One vaguely hoped Bunter had not spent the whole night chasing blackbeetles, but for the moment what was left of one’s mind was concentrated on Peter—being anxious not to wake him, rather hoping he would soon wake up of his own accord and wondering what he would say when he did. If his first words were French one would at least feel certain that he retained an agreeable impression of the night’s proceedings; on the whole, however, English would be preferable, as showing that he remembered quite distinctly who one was.

As though this disturbing thought had broken his sleep, he stirred at that moment, and, without opening his eyes felt for her with his hand and pulled her down against him. And his first word was neither French nor English, but a long interrogative, “M’mmm?”

“M’m!” said Harriet, abandoning herself. “Mais quel tact, mon dieu! Sais-tu enfin qui je suis?”

“Yes, my Shulamite, I do, so you needn’t lay traps for my tongue. In the course of a misspent life I have learned that it is a gentleman’s first duty to remember in the morning who it was he took to bed with him. You are Harriet, and you are black but comely. Incidentally, you are my wife, and if you have forgotten it you will have to learn it all over again.”

Busman’s Honeymoon by Dorothy L. Sayers

Your brown eyes produce in me a feeling of blue. Feelings of a lost love, a misspent life, and a desperate ache to wrap my arms as well as legs around your body. Your brown eyes hold onto me, taking in every curve of my body, desiring every inch along the way; and yet I am blue. Your brown eyes pierce through me, knowingly, and I see the wheels of mischief turning in your mind..and yet I am blue. I feel the essence of blue has become my dominate schema. When I look into your beautiful brown eyes, I stop breathing and turn a myriad of shades of blue. When I look into your brown eyes I know it is on borrowed time and will leave my heart in utter distress. Your perfectly brown eyes remind me that they are not mine to cherish and hold, but to spend my every breath chasing after. Chasing until I am blue.


I firmly maintain that a perfectly kept house is a sign of a misspent life, and all that, but I also have to say – taking a dog hair removal brush to my rugs for the first time in dog-knows-how-long feels like an exfoliation of my soul. Like the kind so good it burns.

Fic: Chaperone (2/?)

Title: Chaperone
Rating: NC-17 (eventually, PG-13 for this chapter)
Pairing: Rumbelle, background Swanfire
Summary: When Mr Gold is invited to his ex-girlfriend Cora’s wedding, he knows he can’t show up alone. Thankfully, his son has an idea: a pretty young friend named Belle who is luckily in need of an invitation to the wedding. Everything is going according to plan, until Gold starts wishing the date were real…


Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Keep reading