#markceline

𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦  𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐𝘩  𝑤𝑎𝑠  𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒'𝑠  𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑛  𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒  𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟  𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒  𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛  𝑎  𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒

Prompts by @tracobuttons

Prompt: Jewel

---

Celine woke before William, as she often did, and quietly got out of bed, plucking her clothing from the floor like feathers from a chicken; carelessly, tediously, a task waiting to end. She did not need the light to accomplish this, having done it many times in the last year.

When she was done she reached for her wedding ring, abandoned on the nightstand. She turned it over, examined its diamond, glittering even in the dim.

She remembered when Mark proposed to her; it seemed so long ago now. He did so in public, of course, in front of a crowd of adoring fans and cameras. She had no choice but to say yes, in hindsight, but she was so blinded by the light that was loving him that she didn’t care.

It wasn’t even a big diamond. It was a tiny thing, hardly able to call itself a jewel.

She slipped it on with something resembling a grimace, but as her gaze went to William her expression became something like love. Soon they would leave this half-life, and she would be free.

Like a ghost, Celine drifted to William’s bedside, where she leaned to press a light kiss to his forehead. He did not stir. 

Prompt: Cauldron

Prompts by @tracobuttons

I like to think they were happy at one point.

---

“My goodness. What is going on here?” Summoned by the smell of smoke and something horribly charred, Mark poked his head into the kitchen just in time to see his wife hurriedly yanking a massive pot from the stove, her head engulfed in a plume of black smoke. “Celine?”

“I’ve got it under control!” She exclaimed from within the smoke. She set it down onto the counter and turned the gas stove burner off. “I was making soup.”

Mark wrinkled his nose, but his eyes glittered with amusement. “Smells just like soup.”

“Correct answer.” Celine laughed. “I bet it tastes like soup, too.”

They both peered into the pot. Crusted to its sides were charred bits of vegetables and something that might once have been chicken. No liquid at all; it must have boiled off.

“I don’t know.” Mark hemmed and hawed, slipping an arm around Celine’s waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m thinking we order in.”

Combined this with another in my inbox.

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Prompt: “Did you get lost?” / “How long have you been standing there?”

He couldn’t stand it, watching them make lovey-dovey eyes at each other. So he retired early, following Damien up the stairs and going right, crossing the hallway to his room. They didn’t speak a word to each other, despite the Colonel convincing himself that they shared frustrations.

Everything felt like it was falling apart, and William’s temper simmered at a low boil as he stripped his decorated coat off, then his shirt, tossing them haphazardly over the desk chair.

How could she just go and do that?

“You knew this was coming.”

“Gah!” William whipped, dropping his pith hat, which clattered to the boards and began to roll away. He stooped to pick it up. “How long have you been standing there?”

Celine’s arched eyebrow stripped him to his core, laying him bare for her scrutinizing gaze. She sauntered into the room, hips swaying, dress swishing about her ankles.

It struck William, suddenly-- not for the first time, more like the hundredth or the thousandth-- how beautiful she was.

“Did you get lost?” He prompted, gesturing to the door. “I think your boyfriend’s room is that way.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Petty doesn’t look good on you. And neither does jealousy.” She softened, like ice cream melting in the sun. “I know you’re angry that he proposed to me.”

Now, it was William’s turn to scoff. “I’m not upset he proposed,” he said, averting his gaze from her lovely face to the less lovely floor. “I’m upset that you said yes.”

She reached out with one hand as if to touch his naked chest, to trace the scarred muscles there. Then she withdrew, seeming to remember her newfound status. He felt her warmth recede, and mourned it. “You never grasped that I love him, too.”

She found him once.

Cocking the rifle, she stormed through the snow, pausing only once to shoot at the flash of red she caught in between the trees. Bang! Wood splinters flew.

“Mark!” She screamed, her voice ringing off the trees, sending a few stray crows crying from their perches. She started forward again, breath fogging up the air which was quickly growing thicker and thicker with snowflakes.

Another red flash. She spun, spraying snow, rifle up. Bang!

“Ugh!” She’d missed. Panting, she whirled around, waiting for that next glimpse.

“You called?” Once more she turned, bringing her rifle up. It needed to be reloaded, but there was no way Mark would be able to tell.

He wore a nasty, blackened grin and that stupid, red suit Celine had always told him she didn’t like. It looked better on her brother’s body. With her brother’s cane, which he swung around like a toy.

She gritted her teeth. “Not a step further, you snake.”

He ignored her completely, continuing to stroll forward. He left no footprints, she noticed. And not a speck of snow dotted his suit.

“Is Damien locked up in that cabin of yours?” He asked, low and deep and so not the Mark she’d loved.

“Stay back!” She barked. He continued. Continued until he stood in front of her, brushing aside the rifle’s barrel as casually as if it were a fly.

“Celine,” he sneered. “How lovely to see you again.”

She opened her mouth to spit out a reply, only to find herself stopped by his lips.

He kissed her gently, even after all this time and hate.

It wasn’t hard to find her. Wandering about the Manor with those fools.

He curled about her shoulders like a shroud-- funny, she was wearing black, but it definitely wasn’t for him-- and whispered her name into her ear.

Celine.

Celine.

Celine.

She whipped her head around, searching for someone who definitely wouldn’t be there. Clutched William’s hand tighter.

He seethed. She jerked like she’d been shocked.

“Celine? Darling?” She’d gotten that idiot’s attention; he looked down at her, concern furrowing his thick, stupid eyebrows together behind those weird, stupid glasses.

Mark began to dissipate; it’d be just his luck that William would notice something. But, before he disappeared completely-- back to the void to wait-- he brushed invisible lips across her cheek.

Prompts by @huffletrax

Prompt: Cards

---

It could’ve been hours or even days that she’d been there, alone in her dimmed “study,” lit only by candles and some malevolent spark in the air. A place where she channeled the dark arts, did black magic, read the cards for some glimpse at their futures.

    Hers. Damien’s. William’s. She had just flipped Mark’s cards-- three of them, sitting in a nice, neat line right there before her-- when a knock came at the door.

    “Celine?” It was her husband. “May I come in?”

    She glanced quickly at the cards as she got up-- and stopped, her blood freezing in her veins.

    Because on the table lay Mark’s three cards: the tower, the seven of cups, and the ten of swords. All cards of wounds. Betrayal. Change.

    “Celine, my darling?” Mark knocked again, sounding concerned. The knob twisted, the door began to open--

    “Mark-” Celine spun, quickly brushing the cards to the side before turning back to see her husband entering.

    “Are you alright?” He asked, brows furrowing with concern and confusion as he went to her side, one arm slipping around her waist for a reassuring squeeze.

    “I’m fine,” she insisted, taking a deep breath to calm her throbbing heart. Her mind whirled, even as Mark dipped his head to kiss her. When he broke away, his deep, brown eyes were full of nothing but love for her.

    “I was thinking we could go out tonight, give Cook the night off,” he said, smiling. Then, he glanced around. At the extinguished candles-- knocked over, in her haste-- and the messy stack of cards. “What were you doing?”

    “Nothing important,” Celine answered hurriedly, distracting him with a kiss. “I would love to go out.”

DISCLAIMER: this fic is not intended to villify Celine. This is just an interesting scenario to write out, and happened very early before she ran off with William, and before Mark knew she was cheating on him.

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr @demon-dark-666 @moonysmayhem @xpouii @projectwkm @sororia04s @purple-anxiety-blog @rabbitsartcorner

Prompt: “I have a headache.”

    He was there when she got back, far too late and slightly tipsy-- William always had a bottle of her favorite wine on hand, god bless him-- an eager smile on his face, his dark eyes shining in the crackling firelight.

    “I came home early,” he said, pushing a bouquet of roses into her hands and wrapping her in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the side of her cheek, “from the shoot. I wanted to surprise you. And,” he added, pulling away and gesturing to the side-table, upon which stood a bottle of wine, “I got you wine. Your favorite.”

    There was so much love to his tone that Celine nearly flinched away, guilt stabbing like a knife into her chest. Yet she managed to keep her calm as he kissed her, praying he didn’t taste the alcohol on her lips. 

    “I was thinking we could-” Mark started, but Celine only shook her head. “I have a headache, Mark,” she said, feeling that same stab-and-twist of guilt. “And I’m tired. Could we have a romantic date tomorrow, perhaps?”

    If Mark was disappointed, it was a quick flicker in his eyes, an ever-so-slight downturn of his mouth. He was an actor, after all. “Of course,” he replied, and kissed her again before hesitantly releasing her from his grip and sending her off, out of the warm sphere cast by the fire.