#Crème de la Crème

[zencaia]

Journey to Gallatin (2/5)

Fan art of @hpowellsmith's Crème de la Crème

#the groundskeeper of gallatin #journey to gallatin #fanart #fan art #creme de la creme #crème de la crème #karson #emil karson

[violet-stormbringer]

The Princess and The Thorne, Chapter Five: Hearthlight Troubles

It was a cool evening, with a breeze blowing peacefully throughout the gardens of the Thorne Family Estate. A young man tended the rose bushes while another tended the horses and various servants bustled about like there was a grand occasion and even a single speck of dust meant their jobs were on the line.

As for Ras and Matilda, the pair sat at a table in the dining room. Ras sat directly across from her mother on the other end of the long table, stacks of books and paperwork haphazardly towering above her as she ate her dinner.

Ras voraciously pored over the book in front of her, eyes scanning over every bit of information the text in front of her held. It told of dragons, their mythological significance, and whether or not they’d actually existed. In the margins of the book, Ras’ scribblings of notes and reminders to return to certain sections of text.

“Ras.” Matilda spoke. 

Ras looked up, meeting her Mother’s gaze.

“When you are done, meet me in the courtyard. You and I have things to discuss.”

Ras hung her head and wasted no time saving her place in the book before closing it. She finished her dinner, and stood, following her mother out into the courtyard. Usually a discussion with Matilda Thorne was anything but peaceful.

Sure enough, the moment Ras approached her mother on the courtyard, a servant held out a fencing sabre. 

“Mother, is this really necessary?”

“I have been informed that, as part of Gallatin and Archambault’s Crème de la Crème competition, there is a sports day.” Matilda lifted her own sabre and adopted a battle stance. “There is to be fencing. As a result…we fence.”

Ras groaned, and lifted the sabre in her hand. She took on a stance to match her mothers, and the two stepped toward each other. When they met, they thrust their sabres out and clashed, their weapons pressed against each other.

This exchange continued well into the night, with each participant exchanging a flurry of blows as the other parried their attacks and retaliated as best they could. Matilda was experienced and kept her cool under pressure, regardless of how much Ras pressed. Ras, however, was the opposite, falling for feints and tricks and never landing a single blow upon her mother.

Eventually, Ras made a miscalculation and her thrust was avoided by Matilda in a wide margin, leaving her open for a counter attack. Matilda, seeing her chance, pushed the advantage, bringing her sabre up and catching Ras in her side, scoring the winning blow.

“Finish!” A servant called out. “The match has been decided in favor of Matilda Thorne. The overall score is seven matches, six in favor of Matilda Thorne.”

Ras groaned as she rubbed at the spot Matilda struck her in. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks Gerald.”

The servant, Gerald, bowed his head respectfully. “A pleasure, as always, Master Thorne.”

Matilda let out a ‘tsk’ as she overlooked Ras. “Despite how…sloppy you fight still, there is clear improvement. I daresay you’d be a match for any of those Archambault riff-raff.”

“I count friends among those ‘riff-raff’.” Ras snapped.

“No you don’t.” Matilda waved a dismissive hand. “You weren’t sent to Gallatin to make friends, you were sent to Gallatin to–”

“Yeah, I know!” Ras snarled as she interrupted her mother. “Clean up your mistake! Suffer under the constant scrutiny of everybody else all because my own damned mother couldn’t be bothered to do it herself! Restore our family name!”

Ras was seething, and her eyes stung with tears. “All because you couldn’t control your anger! You threw Dad out one evening and because of that he’s dead!”

Matilda sharply inhaled as Ras mentioned her Father. “Ras–” She warned.

“No! I’m done keeping this bottled up! You had an argument and kicked him out of the house you two shared! You knew there was to be a blizzard later that evening, and by the time you bothered to actually give a shit, it was too late and he was found dead the next morning!”

The tears were flowing now, the anger too much for Ras as her voice cracked. “The only thing that suffered was your reputation! You couldn’t have that, so you just had to make me a pawn in your fucking game! I wish Dad were still here, I wish it’d been you that died instead! I hate you!”

That was the last straw for Matilda, and she strode over to Ras and brought her hand firmly across Ras’ cheek in one fluid motion. The force of the blow was enough to send Ras barreling backwards, falling to the ground and leaving her to stare up at her mother.

“Enough.” Her voice was colder than usual. “What happened to your father was tragic, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret it. But do not presume to talk to me in such a way ever again. I am still your Mother.”

Ras scowled, and got to her feet. She defiantly stared at Matilda, their crimson eyes meeting. She looked as if she wanted to say something, and Matilda’s cool glare challenged her to do so.

She decided better of it, however, and turned on her heel, storming out of the courtyard and back into the house, the door slamming in a satisfying manner behind her.

She stomped her way through the dining room and the main hall, ignoring the concerned looks of the servants and their hushed whispers as Ras made her way into her room. She slammed the door behind her and locked it, and when she was finally safe by herself, she let it all out.

She threw her head back and let out a scream that could wake the dead. Her scream echoed from her room and down the hall, the full spectrum of what she was feeling at that moment exploding outwards.

She screamed to the heavens, though, as usual, there was no response. Unheard by the Gods, and ignored by both her Mother and the servants of her House, Ras screamed until her voice was hoarse.

When she finally finished, she dropped to her knees, head hanging low as she stared dejectedly at the floor. Silent sobbing as tears flowed from her eyes and down to the floor, splattering against the plush carpet to be absorbed and forgotten.

The weight of the world on her shoulders, the unceasing gaze of the public at her back, and the overwhelming tower of expectations from her mother looming overhead.

She hated it. She wished she could just curl up and die.

Suddenly, a knock on her door.

“...Who is it?” She asked, voice still hoarse from the screaming.

“It’s Gerald, Master Thorne.”

Ras got to her feet and shuffled to the door. She unlocked it and threw it open to stare at Gerald, standing there, a tray in his hands. On it was a cup and a steaming pot.

“It’s to help with your throat.” He said, maneuvering past Ras and entering her room without prompting. He set the tray on her desk, and turned to her. “You must have screamed it raw. Are you feeling better, perhaps?”

“No.” She admitted, closing the door behind her and taking a seat on her bed.

“Well, that’s to be expected.” He sighed. “Master Thorne, if I may step way beyond my jurisdiction here?”

“Go ahead, what could I possibly do to you, throw you out like Mom did to Dad?”

Gerald did not looked amused. “Master Thorne, as you are no doubt aware, I was a close friend and confidant of your late Father. It is because of this that I feel I must look out for you in ways that your Mother and the other servants do not.”

Ras nodded, staring dejectedly at the floor from where she sat on her bed.

Gerald sighed, and he moved to pour some tea for Ras, pressing the cup gently into her hand.

“You are loved, Master Thorne. If not by her, than certainly by me. I trust that whatever you do, you’ll at least make me proud.”

Ras let out a whimper, and her voice cracked as she spoke. “...T-Thank you, Gerald.” And with trembling hand and a quivering lip, Ras took a sip of the tea and felt the warmth spread across her body.

“Very good, Master Thorne.” Gerald smiled as he straightened, adjusting his tie. “Please pay no worry to the dishes when you are finished with them. I will collect them sometime in the morning.”

Ras nodded, and with that, Gerald left the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more. The tears began to fall again, and her silent sobs returned, but she felt a sense of relief as Gerald’s words echoed in her mind.

At least someone was proud of her, no matter what she did, no matter what happened.

When the tears finally dried and the tea was finally depleted, Ras found herself still with boundless energy. Not only that, but an idea began to surface in her head.

She wiped her eyes of any remaining tears, took a deep breath, and stood up. In the middle of her room, she had everything she needed, and so she got to work.

A letter drafted in quick penmanship, to be left directly on her desk where it would be noticed immediately when Gerald came to collect the dishes. A second letter, as well, this one addressed to her Mother and to be placed on her door as soon as Ras was able.

Afterwards, Ras set to executing the remainder of her plan; she threw what clothes she cared about into her bag, as well as a few books. Not too many, she wasn’t going to let herself be weighed down, so she only chose up to four books, each of varying size and topic.

Next, she grabbed her journal. She couldn’t leave without that. She also grabbed the mantle her Father had made for her not long before his death. A cool blue color, it was definitely Ras’ favorite article of clothing in her possession.

Finally, a bellflower charm given to her by Gerald on the day of her Father’s funeral. 

As prepared as she was ever going to be, Ras took a look around her room and breathed in deeply. She wasn’t sure if she’d see this place again, but that was a thought for another time. She opened the door and slipped out as quiet as she could. 

With how late it was now, the servants had all retired, and with no guards on the grounds, sneaking about was easy. Ras made her way to her mothers room and taped the folded letter to her door.

She hesitated at her Mothers door, and she almost made to knock on it, just to see if she’d answer. Just so Ras could tell her she was running away, and that it was all her fault.

After a deep breath, Ras steeled herself. That was what the letter was for. 

“Happy Hearthlight, Mother,” She whispered, barely audible even to herself. “And a hearty fuck you too.”

With that, Ras made her way to another room in the house, her Father’s study. It had been locked ever since he passed, and the contents of the room were untouched. But Gerald had long given Ras a spare key, for she liked to spend her time in there when she was particularly upset.

She couldn’t even begin to count the number of days she’d spend cooped up in there. It still smelled of him, even to this very night. A heavy scent of cinnamon, woodsmoke, and honey. That alone was enough to make Ras stop in the middle of the study, eyes closed as a feeling of nostalgia washed over her.

After a moment, she recalled what she was there for, and shook her head, snapping herself out of the trance she’d gone into. Setting her bag aside, Ras began to rifle through the drawers of her Fathers desk, and soon she found what she was looking for.

A thick booklet marked with the Thorne Family sigil. Inside were multiple documents stating that whoever held the booklet and ID or Passport was to be given access to the Thorne Family funds. In addition, there were three passports; Ras’, Irwin’s, and Matilda’s. Each featured a photo of the holder of said passport, and Ras took a moment to look over her Father’s.

His fiery red hair, combined with his massive bushy beard, giving him the appearance of a lion with a well-groomed mane. Pale skin, blue eyes, and a smile that would put the sun to shame. 

Ras felt another pang of nostalgia, a bit more painful this time, and she tucked the passports back into the booklet and tucked the booklet into her shirt pocket, close to her chest. She would keep it safe no matter what.

As Ras closed the drawer, she noticed on the center of the desk, an envelope addressed directly to her. It bore the Thorne Family seal. She frowned, and took the envelope, carefully opening it to glean it’s contents.

Inside there was a picture of Ras and her Father. It was a picture from Ras’ birthday, a week before his passing. The two of them were sharing a hug, and wore the happiest grins on their faces. One of the last times Ras had ever gotten to hug him.

On the back of the photo, a note, in Irwin’s handwriting.

‘My little Thorneling, all grown up! From the moment I first held you in my arms, to the moment in this picture, those were my happiest days. -Irwin’

Ras’ breath hitched as she stared at the picture, and she felt more tears coming on. There was only so much time, however, and Ras shook her head. She had other things to do, and the night wouldn’t last forever. And so she tucked the photo back into the envelope and gently tucked the envelope into her bag. She would be taking that with her.

After taking a breath and a moment to scan her eyes around the study one last time, it was time to set out.

She hefted her bag over her shoulder and made her way out of Irwin’s study, closing the door behind her and making sure to lock it. The only one who would notice anything was out of place would be Gerald, and Ras just had to hope that he didn’t tell her Mother.

With nothing left to do here, Ras made her way outside of the manor and down the drive. It would be a short walk into town, and from there she just had to catch a carriage to the harbor. From there…her destination clear in her mind.

When she arrived at the harbor, all she had to do was pull out the booklet and give them a chance to check over everything. They pored over her documents and checked her credentials, and when they declared it all authentic, they granted her passage for the early morning ferry headed to her destination.

The Tabitha’s Wisdom, that was by the name of the ship she was to board.

By the time the sun began to rise above the horizon, Ras had already boarded the ship. Situated in her cabin and bound for another part of the world, by the time anybody would’ve figured out she was gone…she was.

The trip would be a few days, but she would make it before Hearthlight was over. The festivities lasted longer over where she was going, she knew that much.

As the ship’s engines roared to life, she heard a shout above the noise.

“All aboard for the Kingdom of Zaledo!”

She got comfortable, sitting on the bed provided and pulling out the envelope and picture of her and her Father.

“One step at a time…” She spoke as she stared at the picture, as if talking to Irwin. “Just like you taught me.”

It wasn’t long before sleep overtook Ras, the picture still held firmly in her grasp as she lay on the bed.

That afternoon, Ras awoke in the bed of the cabin, her Father’s photo still clutched in her fingers. So it wasn’t a dream. She took a breath, tucked the picture into the envelope and then the envelope back into her bag.

With that, she decided to stretch her legs and take a walk about the ship. She left her cabin and made her way to the deck. The ship was in the midst of the ocean, well on their way to Zaledo. Westerlind was a speck on the horizon behind them by now.

Though the trip was to be long, Ras found herself more at peace than ever. The rocking of the ship on the waves, the sound of the wind and the cries of the gulls.

Despite her appearance, green hair, red eyes, and only one arm, nobody seemed to recognize her. A good thing, that, not being clocked as the heir to the Thorne fortune, she supposed.

Of course, it also could have been too early, Ras had only left in the middle of the night, there was no way her Mother would’ve had enough time to send people out to bring Ras home.

She just had to hope that the second half of her admittedly haphazard plan went well.

Meanwhile, at the Thorne Family Estate…

As the morning light poured in through the windows of the manor, Gerald was getting ready. He had short black hair that was slicked back. He had a single green eye, the other covered by an eyepatch. Several scars on his face, some hidden beneath his well-kept facial hair.

He’d been a soldier, he told Ras. He and Irwin fought in the military and only ever saw one battle together. That was enough to solidify their friendship for life, and it was enough for Irwin to offer Gerald a job when he’d inherited the manor and money of his parents.

A job that Gerald accepted with no hesitation. 

He’d been there long before Ras had been born, long before Irwin met Matilda. He would be here to see Ras become a woman and, if he had his way, he would serve her too.

He shook his head, the nostalgia that distracted him dissipating. His hair slicked back and his uniform tidied, it was time to begin the day.

First things first, he sought to make good on his promise. He made his way to Ras’ room and gently rapped on the door.

“Master Thorne,” he called out. “I’m simply here to pick up the dishes. It’s not time to awake, just yet, do not stir yourself…”

With that, he opened the door, and was met with a most panicking sight. Ras was not in her bed. Several of her books were missing from the shelves, her bag was gone, and the usually tidy room was a mess. 

At first, he assumed the worst, someone had broken into the home and stolen Ras away. Then, he noticed the tea cup placed conspicuously upside down on the tray, a ring of residual tea formed around the lip.

A secret gesture between the pair, he recognized. Whenever Ras had something she needed to talk to Gerald about, something that had to remain between them, they had established this system. She would return her cup to him upside down, an unusual gesture that many would simply attribute to the strangeness of Ras Thorne, it’s true meaning only ascertained by him alone.

That alone was enough to calm him, his heart calming as the panic faded. Ras had left him a message, then.

That was when he noticed the carefully folded paper peeking out from underneath the tea tray. A letter.

Carefully extracting it from where it sat, Gerald unfolded the letter and took a seat in the chair, reading over it carefully.

‘Uncle Gerald, Hey there, you old fuddy duddy. If you’re reading this, it means I’ve gone through with the stupidest of ideas. Half baked and only a quarter as planned, I’ve decided to run away. I can’t tell you why I decided to do it, just that it felt right. I can only hope you’re not mad at me. That said, I can tell you where I’m going, and I need your help. I’m going to Zaledo. I’m taking the long way to give myself the best shot, and so I need you to do me a favor. Please, write to the Royal Family. Most specifically a missive to Princess Rosario, and petition her to grant me shelter. I can’t do it myself, my word only carries so much weight as I am just the heir of the Thorne Family.  You, however, are known friend and trusted confidant of Irwin Thorne. His head of staff and man he trusted most in the world. You’re a Thorne in your own right, and not only would that mean your letter would reach her, but they’d listen to you. I hope to see you again, and I’m sorry to drag you into this. Please don’t be mad at me, and please don’t tell Mother. I love you, Uncle Gerald. Warmest of regards, Ras Thorne.’

Gerald shook his head after reading the letter. A sense of relief washed over him as he at least knew where she was going. Of course he wasn’t mad at her. Even though they weren’t actually related, he considered her family, and she clearly thought of him the same way.

With a sigh, he folded the letter and carefully tucked it into his pocket. If there was anybody to be angry at, it was Matilda.

But he couldn’t risk doing anything beyond what Ras asked. So he stood from the chair, adjusted his tie, grabbed the tea tray, and made his way out of Ras’ room. He closed the door and made his way to the kitchens, where he set the dishes aside to be washed.

As soon as he exited, he was confronted by Matilda, a letter in her hand. She stared at Gerald, expression seething.

“Gerald.” She stated, her tone as level as could be without letting her rage take hold.

“Mistress Thorne.” He bowed his head. “Is aught amiss?”

She thrust the letter into Gerald’s hands, scowling. “Ras has run away. Did she leave something with you?”

“No.” He lied, taking the letter from Matilda with his best frown. His surprise must have been genuine enough, for she simply continued talking.

“Impudent girl, leaving home with only…this. I don’t know where she’s going, or how far she expects to get, but the moment I see her again…”

Gerald looked up at her. “Mistress Thorne, might I suggest taking a moment to breathe?” He asked. “I can send out petitions for people to search for her if you like, but it does you no good to sit around seething.”

Matilda’s gaze snapped to Gerald’s, and the two of them glared at each other, daring another to make the next move. She’d always despised him, for she was used to bulldozing her way into getting what she wanted.

But he also spoke sense, and so she resigned, looking away with a huff. “If you insist. Write to everybody who will listen. We’ve connections in Zaledo, see if she’s sighted there. I will…take a moment to recuperate.”

Gerald bowed his head as Matilda made her exit, and then turned his attention to the letter Ras had left Matilda, reading over it.

It was hardly a letter at all. A crude drawing in the likeness of Ras holding out her only arm and flashing an obscene gesture. Underneath, in messy handwriting, in colorful crayon of all things, was a note.

‘Leaving home. Hate you, wish you were dead. Burn in hell. Love you Mom. ~Ras’

Gerald snorted, resisting the urge to chuckle. “Childish,” he muttered, “but it gets the point across I suppose. Very like you, Master Thorne.”

With that, he folded the ‘letter’ and set it aside. He strode over to Irwin’s study and unlocked the door, opening it to see it looked as immaculate as ever. 

He noticed right away that the envelope addressed to Ras was missing, and he knew that she’d been serious indeed. She has run away.

Well, that settled it, then. He took a seat at Irwin’s desk and began to draft a letter to be sent to the Kingdom of Zaledo, in particular the Princess Rosario.

Being a Thorne might not mean much outside of Fenburg, but there wasn’t a soul alive who didn’t know of Irwin and Gerald, the duo who had fought so valiantly in service to the Westerlind-Zaledo Military Alliance.

He just had to hope it would work to get Ras the shelter she needed.

The letter was simple. Written entirely in the Zaledoan language, it read:

‘Your royal Highness, Pleasant days to you. I hope you are enjoying your Hearthlight holidays. I am writing to you for matters most urgent, and it is my hope that you will hear my request. I am led to believe you are acquainted with a young lady by the name of Ras Thorne. She is my adopted niece, and I have cared for her since the passing of her Father, Irwin Thorne. Due to complications with her home life involving her Mother, Ras has seen fit to abscond from home. It is my understanding that she has made for Zaledo, seeking asylum. Which leads to my request. I humbly ask that you please grant her the asylum she seeks, and that you keep her safe. I also ask that you encourage prying eyes to grant Ras the peace she deserves. Forever grateful, Gerald, former Shield of Westerlind.’

He folded the letter and tucked it into an envelope, sealing it closed with a stamp bearing the Thorne Family sigil. Finished with that, he stood, taking a shaky breath.

Ras put a lot of faith in him, and in a plan that even she admitted was half-baked and poorly thought out. There was no guarantee that this would even work. But she was willing, she was bold, and most importantly she believed. Not just in him, but in Rosario.

“Just like her Father,” he muttered as he made his way out of Irwin’s study, carefully drafted letter in hand, “foolish, brash, and naive. Almost enviable, really.”

Without further delay, Gerald sent the letter out with the morning post, as well as several vague letters mentioning that Ras was missing and to keep an eye out for her in Fenburg. Lies about how she couldn’t have gone far.

His own letter, meant for Princess Rosario, was marked priority, and he paid the extravagant fee for it to be delivered as fast as possible. Hopefully it would make it to Zaledo before Ras did.

With trepidation, all he had to do was wait.

It only took a day for him to receive a reply. The envelope back from Rosario was embossed with a gilded Zaledoan coat of arms, and Gerald took the letter and slipped it into his pocket. He wasn’t going to read it so soon, nor while he was at risk of being discovered.

So he went about his day as usual, cleaning the manor and attending to Matilda while she paced impatiently around the lounge.

“No word, then?” Matilda asked, for the seventh time that evening alone.

“No, Mistress Thorne,” Gerald lied, the letter feeling rather heavy in his pocket at that moment.

Matilda groaned, dropping into a chair and throwing her head back. “The grief that child causes me. If she weren’t the sole solution to restoring the family name…”

Gerald felt a twinge of irritation, but he had to hold it in. Instead, he cleared his throat. “If I may, Mistress Thorne, it is rather late and I find myself growing tired in my old age. May I retire for the evening?”

Matilda waved him off with a dismissive gesture. “Whatever you please, Gerald. Just, please. Bright and early tomorrow, in case word of Ras reaches us.”

With a nod, Gerald turned on his heel and made his way back to his room. When he was alone, the door closed and locked behind him, he pulled the letter from his pocket and opened it, careful to preserve the seal.

Inside, a response from Rosario. 

‘Master Gerald, It was a pleasure to receive your Hearthlight wishes. As for your request, I petitioned my Father, and the moment he heard the name Thorne, he accepted readily. He wishes you well, and offers his condolences upon Irwin’s passing. He had this to say: “Irwin Thorne was a credit to the Westerlind-Zaledo Military Alliance, and your efforts alongside his are appreciated nationwide on both sides. Your request to help his daughter is the least I can do.” Even if this were not the case, you are correct. Ras is a dear friend of mine, I would have done whatever I could have in order to help her. Thanks to your timely letter, however, I have ample preparation and can have an escort ready for her when she arrives. You have my gratitude for bringing this matter to my attention, and I wish you the best. Have a Happy Hearthlight. Kind regards, Her Highness the Princess Rosario of Zaledo.’

Gerald let out a sigh of relief, a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. A huge weight from his shoulders had been lifted; Ras would be safe when she arrived at Zaledo.

Better yet, she would be with friends. People who would love and care for her as she deserved. He folded the letter carefully and tucked it away into his secret place. The only other person who knew it even existed was Irwin, and he was certain that Matilda would never find it even if she had reason to snoop after him.

With that, he was safe to relax, relieved at the knowledge that Ras would be safe, even if it was a temporary reprieve. Hopefully by the time she returned, Matilda would be amicable enough to forgive her, and there wouldn’t be any further family drama.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from wishing that Ras never returned. He’d rather her be out there, living for herself, than back here and at the mercy of Matilda’s societal shame.

He took a deep breath and sat on his bed. He was exhausted, and it wasn’t long before he was laying down, sleep taking over the moment he closed his eyes. 

The rest of the days went by without a hitch, with Hearthlight in Westerlind coming to and end and still no word of Ras being sighted in Fenburg. Many nosy reporters coming to bother him and Matilda about the missing child of the Thorne Family.

Articles were published about Matilda and about Ras’ disappearance, ranging from theories and comments and purported sightings of the missing girl. At the very least, Matilda didn’t expect the part he’d played in Ras’ running away from home.

Meanwhile, on The Tabitha’s Wisdom…

Ras spent most of her days on the deck of the ship, mostly out of the way of the workers and other passengers sailing towards Zaledo, reading happily as she bathed in the sun.

Nobody made comments on her appearance, though she did get the odd look now and again, and sometimes children would approach her to ask about her hair, or her eyes, or her missing arm.

“Well you see,” she told one group of kids, a grin on her face and a mischievous glint in her eye as she leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, “don’t tell anybody this, but I’m actually part dragon. I lost my arm fighting against a foolish knight. That’s why I’m going to Zaledo, they practically worship dragons there.”

The children all squealed, and ran over to their parents, rambling on and gushing about ‘the scary dragon lady with her hoard of books’. They merely looked up, saw her, and offered smiles in return, as if thanking her for entertaining their kids for a moment.

With no further distractions, Ras returned to her reading. Her book was a fictional novel, telling the story of a knight who overcame his inner darkness in pursuit of justice and took up a sword of light to defeat a primordial evil which originated from the moon.

She’d read this book many times before, and had just now gotten to the part where the protagonist discovered a sword with a myth engraved upon it’s blade, telling of him and his destiny. He’d finally shed his armor of darkness, slaying a demon formed of his dark powers upon embracing the sword of light given to him by a higher power.

It wasn’t long before the sky began to darken, however, and Ras’ reading was interrupted by lack of light. She looked up, and realized that the hours had passed her by, and it was already dusk. Now conscious of the fading daylight, she let out a yawn, groaning as she closed her book.

No point attempting to get more reading in if she was tired, even if she did practically know the story by heart. She marked her place in the book, closed it, and stood up with a stretch. Time to get some proper sleep.

As she made her way back to her cabin, she came across one of the staff, who smiled at her.

“Not long to Zaledo now, miss. We’re like to reach it in the morning. Just in time for their Hearthlight festival.”

Ras grinned in response. “I’m lookin’ forward to it already. You think th’Princess will make an appearance?”

He laughed. “I doubt she’d miss it for anything.”

With that, Ras bid farewell to the man and entered her cabin, closing the door behind her with a satisfied sigh. She tossed her book onto her bag and then just flopped onto the bed, planting her face directly onto the pillow.

Tomorrow, she’d be in Zaledo. Hopefully she’d get to see Princess Rosario.

#Crème de la Crème #Hannah Powell-Smith #Choice of Games #Tales of The Divine (Writing) #The Girl who became a Dragon (Ras Thorne) #The Princess and The Thorne

[strange-wafflez]

Obv you know I love Will but Kyle is also just so 🥰😍☺️😻

Oh he’s something else 🥰🥰

#crème de la crème #tall excitable kitten

[lagrenouillere]

#crème de la crème

[interact-if]

Helloo! I've been looking for this one if for a while now and I just couldn't remember the title and was hoping you could help.

Basically from what I could remember mc is sent to this prestigious school so they could regain face after their family's gambling scandal. I think it was already fully published, I just can't remember the title T T

Hi Anon!

This sound like Crème de la Crème by @hpowellsmith. You can play the game here!

#name that game #crème de la crème

[sabineelectricheart]

Drunken Hike to the Dorm Room

Summary: Hartmann overindulges at a party and Aurora must take him back to his room in safety. Through their journey, tongues grow loose.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1000

Notes: Anyone still hungover from the Holidays?

"No. No, don't laugh at me, Aurora. The one time I get piss drunk and you're already making fun of me?!” Eugene complains, slurring his vowels, so very unlike his usual composed and posh speech.

Aurora wants to shake her head and laugh even more, but she supposes that she can have some sympathy for the nerd’s plight that evening. One can only hold their alcohol with grace when they are eased into it, through many experiences throughout their lives. She has her doubts on whether her flatmate has even smelled booze before, not to say actually drunk it. It was inevitable for something like that to happen.

To also be fair, she did not expect for Eugene to have any interest in joining them that evening when they started their little party. Zui had had a success or another with his lacrosse team, so it meant that it was a perfect excuse to get piss past drunk on a weeknight. Max smuggled the bottles and Delacroix managed the aperitifs, and it was on.

On those occasions, their prefect would sneer at them, call them irresponsible for flaunting so shamelessly the school regulations and, if he was on a good mood, he would shut the blinds on his four-poster and sleep it off until next morning at the earliest. If he was on a bad mood, though, he would venomously threaten calling the head teacher unless they shut down the party, on which occasions they would usually take their celebration somewhere else.

He never said that he wanted to join them before. He never gave a single indication that he ever wished to be a part of their regular night-time entertainment, if anything, considering his usual scathing remarks about it, he has signalled plenty of times how he wanted nothing to do with them and their behaviour.

Not tonight, though.

Tonight, when Max jokingly asked whether he wanted to join in their little soirée, Eugene smiled placidly and said, “Sure. How much do I owe you for the beverages?”

It was then and there that Aurora knew that nothing good would be coming out of it, and she certainly had a point.

At first, everything was going on well. Conversation was flowing, there was no accusations and no frustrations to be raised. The prefect had his first cup of beer, one which he cradled forever until Zui had to point it out to everyone. He promptly chugged it and asked for another.

Then another, then he started to mix alcohol, and then it all came ridiculously undone when, as he tried to walk over to the table to refill his cup with whatever, he tripped over his own feet and took the entire bar down with him, effectively putting an end to the party.

After angry remarks and lots of mocking laughter, Aurora helped him to his feet and led him back to his dorm room, slowly and steady, and with regular intervals for puking breaks along the way.

“I’m absolutely humiliated! It’s not like I haven't had enough of a mockery of myself tonight! What I’m even going to do?" Eugene grumbled, causing his guide to laugh at him again.

"Alright, alright. I am sorry." She pauses, pushing the slick cowlick resting unusually messy on his head behind his sweaty and blanched forehead momentarily to press a light kiss there. "I just don't get what happened with you tonight, it’s all. You're usually the one who's always talking care of us, never wanting a drop and not sleeping until we're all tucked safely in bed."

“You noticed that?” He asked, truly surprised.

Aurora laughs richly. “Of course! You always take such good care of us and I really appreciate it. It’s not as if the bottles would throw themselves on the trash so we don’t trip them in the morning, now do they?”

Eugene sighs softly, the alcohol still swirling his thoughts around. "Egads, I love you so much."

He dropped his head, his eyes blinking rapidly to stay awake.

The girl smiles sweetly at her friend. "I love you too, Eugie, you doof. I just don't see how that correlates with anything we’re talking."

Eugene huffs, in both frustration and self-importance, a pride that roars especially when it is so wounded.

"I mean I'm in love with you." His cheeks immediately burn up, his mind is not nearly sober enough to shut up though. "I have been for a while, too, and seeing you with, with… Going out with those dudes and going out and staying out all night doing whatever, it just… It just got me all fucked up here because..."

The brunet prefect trailed off, getting lost on the sentence that he wanted to convey, getting lost on the raging feelings on his heart. He runs his hands through his head while strands of his increasingly messy hair spilled beautifully in a more natural position than his usual slicked back coif.

Right now, on the chiaroscuro of the moonlight against the cavernous hallway, of the dishevelled appearance and the honest tone of his voice, Aurora understands that she has never found him this attractive.

"You're in love with me?" She asks him dryly.

When Eugene does not answer because he is stuck mid headache and drunken thoughts, she takes his chin in your hands and direct his face to hers. She repeats the question and let it sit for a while as she processes this newfound titbit of relevant information.

"Oh, Eugie! Did you really have to be drunk to tell me this?" She asked, a loving frustration painted all over her expression.

"Yeah, because I always mess everything…" He tried to respond to her question properly, his words slurring out more than ever.

Aurora cuts him off, though, pulling his chin closer until their lips were firmly connected.

Eugene sucked a deep breath and excitement fills his heart. He may be stupidly drunk, but he is sure that he shall never forget it.

Not ever.

*_*_*_*_*

Crème de la Crème Masterlist

#crème de la crème #Eugene Hartmann

[pseudoculture]

crème de la crème

Cream - Haruki Murakami.

Un adolescente. Una invitación ficticia. Un pueblito en la cima de una montaña. Una repentina falta de aire. Una plaza aparentemente desolada. Una glorieta. Un banco. Un anciano enigmático. Lo inexplicable, ilógico, irracional.

Nuestro narrador se hallaba sentado, con gran dificultad para respirar, cuando el anciano le dijo que imaginase un círculo con posiblemente infinitos centros y sin circunferencia. Al principio, no entendió nada, le objetó que era muy difícil.

«There's nothing worth getting in this world that you can get easily» respondió el viejo. Por lo que el joven siguió intentando. Y se esforzó y esforzó. Pero no lo consiguió, y el hombre desapareció.

Y ahora el protagonista narra este hecho a un amigo suyo, el cual, curioso por saber lo sucedido, pregunta cuál fue el desenlace de este encuentro, cuál fue el motivo de este enigma, esta aparición. Pero no hay porqué. Porque no todo lo que nos ocurre en la vida cuenta con una explicación lógica y racional. A veces, la realidad se nos escurre.

Sin embargo, lo que es seguro, es que todas nuestras experiencias nos dejan una enseñanza. Y que por más que algo parezca imposible, no hay que rendirse. Porque lo más difícil en esta vida, constituye lo más importante, aquello por lo que vale la pena vivir: la crème de la crème. Porque con el pasar de los años, el una vez joven narrador, se reencontró numerosas veces con situaciones inexplicables, ilógicas; y siempre recordó el círculo de inifinitos centros y ausente circunferencia. Y comprendió cómo nuestras más fuertes emociones y sentimientos se parecen a él. Cómo el amor, inmenso e intangible, en muchas ocasiones (o en todas), escapa a nuestro entendimiento, pero no deja de ser la crème de la crème, porque nos impulsa y motiva a la existencia. Complejo e incomprensible, está lleno de valor.

Las ideas, los principios, nuestra visión del mundo, complicada, IDEAL, pero esencial, que nos permiten vivir, sentir, pertenecer, también son la crème de la crème. La inmaterialidad que ha sido causa del cese de infinitas materialidades. Lo invisible por lo que muchas personas mueren a lo largo de la historia.

También lo es la esperanza, cuando no quedan razones para creer.

Y la amistad, el encuentro improbable y profundo entre dos personas. Dos personas que podrían ser cualquier otra, porque hay un mar sin horizonte de seres humanos, pero inexplicablemente te encontrás con ese individuo con el cual querés compartir tus momentos felices, y tristes, y simplemente compartir.

Hay que aprender a aceptar que no todo tiene una razón. Y hay belleza y valor en esa infundamentación. Pero debemos saber verla y apreciarla, afrontar la incertidumbre, la duda, la incomprensión. Aceptar los círculos de infinitos centros y no circunferencia, sin temor, entendiendo que el hecho de que no los podamos ver ni razonar no los hace menos, sino todo lo contrario, la esencia de la vida misma.

#haruki murakami #first person singular #crème de la crème

[hedgehog-moss]

My recipe is for blackberry-frangipane tart, though I'm sure it could work with other fruit! (note: I tried with plums and found that the texture wasn't right, so maybe not with very juicy fruit)

For the frangipane filling, whisk in a bowl: white sugar (100g), melted butter (40g), almond powder (125g), and 2 eggs. If it looks a bit grainy rather than smooth that's normal. Spread it over whichever kind of crust you usually use for fruit tart (not sure what the English equivalent of pâte sablée is but that's the one I use)

Add your blackberries over it, enough to more or less cover the tart but only in one layer (you don't want to smother your frangipane). If you use frozen blackberries, do not unfreeze them before! It'll make the tart too watery.

Put in the oven for 20 to 40min at 180°C (depends on how powerful your oven is, but until the frangipane looks golden all over)

Bon appétit :) It's my favourite fruit tart!

#(my recipe says softened butter but i always let it heat for too long and get melted butter instead #and to be honest i've never noticed a difference in frangipane texture) #les puristes de la frangi qui font la leur avec de la crème pâtissière je vous admire ! #déjà que le beurre pommade c'est au-delà de mes moyens...

[zencaia]

Journey to Gallatin (5/5)

I would just like to say THANK YOU for everyone who liked and reblogged. Like I'm giggling and blushing reading all your sweet tags especially the author! (sorry for tagging you so much haha) It's just been SO MOTIVATING to see you all like it as much as I do especially since I've been drawing all these over two months <3 Here's to drawing more in the future!

Fan art of @hpowellsmith's Crème de la Crème

#the groundskeeper of gallatin #journey to gallatin #fanart #fan art #creme de la creme #crème de la crème #karson #emil karson #I actually finished it OMG

[brewed-pangolin]

Soap De La Crème

Soap MacTavish is a maniac.

He eats the crème filling between the Oreos. Then puts the plain biscuits back in the box like a psychopath, leaving the entire container empty of its deliciously creamy decadence.

And then, he waits.

Waits like an overly confident predator for you to find his skillfully placed lure until you finally take the bait and confront him on his delectable atrocity.

NSFW below the cut...

--

"What the fuck, John?" You challenge, scolding tone boiling through your voice as you toss the distinctive blue package haphazardly into his lap.

"Oi. What's th' deal, lass?"

"You ate the crème, dipshit. And like some kind of savage put the empty cookies back in."

"Bicuits."

"You- what? Biscuits?"

"Aye. They're called biscuits."

"No, they're not. They're called-" you stutter, "that's not the point. Why did you-"

"Why'a gettin' so flustered, hen?" Soap intetjects, the subtle hint of a smirk curling into his lips.

"I'm not getting flustered, I-"

"Yer never like this when I lick th'crème between yer biscuits."

You halt, dead in your tracks. Synapses misfiring as you take a moment to recount your mental plunder.

"Oh, you sneaky little bastard."

"Aye. But I'm yer, sneaky little bastard."

-

No more than five minutes later, you were splayed out before him. Mindlessly moaning his name with his crested head perfectly buried between your exposed thighs.

"Oh God, Johnny."

"Mhm. No' complainin' now, are ya, bonnie?" Soap hums quietly against your flesh. Your eyes rolling back as his tongue laps oh so diligently between your silken folds.

"Johnny, please," you whimper between hushed, gasping breaths.

"Please, what?"

"Let me come, Johnny. Please." Your pleading voice cracks suddenly to the sensual arrogance of his tone. Arching your back up, pressing your mound into his mouth as you feel the building pulse of an orgasm deep within your core.

"Ya gonna cream for me, lass? Do it. Make a mess on me face, bonnie. Come for me."

And with his unhinged permission, you let go. Releasing yourself into his mouth. Letting him devour the delicious crème of your climax on his tongue as he expertly licks between your pleasured and swollen biscuits.

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @jynxmirage @homicidal-slvt @punishmepunisher @glitterypirateduck @obligatoryghoststare @mykneeshurt @shotmrmiller @astraluminaaa @writeforfandoms @havoc973 @haurasha @thetrashpossum @simpingoverquestionablemen @luismickydees @ang3lc @designateddeadend

#Soap De La Crème #lickin between them delicious biscuits #soap squad #soap squad 🧼 #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap drabble #soap x you #soap x reader #soap smut #cod soap smut #call of duty #cod #taglist edit #oops

[violet-stormbringer]

The Princess and The Thorne, Chapter Four: The Winter Ball

Ras loved Autumn, especially near the end. That just meant it was closer to Winter, and that was her favorite season. 

Outside, the Autumn season brought crisp, frost-edge leaves and a bright, fiery treeline to the mountains. Students donned cashmere scarves and woolen coats, and were allowed to wear heavier boots in order to step gracefully through puddles and fallen leaves. Whenever they finished their meeting, the Birchmeier Society was met with the night sky, thick with stars. Each time, Freddie exclaimed over the constellations dotting the sky above.

But the idyll didn’t last long. A storm kept Ras and her fellows awake one night, and everybody was groggy and sluggish on their way to the assembly. One of the ornamental cherry trees had lost a branch, and the Groundskeeper, Karson, was seen hauling the fallen branch away with a gardener. The leaves were mushy and slippery; more than one student slipping on them with a shriek.

Hartmann kept crackling sheets of notes in her blazer. “I’m announcing the Winter Ball this morning,” she whispered to Ras while they walked. “It’s the first time I’ve ever done it. It’s such an honor.”

Despite the honor, Hartmann looked pale. Gonzalez asked her if she was fine, and Hartmann claimed to be perfect well.

After the hymns and the usual announcements, Hartmann stepped up to the stage. “I’m pleased to announce the Winter Ball next month,” she said. “We shall entertain the Archambault Academy students and ensure they have a wonderful evening. Voting forms for the theme will be placed in common rooms, to be collected by the Prefect Commitee. Thank you, Lady Renaldt, for this marvelous opportunity to show just how welcoming Gallatin College can be.”

There was applause and excited cheering. Beside Ras, Gonzalez whooped. Hartmann sedately exited the stage.

Max leaned up against Ras, grinning. “Excited to see your one true love again, hmm?” Her tone was teasing.

Ras rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m excited to see Princess Rosario again. But not for any reasons you might think. She’s a nice lady to talk to, I’d like to be her friend.”

“I dunno…” Max teased. “After that confession of yours, I think you wanna be more than friends with her.”

Ras groaned. “Please don’t bring that up, there’s no way I’m in love with her after just one meeting…”

Max jostled Ras’ shoulder and the pair of them headed to class after the announcement. Later in the day, at a meeting with the Birchmeier Society, Lucien gathered the members around a table in the library.

"We're voting for turn-of-the-century glamour for the Winter Ball," he said. "It'll be appropriate for the Archambault people, and we’ll get to wear something nice and interesting. Plus, the Prefects should enjoy it since it’ll be traditional and appropriate."

Meanwhile, gossip was sparking about which of the other groups were voting for. The Gallatin Swans, the lacrosse team, were wanting traditional Hearthlight revelry with ballgowns and suits; The Prefects were officially impartial, but rumor was going about that Hartmann wanted a fire and ice theme; Max suggested a ghostly theme with the claim that her Starlings were behind her; and some students were gossiping about the Children of Hecate aiming for a fairy tale theme.

The common room ballots were carefully guarded when Ras arrived, and she was told that the voting would be completed with a great ceremony, and that someone was to count them in the middle of the night.

Lucien’s idea for turn of the century glamour was definitely interesting to Ras, though she wished she could’ve suggested a mythological theme. She would’ve loved to theme an outfit around one of Westerlind’s Heroes. She could imagine it now, a suit emblazoned with Erdrick’s Seal, accompanied by a crown accessory like he wore when he fought.

She shook her head, snapping herself out of her imagination, and she cast her vote. Lucien’s idea was interesting enough, no need to go against it.

When Ras returned to her dorm and lights-out was called, she listened to her fellow dormmates discuss the options, all until Mr. Griffith rapped on the door and sharply called for quiet.

“Unless you want a five o’clock start tomorrow.” He threatened, and that got everybody suddenly in the mood to go to sleep.

When the morning came, and it was time for the assembly, the college held its collective breath while Lady Renaldt opened an envelope to read out the theme for this years Winter Ball.

"I'm pleased to announce," she said, leaving an emphatic pause for suspense, "that we shall enjoy a historical theme for our Winter Ball at the end of the month. Preparations shall begin shortly."

As soon as the announcement was made, the obsession with themes translated into who would be escorting who to the ball. Notes were passed, friends were consulted, and whispers followed the more popular students down the corridors. Naturally, everybody was also interested in knowing who Ras would escort to the ball, whispering when they thought she couldn’t hear about who she’d invite; or who she wouldn’t invite.

“So.” Max said, leaning up against Ras after Philosophy one day. “You takin’ anybody to the ball? Oooor,” A pause, and a sharkish grin, “are you planning to go alone so you have the best chance of woo’ing your beloved Princess Rosario?”

Ras groaned, rolling her eyes as she did so. “Max, don’t you have things to do? People to invite?”

Max looked offended, putting a hand to her chest in a mocking gesture. “Ras! I’m hurt! I’m just looking out for my best friend!”

“By being a nuisance?”

“Would you have me any other way?”

Ras deflated, sighing in defeat. “...No.”

“Exactly!”

Eventually, Max relented in her teasing, and went on her way to invite her chosen partner to the ball, and she left Ras alone. Ras, of course, was going to go alone. 

‘ Not because I want to spend time with Rosario, ’ she tried to justify it to herself. ‘ But because it’d give me a chance to stand out. I’d be able to talk to some of the others from Archambault, too, it wouldn’t just be Rosario. ’

With that, Ras made her choice, and excitement rose through the college. It was rumored that even Mr. Griffith said he didn’t find the idea as distasteful as usual; and everyone was talking about who was going to wear what to the ball.

The trip to Archambault was uniformed, but this was a more flamboyant affair. Bustles and corsets, along with frock coats and smoking jackets were the dress code for the occasion; guests were to wear masks, though how elaborate was usually left up to them.

Ras had decent evening wear in her wardrobe, but most of her more expensive clothing was sold after the incident involving her Mother, and she’d have to reach out to her Mother for extra money if she wanted something magnificent.

And unfortunately, she did. So she wrote a letter to home.

‘Dear Mother, As you are no doubt aware through our repeated correspondence over the year, the Winter Ball is approaching soon. In my various attempts to restore some semblance of cleanliness to our Family Name, I have made a significant amount of progress by socializing with the right people and keeping my grades as high as can be. In addition, I’m sure you will agree with me when I suggest that a proper outfit for this wonderful occasion would do much to improve our standing in the eye of the public. As such, I would request a tidy sum of money so that I may commission myself a suitable outfit for the Winter Ball. Your beloved daughter, Ras Thorne.’

Ras sent the letter out with the morning post, and spent the rest of her day in her classes, hoping against hope that her Mother would be able to spare a pittance for something Ras could wear.

When she awoke the next morning, Ras was approached by Mr. Griffith in the hall on her way to Philosophy. He passed a letter to her and bid her a good morning. The letter was marked with the Thorne Family seal, as well as a priority stamp. Her mother spared no expense in replying, at least.

‘Beloved Daughter, It was a pleasure and a relief to hear you were doing well. I could not be prouder of the work you’ve put in to restore our Family Name. In regards to your request, all you need do is send the tailoring bill to the address listed, and I shall see it paid in full. Regards, Matilda Thorne.’

Ras huffed as she folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket. At least her mother’s writing was as awkward as her own, and she’d been given leave to get herself an outfit for the ball.

It’d be hard to arrange a tailoring visit, but Ras managed to write to a tailor in Fenburg and put in an order. Many of her peers had the same idea, it seemed, for in the days leading up to the ball, more and more parcels arrived by courier, and the excitement was building.

Ras’ own parcel arrived with three days to spare, and she couldn’t have been happier with how it looked. 

Ras had ordered a crimson-colored brocade smoking jacket with white culottes and a dark red mask with a feather attached to it. The left sleeve was missing, and instead attached to the left side of the jacket was a capelet matching in color to the jacket, upon which the Thorne Family sigil was emblazoned.

Max whistled when she saw the outfit. “Well, that’s going to look very smart indeed. Princess Rosario won’t know what hit her.”

By the time it was the week of the ball, most of the teachers had given up on their attempts to teach anything of substance, and instead allowed their students to read and review textbooks and previous tests. Until finally, the night of the ball was upon them.

During the day, the first snow of the year arrived, sending the younger students into paroxysms of excitement. At night, however, an odd, hushed feeling had descended upon the dormitory whilst everyone prepared; the noise and bustle had faded, replaced instead with a tense focus. Eventually, everybody was ready.

Dressed in a severe black suit and tails, Mr. Griffith led Clemency Dorm out. Delacroix and Max walked arm in arm, both wearing black; Max wore a close-fitting suit that was just on the edge of too scandalous, and Delacroix’s bustled gown was beated with jet in bewildering geometric patterns, making her glimmer as she moved. Hartmann fell into step beside Ras as they were led from the dorms in a procession towards the banquet hall.

A vast Hearthlight fir tree nearly reached the ceiling, covered with simple white candles. Wreaths bursting with berries were draped along the windows, and the scent of spiced fruit filled the air. The light from the chandeliers’ was warm and inviting.

Miss Dalca was wearing a long lilac gown with a daring asymmetrical neckline that made it look as if she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine; Mr. Blanchard wore a respectable suit and tails that looked similar to Mr. Griffith’s. Lady Renaldt presided over the hall from the teachers’ dais, wearing a sapphire blue gown. 

Just as Ras was about to settle in with her fellows, the doors were thrown open and the Archambault students arrived, led by Lord Haberlin, who strode to the dais and bowed as though to a monarch.

“We are delighted to be here at Gallatin for this lovely little party,” he said, voice ringing across the hall.

“And we are delighted to return your hospitality for the wonderful dinner earlier in the term, Lord Haberlin,” Lady Renaldt replied, a cool smile on her lips.

With that, the duty of greetings was done, and it was time to mingle.

Princess Rosario wore a burnt umber gown and her hands were dripping with rings; a golden sheen sparkled in her dark, tightly-curled hair. Auguste Renaldt smiled graciously as she spoke to Mr. Griffith. She wore a perfectly tailored gown in a pale grayish blue that contrasted dramatically with her own dark skin.

The musicians struck up a stately waltz, and students moved to take their places on the dance floor. Ras caught Lady Renaldt’s eye, and with a formidable look from the Headmistress, Ras knew right away that the dance was not optional. Disappointing, but she figured as much.

Which only left the question, of course, who was she to dance with?

Not that it was a question, really. She took a deep breath, adjusted her tie and ran a hand through her hair, ruffling it and allowing many a few strands to fall out of place. 

With a confident stride, she approached Princess Rosario, who was surrounded by an entourage of Archambault hangers-on. She was chatting away happily with said entourage, even as Ras approached. At her side, a heavyset, stony-faced woman stood, glowering at a hopeful Archambault student who’d been attempting to ask Rosario to dance.

“Princess Rosario will not be partaking in the dance,” she said in a low, flat tone that suggested the dance was a moral failing. “It’s not appropriate.” 

Rosario sighed, taking a sip from her glass. “Ibarra, why do you never let me have any fun?”

“Because, your Highness,” she said in a tone that made it obvious this was an argument they’ve had before. “It is my duty to keep you safe.”

As they spoke, Ras began to rack her brains, trying to place something. Her frown must have caught their attention, because Ibarra cleared her throat.

“You there.” She spoke, her tone level. “Say your piece.”

That’s when Ras had it. She snapped her fingers, and gave a sly grin to Ibarra. “Correct me if I’m wrong, m’lady, but your accent. That places you from the north coast, does it not?”

A flash of surprise in Ibarra’s eyes, but she quickly collected herself and offered a nod, a small smile gracing her lips. “Indeed.”

“I’ve only ever had delicacies from that area, though I’d very much like to visit. Tell me, is the wine still as excellent as I recall?” Her tone was nostalgic and wistful.

“It is,” Ibarra nodded again. “In fact, my brother owns a vineyard in that region. He sends the Princess and I bottles of his latest to sample, and it is a treat every time.”

“Wonderful!” Ras smiled. “If I may have the name of your brothers vineyard, that I may procure some wine in the future?”

Despite herself, Ibarra’s smile returned, a bit wider, though still small. “Certainly.” With that, she pulled out a card, passing it to Ras who tucked it into her pocket with grace.

“Alas, while I would love to remain and discuss the pleasantries of wine, I fear I can feel Lady Renaldt’s gaze turning my back to stone. May I borrow the Princess Rosario for a dance?”

Ibarra’s expression cooled, and she looked Ras over before inclining her head, another smile gracing her lips. “You may. Enjoy yourselves.”

Rosario passed Ibarra her glass as Ras offered a hand to her, and while the two moved away, Rosario whispered to her.

“I’ve never seen anybody get by Ibarra so smoothly. Well done.”

“Nothing to it,” Ras admitted. “I was genuinely excited to meet someone from the North, and Ibarra seems a sweetheart. Just gotta remind myself she ain’t as scary as she looks.”

Rosario giggled at that. “Well, still, it’s lovely to see you again.”

Everyone's eyes were upon Ras and Rosario as the pair passed on their way to the dance floor. Rosario was a prestigious dance partner, of course; Lady Renaldt looked faintly dismayed, a thought that gave Ras a smug sense of satisfaction. Likely, Lady Renaldt had designs on Rosario for her daughter, Auguste. Unlike her, however, Ras’ motives were far less complex.

She was in love with Rosario. No she wasn’t. She wanted to be friends.

‘Face it,’ she thought to herself, the inner monologue dangerously close to becoming outer monologue. ‘You’re into her. Just roll with it.’

She hated arguing with herself, she was always both in the right and in the wrong. This time, she was in the right, and there was a part of her that was smug about it.

Rosario's dark eyes sparkled when she met Ras’ gaze, watching her with frank curiosity. 

The pair made their way through the crowd of students, dodging elbows and occasionally pushing people out of their way.

They took their places, with Ras facing Rosario, head held high. The music struck up, and the pair began their dance. 

As they danced, Ras moved closer to Rosario, tilting her head to show off her neckline and allow the Princess glimpses of her skin; shifting so that the other got a rather good look at Ras’ pale visage. Rosario’s eyes widened in surprise, and there was a faint blush on her face; she was surprised, but altogether flattered at Ras’ movements.

As the pair circled past the musicians, Rosario spoke. “Auguste told me about your family situation. I have to wonder, has it been difficult for you?”

Ras felt a tinge of irritation, and had to resist the urge to scowl. She really wished Auguste would mind her own damned business. She cleared her throat, and offered a smile.

“It has certainly been…interesting, being under so much scrutiny as a result of my Mother’s actions.” Ras admitted, and she kept her eyes focused on Rosario. “Alas, there isn’t much I can do about it, and I do rather wish people would keep to themselves on this subject.”

Rosario nodded. “I meant no offense, of course. My apologies.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Ras assured her, still smiling. “Let us just enjoy ourselves, yes?”

Rosario smiled in return, and more pleasant conversation was brought up as the pair danced the night away. Rosario’s beringed hand was warm on Ras’ shoulder, and when the pair parted, she looked back to Ras with a wistful expression.

“The dance was wonderful, Master Thorne. Thank you.”

Ras bowed her head gracefully, still smiling. “Worry not, the night is not over yet. We may yet share another dance before we must away.”

Before Rosario had chance to respond, Lady Renaldt called for silence before speaking.

"A marvelous Winter Ball dance," Lady Renaldt said, "and a wonderful entry in our winter tradition. Lord Haberlin and our illustrious teaching staff have been observing the progress of our Crème de la Crème competition, and I am pleased to note that Gallatin College is in the lead. May the finest college win!"

After a small round of applause, she went on to announce the next stage of the evening: a formal tour of the grounds, showing off the beauty of the Gallatin surroundings. 

“The snow,” she said, “is perfect for tonight.”

Alongside Rosario, Ras was led in a procession to retrieve coats and scarves, ready to face the outdoor cold.

The groundskeeper, Karson, was in the cloakroom, briskly handing out warm clothes. She wore a simple black suit, her dark hair tied back. 

Once Rosario had retrieved her coat and she joined the procession ahead, a teacher from Archambault pushed ahead of Ras. She was a middle-aged woman in a charcoal-colored suit, and she fixed Karson a disdainful glare.

“Karson, yes? The cashmere scarf. No, the green one.”

Karson ducked her head. “This one, Lady Serafin?” she asked, holding it out.

Lady Serafin let out a huff. “No. That’s obviously turquoise. What sort of staff is Lady Renaldt employing these days? Hurry it up, else I’ll tell her about your poor service.”

Karson’s face turned wan, and she murmured an apology as she passed the correct scarf.

Ras, however, was seething, and she couldn’t let this slide. She cleared her throat and spoke.

“Personally, I think Lady Renaldt would be more sorry to have invited a poor guest. What sort of woman takes her anger out on someone as kindly as Karson? You should be kissing the boots she polishes, not disparaging her for a mistake involving the color of your ridiculously gaudy scarf.”

Lady Serafin whirled around, eyes widened and mouth agape at Ras’ scathing commentary. She touched her hair and gathered the scarf to her chest. “Y-yes, well…” She spluttered, as if searching for a defense. Under Ras' scathing glare, she folded, and with a huff, she strode out, leaving Karson and Ras in peace.

Karson took a long and shaky breath. “I hate these special events, you know…” She spoke, her voice barely a murmur, yet filled with rage all the same. “A-At least normally it’s just the Gallatin lot, and they’re fairly kind. The Archambault ones are so much worse, though…Students and staff alike.”

“Honestly, I agree. Why do they have to be so…obnoxious?”

Karson snorted. “That’s…It’s nice to hear someone else say it. Thank you, Ras.”

A pause, then Karson’s lip began to tremble, then her face crumpled. She covered her face with her hands and burst into silent sobbing.

Ras took a deep breath, and from her pocket she pulled a handkerchief. Karson looked startled, but she took the handkerchief gratefully and wiped at her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” she muttered.

Ras only shook her head and wrapped her arm around Karson in a hug. “‘Swhat friends are for, y’know?”

Karson looked surprised, but she returned the hug. Her shoulders were trembling, as if she were about to burst into tears again. Then, she withdrew, a soft smile on her face.

“I don’t wanna mess up your outfit,” she said, voice quiet. With a glance at the students gathering in the quad, she spoke again, “You ought to go, Master Thorne. Thank you.”

Ras inclined her head at Karson, before gathering her coat and heading into the snow. Rosario caught her eye, and waved Ras over to her. Her breath steamed in the air as, in a brightly-colored procession, the students from both schools walked to the barouche carriages for a tour around the lake. The driver tipped their hat to Ras and Rosario, and the pair stepped aboard.

Rosario was shivering despite her heavy fur coat, and fumbled with the fastening as she stepped aboard. Just after Ras joined her, Ibarra entered as well, sitting down opposite of Rosario, a looking presence in the carriage with the pair. As the carriage began to move, Rosario groaned.

“You don’t have to come everywhere with me, Ibarra. It’s just a formal tour. What would happen here?”

“It’s my job, your Highness,” Ibarra said in a flat-tone that left no room for argument.

Rosario sighed, bundling up in her layers of clothing. “Sorry about this,” she whispered. “She’s being ridiculous, and she knows it.”

Ras chuckled. “Ah, it’s not so bad. I’m sure that once Ibarra warms up ‘ta me, she’ll allow us all sortsa freedoms.”

Rosario Rosario sighed, her breath a cloud in the cold moonlight. “It’s better than at home, at least,” she said, “but you’re right–I should be allowed to see more of the world while I can…”

“Under appropriate circumstances,” Ibarra muttered ominously.

“Ibarra! Stop eavesdropping!” Rosario snapped, then more quietly, she leaned against Ras and spoke. “Maybe we can arrange something at the next joint event…I’d love to make up for her nonsense.”

As the barouche wound around the lake, Rosario talked about her plans at the palace for Hearthlight; Zaledoan royal tradition involved the Crown Princess singing in front of hundreds of spectators. Rosario, surprisingly enough, was not pleased with this, and was not looking forward to it.

Meanwhile, the frozen lake sparkled in the moonlight; the snow giving everything an unreal, bluish cast. Beyond the college loomed the mountains, pale and huge in the distance, and Ras once again fantasized about scaling those mountains and declaring herself to the world below.

She was interrupted as the barouche paused, and a firework shot into the sky at the far edge of the lake, exploding into sparks. Rosario’s face shines in the golden light, gasps and applause ring out from the other carriages as more and more fireworks erupted.

“You know, I was wondering…” Ras whispered, leaning against Rosario. “...if you had any ideas on how you’d make it up to me, as you promised. We don’t have to wait…”

Rosario looked over to Ibarra, then back to Ras, and she nodded before she drew Ras closer to her, bringing her lips to Ras’ and smashing against them in a heated, passionate kiss. Rosario’s chattering teeth made it a little difficult to be too swept up in the moment, but Rosario was warm and enthusiastic; her hand resting lightly against Ras’ cheek before running her gloved fingertip round to the nape of her neck and sending tingles down Ras’ back.

When they parted, Ras looked over to see Ibarra looking pointedly at the treeline, a faint flush on her cheeks, entirely embarrassed at having watched the duo kiss. Rosario stifled a giggle behind her glove and rest her head on Ras’ shoulder as they watched the rest of the fireworks.

As the night came to a close, and the pair said their farewells, Ras was suddenly overcome with fatigue, and she was relieved when it was time to retire back to the dorms. The moment her head hit the pillow, she was unconscious.

The aftermath of the ball felt anticlimactic: everyone was exhausted the next day and none of them could muster any enthusiasm for the fact that Gallatin was in favor for the Crème de la Crème contest after the students' conduct for the evening. Ras’ dormmates’ demeanors ranged from grouchy restlessness from Max to constant yawning from Gonzalez. Some people buoyed up by the end of the term, while others were moody at the prospect of going home for the holidays. Suitcases were packed and hauled downstairs by porters; people constantly chattering about their holiday plans.

One morning when Ras was fetching her bag from the dormitory, she caught Hartmann meticulously folding her spare uniform into her suitcase. Her suitcase was only partially full, without many personal belongings inside: just clothes and her Athletics kit.

“Home soon,” she said, her tone neutral and guarded. “Are you looking forward to it?”

Ras groaned. “No. I really don’t want to go home and see my Mother. You know my situation, yeah? It’s bloody awful.”

"Mmm," Hartmann said, her tone bright and brittle. “That can be difficult indeed…”

Soon enough, the final day of the term arrived. Ras and the rest of the Gallatin students were herded by carriage, and then by train, to Fenburg. Just as when Ras had made this journey the other way, the platform was chaos: full of noise and bustle from hugs, tears, excited whoops, and reassurances about staying in touch.

Crowds upon crowds of Gallatin students poured from the train onto the platform, met by guardians and relatives. While Ras waited to disembark, she spotted a tired-looking Karson hauling a shabby suitcase from the guards’ carriage; she was on her way home too it seemed. Ras’ mother was, of course, nowhere to be found because the woman couldn’t bear to be on time for once. Fortunately, this meant that Ras had a moment to say goodbye to a friend or two before she eventually showed up.

Ras’ first choice, of course, was Max, who pushed off the rail she was leaning against to give Ras a hug, despite the large backpack she was hauling.

“See you again, Thorne,” she grinned as she reached up and ruffled Ras’ hair, “when we’re back in prison.”

Ras snickered. “Don’t forget the snacks this time, Meyer, sitting in my cell listening to you and Hartmann bicker like a married couple is worth at least a couple fistfuls of popcorn.”

Max’s only response was to stick her tongue out at Ras as she was called over by her own parents, waving a farewell to Ras as she walked.

Next, Ras picked out Freddie, who threw her arms around Ras in a big hug. “Have a good holiday, yeah?” She grinned.

“I’m more excited for what sorta things we’ll get up to when we get back.” Ras returned the grin. “I’m sure the Society has all kindsa secrets an’ stuff they’ll be willing to show us when we’ve proven keen.”

Freddie’s eyes widened, as if she hadn’t thought of that. “Goodness, I hope so. It all sounds so exciting!” A pause, as Freddie’s parents called for her. “Sorry, I have to go! See you back at Gallatin!”

Ras waved Freddie off, and then turned just in time to see her mother standing on the platform, watching her intently.

“Hello, Ras.” Matilda Thorne, Ras’ mother, stood before her. Her tone was as cold and detached as ever.

“Hello, Mama.” Ras struggled to meet the same level of coldness that was given to her, and her voice cracked almost imperceptively.

Unfortunately for her, that was still enough to displease Matilda, who let out a ‘tsk’. “Come.” She commanded, whirling around. “Our taxi awaits.”

Ras followed after, and kept her head low, doing her best to ignore the stares of those who recognized her mother.

This Hearthlight was going to be something, for sure.

#Crème de la Crème #Hannah Powell-Smith #Choice of Games #Tales of The Divine (Writing) #The Girl who became a Dragon (Ras Thorne) #The Princess and The Thorne

[rabbitsrants]

SHINRAN AND THE FIVE LOVE LANGUAGES

acts of service II

"actions that make your partner feel like they can trust you to have their back, for the small and the big things - making life easier or more enjoyable for them"

chapter 6

chapter 33

chapter 86

MY HEART

chapter 141

chapter 150

chapter 182

chapter 188

chapter 194

ran helping shin get dressed because he's sick:

chapter 253

chapter 254

THE DETAILS YALL:

chapter 314

chapter 335

chapter 347-349

shinichi taking care of a sick ran:

BONUS: shinichi feeling inadequate when she ends up helping him despite being sick

chapter 351

chapter 354

akai: warns ran, tells her to get to safety

ran: doesn't care about the potential serial killer, decides to look for shinichi (DESPITE HAVING A HIGH FEVER BTW)

shinichi: carries ran back to safety when she inevitably faints

chapter 393

chapter 570

ran: is terrified of supernatural things

also ran: refuses to leave shinichi's side no matter what

chapter 611

RAN IS SO ATTENTIVE I CAN'T

chapter 650

shinichi 🤝 ran

doing first aid on each other

chapter 814

chapter 922

chapter 931

ran worries about kogoro:

shinichi:

visit the shinran library for more

#officially done with the love language analysis #i have so many other analyses planned though #including a few sub posts before i get into the crème de la crème #aka reasons why shinran is one of the most brilliantly written romances of all time part 4 #looking forward to it #shinran #shinichi kudo #ran mouri #dcmk #case closed #detective conan #ship analysis

[sabineelectricheart]

Lousy Thursday

Summary: Eugene has a terrible day. Aurora meets him at his dorm and things start looking up for him.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words: 1000

Notes: I like pairing up the nerd with a cool girl.

Eugene had fallen under the misfortune of a particularly tedious day. 

Everyone has those every once in a while, and considering how everyday seemed to drag the year before, he had to admit he was overdue for one. Yet, he had grown accustomed to the blissful comforts and feels particularly bitter about the minor setbacks imposed upon him over the day.

In fact, after oversleeping and not having the chance to shower in the morning, gaining a detention for misplacing a few items on his uniform, underperforming at an exam and receiving a rather displeased letter from home, the class president was already fed up. By lunch hour, he considered just throwing it all up in the air and going to bed, as nothing seemed to go his way, but elected instead to resign himself to the fact the rest of his day would likely follow a similar route.

To make matters even worse, it was Thursday. He had no classes with Aurora at all, and he managed to miss her at both breakfast and lunch. He had gone the whole day without any relief and was ready to shut himself up in his room and wait a new, fresh morning to come.

He bargained on the chance he would get to see his girlfriend at dinner and decided to forego searching for her around the large castle with a maze of corridors and endless expanse of rooms. Instead, he headed straight for the dorms, eager to hit the pillow with a sigh and be left undisturbed.

Avoiding the eyes of anyone who might have been sitting in the common room, Eugene dashed straight for his bedroom. Quickly swinging open his door, he let his eyes close as he leant against it, now safely inside his personal cocoon and away from anything or anyone that could make his day unbearably worse.

“Bad day?” A figure asked from beside his bed, looking at his slumped figure.

His eyes snapped open, startled by another voice in what he thought was his empty space. He stood upright, failing to realise it was Aurora at first and held a stern expression to his face. Only when he recognised the person that he has been looking for the entire day did his features soften and frown lines slightly fade.

He let his head fell back against the wooden door with a thud and he groaned from the contact.

The girl giggled. “Wow, it must have been.”

“You’ve no idea.” He huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

She gestured to the chest of drawers by the door. Some stray pieces of papers laid forgotten on top of it.

“I saw the letter from the wicked witch over there. That’s grounds enough for a bad day.” She sympathised, the distaste for her mother-in-law evident in her scathing tone.

The pair never really got along. Lady Hartmann is the sort of person with strict notions about life and the others, strongly informed by age-old prejudices and expectations of propriety. Aurora, on the other hand, is a sparrow flying in the wind, someone who enjoys adventure, light conversation and keeping a wide spectrum of acquaintances. They are so fundamentally different that it is difficult to imagine a day and a situation in which they will see eye-to-eye.

At the beginning, Eugene tried to mediate their impressions of each other in private conversation. He would insist in letters to his mother that his girlfriend is a responsible and intelligent student, with little in common with her petty criminal parents, while arguing with his girlfriend that his mother was a loving and nurturing woman, albeit a little set on her ways.

Now, however, he lets them get at each other. He supposes that he is tired of the same arguments over and over, hoping to persuade him into a path of action that he does not want to take. Though, honestly… He is starting to come around to Aurora’s way of thinking, even if he is not about to be as radical about it as she wishes him to.

He grumbled. “That, and a detention, and the whole day until now without you.”

“That must have been awful, I am quite a delight.” She teased, hopeful to earn a smile from him, or even a small smirk.

“You are.” He agreed.

His expression was perfectly neutral as he said it, not quite smiling, but not frowning either. It made his confirmation seem more genuine, and she almost felt bad for teasing him with it.

“My poor baby. Come on under the covers with me.” She whispered, lifting the duvet and shuffling backwards to make room for him.

That elicited a smile and a content sigh as he immediately gave into her demand and rested his head on her chest. He would usually pretend to put up some resistance, but that is for days that he has enough pride to pretend that he is not wrapped around her little finger, which was not today.

Threading her fingers through his hair, Aurora hummed absentmindedly something like a nursery song, the only sound that filled the room aside from their light breaths.

A few moments fell between them, and as the sound of breathing became more and more even, some movement and repositioning were felt slowly beneath the duvet. The boy wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, angling his head so he could see his girlfriend better.

“I really needed this.” He confessed. “Thank you.”

“I’m happy to oblige.” Aurora replied with a smirk.

Eugene returned it with a pure smile of his own and laid his head back down, humming along to the familiar song that she began singing very softly under her breath. He was soothed by the feeling of her fingers in his hair and against his scalp, and slowly, he let himself fall asleep in her arms.

Good thing Aurora is good at sneaking out of other people’s bed, or his day would begin anew with another detention.

*_*_*_*_*

Crème de la Crème Masterlist

#crème de la crème #Eugene Hartmann

[chicademartinica]

The man who put the scene below (Flukethor supremacy !) on GMMtv is making a show with Force Jiratchapong huge ass as a fuckboy in love with glasses wearing Book. I will be vindicated by Jojo about Forcebook. Dass it.

#force jiratchapong #only friends #only friends the series #force works out for this show don’t @ me #Give me the forcebook show I deserve #everybody else already crème de la crème #forcebook #firstkhao #neomark #jojo tichakorn #the warp effect #flukethor

[perduedansmatete]

les pierres grises et calcaire

mon corps vanille fraise

#quand j'étais petite je m'étalais un mélange de poudre calcaire de ces pierres et d'eau sur la peau #je devrais m'étaler de la crème solaire plutôt

[zencaia]

Journey to Gallatin (1/5)

The Groundskeeper of Gallatin will be a series of my headcanons of Emil's life before and during the events of the book. Mostly it's an opportunity for me to practice drawing more complicated scenes and show my love for the character <3

Fan art of @hpowellsmith's Crème de la Crème!

#the groundskeeper of gallatin #journey to gallatin #fanart #fan art #creme de la creme #crème de la crème #karson #emil karson #karson's family