you, and we are not really—”

Michel stopped there. His face was frozen in doubt, as if putting the rest into words would actively trigger… something. But Giselle could easily guess what he was about to say even without hearing it.

We are not really that much of a servant and master.

That was true. Even if Giselle was the one doing all the cooking and taking care of most of the chores — although Michel still helped with some of those like cleaning — and that she did call him ‘Master,’ that was pretty much were it stopped.

Most of time, they simply… acted like friends. And, to say the truth, that was how Giselle liked to think of Michel.

As her friend, more than her master.

She wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good thing, but at least it certainly wasn’t a bad one.

Still, she could understand Michel’s hesitation to actually put their relationship into words — there was something that felt not entirely… appropriate about the entire thing.

That was why she didn’t press him any further and simply continued on the topic at hand: “Well! If you really want to try learning cooking, then sure, we can do that. Cooking is really fun, you know? What do you want to try first? We’ll have to wait until next month for the ingredients if you want something in particular though…”

Michel paused, frowning. “I… don’t know, actually. I haven’t really thought much about it. Something simple to start with?”

“Hmm… Simple, huh? Then how about something sweet? Oh, I know! What about fairy fingers?”

“Fairy…?”

“Geez, you’ve never heard of it? Those are cookies! Mom used to make these all the time. When my sister and I were kids, she would tell us they were originally offered to fairies who ate children. To trick them, a woman from the village made cookies that looked like fingers and gave them to the fairies telling them those were real children’s fingers. She would leave them under the trees and…”

As she kept talking, her smile suddenly waned. Michel looked at her with a concerned gaze.

“Giselle?”

“Ah… Sorry. I was just thinking about my mom and sister back at home. You know…”

Giselle couldn’t tell if Michel really ‘knew,’ but he nodded with an understanding look regardless.

Cooking was, to her, inherently linked to her family — her mother had been a very talented cook and it was a primordial thing to her to teach her children how to handle the kitchen. Though her sister didn’t like cooking unlike Giselle, so in the end it had more been a privileged time only between her and mother, and to this day those were part of the memories she cherished the most.

Would she ever be able to cook like this with her mom again?

The thought brought on a pang of loneliness and sorrow, so she did her best to chase it away and instead smiled at Michel.

“Anyway! I think it’s definitely a good start for a beginner. We should try it!”

Michel stared at her quietly for a moment, probably still worried about her melancholic fit from earlier, then finally opened back his mouth tentatively.

“Well… it sounds nice, but the point in me learning was so that I could make proper meals, not just cookies—”

“You have to start somewhere, right? We can make more complicated things later. Plus, don’t think of it in such a practical way! You have to learn how to love cooking, not just cooking because you have to eat. Hmm, I think we already have flour and butter, but we’ll still need almonds, egg white, orange blossoms…”

She started enumerating all the ingredients needed out loud, already getting excited at the prospect — it would in fact be the first time she’d bake sweets here, as she’d only made relatively simple meals since she’d arrived at the mansion. Michel tried to protest again, but all of his arguments were in vain; now that he had put the idea into her head, there was no way she’d let it go. Thus it was decided they would put a message for the Bollinger main house next time to command the missing ingredients… Giselle nodded to herself, satisfied of her planning.

“All right.” She suddenly turned around towards Michel, a wide smile splitting her face. “Listen up, Master. I accept to teach you how to cook… but under one condition.”

The man arched an eyebrow, a clear suspicious — and a bit worried — glint shining in his eyes.

“Yes…?”

“I might usually be your servant, but right now, in this kitchen, I will be the master. You’ll have to follow every order I give you, without protesting. Got it?”

________________________________________________________________

“Very well, Master, now you have to mix the flour, almonds and the salt. Then we’ll add the butter in cubes, the eggs and orange blossom… Oh god, right, there’s the sugar too! I still can’t believe your family was able to get hold of sugar so easily. The Bollinger house is truly something else, huh…”

Giselle kept talking, sitting on the counter and swinging her legs cheerfully as Michel struggled with a large bowl he in front of him, agitating a wooden spatula inside it. He had tied his long, white hair in a messy bun — all on his own, as he’d specifically refused to let her touch his hair for some reason — and was wearing an improvised apron they’d made out of some unused sheet.

They’d only just started, but he was already very focused on his task; eyebrows knitted together, nose scrunched and eyes narrowed as he clumsily stirred the utensil in its recipient. Giselle watched him in the corner of her eyes, trying her best to not giggle.

She felt it would be mean to laugh at him when he was obviously trying his best and follow her instructions to the letter, but… she just couldn’t help how cute she found him like this. It felt like a sudden whole new Michel in front of her, one she knew nothing about, and it just was so thrilling and heartwarming all at the same time — discovering all kinds of new things like this, especially when it concerned him, always put her in a peculiar, happy and exhilarated type of mood she couldn’t get tired of.

It reminded her of all the fond memories she had spent cooking with her mother, but still with its own unique feel and experience to it.

Oddly enough, cooking like this with him didn’t make her miss her family as much as she’d originally expected. The first time she’d found herself in the mansion’s kitchen all by herself when she first arrived made her feel really depressed, but now it wasn’t the case anymore; maybe Michel’s presence was simply enough to soothe a little the loneliness in her heart left by her mother and sister.

“I’m… I’m not sure it works, Gi— I mean, Master.”

“It works, it works! Trust me, you just have to be patient. Keep on mixing it. You won’t be able to achieve anything in cooking if you’re impatient, Master.”

He sighted, and put down the bowl momentarily to wipe his forehead. Then he suddenly threw a curious look at her that Giselle couldn’t quite describe.

“What is it?” She asked.

“It’s just… You said before that in the kitchen you’ll be the master from now on, but you still haven’t called me Michel once. You only keep using ‘Master.’”

“Huh? O-Oh… Yes, that’s true…”

Truth be told, what she’d told him about ‘being the master in the kitchen’ had been mostly in jest; she hadn’t expected him to take it so seriously.

And… there was just a part of her who couldn’t bring herself to call him by his given name.

There was just something too… intimate, about it. It felt like if she were to call him ‘Michel’ now… it would be like admitting that their relationship went besides the normal servant-master dynamic they were supposed to have.

It would be like saying they were, genuinely, officially, friends.

Which wouldn’t be wrong or bad, but… that felt like a step she just couldn’t take right now.

So she decided to brush him off, smiling and shaking her head casually. “Well, it’s just hard to break the habit, you know. Plus, I was mostly joking! It’s kind of nice to be called a ‘master’ and all, but you can just keep on calling me Giselle if you want.”

She laughed, trying to quickly move on from the topic — but Michel didn’t seem to share her amusement. At the contrary, a strange frown crossed his face as he let out a soft ‘Oh,’ and it made Giselle pause.

Wait, was he… was he actually disappointed? Did he want her to call him Michel?

Was she overthinking stuff?

She shook her head, pushing away the thoughts. “A-Anyway, let’s keep on! We can’t spend the night on this.”

“R-Right…”

“You know, you actually need to hold the spatula better if you want to mix in a more effective way. Look, I’ll show you—” All while talking, she jumped off the counter and grabbed his wrist from behind. “If you bent your hand like that it’ll be better to move quickly.”

She instinctively let her fingers ran across Michel’s hands, her fingertips palpating his skin. It was kind of amazing how slender his hand and fingers were, like spider legs; she was almost sure she could feel the bones behind it. Even though she’d made sure to make him healthy, well-balanced meals for the past few months, he was still as meager as an emaciated sick man on his death bed. Maybe she should try to ask  ingredients with more butterfat…

“See?” She added, raising her head towards him. “That way is much more—”

But the moment she saw his face, she stopped. Michel was looking at her with wide eyes, lips tight, and a very distinct, very red blush spread across his cheeks. It was even more visible than when he’d asked her for this cooking lesson a month ago.

She wasn’t sure what had caused this — well, sure, she was holding his hand and suddenly their faces were really close, but it was just a cooking lesson, nothing more! — however he looked so embarrassed that suddenly Giselle started to feel the same, pink flowing to her own cheeks.

Having the urge to hastily step aside from the awkward moment, she let go of his hand and almost jumped away from him — which also meant that in her hurry she’d completely forgot all about the flour sack she’d left on her side, and before she could comprehend what was happening her hand bumped into it; she lost balance, squeaked, and vaguely heard a worried ‘Giselle!’ before her vision turned upside down and she hit the floor.

The next thing she was able to distinguish was white. Pure white dust flying around the kitchen, falling all around her like thin snow. She would probably think of it as kind of pretty, if it weren’t for how much her bottom and head started hurting.

“Giselle! Giselle, are you all right?”

A pair of red eyes came over her field of view, as Michel sat down next to her and stared at her worriedly. Giselle raised a hand in an attempt to placate him.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m hurting a bit but it’s not a big deal—”

“You got hurt? Where?” He asked in a panicked voice.

“I’m fine, I said! Geez, no need to look like I’m dying—” She straightened up, making some more bits of flour fly around, and she almost sneezed.

Well. Somehow, it wasn’t surprising that their first cooking attempt together ended up like this.

“…I-If you say so, then that’s fine, but…”

Giselle arched an eyebrow and looked at Michel. He still looked a bit concerned about her, but more than that, there was… a bit of an odd expression on his face. Like he was trying very hard not to look at her, and—

“Wh-What is it?”

“No, nothing, it’s just…”

“What? You’re worrying me here!”

Michel seemed to hesitate a little. And then, to her utmost surprised, he actually… started to chuckle.

“Your hair—” he said in between two laughs. “—just look… very white, now.”

Giselle blinked, and then run a hand in her short hair — effectively, what she got out of it was a bunch of flour stuck on her hand; so much of it, in fact, that her entire palm was now completely white, as if she’d dived it into a paint bucket. She sighed in an exasperated, fond way.

“Oh well.” She looked up at him, then smirked. “Do I look good with white hair?”

“…Not at all, actually. You’re much better with dark one.”

“Geez, why do you always have to be so mean?! You know you have flour on your face, too!”

But even with her complaints she was smiling despite herself, and by instinct, she reached for his cheek and the tip of his nose, wiping the flour dwelling there with her thumb affectionately.

This time, Michel didn’t seem embarrassed at all; he just laughed some more. A new wave of warmth washed over Giselle — and in that instant, she found herself wishing she could make him laugh like that as often as possible.

They likely wouldn’t have enough flour anymore to make any more cooking — but it was okay.

Michel’s laugh had been more than worth it on its own, and they had all the time in the world to try again, after all.

[gischelweek]

Hello! Gischel Week will now start in a week, from April 27 to May 3!

As I’ve said before, there are no particular rules for this week — you are pretty much free to do anything you want. However, here’s a few reminders:

Obviously, no bigoted content/hate speech of any sort will be allowed.

FataMoru in itself deal with a lot of mature themes and you’re free to explore that however you want in your works, but just be sure to warn/tag anything before posting it.

NSFW/sexual contents are allowed, but same here, just be sure to appropriately warn/tag it so that others can avoid it if they want.

The prompts for the week are here, but you’re not obligated to follow them if they don’t inspire you.

Be sure to @ this account and/or tag #GischelWeek so that I can reblog it! If I haven’t seen it for some reason feel free to directly tell me as well.

It’s also okay if you’re late for the week! I will reblog any post no matter how late it is.

Everyone is encouraged to join no matter your skill level or medium! So I just hope you all have fun! 🎉💕

[connan-l]

More than a millennium - Day 4: At the beach

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Michel Bollinger/Giselle

Summary: So that he could keep on holding her hand for more than a millenium.

Michel was perfectly fine enjoying his vacations at the sea by reading in his corner of the beach, but his wife has other plans for him.

[A collection of unrelated one-shots for the @gischelweek prompts:

Day 1: Wedding Day

Day 2: Cooking/Baking Together

Day 3: Roleswap

Day 4: At the beach

Day 5: Proposal

Day 6: Bad End

Day 7: Domestic Family]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: This takes place post-canon and post-Reincarnation, but it makes no reference to it so you don’t really need to have read it to understand. (Though you probably do need to read Requiem & Assento dele if you want to know about Iméon lol).

Iméon makes a cameo here, but I have to precise before this surprise anyone that I refer to him with masculine pronouns in this fic. I don’t usually have much trans headcanons but Iméon is one of the few exceptions, because I admit that when I first read Assento dele I… just honestly thought he was a trans man, so I was surprised when the backstage went against it afterwards and said he identified as a woman. Especially after learning he IS canonically trans in Seventh Lair, and then given I’ve just finished that game not long ago I'm… now really kind of struggling to see him otherwise. Of course it still seems like he’s a woman in FataMoru canon so it’s fine if unlike me you don’t see it that way (and hey, I did write a Femslash February fic a year ago with Iméon in it so lol), but yeah when it comes to me now in my head Iméon is generally nonbinary trans masc haha.

Also, I wrote Iméon here with the idea that he remembers his past life and original meeting with Michel in the mansion, just like he does in that short story Tír na nÓg in the aftermath of Ending 5.

________________________________________________________________

“I will not.”

“Come on! Just a little bit! We don’t even have to go that far!”

“Absolutely not.”

“You already went to all the trouble to come here! You can make this last effort!”

“I said no.”

“Not even for me? To make your wife happy…?”

Giselle leaned towards him, her face only inches away from his and her big, shiny jade eyes looking straight into his own. He would dare to say her tone sounded a little suggestive and, admittedly, with the way her swimsuit’s cleavage was wide open and brushing against his torso, it did feel a little distracting.

Still, he ignored it. No amount of suggestive bikini would let him do what she wants.

“I’m sorry, but if my wife wants me to go swim in the sea, then she’ll have to find another partner.”

Giselle’s seductive expression dropped from her face, and instead she glared at him, puffing out her cheeks.

“But it’s only the three of us here! And Iméon already spent the morning swimming and is too tired, so I won’t find anyone else!”

Michel sighed, trying his best not to let himself give in just because of Giselle’s pleading and disappointed tone. Why did she have to sound like that when she was only talking about going to swim in the sea together? It wasn’t the end of the world for her to just have fun on her own.

Seeking help, he threw a desperate glance at his best friend who was laying on the sand under the parasol, typing on his laptop with one hand and licking an ice cream with the other — thanks to a pretty impressive technique, he had to admit, and Michel didn’t understand how he could do this without putting cream on every one of his keys — but the only response he got was a look from under his sunglasses that clearly meant ‘dude, don’t drag me into this.’

Well, fine. He had a thousands years of experience in how to deal with his wife, he didn’t need Iméon’s help anyway.

Probably.

“I don’t understand why you need someone to go swim with you anyway,” Michel argued back.

“Because it’s more fun that way! And I won’t just be swimming, we can play with a ball too!”

“…You realize that’s not a good argument to convince me to join you, right?”

Giselle let out an exasperated sigh, and then to his surprise, she finally stood up; her long side ponytail flying around as she crossed her arms and threw a last glare at him.

“All right! Then stay here like an old grouch with your stupid book all on your own, while I’m going to have the best time of our vacations!”

And with this, she started running towards the sea without waiting for an answer. Michel, indeed, just stayed there with his stupid book and his mouth agape — how could this woman act like a twelve-year-old when she was now twenty-six was truly beyond him — until he heard Iméon chuckles next to him.

“I don’t want to hear anything from you,” he said dryly to his orange-haired friend.

“I haven’t say anything.”

“You thought it very loudly.”

“Well, maybe.” Iméon lifted his eyes away from the computer’s screen and looked at Michel. “What I was thinking, actually, was that it’s really funny you’re okay with sacrificing your life, fighting a wicked witch and her murderers and breaking a thousands-years curse for this woman, but somehow going to swim with her in the sea is too much for you.”

Michel groaned, then put down the book on his towel. “I’ve already made more than enough effort by coming here. You know how much I hate the beach anyway.”

Well, maybe ‘hate’ was too strong of a word — but he certainly wasn’t fond of it. His parents never brought him there when he was a kid — except on some rare exceptions, they’ve never been big on going anywhere during vacations in general — and especially because of his albino condition going to a place where the point was to stay exposed to the sun for a long time was, to say the least, not ideal. Thanks to the modern era’s treatment his body was definitely better at handling sunlight, but it still could get troublesome if he stayed out there for a long period and could cause complications if he wasn’t careful. That was why, in the five years he and Giselle had been together, they’d only been in fairly close locations — except for that one time they went to Spain and Belgium and the two times at the mountains in the Pyrenees.

However, if Michel wasn’t someone who really liked to go anywhere for his days off, Giselle clearly wasn’t the same. Her family as well hadn’t been the kind to travel much, but she’d always really loved the sea, so she had wanted to go there for a while now; thus, this year, when Michel was able to obtain a rare full month out of work, he’d made sure to rent them a cozy place in Le Havre. They’d originally asked Morgana to come with them, but she’d refused, and in her stead Iméon accepted to stay with them only for two weeks.

Giselle had been extremely excited about the prospect of their first holidays at the beach, especially after such a long time of wanting to go there — and Michel had been happy to see her like that, he truly had.

Even so, that didn’t mean he had to comply to every single one of her demands — and going to play and swim in the sea was one thing he really didn’t feel like doing. He just couldn’t stand swimming as well as the immensity of the ocean, and the salt always itched at his skin; he didn’t seen why he couldn’t simply stay on the beach, reading under the shadow of the umbrella.

But according to Giselle it wasn’t fine, and Michel had the distinct feeling that Iméon was actually on her side for this one. Well, Iméon was, in fact, on Giselle’s side on most things — some loyal best friend he was.

“Precisely. If you’ve already made the effort of coming all the way here, then you might as well go all the way out and put at least one foot in the water.”

“Why are you so insistent on it? Did Giselle pay you?”

“I don’t need her to pay me! She’s much cuter than you so of course I’ll always agree with her on everything.”

Michel leveled a stern look at Iméon, who only winked and grinned back mischievously. It wasn’t unusual either for him to throw some playful, flirty comments at Giselle, which only seemed to amuses her. Obviously, he knew those were just meant in jest — and he half-suspected he and Giselle had formed some sort of pact behind his back to specifically get on his nerves about this — but that didn’t mean he still had to be fond of the perspective of someone else flirting with his spouse.

“It’s a vacation you prepared specifically for you wife,” Iméon continued. “I don’t see how going into the water would be such an extra chore for you. Honestly, I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on not swimming and playing around. Just let it go and have some fun for once, man.”

…Well… To say the truth, Michel wasn’t entirely sure either.

He didn’t like the sea. Wasn’t fond of the beach either. And well, he did have a pretty good reason for not wanting to swim — but it wasn’t like he was completely avert to the idea either.

He had no specific trauma related to the ocean, in this life or the former one. In fact, in the past he had never even seen the sea, as he’d never even been allowed to leave the Bollinger mansion’s grounds, or even his chambers’ grounds.

…Maybe that was partly where the issue laid.

The child he had been in the Middle Ages only knew of the ocean and the beach what he’d read in books — and, in one rare occasion, what Didier had been able to tell him after he’d come back from one of his trips. Stories narrated in broad letters what this vast blue expanse looked like without him being able to truly picture or grasp it.

The only time he’d been able to truly spectate the sea, he suddenly realized, had been during the Maid’s tale of the Second Door, when he’d been plunged directly into Pauline’s memories.

And while that peculiar story had been drenched in blood and tragedy and that just the thought of it sufficed to make him feel nauseous, but reminiscences of the grand blue water was ingrained in his brain — the only beautiful point of light of this miserable period.

He never would have thought at the time that he’d be able to go to the beach in presence of Giselle, to whom he was presently married to.

He’d gotten so used by now to their present life, even though that was still a miracle in more way than one; maybe he’d even grown too complacent in it.

Would his past self had the luxury to ponder whether or not he should comply to one of his wife’s demands he judged trivial? Wasn’t triviality specifically what they’d fought so hard to reach?

“I just…”

He didn’t know what he was about to say. But either way, Iméon didn’t let him try to figure it out as he suddenly rose up, taking the laptop under his arm and sliding his backpack on his shoulder.

“Well, whatever. I’ve had enough beach for today; and that’s a problem between you guys.” He glanced down at Michel from behind the sunglasses — and there was an odd shine in his green eyes that made Michel wonder if he’d been able to figure out what was going on through his head. “I’ll go back at the apartment now. We’re still going at the restaurant to eat mussels tonight, right? Of course I’ll let you pay, you know I’m always broke.”

And with this, Iméon waved at him and turned around. Michel was about to reply he could make an effort to at least pay for one thing —which he hadn’t so far even in the whole week they’d spent here — but then again, he and Giselle had been the ones to invite him.

He let out a sigh, then directed his eyes towards the ocean. The sun was starting to hit really hard and the heat made his head feel a little dizzy.

They had settled in a corner of the beach with very few people — it was mostly on them here, honestly — and as he looked ahead of him, he could distinguish Giselle’s silhouette in the sea far away, the water almost reaching her chest. She walked slowly through the boundless ocean, fighting the waves, then suddenly leaned down and dived into the surface. She rose up a few seconds later, and her ponytail suddenly went undone, her long black hair ending up cascading behind her back.

She looked ephemerally beautiful under the sunset, like some sort of mystical mermaid. And as he stared at her swimming in the ocean and disappearing through the waves, an odd feeling of uneasiness set in his stomach.

Whenever she would plunge under the depths, a vague feeling that she would never resurface again overwhelmed him. That she would simply vanish, aspired by the waves and the darkness of the ocean’s abyss.

A ridiculous fear, maybe — but he’d never been very good at trusting fate for not taking away his source of happiness, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it betrayed him again. This came accompanied with a childish sense of possessiveness, of not wanting letting anyone take her away from him, not matter if it was the sea or the sunset or the world itself.

But more than that, he felt a pang of guilt and pain in his chest at the sight of her lonely silhouette. Her long hair flying to the wind reminded him of a long braid, an old maid outfit and a pair of jade eyes without any trace of light in the closed walls of a ruined mansion.

Giselle’s silhouette should never looks lonely like this. Not ever — but certainly not because of a whimsical caprice of his.

Maybe Iméon was right on this one, after all.

He sighed, got rid of his shirt, and then ran through the beach; the sand felt warm and soft under his feet, as if it was welcoming him back to where he belonged.

“Giselle!”

He shouted her name as soon as his toes were washed over by the waves, and the young woman didn’t even got the time to turn around in surprise that Michel was right there, throwing his arms around her waist from behind.

He heard her gasp; felt her warm and wet skin under his hands; did his best to ignore the cold and salty sea grabbing his body. Giselle didn’t seem able to react for a while, until finally he released his grip on her and she turned around. She looked at him curiously, her long wet dark hair stuck to her face and shoulders. He then didn’t hesitate and leaned down to kiss her.

“M-Michel?” She finally exclaimed once they separated. “What—”

“Sorry. I… have a confession to make.”

Giselle tilted her head, her eyes growing even more confused by the minutes. Their faces were still only inches away from each other, but he looked away, embarrassed.

“I… don’t know how to swim.”

For an instant after that, Giselle stayed completely silent. There were no sounds besides the seagulls’ cries and maybe some children’s laughters far away — until he heard a snort, and when he dared to look at her she was actively giggling.

“For real?” She ultimately let out.

“For… real,” he admitted. “My parents never took me to the beach and I… well, I always skipped whenever we’d go to the pool at school, so…”

Giselle started laughing even harder, and Michel did his best to not snap something dry at her for it, because he kind of felt like he deserved it a little.

“You could’ve just said so!”

“Yeah… I guess I could have, but it’s… kind of embarrassing.”

“Sheesh! Of course not! A lot of adults don’t know how to swim either; it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You know, it could be a good opportunity to learn. I’m sure Iméon would be okay to teach you as well—”

“Please don’t tell him. I-I mean… I’m not really interested in learning, and… I still don’t like the sea, you know.”

“But it’s important to know how to swim! You could need it one day and it could save your life. …And you say that, but then why did you come here into the sea in the end?”

He hesitated a little — then looked straight into her big green eyes, and decided to be honest.

“It felt like the sea was taking you away from me. And… I didn’t like seeing you all alone there. You… looked lonely.”

At first, she looked a little surprised; and then her face slowly softened, her eyes shining with affection in that way she used whenever she thought he’d said something cute or childish. Which it absolutely was in this case, to be fair.

She cupped his cheek, raising her body on her tiptoes, and kissed him gently. Her lips tasted of salt, but for some reason right now it didn’t bother him much.

“Well, that’s fine,” she declared. “You don’t need to learn right now. We can just play around in the sea without swimming.”

“I suppose… we can do that.”

He admittedly wasn’t that keen on doing this, but now that he was literally waist-deep into the ocean it wasn’t like he could refuse anymore. So he kissed her again; on the cheek, and then on the forehead, making Giselle giggles — before they retrieved a ball on the beach to go back and play around in the less deep area of the water.

And, to his shock, after a while he actually ended up having fun; overtly laughing whenever Giselle would threw the ball at him or managing to even beat her a few times — and they stayed there up until the sky started to get dark.

When they met back with Iméon at the restaurant tonight, his friend smiled widely at him, announcing proudly that he’d won the bet he’d made with Morgana that Michel would even end up going into the sea if his wife asked it.

And Giselle’s laughter and her hand in his and the fun of the afternoon still present in his mind was enough that this wasn’t even enough to annoy him in the slightest.

[gischelweek]

Prompts suggestions

The week will have prompts for each day, although you can choose whether you follow them or not! There’s no obligation and you can just do whatever inspire you.

You can suggest prompts for the week if you want to here on curiouscat: https://curiouscat.live/GischelWeek, or just directly submit them via the blog’s inbox.

After which the 7 most popular will then be chosen by a poll.

Please feel free to send as many suggestions as you would like!