#The Earrings of Madame de...

[erstwhile-punk-guerito]

[silverscreencaps]

The Earrings of Madame de… (1953) dir. Max Ophuls

[lafiguraentutapiz]

The Earrings of Madame de…. Max Ophüls. 1953

[bluen3hey]

1953  Madame de…

The Earrings of Madame de…

[romanceyourdemons]

the rules of the game (1939) is, like jean renoir’s other great masterpiece the grand illusion (1937) a film entirely about wwii, made before wwii and with no allusion to the war itself. this relentlessly acerbic social comedy, a film so biting in tone it almost could be directed by luis buñuel, is set among the upper class of interwar paris society. as they weave their complex and ephemeral web of jealousies and affairs, the issues of the contemporary world are highlighted in the things they blithely decline to discuss: the film centers around the marriage between an austrian-born woman and a jewish man, but it is their respective infidelities and indiscretions that concerns their peers; the man’s mistress’s apartment is full of artifacts stolen from vietnam, then colonized by france, and she herself wears an ao dai as a dressing gown; the woman’s lover is a pilot, but not a down-to-earth war pilot played by jean gabin as in the grand illusion (1937), but rather a gentleman pilot who flies to break records and impress women; the woman’s maid’s estranged husband clearly still bears the trauma the great war left on him, but to the elite who employ him this is nothing but a quirk of his personality. quick, witty dialogue and a cinematography that uses deep focus shots and long, mobile takes drives the plot headlong through its frothy romance as though that is the only thing in the world that matters, even as the story proves this claim incorrect. as in the grand illusion (1937), renoir comes to the conclusion that what really matters, more than marriages or affairs or borders or wars, is friendship and propriety. these are both qualities that the indulgent and detached french gentry rarely bother to cultivate, as they reason that everyone lies, from pharmacies to films to governments, so why should they not as well? they should not because, to the audience, their film is so laughably, terribly insignificant, and the rules of the game (1939) is as haunting as it is funny as it is deathly serious

[k-star-holic]

It's not the Kim Seon-ho we used to know...except Mello eyesight and 'clear eyesight' mounting

[jasonsutekh]

Madame de… (A.k.a. The Earrings of Madame De…) (1953)

A rich woman sells some earrings to pay her debt but here husband, who gave her the earrings buys them back, this exchange is repeated until another love interest becomes the one to buy back the jewellery for her, leading to jealousy.

This film serves to show the fickleness and hypocrisy of the aristocracy in all their habitats. In particular the scenes in the church where Louise makes one-sided bargains with the saints for jewels exposes the priorities of the rich. The shots also focus more on the jewellery than the characters, following the earrings across the room to find the characters.

Marriage is very poorly represented, but still in the traditional way, as a status symbol with both partners using it to serve their own selfish ends. Even by the end the representation of it hasn’t changed much since the better couple are together in meaningful ways without the institution and another kind of social ritual is used to solve the situation to nobody’s benefit.

There’s almost a spitefulness in the structure of taking a typical love story of lovers who cannot be together and turning it into a tragedy, similar to Romeo and Juliet but without the alleviating comedy and more than just the lovers are together in death. It’s interesting that the lies aren’t over-dramatised but most are discovered as false almost immediately after they’re told.

All the parties are culpable in some way, either of needless deceit, abusive manipulation, or adultery. This makes it one of those uncomfortable classic films where nobody is worth routing for even in an ironic way. These films may have theatrical and cinematic value but they cheapen the idea of love by pretending that deceit somehow elevates passion.

3/10 -This one’s bad but it’s got some good in it, just there-

-Two other titles for the film include “Golden Earrings” and “The Love of Their Lives”.

-Neither the Madame or General get surnames in the film, referring to a trend where the upper class would frequently change names or remain anonymous.

[geeburieru]

Sight and Sound’s Greatest Films of All Time watch challenge #7 - Madame de…, directedy by Max Orphus, 1953 (film =90 out of 100)

The next group of tied films are just as varied as the films tied for 95th place on this list and I’m starting this batch with Madame de…. by Max Orphus, also known as The Earings of Madame de… here in the states. The film tells the story of Louise, an aristocratic woman who is married to a high ranking general in the French army. The marriage between these two resembles a companionship rather than a relationship, with the two being childless and sleeping in separate rooms. The core drama is centered around a pair of earrings that were gifted to Louise by her husband on their wedding day, which she sells back to the jeweler who made them and then pretends to have lost. The earrings keep reappearing and disappearing throughout the film, representing loneliness, indifference, love, desperation, and obsession all at different points depending on who has given the earrings to whom and why the earrings are forced to move hands once again.

Orphus’ camerawork is so delicate and fine-tuned here. I think it’s rather rare to see a camera that centers a woman like this in the time it was made. A lot of these French romances of the time period tended to focus on a male character’s feelings on a woman, but that’s not the case here. Orphus puts Louise’s feelings first and foremost, with the opening moments of the film focusing on just her hands as she moves through her jewelry trying to decide what she wants to keep and what she wants to get rid off, finally settling in on a view of how she looks in the mirror, holding the earrings to her face. This way of moving the camera and taking control of the space in order to center things on Louise is carried out even in how Orphus weaves the camera in and out of rooms. There’s so many fantastic ways he uses objects as barriers both in shots and as metaphors for the society that Louise, her husband, and her new lover live in.

In the 2012 list, Madame de… was tied for 93rd place with nine other films. Most of these films also made jumps higher in the list and those that didn’t fell off in favor of more recent films and first time appearances thanks to the wider voting base for the 2022 list. I do find it interesting that despite how different Madame de… is from the other films it shared 93rd place with in 2012 is that it made the smallest jump this year even though the expanded voting range theoretically should’ve allowed it to rise much higher in the rankings like other women-centric films did this time around.

[ladymarvel27]

Fondle ☀️ Carlos Sainz

carlos sainz x reader

Series Master list

Description: You and him the morning after

Warnings: Mentions of smut, brief smutish (not actual smut though)

f1 masterlist

You slowly open your eyes, squinting against the harsh sunlight peering from the window. You found yourself caged in Carlos’ arms, your back pressed against his chest. You didn’t want to wake up, not yet. It’s probably 6 am right now. “Carlos?” You called him out with all your strength in your sleepy state, your back hurting from the exhaustion. No reply. “I know you’re awake, go close the curtains!” Still no reply.

You groaned angrily and with all the strength left, you turned to hide your face in his chest, trying to block out the light. But he immediately turned to lay on his back, the same back you scratched the hell out of last night. “Ahh,” he moaned in pain when his back rubbed on the sheets. You chuckled and buried your face into the pillow instead.

“Is it hurting, senor?” You spoke, mocking him. (Sir)

“Si, Senorita,” he moans again, and sat up. (Yes, ma’am)

 “Now go, close the curtains and let me sleep.”

“NO, wake up!”

“I am tired.”

“But it’s morning.”

“NO!”

“Senorita Princesa, amor de su vida, mi reina, wake up!” He loudly sings. (Madam Princess, Love of my life, my queen)

“UHH!” You groaned. “Please Carlos, let me sleep!” You felt two hands on each side of your waist pulling you up, “Carlos! Stop!” He places you on his lap, his arms now caging your body by your waist.

You wrapped your hands around his neck and rest head against his shoulder, falling back asleep, like a toddler. He chuckles.

“Y/n wake up!” He rubs your back and laughs. “C'mon,” he pleads.

“Okay,” you pull away and place your lips on his, sucking in the name of kissing him. His grip on your waist tightens and you grip his shoulders more tightly, deepening the kiss. You two finally pulled away when you were out of breath, his lips a little swollen. You leaned back to gaze at his chest, which was covered with hickeys from last night. You ran a hand to admire your artwork. “I like it when you give them.”

“HUH? I don’t mind giving them.” His eyes glint with desire.

He switched positions to lay you down on the bed and hovered above. He settled between your legs and dived into you.

The sounds of your and his mixed moans fill the whole room. He laid next to you, catching his breath. You placed your hand on your chest, catching your breath.

“Quite the session, huh,” you gasped.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, his breathing returning to normal.

“I was thinking how about we go date tomorrow? Thursday?” He spoke after few minutes of breathcatching.

“HUH?” You were alert now.

“We will go dress shopping this evening?” He suggested.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea!”

His phone starts ringing. His hands reach for it and he flips to look at the caller ID.

“OMG!” He immediately sits up.

“What happened?” You raised your eyebrows.

“It’s from work,” he replies, picking up the call and placing it on his ear.

You got up to brush your teeth. Few minutes later, you come back to him. He hangs up the call and places it on the table.

He sighs slowly and says, “I have to leave in the afternoon.”

Seperators credits: @saradika @saradika-graphics

Taglist: @faithshouseofchaos @itsjustvs4

[ilongfor-the-arts]

Tea and Music

Pairing: Marquis de Gramont x fem! Reader

Warnings: smut!, language, mild begging, choking, unprotected sex, use of “good girl”

Summary: Part two of Poetry in Motion! These are the events that happen after Marquis meets our ballerina reader.

Word Count: 6.7k

Read Part one HERE!!!

Taglist: @jiawalker

The limo crushed the small stones under its tires as it drove along the white gravel path. The entire estate was completely covered in trees and green once we passed through the golden gates. I couldn't see the sides of the gate from the car, so I assumed his estate extended for miles.

Not a blade of grass was out of place.

I would have flirted with Vincent sooner if I had known he was concealing a mansion.

Our conversation two nights ago was extremely straightforward. He introduced himself, and I asked him one question before he insisted on speaking with me in person.

His address was on a street I'd never heard of before. I thought that perhaps it was in the Paris slums. His fancy suits and elegant demeanor were just a ruse to convince people he was wealthy.

But, alas, he lives in a mansion. Who would’ve guessed?

As the car approached the large front doors, I tried to hide my surprise. His house was something out of a movie. To take it all in, I had to turn my head completely left and right. It possessed at least three levels. It was made of lovely white vintage brick and black shingles. Two poles supported an enormous balcony on opposite sides of the large double front doors.There were dozens of tall arched windows. The architecture was inspired by the French countryside, but it was elevated to the highest level.

It appeared vintage and loved, but not worn.

“Alright madame, we are here.”

My trance was broken by the posh driver.

“Oh, yes.”

He opened the door for me, offering his hand to ensure that I would not be inconvenienced in the slightest.

I could grow accustomed to this type of treatment.

I hoisted myself up by grasping his smooth palm.

“Have a pleasant visit, madame.”

He spoke with a classy accent. His elegance, however, couldn't compete with Vincent's. The elderly driver jumped back into the driver's seat and began bustling away, rocks crunching beneath the tires.

I cocked my head upwards, hesitant. I could feel nerves brewing within my stomach. The butterflies were flying free. I took a deep breath, steadying my mind.

I honed in on the rustling of the trees, waiting until the butterflies had completely dissipated.

I couldn’t believe I was about to enter the home of a man I had just met.

I knew his name.

I knew he liked ballet.

I knew where he lived.

And, that’s it.

I climbed the few steps leading to the glass double doors.

Should I knock?

No, he was expecting me.

I gently pushed open the door. The hinges didn't creak in the least.

The doors opened to reveal a large room with white marble floors and a double staircase that swirled to the top floor. The banisters were made of gold, the dark wood walls were covered in expensive-looking paintings, and each room was separated by a large, open arch.

“Hello? I’m here!”

The waves of my voice echoed around the large, nearly empty room. I felt dwarfed by the high ceilings.

“Welcome.”

my heart skipped a beat. Vincent appeared out of nowhere, sauntering through the archway on my left, hands in pockets.

He remained silent, waiting for me to break the tension.

“Uh-Thank you for having me… your house is beautiful.”

As the gravity of the situation became clear, my tone became somewhat shaky. Vincent gave a small smile.

“Thank you very much. I have quite a few estates-“

Woah, woah, woah. A few estates? As in more than one?

“But this one is by far my favorite. It’s lavish, and quiet.”

The trees gently rustled. In the distance, birds chirped. My heart was pounding in my ears.

“See? Nothing. No sounds except those of nature.”

My knees shook. Those two previous statements felt like one big, blatant sexual innuendo. I hoped that sex wasn't the sole reason for having me in this lovely estate that just so happened to have no neighbors for miles.

He leaned against the wooden arch, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his dress pants. Vincent furrowed his brow as he observed my concern.

“Please, don’t be worried. I know I was just given the pleasure of becoming your acquaintance. But, I assure you, I possess a sophisticated character.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards.

“Come.”

He said this as he stepped away from the arch, motioning for me to follow him into the next room.

“I have something I believe you will enjoy.”

I returned his stare. His beautiful eyes shone with warmth. He seemed to have changed slightly now that I was in his house. He appeared to be... more at ease. Neither his gaze nor his tone indicated any discomfort. He was no longer concerned with maintaining any sort of facade.

I couldn't bring myself to be afraid of him.

I smiled.

“Alright.”

My short heels clacked against the marble. As I strolled past him, I captured his familiar scent and was overcome with nostalgia.

The room I entered was significantly smaller than the one prior. Rather than being adorned in paintings, there was merely one green landscape above the unlit fireplace. One wall was entirely covered in wooden shelves, each of which was crammed to the brim. When I looked closer, I noticed that each section was filled with vinyl records. Some are still wrapped in plastic, while others have clearly been loved for years.

“Oh wow! You have quite the collection!”

I exclaimed as I ran my fingers along the spines of various records. Marquis laughed, amused by my intense interest.

“Oh wow!”

I had to use a surprising amount of force to pry one of the vinyls off the shelf as it was jammed into a completely full rack.

“You have the music from Giselle!”

Vincent strolled over to me, leaning over my shoulder to observe what had captured my attention. It was a record, with a lady and man engaged in dance. The lady wore a blouse and bodice, while the man donned tights and a decorated top.

“Do you enjoy this ballet?”

His hot breath cascaded across my face and neck as he inquired. A shiver ran down my spine as I realized he had placed his frame directly behind mine.

“Yes, I do. I was in it a long time ago. And, ever since it’s been one of my favorites.”

“Ah, you were in it?”

I flipped the vinyl to the back, reading each track and reminiscing.

“Yes, I was Giselle.”

“But of course you were.”

I scoffed, dismissing his high opinions of me.

“It really was not that impressive. It was a small community theater, and it was years ago before I decided to pursue ballet professionally.”

“It makes little difference where you do it. I'm sure you danced as well as someone from the Opéra National de Paris. Your talent is just as visible in a small theater as it is in the world's largest.”

I pushed my finger between two vinyls to create a gap so I could slip the record back into its original position.

“You flatter me.”

Vincent dragged his fingertips along the spines. As he did so, I fixed my attention along his veiny digits, my brain beginning to slip into places it hadn't been in a long time. I closed my eyes, forcing my mind to return to the present. Vincent drew his gaze across the records, studying them and searching for a specific item.

“Ah!”

He discovered what he was looking for.

“Swan Lake, another one of my favorites.”

He pulled it from the shelf and began to study it.

“Tchaikovsky's music is a work of art. He manipulates the instruments, allowing them to move in a poetic manner. It truly is unparalleled.”

He cocked his head to the side, meeting my eyes.

“Do you enjoy this ballet?”

He raised his brows, inviting me to respond. I shuffled towards his hot body, nodding.

“Yes, of course, it’s a classic.”

This cover depicted a woman bending over a lake, with a swan at her side. Beautiful blues were used to paint the entire cover.

“One of my dream roles is the swan queen.”

Vincent's lanky fingers pried the record's cover apart, and he slid the vinyl into his palm.

“One day, that role will be yours. I have no doubt about it.”

He handled the record with extreme grace and care. Despite being a large and rather intimidating man, his touch was featherlight. He opened a small cabinet located in the middle of the shelves with his opposite hand, revealing a beautiful maroon record player.

“And when you appear as the swan queen, it will be your role for the rest of your life. The audience will know instantaneously that no performance before or after yours will compare.”

Vincent placed the needle on the record's edge. The sound of a rich oboe filled the entire room. He placed his hands on his hips and viewed the black circle spin in a circle. The atmosphere became cozy and inviting. Despite being in a secluded mansion in the middle of the French countryside, I felt oddly at home. My heartbeat was regular.

Vincent glanced over his shoulder.

“Do you drink tea?”

He inquired.

I was so enthralled by Vincent's lovely figure that I had to shake myself awake when he spoke.

“Oh! Yes, of course. I love tea.”

Vincent unbuttoned the cuffs of his white dress shirt, rolling his sleeves up to reveal lovely veins dancing across his forearms. I gulped, my face growing hotter as butterflies began to hatch within my lower abdomen.

“Would you care to drink tea with me on the porch as we indulge in this lovely music?”

I nodded, unable to hide the grin playing on the corners of my mouth.

“I would like that very much.”

-

Vincent brought out a large silver tray, atop which was a lovely china set with pink flowers and gold stems.

“I would expect a wealthy man like you to have help. Rich men don’t make their own tea.”

I said, my tone slightly mocking. Vincent chuckled, plopping down onto the cream colored cushions.

“I don't usually make my own tea. But I specifically requested that we spend the day alone. The bustle of people detracts from the peaceful energy.”

I put a sugar cube in one of the adorable cups and poured tea on top, watching the sugar break and dissolve.

I picked up the saucer and leaned back, my body relaxing against the plush cushions. I had a fantastic view. My back was to the house, leaving the entire garden open for inspection. The green stretched as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by a few healthy trees. The property had a gray gravel path that twisted and turned. At the horizon, the gentle hill of the land met the flawless blue sky.

The scenery was lovely. I wish I knew how to paint.

My hair was tousled by a gentle breeze. The soothing music wafted through the house, reaching my ears as a mere whisper.

“Are you enjoying the view?”

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, savoring the cozy energy as I sipped my tea. The steaming liquid poured down my throat, warming me from within.

“Yes, it’s beautiful.”

I rested the cup in my lap.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I feel like we talk so much about me.”

I said, chuckling slightly.

Vincent sipped his tea while crossing his legs and gazing out at the horizon. His gorgeous side profile was highlighted by the gentle glow of the sun.

“My life is… not very interesting.”

His demeanor had transformed. Instead of being charming, he had become aloof.

“Oh, I’m sure your life is plenty interesting. I mean, come on, this house is ginormous! What do you do?”

Vincent grit his teeth, avoiding the question.

“I made all of my money in real estate.”

He returned my gaze, his fondness restored.

“Oh! That sounds interesting.”

I took another sip of my delicious tea.

“You must’ve gotten extremely lucky.”

He flashed me a tight smile.

“Yes, absolutely. I consider myself extremely fortunate to be where I am now.”

The birds in the distance chirped peacefully, blending with the music to create a cohesive energy that flowed through my being.

“Please, tell me if I am crossing any boundaries with this question.”

I perked up. He had piqued my interest.

“However, you are a very attractive woman. And you are constantly expressing yourself through the arts. I find it difficult to believe you don't have suitors flocking to you at all times.”

I gulped, my gaze fixed on the tea in my lap.

“Well, honestly, it’s difficult to keep a relationship when you’re constantly either in the theater, or searching for your next opportunity. The little free time I have almost never lines up with the free time of others.”

He fixed his gaze on me, listening intently to every word I said. I'd never had a conversation with a man who was so enthralled by me.

“I’ve had relationships, but it's difficult to make them stick. Lately, I’ve kinda given up. It’s stressful, y’know?”

Vincent hummed.

“Yes, I can imagine.”

He sipped his tea one last time, leaning back completely to display his stunning neck. He leaned forward and placed the china cup atop its saucer before assuming his previous position.

"Well, with me, you never have to worry about that, ma chérie." My few important obligations rarely interfere with my personal life. And, if they do, I promise to commit to our relationship and not let it fall through the cracks."

His dedication surprised me. I raised my brows.

“Well, that is very kind of you. I appreciate the reassurance.”

“That is, if pursuing a relationship with me is something that entices you.”

His statement piqued my interest. I suppose I hadn't considered the question, "What are we?" I was definitely interested in pursuing a relationship with him, despite only having become acquainted a few days ago. I felt a genuine connection, and I'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity.

Also, the reality that he was filthy rich drew me to him.

I finished the sweet tea, placing it on the black wire coffee table.

“Yes, I believe I would be interested in that.”

I gave him a genuine smile, which he returned.

“Good, I am glad to hear that.”

He folded his hands and tucked them into his lap, his gaze following. He was deep in thought, as if caught between reality and his thoughts. Vincent came to after what seemed like an eternity. He returned his gaze to mine. His attention had been drawn to a new emotion. He was looking at me with calculating eyes, as if he was carefully pondering what to say next.

This was unusual for him, as he always seemed to know exactly what to say.

“I don’t mean to sound creepy when I say this, but I have been admiring you for a while.”

To be honest, I didn't mind. And I didn't think he was creepy at all for expressing his admiration for me.

“In all honesty, I’m flattered. The way I see it, I wouldn’t put myself on the stage if I was afraid of extreme admiration. I mean, that is kind of the goal of a performer. Y’know, to make people fall in love with the performance.”

Vincent nodded, his smile widening. He was pleased with my response.

“I recall seeing you perform for the first time. It was about two years ago, in Coppélia. You played a minor role, but your beauty captivated me, and the more I sought you out, the more I fell in love.”

There was something sensual about the thought of Vincent admiring me from afar for years. It all seemed so forbidden, him watching me from a box, carefully calculating the best time to ask me out.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you ask me out sooner?”

Vincent shrugged.

“I assumed you were in a relationship. I tried to forget about you, but you were always on my mind. Then I didn't see you at the Opéra national de Paris for a year. My job was particularly demanding at that time. It was best if I concentrated solely on that. So I didn't go looking for you. I assumed that chapter of my life had come to an end. Then I notice you're performing in La Bayadère. And I knew that whatever force governs our universe had given me the opportunity to become your acquaintance.”

I couldn’t stop my face from breaking into a grin. I’ll admit, it felt insanely good to be admired by someone.

“Are you a nostalgic person?”

Yes, extremely.

“Yes, I am.”

“Ah!”

He exclaimed, rising to his feet.

“In that case, I have one more thing I think you would like to see.”

I followed him through the house. If I didn’t have him, I would undoubtedly be lost. Each lavish hallway felt as if it extended for miles. I followed, and followed, and followed. Until eventually we reached a pair of black double doors. They were covered in beautiful flower designs. Vincent turned the golden knobs, pushing the doors open to reveal… a bedroom?

Wow.

It was a nice bedroom, to be sure. The floors were tan wood, and the walls were a dark brown color. A large, black chandelier hung from the ceiling with an expensive crystal thread. The bedframe, curtains, and dresser with a large mirror all looked like they were plucked from the queen's bedroom.

In fact, the whole place felt like it belonged to a king. The gold accents, intricate details, and visibly expensive fabrics all gave me the impression that I was in Buckingham Palace.

Vincent headed over to his dresser, which was located on the opposite side of the room as the bed. He began rummaging through various objects, searching for something.

“Ah! Here it is! I knew I kept it!”

He gave me... a leaflet? No, it's a program. It was the program from my first performance ever at the Opera Nacional de Paris, Coppélia. My eyes shot open.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you kept this!”

I flipped through it, reading the names and contemplating all the wonderful people I'd had the pleasure of working with.

“Of course I kept it.”

I raised my eyes to him. He smiled, pleased that I had found enjoyment in this little bit of nostalgia.

“Um-”

I began.

“I-I don’t mean to take your memories from you.”

I said with a small laugh.

“But, would you mind if I kept this?”

“But of course! There is no need for me to keep a silly little booklet now that I have had the pleasure of meeting the object of my affection.”

We shared a moment of peaceful, happy silence.

“Besides, if it makes you happy, I'll gladly give it to you. We've decided to pursue a relationship. So, it is my responsibility to do everything in my power to please you.”

His gaze darted to my lips before returning to my eyes, implying something taboo.

His eyes grew dark. My posture became stiff. Vincent took a large step towards me, and I had to tilt my head almost completely backwards to look him in the eyes.

I was hit with a wave of déjà vu. I was no longer on the streets of Paris, but rather in Vincent's bedroom. This time, there was nothing preventing us from delving head first into our desires.

He cupped my cheek, running his calloused thumb over my cheekbone. My breath caught in my throat. My lower abdomen was in knots, more from anticipation than from nerves. There wasn't much that could happen on the dark streets of Paris. But suddenly everything was possible and within reach. All I had to do was reach out and grab them.

“The relationships you’ve been in… have any of them had the pleasure of…”

His voice trailed off, beckoning me to finish the thought.

I gulped, a lump forming in my throat.

“No.”

My voice quivered as I felt overpowered by his pressing gaze.

Vincent tutted crispy.

“Pity.”

He stated, his voice lowering to a sensuous whisper. I envisioned him whispering sweet nothings into my ear while thrusting mercilessly into my tight cunt.

My stomach flipped.

My knees shook.

All of the blood in my body rushed to my core.

Wetness began to pool in my panties.

I adjusted my weight uncomfortably, anticipating Vincent's next move.

He leaned forward, his lips inches away from mine. I desperately wanted to break the tension by pressing my mouth to his, thereby beginning the downward spiral of pleasure. However, my train of thought was derailed when I felt Vincent’s opposite hand glide up my thigh.

I squeezed my eyes shut, sighing in pleasure as his digits swiftly located my clothed clit. He tenderly massaged my sensitive bud. The subtle sensation was utterly euphoric. My head bowed forward, my hands anxiously clutching his white dress shirt.

Vincent jerked my head upwards, forcing my misty eyes to lock with his lust blown pupils.

“You’re already so wet, ma chérie. And I have barely even touched you.”

His velvety accent became 10 times more seductive now that it had fallen an octave.

“Oh, it will be so wonderful to watch you come undone.”

He pressed his plush lips to my jugular, applying gentle kisses to my neck as he continued to draw figure eights onto my clothed clit. I threw my arms around his neck, hanging onto his strong frame as my knees threatened to give out.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to bury my face between your thighs and taste your sweet little cunt.”

I couldn’t handle the erotic tone combined with the featherlight touches to my clit. It was far too much for my touch starved body to handle. needed something. I was ravenous for his mouth, his fingers, his cock. I wanted so badly to be destroyed by him, to be given such pleasure that I fear coming back to reality.

“Vincent.”

I said between heavy breaths.

“Yes ma chérie?”

My jaw hung upon, mouth unable to form coherent sentences.

“P-Please. I need you-I need you so bad.”

Vincent drew back, his lips slamming into mine. Our mouths matched like puzzle pieces. We were so glorious together that I swear I could hear angels singing in perfect harmony.

“What would you like me to do to you ma belle, hm?”

He said in between fiery kisses.

“Make me cum, Vincent, please.”

His tongue slid into my mouth, giving me a fleeting taste of his passion before he quickly yanked it back. I was flustered. Our connection had been severed, and I was unsure as to why.

Vincent grasped my chin, forcing me to keep my head still.

His hair was struggling to remain neat. The single, dangling strand was a great metaphor for his once well-kept demeanor now crumbling before my eyes.

“Beg. Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to make you cum.”

He demanded.

Mt jaw quivered. His hand had retreated from my core and now lay atop the swell of my hip.

“P-Please Vincent. I need you. I need you so bad.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes disapprovingly.

“Oh, ma chérie, I know you can do better than that.”

He placed his lips to mine, swiftly reigniting the flame before suffocating it once more.

“Be my good girl and beg.”

I locked gazes with Vincent, feeling his sexual energy course through my body in waves.

“Please-“

I began, my desire somewhat strangling the words within my throat.

“Please Vincent… Please, I need you to make me cum.”

I brought my palms to his chest, attempting to quickly unbutton his dress shirt. Unfortunately, my hands were far too jittery and the buttons were far too small for me to make any significant progress.

“What exactly do you want ma belle, hm? Tell me.”

His velvety accent wafted through me whenever he spoke, adding to the wetness that had begun to pool in my panties.

“Please, please. I need you.”

Thankfully, the sexual tension had subsided just enough for me to compose meaningful sentences.

“Please, please, I need you. I need your mouth between my legs. I need-I need you to fuck me. I need your cock so bad. Please, please make me cum it’s all I can think about.”

A devious smirk spread across Vincent’s face.

“Why didn’t you ask me sooner?”

He connected our lips, reigniting the raging fire of desire that burned between us. Vincent hoisted me off the floor, his large hands traveling up my short sundress and resting against my ass. He carried me with ease, his hands gentle but his lips aggressive.

Vincent tossed me onto the bed with little regard for tenderness. However, I was barely impacted by the blow, as the mattress quickly suppressed and conformed to my physique.

I lay, my gaze fixed upwards towards Vincent’s lanky frame. The dim yet sensual lights foregrounded the sharp curvatures of his face. His long digits located his top button and he began to leisurely undo his shirt without breaking eye contact.

Suddenly, I became aware that my dress had ridden up my thighs, exposing my evident desire. I grasped the hem, pushing it downwards in a futile attempt to conceal my yearning. Vincent ceased his movements, crawling over the end of the bedframe with haste.

His hand wrapped around my wrist, pinning my hand above my head.

My eyes darted upwards, the breath hitching in my throat as I perceived his close proximity. Vincent’s previously quintessential appearance was slowly dissolving. A few strands of hair had broken loose from their original location and were now dangling aimlessly above his brow. Furthermore, his shirt was halfway undone, exposing his prominent collarbone and somewhat highlighting his toned chest.

“Don’t cover up for me, ma belle.”

He murmured, his sultry accent sending a wave of desire to my lower abdomen. My cunt throbbed.

“I want nothing more than to see every inch of you.”

Vincent lodged his thigh between my legs, his clothed knee grazing against my hot core. I jolted, a wave of heat coursing through my body. My back arched instinctively, mouth falling open as I involuntarily ground my hips against his thigh in an effort to increase friction.

Unfortunately, he revoked his leg before I was able to procure further pleasure. His free hand followed the soft curve of my side, sending shivers down my spine. My body became cold with anticipation. Goosebumps rose along my skin.

Vincent’s calloused fingertips grazed against my clothed clit. Heat radiated from my wet core as I squeezed my eyes shut. My brow furrowed as he began to slowly draw figure eights onto my clit.

“Ah, you are so wet and I’ve barely even touched you.”

His soft lips connected to my jugular, peppering gentle kisses down my neck.

“I’ve thought about this moment for a long while.”

With his hands required to support his weight as he descended, his powerful clasp released my wrist. I entangled my fingers in his silky hair, further ruining his pristine image.

“Although I pride myself on maintaining a certain level of class, I can’t deny that I’ve often thought about how satisfying it would be to bring you immense pleasure.”

He continued to press his lips against my hot skin, his face now level with my clothed breasts.

Vincent leaned back on his knees. He dragged his eyes up and down my frame, running his tongue across his bottom lip. I suddenly felt small under his gaze.

His tender fingertips located the ball of my ankle, and he hastily removed both of my short heels, tossing them aimlessly to the floor. After he had discarded my shoes, he trailed his large palms upwards, caressing my calves, then my thighs. I watched intently as his veiny hands slipped under the hem of my dress. Vincent hooked a finger in the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs at a painfully slow pace.

Once I was fully exposed, he assumed a position between my legs. Thankfully, the bed was grand enough for him to lay comfortably.

All the blood in my body had rushed to my core, and I could feel my heartbeat throbbing vehemently within my lower abdomen.

Vincent trailed his moist lips along my inner thigh, gazing up at me devilishly through his lashes as he did so. He was well aware that his teasing behavior was propelling me into a state of lust filled desperation.

When he established that he had prolonged my suffering enough, he hastily buried his face between my thighs. I gasped, throwing my head back onto the opulent pillows. My thighs instinctively clenched around his head, but Vincent’s strong hands pulled my legs apart to free himself.

He flattened his tongue against my clit, taking his time to draw out his movements so as to not supply me with an orgasm too hastily. He was thoroughly enjoying the elongation of my pleasure.

After a brief moment of supplying delicate sensations to my clit, I felt the tip of his finger prod at my entrance. I threw my hands upwards, grasping onto the bed frame, my knuckles quickly turning white.

“Oh fuck!”

I exclaimed, grinding my hips against his gorgeous face.

“Vincent-Vincent your mouth feels so good, holy shit.”

I spoke in mangled cries, not caring to keep my voice down. After all, there was no one around for miles to be bothered by my proclamations.

His middle two fingers pushed into my entrance, thrusting upwards to stimulate my walls.

“You taste wonderful, ma belle.”

He uttered, continuing to fuck me with his fingers throguhout the duration of his praise. Vincent located my g spot. My nails dug into the bedframe, undoubtedly leaving prominent scratches. He took note of my non verbal cues.

Vincent increased the intensity of his fingers. Quickly, the coil of pleasure began to tighten within my lower abdomen. I bucked my hips against his face, but Vincent quickly stifled my movements by pressing my hips into the mattress.

“Are you close?”

He murmured against my clit. The gentle vibrations set my nerves ablaze with white hot desire.

“Yeah, yeah I’m so close.”

I mumbled, my arms beginning to tremble as I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt my orgasm begin to seep into the corners of my brain.

Vincent’s long digits expertly located my g spot with every thrust.

His warm mouth continued to duck and stimulate my swollen bundle of nerves.

The erotic sounds of his fingers fucking my cunt reverberated loudly throguhout the predominantly empty bedroom.

“Then cum for me, ma chérie.”

His endearing words proved to be the last necessary step in reaching my release. The tension that had built within my stomach exploded as I came gloriously all over his face. My back felt as though it had been rammed into a solid brick wall.

My chest heaved, and I found it arduous to supply my lungs with sufficient oxygen.

My eyelids began to flutter open as the movements of both his tongue and fingers slowed. When he removed his digits and mouth, I was overcome with a glorious sensation of complete satisfaction. Both my mind and body succumbed to bliss. I had never before experienced such an absence of disquiet.

Vincent climbed over me, his torso now bare.

I cracked a small grin, my palms flattening against the expanse of his soft chest. His lips shone with my arousal. I trailed my fingertips slowly downwards, halting when I reached his thick leather belt. I began to undo the buckle, however, Vincent caught wind of my intentions. With one hand, he engulfed both of my wrists, pinning them above my head. I gasped.

“Oh, no, not now.”

His gentle lips tenderly kissed the soft divot behind my ear. I took a deep breath, the scent of his pricey, heavy fragrance clouding my mind.

“I have waited far too long for this moment. It would be foolish of me to allow you to furnish pleasure when my desire has been consuming me for years.”

Vincent moved off of me and stood to remove the remainder of his clothes. With a pleasurable whoosh, he pulled his belt from the loops of his formal pants. Subsequently, he removed his shoes and allowed his trousers to gather about his ankles.

He met my stare, the mellow hue of the faint overhead lights collecting within his green irises.

“You look beautiful.”

Once again, the heat from my body began to travel downwards.

Vincent’s boxers were the final article of clothing to be removed. I gulped audibly, as his sizable cock was now standing fully erect.

Holy shit, I thought to myself.

He possessed one of the most winsome cock I had ever laid eyes on. I clenched my thighs together, my cunt eagerly clenching around nothing.

When he had finished undressing, he climbed back over me and our lips met once again. I melted into the kiss, exhaling sensually as I sunk into the plush mattress. Vincent’s hand grasped the hem of my dress, tugging it upwards until I was forced to raise my arms.

Thankfully, the supportive nature of the outfit allowed me to function in the absence of a bra. As a result, my entire body was now fully exposed for Vincent’s piercing gaze.

He discarded the dress and dropped his hips suggestively until his prominent erection pressed against my lower stomach.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, beckoning him to progress further. Vincent shuffled his hips, tip now dangerously close to my aching cunt. But, before he slipped inside of me, he raised a free hand and tenderly brushed a few unruly strands of hair from my damp forehead.

“If you wish to stop at any moment, merely apprise me and I shall cease.”

I gave him a nod, throwing my arms around his neck to provide an anchor. Vincent pressed his lips to my neck, applying a few gentle kisses before sliding his cock into my wet cunt.

My walls stretched, hastily conforming to his rather large girth. My back arched into his solid torso. I inhaled sharply as he buried the entirety of his length deep within me.

“Are you alright, ma chérie?”

His body stilled. I groaned in mild frustration.

“Y-yeah. I’m more than alright. P-please just fuck me already. I-I need you so bad.”

Vincent pulled back. His lips were plush. His hair was disheveled. His cheeks were a bright shade of pink.

His disarranged appearance was a stark contrast to the previously sophisticated man I had met at the start of this afternoon. However, I do consider the duality of man to be a topic of the utmost enticement. There is something captivating about the notion of commencing a relationship with someone who has a secret side that solely you have the pleasure of becoming acquainted with.

Without further words, Vincent began to roll his hips. The slight pain of his cock quickly dissipated to create room for immense pleasure.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head.

“Does that feel good? Hm?”

He spoke with a slight vocal fry. The raspiness of his tone elicited a visceral reaction. I dragged my nails along his smooth back, undoubtedly breaking skin.

He grumbled deep within his chest.

When I didn’t answer, Vincent pulled his face back, blown pupils meeting mine. I gazed at him through half lidded eyes. I found it difficult to ignite passionate eye contact when I was presented with the distraction of his cock expertly grazing against my g spot with every fervent jerk of his hips.

He wrapped a large hand around my neck. My pulse rose to the top of my skin as black spots began to cloud my vision.

“Come on, ma belle, be my good girl. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

I exhaled a shuddering breath.

“F-fuck… you feel so good inside me Vincent.”

I gulped.

“Y-your cock feels so good.”

Vincent’s skin began to sheen with a thin layer of perspiration. The unruly strands of brown hair deepened in color as they stuck to his forehead. I moaned pornographically as the grip on my neck constricted once more. My jaw dropped. The brief lack of oxygen only added to the flurry of incoherent thoughts bouncing around my skull.

“Oh, my, you’re such a good girl for me.”

He gulped, a soft sigh escaping his swollen lips.

“You’re taking me so well.”

The erotic words combined with his smooth accent contributed to the tightening of my lower abdomen.

I was close, dangerously close.

I could feel my body reaching the edge, and I would soon fall into a state of euphoria.

Vincent’s adjusted his hips ever so slightly, his tip now reaching deeper than before.

I instinctively turned my head away. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I buried my face into the bed. My brow furrowed. My eyes squeezed shut as I anticipated my release.

Vincent utilized his thumb to reposition my face.

“No, don’t look away. Be my good girl and look me in the eyes.”

I forced my eyelids open, meeting his piercing stare as ever so slightly increased the frequency of his thrusts. Every instinct beckoned me to throw my head back, but I fought the desire. And, I instead kept my eyes fixated on Vincent’s blown pupils that had almost entirely consumed his irises.

“I want to watch you. I want to see your face as you cum all over my cock.”

I gave him a slight nod, indicating that I could hear while trapped in my lustful stupor.

His hand traveled downwards, gently caressing my curves before reaching my swollen clit. Vincent applied gentle pressure, and, with that, I let go.

I kept my eyes fixated on him, allowing my face to contort as it pleased.

Vincent groaned loudly, his cum coating my walls.

He continued to fuck me throguh my orgasm. His movements gradually slowed as the fog of euphoria began to dissipate. My chest rose and collapsed with fervor.

When I deemed it safe to break eye contact, I allowed my eyelids to flutter shut. Suddenly, I became aware of the gravitational pull the bed exerted on my body.

Jesus, I was exhausted.

Vincent removed his cock from my core. However, he remained atop me, tenderly pushing my unkempt hair back to create mild uniformity.

“You may stay here, if you’d like, for however long you wish.”

His voice was as it had been prior to our physical encounter.

I giggled, my mouth breaking into a slight smile.

“Your house is magnificent.”

I met his gaze, his eyes now possessing a tender quality.

“I don’t know if I ever want to leave.”

I said with a scoff.

A smirk played on the corner of his lips.

“Then don’t, stay here for as long as your heart desires.”

[user2772636]

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

Experimenting is bound to give you attention. Magazines are trending, and not just in the women's department. A one-eyed boy who has recently been caught with something vulgar has respect for women. How surprising.

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warnings: boys being boys (worse than b4), swearing, one-sided anger, reference to a movie (Hot Rod), love triangle again (new character??), fluff (finally?!?!?!)

===

===

Chapter four: Flashy Magazines

===

I flip through page by page the new magazine I bought. It was imported from america, and the second I heard of it, I ran to the nearest booth.

That was yesterday. Today is Monday morning. I woke up a little earlier to scroll through my said magazine and look for inspiration. I thought I'd do something different. A bit more bold.

Hair bumps and bangs. A style well worn by Priscilla Beaulieu, the speculated lover of Elvis Presley. The magazine was filled with her.

I grab my scissors, lifting my head to look into my bathroom mirror. I read the directions on the magazine, parting a small section at the middle of my hair, pulling it in front of my eyes.

I take a deep breath in. A click from the scissors is heard. Not half bad, I say to myself. I shag it a little, smiling to myself.

I continue to read the instructions to Priscilla's hair bump, deciding to make it just a small bump, curling the ends, then adding hair spray to keep it all intact. Once I was done , I added a pair of pearl earrings.

There's a new dress waiting for me in my closet. It was a present from my parents. A knee-length flowy dress with a boat neckline and a thin strap belt, all in the colour of watermelon red.

I put it on, patting down the skirt, and grab my kitten heels. I pray that I don't get caught. This is probably how Michèle felt on the first day of school.

I take one last look in the mirror. I looked older, like a proper lady. I straighten my back and smile strainedly. I breathe out slowly.

I grab my satchel and coat, then head out of my flat. Walking to school, eyes follow me. From my lovely neighbour to the men smoking cigarettes in the street. I don't mind them and continue to make my way to school.

Once I get there, I see Laubrac walking away from Michèle. I walk up to her and put on a smile.

"Michèle. How have you been?" I lean in to hug her.

"Wow, Y/N. You're stunning. You look like you were made to be in movies." Michèle laughs, and I laugh with her.

"Don't go that far." We smile at each other and make it through the gate. Once again, eyes are on me, younger this time.

We look towards the bathroom, seeing Felbec run towards it, then get rejected access through. A tall frame pushes him away, and I knew exactly who it was. I furrow my eyebrows.

A boy then comes running through the gate, shouting out how he has the money. I notice Annick as she suddenly walks away. When he makes it there, the school bell rings. I laugh, watching him move around disappointed.

××《☆》××

"Literary salons are almost always hosted by women. Madame de Sèvignè, Madame de Lafayette." Our teacher says as he leans on his table with his arms.

The lecture fades, and all I hear is the tapping of my heels on the hardwood floor.

"Dupin." Our teacher calls out. I turn around to take a look, but my eyes lock with one. I squint at Descamps, then shift my eyes to Dupin.

"As you won't stop talking, you seem well-versed on the subject. Can you share your thoughts on the salons with us?" Dupin stands, and I smile softly, seeing his embarassed state.

I turn my head back to the front, but a stare stays on me, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

I ignored it at first, and then it started to get annoying. So I turned, and I saw him, and he was smiling. He's smiling. Every time I look at him, either he looks dead inside (though, in my opinion, no dead person could look that pretty.), or he's smiling. And that's what he's doing. He's smiling.

How I wish I could wipe it off.

××《☆》××

My ears pound as I hear Ms. Giraud's voice. I might go deaf, but I keep my composure. The bell rings, and we're finally dismissed.

I hear rushed shuffling. Ms. Giraud calls out to the boy.

"Are you in a rush, Lamazière?" Ms. Giraud yells. I notice it's the same boy that ran to the bathroom with money in his hand.

He gets punished, and I laugh quietly. I grab my things, rushing up to the girls.

"Hey, I need to go to the bathroom. Continue walking without me." They nod, and we part ways.

After using the toilet, I look at myself in the mirror. I never expected that. How conscious I'd be of my looks, my movements, and my habits.

Maybe it comes with the fact I dressed up. But for what, I start to wonder. I don't know why I dressed up in the first place. I know I said for a change, but is that really all?

A flash of an eye comes to mind. I quickly shake it off. No way. Not him.

I clear my throat, then grab my things. I hastily walk out the bathroom, suddenly needing fresh air. As I make it to the hallway of the stairwell, footsteps slow down, and eyes follow me. I stop in my tracks.

I scanned through them, what face they were wearing while looking at me. I look down on myself. I still looked presentable, so what were they looking at?

I start to walk, my eyes following the faces of the boys. Each step I take down feels slower. One flight finished, and I stop glancing at them. My feet tap on the porcelain floor of the stairs as I keep my head down.

One flight left, a tall frame walks into the school. He turns to the stairs, and I stop. Descamps stares at me. I stare at him. He then looks up and sees plenty of eyes on me. I see his jaw clench.

He claps his hands. I flinch at the echo of it.

"Will you boys keep staring, or will I go shopping for a new eye with all of yours?" This gets them moving. The stairwell is noisy again.

I turn my head back to Descamps, and I glare. Hard. I walk towards him, and then I'm reminded of our height difference. I crane my neck upward.

"I could've handled myself, you know?" I squint my eyes, and all he does is stare. Why is he just staring? Can't we fight already? I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"Are you just gonna stare or are you gonna sa-"

"You're beautiful." I barely even heard it. But I did. Then I acted like I didn't.

"What?" I stutter out, flushed cheeks redder than before.

"You're miserable. You clearly needed my help." I scoff, the comforting warmth I felt quickly replaced with boiling anger.

"Just leave me alone, Descamps." I walk away, and into the courtyard.

Who does he think he is? Some knight in shining armour? He's more like a thief in the streets. But then no thief could be as annoying, as dreadful, as smiley as him. That stupid smile, and those stupid words, and his stupid face. Stupid, stupid face. Sometimes I just wanna grab it and-

I stop in my tracks. There's a line in front of the boys' bathroom. What would they be lining up for? I see a mop of blonde hair and framed eyes. Applebaum. He hasn't talked to me, hasn't said hi, and I always wonder if I'd done anything wrong.

But he's the past. I guess he just doesn't like me. It's too bad. I had high hopes for him. A whip of air pushes by me, and it's Descamps again. He's jogging towards the bathroom. He's collecting coins from them. Really, what's going on?

I look in front of me. Michèle and Simone are seated on the stairs. I sigh in relief. I sit beside them.

"I can't do this anymore. All the boys, they're dreadful. Why did I come here in the first place?" I groan. The girls watch me, amused.

"Because you moved here from Paris and-" I cut Simone off.

"Rhetorical." I mutter. She purses her lips shut.

Michèle clears her throat. "So, you think you'll get married?" I lift my head up.

"To who?" My eyes are wide open as well as my ears.

"Eugène. Simone's lover boy." I cover my mouth in shock.

"What? I thought you had a thing for-" Simone cuts me off this time.

"No. It's a little too soon for that." She answers Michèle's question. I mouth sorry. She nods.

"Aren't you worried he'll want to take things further?" Michèle asks Simone. I started to click the pieces together. I bite on my lip to hide my smile.

"I don't know." Simone smiles at the thought. "Can I have a bite? Thanks." She says as she grabs Michèle's apple and takes a bite from it.

"I hope I find a husband soon. So I can get out of my parents house." I nod at Michèle's statement.

"That's true. But hopefully, no one from here. I'd rather die." They laugh at my overreaction, but honestly, I might just die than marry anyone here.

Well, except for one, maybe. Who, I ask myself. Right. Who am I even talking about? My eyes drift to a one-eyed boy. No. Don't even think about it.

Descamps as a husband? I laugh to myself.

Sure, I can imagine him going to work, coming home, smoking a cigarette or two as he reads the news.

Lounging in the living room one lazy afternoon, shirt slightly unbuttoned and pants a bit loose. Eating breakfast with his family, cooking with his wife (who, for some reason, looks almost like me. Very weird.), kissing her shoulders as his arms wrap around her waist.

His scent, his soft lips, his large frame. Carrying his kids in his arms as he spins them around the backyard. Teaching his son how to catch, playing dolls with his daughter, taking a break on a bench, one arm on his thigh, and the other on me.

Me? I shake my head. No, not me. His wife. Certainly not me. I grimace at the thought. Why would I even?

I sigh deeply, frustratedly. These damn thoughts are infuriating, just like him.

"Happy New Year, Ms. Palladino." My trance gets cut off.

"You too, Sir." Simone responds. I clear my throat, composing myself.

Michèle calls out for her uncle and gets up. I wonder what she's going to do. I don't pay much mind as I scoot over to Simone.

"It's Jean Pierre, isn't it?" She flinches.

"What do you mean?" I roll my eyes at her response.

"You know what I mean. Eugène? It's definitely Jean Pierre." Her cheeks flush, and she drops her head.

"I'm happy for you, really." I smile as she lifts her head, hope in her eyes. My smile wavers a bit. "But how will you tell Michèle?"

Her eyes lose that hope, and she looks away.

"I don't know. He said we shouldn't because she'll never let us see each other again."

"But one day, you'll have to." I grab her hand and rub it gently. She sighs.

"I wish you luck." I whisper, then hug her. She hugs me back. Once we pull away, Michèle sits with us again.

"He didn't want to lend it to me. What does 'adult' mean." I raise my eyebrows and puff out my cheeks, clearly not wanting to answer her question.

Michèle looks around. "What's up with everyone today?"

"You only noticed now?" I chuckle.

"Come with me." Me and Simone get up, following Michèle. She walks and calls towards Pichon.

"What's going on in the bathroom?" Pichon pauses. Too long of a pause.

"Nothing." I squint at him. Obviously not nothing.

"Somethings been going on in there today."

"Not at all. Nothing's going on." Pichon tries to walk away, but I stop him with a palm to his chest.

"Really? Why did you react that way when you ran into Mr. Bellanger?" I start to talk.

"What do you mean?" This is getting annoying.

"Don't act dumb. We know you aren't." I snap at him. "Now, why was your face all red?"

"No. It's not red." I furrow my eyebrows, now really getting angry. I almost shove him before Michèle holds me back.

"Simone, is his face red?" I ask her.

"It's red. Very red." I look back at Pichon and raise my eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

"It's not. It's just my complexion." I try to lunge at him, but Michèle's hands are tight on me.

"So you're not gonna tell us?" Michèle calls out for him. I whip my arms off of Michèle's hold, and she's quick to let me go.

"Of course he won't." I glare at the back of his head.

The bell rings.

××《☆》××

Descamps' group walks into the class together. They're rushing a bit.

"And Applebaum?" One of them asks.

"He's gonna sprain something." Descamps answers. Sprain what? What are they doing in that bathroom anyway?

"He's gonna go deaf." Oh. A shiver runs down my spine as I gag. Gross.

I hear Michèle ask Simone something, probably about what the boys are talking about. I don't wanna tell her.

Ms. Couret walks in and greets us. We're granted to sit. The door opens.

"Didn't you hear the bell, Mr. Applebaum." I gag again seeing him. I should've known he was like everyone else. To believe I might've given him a chance. I grimace.

The boys whisper and laugh. There's a boiling in my stomach. Ms. Couret moves on to the topic.

"Do you know the Beatles?" This catches my attention. No one answers, until Pichon does.

"The British band?" Ms. Couret nods.

"Yes. Let's see if those names ring a bell." I shuffle on my seat, giving my full attention to the discussion.

I don't notice the boys passing around a magazine 'till it comes flying towards Michèle's table. I peek over, and in front of her lies a flashy magazine.

××《☆》××

"He said if we didn't give him a name, the class would get detention every Thursday." Pichon says as everyone huddles in to listen. I feel a warm frame over and behind me, but I ignore it, thinking it's just another classmate.

"Then we all get detention." Dupin states, as if it wasn't already obvious.

"The whole class." Pichon exclaims.

"Even the girls?" My brows furrow. What did we do to be blamed?

"Everybody." We all stop.

"That's not fair." Simone says, and I nod with her.

"Right. What did we do? It was you guys who were being perverts." I call out.

I get more frustrated when a chest bumps into me. It's the same frame I felt earlier. I turn around, and I'm met with Descamps.

"You. You were the ones selling the magazine and passing it around." I glare at him.

"You're disgusting. I don't want you near me." I turn again and bid a quick goodbye to the girls then head home.

"Pardine!" I hear Descamps call out. I roll my eyes and keep walking. Once we're in a quieter area, he grabs my arm and gently pushes me to a wall.

"Please. I swear I would never." I glare up at him.

"Then why were you passing it around?" I ask him, tilting my head up.

His pants fill my ears. It's worrying. I place a hand on his chest.

"Calm down." I state, the worry etched in my voice.

He relaxed under my touch, I felt it, the way his muscles stopped being tense. I kept my face hard.

"Now, explain." My voice comes out demanding.

"I needed some money. What better way to collect it quickly than when there's hundreds of prepubescent boys in one school?" I roll my eyes. I almost walk away before he cages me in the wall with his arms.

"Please. Just... listen. I needed money, okay? I wanted to save up for... for..." He stutters, and my brows crease more.

"For?" I raise my brows, expecting an answer.

"For... records. Yeah. For my mother." I squint at his answer.

"That still won't excuse the fact you're a pervert."

"No, I swear. I would never. I know you don't believe me, but I swear. I swear on my mothers life I would never. Not in school, not anywhere. I respect a woman way too much to do something like that."

"A woman? Who? Your mother?" My brain turns to different answers.

"Yes." He stuttering again. "Definitely, my mother." He pushes away from me, and I feel cold.

I hum. Then I look back up at him, eyes still squinted.

"I'll let it pass for now." I see his face fill with relief, and I almost laugh.

I walk away, but before I get too far, I hear him mutter.

"You look pretty." I turn around, shocked and confused.

"What did you say?"

"I said you look shitty. Goodbye, Pardine!" He calls out as he walks away in a rush. I scoff, then turn back around to walk home.

××《☆》××

I pet George, lounging on my bed, thinking of going out to run some errands. I get up and head to the kitchen.

Stuck to the fridge, I read my mother's shopping list. I get rid of the magnet and stick the note into my coat pocket. I glance at George, then the door, then George again.

I sigh. I pick him up, head to my door, and lock it. We go down the stairs. I place him in my bicycle basket. I make sure he's tucked in well, then ride to the farmers market.

Once I'm there, I glance at the shopping list again. Some vegetables, fruit, flour, etc. I walk past each stall, buying what's needed. Just then, a boy, somewhere my age, walks towards me.

"Hi." He seems confident. "I'm Callum. What's your name?"

I look at him up and down, and then the hand he reaches out for a hand shake. He's tall, but not too tall. Maybe five feet and ten inches. He has long, wavy brown hair, neatly brushed behind his ears. He has deep doe eyes and a smile on his face. I hesitate.

"Y/N." I slowly lift my hand and shake his. His smile widens.

"So, I have a project that requires a model, and when I saw you, I thought you'd be the perfect candidate. Not to be blunt about it, but you're beautiful." I blush at the sudden compliment.

"All you need to do is let me take a couple of photos, and I'll pay you, about... 300 franc?" I gape at the offer.

"Are you sure? Just for pictures?" They nod.

"Yes. Good transaction, yeah? If I win the project, the pictures will be displayed in the front of a car magazine. Is that alright with you?" I think again, but what's there to think about when there's 300 franc on the table?

"Deal." I shake hands Callum's hand, and he smiles wider.

"Good. Now, I'll take you to my car, and you can do a couple of poses in front of it." He led me to his car, and the second I saw the bright mint blue of it, my jaw hits the floor.

"This pretty one," Callum pats the front of the car. "is a 1955 Ford Thunderbird. Mint blue exterior, white top, and a mix of both for the interior. It has the brake horsepower of 193, and she's my most prized possession. She goes up to 23,069 kilometres. Very lovely, right?" He leans on the car, almost hugging it.

I cover my mouth, hiding my smile. He walks over to me, gently grabbing my wrist and pulling it away from my face.

"Keep that smile on, pretty lady. We need it for the pictures." He tilts his head towards the car. "Go on."

I walk slowly. Once I'm near the passengers door, I pose, and I see the flash of the camera.

"Get inside. Take a feel around." I walk to the other side of the car, opening the door and closing it once I'm in. I feel the leather of the wheel against my palm, and I scoff in awe. The camera flashes again.

"I didn't get to pose!" I laugh, slightly embarassed.

"You didn't need to. You're a natural." He snaps another photo, and I laugh again.

After taking a few photos and reviewing them, Callum finally chose one. It was me smiling at the camera with my hands on the wheels, windows rolled down.

He told me I looked perfect, which was, based on what he said, the first thing that came into his mind when he saw me.

The rest of the day, he accompanied me shopping and even offered me a ride around town in his car. I obviously couldn't say no.

He pulled the hood down, letting the wind flow through my hair as we drove in the roads, making it to the fields, stopping by for some gas, and then getting on the road again.

××《☆》××

Callum parks the car in front of his flat, which was only a few blocks away from mine. We decided to walk to my place instead of draining out the car, not before him telling me that it was absolutely fine for him to drive me directly home. When I said I needed my legs moving, he stopped pushing it and agreed.

He puts the hood back on, locking the door with his keys. He walks to my side.

"Good luck with the project." My hands are in my coat pockets as Callum walks me home. He smiles, then looks at me.

"Meeting you was luck itself. That means if you're in my pictures, I'll bring luck with me." I roll my eyes.

"Cheesy." We come to a stop infront of my flat's door.

"Well, this is it." I purse my lips, looking up at him.

"Yup. I guess we're here." His eyes sort of lose its spark. I worry.

"You okay?" I raise my eyebrows, concerned.

"I wanna see you again." He blurts out. "Is tomorrow okay? The results will come out, and I sort of want you to be there."

"Sure. I'll be there." I rub his arm reassuringly. He slowly lifts his hand to cup mine on his arm. He lifts it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on it.

"Goodnight, Y/N." He smiles softly, lets go of my hand, and leaves. I stay in my place, unsure of what to do. When his frame disappears from my sight, I shiver. What was that?

I'm greeted by George as I get in my flat. My heart's beating out my chest, and I feel anxious. There's something in me. It doesn't feel so good. Some sort of regret. Why?

A boy. Not Callum. Someone else. Taller frame. Shorter hair. One eye. Fuck no. No way. I can't. I shouldn't. Why am I thinking about him?

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. 'I don't even call him by his first name.' Joseph Descamps. I feel indifferent calling him his first name. I'm not in terms with him like that. We aren't close enough for me to call him that.

Then suddenly, I want to. I want to call him Joseph. 'Why?' I wonder. Joseph, Joseph, Joseph. It feels nice on the tongue. Descamps is suddenly too long of a name. Joseph is fine. The name, I mean. Not him.

Then suddenly, again, it is. He is. 'No, he's not', but I want him to be. How do I get him to be? 'I can't do this. I really shouldn't.' But, oh, how much I want to.

'No.' I quiet my thoughts. 'No. Never. I won't do it.'

But I want to.

Fuck.

××《☆》××

The next morning, most of the boys are called to the principles office. I sigh in boredom, looking out the window.

"It certainly feels emptier today." Simone says, breaking the silence. I want to laugh, but I can't. I wanted to see the way Joseph's green cardigan looked on his wide frame longer.

I shake my head. I totally didn't get enough sleep last night with that thought popping in my head.

Though, that cardigan really suited him. Green really suits him. It makes him sort of glow. It's not like he doesn't already. Come to think of it, his hair glows, too. It was a bit messy. He probably rushed to school today. I wonder how soft it'll be against my fingers when I brush it off to look neater.

I remember how warm he was that day in the alley. He was so much taller, so he had to basically break his back to reach me. I double take that thought.

He had to break his back just to reach me.

I know he didn't actually break his back, but I just knew that sort of hurt. But it was nice, so I guess it was worth it for him. At least, I hope it was.

Okay, wait. Why am I thinking like this? I guess we're on good terms now. I mean, sure, we bicker, but not as much anymore? I don't know. Whatever. I guess we're fine. I want us to be. I'm tired of being mad at him for no reason.

Yeah. We're fine. That's why I'm thinking like this, right? You know, as a friendly, 'I want to take care of you' kind of way. Which is platonic. Totally. Yeah, that's fine.

Maybe I should say hi from time to time? Or no. Maybe just a nod for a greeting? Too bland. A smile will do. He might be creeped out, though.

I groan internally. Why am I overthinking this? Whatever, I'll just smile and wave. That's good. Simple and effective. Don't overthink it. There's nothing to overthink about.

Ms. Couret walks in, and the class collectively stands up. She's wearing a green dress. It looks nice. It reminds me of Joseph.

Woah. Why am I thinking about him? I think I'm just worried. Yeah. I'm worried about him because we're friends. Wait, are we friends? I'll ask later.

We're told to sit down, and we do. Ms. Couret pulls out a copy of the news. This must be about The Beatles, I remember from the last discussion, before it got interrupted. I light up in my seat.

"We won't wait for your classmates. They're getting tortured at the dean's dungeon." The class laughs.

"Today, we'll start with an article on President Kennedy's murder." So it isn't about The Beatles. I furrow my eyebrows.

I raise my hand.

"Yes?" Ms. Couret lifts her head.

"What about the song?" I shrug my shoulders, asking a bit sadly.

"No. There won't be a song. I don't have the record." I purse my lips in silent disappointment. She passes us some papers, and I sit the rest of the day quietly.

××《☆》××

I walk outside of the gate, the crowds of students slowly dissipating. My hair flows in the wind, styled the same way it was yesterday, except done in a half up half down style. My yellow dress lifts up and down as my legs do.

I'm headed to Callum's school, excited for the results. Almost halfway there, I stop. Joseph is in front of a magazine booth, buying. My heart drops, assuming it was another one of those flashy magazines. But then he leans out the booth, holding a magazine with my face on the cover.

My face is on the cover, and Joseph is buying it.

Two very important things.

One, I got on the cover, so Callum won. Two, Joseph is buying a magazine with my face on the cover. My question is, does he know it's me on the cover? Or is he buying it because he generally likes cars.

I take slow steps forward. The closer I am, the more I hear. And there's a voice inside my head repeating Joseph's words.

"That's my girl." He points to my picture in the magazine, showing the booth owner. "She's gorgeous. I mean, look at her." He makes the magazine face him again. There's a wide smile on his face.

He's smiling. I think I'm starting to like it on him.

The second he turns his head and sees me, the smile I just started to admire drops. He looks red under the afternoon sun.

"Pardine." He clears his throat, hiding the magazine. "What are you doing around here?"

"Headed to St. Patricks. You know the all boys school?" I smile softly. His nervousness seems to fade, for only a little.

"What would you be doing there?" He sounds off.

"Meeting a friend." I lift my shoulders, showing off a smile.

He looks like he melts, then stiffens back up. "A friend? Who? What's his name? What's he look like?"

"You ask a lot of questions. Answer mine first, then I'll answer yours." He nods. "What are you doing here?"

He stutters. "I was just looking around. Thought I'd buy a magazine but then saw you." He's acting uninterested. Or atleast trying to.

"Saw me walking towards you, or saw me in that magazine you have in your hands?" His eyes blow open. I hide my laugh.

"What? What do you- oh." He points to the magazine booth that he's still standing next to.

"That's you? Wow, I didn't know you modelled. It's not like I care or anything." He puts his head down, shrugging his shoulders.

"Why'd you buy it, Joseph?" I smirk, tilting my head, trying to meet his eyes. He shys away.

"I was... gonna burn it. Yeah. I was- wait. What did you call me?" He whips his head up. I try to recall, then flush when I do.

"Nothing."

"You totally called me Joseph." Yes, I did.

"No, I didn't." I shake my head.

"You never call me that." No, but like last night, I want to.

"I didn't call you Joseph."

"You just did."

"You're so childish, Joseph."

"You did it again!"

I groan, walking away from him, as red as when he saw me. Why was he red when he saw me? Whatever, I need to get to Callum.

I hear his steps behind me, and I roll my eyes.

"Y/N, come on." I turn around.

"You called me Y/N."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did." He definitely did.

"I didn't." Mhm, sure.

"You did. You never call me that." I mock him. He rolls his eye.

"Whatever."

"Whatever." I walk away from him. He doesn't seem to follow after me anymore, but then after a while, I hear his steps again.

"What's your friends name again? Are you sure I wasn't the friend you were gonna meet?" Oh right, I was gonna ask him about that.

"Are we friends?" I stop and turn to him.

He stops, too. No talking, no walking.

"Do you want us to be?" He asks. I pause.

"Yes."

"Then, yeah." There's that smile I missed.

"Good." I continue to walk.

"You didn't answer my first question."

"His name is Callum. He was the one who photographed me." I feel him grab my arm, and we stop again.

"He photographed you? When did you even meet? How are you sure he isn't some old creep?"

"Yes, he did. Yesterday, when I was in the market. He's our age, I made sure to ask."

"Okay, how exactly did he come up to you in the market?" He squints, tilting his head.

"Just went up to me, said hi, called me beautiful, offered money for the photos, took the photos, we drove around in his car, and then he walked me home." I shrug simply. He's still hesitant.

"You drove around in a stranger's car?"

"Correction, friends car."

"Yeah, a friend you just met."

"Whatever, I'm here now safe and sound anyways."

"But what if he was some creep? You need to be more careful, Y/N."

"I said it's whatever, Joseph." His eyebrows are furrowed, then after a while, he nods.

I continue to walk, and he follows. I don't stop him.

Once we're in front of St. Patricks' gate, I see the familiar Ford Thunderbird and quickly make my way, Joseph hot on my feet.

I see the familiar man leaning against the car with his hands in his pockets, then I see his toothy grin. I run up to him and give him a hug that he returns.

"Callum! Congratulations. I knew you had it in the bag." I say as I lean away from him. He keeps his arms wrapped around me. I feel a burning stare on us.

"Told you, you brought me luck." He takes his glasses off with his hand, then places the arm he used back on my waist. I hear footsteps and Callum's hold loosens.

There's an arm around my shoulder. Then, an all familiar voice.

"You alright, man? Congrats on the magazine. Y/N's told me about you." I look up at Joseph. His jaw's clenched.

"Of course she did. She told you about the ride on this pretty thing?" He pats the car, and I flush.

"Yeah, she did. I'm Joseph." He puts a hand out for Callum to shake. They clasp hands, and their grips are tight.

"Callum, but I guess you already knew that. If you don't mind me asking, who are you to Y/N?"

"Her b-"

"Friend. He's a friend." I cut him off. He looks at me with hurt in his eyes, then masks it with fake joy.

"Yup. I'm her friend." He nods to Callum.

"Oh. It's a bit weird that she hasn't mentioned you. You know, since you're friends and all." Joseph's arm tightens around me.

"Yeah, it's not like her to talk about her friends to someone she just met." There's a sarcastic smirk on his face.

Callum hums. "Well, s'nice to meet you, Joseph. Have a good one, yeah? And you, pretty lady..." Callum's gaze shifts to me, stare softening.

"Have a good night." He lifts my hand to his lips, placing a soft and lingering kiss on it. I take a deep breath in, maintaining composure, overwhelmed by the attention both boys were giving me.

Callum turns around and drives off on his car. Once his car was out of sight, I look back at Joseph, his stare still on the road where Callum rode off to.

"What was that?" I squint, tilting my head up. He instantly looks down at me with tending eyes.

"Nothing. I'll walk you home." His hand comes town to my arm, rubbing it gently. We turn to the way to my place.

The sun has set, and the street lights are on. It's a quiet night, the only things being heard are footsteps and draining water.

Only a block away from my flat, Joseph's arms are still around me. It feels comforting. It's nice to have a new friend. Though, I've known him longer.

"When you get home, I want you to say hi to George for me." I laugh at that. "I'm not kidding."

"Yeah, I'll say hi to George for you." I smile at the ground, then look up at him. He's already looking at me. We slow down a bit, just staring.

Then he leans in, and I mirror him. We lean in closer, closer, and closer. A moped engine turns on. We stop, and pull away.

"Here we are." He stops, and I didn't even notice we were already at my place.

"Oh. Right." He steps away from me, the arm around my shoulders gone. I feel alone again.

"Well, good night, Y/N." He stand there with his hands in his pockets.

"Good night, Joseph." I purse my lips. He nods. I walk up quarter way to the steps, then I stop.

I go back down, see Joseph, I tip toe, then press a kiss on his cheek. I quickly walk up the stairs again, almost tripping.

I make it to the inside of my flat, not bothering to turn the light on, then rush to the window. I peek out of it, and he's still there. He looks bewildered. Then, a smile slowly sits on his face. He stays there for a while, and then he walks away.

I slowly get up from my place, turning on the light, and I just stand there. Then, I squeal.

Holy fucking shit. Oh my gosh. No way, no way, no way, no way. I just kissed his cheek. Holy shit.

That's normal. Totally. Just a friendly kiss. But it felt nice.

I check the time. It's 12 in the morning. New year's kiss. I just had Joseph as my New Year's kiss. Kind of.

I see George, and smile wider.

"Joseph said hi."

I definitely don't hate not hating him anymore.

××《☆》××

End of- Chapter four: Flashy Magazines

Next- Chapter five: You Know Where To Find Me, and I Know Where To Look

××《☆》××

It's finally done 😭😭 watch me take a month for chapter five /j. Anw, this is a handful chapter. So many emotions. This is turning out to be an enemies to frienimies to lovers. What do u guys think abt Callum? Honestly, hes lowkey me cus i love cars. I wish i had his car. More of him soon too. I wanted tk add fluff so that u guys dont get the idea that im not making joseph and reader end game. I promise i am but u guys have to wait. Happy reading hope u guys liked this!!!

[gwydpolls]

Time Travel Question 51: Early Modernish and Earlier

These Questions are the result of suggestions a the previous iteration. This category may include suggestions made too late to fall into the correct earlier time grouping. In some cases a culture lasted a really long time and I grouped them by whether it was likely the later or earlier grouping made the most sense with the information I had.

Please add new suggestions below if you have them for future consideration. All cultures and time periods welcome.

[silverscreencaps]

The Earrings of Madame de… (1953) dir. Max Ophuls

[lafiguraentutapiz]

The Earrings of Madame de.... Max Ophüls. 1953

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 2 EPISODE 02 || NOT IN SCOTLAND ANYMORE||

#83daysofoutlander☆

I closed the door of the drawing room quietly behind me and stood still a moment, gathering courage. I essayed a restorative deep breath, but the tightness of the whalebone corseting made it come out as a strangled gasp. Jamie, immersed in a handful of shipping orders, glanced up at the sound and froze, eyes wide. His mouth opened, but he made no sound. “How do you like it?” Handling the train a bit gingerly, I stepped down into the room, swaying gently as the seamstress had instructed, to show off the filmy gussets of silk plissé let into the overskirt. Jamie shut his mouth and blinked several times. “It’s … ah … red, isn’t it?” he observed. “Rather.” Sang-du-Christ, to be exact. Christ’s blood, the most fashionable color of the season, or so I had been given to understand. “Not every woman could wear it, Madame,” the seamstress had declared, speech unhampered by a mouthful of pins. “But you, with that skin! Mother of God, you’ll have men crawling under your skirt all night!” “If one tries, I’ll stamp on his fingers,” I said. That, after all, was not at all the intended effect. But I did mean to be visible. Jamie had urged me to have something made that would make me stand out in the crowd. Early-morning fog notwithstanding, the King had evidently remembered him from his appearance at the lever, and we had been invited to a ball at Versailles. “I’ll need to get the ears of the men with the money,” Jamie had said, making plans with me earlier. “And as I’ve neither great position nor power myself, it will have to be managed by making them seek my company.” He heaved a sigh, looking at me, decidedly unglamorous in my woolen bedgown. “And I’m afraid in Paris that means we’ll have to go out a bit in society; appear at Court, if it can be managed. They’ll know I’m a Scot; it will be natural for folk to ask me about Prince Charles, and whether Scotland is eagerly awaiting the return of the Stuarts. Then I can assure them discreetly that most Scots would pay a good price not to have the Stuarts back again—though it goes against the grain a bit to say so.” “Yes, you’d better be discreet,” I agreed. “Or the Bonnie Prince may set the dogs on you next time you go to visit.” In accordance with his plan to keep abreast of Charles’s activities, Jamie had been paying weekly duty calls on the small house at Montmartre. Jamie smiled briefly. “Aye. Well, so far as His Highness, and the Jacobite supporters are concerned, I’m a loyal upholder of the Stuart cause. And so long as Charles Stuart is not received at Court and I am, the chances of his finding out what I’m saying there are not great.

Jacobites in Paris keep to themselves, as a rule. For the one thing, they haven’t the money to appear in fashionable circles. But we have, thanks to Jared.” Jared had concurred—for entirely different reasons—in Jamie’s proposal that we widen the scope of Jared’s usual business entertaining, so that the French nobility and the heads of the wealthy banking families might beat a path to our door, there to be seduced and cozened with Rhenish wine, good talk, fine entertainment, and large quantities of the good Scotch whisky that Murtagh had spent the last two weeks shepherding across the Channel and overland to our cellars. “It’s entertainment of one kind or another that draws them, ye ken,” Jamie had said, sketching out plans on the back of a broadsheet poem describing the scurrilous affair between the Comte de Sévigny and the wife of the Minister of Agriculture. “All the nobility care about is appearances. So to start with, we must offer them something interesting to look at.” Judging from the stunned look on his face now, I had made a good beginning. I sashayed a bit, making the huge overskirt swing like a bell. “Not bad, is it?” I asked. “Very visible, at any rate.” He found his voice at last. “Visible?” he croaked. “Visible? God, I can see every inch of ye, down to the third rib!” I peered downward. “No, you can’t. That isn’t me under the lace, it’s a fining of white charmeuse.” “Aye well, it looks like you!” He came closer, bending to inspect the bodice of the dress. He peered into my cleavage. “Christ, I can see down to your navel! Surely ye dinna mean to go out in public like that!” I bristled a bit at this. I had been feeling a trifle nervous myself over the general revealingness of the dress, the fashionable sketches the seamstress had shown me notwithstanding. But Jamie’s reaction was making me feel defensive, and thus rebellious. “You told me to be visible,” I reminded him. “And this is absolutely nothing, compared to the latest Court fashions. Believe me, I shall be modesty personified, in comparison with Madame de Pérignon and the Duchesse de Rouen.” I put my hands on my hips and surveyed him coldly. “Or do you want me to appear at Court in my green velvet?” Jamie averted his eyes from my décolletage and tightened his lips. “Mphm,” he said, looking as Scotch as possible. Trying to be conciliatory, I came closer and laid a hand on his arm. “Come now,” I said. “You’ve been at Court before; surely you know what ladies dress like. You know this isn’t terribly extreme by those standards.” He glanced down at me and smiled, a trifle shamefaced

“Aye,” he said. “Aye, that’s true. It’s only … well, you’re my wife, Sassenach. I dinna want other men to look at you the way I’ve looked at those ladies.” I laughed and put my hands behind his neck, pulling him down to kiss me. He held me around the waist, his thumbs unconsciously stroking the softness of the red silk where it sheathed my torso. His touch traveled upward, sliding across the slipperiness of the fabric to the nape of my neck. His other hand grasped the soft roundness of my breast, swelling up above the tethering grip of the corsets, voluptuously free under a single layer of sheer silk. He let go at last and straightened up, shaking his head doubtfully. “I suppose ye’ll have to wear it, Sassenach, but for Christ’s sake be careful.” “Careful? Of what?” His mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Lord, woman, have ye no notion what ye look like in that gown? It makes me want to commit 💥 on the spot. And these damned frog-eaters havena got my restraint.” He frowned slightly. “You couldna … cover it up at bit at the top?” He waved a large hand vaguely in the direction of his own lace jabot, secured with a ruby stickpin. “A … ruffle or something? A handkerchief?” “Men,” I told him, “have no notion of fashion. But not to worry. The seamstress says that’s what the fan is for.” I flipped the matching lace-trimmed fan open with a gesture that had taken fifteen minutes’ practice to perfect, and fluttered it enticingly over my bosom. Jamie blinked meditatively at this performance, then turned to take my cloak from the wardrobe.

“Do me the one favor, Sassenach,” he said, draping the heavy velvet over my shoulders. “Take a larger fan.”

9 THE SPLENDORS OF VERSAILLES

[idkfitememate]

Ooo!!! what if a Melusine!creator?? (are they consider animals? I dont think so) I think that would be cute!! I mean look at their tiny face!! their button nose??? and and their cutie horns/antlers!!! AND AND THEIR TAIL???( and wings that sometimes flatters!!(I research some melusines on google, and I saw a melusine with wings! is that canon?))

A Melusine!creator with a cottage vibe or or baker that stays in fotaine!! now thats cute!!

wonder how will the fotaine characters react to them🤔🤔

Fontaine Encounter

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Melusine Reader x Fontaine

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 595

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff, Reader is anxious (anxiety? Never heard of her)

Seeing a Melusine attached to the hip with Neuvillette wasn’t the most uncommon sight. What was uncommon was just HOW attached to the hip this particular Melusine was.

They clearly weren’t employed anywhere, a probably lived in Mersusea or around that area, but there were around Neuvillette every single day.

The other thing about them that was so odd, was generally how they looked.

Melusine were usually short with their little antlers, tiny tails and sometimes little wings. The only know outlier was, of course, Sigewinne.

At least, that’s what was assumed. Then you showed up.

You were on the taller side, coming up to the Sovereign’s chest, with longer horns and a larger tail. Your wings were also larger… they even looked functional. And you honestly looked like a mix between a Melusine, a leaf sheep and a Blue Dragon sea slug. The most different trait being that you looked perfectly androgynous.

You constantly spent your time holding onto Neuvillette and he let you. Your hands were always either around him, gripping his clothes or holding his hands.

The man was perfectly reciprocating to your affections. Holding onto you and allowing you to hold onto him.

The only issue?

He was the only person who you interacted with.

Whenever anyone else tried they were always met with extreme hesitance and silence or you running away. Furina was the most hurt by this.

Though, when Neuvillette requested all officials to come meet him for a conference, they all had a feeling that you may be part of the reason why.

And when Wriothesley, Sigewinne, Furina and Clorinde all came and found him alone in the conference room he called them too, they thought that they may have been wrong.

Well there were wrong about being wrong.

“I have called you here today,” Neuvillette started, “to talk about my mew friend.”

Silence around the room.

The Dragon cleared his throat before continuing.

“If you could not tell before this point, the reason they do not interact with anyone outside of myself is because they are shy.”

Furina huffed at that.

“They have admitted to me that they feel tremendously bad about that, and wish to remedy their relationships with you all. As such, they have a gift for each of you. You may come in now, mon chéri.”

He gestured at a door, and you creeped in with four wrapped baskets on their arms. Blush dappled your cheeks as you looked down. You walked around the table, placing a basket in front of each official - minus Neuvillette.

All the baskets matched the general aesthetic of its recipient. And when unwrapped, we’re filled with all kinds of pastries and treats. You made your round and ran behind the Dragon Sovereign, shoving your face into his side.

He chuckled before leaning down and whispering something in your ear. You stepped forward and began to speak.

“Je m'excuse pour mes actions et mon comportement. Dans la mesure du possible, pourriez-vous trouver dans vos cœurs la possibilité de me pardonner?”

You barely looked up as you spoke, the flawless yet soft speech of the old tongue of Fontaine shocking them. Then Furina stood with dramatic tears in her eyes.

“OF COURSE I FORGIVE YOU DARLING!!! AWE OF COURSE I CAN!!” She quickly got out of her seat and run up to hug you, you wrapping your arms around her.

You shoved your face in her hair as you spoke.

“Merci Madame. Ton pardon illumine mon âme.”

It seemed as though the sun shined a bit brighter into the room.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Little baby!!!! Little baby!!!!!!! I wanna hold them so bad??? Mmmm little baby Melusine!Creator…໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა

*My darling - Neuvillette to You

* I apologize for my actions and behavior. If at all possible, would you be able to find it in your hearts to forgive me? - You to Everyone

* Thank you my Lady. Your forgiveness lights my soul. - You to Furina