Toujours Pur - Part 1

Outside a quaint cafe on a cobbled London street, two elegant woman sit together. 

The woman with silver hair uses her hands excessively as she talks. The other woman looks bored.

Druella Rosier brandishes her hand, adorned by a large engagement ring, under Walburga’s nose.

Druella: Isn’t it beautiful?! He asked me yesterday.

Druella:  Otherwise you’ll be old and alone before you know it.

Walburga: I’d rather be old and alone than settle for the first pathetic boy my parents choose for me.

Druella: But this ring is worth more than half of Gringotts put together. And that’s just the same really, isn’t it?

Walburga: It will be my choice.


kimikochan9-blog replied to your post “Announcing: VMHQ’s Milestone Follower 1,000 Word Fic Challenge!”

Yea! I missed this post somehow - when did it start? Trying to figure out if I can cobble something together because I really, really want to.:)

We just posted the announcement yesterday, so there is DEFINITELY still plenty of time to join in!

The collection is here and is open for posting, but all stories will stay unrevealed until we hit that magic number (soon!) Once we reveal the collection, it’ll stay open for another month!

phaythe-ritchie  asked:

Hello fabulous llc! I am assuming you are feeling better because you have been writing- but i just wanted to see where you were at! Are you feeling better? I'm still praying for your health! ❤❤

Hey lovely, thanks for caring!! So the good news is that my neck is moving again/able to hold up my head. Took about three weeks. It’s not back to normal but I have less pain and more movement - praise! I had a reaction to another procedure (as well) and it hasn’t gotten better so I had some tests this morning. I hope they can figure out what’s wrong. I’m also at a point where I need to figure out what I’m going to do about work. Taking all this time off is not sustainable - neither for me nor the employer. 🙁
Re: writing - some things are on the up and up, so it helps me cobble together more energy/will to write. I tried to throw stuff together for Ship Weeks. Thanks for your prayers!


Neck deep in murky waters

Surrounded by vibrant water lilies

Tadpoles nibble at my submerged clothing

Whilst the occasional fish circles my form

Newts bask on the little pond’s cobbled rim

To a northbound choir of passing geese

Which dip in and out of pink tinted clouds

Catching the last rays of a midwinter’s sunset

Peace fluctuates through the ripples of time


Gentle rocky waterfall, Olympic National Park

Random thought?? So Stan is a skilled artist in his own way, he creates taxidermy creatures and cobbles together various crafts. What if one of the tourists who comes in is a snooty gallery curator and sees the stuff around the Shack and is like “Mr. Pines, this is exactly the kind of avant-garde outsider art my gallery is looking for. There is a certain je ne sais quoi to these, and people will pay a hefty sum for these eccentricities”  “Don’t know what Juno says quack is but you had me at ‘hefty sum’. So that’s how  Stan gets to be in an art gallery with all his stuff on display everywhere. He drinks a lot of wine, and eats all the fancy cheeses, and wrangles patrons. “My oh my, what is this delightfully quirky creature?” “What’s it look like, it’s literally a squirrel-duck. Lookin’ at it costs you five bucks.”  I mean, Stan being in a fancy art gallery opening (with his stuff being displayed) is hilarious to me for some reason?


Brooklyn duplex by Danielle Colding

When it comes to styling a neutral home, it’s all about balancing clean, simple sophistication overall with a few stylish statement pieces to add personality. And we’re pretty sure interior designer Danielle Colding understands this concept better than anyone. For her latest project, Colding set out with a neutral palette of white, grey, and black with brass accents to create an elegantly modern aesthetic for a young couple’s duplex in Brooklyn’s Cobble Hill neighbourhood.

Fly over a rocky black sand beach on the island of Maui as the Waves of the Pacific crash in.

Graves is rushing across a cobbled street, his hands, even though clad in gloves, are buried into the warmth of his pockets, collar upturned against the wind that threatens to push him face-first into the slush of the streets. He could simply apparate to his apartment. It would take him only the fraction of a second, but he wants to walk; he’s searching for someone. If he’s lucky he’ll see the boy, even though he should want otherwise. Credence out in this weather, this ungodly cold, would be disastrous.

He arrives at their usual meeting spot, the dingy alleyway, grimy ground now covered by a thin layer of white. At a simple glance it appears empty, but upon closer inspection Graves perceives a lump huddled next to a trashcan, the unmoving figure of his boy, knees cradled to his chest, skin almost turning blue.

“Credence!” Graves calls out, but the boy doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even hear him.

Graves races to his side and takes hold of him, instantly apparating them to his apartment. He carries Credence into his bedroom, the boy is too light for his height, and deposits him on his bed, scared and anxious. He still isn’t moving, not an inch. He barely seems to be breathing, but Graves can detect the faint beating of his heart.

He performs drying and warming charms, and short after color begins to return to the boy’s skin, first turning from icy cold to milky white, but then his cheeks are painted rose, and he is stirring clumsily.

“Mr. Graves?” he asks the moment his eyes open up.

Graves conjures a steaming mug of cocoa and offers it to Credence, who looks at it confused, but doesn’t hesitate to bring it to his lips and gulp it down.

“Easy there” says Graves as Credence winces, most likely having burnt his tongue.

Credence doesn’t quite meet his eye when he mutters a delicate ‘sorry’ against the rim of the mug. He slows down then, but doesn’t stop drinking the hot beverage.

Graves peels off his gloves, then his coat, and throws them carelessly over the back of a chair.

“What on Earth were you doing out there, Credence?” You could have died , he wants to say, but he doesn’t. The boy must know that already without having being reminded of the horrifying fact.

“Ma… She” he doesn’t say anything after that. Graves understands. He knows.

Whatever reason ‘Ma’ had to punish him in such a way, the bitch must’ve expected to get rid of him by grace and design of hypothermia.

“Well, I’ve had a long day at work, and unfortunately this is the only bed in the apartment, so we’ll have to share.”

Credence shakes his head rather violently, hands gripping the ceramic like a lifeline,

“I can sleep on the floor, Mr. Graves”

“Nonsense” replies Graves, a little more than amused at the boy’s endearing now red ears and cheeks, his chapped lips parted.

Graves gets under the covers and gestures for Credence to do the same, and Credence, oh his sweet boy, in spite of blushing at the suggestion of sharing a bed together, has crawled right next to him, sides touching but face looking up at the ceiling.

Graves rolls his eyes, and pulls him closer, draping one of the boy’s arms over his middle, letting Credence find shelter in the crook of his neck, legs all tangled together.

“Thank you, Mr. Graves” whispers the boy softly, lips moving over his skin, “For… you know. It was so cold- I thought I’d be fine, but then I couldn’t feel anything and maybe that was okay, better. But then everything was just- I’m so sorry, Mr. Graves. I’m always an inconvenience to you, and you help me, every time. I don’t know-”

“Hush, darling. It’s fine . Because you are fine, okay?” Graves presses a kiss to the black mess of his hair and holds him tighter,

“Right now we’ll sleep, and then when we wake up, I’ll prepare you a nice, warm meal.”

“And then?” asks Credence with a lilt to his words.

Graves chuckles and the sound reverberates against his ribs,

“Then you’ll take a bath and put on some of my clothes. Not a perfect fit I’m sure, but fine enough. For now”

“And then?” asks Credence again, voice more relaxed, even playful.

“Then? Well, I don’t know. We’ll see, I guess.”

“Can I stay here?” blurts out Credence.

Graves pulls back to look at the boy in his arms; a porcelain creature made flesh and bone.

“In my apartment? Yes, of course. You’re not returning with that… woman. Not if you don’t want to, and especially when I can offer you a place to stay.”

“Yes, I know” says Credence quickly, as if that was tacit, as if it was a given, which in reality, it was,

“I meant… Stay here. With you. In the uh, the bed. I mean, share it. With you.”

And now Graves wants to laugh. To laugh, and maybe even scream at the top of his lungs, because yes, he wants Credence to stay, and yes, he especially wants Credence to stay with him, in his bed. Indefinitely. For eternity. For what’s left of his strewn life.

“Oh, yes, love. What’s mine is yours, bed included.”

The boy is just a breath away, he’s so close Graves can almost taste him in the air. Their bodies pressed together under warm blankets, it’d be so easy to just lean down and take those plush, spit-wet lips on his own, to nibble and suck at them, have Credence gasping and trembling in his arms. Instead Graves brushes a stray strand of hair, and kisses Credence’s forehead, feeling the boy melt upon his touch.

He wants Credence, all of him. Wants him vulnerable and strong, shy and daring, nude and clothed, with quivering voice and unrepenting laughter. He wants Credence. But he won’t move too fast, won’t rush into this, whatever this is. He can’t give it a name, not yet, even when he knows it’s a strong case of that four-lettered word every poet has written about. He’ll wait, but in the meantime he’ll do his best to ensure Credence is happy at his side.

The boy is sighing, his frame pliant, molded perfectly against his own.

“Sleep” Graves whispers, but the boy is already lost in dreams.