Celine/William!

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The speakeasy-- nicknamed “Lucky’s” by local patrons, due to its incredulous ability to dodge police raids-- was packed to the gills; it was nearly impossible to slip through the people crowding the dance floor, and Celine found herself ducking elbows and legs and wine glasses as William guided her toward the bar, his hand, warm, tucked into the small of her back.

“Mark’ll be along, I’m sure,” he said easily, voice barely audible over the music and clamor. “His fans really seemed eager.”

Celine rolled her eyes. “The one fan who has ever wanted his autograph.”

That earned a chuckle. “Let ‘im have his fun.” Taking her hand, he helped her onto the stool, then settled onto one himself, spinning to face the bar and holding up a hand to signal the bartender.

It was barely a moment later that a man sank down onto the tool on Celine’s right side, his face flushed with alcohol and stretched into a big, sloppy smile. In his hands he held a drink, mostly full. It was obviously not his first.

“Hey doll,” he slurred, leaning into her. “How ‘bout a drink? On me.”

Celine felt William tense, but before he could say anything stupid she interjected, pursing her black-painted lips and purring, “how about you move along? I already have a date.”

“Don’t be like that,” the man complained. He reached for her hand, which she batted away, giving him a shove that sent him teetering back.

He scowled, entire face seeming to contort with anger. He held out his glass, tipping its contents onto her dress. 

Celine gasped in outrage, instinctively jerking back, nearly colliding with William, who placed a hand on her arm to steady her before rising.

“That was not very nice,” he said, voice low as he came around, towering over the man. The medals pinned to his beige coat gleamed, and slowly the man’s eyes drifted down to them before traveling back up.  “I think you should apologize.”

The man scoffed, spinning slowly to face him. “Why would I? She’s the one bein’ rude. I was jus’ offering a drink-”

William’s hand shot out and seized a handful of his overcoat, and with hardly any effort at all he dragged the man from his chair and off his feet, holding him so they were eye to eye.

“Apologize,” he ordered, “and leave this lovely lady alone. Otherwise you’ll find yourself in a very-” he tightened his grip, yanking him even higher off the ground- “uncomfortable place.”

“I-” the man stammered and spluttered, gaze darting from William to Celine to other bar patrons who were beginning to ogle. “I’m sorry!” He bit out. “I’m sorry about your dress.”

“Good.” William dropped him. “Now getcher sorry ass outta here.”

Eyes narrowed into a glare, the stranger spun and stumbled off, shoving his way through a crowd of dancers.

“What an ass.” William hovered over her, all his protective rage now melted into concern. “Would you like to leave?”

“I assure you I’m quite alright.” Celine plucked at the sodden material of her flapper dress, glad she’d chosen to wear black instead of red. “Let’s have a drink.”

“Bully.” William sat back down, lifting a hand to wave over the bartender once more. 

As he did, Mark appeared, settling down onto the now-vacant stool on Celine’s other side, eyeing her soaked dress. “Did I miss anything?”

Prompt: Blue

Pairing: Willceline

---

Looking back, he would always remember that that day the sky had been blue. The kind of blue- a cloudless, pure blue, lit up bright by a big, happy sun- that guaranteed a good day.

    Damien admired that blue from his hiding spot in the attic, through a dusty window that looked as if Benjamin hadn’t cleaned it in ages; he probably hadn’t. It was accessible only through a tiny trap door and, as far as Damien knew, one knew about the attic’s existence but him. Not even Mark, who owned the place. It was why he loved coming up here. It was an escape.

    But it was how he saw them: William and Celine, vivid smudges of tan and black against perfectly manicured green, too far below him to pick out any details. He watched them cross the grass, a strange mixture of curiosity and suspicion rising like bile in his throat; where were they going? Why were they alone?

    Damien set down his book. Retrieved his cane. Then, he started for the trap door.

---

    Wandering through the gardens was usually calming- a balm on his overworked nerves- but today it only served to fray them; with every step he felt the knot in his chest tighten, with every burst of laughter that drifted on the breeze came the growing realization of what he knew he would find.

    When he spotted them, his heart damn near stopped: they were sitting together in the sloping bank that led down to the pond, their hands clasped, all smiles and laughs and-

    Damien stumbled backward when his sister laughed, when his best friend leaned in to press his lips to hers, clamping a hand over his mouth so he didn’t shout, so he didn’t cry, so he didn’t do anything that might alert them to his presence.

    He almost lost that battle when he backed directly into George.

“Keep quiet, kid!” George took his arm- grip surprisingly tight for someone of his age- and dragged him away, further into the gardens, until they were out of earshot. When he finally let go, the Mayor actually *was* crying, a few slow tears trickling down his cheeks. Tears of betrayal. Of shock.

“How could they do this?” He paced the grass, pain shooting through his hips with every frantic step. He ignored it. Above him, a single cloud floated across the endless, blue sky. “I saw her kiss Mark goodbye this morning.”

George nodded solemnly and leaned on his shovel. He wore his overalls and his hat, just like always. For some reason, Damien found it strangely comforting. “It’s been goin’ on for a long time, Damien. I don’t think she’s happy with the master.”

“Really?” Damien ran a hand through his hair and looked down at his feet. How well did he know his sister? “She . . . she hides it well.”

“Aye.” George nodded. “She does.”

Damien sighed. Wiped his face from his sleeve. “Does Mark know? I think he should.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” George shook his head. “It wouldn’t end well. For both of them.”

“Or William.” A soft, bitter laugh. “He used to fancy her. I guess he still does.

“Thank you, George,” he said. “I think . . . I think I’ll keep it a secret. If they’re happier together, maybe it’s meant to be.”

George stared at him for a long moment. Then, he nodded again. Slowly. “Take care, Damien,” he said, turning to continue his work. “Be careful in that attic.”

Damien barely caught the words as he headed back toward the Manor, where his attic awaited. Yet, despite desperately needing an escape, he found himself walking in the direction of the office. The piles of work stacked on his desk would distract him, at least for a little while.

But George’s words kept racing through his mind. Relentless. Ominous. It won’t end well.

c;

Commission Me

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Prompt 87: “I can’t just forget you. That’s not how it works.”

    He caught glimpses of her everywhere: in the graceful flap of raven’s wings, in the delicate gait of the woman crossing the street, in the brief moments between sunset and moonrise where twilight seemed to envelope everything.

    He saw her in Dark. In the incline of his head, in his sharp smiles, in the wicked gleam of his deep black eyes as he regarded Wilford with an expression that looked as if he’d enjoy carving his heart from his chest. 

    It was so easy to love Dark, then. But it was just as easy to miss her, too.

    “Do you think she’ll ever come back?” He asked once, as they walked down the hallway.

    “And who are you speaking of?” Dark’s reply was bored. Indifferent. But a flicker of something crossed his face, too fast for Wilford to catch.

    “Why, Celine, of course.”

    “Ah.” Another flicker. A momentary faltering of his impassive facade. “It surprises me that you remember her at all.”

    Wilford scoffed, placed a hand to his chest in mock dismay. “As if I could forget such a stunning, awe-inspiring-”

    Dark cut him a glare. “I’ve not the patience for your rambling.”

    “Fine, grouchy-pants. Of course I remember Celine. My heart still beats for her to this day.” He paused, then sighed wistfully, as if a fond memory had crossed his mind. “She would tear my heart out as soon as look at me.”

    Dark waved a hand. “You would do well to forget her.”

    “Why-” such a preposterous suggestion! “I can’t just forget her. That’s not how it works, Darkie. You know that as well as I.”

    Dark halted in his tracks. Turned to fix him with a stare so venomous it made Wilford step back. And for a second he looked as if he might say something, but then he rolled his eyes and kept on down the hallway. “This conversation is finished.”

so THAT’s what it’s called???

Title: No Such Comfort

Bullets whizzed by his head, dug deep into those who weren’t quick enough. He scrambled to reload his weapon, then aimed, and shot. Aimed, and shot. Each bang! jarred him. Every cry of pain rang in his ears, down to his very core.

Somewhere nearby, there was the high-pitched whistle of a bomb dropping-

“William!” He jolted awake to darkness, to cold sweat dripping down his forehead, and the words “take cover!” at his lips.

“William,” Celine said again, softly this time. He felt her gaze even in the pitch blackness of the room. “You were having a nightmare,” she whispered, “I heard you screaming.”

“Ah,” was all William was able to offer as an answer. His breath shook and rattled in his chest, and the pop-pop of bullets still echoed in his ears. He reached out for her, seeking the comfort of her presence, and she shifted closer, into his embrace.

“What were you dreaming about?” She asked the question even though she knew the answer already; he was dreaming the same dreams he’d had ever since he came home. Ones filled with blood and war and death.

“My apologies for waking you, darling.” William murmured instead. It was better for both of them that way.

She pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his frantically beating heart, then lay her head there. “It’s alright.”

“Go back to sleep,” he told her.

“But what about you?” She asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

He felt her slow, tired nod, and it wasn’t very long after that she was asleep once more, slumbering away in his arms.

HELLO WELCOME TO MY BLOG :D HAVE SOME WILLIAM/CELINE

This takes place during the events of WKM.

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Prompt: “X, there’s nobody there.”

    “What are you doing here?” He drew her aside, into a side room he’d never noticed during his time at the Manor, and he was pretty sure she’d never noticed either, judging from the way her eyes widened slightly and shot from the dusty mirror to the ornate desk to the four-poster bed.

In the parlor the others were arguing. Arguing and flinging accusations while they carried on about murderers and cowered in fear over some ill-timed thunder. He took her hand and laced their fingers together; a solace amidst the madness. “There’s been a murder. There’s a zombie running amuck. You shouldn’t be here.”

    “I can take care of myself, William.” Celine’s tone was sharp. But not because she was angry. She was worried, and she could sense his agitation. “I came because there’s something going on. There’s something not quite right about this place, and there never has been, but now … it’s as if the dark forces surrounding this Manor have grown darker. Worse, somehow.”

    William paused, a memory surfacing at the back of his mind. A memory of a broken wine bottle and a game of Russian Roulette. He squeezed her hand, focused on the feel of it, banished the memory. “You think Mark did something?”

    She nodded, and for the first time something resembling fear flickered across her beautiful face. “I believe he did. And I …”

    She trailed off suddenly, eyes shooting toward the empty doorway. Then they narrowed and her lips pursed and she drew away from William.

    “Celine?” He followed. “Whatever’s the matter?”

    “There’s someone there.” Her voice was no louder than a whisper.

    “What?” William couldn’t help but scoff. He gestured toward the doorway. “Celine, darling, there’s nobody there.”

    She tensed, but just as quickly relaxed. Her eyes darted back to William and she reached for his hand, clutching it tightly like it was the only thing holding her in place. Like it was the only thing keeping her calm. “There’s something going on here.”

    “That’s why you should leave.” William drew her close, lifted his free hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I couldn’t bear to see you hurt.”

    He knew before he said it that she’d disagree; she was already shaking her head.

    “No,” she said. “There’s something going on here. Mark did … something … before he died. I’m going to find out what. Will you help me?”

    William felt a rush of admiration for her. Of love. She was so determined. So brave.

    He bent his head to kiss her. “I would follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond, my darling.”

    “Thank you.” She whispered. Then, there came a crash from the other room. She stepped away. “We should go check on the others.”

Everyone’s left him. It’s not fair, is it?

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Prompt 38: “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

    Normally, he’d talk to William. William and his knowledge of tactics and strategies. Even though his know-how wasn’t of a political nature, it might’ve helped him now.

    But William wasn’t there. Hadn’t been there in a long time. He’d stolen Celine right out from under Mark’s nose and now they were off somewhere, doing whatever they did.

    Screwing, Damien supposed, straightening a stack of documents on his desk, setting them carefully next to a pile of newspaper clippings that all bore his name in big, black, blocky letters.

Damien: Mayor or Fraud?

    Mayor Damien Prime Suspect in Scandalous Activities.

    Is Mayor Damien Really What The City Needs?

    “Mr. Mayor?”

I haven’t written this pairing in a while.

Title: Theirs

The Manor was empty. Mark was gone- off drinking or gambling or some such activity- and Damien was working. Benjamin and the Cook had been given the night off.

It was theirs for the night, and they took full advantage.

“Careful, William! I don’t want to spill my drink.” A bubbling laugh escaped Celine’s black-painted lips and she clutched her glass a bit tighter as William shoved her against the wall, mouth roaming her jawline, her neck, her bare collarbone where he’d unbuttoned the top part of her chest.

“Well then, I’d say you should put down the drink,” William replied, voice low and rumbling in his chest.

“Make me,” she challenged him.