rikibeth: (Default)
Mainlined Showtime's Penny Dreadful yesterday. Verdict: cracktastic. Result: babbling on tumblr, discovering a kinkmeme, and writing this fic, first thing I've written in a year.

Title: Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have
Fandom: Penny Dreadful
Pairing: Vanessa Ives/Mina Murray
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Pre-Raphaelite poetry. No common triggers.
Spoilers: Based on events in 1x05. Which is a flashback episode, if that makes a difference.
Wordcount: 1272

It was a dark and stormy night.

The air had been still and heavy all afternoon, the clouds building in the evening, blotting out the night sky. "Happy the bride whose sun shines on her wedding day," Vanessa had teased. "We must hope the storm breaks soon enough to be gone by morning, for the sake of your marriage!"

Mina had laughed, but there was no laughter now. She stood in silence at the schoolroom door, as lightning flashed outside the windows, making a frozen tableau of her dearest friend, gasping in lust, pinned to the table by the thrusting hips of Mina's own fiancé.

It could not be called lovemaking. There were no kisses, no caresses: Vanessa arched in frenzy, and Charles gripped her roughly, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her throat, holding her still as he drove into her. There was no love here, only (Mina hardly dared say the word, even in her own mind) fucking.

But it wasn't the sight of them fucking that broke Mina's heart. Or not that sight alone. What made the betrayal doubly sharp was that Mina had found them while the taste of Vanessa's sex still clung to her lips.

They had shared each other's beds since their earliest childhood; they were neighbors, their families visiting each other constantly, and while the adults stayed late in conversation, the two girls were tucked in together, at first under the watchful eye of a nursery-maid, later with only the presence of their governess to supervise their evening prayers before she left for her own bedchamber. Mina could not say exactly when their childish goodnight kisses had deepened into something less innocent, more sensual, but as their bodies grew towards womanhood, their affections did the same. A hand exploring the curve of a budding breast, fingertips stroking the new-found curls between their legs, their mouths opening in unexpected hunger, until they were flushed and shaken, clinging to each other as their passion crested and ebbed.

"Our last night together," Vanessa said as they undressed. No nursery-maid now, no governess to watch them; they were young ladies, and had left such things behind. Nor did Mina have her own maid. No doubt in India she would have native servants to unlace her corsets and brush her hair, but tonight it was Vanessa who did these services, as she had so often before. Vanessa lifted Mina's hair from the nape of her neck, and laid her lips against Mina's throat.

Mina sighed in pleasure. "I shall miss you terribly, you know."

Vanessa laid down the hairbrush. Mina could see her frown reflected in the dressing-table mirror. "And I you. You at least will have Charles; I am to be left here, without you, without Peter, entirely alone." Before Mina could say anything, Vanessa whirled away, throwing herself on the bed. When she sat up, her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders, there was a wild glint in her ice-blue eyes. "Will you miss me? Come and kiss me," she said, in the singsong voice of one reciting poetry.

Mina recognized it. They had read her volume of Christina Rossetti's poems, with its beautiful illustrations, until its covers were nearly falling off and they had the lines by heart. "Never mind my bruises," she quoted slowly.

Vanessa laughed and continued the verse.

"Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices,

Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,

Goblin pulp and goblin dew.

Eat me, drink me, love me;

Mina, make much of me."

Even as Mina came to her friend's arms, suiting her action to Vanessa's words, she shivered as she remembered the next lines: For your sake I have braved the glen / And had to do with goblin merchant men.

The chill passed in a moment, driven away by the heat of Vanessa's lips. Mina tasted sweet Rhine wine; Vanessa had drunk glass after glass of it at the party, more than Mina had ever seen her drink before. Perhaps that accounted for her wild mood. For wild she was; as Mina kissed her friend's throat, slipping her hands beneath Vanessa's nightdress to stroke her body, Vanessa shuddered, lifting her hips entirely off the bed, her legs falling open as she sank back down.

"Eat me, drink me, love me," Vanessa repeated in a whisper.

"I will, my dearest," Mina murmured. She pushed the thin white cotton nearly to Vanessa's shoulders, fastening her lips on Vanessa's nipple. Vanessa made a high, stifled noise; they had long since learned to keep quiet in their pleasure, after Mina's startled cries at the first climax Vanessa ever gave her brought Vanessa's mother at a run, and they had had to swear it was a nightmare that had caused it, no more. Mina sucked harder, moving her hand down over the curve of Vanessa's waist and hip, fingers gripping the flesh of her buttocks. A trail of kisses down Vanessa's belly, Mina's tongue flickering to taste her friend's skin, not covered with the juice of goblin fruit but only scented faintly of lilies of the valley, the scent of her soap. Mina had wanted lilies of the valley to decorate her bride-cake, but her cook had protested. Even if they were in season, Miss Mina, which they're not, I wouldn't do it for the world. They're poison, don't you know that? It seemed unfair, for something so sweet.

Now the scent was not flowers, but a musky ripeness, the taste sweet and salty at once, like the melon wrapped in smoky ham that had been among the savories at the party, as Mina lowered her head to Vanessa's sex, her tongue parting the delicate folds. She cupped Vanessa's mound with a practiced hand, thumb pressing against the pearl of flesh that brought the sharpest pleasure. She probed with her tongue, only her tongue, for they never dared to slip their fingers within each other; it would not do, should a husband expecting a maidenhead find none. Tomorrow Mina would discover at last how that would feel.

Vanessa was panting as her climax approached, whining softly between gasps. She stiffened in crisis, her hands gripping the sheets. As Vanessa slumped back in the aftermath, Mina lifted her head and saw tears trickling down her friend's face.

"Hush, dearest," Mina whispered, stretching out beside her. "No matter how far I may go from you, you'll always be near in my heart."

"Will you?" Vanessa breathed. "As near as this?" And her hands were on Mina's skin, knowing and sure, by turns gentle and rough. Her lips sucked so fiercely that Mina feared she would leave marks, and what if Charles saw them? But soon these concerns were driven from her head along with all other thought, as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through Mina's body. Vanessa did not stop until Mina was dazed and almost senseless. As she felt herself drifting off in Vanessa's embrace, Mina heard her friend's murmur: "You are mine, you shall be mine, you and I are one forever." Mina made no answer, for she was sinking into sleep.

She was awakened by a crash, not of thunder but of something toppling over, the sound coming from the schoolroom. It was only as she reached the doorway that she heard Charles' grunts and Vanessa's gasps. Mina could not say what she saw in Vanessa's eyes as they locked on hers: lust, resentment, victory...despair? The lightning flash went dark and the thunder rolled. The storm had broken, but even if it cleared, no sun would shine on Mina's wedding day. After this, there would be no wedding.

rikibeth: (Default)
First of all, if you like the Avengers at ALL, and you need a good laugh, you need to read this fic, by scifigirl47:

Phil Coulson Does Not Bake (and The Avengers Do Not Shop At IKEA Anymore)


Sometimes Tony Stark makes poor choices. Sometimes Tony pushes his teasing of Steve Rogers just a little too far. Sometimes Steve decides he's had enough.

Phil Coulson's the one who's got to write this nonsense up, and he does not bake.

I can pretty much guarantee you that by the end of the fic, you will be craving cookies.

Here is how you go about solving that:

7 1/2 cups all purpose flour
2 Tbsp baking soda
4 tsp ginger
2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ground cloves

3/4# (3 sticks) unsalted butter
4 cups brown sugar (packed)
4 eggs
1 cup molasses
2 tsp vanilla

1 14.5 oz jar lingonberry jam

About a cup of granulated sugar in a little bowl

(I know the story says loganberry. IKEA sells lingonberry jam, not loganberry. I got mine at Whole Foods, though.)

You know how to make cookie dough, right? Preheat the oven to 350F. You sift everything in that first batch of ingredients together. You take the butter and sugar and cream them together (stand mixer, handheld mixer, a wooden spoon if you're really dedicated and you don't have some sort of electric mixer) and then mix in the eggs and vanilla and molasses. Then you mix in the dry stuff.

This recipe is for thumbprint cookies. 8 dozen of them. Adjust your recipe accordingly if you don't need eight dozen cookies right now.

If you really don't know how to make thumbprint cookies: roll some of the dough into a little ball. Smaller than a golf ball, smaller than a ping-pong ball -- a Superball is about right. Then, and this is important for this flavor, roll that Superball in granulated sugar and put it on your cookie sheet. (Use your favorite method of making cookies not stick. I use baking parchment.) Leave plenty of space between the cookies -- they spread. A LOT. When your baking sheet is full (expect to only fit a dozen) poke a depression in each cookie with your thumb. Fill that depression with jam. A piping bag doesn't really give much advantage over a spoon, in this case -- I did both.

Bake 12 minutes at 350F. Let the cookies cool for about two minutes on the sheets, then slide the paper or foil off the hot sheets and get it onto a cooler surface, and then after another few minutes lift the cookies off with a spatula and get them onto a wire rack. You DO NOT want these cookies to overbake or have too much carryover cooking from the hot cookie sheets, because you want them chewy, and if they go too long they will be crunchy.

Here is Plush Team Delta re-enacting a scene from the story:

Go forth, read, and bake!
rikibeth: (Default)
TITLE Under Full Sail
PAIRING, IF ANY Kitty Cobham/Edward Pellew
SPOILER WARNING It's set in 1780, it CAN'T have spoilers.
DISCLAIMER Neither Kitty nor Edward nor the dress belong to me.
SUMMARY A young, unmarried Captain Pellew, set ashore after his first command, pays a visit to Drury Lane.
Notes: inspired by the dress photo, and tumblr users' mumblingsage and buckbeakbabie's encouragement. THIS IS ALL THEIR FAULT.

Apparently I can't even write silly fluff like this without research; I scanned over the real Edward Pellew's career to figure out what he was doing around the given date for the dress (and then fudged it by a month or two to get him home in time for Christmas), and double-checked to see whether the Christmas pantomime tradition had solidified into its current form with the dame and the first boy and all (it hadn't yet, but there was certainly pantomime at Drury Lane).


Under Full Sail )
rikibeth: (Horatio and Archie)
TITLE: Five Times Somebody Noticed Horatio and Archie Were a Couple (And One Time Nobody Did)
PAIRING, IF ANY: Horatio/Archie
SPOILER WARNING: Live Kennedy Universe
SUMMARY/NOTES: Exactly what it says on the tin. Timelines are as consistent as possible both with Hornblower canon and historical events; I put The Frogs and the Lobsters in 1795 at the time of the historical Quiberon invasion, not at the possible 1797 of the movies, and I'm assuming that Pellew broke off his affair with Kitty (one that's purely my headcanon anyway) when he got married in 1783.

Many thanks to my early readers for their encouragement.

Read more... )


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