Jul 16
She is speechless
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She is speechless
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Completely normal straight couple
I think Undertaker should bring Claudia back so she can peg some sense into him. I mean knock
Looked through my Twitter drafts and found this...
He’s exactly where he wants to be
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New Undertaker drawings have me losing my mind, here's a snippet of a Claudiataker fic entry I'm working on for my Nightingale's Lament series
"No," Cloudia agrees with a nod. "I suppose Poe considered The Black Death a little too passé for the modern audience." She pauses and angles her head towards him, her eyes sparkling through the ornate mask, outshining any gem on her person. "Present company excluded, of course."
She has no idea how very right she is - unless, of course, she does.
He keeps his face impassive, his tone apathetic, but she is always seeing more of him than he intends. "Lady Phantomhive, if by some small chance the plague does make a return tonight, I can assure you I will have had nothing to do with it."
She hums doubtfully. "Ah, but what other reason might you have for attending tonight's soirée?"
"Other than spreading darkness and decay?" Cedric asks wryly. "The same as most here, I would think. I received an invitation."
"Did you now?" Her frown is hidden beneath her mask as she looks out again to the other guests, the couples who had begun dancing in a swirl of bright skirts and feathers, but he sees it all the same. "My, how curious. I wonder what other tradespeople may be among us tonight, unrecognized?"
"The thrill of a masked ball," Cedric deadpans, and her resulting huff of laughter satisfies him more than he might ever admit.
"I do not know how I could have ever doubted your enthusiasm for such a gathering, Monsieur, do forgive me." Cloudia turns to him, considering. "Although, in the spirit of the evening, I suppose we ought to leave titles at the door?"
And all decorum with it, no doubt. He might have expected this as soon as he saw her. "Ought we?" he prompts, slightly wary.
"Well, who is to say we recognized one another in our costumes?"
Only, they had. She had spotted him with an immediacy that unnerved him, for his methods of achieving obscurity were not limited to the masks and cloaks of their fellow partygoers, and Cedric…
Cedric feared he would know Cloudia Phantomhive anywhere.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It's a modesty long-since sullied, if the ease and familiarity with which the man kisses the inside of her knee is any indication. "Would that a curse might have such a kind end," he says in a voice so intimate and soft that Tanaka struggles to make out the words; and in a tone so steeped in regret that it's impossible to miss, even at a distance. Certainly it doesn't escape Claudia. Her hand brushes through his pin-straight hair, the strands rippling in the water around his shoulders, catching the rising light like the scales of a fish. "And why shouldn't it?" She protests, sounding more like a naïve girl than a young woman. "Seems only fair." "Ah, but what in this life is fair?" His fingers intertwine with her own, and he brings her wrist to his lips, so that what he says next is muffled. "Cruel fates have crueler cures, my dear."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Vincent is far from gifted at fencing. Cloudia fears that is her blood at work, smothering whatever talent for swordplay that Cedric might have passed on. Despite this, Vincent remains enthusiastic at the sport, for at the end of the day he is but a boy; running around with a sword in his hand remains the greatest thrill of his young life. Francis, forever incensed to be left out of whatever her older brother was doing, had begged to join.