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princesssarisa · 3 years

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"Cinderella" Adaptations: The Fate of the Stepfamily

This is a topic I know @superkingofpriderock has given special attention to. What happens to Cinderella's stepfamily after the glass slipper fits her? Are they punished, forgiven, a combination of both, or just left behind? I've found that different adaptations make vastly different choices.

1817 Rossini opera La Cenerentola: After Angelina is whisked away to the palace, the stepsisters Clorinda and Tisbe are met by the "fairy godfather" Alidoro, who informs them that their father Don Magnifico has squandered away Angelina's dowry and his debt to her threatens to leave them financially ruined and homeless. Their only hope is to beg her forgiveness. Accordingly, in the next and final scene, they arrive unexpectedly at the wedding party and humble themselves before Angelina. She wholeheartedly forgives them and declares that she'll be "daughter, sister and friend" to them. They break down in tears, she hugs them, and they join the chorus in singing her praises in the finale.

1899 Massenet opera Cendrillon: After the slipper fits Lucette, Madame de la Haltiére immediately and comically declares that she adores her.

1914 silent Mary Pickford film: After the slipper fits Cinderella, they're ordered to bow down to her along with the rest of the royal court. Then a gentlemen jokes that Cinderella's first act as princess will be to have them beheaded. They desperately kneel and beg her forgiveness, and of course she sweetly grants it.

1922 Lotte Reiniger animated short: When the Stepmother sees Cinderella and the Prince kiss, she becomes frantic with horror and rage, her eyes rolling and her chest heaving wildly, and finally she literally bursts – her body rips in half! Her daughters are last seen crying over their mother's remains.

1934 Betty Boop cartoon Poor Cinderella: The stepsisters are last seen bickering noisily, each blaming the other for the fact that they lost the Prince, until finally a gate with the word "Finis" on it shuts, comically crashing into them.

1940 short Cinderella's Feller: The stepsisters curtsey to Cinderella as she leaves the house with the Prince, while their mother looks on scowling, and they're not seen again after this.

1945 Prokofiev ballet: In most productions, after the slipper fits Cinderella, they kneel before her to beg her forgiveness, and she grants it. Then they quietly exit. Sir Frederick Ashton's choreography in particular coaxes out some pathos for them, with their subdued tears and slow, sad departure.

1947 Russian film: When Cinderella is revealed to have the other slipper, the Stepmother is outraged, insults both Cinderella and the King, and declares that she's leaving the kingdom, then sweeps out with her daughters in tow and the whole court laughing at her.

1947 Let's Pretend radio version: Nothing; the scene where the stepsisters try on the slipper is the last we hear of them.

1950 Disney animated film: Nothing; Lady Tremaine's shocked reaction to Cinderella producing the other slipper is the last we see of them. They're not present in the final wedding scene.

1955 film The Glass Slipper: They're last seen among the crowd in the final scene, where they curtsey before Ella, Mrs. Sonder nudging her daughters to do so.

1955 German film: At Cinderella and the Prince's wedding day, the stepsisters offer to become her ladies-in-waiting, but the crowd objects and insists that the stepfamily be punished. The Prince lets Cinderella choose their punishment and she declares that for a year they'll work like servants as she did. Her father agrees with this despite the sisters' pleas, and they're last seen driven away from the wedding with hazel-switches by other maids.

1957 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical: In a comical second-to-last scene, they fawn over Cinderella now that she's a princess-to-be and wait on her as she dresses for her wedding. Then they appear as the matron of honor and bridesmaids in the final wedding scene, the Stepmother dabbing at her eyes as she plays the fond "mother of the bride," and stepsister Portia flirting with the gentlemen.

1965 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical: They bow down before Cinderella after the Fairy Godmother changes her rags back into the ballgown, and then they walk behind Cinderella and the Prince in their triumphal procession to the palace.

1969 Muppet special Hey, Cinderella!: Nothing; they're last seen simply chatting with Prince Arthur, Cinderella and the Fairy Godmother as the camera pans away from their house.

1972 Rankin Bass Festival of Family Classics episode: Cinderella's mouse friends scare them, making all three leap up onto a chandelier. As they cling to it, the stepsisters bicker about which one of them was "always kind to Cinderella" before the chandelier finally breaks and they crash back to the floor.

1973 film Three Wishes for Cinderella: Nothing; they're last seen struggling to get out of the shallow pond they fell into after their attempt to disguise stepsister Dora as Cinderella fails.

1976 film The Slipper and the Rose: Cinderella forgives them when she leaves their house, to which the Stepmother responds "How dare she forgive me?!" They're later shown attending the royal wedding, the stepsisters crying miserably during the ceremony, but afterwards dancing happily with men of the court.

1979 Russian animated short: Nothing; they're last shown reacting with shock when the slipper fits Cinderella.

1979 Cosgrove Hall animated short: In the final scene, in the palace, they kneel in front of the Prince and Cinderella's thrones, as the Prince apparently tries to decide how they should be punished. He finally invites Cinderella to chose, and she chooses to forgive them. They kneel before her in gratitude, then each kiss her.

1981 animated short The Tender Tale of Cinderella Penguin: They're last seen curtseying before Cinderella after the glass flipper fits her, the Stepmother nudging her daughters to do so.

1983 Fairy Tale Classics anime short: Nothing; they're not seen again after the slipper fits Cinderella.

1985 Faerie Tale Theatre episode: The Stepmother tries to suck up to Prince Henry, saying that now they can all be "one happy royal family," when suddenly the Fairy Godmother appears and turns her and her daughters into rabbits. When Cinderella objects that this is a bit cruel, her Godmother assures her that they'll become human again at midnight.

1988 My Favorite Fairy Tales anime episode: Nothing: they're last shown reacting with shock when the Fairy Godmother changes Cinderella's rags back into a ballgown.

1989 German film: They fawn over Cinderella and offer her some of their own elegant clothes as she prepares to ride away with the Prince, then exaggeratedly sob and feign affection while waving goodbye, the stepsisters still limping from having cut their feet to make the slipper fit.

1989 Grimm's Fairy Tale Classics anime episode: Nothing; they're just shown quietly leaving the royal palace after Cinderella and the Prince reunite.

1990 Golden Films animated film: After the Fairy Godmother changes Cinderella's rags back into a ballgown, they kneel and beg her forgiveness. Later, at the palace, Cinderella introduces the stepsisters to two handsome gentlemen of the court, whom we can probably assume they'll marry.

1994 Jetlag animated film: The narrator reveals that Cinderella forgave them and chose not to tell her father how they had mistreated her, and that when the stepsisters apologized, she found two handsome lords for them to marry. We see them in the final wedding scene, the Stepmother on her husband's arm, her daughters on the arms of their new fiancés.

1995 Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child episode: They're last seen attending Cinderella's wedding, while the narrator explains that Cinderella forgave them, but then Cinderella's two iguana friends (her coachman and footman from the night of the ball) appear and chase them away, trying to bite them.

1995 musical A Tale of Cinderella: After Cinderella is whisked away to the palace, her father Paolo, now freed from the magic that enthralled him, finally orders Pulchitruda and her daughters to leave. Pulchitruda declares that she'll find a better husband and they storm out and call for a gondola, only to be magically plunged into the canal by the mischievous fairy godmother La Stella.

1996 Burbank Studios Animation film: Nothing; they're last seen watching in disgust as Cinderella leaves their house with the Prince.

1996 anime series Cinderella Monogatari: In the final episode, they treat Cinderella kindly as she prepares to leave for the palace and as she gives them a list of instructions to help them do their own cooking once she's gone. Catherine and Jeanne declare that they want to do more than just be spoiled from now on, Duchess Dalbin gives Cinderella a flower crown that the three of them made, and Cinderella hugs her, creating the sense of a sincere reconciliation. They're then shown happily reuniting with Cinderella's father when he comes home, warmly waving goodbye when Cinderella leaves, and later attending her wedding.

1997 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical: In the finale, they're shown running after Cinderella's wedding procession, calling "Wait! We're family! We love you!", only for the palace gates to slam shut and lock them out.

1998 film Ever After: Baroness Rodmilla and stepsister Marguerite are summoned to the palace "in style," only to be stripped of their noble status by the Queen and sentenced to be shipped to America. But Danielle intervenes and requests that instead they be shown "the same courtesy" that they showed her. Their comic final scene shows them forced to work as laundresses, each trying to foist the work onto the other, until the head laundress loses patience and knocks them into a vat of purple dye while everyone laughs at them. Meanwhile, the sympathetic stepsister Jacqueline joins the court and finds love with the captain of the guards, Laurent.

2000 Rodgers and Hammerstein "Enchanted Edition" stage script: In the final wedding scene, the Stepmother enters on the arm of the Prince's valet Lionel, the stepsisters Joy and Grace carry the train of Cinderella's gown, and the Stepmother curtseys to Cinderella as she passes her, Cinderella replying with a forgiving smile and nod.

2000 Simsala Grimm episode: They're last seen attending Cinderella's wedding, glaring spitefully the whole time.

2004 film Ella Enchanted: When Ella and Prince Char are about to kiss at the climax, Hattie and Olive run up to them and Hattie orders Ella never to kiss Char again, not realizing that Ella's curse of obedience is broken. Ella slowly approaches Hattie, then replies "You wanna bet?" and rips her mother's necklace, which earlier Hattie had forced her to give to her, off of Hattie's neck. The sisters both run off in tears as everyone laughs at them. They're later shown attending Ella's wedding with their mother, looking miserable at first, but eventually joining happily in the song "Don't Go Breaking My Heart."

2010 German Märchenperlen film: After the slipper fits Marie, her negligent father tries to suck up to Prince Leonhard, only for the Prince to reproach him. The father then begs for mercy for himself, stepmother Therese and stepsister Clothilde, as they're financially ruined and have just lost their house in a fire too. When Cinderella pleads as well, Leonhard grants them mercy, and his friend Count Peter informs them that they can live at the palace... but only as the new caretakers for the pet fish of the Prince's eccentric uncle Alfons. The final scene shows them wading in the palace pond, forced by Alfons to wash the fishes' scales.

2011 German Sechs auf einen Streich film: After the slipper fits Cinderella, the Stepmother claims to be her mother, but Cinderella refuses to acknowledge her as such. She then invites all the farmhouse servants – all her good friends, whom the Stepmother has also mistreated – to come to the palace. They all depart with Cinderella and the Prince, leaving the Stepmother and stepsister Annabella to manage the farm alone. Annabella tries to escape with them, but her mother pulls her back.

2013 Rodgers and Hammerstein Broadway revival: After the slipper fits Ella, the stepmother Madame admits that she isn't worthy of Ella's kindness, but Ella graciously forgives her anyway. In the final scene, Madame and stepsister Charlotte attend Ella's wedding, as does the sympathetic stepsister Gabrielle, whom Madame threw out earlier for her romance with the revolutionary Jean-Michel. Gabrielle and Madame reconcile with a hug, which Charlotte then joins in, and they all sing in the final celebratory chorus.

2015 Disney live-action remake: After the slipper fits Ella, Anastasia and Drisella apologize profusely and curtsey before her. Then, as she leaves the house, she sees Lady Tremaine gazing stonily at her from the staircase, and tells her "I forgive you" before departing. The Fairy Godmother's voiceover narration then tells us that soon afterward, Lady Tremaine and her daughters left the kingdom.

2015 Deutscher opera: They belatedly barge in on Cinderella's wedding, still singing about how they wish they could convince the Prince not to marry her. Prince Theodore is about to send them away, when Cinderella gestures for him to let them stay. Then Emeline the Fairy Godmother throws magic dust onto them, forcing them to smile and sing along in the final celebratory chorus.

2021 Andrew Lloyd Webber musical: After Prince Sebastian's wedding to stepsister Adele is called off, the Stepmother angrily confronts the Queen and threatens to blackmail her, but the Queen retorts with a threat to execute her and sends her away. Meanwhile, Adele happily reunites with her real love, the village baker, while stepsister Marie warns Sebastian that Cinderella thinks the wedding took place and plans to sail away, leading to their reunion.

2021 Sony/Amazon film: Malvolia and Narissa are shown in the final scene's celebratory crowd, happily singing and dancing next to Ella in the song "Let's Get Loud." As the crowd makes its way through the village, Ella suddenly encounters Vivian. She approaches her forgivingly and encourages her in song to finally leave her cynicism behind. With tears in her eyes, Vivian takes up Ella's song, then joins jubilantly in singing with the crowd, much to her daughters' joy.

There's quite a wide array of different endings for these characters, fascinating to compare.

@ariel-seagull-wings

#cinderella #fairy tale #adaptations #cinderella's stepmother #cinderella's stepsisters #tw: foot cutting

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theseshipsshallsail · 3 years

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Oliver has developed a particular fondness for dinner drudgery over the past decade. At thirty-four, he felt a greater appreciation for the twinkle in Samuel’s eyes as he lured some unsuspecting academic into a debate he was destined to lose. The all-too-familiar smirk hidden behind a wine glass as Annella caught his gaze mid-rebuttal, the same mischief written over her features as that of her son’s. He even welcomed Mafalda’s regular fretting about his diminuito waistline as she cleared away what little remained of a feast fit for a king.

And then there was the man to his right. The man who held a cigarette in one hand, and his heart in the other. The man who slanted his head on Oliver’s shoulder as the evening wore on, allowing him to drop a kiss to the riotous curls that drew his fingers like a siren’s call. There were no more secrets between the four of them - though according to Annella there had never been any to begin with - and when Elio yawned twice in as many minutes Oliver found his own jaw cracking in sympathy.

International flights never got any easier, and although they’d managed a short nap on the train in from Milan, they were both flagging fast.

The after-dinner conversation had revolved around his latest manuscript for the past half an hour, and slipping an arm around Elio’s side, Oliver tapped his ankle beneath the table. “You still with me?” he murmured softly, and Elio scoffed as he nestled closer.

“Seulement. One more limoncello and you’ll have to carry me to bed.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Or the last,” Elio said, as Samuel raised a toast in their direction.

“Happiness resides not in possessions or gold, but in the soul. Wouldn’t you agree, our wayward Americano?” he asked, prompting Oliver to back up his argument as he stole the last arancini from Elio’s plate.

“Big results require big ambitions, Sami.”

“And nothing endures but change.”

“Always with the Heraclitus...” Elio grumbled good-naturedly, leaning over to kiss Annella on the cheek. “Bonne nuit, maman. Remind me to show you that biography in the morning.”

“The Piaf?” she asked, and Elio nodded as he rose to his feet.

“There’s a new bookstore just opened in the Village.”

“Che magnifico!” Annella said, stubbing out her cigarette. “Tell me all about it when you’re not falling asleep in your tortelli.” Smiling, she took Elio’s face between her palms. “Dormi bene, piccino. Et toi, Cauboi.”

Oliver laughed as he finished shaking hands with the other two guests - stalwarts of the Bocconi Languages department he vaguely remembered from his brief stint at the university. “I doubt that’ll be a problem. The moment my head hits the pillow I’ll be dead to the world.”

Elio raised an eyebrow. “The dead don’t snore like Anchise’s old generator,” he said with a wink as Samuel rounded the table to join them. “Papà, siamo stanchi. It’s been a long day.”

“It certainly has,” Samuel said, hugging him tightly. “Go! Go! Don’t make me sprain anything by rolling you out of here.” Stepping back, he clasped Elio by the forearms. “I’ll ask Mafalda to save you something if you sleep through breakfast.”

“Molte grazie.”

“Anytime, figli miei,” Samuel said, embracing Oliver in turn. “Goodnight, the pair of you.”

“Thanks, Pro.”

Enfolding Elio’s hand in his, Oliver led him towards the villa, taking the time to appreciate the sounds of nature after six months of city living. One day, he’d love to move here permanently - spend his golden years in the country that spurred his reinvention - but there was no rush. Not when the best part of Italy was a permanent fixture in his life, already.

The house was in shadows when they stepped over the threshold, but they each navigated the lofty hallways with ease as they headed upstairs. It was a journey they could do with their eyes closed, and avoiding the creaky top step out of habit they shut the door to Elio’s room behind them with a quiet click. Their room, technically, but in Oliver’s mind it would always be his. He may have usurped it for six weeks in the summer of ‘83, but the overstuffed bookcase and outdated cassette tapes were like a portal to the past, and it never failed to make him feel twenty-four again.

Conflicting though those feelings might be.

The only obvious difference was the double bed now taking up space along the back wall - though Oliver quite missed the creaky single frames of yesteryear. The shutters were latched apart, letting out the stifling afternoon air, and the bathroom doors were pinned open, turning the space into the large suite that originally befitted Elio’s grandfather.

Toeing off his espadrilles, Oliver watched as Elio fell face first onto the bed. Dramatic as always, he groaned into the crisp, blue sheets, so Oliver hung his shirt up in the wardrobe then walked over to tug off his sneakers, placing them beneath the writing desk where he was unlikely to trip over them come morning.

“I haven’t been this exhausted since I finished that three week stretch with the Philharmonic,” Elio said, words muffled, and Oliver chuckled as he sat down beside him.

“Fifteen hours by plane, and a ninety minute schlep on the Regionale? I think that’s to be expected.” Reaching over, he stroked a palm up Elio’s spine, bunching his t-shirt in its wake. “You can’t stay young and restless forever.”

“Speak for yourself, old man.” Elio shot him a sideways glance. “Why are you all the way over there?”

Over there, meaning beyond kissing range.

“I thought you were too tired?” Oliver asked, and Elio rolled his eyes like the precocious teenager he’d fallen so hopelessly in love with.

“Too tired for Democritus and his atomic theory,” he said, shifting onto his side. “Never too tired for you, tesoro.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Cradling Elio’s cheek in one hand, Oliver felt a hot lick of satisfaction as he brushed his thumb over the smooth skin, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, then nibbling gently. A soft whine fell between them, and Elio slung his arms around Oliver’s shoulders, legs banding around his waist like a tether.

“That’s better,” he said, half-hard in his jeans. “Just like old times.”

Oliver sniggered. “Someone better warn the peaches.”

“Connard.”

“And a fine one it is, too,” he teased, swatting Elio’s ass through the stiff denim.

The resultant yelp was a thing of beauty as Oliver ran his nose along Elio’s collarbone, savouring his scent. Beneath the sour musk of travel were the sweet notes of juniper and cherry laurel, and sucking briefly at his pulse point, Oliver actually felt the yawn building before Elio was forced to pull away, sighing in frustration.

“This isn’t happening, is it?”

“Define this,” Oliver said, licking away his pout.

They might not be about to set any records for horizontal gymnastics, but the needy whimper Elio pressed to Oliver’s throat was enough to spur him onwards as they quickly rid each other of their clothing. Silver light streamed in through the windows, casting shadows over their naked bodies, and finesse fell by the wayside when Oliver brought their erections together, stroking them both in tandem. Transfixed, he watched the pleasure flick across Elio’s features, treasuring the way his lashes fluttered if he twisted just so - the glazed expression as he kissed him like they had all the time in the world. Leisurely and indulgent.

“I’m going to come,” Elio whispered scant minutes later.

Like it was a secret.

Like it was something precious.

And it was, Oliver knew, as the other man rutted into his palm, shuddering against him. It was there in every touch. Every tender endearment. Elio might wear his heart on his sleeve, but none of his previous lovers had been privy to the true depths of his emotions, and as he threw his head back in release Oliver couldn’t help but chase him over the edge, inarticulate and inelegant in his abandon.

Pearly white covered his fist as liquid fire rushed through his veins, each movement growing slower and slower until they eventually ground to a stop, swallowing each other’s gasps between needy pulls of their mouths. Groggy with sensation, his lungs felt constricted by the memory of how to breathe, yet sweaty, sated - and in dire need of a shower - they lay there in the aftermath, neither of them willing to give in as their eyelids started to droop.

He loved Elio like this. Loved him always of course, but especially like this. With his hair mussed - his face relaxed - his lips swollen as a result of his kisses, and Oliver sighed fondly as he brushed the curls from his forehead, only to receive an incoherent grumble for his efforts. It was his mind he’d fallen in love with first, though. The way he challenged him constantly. Pushed his boundaries day-by-day. Always striving for more.

He’d been a fool to consider walking away. To give Elio up, however begrudgingly. He was a part of him - perfect in his imperfections - and as Elio drifted off between one blink and the next, Oliver banished such dismal thoughts to the shadows of the past, refusing to give them life when his future lay literally in his arms.

“Goodnight, amore mio,” he whispered, and grinning, hooked his toes in the underwear hanging from the bedpost - his, Elio’s, he couldn’t quite tell - wiped the worst of the mess from their painted stomachs, then followed him into a dreamless stupor.

Something was tickling Oliver’s nose as he floated in the trance-like state between sleep and reality. It was a familiar experience, and forcing one eye open he smiled down at Elio’s crown where it rested upon his chest. Their legs were entangled beneath the sheets, the toes of Elio’s left foot twitching beside his calf, and Oliver tapped an idle rhythm along his spine as he squinted at the blessedly silent alarm clock.

It was almost seven a.m, and with zero intentions of moving anytime soon, Oliver watched the dust motes dance in the pink strokes of dawn. He was still foggy, but with his recent promotion and the increased demands of Elio’s tour schedule, moments like these were few and far between in New York, so Oliver indulged himself by listening to Elio’s steady breaths, unwilling to disturb him prematurely.

The villa was quiet and still as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and when Elio burrowed into his neck, Oliver felt the same dizzy thrill he always had, thanking his lucky stars for the man who’d turned his life upside down in the very best of ways.

Sappho once wrote what cannot be said will be wept, and this room had seen it’s fair share of tears at the start of their relationship. Even now, it was hard to believe how close he’d come to losing it all. But like Odysseus, Oliver had returned to his love, and he had every intention of seeing this journey through to completion.

“In the crooks of your body, I find my religion,” he whispered, continuing to smooth random patterns over Elio’s trapezius, and it was all he could do not to moan in response as an arm wrapped around his waist, skimming his burgeoning erection.

“Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear...”

Verbal and cognizant was more than Oliver would usually expect before Elio’s first cup of coffee, but taking a chance, he tilted his face up to see him properly. “Morning, sunshine. I thought you were asleep.”

Elio yawned into the hand at his jaw. “Not with you scribbling Ancient Greek on my ribcage.”

“You caught that?”

“Ovviamente.” Humming, he dug his chin into Oliver’s sternum. “It felt like you were writing your name at first, but then you drew the symbol for pi, and I figured you were just hungry.”

Oliver snickered. “Did you not notice Mafalda’s continued attempts to fatten me up? Maybe I should tell her it’s your hip bones that leave bruises, instead.”

“You love it.”

“More than she’ll ever know,” he conceded, mourning the loss of skin on skin as he eased out from underneath him. “Alright, genius. Since you’re so good at this...” Pushing the covers out of the way, Oliver traced a treble clef from the middle of Elio’s back to his sacrum, finishing it off with a flourish. “What was that?”

Elio smacked his lips. “Too easy,” he murmured into his folded arms. “And a bit crooked. My old music tutor would plotz.”

“Brat.” Oliver smirked as he knelt between his thighs. “Are you challenging my artistry?”

“Might be.”

“Might be, he says.” Chuckling, he ran his thumb up from Elio’s tailbone, sure and certain. “How about my penmanship, then? What letter?”

A pink flush spread over Elio’s cheek. “D,” he decided, squirming slightly as Oliver’s huff stirred the loose curls beside his ear.

“How on earth do you confuse a P with a D?”

“Have you seen the state of your handwriting?” Elio protested, constantly offended by his messy scrawl. “Aren’t you professor types meant to set an example?”

Oliver scoffed. ”Perish the thought,” he said, dropping a lingering kiss to his nape. Elio’s cock lay flushed with need, and though he had no intention of bringing him off quite yet, Oliver couldn’t resist brushing his palm over the underside. “Indulge me,” he continued, stroking from root to tip. “Let’s play a game.”

“What sort of game?”

“An easy one, apparently.” Fighting his own arousal, Oliver followed the thick vein up then back, tugging gently on Elio’s balls. “But guess right, and I promise I’ll take care of this for you when I’m done. How’s that for an example?”

“Your generosity knows no bounds...”

“Ready?”

“Che diavolo!” Elio turned towards him, and Oliver felt breathless as he looked him square in the eye. “Tell me you’re joking?”

“Just a little longer,” he promised, propping himself on one arm to walk his fingers over Elio’s scapula, leaving a thin trail of slickness when he curved it round to his lower back. “Letter?”

Elio settled down with a put-upon sigh. “An S?”

“Correct.” Oliver pressed a fingertip to the freckle on his hip. “Next one,” he said, drawing a diagonal line up to his top vertebrae, then sweeping down to its twin.

“A?” Elio asked, then went rigid as Oliver poked him between his ribs. “Smetilla! That tickles!”

“It’s supposed to.”

“Why?” Laughing, he batted him away. “Did I get it wrong?”

“Not at all,” Oliver said, splaying a proprietary hand over his right buttock. “But next time, let me finish first, yeah?”

“Never heard you say that before.”

“Don’t be jealous of my stamina, Perlman.”

“Stronzo.” Elio arched into his touch. “Another.”

“Eager, are we?”

Elio snorted into his forearm. “Eager. Horny. Non vedo differenza.”

“Fair enough.” Oliver angled his thumb and forefinger towards Elio’s spine, fluid and precise. “This one’s harder,” he said, pinching them together.

“V?” Elio asked before he could go any further, and Oliver tutted as he began a downwards line towards his tailbone.

“Au contraire, mon chéri,” he said with a playful growl. “Not till I’m finished, remember?”

It was the work of a moment to complete the action, and Elio shivered as he glanced back at him through heavy lashes. “Y,” he muttered, shoulders hitching with a snigger. “A few inches can make all the difference, sì?”

Oliver smiled. “So I’ve been told,” he said, the slight breeze from the window lifting the hair from his forehead. “And what can we derive from that?”

Elio had a specific weakness for his public speaking voice. One which Oliver wasn’t above exploiting at every opportunity.

“Fuck…”

“Nope.”

Slender fingers circled his wrist as Elio cursed him out in several languages.

“Spell it for me,” Oliver encouraged, turning his lips to the salt-gleam dimple above his ass, before remembering to narrow it down. “In English, per favore.”

“S-A-Y,” Elio answered obediently, already sounding flustered. “Say.”

“And you thought you’d never complete your Masters…”

“Attaccati a sto cazzo.”

“Rude.” Oliver licked a stripe across his earlobe. “Be a good boy, and I’ll cling to yours, though.”

“Santo Cielo…” Elio huffed in annoyance. “I really hate you right now.”

“No you don’t.” Oliver snuck an apologetic kiss to his temple. “Not even a little bit,” he told him, copying the exact same pattern from earlier. “Second word, if you please.”

“Another Y?”

“Another Y,” he confirmed, watching as Elio clutched the pillow in a white-knuckled grip.

He remained perfectly still, however, so Oliver drew a deliberate line along his left flank before placing the pad of his thumb back at the beginning, then dragging it to the right. Once more, from the middle, then again from the bottom, and Elio was almost panting when he finally stopped.

“E,” he whispered, causing Oliver’s heart to skip a beat.

Because this was it.

No turning back.

There was an urgent pressure in his throat, and when he tried to swallow it down, the emotions damn near choked him. “Last one,” he muttered, snaking his index finger in another winding curve, and Elio waited until he lifted it away completely before answering.

“That’s an S,” he said, then paused to string all three letters together. “Yes?” Freeing his wrist, Elio rolled over to face him. “Say yes?” he asked, sleep-rumpled and adorably confused, so Oliver hummed something vaguely agreeable as he mouthed at his jawline, needing the rough scratch of stubble to ground him. “I don’t understand.” Brows knit, Elio pushed up on his elbows. “Say yes to what? What is it that you want?”

Oliver had spent weeks trying to find the right words, but ultimately, only three would suffice.

“To marry you,” he said, light-headed - and slightly concerned he was about to vomit. He hadn’t felt this terrified since he’d knocked on the adjoining door nine years ago, nothing but a broken heart and the vain hope of forgiveness to his name. “A piece of paper won’t change anything. I know that. But I told you once - out on that very balcony - that I loved you. All of you. Body, mind, and everything in between. You make me happier than I ever thought possible, Elio. This… you… you’re it for me.”

“Cuore mio…” Elio released a plaintive sigh. “I love you, too,” he whispered, taking Oliver’s cheeks in his hands as he sat up against the headboard. “But the courts... you know they won’t recognise -”

“Legally, no,” Oliver agreed, shifting to his knees. “Not yet. But we can do this our own way. Have a ceremony for us alone.”

“Not alone,” Elio corrected absently, hooking his heels behind him. “Together.” His lips pressed into a firm line, and the seconds in which he blinked back at him were the longest of Oliver’s existence. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, and instead of answering, Oliver reached for the small box he’d hidden in the bedside cabinet upon their arrival.

“Open it?” he asked nervously, and Elio made a sound that was almost a laugh, high-pitched and fluttering.

“Only you...” he said, and if it weren’t for the tell-tale crack in his voice, Oliver might be worried. “Only you would wait until I’m jet-lagged and sporting a semi to ask me the second most important question of my life.”

“Just a semi?” Oliver slid a palm to the crease of his thigh. “Hang on. Second? What was the first?” he asked, and Elio smiled as he gently butted against him.

“Does this make you happy?”

“Oh...”

Elio held his gaze. “So important you asked me twice, in fact.”

“I did, didn’t I?” No doubt there would be a third time, too. He’d always admired the sight of Elio in a tux - slightly more so than the sight of him out of one - and Oliver resolved there and then to fit it into his vows. “Still, that was before your rejection of all things cliché. How’s a man supposed to plan a proposal around that?”

“Quelle question!”

“Such high maintenance,” Oliver murmured, tipping his chin. “But I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

It was a struggle to kiss whilst grinning inanely, but they gave it a good try nonetheless.

“Are you going to open this or what?” Oliver asked, bracing himself as Elio cracked upon the box to reveal the antique gold and onyx band.

“That’s my grandfather’s ring,” he whispered softly.

“It is.” Giddy, Oliver watched the sunlight glint off the heirloom’s polished surface. “Sami wanted you to have it. He’s had it cleaned and resized for the occasion.”

“My father?” Elio raised an eyebrow. “Plotting again, were you?”

“Not as such,” Oliver said, remembering the two word inscription on the inside. “I couldn’t care less about government approval, but I needed to know we have it from those whose opinion I actually value.” His heart tripped over itself as he chuckled apprehensively. “I think your mother’s already chosen a hat,” he confessed, and Elio groaned.

“She’s going to invite everyone we’ve ever met.”

“She’ll not be inviting anyone if you don’t say yes,” Oliver teased, and the look he received could cut glass.

“Idiota.”

“Charming.”

“In what possible scenario would I ever say no to you?” Elio asked, reeling him in by the Star of David around his neck. “You’re a part of me. You are me.” Leaning in, he nuzzled into his hairline. “Oliver… you’re the best person I’ve ever met. Credimi. You’ve always been my forever.”

“Cor cordium.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t even -” Oliver froze. “Wait. Did you just -”

“Yes,” Elio repeated, eyes bright. “Yes, Oliver!”

It didn’t matter that his own vision was blurred. That the full extent of his vulnerabilities were on display. That Elio saw just how lost in him he truly was. Relief purged his body, sparks detonated across his skin, and Oliver made a chorus of his name as he freed the ring from its velvet cushion. It was cool to the touch when he picked it up - the weight of it heavy with promise - yet with unsteady fingers he slid it onto Elio’s left hand, sealing his declaration with a heartfelt kiss to his knuckles.

“Please tell me these are happy tears,” Oliver whispered, pulling him into his arms.

“Why? Afraid I’ll get a nosebleed?”

“Way to spoil the mood, Casanova…”

“The sweetest pleasures are those which are hardest to be won,” Elio quoted, studying the black inlay almost reverentially.

Oliver studied him instead. “You like it?”

“È perfetto.” Elio sniffed as he ducked his head. “I want to get you one, too. If you’ll wear it.”

“Wear it?” Oliver’s lungs were far too tight, but at least that meant he wasn’t dreaming. “Why would I ever take it off?”

“And change my name. Officially, this time.”

His smile was so wide it hurt his cheeks. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” Oliver said, clutching Elio close, pressing his face into the hollow of his shoulder. This was their life, chosen and built together. Theirs to have, now and for always. “As long as I can call you mine… anything at all.”

#cmbyn #fanfic #elio x oliver #sequel #fluff and smut

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idkwriteshitdown · 4 years

Text

Diego Doesn’t Like to Drink. It Makes Him Feel

Summary: Diego doesn't drink. Correction, he doesn't drink a lot. He knew they dulled his powers and he did not like that loss of control

Or what happens when Diego gets his first drink.

Words: 2531

(ao3 link)

---

Diego doesn't drink. Correction, he doesn't drink a lot. He knew they dulled his powers and he did not like that loss of control. Klaus was the one that gave him his first drink, proving himself to be the bad influence that Dad always said he was.

Diego cracked open the door and slowly peaked out his room. The hallway was empty. Checking to see if the coast was clear was merely a formality. Dad had cameras both in the hallways and in their rooms. But he also had a weird habit of walking around at strange hours, and it wasn't good to be caught out of the room by him when he was. Diego shuddered thinking of the last time he was caught after lights out.

Seeing that the coast was clear he slowly stepped out. Carefully he walked towards the stairs. Years of sneaking around the house had taught him which floorboards creaked when you walked over them and which steps to skip over to avoid alerting the whole house of your presence. Diego found the easiest, and most fun, way to avoid the noisy stairs was to slide down the banister. He and Luther always competed with each other to see who could have the most impressive landing at the bottom. Silently Diego slid down the staircase landing into a roll at the bottom.

Diego stayed crouched at the bottom of the staircase. He cocked his head slightly listening for noises. Hearing none he moved forward towards the next room. He started humming a song under his breath that he had heard the other kids sing.

Diego had started sneaking out by himself just to get away from his house and other siblings for a while. He met a group of kids on one of his excursions. They invited him to play spies and other dumb games with them. It was fun pretending to be a normal kid and not Number Two of The Umbrella Academy.

With his back against the wall he peeked around the corner. Seeing it empty he quickly ran from there to the couch still humming under his breath. He crawled out from behind the couch and into feet. Diego froze and then slowly looked up.

“Having fun?” Looking down at him with an amused look on his face was Klaus.

Diego quickly jumped to his feet brushing the nonexistent dust off of his pajamas. “K-k-klaus.” he said. “Wh-what, uh, what are you d-doing?”

Klaus gave a lazy grin. “I could say the same to you little brother,” He reached out to ruffle Diego’s hair.

“Stop it.” Diego scowled slapping his hand away. Klaus had hit his growth spurt first and practically shot up overnight making him the tallest of all the kids. He spared no expense in lording it over his more vertically challenged siblings. Diego took a step back and looked at Klaus. He was leaning against the bar one hand behind the back. He looked relaxed but Deigo could see the tightness around his eyes.

“Ghosts?” he asked.

“Oh you know,” he lazily waved a hand in the air. “They’re around.” he sniffed and flipped a finger to someplace in the distance. “You know my demons.” He giggled. “Why are you wandering around?”

Diego picked at his sleeve. “I was just going to get a drink from the kitchen.” He actually was going sneak out, but he didn’t want to tell Klaus that. Klaus would probably insist on tagging along and Diego wanted that to be just his thing.

Klaus raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know getting a drink involved rolling around the floor like an idiot.”

Diego flushed. “I d-didn’t know.” He paused “I didn’t know seeing ghost’s involved…” he trailed off and shoved Klaus as he started laughing. “Shut up. What’s behind your back?”

“Nothing, why would you think that”

Diego gave him a look. “I’m not stupid.”

He lunged forward reaching past Klaus. Klaus quickly raised his hand revealing a bottle of dark red liquid. At the same time he turned to the side to avoid Diego.

“Careful” he exclaimed, cradling the bottle to his chest. “This is very precious cargo.”

Diego squinted looking through the dark to see the label. “Is that one of dad’s drinks?”

“Yes, and it’s the best one too.” He held up the bottle. “A fine red wine. Old too. Gets you drunk with style.”

“You drink that stuff?

“You don’t?” He reached over the counter to grab two wine glasses. “I was just about to go up to the roof to take a little sippy sippy. Come on little brother.” He flounced over to the stairs taking no heed of the noise he was making.

Diego sighed taking a longing look at the kitchen before running off to join his brother.

He caught up with his brother as he was struggling to open the door to the roof while juggling the bottle and the two wine glasses. Digeo moved him out of the way and opened the door for him. “Why are you so loud. Dad could hear us”, he hissed.

Klaus laughed. “Dad can’t hear us. And if he could,” He raised his voice leaning out into the hallway. “He can’t do shit -- Woah.”

“Be quiet you idiot.” Diego pushed him through the door.

Klaus shrugged and sauntered over to the small picnic table they had set up on the roof. They had found it in the backyard one day and they all argued what to do with it before Five said that they would put it on the roof. Over the years they found, stole, more things to decorate their rooftop escape. That was when things were good. Before Five ran away. Before Ben died.

“Are you going to join me?” Klaus motioned to an empty chair. Klaus poured them two generous helpings of the wine. “So you’re telling me you’ve never tried ANY of Reggie’s drinks?”

Diego took a glass and swirled the liquid around. He sniffed it wrinkling his nose at the smell. “No.”

“Huh,” Klaus said surprised. “I figured you would’ve. You know, with the amount of times you leave the Manor.”

Diego jerked, sloshing the wine on his hand. He set the glass on the table. “You know about that?” After Five left the siblings stopped their jaunts to the diner to get donuts. It wasn’t the same without him. Diego assumed that everyone else just stopped going out all together.

“Don’t be surprised. We all go out.” He frowned. “Except for that goody two shoes Luther.” He giggled, “or should I say goody one shoe. I don’t think Vanya goes out either, but did we really expect her too.” He took a sip from his glass. “Ah magnifico.”

Diego eyed him warily before reaching out and taking a sip from his own glass. He coughed spitting out the drink. “How do, how do you drink this stuff? How long have you been drinking this stuff?”

“I started when I was 15.” He took Diego’s glass and pushed it back up to his mouth. “You got to just drink through it. It’ll taste better the more you drink.” He paused. “You know even Allison got Luther to drink some.”

Diego grabbed his glass back from Klaus. He scowled down at it. He knew that Klaus knew that he would never let Luther one up him, even if he wasn’t actually here. He took a deep breath before drinking down the whole glass.

“Woah” Klaus clapped. “Now we’re getting this party started.” He poured more of the bottle in both their glasses. “Drink up buddy. I’m trying to finish this whole bottle.”

“So, so, so, Klaus. How long have you been drinking?” Diego took a swig from the bottle. They had long since abandoned their wine glasses and relocated to sitting at the edge of the roof.

Klaus took the bottle back and began picking at the label. “I started when we were 15. Snuck out one night to taste one. I chose a scotch.” he gave a soft chuckle. “It tasted horrible. I almost threw up.”

“Why did you keep drinking it then?” Diego asked.

Klaus sighed and took another sip. “Remember when we were 12 and I broke my jaw.”

Diego smiled. “Yeah you had to drink out of a straw for two months.”

A car drove by breaking the silence of the night. “Yeah well when it happened they put me on some pretty strong painkillers. It was glorious. All the ghosts were gone. I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want dad finding out. He’d probably do his stupid experiments.”

Diego nodded sympathetically making grabby hands for the bottle. “Why’d you...wait so long to start drink, drinking then?”

“I didn’t know it would do the same. All I knew was that medicine would.”

“Huh. We all just thought you just got stupider af-after the fall.”

“Chasing that high baby.” He took the bottle back. “Dad was pissed. Said I was becoming a ‘useless junkie’. He had started having mom hide the medicine but at that point I already met Joseph.”

“Joseph?”

“Yeah he’s my weed man. I think you’d like him. Met him on one of my nights through town. It’s a nice feeling but doesn’t really get the ghosts to leave like the pills do. I told him once how I drink cough syrup and then smoke, and he laughed and asked why I just don’t drink regular alcohol.”

Klaus threw a rock off the side. They watched it as it bounced off the ground “Honestly I felt like an idiot when he explained it to me. Here we have a whole wall full of liquor and I’m wasting my time breaking into the medicine cabinets.”

“Hey I wonder if it has the same effect on you?” Klaus jumped up.

“What?” Diego looked up at his brother.

“Well drugs and shit make my powers go away. Do they do the same for you?” He looked around. “Go grab some rocks. Let’s see if we can hit that light post. I’ll give you 20 bucks if you can break it.”

“Fuckin easy.” Diego stumbled to his feet looking for something to throw. The boys hunted the roof top for loose pieces of stone.

“How many you got?” Klaus called out from the other side of the roof.

Diego looked down at his hands. “I’ve got two. You?”

“I’ve got three. That gives you five chances to hit it.”

Diego walked back over to their drinking spot. “No way it’ll take me five.” Diego picked up the wine bottle and took a huge gulp. Tossing his stone up in the air Diego adjusted his stance and threw out into the night. They watched as it arced up in the air heading towards, and then past, the light post. “What?”

Klaus clapped jumping up and down. “Oh boy. Not Mr. Sharpshooter anymore.”

“It’s got to be a fluke.” Diego picked up another rock and hurled it at the lamp post. He watched in disbelief as it went even further off the mark than the first one. “No no no no no.” He dropped to the ground looking for the next rock.

Klaus grabbed him. “Hey are you okay?”

“It’s it’s n-not working.” He shoved him off lifting his hand to throw another rock.

Klaus grabbed his arm and wrestled him to the ground. “It’s not supposed to work. That’s what it does.”

Diego bucked pushing Klaus off of him. He turned around to run but was tackled by Klaus again. Twisting around he threw a sloppy punch at Klaus that was easily deflected. “Calm down.” Klaus shouted. He grabbed one of Diego’s arms pushing it against him. He dropped his weight on Diego while trying to catch his other arm. “Will you just.” He grunted as a fist caught him in the side. He reached out immobilizing his brother. Breathing a sigh of relief he relaxed, catching his breath.

He lifted his head to look down at his brother. Diego’s face was scrunched up and there were tears in his eyes as he glared back at him. “It’s going to be okay.” Klaus said slowly.

Diego relaxed the fight leaving him. He averted his eyes. “I d-don’t. I don’t like it.” He whispered.

“It’ll go away in the morning.” Klaus said he eyed his brother who was doing an amazing job at not letting the tears fall. “If I let go will you promise not to run away?”

Diego snorted. “Yeah, yeah, let me go asshole.”

“Bitch.”

They separated. Diego roughly wiped his face with the back of his hand before drawing his knees up to his chest. He felt Klaus sit down next to him cross legged. They sat like that for a while each of them lost in their own minds

“So they make the gh-ghosts go ‘way,” Diego slumped against his brother.

“Yup” Klaus said popping the p.

“So you can’t see Ben?” he asked.

Klaus tensed and looked down at Diego, then he looked up over Diego’s head. “Nope.”

“I miss him,” Diego said softly, closing his eyes.

“I miss him too.” Klaus threw his arm around the other bringing him close.

They sat together like that, one leaning against the other, watching the empty night streets.

“Well it looks like we didn’t finish the bottle. Guess we have to try again next time bro. Diego? Diego?” Klaus shook his brother panicked. “Diego. Wake up. Please don’t make me drag you to your room. That’s not fair.”

Klaus laid Diego down before getting up behind him and grabbing his armpits. “This is not Karma” he grunted. “This is something worse than Karma.”

“Diego cracked open an eye. “Who you talking to?” he slurred.

“Oh great. You’re awake enough to hear us talk but not awake enough to help yourself get to your own room.” At that point Klaus had dragged Diego to the door of the rooftop. “I should just leave you out here.” He grunted. “You’re lucky I’m a good brother.”

Diego reached up to touch Klaus’s face. “You’re m’ favorite brother,”

“Well I sure hope so. I’d be sad if Luther was your favorite.” He lifted Diego up throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Jesus Christ. How can someone so small be so heavy,” Klaus groaned. “Shut up it’s not funny.”

“Ah, fuck” Diego jerked up covering his eyes with his hands. Almost immediately afterward he threw a hand over his mouth. He swallowed heavily trying to resist the urge to throw up.

“It’s time to wake up sweetie. You’re going to be late for breakfast.” Mom said from by the curtains. Diego groaned and rubbed his head. Mom sat on the bed next to him and rubbed his back. “You’ve learned a valuable lesson in why you should not drink in excess.”

Diego looked at her. “You know?”

“I can recognize the signs of a hangover when I see it.” She smiled sympathetically. “Drink some water. It’ll help.”

Diego flopped back down on the bed. “I’m never drinking again.”

Mom stood up and walked to the door. “Sure you won’t. Don’t forget to show up for breakfast.”

#tua #fanfic #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #drinking

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years

Text

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Eleven

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Everything Inbetween

“Wine, signorina?”

A full glass appeared in front of her before the server had even finished his sentence.

She widened her smile a little as she accepted it, not taking a sip. The server retreated to the periphery of their vision, a lingering, silent presence.

Her gaze returned to Bronte. His men had left him, leaving only him, the armed guard and the server. She wouldn’t have minded the company of the two drunk men now. Bronte gestured to a chair a step away and she moved to sit in it as he seated himself in a chair opposite.

“Forgive me for prying, signorina,” he said as she arranged her skirt with her free hand to give it something to do, her purse in her lap, “but why are you up here and not enjoying yourself with the party?”

“I was looking for the powder room,” she answered, conjuring up a soft, endearingly embarrassed laugh. “I seem to have gotten lost, though.”

“Indeed.” He smiled at her laugh.

There was a pause that his silence forced her to fill.

“I’ve never been in a house as grand as this before, it’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is.” He blew out a stream of smoke.

A game was being played here.

Her back straight, her features pleasant, her heart pounding, Ada smiled. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Signor Bronte?”

Bronte rested his arms on the armrests of the chair, his head tilting slightly. “When my boys told me two pretty women, a blonde and a redhead, were asking questions about me, I was intrigued.”

She didn’t move, her smile frozen.

He tapped his cigar, ash falling to the ground. “When my boys described this red-haired woman, well, I couldn’t help but find the description familiar.”

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the glass.

“Now, why did I find it so familiar..?” Bronte mused, as if he had just spoken with the boys who served him. He took a drag on his cigar, as if waiting for her to answer the question.

She stared at him.

He blew out a heavy stream of smoke, an easy smile on his lips. “Your uncle likes his tea, doesn’t he, signorina?”

Her chest tightened as she swallowed hard.

“He likes the way my servants make it, especially,” he continued, finally looking away to gaze out at the night sky. “When he told me of his woe and sorrow, I couldn’t not promise to help him reunite with his niece—”

“That’s not going to happen.”

His gaze cut back to her at her sharp words, the smile lingering.

“No?”

What was the use in playing a game when the opponent held all the cards?

“My uncle doesn’t care for me, Signor Bronte.”

Bronte tutted quietly. “Signorina, he cares very much that you are returned and his town is safe.”

A corner of her mouth lifted humourlessly. “Not out of love.”

He laughed. “Love... You know, this word, signorina, nobody does anything for love anymore. We’re all animals, fighting our way to the top.” He tilted his head again, looking almost sympathetic. “I cannot force you, Signorina Timmins—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, do excuse me, Signorina O’Driscoll—”

“Don’t—”

“It doesn’t matter what name you go by, signorina.” All humour had vanished from him now as he leaned closer, his tone low. “What a risk you take being here tonight. You still look the same, still sound the same, I imagine. What a beauty you truly do look, too, better than most of them down there.” He sat back again, shaking his head in gentle awe. “Magnifico. Is that why you have been sneaking around up here, signorina? Avoiding the attention you could so easily gather?”

He smiled as she remained silent.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Signorina Adaline. It wasn’t hard for my boys to follow you and the other woman back to your camp. Then, a simple suggestion to Dutch that I should like to see you, a fresh, pretty—”

“Have you told Dutch?” Dutch hadn’t given any inclination if Bronte had, but he could have been playing his own game.

Bronte waved his hand. “No, no... Not yet.”

She pressed her lips together.

Here it comes.

“What do you want?”

He chuckled. “You are so very bold to be here. What if your uncle were to strike up a conversation with Dutch, what if they are talking together right now as we speak, and they get on a little too well?”

She was too angry to be entirely afraid of what was to come.

"What do you want, Bronte?”

He just looked at her for a moment, smiling, then he reached inside his jacket. She stiffened. All he withdrew, though, was an envelope about the size of the book she’d been reading the morning before. He held it out to her.

“Say you found these while sneaking about.”

She glanced at the envelope. “What are they?”

“You can look inside if you like.”

It was her turn to now just look at him. Then, she reached out, placed her glass down and took the envelope. As he sat back and watched, Ada turned the envelope over and found the seal of the Mayor’s office keeping it closed.

She paused.

She broke the seal.

Placing the envelope in her lap, she withdrew two, folded pieces of paper. Opening them out, her gaze flicked up to his, her brow dipping.

“These are sketches of the bank.”

“How observant.”

Her eyes dropped to the papers. Detailed sketches of the interior and exterior of the bank lay before her, a few annotations here and there of improvements to be made. She recognised the handwriting from the documents on the Mayor’s desk.

She looked back up to Bronte. “Why don’t you give these to Dutch yourself?”

“Because I have asked you to. And you cannot return empty-handed, can you? That would be far too suspicious.”

Lowering the papers to her lap, she shook her head slightly, a frown lingering on her features. “Surely you must want something more?”

He held his hands open slightly. “I want you to support Dutch. He needs it. I see a very prosperous relationship regarding Mr. van der Linde. I wouldn’t want anything ruining it.” He gestured towards the papers. “Support him. I know that will be hard for you given your...” His mouth moved slightly, a hint of a smile. “... history, but it is better than the alternative, no?”

“I am not loyal to Colm O’Driscoll.”

He just shrugged, his smile lingering.

Ada looked back down at the papers. She had no choice.

Clearing her throat, she folded the papers and slid them back into the envelope before meeting his gaze. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Magnifico!” Bronte beamed, holding his hands open again. “Really, we can all benefit from this, signorina.” Looking over her shoulder, he nodded at someone she didn’t want to turn to see before looking back to her. “Thank you for your time, Signorina Sawyer, I promise you won’t regret this.”

Smiling tightly, she took her purse and rose as he did, and glanced down at his outstretched hand. Accepting it, her grip was firm as they shook hands.

“Now,” he continued brightly as he released her hand, “you may continue to sneak around up here or even stay here and delight me with your company, or Luca will escort you downstairs and make sure you are not seen.”

“I’ll see myself down, thank you.”

“Of course.” She despised his smile. “Thank you again, Signorina Sawyer. I do hope to see you again soon.”

“Good evening, Signor Bronte.”

Inclining her head, Ada turned and her gaze landed on Luca who Bronte must have nodded at. He smiled as he stepped out of her way.

“Good evening, signorina.”

She returned his smile, lightly.

“Oh, signorina...”

She paused.

Please just let me go.

Turning back to Bronte, she found his smile still in place as he pulled something out of his trouser pocket.

“Your uncle asked me to give you this...”

Her heart stopped.

The bastard, he had spoken to Nicholas, he had—

Her gaze dropped. A thick, silver ring lay in the centre of his palm.

Her breath caught.

“Take it. He wants you to have it back.” Bronte held his hand further out to her, his smile widening. “A gesture of goodwill.”

“Goodwill...” she breathed out incredulously as her eyes flicked back up to his, swiftly cutting herself off, swiftly stopping herself from giving him anymore satisfaction with her reaction.

Her teeth gritted, she swallowed hard and stepped closer. Reaching out, she took the ring, her hand quickly pulling back.

“He’s a very funny man,” Bronte said brightly as she slid her father’s ring back onto her right, middle finger.

“Yes, he is.” She thought she might have whispered the automatic response, staring at her hand.

Looking up to him again, she smiled tightly.

“Good evening, signor.”

Her walk through the doors and onto the landing was measured, every part of her wanting to run. She felt sick, her entire body cold. Once at the stairs and out of sight, she exhaled a breath and immediately inhaled a deep one, trying to soothe her pounding heart.

That had... How dare he...

She felt furious and helpless.

Ada descended the stairs slowly, one hand running along the wall, the other holding the envelope and her purse.

Just make it down the stairs. Go out the front door. Sit on the steps if you have to. Lenny might have stopped the carriage around the corner—

“Good evening, miss.”

Ada smiled swiftly at the servant who passed, continuing on. Entering the small foyer, she passed someone.

“Hey, where are you goin’?”

She didn’t stop.

Get outside. Breathe.

The front doors were in sight, one open. She quickened. Then, she was outside, the cool air engulfing her. Moving down the stairs, she tilted her head up to the night sky, taking in deep breaths.

Son of a bitch... Jesus Christ...

He had spoken with both of her uncles. Nicholas was here, Colm had been here, God, did that mean he was close now? Why had Bronte met with Colm?

She could feel beads of sweat running down her back, her hands and breath shaking.

Pull yourself together.

She couldn’t return to the men in this state.

Well, at least I have something...

She gripped the envelope a little tighter, staring down at it.

But why? Why, why, why, why, why...

Her mind was humming.

Stop. Stop, stop, stop. Slow down. Breathe.

She inhaled another long, slow breath before she stuffed the envelope into her purse.

She should have stayed and questioned Bronte. She should have asked him outright why the hell he’d been meeting with Colm. That’s what he’d meant about history. Not just alluding to her connection to him. Colm had told him everything, he knew everything about her, including what Dutch had done to her father. She should—

“A lovely night, isn’t it?”

Oh, Christ.

She froze, her already staggered breaths halting.

Her uncle Nicholas was only a short distance behind her, talking to a new group.

He didn’t want to find her, she knew that. Her staying missing would help push his agenda. But if he saw her now... What a show he could put on. She stayed still, staring ahead, trying to even her breathing once more.

The name ‘Albert Fraser’ wandered into her mind, bizarrely. Yes, you could turn around, keeping your face turned away and walk back into the house and try and find him... Who was he again, how was he important? No. She couldn’t go back to the house, what if someone recognised her from the description in the newspaper? She’d been damn lucky so far, but the people here, they had to read the newspapers, they had to know what was going on. Why the hell had she come.

She couldn’t think properly. She didn’t know if she wanted to be sick or faint. This was too much, it was all too much, it—

You’re getting worked up again, breathe, just breathe...

It had been such a long time since she’d been panicked to this extent. She been given plenty of cause to be panicked but anger had overshadowed it or the need to move on to the next thing but now... she just felt helpless. She had no control over anything. That terrified her more than anything.

Her uncle’s voice drifted across the lawn. “... it has been so terribly awful without her, and my sister, too. They were the joys of my life.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. She wasn’t the joy of his life. She wasn’t the joy of anyone’s life. She’d been the joy of her father’s life, he’d told her so, and he was dead, and then she’d been the joy of her brother’s life but he was dead, too, and now after that no one, she’d had to look after others before herself and she was so sick and tired of all of it, she just wanted some peace and to be cared for, she wasn’t too proud to admit it, she wanted someone to look after her, not all the time, just now, just for now, just for now when everything was dark and hopeless and...

Breathe, please just breathe...

Albert Fraser. Do something useful. Turn around and go in.

She didn’t move. She stared at the street, at the horses, carriages, people going by. It occurred to her, then.

I could join them. I could just wander onto the street, find a place to stay for the night, make a plan tomorrow, get away, get away from everyone, no one needs me, they could all live without me, they’ll all just be a memory, a story to tell in a few years time, I could—

“Miss Sawyer!”

Jolting, she turned sharply out of reflex, forgetting her uncle for a moment. She smiled automatically as Dutch emerged from the open door, beaming, Arthur, Hosea and Bill behind him.

Shit...

“Shall we leave?”

“Yes, let’s,” she answered brightly, feeling the same, oddly charged energy that had possessed her for the last few minutes running through her body as she beamed back.

The men descended the stairs, Dutch smiling, Hosea pleased, Bill irritable and Arthur... looking at her.

“Hey, you okay?” he murmured as the others continued on, he and Ada falling behind. “You walked right past me earlier.”

Shit... she’d passed Arthur, because of course she had.

“I was following someone,” she answered, her tone matching his, though a faintly manic smile lingered.

“Who?”

“A servant, that Albert guy. It didn’t lead to anything,” she waved her hand dismissively as they were handed their weapons back, the doorman smiling courteously at each of them in turn.

“Right, so you—”

“Here comes Lenny,” Dutch announced, making them all look ahead.

There he was indeed, pulling the carriage up to the front of the house. Nodding at the doorman, Dutch clapped him on the back before heading to the carriage. Ada kept her breathing steady as they let her step up first, the nervous fluttering inside her lingering.

She sat by the window on the far side, staring out of it as they climbed in.

Please calm down, please just breathe.

The corset didn’t help, restricting every deep breath she tried to take. The door closed and Lenny urged the horses into a walk, turning the carriage around. She stared out of the window still, looking up at the grand house as it came into view. She shouldn’t have come. Why had she, she could’ve just said no—

Her gaze dropped and met that of Nicholas Timmins.

Her blood went cold. He stared at her, just as frozen as she was, not listening to the elderly woman speaking to him. Then, he was gone, the carriage rolling on and the next house filling her view. She looked ahead, staring at Bill’s waistcoat as he started to grumble.

“I ain’t never felt so awkward in all my life,” he muttered, loosening his bowtie, “All them folk, all so pleased with themselves. High society’s pigeon shit. If you ask me, it’s more like torture.”

She waited for the shouts, for the calls to stop the carriage.

Tutting, Arthur reached inside his jacket and removed a document, handing it to Dutch. “Here’s them papers I took,” he said, leaning back into his seat.

“Anybody see you take this?” Dutch opened the document, glancing over it.

No shouts came.

“Don’t think so.”

“Did anyone else find anything?” she heard herself ask suddenly, looking up and between them.

Bill made an indiscernible sound, looking out of the window.

Hosea, however, nodded, speaking to her, so she assumed they’d all already conferred. “I found somethin’ about a bank that could help us.”

“A bank?” Her eyebrows rose. Fumbling with the opening of her purse, she pulled the envelope out, pausing for a second before holding it out to Dutch. “I found something about a bank, too.”

They all looked at her.

“Really?” Dutch said as he accepted the envelope, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he turned it over and opened it.

“Yeah, I got into the Mayor’s bedroom and found it on the dresser,” she answered, clasping her hands together over her purse.

“Bedroom?” Arthur prompted, an eyebrow arched.

She shrugged her shoulders quickly, shaking her head slightly. “People hide all their personal belongings in the bedroom. And the door was locked.”

“What—”

“Annie...” Her gaze darted to Dutch as he looked up at her, almost in awe.”... this is brilliant. This is exactly what we need.”

For some reason, a reason she would never be able to discern, the manic anxiety suddenly slipped away as they all inched closer and tried to get a look at the bank plans as Dutch lowered them. Her own smile softening, she glanced up and caught Arthur’s gaze. He returned her smile, one corner of his mouth higher than the other.

“Lady and gentlemen,” Dutch chuckled, folding the map away. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

Bill grumbled his agreement as Arthur sighed.

“You can drop us at the edge of town. We gotta get our things from the hotel, and our horses.”

“They keepin’ ‘em for you?” Hosea asked.

“Nah, we had to buy the place for another night, robbin’ bastards. Our things are in our room.”

“Why don’t you stay there?”

All four of them looked at Dutch, Ada’s lips parting.

Excuse me...?

Dutch raised a hand slightly before reaching inside his jacket to retrieve a cigar. “Would be a shame to waste the money.”

Arthur shook his head. “That don’t matter—”

“No, you kids deserve a nice comfortable bed after your work tonight,” Dutch said jovially, a smile pulling at his lips as he placed the cigar between them.

“Sure,” Ada answered in the same moment Arthur said, “Righ’.”

Settling back in their seats as Dutch leaned his head out of the window to call out the plan to Lenny, Ada kept her gaze firmly out of the window.

Right...

Another evening out of camp, wonderful... Another evening alone with Arthur in a confined space where he was probably going to ask more questions...

Right...

—

The men bade them a very warm farewell as they stepped out of the carriage, pleased with what the night had offered, and grateful Bill had found a half-full bottle of champagne on the floor.

Pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers, Arthur exhaled a breath as he watched the carriage roll away into the night. He felt Ada also release a breath beside him. Something had happened tonight. The look on her face as she’d descended the stairs had made his heart stop; it was the same expression he’d seen the first time he’d taken her into camp and had broken down. He’d wanted to follow after her, but time had been crucial at that damn party and he’d needed to find something.

He hadn’t known what to do back then, when he’d first met her, but now...

Turning to her, he pulled a hand out of his pocket, lifting it to gently place it on her back. “Ada, I—”

“Why don’t we get a drink?” She flashed him a smile before she’d turned and was gone, disappearing into the loud saloon.

His hand dropped from where it had almost reached her, his teeth gritting.

God damn it, he could have yelled right there and then.

He was tired of enigmas and questions, they were beyond that now, or at least he’d thought they were. Perhaps tonight would be the time to put all the uncertainty to rest, about everything. But... yes, a drink would do.

The saloon was rowdier than the night before, people laughing and talking loudly, drinks overflowing and spilling, and women sat on various men’s laps, an exciting poker game in full-swing.

He followed Ada to the bar, watching her as she leaned over, nearly shouting to be heard by the bartender. She ordered a bottle of whisky and two glasses, glancing up at him expectantly as the bartender placed them on the counter. Tutting quietly, he fished a few coins out of his pocket, dropping them into the other man’s hand.

Taking the bottle and glasses, she turned and surveyed the room. Finding no empty seats, she turned her head to him and said above the noise, “Let’s go upstairs.”

She was heading to the stairs before he could agree.

They had to push their way through the crowd of people, declaring ‘excuse me’ here and there. It was notably emptier on the top floor, a few women and men huddled in corners and on the couches together, though no less quieter as the noise below carried up. Passing them, Ada adjusted the bottle and glasses in her hands so she could retrieve their room key from her purse. Opening the door, she entered, placing the items in her arms down onto the bedside table.

Arthur entered a few moments behind her, glancing at her, then he removed the key from the door and closed it, locking it. He placed the key beside the glasses as she moved to the French doors, pulling the curtains across them and ignoring the waves of a few of the drunken patrons on the balcony. He watched her as she returned to the bedside table, stepping out of her way slightly, and removed the top from the bottle, pouring a good two or three inches into each glass, her purse propped beside them. Holding one out to him, he accepted it from her with a wordless nod, and she lifted her own, turning from him to move to the washbasin.

Sipping the whisky, he watched her as she took a long drink, and saw her grimace, even from this view, before placing the drink down and lifting her hands to her hair, starting to pull pins out.

She seemed... jittery.

Lowering his glass, his tongue gliding over his lips, he moved around the bed to ‘his’ side, setting the glass down on ‘his’ bedside table. Shrugging his jacket off, tossing it onto the couch beside him, he continued to watch her as he unbuttoned his waistcoat. She kept her gaze on the thick curtains, removing pin after pin and dropping them beside the basin. A curl would be released with each one she took, falling about her face and shoulders, dropping down to her waist. The waistcoat joined the jacket as did his bow tie. Sliding his braces off of his shoulders, he then rolled his sleeves up before removing his gun belt and depositing it on the couch.

He finished as she did, her hands shaking her hair out and settling it. She took another sip of whisky and he sat on the couch, leaning back and kicking his shoes off.

Then, she turned to him.

“Well, tonight was interesting.”

“Yes, it was,” he remarked, leaning over to get his glass before settling back again, balancing it on his thigh.

He thought he saw her eyes narrow just a fraction when he didn’t say anymore, but she looked away a moment after, gazing down as she lifted her skirts to toe her blue shoes off.

She continued looking at the floor, her teeth grazing over her lip.

“I think I can beat you on who had the more interesting night.”

She looked at him as she took her glass and sat on the chest at the end of the bed, one leg tucked under herself, her lips twitching wryly.

“I know what you’re doing, being coy and not talking, though maybe you know I know that and that’s the point.”

“We’re spendin’ too much time together,” he answered, his features softening a little.

She exhaled a laugh, though the smile quickly faded. She looked at the glass in her hands, and he knew she was choosing her words.

Jesus Christ, was she actually going to tell him what had rattled her without being prompted?

After a few moments, her eyes met his.

“I spoke with Bronte tonight. Alone.”

He held her gaze, not allowing a reaction just yet. “Okay.”

She shifted slightly. “I was on the upper floor, planning on finding somewhere to hide, and I’d managed to get into the Mayor’s bedroom from his office. I picked the locks.”

Of course she had.

“Someone came into the office, though, and was about to come into the bedroom so I got out of there through the bedroom door and was nearly to the stairs when a man stopped me, then Bronte called out to me, from the balcony.” Her thumb brushed against the glass. “He gave me a glass of wine, invited me to sit with him and then I very quickly realised I was there for a reason.”

Arthur stilled.

She licked her lips before continuing, “Bronte said he’d spoken with my uncle, Nicholas, and had promised to help him find me in any way he could.”

His brow dipped but she carried on, wanting the whole story out.

“He said after hearing my description from my uncle and hearing about me from his boys, from when Sadie and I had been asking questions about him, he’d asked Dutch to bring me along, probably when you, him and John had gone to get Jack. I asked him why he wanted me there and he didn’t really give a reason, but he did want me to... to give those papers with the drawings of the bank to Dutch.”

Arthur’s frown deepened. “What?”

She shrugged slightly. “Those and that I should support Dutch. He said he could see a prosperous future with Dutch and that my support would mean a lot.” She licked her lips again. “He also said... that he knew it would be hard for me to do that.”

“Why?”

Ada took a breath. “He’s met with Colm, Arthur.”

Arthur’s mouth opened as he sat up. “What the hell?”

“I know, I... He didn’t say why, he sprung that on me just as I was leaving. He gave me this, too, from Colm. My Daddy’s ring.” She held her right hand up, showing him the ring.

His gaze flicked to her finger before he shook his head as she dropped her hand. “Why the hell is Bronte meetin’ with Colm and with us?”

“I don’t know... He could be wanting to extend his reach? Want more people and therefore more power on his side? Maybe he’s considering options?” She shrugged, exhaling a long breath. “I don’t know, Arthur, he’s a man I can’t understand.”

“Why didn’t you say you’d spoken with Bronte in the carriage and that he’d given you the papers?”

“Even if I’d said that and lied through my teeth about what we’d spoken about, Dutch would still have wanted to know why Bronte wanted me alone, might even ask him when they meet again. It could have led to too many questions and suspicions.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he murmured before taking a long sip of whisky.

She drained her own glass and swallowed hard with a grimace. Wiping her mouth with her fingers, she raised her eyebrows, her lips twitching.

“I did hear my uncle talking while I was lurking in the bedroom, my Mayor uncle that is. He was doing a very convincing job of being beside himself about my disappearance whilst also pushing his political agenda. He saw me, too.”

He stared at her, but she laughed then, with an air of bewilderment.

“What?”

“He saw me, when we were leaving. I just looked out of the carriage and there he was, looking at me as I was looking at him.” She was smiling and she didn’t know why. “He didn’t even say anything. Didn’t even call out. He doesn’t want me back, I know it, he doesn’t.”

She then laughed again and lay back on the bed, the chest level with it, resting the glass on her stomach as her other hand rubbed at her brow and closed eyes.

“Oh, Lord... Do you ever curse yourself for the times you thought life was difficult when it absolutely wasn’t and you took it all for granted?”

Arthur shifted in his seat. He didn’t know what the fuck to say to any of that. “I don’t know. My life ain’t ever been easy though.”

“Yeah, but I bet you’ve had fun,” she sighed. “I bet you’ve had times where it’s felt like it was worth it.”

He gazed at her. She wasn’t in the right state to talk about her uncles now.

“You sayin’ carryin’ me all the way back to camp wasn’t fun?”

She laughed, her hand sliding from her face to her chest as she turned her head to him, smiling.

“Ah, how could I forget one of my most treasured memories.”

“And shootin’ up that manor?”

“Oh, and then finding out a man dear to my heart had died. Ah, wonderful, wonderful memories...” Her smile lingered as she chuckled.

He arched an eyebrow, her smile infectious even as concern tugged at him. “What about takin’ that ride and killin’ those Raiders?”

She chuckled again. “Mmh, and it was raining...”

And you’d held me...

“Jack’s party was fun, too,” she added, her voice slightly lower.

One corner of his mouth lifted a little higher. “Yes, it was.”

She thought of his hands on her body, his mouth on hers, his tongue stroking...

Dangerous territory, Ada... But that had been so nice...

Pulling her gaze from his, she pushed herself up, inhaling a quick breath.

“Well, those shoes have made my feet hurt,” she announced, sitting upright. “And I could do with another glass.”

Arthur’s gaze lingered on her before he ran his hand down his mouth and stood, draining his glass. “I’ll get it.”

She lifted her glass for him to take as he passed her, dropping her now empty hand into her lap. She heard him pour whisky into their glasses as she winced and shifted.

“Christ...” she muttered, straightening her back as her constricting bodice started to become a little bit too uncomfortable.

Pushing herself up to her feet, she reached her hands behind herself, her head tipping back slightly, and searched for the line of buttons that ran down her spine. Managing to undo a few from the base to the middle of her back, she then arched, trying to reach higher.

Oh, for the love of God...

Huffing out a breath, she dropped her arms and accepted the glass Arthur offered to her, his brow arched.

“Strugglin’?”

“Mmh,” she hummed as she took a sip, swallowing quickly. “The eternal struggle of women.” Exhaling a heavy breath, she placed the glass down by the basin before her, her hands returning to their attempt at the buttons, her head back, her eyes closed. “You men have it so easy. Everything’s within reach and comfortable and easy, and we have to be contortionists and have to have assistance like children and we’re not able to breathe, and we can only eat one tiny thing otherwise the laces will burst and—”

“All right, all right, Jesus Christ, woman...” Setting his own glass down by the basin, Arthur shook his head and placed his hands on her hips, turning her back to him.

Her eyes widened as her head tipped forward and her hands dropped.

“Excuse me, can—”

“For Christ’s sake, don’t start lecturin’ me again.”

He started unhooking the rest of the buttons, pulling just a touch too roughly.

“Will you just be careful, please, this is a beautiful dress—”

“Yes, all righ’...”

Despite his grumbling, he became gentler. She exhaled a breath, her hands going to her hips. The material loosened around her shoulders and chest, prompting her to automatically raise her hand to keep it up against herself. A muffled cheer went up from the saloon below, at the poker game, probably, and she heard Arthur sigh under his breath at it.

Her lips twitched.

Then he reached the last button between her shoulder blades, his finger tips brushing against her skin.

Lord...

She stepped away, nodding.

“Thank you.” Keeping her back to him, she tugged her sleeves down her arms.

He didn’t say anything but she heard him pick his glass up, the floorboards creaking slightly as he moved somewhere. Gripping the dress at her hips, she gently eased it down, Stepping out of it, she swept it up and moved to the couch, carefully laying the dress over it. The floorboards sounded again as Arthur moved, sitting on the chest.

A trumpet sounded from somewhere a few streets over, a slow melody fitting for the time of night.

Does this city ever sleep?

Reaching her hands back once more, she found the ties that, knotted together, held her bodice tight against her body.

Begone, torture.

Pulling on a cord, the knot came undone, and she bent her arms higher to begin loosening the rest.

The floorboards creaked.

“Stop, stop... ‘bout to dislocate your damn shoulders...” Arthur murmured, brushing her hands aside.

He took over as her hands dropped, her lips twitching.

“You’re being very helpful, Mr Morgan.”

“Hate to see a damsel struggle,” he drawled.

She snorted. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, can’t stand it.”

“You hero. Should have asked for a medal from the Mayor.”

“I did. It’s comin’ soon.”

“To Tacitus Kilgore?”

“Nope, Arthur Morgan. I want women to know it’s me lookin’ after them.”

He smiled as she laughed, comfortably able to do so as the corset loosened around her ribcage.

“On behalf of woman-kind, I thank you.”

As he tugged at the last lace, her hand went up to grip the top of the corset to stop it falling and she made to step away.

Gentle hands at her hips held her in place.

Her lips parted as she kept her gaze ahead.

“Arthur...” she breathed, a slight hitch to her tone.

“Jus’... don’t move for a second,” he murmured.

She could feel the warmth of his hands through her thin chemise. It was such a light hold. She could have pulled away if she wanted to.

“You’re in my head, Ada,” he continued after a moment, his voice so low. “I just... I know I said it the other day and I know we also said what we said but... I think about you all the time. I can’t seem to stop.”

She swallowed lightly, her chest rising and falling a little quicker.

“I like hearin’ you laugh and seein’ you happy. I think about when I was kissin’ you—”

She turned, his hands gliding around her, finding her waist. The corset fell in the process, settling at her feet. Lifting her hands, she cupped his face and rose up on her toes to capture his lips in a firm kiss. His arms immediately went tight around her, holding her as his lips moved against hers. Her body instantly reacted to him, desire coursing through her.

God, she’d only had this once but she had missed it. To hell with everything, to all of it. Who gave a fuck. Her tongue slid against his, tasting the whisky they’d shared together, much like the night they’d last and first kissed. Except this time, she wouldn’t allow any interruptions.

Breaking the kiss, her hands dropped to unbutton his shirt, her breathing ragged.

Arthur’s own breathing was rather laboured as he fisted her chemise at her hips, staring down at her.

“Shit, woman, think you could give me a warnin’ next time?” he gravelled, one corner of his mouth rising.

She glanced up at him as her own lips lifted, arching an eyebrow. “You think there’s gonna be a next time? You’re bold, Mr Morgan.”

“Oh, I’m gonna make sure there’s a next time, sweetheart...”

She gasped and her smile widened as he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Now this seems familiar...” he murmured, his gaze drifting over her.

“I think I’ll need reminding of a few parts,” she whispered as he stepped closer to the bed and placed his knee on it, laying her down. She sank back into the sheets as his body covered hers, holding himself up by resting his forearm above her head.

“Oh, really...”

Ada’s head tipped back as his lips descended upon her neck, her mouth dropping open with a sharp inhale. Christ, he was good, his tongue and teeth grazing over her skin and making her fingers curl into his shirt at his back.

“... remember this?”

His low words against her ear had her biting at her lower lip as she nodded.

“Vaguely...”

She felt his smile, before his arm was sliding under her, pulling her close against him as he trailed warm, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. She just about managed to suppress a moan, pulling at his shirt slightly as her eyes closed. Every inch of her skin was yearning for his touch, needed his touch to ground her, to stop her mind from spinning. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she slid her hand into his half-open shirt, gripping his shoulder, as her other pulled his shirt out of his trousers.

“Now, I don’t remember this...” His lips grazed against her jaw as he lifted his head to arch an eyebrow at her. Then he saw the fire in her eyes.

“Touch me,” she murmured, her hands now at his shirt buttons, finishing what she had started.

He didn’t need telling twice. Dipping his head, his mouth went to her chest, the neckline of her chemise low, baring the tops of her breasts. He kissed at the soft skin there, feeling her quick breaths.

Her nipples had hardened, visible through her chemise, and he lowered his mouth to one, wetting the material and gently pulling at the sensitive peak with his lips. The moan that escaped her was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He sucked and licked at her nipple, wanting to draw more sounds from her and she didn’t disappoint, one hand suddenly in his hair, gripping and holding him in place as she moaned.

He moved his attention to her other nipple, tugging at it with his teeth as his hand moved from above her to pinch and roll her wet nipple with his fingers.

“Oh my God...” he heard her breathe as she tipped her head back, her back arching.

Heat pooled in her lower stomach, spreading down, and she desperately needed relief. Lifting her hips, she rocked them once against his thigh, and he answered with a groan. She liked that. Angling her hips, she rolled them again, and brushed against his straining erection. His mouth paused in its ministrations as his fingers pressed into her side, another, rougher, groan escaping him. She liked that very much, so she did it again, then again, picking up a slow rhythm.

From the sound of his following groans, his teeth were gritted, and he pressed his forehead against her chest. When, after a few moments, she felt his own hips start to move, she slid her hand down between their bodies and brushed her fingers down him.

He grunted and pulled his hips back suddenly.

“Wait, wait, Ada...” Pushing himself up with one hand, he gazed down at her, his other arm still resting under her, cradling her.

She blinked a few times as she focused on him, wetting her lips. “Sorry, was that not, was I not supposed to do that?”

He shook his head slightly as he tried to find the right words. “No, no, that ain’t it, I... We just can’t... I don’t think we should go the, ah, the whole way.”

She gazed at him, her eyes searching his, and the fire in her eyes started to dim. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just got—”

“Nah, don’t apologise, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along her lower lip. “I just... don’t think it’s right.”

She arched an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “You waiting until marriage?”

Or for Mary.

He snorted, his hand returning to settle beside her. “Nah, just...”

When he couldn’t find the words after a few moments, she lifted her hand and cupped his jaw, making her smile widen a little more. “It’s okay... It’s quite sensible, actually.”

He scoffed, his eyebrows raising. “That’s somethin’ I ain’t ever been called.”

“What an interesting night indeed.”

Arthur exhaled a laugh before pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to her lips, feeling her body instantly press closer to his.

Christ, woman...

Pulling back, he carefully pulled his arm out from under her and pushed off the bed, standing at the end of it.

“You want another drink?” he asked as he straightened, running a hand through his hair, gazing down at her.

Oh, Jesus...

She looked absolutely beautiful. Her curls were splayed out around her head, her skin was flushed, her chemise was pulled down, keeping the curves of her breasts visible to his appreciative gaze, and she was smiling.

“Yes, please.”

Nodding, he pulled the glass from the dresser and, deciding it did indeed need topping up, rounded the bed to the table.

Ada stared at him. He was waiting for Mary. Or marriage. Or marriage to Mary. Either way... fine. She didn’t want anything serious. Neither did he most likely... But what was stopping them from just... living in the moment? If he really, truly didn’t want this then he wouldn’t have kissed her, wouldn’t have kissed at her nipples... He might not want her, exactly, but she could live with that. She would live with that.

As he removed the stopper from the bottle, he heard her clear her throat, the sheets rustling as she sat up.

“I’ve heard there are... other things a man and woman can do to pleasure each other.”

He paused, the rim of the bottle knocking against the glass. Then he looked at her, her hands clasped in her lap.

“Is that right.”

“Yes.”

For all that she looked slightly nervous, she lifted her chin as she held his gaze. He set the glass and bottle down.

“What kind of things?”

She wet her lips. “Things that... just involve hands... and mouths.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

She watched him as he pulled his shirt off, tossing it aside. She’d seen his bare chest before but even still she couldn’t stop her gaze from quickly travelling across his torso. Her breathing then hitched as he nodded a few times, moving back to the end of the bed, his arms folded.

“And what kind of things could I do with my hands and mouth to you?”

She was too drunk on desire and need to call him out for being the bastard that he was.

She wet her lips again. “Well... You could kiss my breasts like you were doing or you could... you could...”

He’d moved onto the bed as she spoke, leaning over her, his lips inches from hers. Lowering his hand as she trailed off, he moved it under her chemise and brushed his fingers against the seam of her drawers, eliciting a sharp gasp from her.

“Touch you here?” he murmured, stroking her again, and her back straightened as a low moan sounded from the back of her throat, her hand going to his bicep. Exhaling a breath, he pressed his fingers against her and her eyes closed. “Christ... You’re wet, sweetheart...”

She could only hum in response, her nails digging into him as he continued to stroke her through her wet drawers.

“Has anyone else ever touched you like this before?” he murmured, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Her tongue darted out over her lips as she shook her head, opening her eyes after a moment to meet his gaze.

“No,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed. “Only me.”

“And how do you like to touch yourself?”

“Arthur...” she muttered, her cheeks flushing.

“No, I ain’t sayin’ it to embarrass you, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his hand pausing. “I just wanna make it good for you.”

He was seconds away from grumbling at her features softening, when she cupped his face and pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his. He groaned as her tongue traced along the seam of his mouth, gently asking for entrance which he gladly gave. As her tongue dipped into his mouth he slid an arm around her and guided her onto her back, her head resting on the pillows. He would have been more than happy to spend the rest of the night just teasing and kissing her plump lips when he felt her hands leave his face and her body shift under his as she lifted the hem of her chemise a few inches and began to push her drawers down.

He helped her, carefully tugging them down with one hand until she kicked them off, then her hand was on his.

“I like it gentle,” she murmured so quietly against his lips as she slid his hand under her chemise and he touched the wet lips of her cunt.

Her hips bucked slightly as she inhaled a sharp breath and the kiss paused, both of them just focused on the feeling. His middle finger slowly slid up her slit, gathering her wetness, and she made a sound akin to a keen as he circled that bundle of nerves that seemed to serve no other purpose than to give pleasure.

Arthur could do gentle. He could do slow. He could do both until the end of days if it meant he got to watch her like this; her head tipped back, one hand on his forearm, the other his shoulder, her lips parted, her breaths ragged. His only qualm was that he wanted to give more. Drawing his arm out from under her, he caressed her hip as he ran two fingers up and down her slit, taking the time every time to rub the spot that prompted the loudest moans from her. Lowering his head, he then began to trail kisses down the curve of her soft, round stomach, moving down as he went until he was settled between her spread legs.

Ada eyes snapped open, her gaze darting down, and she made an involuntary moan at the sight of him.

Oh, sweet Lord...

A corner of his mouth lifted as their eyes locked and she didn’t think she could breathe for a moment. Then his tongue swept up her folds.

“Oh holy God...” The curse tumbled from her lips before she could stop it, her eyes widening as her stomach muscles tightened.

His low, answering chuckle made her hips buck, and his hands circled under her thighs to settle on her stomach, holding her down. He traced his tongue along her pussy, dragging another moaned curse from her.

“This what you heard about, sweetheart?” he murmured, his deep voice vibrating against her so deliciously.

“Didn’t, hmh... didn’t know it would be this good...” she breathed, her hands moving from her shoulders to her stomach, to the bedsheets, unsure of what to do with them.

She then gripped at the sheets as his tongue lapped at her cunt in long, rhythmic strokes. Her teeth instinctively sank into her lower lip to muffle her loud moans as her eyes closed.

“... I want to hear you...”

God, his voice. Had he always had such a delectable voice? Had she just not noticed or had she not wanted to? And those words...

“... Get out of your head... Lemme hear you...”

A moan from the back of her throat sounded. She felt his fingers press into her skin slightly and his tongue started to move a little faster. Releasing a long breath, she didn’t care that it sounded like a whine. The feel of his stubble rubbing against her skin didn’t even bother her, she liked it.

Then he sucked at the sensitive bud. Crying out, she couldn’t stop her hand from moving to his head, her fingers gripping at his hair. He groaned at that, sucking a little harder before he licked at her again, alternating his ministrations that had her mewling and rolling her hips up.

His gaze flicked up to her. Christ, if he thought she looked good before... Shifting slightly, he moved a hand from her stomach to her folds and slid a finger inside her. Jesus Christ, she was warm and wet and tight and... Fuck... The gasp she gave and the tightening of her slick walls around him had his already straining cock begging for relief.

He moved his finger, slowly fucking her with it. Both of her hands were on his head now, her fingers twisting into his hair and, hell, even that felt good. He could feel her hips jerking under his arm which he’d now lain across her stomach, wanting to buck and writhe. She was so wet he could easily slip a second finger inside her, moving them as one.

Jesus, what would it feel like to slide his cock into her, to fuck her and have her wet around him—

No, no, he couldn’t do that, shouldn’t even torment himself thinking about that. This was enough.

“Arthur...”

Her moan of his name, it never sounding so sweet, had him looking up again, meeting her gaze. Her cheeks were flushed and her breaths were ragged; she was close, and he wanted nothing more than to see her tumble over the edge.

Her finger tips were brushing against his cheek, her eyes half-lidded. “Kiss me, Arthur.”

He surged up, bracing an arm by her head as his lips descended upon hers. She moaned against his lips, cupping his face and holding him close as his fingers continued to move inside her, his thumb pressing against the swollen bud. He felt her start to clench around his fingers and her lips broke from his as she cried out.

“That’s it, Ada... Let go, that’s it...” he murmured, drawing his head back to watch her.

Tilting her head back, all she could and wanted to focus on was the pleasure coursing through her, building and taking hold. Then, he curled his fingers inside her and brushed his thumb across the bud. Her release consumed her as her back arched, her head spinning now for an entirely different reason, cries tumbling from her lips.

“Oh, God, Arthur...”

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her blunt nails sank into his shoulders as her head rolled to the side, her hips rising off the bed. She looked like an angel, he thought, she looked so damn beautiful. He kissed down her neck, across her shoulder, chest. He wrapped his lips around her nipple, sucking lightly as he gradually slowed his fingers, wanting to prolong her pleasure as much as he could. It wasn’t until he felt her fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling slightly, that he stopped completely, pressing a kiss to her chest.

Ada hummed quietly as his fingers carefully withdrew from her. Her hand remained on his, though, and he lifted it, her fingers, without even being aware of it, lacing with his as he settled their hands on the bed. Kissing the corner of her mouth, he inhaled a long breath.

“Got you quiet now, huh, it’s nice when you ain’t givin’ me shit...”

She laughed, her eyes opening a moment after as she stretched her legs out, contentment spreading through her. “Shut your mouth, Arthur Morgan.”

“All righ’...”

His lips on hers muffled her laugh, her arms wrapping around his neck. It was a soft kiss and they both let it linger.

God, he could get used to this.

Their kiss quickly ended, however, when he felt her hand at the waistband of his trousers.

“Ada...” He pulled back a little, holding himself up over her. “... You don’t—”

“I want to,” she murmured, her other hand on the back of his neck. “Please. Let me.”

He sighed quietly. “Ada—”

“Let me.”

Her fingers brushed against the front of his trousers and his jaw tightened.

Christ...

He nodded. Tilting her chin up, she pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his jaw and his eyes closed. He felt her unbuttoning his trousers, counting each one in his mind. There were only three but time, it felt, stretched between each of them. Then, her fingers were on his cock. He exhaled a short, sharp breath, his teeth gritting. Her touch was so light, so gentle. He didn’t deserve the tenderness of it but, Lord, he wasn’t about to stop her.

Her hand was suddenly on his shoulder, making his eyes open.

“What is it? Do you want to st—”

“Turn over.”

“What?”

She grazed her teeth over her lower lip, unsuccessfully hiding her smile. “Turn over, please. On to your back.”

“Why—”

“Because I said so.”

He didn’t want to argue. He shifted off of her and on to his back, adjusting his head on the pillows. She turned on to her side, her finger tips running up his arm furthest from her. His jaw moved slightly. She traced over the scar at his shoulder the O’Driscoll’s had given him before her fingers glided across his chest. They continued on down, past other, smaller scars, through the hair that covered his chest, down his stomach.

He swallowed as he watched her and she watched her hand. He barely breathed as she explored and he didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to break whatever plan she had or her curiosity. Then she reached the waistband of his trousers. In a matter of seconds her light fingers were dipping inside. A final proposal that she didn’t have to died on his tongue when she slid her fingers around his aching cock.

He sucked in a breath as she withdrew him from the confines of his trousers, freeing him. His cock was painfully hard, and her fingers flexed around him as she adjusted to the weight, eliciting a hiss from him. He had no words, watching her, waiting. He then realised she was waiting, too, no, not waiting, pausing, considering.

“It helps...” Her gaze rose to meet his as he spoke, having to pause to clear his throat. “... It helps if your hand’s a little wet.”

Her lips twitching, she then opened her mouth and licked her palm. The sight of her tongue made his fingers curl into the bedsheets.

Lord, he was acting like a boy who’d never known the touch of a woman... when was the last time he had? Hell, he couldn’t remember, he didn’t want to remember,

He thought he saw the ghost of a smile before she wrapped her fingers around him and moved her wet palm up and down languidly, curiously. The groan he released had a hiss to it, his eyes falling shut.

Christ...

He just felt. Felt her light, gentle touch caressing him, the soothing pleasure that stretched throughout his body. She was exploring, using her palm, then the tips of her fingers, then he felt... Fuck, then he felt her tongue...

He breathed out the curse as she touched and circled her tongue around his tip tentatively, her finger tips still stroking the length of him. He wanted to see her face, lose himself in her blue eyes, she’d probably smile, too, and it’d be so good, but he didn’t want to demand anything of her, ask any more of her, in fact, he...

He couldn’t.

“Hey...” His hand found her cheek, stroking lightly, and he only opened his eyes when he felt her pull back, knowing it would break his resolve if he saw her between his knees and...

Clearing his throat, he found her gaze, a corner of his mouth lifting slightly at her frown of confusion.

“I can’t, I...”

“Did you not like it?”

Her quiet voice almost broke his heart.

“No, no, I, I did, but I...” He licked his lips. How could he even begin to explain? “I...”

She was just looking up at him with a beautiful, open expression, but he just couldn’t.

“... I wanna taste you again.”

She blinked, her lips parting a little wider. That softened his smile.

“... But you just—”

“Please, sweetheart.” He was asking for so much more than was being said. He didn’t know if she’d understand that as she gazed at him.

Then, a smirk pulled at her lips as she placed her hands on his knees and pushed herself up, her mouth nearing his. “How could I say no to that, you hero?”

“For Christ’s sake, woman...”

A wide smile spread across her lips as he caught her around the waist, turned them and lay her back on the bed. She threw her head back, her fingers tangling into his hair as she lost herself to the sensations of him, him, him.

—

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raven-black102 · 6 years

Text

Protection (Major Jasper X Brazilian! Reader)

Requested by Anonymous: Could you do a Jasper Hale x Brazilian!reader, where she his mate (they met a few decades after he was changed) and because of her powers, Magic and Energy Manipulation, the Volturi want her and Major takes over control to protect her?(The reader is very calm)

Kind of added a few thing and change a few things. I still hope you like it! ^¬^

(Y/n)'s POV

"Came on Major we have to go!" I told him as I took his hand in mine. "Maria is died we can escape now just me and you." I said as he stood still watching the newborns run lose. "We have to kill them." He said softly as I sighed as used the energy of the trees to block the newborns from leaving.

"Then lets fight them together." I said as I saw a small smile on his lips. "I never got to tell." He started as the Newborns turn around running towards us. "I love you." He said causing me eyes to widen slightly. "I love you too. Now let finishes this together." I said smiling at he nod his head.

Time Skip

Everything was different ever since we meet the Cullen's Major has change and became Jasper Hale. But I've remain the same except with the change of a diet of course. It seems it was a lot easier for me to get used to animal blood then it was for Jasper.

He seem to have a very difficult time being around other humans. In fact I would too if he wasn't there beside me. "We should go out hunting before Edward brings his human." I told Jasper as we lay in bed holding each other close.

"I don't want to let you go." He said softly looking at me. "Don't worry about me. And I hope Edward singer doesn't finish eating that food because it smells really good." I said causing him to chuckle.

"I always wondered how you're able to eat human food and sleep." He said as he nudge his nose at mine. "I wonder the same thing but maybe it just who I am." I said softly then tried to get up only for him to push me down.

"Jasper you need to hunt." I said giggled as he started to kiss down my neck. "That can wait." He mumbled as pushed him down with me on top as I kissed his lips. "Eu amo você meu amor." I spoke in my native tongue causing Jasper to give me a confuse look.

“It means ‘I love you my love’ in my language.” I purred as I pinned his hands on the side on his head. “Now you need to hunt.” I said as I saw the look of awe and adoration on his face. I got up and waited at the window with my hand extended out towards him.

Time Skip

3rd Person POV

As (Y/n) and Jasper went out to hunt Bella and Edward just turn down the road towards the house. “So, whats (Y/n)’s and Jasper's story?” Bella asked causing Edward to smile at her softly. “Those two.” Edward said as he parked his car in front of the house. “They had a lot of things to deal with when it was just them. They complete each other and theirs nothing that can go between them.” Edward said then got out the car to Bella's side to open her door.

Once Bella got out the house she couldn’t help but look at the house in awe. “Esme and (Y/n) did most of the decorating in the house.” Edward said as he took Bella's hand in his and lead her to the house.

"Bella this is Carlisle, Esme, Emmett, Rosalie, Jace, and Alice." Edward said to Bella as she took notice two missing family members. "Hello." Bella said softly as they all smiled at her. "We hope your hungry." Esme said happily as Bella nods her head.

"She already ate." Edward said causing Rosalie to brake the glass bowl. "Great. Don't act like this is dangerous to all of us!" Rosalie snarled. "I wouldn't tell... anyone." Bella said slightly alarmed. "She knows that Bella." Carlisle said softly as he cleans his hand and Esme gave Bella a soft sad smile.

"Just ignore her Bella I do." Edward said coldly causing Rosalie to slightly snarl. "That's not very nice of you Edward." (Y/n) called out as her and Jasper jumped off a tree branch. "Nice to meet you Bella." (Y/n) said walking towards Bella gracefully.

Bella looked at (Y/n) in slight awe before smiling at her. "Yeah." Bella said as she saw Jasper slightly tensed but looks a lot more relaxed then he was in school.

Time Skip

"Oh, it seems you have brought the Major and Captain with you." Aro said as Major took fully control of Jasper body. "The hell you want?!" Major snarled causing (Y/n) to take his hand in hers. "Its okay Major." (Y/n) said as she looked at Aro.

"We would like to see your gifts." Aro said as he sat back on his throne with his brothers. "Darlin' I don't like this." Major growled causing (Y/n) to peck his cheek. "Its fine love." (Y/n) said with as soft giggle as she walked to the center of the room.

It was silent as the Volturi watch (Y/n) curiously of her gift and why Aro wanted her so much to join them. (Y/n) took a deep breath causing her body to instantly replace them moved on it own.

(Y/n) stopped gracefully as Aro gasped and cheered happily at her. "Magnifico." Aro said as (Y/n) stood close to Major with her head bowed. "The ability to control the four main elements." Caius said with slight astonishment.

"I guess you can say that." (Y/n) said softly with a kind smile. "What other gifts do you have child?" Marcus asked as he slightly leans in. "Magic." She said then smirked as she moved away and created a dark hole in the middle.

"Come forth." (Y/n) mumbled as large heartless appeared. It snarled at the Volturi as the guards hissed at the Heartless creature. "This is a Heartless. They steal hearts." (Y/n) said softly as the creature turn an slightly coo'd at (Y/n) as if it was a child and (Y/n) is the mother.

"They can do my bedding if I please." (Y/n) said as she pet the creature then it disappeared as if it wasn't even there in the first place. "We need someone like you." Aro started causing Major to instantly hiss.

"Over my dead body." Major hissed as (Y/n) remained calm hoping it would effect the Major a bit. "Of course we can't separate you both. And a vampire with your experience Major. You would be a useful fighter." Aro grinned as Major was on the verge of wanting to kill him.

"I appreciate the offer King Aro. But I must decline. I am happy where I am with my husband and his family." (Y/n) said with a smile as The Three kings frowned in disappointment.

Time Skip

(Y/n)'s POV

"I couldn't bare the thought of losing you to them." Jasper said as tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. "You where scared?! I was afraid to death that they would've killed you if I haven't stopped the Major from attacking." I said causing him to chuckle softly.

"I love you (Y/n)." Jasper mumbled causing me to smile at him. "I love you too." I said as we lean in for a kiss.

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okimargarvez · 6 years

Text

THE MAGNIFICENT, EXTRABILIANT POWER OF SUGGESTION

Original title: Il magnifico, strabiliante potere della suggestione.

Prompt: just right after 14x1, the team go to Rossi’ house and talking about Luke and Penelope situation.

Warning: comic, border of the absurd, parody.

Genre: humor, family, parody, comedy, romantic, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Emily Prentiss, Tara Lewis, David Rossi, Matt Simmons, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau.

Pairing: Garvez, Tarily.

Note: oneshot 39 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 🔦🎈.

Song mentioned: Solo è solo una parola, Tiziano Ferro.

This story it’s my first Tarily.

GARVEZ STORIES

THE MAGNIFICENT, EXTRABILIANT POWER OF SUGGESTION

As the last time, Rossi had that idea. After what they had passed, after what they had risked losing, it was necessary to spend a moment of suspension, in which they didn't have to think about the duties and responsibilities that weighed on their shoulders, every time they got on that jet, and even on those of those who remained on the ground. But above all, the father of the BAU wanted to prevent someone from mulling too much and arriving at the wrong conclusion. Finally, they have to stay together for what distinguished them from all the other teams, including the VICAP where the traitor, Mary Meadows, had been working for a very long time. Because they were, because they are, a family.

Dave is in the kitchen, intent on taking care of his very famous pasta, which, he himself is aware of, would make his grandmother pale, because it is too different from the original recipe. But here they are in America, not in Italy, and dishes, like people, change, transform, absorb something new and combine it with tradition. Despite not being in the living room, he still has a good view of a good part of his colleagues. And his hearing works great. -No, I say, have you seen?- Tara blurts out, jumping on the couch and beating with her arm that of her colleague, as well as boss. -Or am I the only fool to have noticed?- she turns to the blonde, while trying to lower the volume of the voice. But there wouldn’t even be to worry. The reason that justifies her sudden jump in the air hasn’t noticed anything in the least, is too busy to do something else. Rossi giggles, continuing to mix the sauce; he adds the cream.

I think of you thinking of me and a life goes away, I look at you, watching that another era ends and while inexorable the time doesn’t console me, I'm alone but I smile, and I think that alone it's just a word...

-Are you talking about a certain someone who hasn’t stopped staring at someone else since we left the elevator and even now seems not to want to commit too much to make everything less obvious and clear?- says the expert's answer in communication with the press. They all burst out laughing, yet the man doesn’t even turn around.

Emily even applauds. -I couldn’t have said it better, JJ.- the two friends look at each other and approach their heads, blonde and brunette, so perfect to see together.

Perhaps even to avoid being pushed aside, Dr. Lewis says: -But why, don’t tell me it's the first time you realize it. -And so Prentiss returns to focus on her.

JJ shakes her head vigorously, clapping a hand on her leg, to emphasize the following concept. -Not really! Say rather the millionth time.- she casts more circumspect glances at the subject of their conversation, but there is no danger at all. -He doesn’t miss an opportunity to stare her, whenever he knows she can’t noticed it.- a slight, that is not slight, trace of frustration.

-I don’t think he does it consciously.- Matt decides to take the defense of his friend, at least a little. -Sure, his brain has a security system that prevents him from looking at her and being caught, but there is nothing conscious, in what he does.- for the first time he turns to check the situation with his own eyes. Luke is still there, dazed at the entrance to the patio, and is staring at their beloved colleague, in the garden, intent in a lively telephone conversation with her chocolate thunder.

-In any case this situation has lasted for too long. This story has been going on for two years.- it is clear that JJ can’t stand it any longer, she hoped for them from the first moment, she also thought more than once to talk with him or her, but she didn’t want to intrude on things that didn’t concern her. And here is the result.

Tara helps her. -Yes, well, if you expect that he makes the first step, you are a dreamer.- she launches an overall look at the whole group, thus obtaining a strategic pause. -We have noticed the way he looked at her a moment ago, no?- another break, before expressing at best what she has learned in years of university and several specific courses in psychology. -With regret. Disillusionment.- she scans every term well, almost as if it were arcane and she wasn’t talking to equally competent people. -It doesn’t even dare to put a hand on her shoulder, while inside him, who knows what he thought.- she shakes her head, looks at her friend again. -It's hopeless.- she decrees, finally, virtually by leaving her own signature to the recipe that she would recommend to him.

-And then, do you think it would be easier if she makes the first move?- Simmons loves both, loves Penelope, but in this discussion he must at least try to take the parts of his adoptive brother.

-When she came back from that audience in San Francisco... Pen told me that, if anything could have happened before, now it was too late.- JJ reveals, with a slightly sad tone. Emily strokes her arm.

-For Lisa?- Tara asks.

-I think so, what else?- the blonde answers rolling her eyes.

So, Matt decides it's time to seriously expose himself. -I'm sorry to be so abrupt, I'm really sorry for Lisa, but... theirs is not a big love story. At first maybe he was taken by the new... but it lasted less than a week.- he remembers his look while he told him about this girl fabulous, smart, nice... and remembers even better what he had thought himself, i.e. that he was actually speaking of Garcia.

-Are you sure they're still together?- more than a pair of eyes look strangely towards the chief. She spreads her arms as if to say "I only asked". Then, after a moment's hesitation, she adds: -After all, you all didn’t realize that Mark and I broke up.- JJ opens her eyes wide and also her mouth, then takes a deep breath.

-WHAAAAAAAAAAT?- a look of reproach that is equivalent to a "how could you not tell me". From the kitchen, Rossi refrains from laughing so as not to distract himself. He can’t forget to add onions. What a David Rossi’ pasta Carbonara would be, otherwise?

Dr. Lewis strokes her shoulder. -I'm very sorry, Emily.- she understands that her friend is sincere, but she still catches something strange; but decides not to commit too much in the search for an answer that is not ready to know.

I wrote the answers even without the questions because I have riddles and doubts sent back to the sender...

JJ takes the situation in her hands. For her it is not just one of the many chats in the family, but a real mission. -We must trying to stay serious. Does anyone have a real plan to put them both in front of the reality of what they feel?- the million dollar question. Nobody dared to risk proposing something, until the boy, the youngest of the group, finally takes the floor. Tonight, he was strangely silent.

-Why don’t we lock them in a closet and don’t leave them there until one of them fails?- his best friend seriously evaluates the idea for a moment, then forces herself to discard it, although she sees the scene in front of her eyes as if it were real.

-Spence! Do you want to be arrested for kidnapping?- the little genius doesn’t understand the reaction of his boss. -No, it seems too bad.- the others nod.

-Where did you take this idea, from a book by Stephen King?- Tara asks him. He nods vigorously. -I guessed.- and a chorus of laughter breaks out. For the first time since being at Rossi's home, Luke turns to look in their direction. But only for a moment. He can’t risk that the work of art he is contemplating vanishes because he has let himself be distracted for a while.

-Hey, conspirators, the dinner is ready!- Dave's voice resounds also to Luke, who has a sweet and dreamy smile on his lips.

-Penelope!- he calls, enjoying seeing her turn around and forcing her to look him in the eye. -It's time for dinner.- the blonde looks up at the sky, clearly annoyed and interrupts her conversation. She is too far to read the labial, even if he would be able to.

Later, while the two lovebirds (still unaware of it, but these are just details) clean up the room (they have certainly not decided to do it, it was the landlord who entrusted to both of this task), all others take care of the rest of the house. And it is precisely during the passage of a plate between JJ and Matt, that Reid elaborates the perfect plan. That is not at all so, but the general enthusiasm is too great for anyone to realize it. And luckily for them, those two are overly naive to smell the smell what’s in store.

-What if we let them believe that we all involuntarily ingested a "truth serum"?- for a while the dish doesn’t fall to the ground, where it would surely be shattered, ruining Grandma Rossi's favorite set.

-Spence, but it's a great idea!- the ceramic object reaches the dishwasher unharmed, and the blonde holds back from throwing her arms around his neck, even though he no longer hates hugs or physical contact in general.

-Pentothal.- Tara can’t help but say, correcting his colleague. This too, it's quite strange. Spencer that doesn’t use the correct term of a drug.

-Yes, all great, but there is still a problem. How did we eat such a thing without realizing it? As a joke it seems a bit too...- Simmons is forced to be the pain in the ass.

-Right, we need to study the details better.- Emily nods to herself meditatively.

-But we don’t have much time left. Those two have practically finished and aren’t stupid to this point.- JJ looks terrified at the living room, not even she was the protagonist of a scars horror film or a slashers movie.

-I'll take care of that.- Rossi walks outside the kitchen, still wearing an apron with "Bella Napoli, da Tony, cheap prices" written on it, a gift from one of his best poker’ companions from the good old days, apron that, between brackets, it suits on him so good. -Hey, guys, I realized I had made an unforgivable mistake. I forgot to buy wine. And what Rossi’ party would be, without a nice glass in the hand?- he mentally asks forgiveness to the various bottles down in the cellar. Perhaps, in another situation, perhaps, if it were vital information to capture an unsub... perhaps in that case they would have understand, which was just a lie. Instead, in the special circumstance, they fall for it, both. -Would you go there to buy one, while we end up settling down there?- he paints the most sincere and innocent expression he know on his face. Yes, he always got along well with poker.

-Sure, no problem.- Luke smiles and certainly is not because he wants to take a ride with the car. The smile widens more and more, and the eyes are filled with little hearts. Damn it, it's just so hopeless.

-But why do I have to go too? Can’t do him alone?- instead, his kitten protests, behaving like a naughty child, but not at all affect the blissful expression of her colleague.

-C’mon, getting some air will do you good, and beyond there, a couple of hands, here, might be a bit too much. And this evening it's better that none of us stay alone.- he is good also with improvisation. Maybe he should have worked in the cinema; after all, he is half Italian. Di Caprio, De Niro, Tarantino...

-Let’s not split up, exactly the opposite of Fred's suggestion in every episode of Scooby Doo!- agent Alvez adds, hoping to gain points in the eyes of Garcia, having noticed (and noted, in his mind) a poster and a statuette of the famous Great Dane in her house.

-Exactly!- the man gives him a fatherly pat on the shoulder. Penelope looks first at one and then the other, as undecided about who unleash her own wrath, who fulminates first, then emits a loud puff, that surely others in the kitchen will have heard because they hear shortly after laughter in the distance. However, Dave is surprised not to see her stomping her feet on the floor.

-Italian Stallion, you shouldn’t do that!- in the end, she shows quite generous, before walking behind the Latin, which launches at the older one a gaze that seems a silent thanks.

While the roar of the car of Luke resounded, Rossi returns to the kitchen, where the housework has been completed quite a while ago. Three women and two men, one of them married and one self-sufficient for unhappy circumstances; he couldn’t expect otherwise. -Ok, it's done.- he exclaims in a strange tone, as if he were talking through a walkie-talkie. He can resist to not adding a Roger.

JJ is responsible for taking the floor for everyone. -Great. So, we thought we could say that you found a letter from your old enemy, maybe a rival of love, I think there will be an infinite list of them- this mania to reiterate the stereotype of warm hearted Italian -that instead of killing you has decided to punish you by forcing you to tell the truth and so ruin your romantic evening with Krystall!- many heads nod in sync.

-Wait... how do you know that I restarted to dating the third wife?- Tara, Emily and JJ exchange a look too explicit.

-Well, before you said it, we had only suspects.- and the blonde blinks innocently, tapering her lips and passing her tongue over it, as she always does in these circumstances. Shit. Now the damage is done.

-Whatever.- he talks hoping that the information vanishes from their minds, submerged by other data much more important for their mission -We don’t have much time, Luke and Penelope will return in at most ten minutes. There is a supermarket nearby, and there is no queue at this hour.- and magically, it works.

-I'm in charge of manufacturing the threatening message.- Reid offers, genuinely enthusiastic.

-I'll give him a hand.- Tara says.

-Ok, but there is another problem.- all look bad at Simmons, who spreads his arms, as if to say that he certainly doesn’t want to be on purpose the Voice of Doom. -I don’t think Garcia will fall for it. I have no doubts about Luke, because... forget it. But she, is naïve, ok, buts... no, in my opinion her protection system will prevent her from saying what she feels. In short, she already normally come out with things that maybe she would rather not say out loud, right? I don’t think it would make the difference for her.- they dreadfully admit it, but Matt hit the mark.

-Damn it!- JJ is displeased, already thinking of abandoning everything.

-Hey, hold on, I have the solution.- all eyes are now on the psychologist. -Pen is the only vegetarian, among us, right? So, she ate a different sauce from ours, without meat.- she says simply.

-Of course! Tara, you're a genius!- Emily gives her a warm smile and something melts inside her colleague.

-Well, now, everyone at work!-

About ten minutes later, Alvez's car was parked in the huge Rossi garage. -Ok, are you all ready? Battle stations.- JJ is still the one to take the situation in her hands. -I recommend, try to look natural. Chatter, bar talk.- steps approaching. -...so, Michael looked at Harry and said "But what you say, Santa doesn’t exist?"- the door knob lowers.

-Yes, I understand you perfectly. The same thing happened to me last year. Fortunately, the twins have taken it quite well...- and finally a burst of color makes its entrance, followed by a man much grayer but no less lively, which, while he is busy carrying two heavy bottles, takes advantage to glance not too veiled at the backside of the woman who precedes him.

-Hey, Rossi, I hope you don’t mind, but we took a bottle of white and red wine.- the buzz stops abruptly.

-But sure, kitten, so everyone will have what prefer.- and the elderly landlord is winking at the rest of the gang.

-We have lost something? You will not have started playing without us!- and only when he hears that pronoun, that also including him, the heart of man makes the leaps of joy, jackknife twist, triple flip and also hurdler one.

JJ almost chokes with his own saliva. -But what, are you joking? We had just a little conversation...- tomorrow, all together, group trip to the statue of the patron Saint of Ingenuity. Dave emerges from the kitchen, along with Simmons, with eight glasses counted. They have thought of everything, every single detail, so the two find themselves sitting together, close (too much for her, too little for him), in the only sofa left empty, the smallest, strange coincidence. Spencer passes to the colleague the bottle of red (everyone in the team knows that Garcia prefers red wine and in fact seems quite right so, suitable for her character), followed by the watchful eye of his best friend.

Luke grasps it gently, then turns to the blonde. -Want some?- and everyone, including him, less her, understand that he is not just talking about alcoholic beverages.

Penelope stretches her own glass with a gesture too theatrically bored and disinterested, then she gives him the honor of a thank you that illuminates him like a Christmas tree. And it is while watching the scene, that Emily realizes that only the computer technician didn’t drink white wine. And she decides to change the plan, in full swing. She whispers something to JJ, who does the same with Reid, then to Tara, who jumps slightly, finally the latter sends a telephone message to Matt who is careful to also inform the landlord. The lovebirds don’t even notice it, too intent on staring each other. In fact, the idea that the serum has been poured into a liquid is much more sensible... but then... the drama.

-It can’t be there, they just bought them, those damn bottles!- and who understands first this? Simmons, of course. Spencer is too tired tonight. And so, as soon as the pass word makes another turn, they go back to Plan A.

JJ and Tara exchange a look and a few seconds later the brunette stands up suddenly. -Oh, how hot it's here, but you are not hot?- she doesn’t let anyone time to reply. -I feel... I feel my head spinning...- and she looks directly at Prentiss.

-What are you, Tara, are you okay?- the latter perfectly plays the role of the worried friend. Or maybe she doesn’t play at all. She pulls herself up on her feet and puts her hand on her shoulder.

-Yes, Em, I'm fine, I'm always fine when I'm close to you.- a brief pause, almost imperceptible. -You're so beautiful, I think it's you that makes my head spin like this. And to make me feel all this hot.- it seems that she really thinks so and for a moment even the others fall for it.

-Oh, Tara. You're right, I'm hot too. I don’t know what happens to me, but... I have to tell you. I love your hair, they are beautiful. And your legs... damn it, I struggle to concentrate on work when I see you walking, I would like to spend all the time looking at them and not constantly having to worry about psychopaths...- the psychologist draws her close, placing both hands on her shoulders, but in the direction of the neck. A detail that is not insignificant at all.

-I think the same, your legs, Emily, are long from here to hell, the place where you will send me.- the other opens the eyes wide and the pupils are dilate. This is something that nobody can’t absolutely pretend, and Dr. Lewis should know it perfectly, but right now her brain is too clouded.

A moment of absolute silence, all with bated breath. And then Emily approaches her lips to those of her colleague and kisses her. First slightly and then more and more intensely. Everything lasts a moment, but it's an eternity for the two who live it from within. Penelope stares at her friends in shock, but at the height of joy.

-Wow!- she is so happy that for a moment she risks to hug Newbie.

-I... sorry, I don’t know what got into me, but... but I can’t say I'm really sorry. I liked it, damn it.- lie and truth are just two words that don’t always oppose.

-Yes, well, me too. I would do it again now, maybe without all this crowd.- Tara chuckles and realizes that some of her lipstick, of a color so similar to the natural one of her lips that she is almost never noticed, is partly in the corner of her mouth. Prentiss' mouth. Her boss.

-Yes.- Emily also laughs, but with less naturalness.

-All right, at this point I can’t really be silent anymore. Also because I feel that something forces me to say it, and I don’t know how I have managed to resist until now.- everyone stares at him, and hell, there is the embarrassment of the choice here to put on the next blockbuster and get all Oscars. -I found a message from a Krystal’ ex- they hear JJ clap and say "I knew it!" -that he had drugged something in my kitchen with the truth serum, so finally she would have discovered with what kind of man she wanted to stay.- he recites in a solemn tone, like a composed actor.

-What do you mean, Rossi?- Matt asks, pretending to be upset and confused.

-It's pretty simple, we've probably all swallowed that serum, even if that's an incorrect name and derived more from the use that has been done in several VHS movies, because the real name is...- Spencer, the real Dr. Reid, is back, talking in his usual way.

-You didn’t need to drink it, to say everything you think.- JJ makes lovingly fun of him. He blushes.

-Anyway, more bluntly, this means that we are forced to say only the truth, just like in the film with Jim Carrie. Liar Liar.- Dave explains. And here the anxieties and reproaches of the Asian former IRT member are well founded.

-But... but I... I don’t feel anything weird. Neither hot nor...- Penelope seems lost and almost sorry about it. Luke, for his part, is silent, because if this were true, he would be in the most total shit. Deeply.

-Garcie, honey, Spence and you are the sincerest people I know. On you a truth serum has the same effect as a mosquito bite on the armor of a rhinoceros.- the chief glances at her as oddly as to say, "And where did you get it out? It wasn’t in the script"; but she clearly appreciated. The blonde seems to think seriously about the words of her friend.

-Or it was something you didn’t eat. Like meat.- Tara takes care of the main line, the one that holds on the whole castle of cards. And it works. It works fucking good.

-Oh, shit.- Luke lets escape it from his mouth, signing his own death sentence. Mentally the women of the BAU are already rubbing their hands and are ready to start the choir of Alleluia and celebrations beyond any legal measure, and even beyond every decency. Luke's eyes falls on Garcia's neckline. On her breasts, as huge as perfect.

-What are you looking at, Alvez?- and she doesn’t ask him with malice, she doesn’t think at all that, under such circumstances, he should be forced to tell the truth, naked. It's another one, the lie she follows, ever since she saw him as a new member of BAU. -You see anything you like?- and with a short sentence, it's over. Goodbye to dignity and pride, forever.

-Oh, yes, in fact there are a lot of things that I like, of what I'm looking at. Your tits...- he rolls his eyes backwards, once he has left he can’t stop. -They are so big and firm... I'm dying to test with my hand how much. And I'm... I'm sure your face when you're coming is the sweetest thing in the universe, I would take a picture and hang it in the room, even if it happened only once.- between the sentences Penelope passes from shock and indignation to... other. Same symptom of Emily: dilated pupils. Diagnosis: excitement. And it's not just the eyes, that rat out, but also the lips that bent like that, mischievous and inviting. And in fact, they manage to steal the attention to the breast. -And your mouth, fuck, it's so red, soft, juicy, I spent the nights wondering what it tastes like, and imagining your lips around my...- before he can finish a scream covers the last word, already also evident in the silence. Indeed, even heavier because it is not pronounced.

-LUKE!- Matt doesn’t take it anymore. At that moment the Latin re-emerges and realizes what he has just said. All he has just said. Shit, shit, shit. He can’t look her in the eye, but he can’t help it, and the fight is soon won by the man madly in love. And when he sees that expression on her face, he even forgets the shame he was starting to feel.

She seems to invite him to continue, only with a movement of eyelashes. She is not at all sorry about his performance. Indeed, she plays along.

Rossi decides that the game has lasted too long. -Guys, what would you say to take a room? Normally I would tell you to go to on of your houses, but... Luke, my boy, I think there is nobody besides Roxy waiting for you, I’m right?- he waits for him to nod. -Well. But I'm afraid that if you get behind the wheel now, I'm sure you would crash somewhere. And I prefer some stained sheet, to have to wear again the black dress and the tie that tightens my neck like crazy. So...- he winks towards the stairs. And Penelope doesn’t wait for him to decide, takes Luke by the hand and, knowing quite well this house (even if she never managed to find secret passages like those in the castles that are seen in the films set in the Middle Ages), knows that Rossi has several rooms for guests and one is right for them. Not even their cheeks are too red, while they fade quickly into the night. -Tara, Emily, do you want to favor too? Each room is soundproofed.- they take a second too long to burst out laughing.

-No, thank you, Rossi. But the proposal is tempting.- Emily admits, only partially joking. Tara instead, is silent, thoughtful. She is lost in a memory not too far in time. Just at most half an hour ago.

JJ looks at her friends and sighs, turns to Spencer, but doesn’t grasp the extent of his look, then opts on Matt that proves more receptive. Luke and Penelope are settled. Now they have to think about these other two here.

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @arses21434 @kathy5654 @martinab26 @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @thinitta @myhollyhanna23 @garvezz @mercedes-maldonado @shyladystudentfan @cosmicmelaninflower

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tamrielhomes · 5 years

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Housing Contest 4: “A School” pt. 4/6

Recap of entries of our recent housing contest where the contestants were required to create a place of learning.

In this post are the entries:

1. Mournhold's Theological School

Player: @MarcAntoineH

House: Flaming Nix Deluxe Garret

“Welcome to Mournhold's Theological School! Located nearby the temple of our beloved and mostly holy Mother Ayem, our school welcomes both young novitiates of the Tribunal Temple and children from honorable dunmeri houses*. In This serene, mer-sized institution, you will benefit from the Mournhold Partiarch's weekly sermons, Temple priests' scholarly commentaries on the words of Our Merciful Mother Ayem, as well as from the theological book collection, carefully selected and gathered by the Ordinators of the Doctrine. *Discount available for the members of the Great House Indoril.“

2. Moonsister’s Captain Margaux's Place

Player: @moonsister

House: Captain Margaux's Place

“Welcome to astronomy class! Tinkerer and astronomer Zohra comes down from Domus Phrasticus to teach all about stars and surrounding myths. The upper store doubles as obeservatory and romantic nook. All 13 constellations are accounted for, though not all by tile.“

3. MW187′s Autumn’s-Gate

Player: @MW187

House: Autumn’s-Gate

“A school to learn at a little bit of Tamriel.“

4. Peaceruler’s House of Silent Magnifico

Player: @Peaceruler

House: House of Silent Magnifico

#homes #contest #MarcAnotineH #moonsister #MW187 #Peaceruler #Flaming Nix Deluxe Garret #Captain Margaux's Place #autumn's-gate #House of the Silent Magnifico #eso #elder scrolls online #tamrielhomes

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caladran · 6 years

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My ESO characters are going to be very poor. Why? I’ve been trying to decorate my new house (House of the Silent Magnifico). This house will be secret study-library for those who wanted study and learn forbidden knowledge! I might make a video of it when it's ready. Still missing some stuff.

#eso #Miscellaneous #decorating

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krahduzun · 3 years

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Hate getting better ideas than what I'm currently doing as I'm redecorating a house.

I'm redoing my Silent Magnifico and have the realization that everything I'm doing there could fit into my Earthtear cavern and probably look better

#krahdjabbering

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msviolacea · 8 years

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theladypirate

“So many people bitching about the upcoming Homestead update in...”

I'm SO EXCITED FOR HOUSES

ME TOOOOOO

I’m still trying to decide which house I want. ESO Fashion has great walk-throughs of everything from the PTS; I know I want a medium house, but I’m wavering between Domus Phrasticus in Craglorn, House of the Silent Magnifico in Sentinel, and Sleek Creek House in Rawl’kha. They’re all so awesome! :D

#theladypirate

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jayne-hecate-writer · 6 years

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More Opera, not enough Death!

Thursday 25th October, 2018. La Traviata by Verdi.

Friday 26th October, 2018. La Cenerentola, Cinderella by Rossini.

Bristol Hippodrome

La Traviata

This is now my third or fourth opera, but who is counting? Because by now I am a seasoned opera goer! I know enough to make sure that I don't drink too much water before going in, thus avoiding the kidney punching dance for a wee during the first act! I know enough to make sure that I am dressed comfortably in thin layers of clothing that I can strip off as the auditorium heats up during the performance. I also know enough to make sure that I read the synopsis before hand, so that when the story unfolds on stage, I can sink into it, allowing the beauty to flow over me without effort and tonight's opera was yet another exercise in beauty of sound layered upon beauty of visuals.

The stage was minimally decorated with drapes and almost translucent windows and just enough furniture to give the hard working cast somewhere to sit or lean against as they performed. Prior to the first curtain raise, three gentlemen in brown jackets could be seen checking the stage, but the way they moved implied that they were more dancers than mere safety officers. When the curtain rose from the floor, it was a luxuriant black drape that seemed to rise up from within the depths of the earth itself and when the stage was revealed once again, it had changed in an instant! With every subsequent stage change, it was revealed to be yet another simple if exquisite set. It is hard not to admire the effort that goes into such elegant stage design.

When the cast are introduced, it is en-mass and the singing was explosive and instantly recognisable. The costumes were heart-rendingly beautiful and straight away were introduced to our main cast, as they sang, while they drank and made merry. The atmosphere was so welcoming on stage that it felt like we the audience were also a part of the party. But as the crowd wandered out of the main party room and into the next, carefully arranged just out of view at the back of the stage, we are able to see them chatting, kissing and playfully flirting through the windows. It was here that the main story arc is laid out, the love between Alfredo and Violetta, sang by Kang Wang and Lynda Richardson respectively. Their voices were a mixture of gentle melodies with sudden energetic supernovae of power and I sat on the front edge of my seat in rapture, this was a moment that will stay with me, as Alfredo declared his love for Violetta, a love that had lasted for a year or more. At first she is dismissive of his affections, she shuns him demurely becoming more forceful, but as he leaves, she ponders the feelings that she has, asking herself has she finally met the man who can win her heart, despite her illness? Oh yeah, she is ill, but more of that later.

Act two see the two lovers waking and once again, the movements on stage are barely visible, but each step taken is urgent and leads quickly to Alfredo discovering that his beloved is almost bankrupt. His shame at having living off of her rises in him and he departs for Paris to reclaim her money so that she can stop selling her worldly possessions. While he is gone, Alfredo's father performed by Roland Wood enters and tasks Violetta with leaving his son so that he can return to his family who miss him terribly. Reluctantly she does as she is asked despite the emotional pain that it causes her. But there is the dark cloud of her illness hanging over her and so she lets him go so that he can lead a long and happy life.

Alfredo is devastated when he discovers that Violetta has left him and when he turns up at a party thrown by their mutual friend and sees that Violetta is on the arm of Baron Douphol he gets drunk, wins several rounds of cards and then in disgust throws his winnings at Violetta, claiming that she has betrayed him. Alfredo's father witnesses his son's outburst and chides him for his poor manners and shocking conduct, which leads the Baron challenging Alfredo to a duel. The party is then crashed by several Gypsy dancers who offer fortune telling and lascivious fun to the revellers. One of the leading Gypsy dancers is revealed to be a drag queen, and despite the gentle clues from the dancer that this is the case, it still comes as a surprise. Quite frankly, the Gypsy dancers was one of my most favourite parts of the show, the dancing is frenetic, the costumes are utterly beautiful and quite frankly I would sell a kidney just to buy the cerise dress worn by one of them!

The final act sees Violetta living in poverty with her only companion being her long standing friend and servant Annina, performed exquisitely by Sian Meinir. It is very clear that Violetta is dying of Tuberculosis, her blood splattered night dress, her hacking and coughing into her chamber pot after which she is left wiping the blood from her mouth. I can honestly say that it was then that I was sat with tears in my eyes. At this point in her performance, Lynda Richardson was came across as fragile, incredibly vulnerable and utterly believable as she coughed up her last remaining breaths, despite the sheer power and devastating beauty of her voice. However, I found that my tears suddenly turned to evil black humour and I was appalled with myself for laughing albeit silently. While a heart broken Violetta dies on stage from the awful disease Tuberculosis, it became apparent that quite a few people in the audience around me had come along while suffering with coughs and colds. In a strange dark way, this added an extra if rather distracting layer to the show. However, I seemed alone in noticing this and was soon engaged back into the story and was once again on the verge of tears as Alfredo bursts in the decrepit room and discovers his lost love on her deathbed, where upon she dies in his arms.

This show is a tragedy, it starts with such promise of fun and it slowly and gently winds down into heart break, I would quite honestly be surprised if during this performance I was the only person in that auditorium who was so emotionally involved in the story that I shed actual tears. The Welsh National Opera are an experience that every music lover should have at least once, the power of their shows cannot be underestimated, from the more fun shows such as Die Fledermaus to the tragedies of La Traviata and I have sat rapt through every show. Now bare in mind that I am more well known for my love of extreme metal, in particularly the genre of Black Metal, with bands such as Marduk, Voices and Enslaved being my most recent concerts. In a strange kind of way, opera gives me a similar feeling, the music bites into my soul and takes hold. There is no mosh pit here and opera goers do not violently slam dance into each other, but the sensation of a live orchestra is the same, the power of it is the same and the experience is the same as seeing a Black Metal band at the height of their rage and power, utterly devastating beauty.

Cinderella

In complete contrast to La Traviata's darkness, the second show I was able to see, Rossini's La Cenerentola, more commonly known as Cinderella, is a sugar coated technicolour fairy tale. Where La Traviata is darkness and death and misery, Cinderella is laughter, joy and forgiveness. It is only when one sees the production that we realise that actually, Cinderella is an abused, neglected and despised first child of a remarried and then deceased Mother. Her step sisters and her step father have her pretty much imprisoned in the house, where she is used as a source of cheap labour, bordering on slavery, as such her life is really an unending cruelty of beatings and berating. We all know the story and we all know that it has a happy ending, although to my mind, a happier ending would have seen Cinderella laying waste to her family with the ferocity and vengeance of an executioner! However, this is a fairy tale and as such we have to be nice, so she forgives her family and tells them that her revenge against them for all of their cruelties is for her to love them and be happy. Am I alone in thinking that this is some form of PTSD or survivor guilt?

Now before we get ahead of ourselves, let's get the introductions over with. Angelina (Cinderella's real name), is preparing the house for the waking of her stepsisters and step father, she lights the fire and sweeps the floors and snuggles with the rats, while singing softly to herself a folk song about a King who marries a faithful and lovely girl, dragging her from her poverty. The sisters when the emerge from their beds in their underwear react badly to this and start hurling their shoes at her, until the rumpus wakes their father from his dreams. Annoyed and unshaven, Don Magnifico explains that the girls have woken him his happy dreams of wealth and power.

Following this, a beggar comes to the house seeking sustenance and Angelina gives him food and coffee, much to the disgust of her family. Seeing her in such poverty, the beggar reveals himself to be the tutor to the ruling Prince Ramiro who will shortly be looking for a wife. Angelina's kindness makes her the perfect choice! Now I am going to pause here for a moment because the treacle is being firmly sloshed about and yes, I know that this is a fairy story and there is not much time to tell it all and still make it coherent, but one has to ask, where is the young woman's autonomy? Why the subterfuge from the Royal household? Also, why is the misogynistic prick of a prince allowed to choose the prettiest girl from the local aristocracy? After all, we all know that the lifestyles of these people leads to bankruptcy and then a painful and miserable death from TB! Ahhh, I must put La Traviata out of my mind, this is a happy story with a happy ending. But a girl can dream...

When the prince arrives, he is disguised and is seen creeping, pervert like, around the house of Don Magnifico so that he can spy on the Don's daughters. He instantly falls in love with Angelina and she too falls for him, believing him to be a simple page to the Prince. It is all so bloody nice... With the arrival of the fake prince, the Prince's actual servant Dandini dressed up in finery and acting with the pomp and arrogance of the prince, we see the stepsisters and their father begin to worm their way towards power and wealth. Angelina is not nearly so coarse and it is her innocence which attracts the prince to her, because he clearly has his own despicable agenda! Oops, must not forget, this is a happy story, evil does not dwell in its telling!

So the girls are invited to the Prince's ball at which he will choose a wife or risk losing his inheritance. Don Magnifico informs Angelina that she is not going anywhere near it and it is revealed that whoever her Mother was, she left Angelina a significant fortune, which her step father has spent. So we can add financial abuse to the list of crimes that her family has committed against her! The Princes tutor tells Angelina that she will attend the ball and that her life will change from one of misery and hard labour to one of love and joy. Well as much joy as being the wife of a Prince in seventeenth century Italy can bring, with no proper medicine, unhealthy food and a complete lack of internet!

On the night of the ball, Angelina's family are doing their very best to win favour with who they think is the Prince, while showing themselves to be the vain and unkind monsters that they are. The Prince's valet can see right through their act and merely gives them enough rope to hang themselves with. Although Don Magnifico is seemingly able to almost drink the wine cellar dry without collapsing, meaning that we can add alcoholism to his character failings. Angelina arrives at the ball in a veil and almost no one recognises her. The real prince is awestruck and his valet attempts to seduce her, but she states that her heart is sworn to another, the prince's servant, who we all know is really the prince in disguise. When the subterfuge is revealed, she warns him that he has no idea who she is and that he may not want her when he finds out that she is effectively a servant and she gives him a bracelet, one of a matched pair so that he can track her down.

Sure enough he finds her, all is revealed and the stepsisters and their father are revealed to be insincere and vile. The Prince marries Angelina and she is taken away from her life of misery and married, to live happily ever after, after magnanimously forgiving her family for their abuse.

Where La Traviata was black metal, this is sickly sweet pop music. There is very little depth to the story, it is a crowd pleaser, a happy little fairy tale and sadly for me, I just did not engage with it to the same depth. I cannot in all honesty say that this was due to bad performances because each performer was wonderful. The stepsisters sang beautifully, their father although a cad was perfectly portrayed, the prince's servant was a delight and although to my mind the prince was a drip, he was played beautifully. Angelina was performed wonderfully by Tara Erraught, her voice a perfect mix of power and beauty and I am sure that in other productions I would have sat in rapture just to hear her sing. The costumes were fabulously fun, reminding me in style of those wonderful old films such as The Wizard of Oz or even Labyrinth.

But despite all of this, I just really struggled to engage with the show. I cannot in good conscience tell you that this was it was badly performed because it absolutely wasn't, but for me it was too light, too happy, too... er, fairy tale! The reason I listen to Black Metal is because I love the power of something so brutal, so visceral, so dark. In contrast, this show is a chocolate box filled to the brim with soft centred, two dimensional characters, some of whom are shown to be villains but without any actual evil to their substance. Yet it seems I need that evil, I crave the darkness and brutality in the substance. When I see a child being beaten and disowned by her family, I want to see the perpetrators leaving the stage in irons, on their way to the gallows, weeping their last tears in shame and fear. I want the desolation and the horror. This I think says more about me than it does the show because I am clearly a very bad person and I know this to be true because even at La Traviata, I found myself laughing during the terribly sad death scene of Violetta!

Both of these operas are wonderfully performed by a cast that truly give it their absolute best, the live music played a professional orchestra is worth the ticket price alone and to be honest I am just being a spoilt brat by saying that I preferred one show over another because they are both wonderful. Thursday evenings performance was thoroughly enjoyable to hear and completely mesmerising to view. The surtitles on the screen above the stage for both shows were intermittent, but whether this is through design or accidental failure, I couldn't say. The story of each was easy enough to follow anyway even without the words above. It has never struck me as a problem that even though I do not speak Italian, the operas are performed in this language. Also La Traviata may be a little dark for the first time opera goer who wants the brighter and more vibrant if ultimately slightly more shallow experience of Cinderella. For me, this was as Goth and dark as any Black Metal gig, it had the heart break, it had the despair, the only real difference is that in this opera, religion is seen as a good thing and God is praised by the characters, rather than derided. With an open mind and a desire to feel the music, not just listen to it, operas such as these are both soul enhancing and in some instances heart breaking and I cannot recommend a visit to the Welsh National Opera enough. Do check them out through November in the Bristol hippodrome, because just like me, you will not regret it.

#Bristol Hippodrome #welsh national opera #opera #La Traviata #cinderella #black metal #tragedy #forgiveness #fairy tail #death #live music #popular music #arts #live performance

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